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Shawnita Gilmour, Pet Project for the Titular "Accusers"

 

Beverlie LaPain, Shawnita's High School Sweetheart from "The Accusers"

 

Tifa and Aerith vs. Tim Pool

 

Annamarie Forcino vs. The Dadvocate

 

Arielle Scarcella

 

Stalking Is Not the Answer

I haven’t watched WWE since November of 2018, when they put on that horrible episode of Monday Night Raw where Drake Maverick peed on Bobby Roode’s robe. But I still like to stay in the loop via podcasts and You Tube channels. I sincerely hope Sonya Deville’s story gets the appropriate amount of coverage outside of the wrestling bubble. A few weeks ago, a disgusting bastard by the name of Phillip Thomas attempted to kidnap Sonya in her Lutz, Florida home. For years he had sent her creepy messages on social media that were of the lovey-dovey variety mixed with suicidal threats and mentions of wanting to murder her family. So what does he do to satisfy his romantic urges? In addition to sending the freaky messages, he showed up to her house one night carrying a knife, pepper spray, duct tape, zip ties, and god knows what else. He planned on kidnapping Sonya Deville, but she got the hell out of there and the police promptly arrested Phillip Thomas with a judge denying him bail.

Now…there are many ways in which you can show your appreciation for your favorite celebrities. Stalking and attempting to kidnap them is not one of them! Forgetting the fact that Sonya Deville is openly lesbian and therefore isn’t interested in men anyways, Phillip Thomas had no fucking chance with her by virtue of his creepy online behavior. He has even less of a chance with her now that he attempted to kidnap her. Haven’t you learned anything from being sickened while watching 365 Days? That Stockholm Syndrome fantasy shit doesn’t work! When Phillip Thomas showed up at Sonya Deville’s home with weapons and bondage equipment, she didn’t have stars in her eyes and a smile on her face. She was fucking terrified, as well she should be!

Having romantic feelings for a celebrity is nothing new to the world. It’s a relationship that could never work due to the imbalance of power, but we like to have fantasies anyways, because these fantasies make our hearts flutter and they give us extra pep in our step. We form parasocial relationships with the celebrities we love. Maybe the celebrity gives us roses. Maybe they squeeze our shoulders. Maybe they let us cradle our heads in their laps while they stroke our hair. But once the fantasy wears off, you begin to realize the impossibility of the fantasy and it depresses the shit out of you. You invested so much time and energy into this fantasy that when the rug gets pulled out from underneath, you’ve got nothing left but sadness. If you feel like your celebrity crushes are interfering with your wellbeing, talk to somebody. Anybody. See a counselor. Confide in family and friends.

This phenomenon was especially true for me when I studied at Western Washington University from 2007 to 2009. I was a socially awkward dweeb who had very little in the way of human interaction. So what did I do? I formed a parasocial relationship with Tarja Turunen, the former lead singer of Nightwish. Her lovely raven hair, her milky white skin, her cherry red lips, and that singing voice of an angel, oh my god, she was so beautiful to me. My heart had the singing voice of an angel every time I laid eyes on her. But when I cycled through my head all the loving ways we could interact, I quickly realized that I was still alone at WWU despite having a strong imagination. I had nothing but my fantasies. Fantasies are great, but they’re not tangible and don’t amount to anything in real life. But did I threaten to kidnap Tarja Turunen? Did I threaten to kill her husband Marcelo Cabuli? Did I show up to her home in Finland with duct tape and a hunting knife? Fuck no! That would be horrifying! If you claim to love someone as much as you do, you don’t show your love by threatening to slash them if they don’t have sex with you. That’s not love. That’s violence. In a real relationship, that’s domestic abuse and it would be grounds for not only divorce, but prison time.

Sonya Deville is a beautiful woman. She’s a brilliant character on WWE television. She’s got mixed-martial arts skills for days that will remind the audience of Wonder Woman. You want to know what she isn’t? Yours to kidnap and have sex with! You as a fan are not owed anything! You’re not owed sex and romance! If you want those things, you have to earn them by being sweet and empathetic and even then if the woman says no, you ought to listen. Sonya Deville is not going to say yes to someone who sends her disgusting messages on Twitter threatening to hurt her if she doesn’t give into him. I thought this point was made clear when pretty much every news outlet on the planet dissected Incel culture with a scalpel. We’re supposed to be past this shit. But people like Phillip Thomas didn’t get the message. Apparently, neither did the other Twitter trolls who sent Sonya Deville messages like, “I’m going to finish what Phillip started” and “My knife is bigger than Phillip’s.” How romantic! What a bunch of charming motherfuckers! Breakfast, meet floor!

Back at Summer Slam, Sonya Deville was written off of WWE television when she lost a No Disqualification Loser Leaves Town match to longtime rival Mandy Rose. She didn’t actually lose her job. It’s just a storyline excuse for her to sort things out legally and emotionally before getting back in the ring. She’ll be back one day. I’d like to think she’ll be back stronger than ever, but that’s not how psychological trauma works. That shit eats away at you like a cancer. There are triggers that will set you off. There are nightmares. There are moments where you’ll lose focus of what you’re doing, which isn’t an ideal scenario in a profession where you slam people on their backs for a living. Thanks a lot, Phillip Thomas. You traumatized Sonya Deville for life, all because you wanted a romance that never could have happened, lesbian status or not. That’s not love. That’s psychosis. Get some fucking help!

Being a celebrity of any kind, whether you’re an attractive woman or otherwise, will open up the floodgates for stalking and harassment. This shit has been going on long before the internet was a thing. So what should you do if you find yourself in this situation? Do you hire security guards? Do you buy a weapon? Do you move to another home? Do you stay off of social media? Do you get a restraining order? There’s no one-size-fits-all solution to this problem. Sometimes it’s multiple things at once, which is something the celebrity in question will consider as anxiety floods their minds with all the possibilities of scenarios. Hell, you don’t have to be a celebrity to experience stalking. The reason for stalking doesn’t even have to be romantic or sexual. There are some sick pieces of shit out there and the sooner they’re locked up, the better off we’ll all be. If you find yourself obsessing over someone, don’t become the next Phillip Thomas. Get help. Reach out to someone you trust. That’s my public service announcement for the day. Stalking is not the answer. It never is.

Witch Hunt

Sonya Jade allowed the calming effect of stirring pie-filling to wash over her like warm beach water. There she was sitting cross-legged with her chin propped up on her fist and her eyes closed while she hummed a gentle tune. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about baking pies that made her so relaxed. Maybe it was a hobby. Maybe it was a future career choice. Maybe it was an escape from the daily grind of religious school. Whatever it was, she licked her lips in anticipation of the resulting gooey strawberry pie. The tart flavor, the moist texture, the crunchy crust, they would all come together to create a symphony of heaven on her tongue. The thought of it made her mouth water so much that she wiped some spittle from the corner of her lips.

Her baking-induced hypnosis was rudely interrupted by a rapid-fire knock on her cottage door. Sonya gasped heavy and scrambled to move the pie filling away from the heat. She dumped a tiny portion of it on the straw floor and stifled a storm of curse words when a tiny droplet burned her toe. She ruffled her baker’s dress and straightened her long purple hair as the knocking grew intense. “I’m coming!” she yelled impatiently while power walking to the door.

She messed with her hair one last time before opening the door and nearly getting bowled over by her best friend Devon Cross. Her own black dress and messy black hair suggested she had been in a struggle of some kind, not to mention her erratic pacing and nervous shaking. Devon grabbed Sonya’s arms and begged her, “Please! You’ve got to help me! They’re after me! They think I’m a witch!”

Sonya cupped her hands over Devon’s face and said, “Settle down. Who’s after you?”

“The Order of Light! They’re going to burn me alive! Hide me somewhere!” Devon shouted frantically, to which Sonya shushed her and motioned her to hide under her straw bed.

There was another knock on Sonya’s door and this time it sounded like boxing punches. “Open the door, harlot!” a male voice shouted. “We know you’re in there! God has no place for you in this world! Come out here so we can send you straight to hell with the rest of the demons!” The knocking grew so violent that splinters breezed off the cottage door. Sonya once again scrambled to fix her dress and hair before frantically answering the door.

At her doorstep stood a small, white-robed militia carrying poleaxes and torches, their leader as hefty as a pumpkin and scraggly as a yeti. “Where is she?” asked the leader in a gruff and furious voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, good sir,” said Sonya with a modicum of innocence as she leaned against her doorway.

“Don’t lie to me, young lady. Lying is a sin. We know you’re harboring a witch in that cottage of yours and if you don’t surrender her to us, we’ll have you crucified as well!”

“There’s nobody here but me, sir,” said Sonya. “I’m just baking pies and getting ready for a wonderful meal.”

“Baking pies, huh?” asked the lead witch hunter, who sniffed the air with his piggish snout and gagged with his tongue hanging out. “Smells like ogre dung if you ask me! Your husband should be ashamed of such perverse cooking methods!” The chubby man peeked down at her fingers and noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding band of any kind. “You don’t have a husband, do you?”

“Unfortunately, no, sir, I don’t. It’s just me here,” said Sonya with a sullen expression.

“Well then,” said the leader as he smacked his horse lips. “We’ll see if that pie of yours is any good after all.”

“I thought you said it smelled like ogre shi, I mean, ogre dung,” said Sonya while sheepishly covering her mouth after that accidental swear words.

“I wasn’t talking about that abomination you were baking,” said the witch hunter while gazing down at Sonya’s crotch with drooling lips and wild eyes. The single lady slowly backed away, but the witch hunters swarmed on her, grabbing her arms and legs while she struggled and yelled to be let go. “Come on, everyone! Who wants to get married to this fine young piece of ass?!”

The cheers of the witch hunters sent shivers down Sonya’s spine and numbness throughout her brain while she was being pinned to the floor by these heavy men. She had experienced sexism all the time at her religious school, but never once had this many men tried to gang up on her at once. The brushing of their skin against hers, the whips of their tongues, and their ale-stench breath made her want to vomit inside out.

Sonya’s dress was flipped over her head and her crotch was exposed to these piggish beasts who dared hide behind religion to justify their actions. Any minute now, she would feel a disgusting piece of meat driven into her repeatedly again and again. And then…the witch hunters backed off toward the doorway.

After catching her breath and flipping her dress back down, Sonya gazed with weary eyes at the floating pot of pie filling, which glided across the air and toward the jittery witch hunters. The still piping hot filling bubbled and shot in the air like a geyser before splashing down on each of the witch hunters’ faces. They screamed like little girls and scrambled around clutching their burned flesh.

Sonya took this opportunity to leap to her feet and kick the lead witch hunter in the balls, which made him scream at an even higher pitch. He plopped to the ground while crawling away on his hands and knees. One of the other witch hunters tried to “grab that bitch”, but the pot of pie filling slammed him square in the stomach and doubled him over. Taking a hint from each other’s misery, the witch hunters scrambled in retreat and disappeared behind the dense foliage of the forest, shouting like they were being gutted alive with an olive fork.

Sonya shivered in both anger and traumatic fear. Somehow kicking that man in the balls wasn’t enough for her. She wanted to rip him limb from limb and use his body parts to beat the holy hell out of his disgusting friends. She wanted to rip their skins off and wear them like a winter coat. She wanted to use their innards as filling for her strawberry pie and wolf it down like…well…a starving wolf.

“Are you at all considering dropping out of religious school?” said Devon Cross, who stood in Sonya’s doorway with a green aura surrounding her hands and a wicked smile on her face.

Sonya wanted to thank her for the obvious witchcraft that saved her from a gang rape, but instead she slapped the smile right off of her friend’s face. “How dare you lead those men to my house?! If your witchcraft is so great, why didn’t you just take them down beforehand?! I actually believed that you were anything but a witch! You lied to me, Devon! You lied to me and almost got me killed!”

“Settle down, sweetheart,” mocked Devon. “I came over to your house because I didn’t know if my magic would work or not. I’d only been studying it for a couple of months now and, really, how much can you learn in a couple of months?”

“You shouldn’t be studying that crap at all, Devon!” belted Sonya. “You could have gotten the two of us killed! You know the Order of Light despises that kind of magic!”

“So you’re just going to do what the Order of Light tells you to do for the rest of your life?” asked Devon with arms folded. “You’re a fucking drone, Sonya Jade. You really are.”

“Watch your mouth, Devon! He could be watching us!” whispered Sonya angrily.

“Who could be watching us?!” roared Devon. “The man upstairs? The man downstairs? The man in the middle level? Who?! Who the fuck is listening to the conversation about witchcraft?! And while I’m at it…” Devon stepped out in the middle of Sonya’s hard and did a kick dance while singing “Goddamn it!” repeatedly in a joyful tone. Sonya tried to shush her, but the dancing and singing continued even louder.

“For fuck’s sake, Devon, knock that fucking shit off!” shouted Sonya, which prompted her to cover her dirty mouth and Devon to stop dancing like a fool.

“You hear that, babe?” asked the witch while cupping Sonya’s face in her hands. “That’s what I like to see. You don’t really give a shit about that stupid religion. You’re just scared. You’re scared of what those men will do to you when they recover. You’re scared of what the entire Order of Light will do. You’re scared of the afterlife that follows. Or maybe what really scares you…is that they’ll eventually find out your little secret.”

Sonya’s eyes widened and her lips quivered while she stuttered, “W..what secret?”

“The secret that involves one of these,” said Devon with lust dripping off of her words like the pie filling that never was. She planted a passionate kiss on her friend’s lips and Sonya did nothing to reject it or even show the slightest amount of disgust. The tongues swirling sent butterflies flapping in Sonya’s stomach and a sparkle of wetness in her nether regions.

Once their kiss was over, Devon fondled Sonya’s hair and wiped the resulting tears from her eyes. “How did you know?” asked Miss Jade.

“Never mind how I know, Sonya. You’re asking the wrong question. The real question is…why are you so afraid? You’ve crossed the point of no return with that kiss. The Order of Light has nothing over you anymore. If you learned witchcraft with me, the two of us can be unstoppable. Catch my drift, sweetie? Or am I about to get you killed again?”

This time, it was Sonya’s turn to plant a sexy kiss on Devon Cross’s mouth. Her lips tasted sweeter than any strawberry pie she could have baked. Wrestling with her tongue eased the demons in her mind of what almost happened with the witch hunters. Men were disgusting to her, but Devon was easy to fall in love with. Her silky black hair, her creamy dark skin, and her curvy figure made her feel alive with every kiss. Fuck the Order of Light and everything that they stood for.

A Real Woman

The girl’s locker room at Richmond High School was alive with chatter and giggling. These girls talked about everything whether it was the latest rumors, boys, their parents, or whatever. The mass conversation fell into deep silence when Jenny Andrews entered the locker room wearing blond hair extensions, a Papa Roach tank top , a denim skirt, and high heeled sneakers.

As Jenny was getting changed into her workout clothes, the other girls glared their evilest glares at her with their arms folded. She pretended not to pay attention to them, but when she took off her skirt to change into black shorts, her penis was exposed to every one of these girls. Such was the focus of these girls’ wicked stares.

“Jonny? What the hell are you doing here? This is the girl’s locker room, you pervert!” The girl who said that was the tallest, most intimidating, and meanest of the group of girls, Melissa Moore. She was decked out in a white Richmond High T-shirt and neon green shorts. Her muscular legs looked like they could do some damage if she threw a hard enough kick. Her long hair was as black as her soul, and no, she didn’t require extensions.

Jenny sheepishly turned around to face Melissa, but crouched backwards in fear and said, “It’s not Jonny. It’s Jenny.”

“Of course, what was I thinking? You come in here dressed in a skirt and high heels and I should automatically assume you’re a fucking woman. Your dick is as clear as day, buddy. Go change in the boy’s locker room like you’re supposed to!” said Melissa as she pointed at Jenny with her manicured index finger.

Silence overtook the room and anxiety built up in Jenny’s stomach. She gagged and coughed, but that was the only sign of backing down she would give. Melissa marched over, her bare feet slamming hard on the tile floor. “Hey! Are you deaf?!” she yelled before grabbing Jenny by her shirt and slamming her back first against the steel lockers. “I told you to get out of here! You’re a boy! You need to change in the boy’s locker room, asshole!”

Jenny Andrews winced and cowered in Melissa’s tight grip. The transgender student couldn’t even muster any intense energy when she said, “Fuck you, Melissa. You’re a whore.”

The entire girl’s locker room laughed at Jenny’s weak attempt at bravery while Melissa only gave an amused half-smile. “You’re tough, Jonny. You’re tough. I never knew you had the balls to stand up to me. Oh wait, yes, I did, because you’re a guy!”

The Amazonian Melissa Moore powerfully tossed Jenny to the center of the locker room.  While the transsexual was down, every girl started kicking and clawing at her. Bumps, bruises, and cuts were forming all over Jenny’s legs, arms, and ribs. But her biggest signs of pain were her eyes dribbling with tears and her demonic shouts to tell her attackers to stop. Her screams were then being muffled by blood pouring out of her throat in tiny drops.

Jenny Andrews could have very well died in this locker room if it hadn’t been for a cloud of white smoke blasting through and forcing the girls to cough violently. As soon as they wiped their eyes and got most of their oxygen back, they saw their gym teacher, Jessica Sullivan, holding a fire extinguisher with a scrunched up, angry facial expression. “Who’s leading this mob?” she asked in a firm, yet low key tone.

The girls were quick to point at Melissa Moore, who looked less like a giantess and more like a guilty fool covered in white powder. Her facial expression was that of a courtroom defendant who was just given the death penalty. Her shoulders were slouched and her breathing was slower.

Miss Sullivan, with the fire extinguisher still pointed on her target, marched over to Melissa, almost touched faces with her, and said, “What the hell is wrong with you? You and your lackeys could have killed this poor girl. Is that what you want? You want to be a murderer? Tell me, Melissa: who taught you how to hate? It sure as shit wasn’t anybody from this school.”

Melissa struggled to find the words, but said, “I was just trying to get this pervert out of our locker room. Come on, Miss Sullivan. He’s a guy! There’s no telling what he could have done to us!”

Miss Sullivan looked down at Jenny Andrews, who was on her knees sobbing this whole time and nursing her lumpy wounds. “She looks like a real woman to me,” said the gym teacher.

“Are you kidding me? We saw his dick!” said Melissa.

“Oh, so now you want to talk about this poor girl’s genitals? Why, because she’s a transsexual and it’s suddenly okay to talk to them like that? What about you, Melissa? Is it okay if I talk about your genitals? How’s your vagina doing these days? You don’t have any green pus leaking out of it, do you? You might want to see a doctor about that!” said Miss Sullivan.

Melissa hung her head in shame, but Jessica wasn’t done yet. “Here’s what I want you to do. And everyone here needs to listen up as well. I want each and every one of you to get dressed and go to the principal’s office. Let the principal know just how hateful and disgusting each and every one of you are!”

“As opposed to the trans whore over here?” said Melissa while pointing at Jenny, who then stood up and threw a wild punch to her jaw, knocking the bigot to the ground and causing her gums to bleed. The other girls gasped in horror while Jenny looked down on Melissa with fiery eyes. After the transsexual spit a wad of blood on the floor, Melissa said through her own bloody mouth, “See? See what she just did?! Punish her too!”

Miss Sullivan made a flat tire noise and said, “I didn’t see a goddamn thing. Now get up, get dressed, and get your ass to the principal’s office.”

The result didn’t come without the girls whispering about how their punishment was “bullshit” and slamming their locker doors as hard as they could, but get dressed and exit the locker room they did. As the bigoted girls made their way to the principal’s office, it was just Jenny and Miss Sullivan alone together.

“Thank you. Thank you for everything,” said Jenny through quivering lips.

“You don’t have to thank me, Jenny. I was happy to do it for you. If nobody else has your back around here, then I do. I’ve seen the worst of what this high school has to offer and it’s not going to get easier for you. You have to fight for what you believe in. You have to fight for your individuality. Maybe it’s not a good idea to do it through physicality, but if you have to defend yourself, there’s no other way,” said Jessica in a soft and caring voice.

Jenny wiped her tears and blood off of her face and sorrowfully said, “Ever since I came out as a woman, people have been treating me differently. I see their stares. I hear their whispers. But this is the first time I’ve been assaulted since then. Well, the first at this school. My own family won’t back me up on this. They still think I’m a man.”

As the transgender girl cried some more, Miss Sullivan put down the fire extinguisher and gave her a tender hug. With a whispery voice, she said, “Behind every beautiful thing, there’s some pain. You’re not a man. You’re the most beautiful woman in this whole school. You’re going to make it through high school and you’re going to be stronger for it. We need more women like you, Jenny, and less like Melissa.”

When their embrace broke, Jenny asked, “Why are you helping me? I know you’re a teacher and that’s your job, but…”

“Yes, I am a teacher,” said Miss Sullivan. “But I also hold a secret I’ve never told anybody before until now. You’ve probably heard the whispers about me personally and though I haven’t said it yet, it is true. I’m a lesbian. And I’m married to the most amazing woman in the world. Some people were cool with that, others weren’t. Quite frankly, I don’t care what people think of me and you shouldn’t either. What matters most is what you and I feel on the inside. A real woman listens to her heart, not her critics.”

Jenny wiped more tears and blood from her face and for the first time in a long time smiled a beautiful white-toothed smile. “Thank you, Miss Sullivan. I needed to hear that.”

“And thank you, Jenny, for not letting those girls take your smile away from you,” said the gym teacher. “Picture perfect, that’s what it is.”

"A Naughty New Year's Eve" by Marie Krepps

BOOK TITLE: A Naughty New Year’s Eve
AUTHOR: Marie Krepps
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Fictional Short Story
SUBGENRE: Vampire Erotica
GRADE: Pass


If you’re a reader of Marie Krepps’ “Some By Day, Some By Night” series, you’ve probably had this fantasy at least five or six times: the curvy Marla and the supermodel Morgan getting it on. Not only will Ms. Krepps’ short story make your wildest fantasies come true, it’ll make them last for as long as it takes you to climax. Forget the bed of roses, the sugary chocolates, and the silly cheese balls. No formalities here, just good old fashioned love-making between two of the sexiest vampires in the world of literature today. These two have had enough violence and war to last them an eternity as vampires. Let them have a little fun every once and a while!

As someone who reads Marie Krepps’ work on a frequent basis, I know firsthand that she doesn’t fool around when it comes to the sex scenes. Her characters will lick, kiss, suck, and squeeze every inch of each other’s bodies before the story really begins to earn its X-rating with the rough penetration and the endless passion. It should come as no surprise that this woman once had a book of short stories called Box of Chocolates. Trust me when I say, reading this short story will be a more orgasmic experience than swallowing the entire Hershey’s Chocolate factory and chasing it with a Twix bar. And by the way, left Twix and right Twix bars are the same damn thing, so go ahead and pull out your packing tape…but only if Marla and Morgan are the ones doing the binding. Hehe!

On a less perverted note, Marie isn’t just writing short story after short story: she’s building an entire world for these vampires to live in. The entire series of vampire erotica novels and stories is called “Some By Day, Some By Night”. This sexy adventure could be considered a vacation from the bloodshed, gore, and heartache the other stories bring about (not that those things are bad, but we all need a little hot action every once and a while). It’s a reminder just to relax and have fun with your life instead of taking everything too seriously all the time. I could learn to enjoy that message.

One last thing and then I’ll leave you all to your sexily fun reading adventure. In case you guys weren’t aware, Marie has been my personal mentor since the beginning of 2015. As a mentor, she always encourages me to show instead of tell. In other words, don’t tell us that Mitch McLeod is angry, show us his intense body language. In the case of Marie’s short story “A Naughty New Year’s Eve”, she practices what she preaches, and that’s what makes the sexy action so hot and boner-worthy to begin with. We can see with our own eyes what these two horny young ladies are doing to each other. The more we see, the more energetic we become.

Marie is an independent author through and through, but she writes like a pro and speaks like a badass. Every passing and extra credit grade I’ve given to her was earned through hard work and sagely wisdom. I’d like to think it takes a great deal of wisdom to be a writer and a mentor. If that’s the case, then I’m proud to be learning from the best. A passing grade will be assigned to this ultra-steamy sex story. She knocked it out of the park yet again!

Violet Smith

NAME: Violet Smith
AGE: 28
OCCUPATION: Mixed-Martial Artist
CANON: Choice


Abortion is a sensitive topic no matter who you talk to. The mixed-martial arts community are not known for their sensitivity. So why then would I in 2012 write ten-page long story that combines both of those things? The MMA community is the same group of people who went bat shit crazy when Fallon Fox came out as a transsexual woman. How do you think they’re going to handle news of a female fighter having an abortion so that she can continue her career? They’re going to handle it the same way conservative wing nut and MMA fighter Violet Smith handled it: with hellfire and fury.

In the story known as “Choice”, the main character and fellow MMA featherweight Rachel Gustafson dispels pregnancy rumors at a press conference by sugar coating the fact that she had an abortion. Violet Smith, another featherweight and a religious zealot, screamed at Rachel and almost got in a fight with her right there at the conference. Somewhere down the line, Rachel and Violet would meet inside the eight sides of steel. Not only would Rachel win in the first round, but she would steal Violet’s abused boyfriend Neil Hahn afterwards.

I’ve always envisioned Violet Smith as being the conservative version of fellow female villain Colleen Owens. Violet is loud, obnoxious, in-your-face, crass, rude, and egotistical. To show you how much of a crazy bitch she is, in “Choice”, she compared Rachel Gustafson to kid rapist Phil Garrido in the sense of how they treat small children. If that doesn’t get your blood boiling, nothing will. That’s the kind of sick joke that causes PTSD in a lot of people. Violet Smith was the clear villain of that short story.

But did she need to be THAT much of a villain? Did she need to achieve Complete Monster status by not only traumatizing women who’ve had abortions, but also abusing her boyfriend at the time Neil Hahn? The poor guy had a 1-4 MMA record and thought he could jump start his career by hanging out with a woman who was 12-3, a former Women’s Featherweight Champion, and a multiple time post-fight bonus money winner. Neil shed the blood, sweat, and tears it took to be an MMA elite, but only because he was being slapped in the face and screamed at by Violet, criminal that she was.

As a writer, it’s my job to invoke emotions within my readers. Extreme anger may not be the best choice, which is why Violet Smith is currently in my unemployed pile. I actually had an idea of what I could do with her. I could Clockwork Orange her ass! Yeah! If she wants to go around beating up helpless women and downtrodden men, let her pay the same price as Alex De Large.

She could be shown films of anti-abortion and other Christian crusaders committing violence while a Demon Hunter, Skillet, or We As Human song is playing in the background. And then afterwards she can confront the ghosts of those she hurt in a sensory deprivation chamber, but that’s not Clockwork Orange, that’s Tales From the Hood’s fourth story Hardcore Convert.

But if I put Violet Smith through a Clockwork Orange storyline, will she be as defiant as she was when she was free or will she break down and have a moment of clarity? Can she really look a hallucination of Rachel Gustafson in the eyes and ask for forgiveness? Can she do the same thing to real life female MMA fighters like Liz Carmouche and Raquel Pennington, who are both openly lesbian and probably offended by Violet’s zeal?

But since this is an MMA fighter we’re talking about, maybe instead of confronting the hallucinations and giving them a bunch of false answers, we could have an actual match. Yeah! If Violet is really as remorseless as she says she is, let’s see if she can put Jessica Andrade in a rear-naked choke or TKO Fallon Fox into oblivion. If that’s the case, she won’t be winning any major championships. She’ll be showing the prison guards that she’s far from ready for normal society.

The Clockwork Orange angle is just one possibility that I’ve thought about. There are so many other things she can do. She can be a Dungeons & Dragons cleric for all I care. And since she’s good at unarmed combat, she can probably be a cleric and monk homebrew class. She can tell people to “Choose life!” while throwing a flying bullet kick a la Liu Kang from Mortal Kombat. But no matter what role she took, she will always be a villain due to her obnoxious Complete Monster mentality. In the case of D&D, she would be a level five lawful evil cleric/monk. Violet, have you met my good friends Deus Shadowheart and Brutus Warcry? They’re dying to get to know you! Hehe!

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I apologize, you son of a bitch!”

-Vince McMahon to CM Punk-

Strangers Kissing

Let’s face it, people: we live in a world where the lines of communication are open (because of smart phones and the internet), but nobody talks to each other. I’m not proud to say I’m guilty of this myself. I have god knows how many friends on Face Book, yet I can’t be bothered to talk directly to them. Part of it is because of my own shyness. I can’t get passed these barriers between myself and my friends (and family) because I don’t know how to break them down. That’s why when I watched the “20 Strangers Kiss for the First Time” video, a part of me died and went to romantic heaven. Twenty strangers means ten random couples altogether, eight heterosexual couples, one lesbian couple, and one gay couple. I can’t put enough emphasis on the idea that these people were complete strangers to each other. Naturally, they were a little shy at first when asked to kiss each other. But kiss each other they did. Some of them were pecks on the lips, others were full-on tongue kisses. Any barriers these “couples” had between them were knocked over with authority. When somebody kisses you that passionately for seemingly no reason, it doesn’t take away from the fact that they’re giving you something worth having: trust. These strangers weren’t forced into doing this. I don’t even know if they were paid for being actors in this video. With a barrier between them and a camera capturing their tender moment, they gave each other their trust. A lot of trust. That trust was well-deserved too. None of these people would have agreed to kiss each other if the other person was a sociopath or a jerk. Even though they were complete strangers, they saw something in each other’s eyes that made them want to kiss. Again, they could have opted out of the movie and they didn’t. Just watch the video on You Tube if you haven’t already. It’s a beautiful experience and will restore your faith in a humanity tainted by violence, shallowness, and evil. The video is only a few minutes long, but that’ll be long enough to melt your heart like a stick of butter. It’ll even make you want to be a part of this video. And while you’re feeling these emotions of vicarious romance, if you have any interest in preserving them, don’t read the comments underneath the video. Among the ignorant remarks include homophobic slurs toward the gay couple, accusations of the actors being hipsters, suggestions that it’s somehow fake, etc. You have to remember that You Tubers, while sometimes entertaining, are not always the sharpest bulbs in the drawer. Or is it the brightest knives? Aw, fuck, here we go again. Anyways, just go to You Tube and type “Strangers Kissing” in the search engine. It’ll make you jealous, but it’ll also break your heart. Maybe there will be a few tears in your eyes, you never know.

　

***FACE BOOK MEME OF THE DAY***

“You can’t jack off to lesbian porn hours a day and then say you’re against gay marriage.”

-Being Liberal-

"Are You My Mother?" by Alison Bechdel

Here’s the deal, folks. I enjoyed reading this book. I really did. I could appreciate the themes of trying to get along with one’s mother, going to a therapist for comfort and answers, and looking for love in the strangest places. Still, given everything, I can’t say that I know what Alison Bechdel was going through in those times. Nobody really can ever know how another person feels since all life paths have their own degree of uniqueness. The multi-layered style in which Alison Bechdel wrote this graphic novel makes it even harder for her audience to understand her situation. In order to figure out what her dreams mean and how to cope with the stress of dealing with an overbearing mother, Alison checks out psychology books from the library and studies the different schools of thought that go into this science. There’s Freud’s method, which was all about the subconscious and the creative material lost within. And then we have a fellow by the name of Donald Winnicott, a psychoanalyst who specialized in relationships between parents and children. Alison becomes so engrossed in this academic reading material that she begins to see Mr. Winnicott as a mother figure himself. In fact, she sees little hints of her mother in several different people, from her therapists to her girlfriends (she‘s a lesbian, in case you couldn‘t tell). In the end, what she wanted was somebody to love her for who she is. She had to go through many emotional hardships to find unconditional love, but it’s all worth it in the end. Stephen Chbosky said it best when he claimed “We accept the love we think we deserve.” In terms of “Are You My Mother?”, the reason Alison Bechdel was experiencing so many anxiety attacks was because she was afraid of getting more of the same disapproval from the people around her, especially her mother. Her mother didn’t even want her to write “Fun Home” at first, let alone this graphic memoir. Things change drastically as the story progresses. Whether you can decipher the educated language and the psychoanalysis or not, you can still find solace in this book. If you’ve ever had a fucked up psychology at any point in your life, grab a copy and get lost in the ocean of despair. It matters not if you’re gay, straight, old, young, male, female, or anything else for that matter. If you can’t relate, make yourself relate. Alison Bechdel makes it easy to do that whether you understand her methods or not.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“A father is a mother-fucker.”

-George Carlin-

"Napalm and Silly Putty" by George Carlin

George Carlin had a career that spanned multiple decades of giggles and guffaws. And now you can have the best of his routines in one single book. It’s called “Napalm and Silly Putty” and reveals the dual nature in which he thrived. The napalm represents his destructive, dark, and violent side, while silly putty represents his giggly and joyful side. Put them together and you’ve got the makings of Mr. George Carlin. This book was published in 2001. Think of all the comedy routines you’ve heard before that time and jam them into this well-written book. You’ve got his jabs against pro-lifers, his love for entropy, his reasons why certain sports shouldn’t be considered as such, his hatred for euphemistic language, and many others that not only provoke thought, but also garner hyena cackling. And then you’ve got some routines and short takes that weren’t previously in his material, my favorite out of all of the unknowns being the death wishes section. If you’re feeling really suicidal, walk through Harlem dressed in a KKK robe or go to a cult sacrifice with a crucifix and a priest collar around your neck. Not only will you have more bruises on your body than hairs on your head, but you might actually pass on to the afterlife. And then you have those short takes that he bursts into every once and a while. “An art thief is someone who takes pictures”. Think about that one for a moment. Remember his routine about not giving a shit if the pandas fuck again this year? That’s in there too. He’d have to include that one, because really, can you actually get a hard-on while some loser in a green shirt is taking your girlfriend’s rectal temperature? Leave these creatures alone! Of course, a George Carlin book wouldn’t be complete if he didn’t have a list of war statistics. You know, the number of times we’ve had “enhanced interrogations”, “terrorist attacks”, “beheadings”, and “counter-insurgencies”. There are no real stories in this book. It’s basically a compilation of his greatest routines. If you’re looking for a structured story, check out “Last Words”. But if you’re in the mood for achy ribs and a crooked spine from laughing so hard, buy this book today.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Catholics and other Christians are against abortion and they’re against homosexuals. Well, who has less abortions than homosexuals?! Leave these fucking people alone for Christ’s sake! Here’s an entire population of people guaranteed never to have an abortion! And the Catholics and Christians are just tossing them aside! You’d think they’d make natural allies!”

-George Carlin-

"Fun Home" by Alison Bechdel

It’s Saturday afternoon and you don’t feel like getting out of bed. The skies are as gray as television static. A few cloudy tears might fall from the sky and freeze the air like a meat locker. For days like these, the first thing you probably want to do is grab a blanket and a book and immerse yourself in literature. In this case, you’ll want to grab a copy of “Fun Home” by Alison Bechdel, where the greenish-gray graphic novel pages resemble the rainy mood of that day’s weather. Unlike most graphic novels, there are no superheroes with heat vision and bloodbaths that empty into the sidewalk storm drain. This is a lesbian memoir. More importantly, it’s Alison Bechdel’s personal quest for knowledge as to why her strict and secretly gay father died the way he did. She has many theories. Because he wanted to escape from homophobic cruelty, because he wanted to escape from being married to a woman, because he wanted to take his secret to the grave with him, etc. But even more intriguing to Miss Bechdel is how her dad’s sexuality influenced her own since she too is a homosexual. She was fascinated by little nuances such as having short hair, dressing like a tomboy, engaging in predominately male hobbies, and so many others. In case you don’t have enough appreciation for how hard this personal mystery solving must have been for Miss Bechdel considering her complex relationship with her father, listen to this. Since the artistic style of the comic book is more realistic than what she’s used to, she resorted to taking photographs of herself in the corresponding poses and using them as reference pictures when she did her drawing. A lesser artist would have taken the easy way out and drawn in a simpler comic book style. But to go through all of this painstaking effort to put together a graphic novel about self-discovery? That takes not only a great deal of patience, but an even greater deal of dedication. All things considered, it’s no wonder why this wonderful graphic novel received so much attention from award-givers. “Fun Home” is also required reading for a lot of college classes. I know because I took one of those classes at WWU. Congratulations, Alison Bechdel, for creating something beautiful out of the complexity of your past. That’s the mark of a true artist.

　

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

LINDSAY: You know the thing about writing? People are always trying to give you advice, but sometimes you just have to go back to your own room and do it yourself.
GEENA: Sounds like my sex life lately.

-Playtime-

"The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty" by Anne Rice

If you’re looking for a sweet, gentle romance novel that will win your heart and make you shed tears of joy, this isn’t the book for you. If, on the other hand, you want a permanent hard-on and a reason to flush all of your Viagra down the toilet, Anne Rice is the author you want to turn to. She wrote a book back in the early 80’s called “The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty”, which takes a normally innocent fairy tell and turns it into the sexiest piece of literature you’ll ever read. It matters not what your gender or preference is, because at the beginning of the book, Anne Rice specifically says that this novel is “For the enjoyment of men and women.” Yeah, no kidding. This book has everything you could ever want in a sexual fantasy: hardcore bondage, man-on-woman intercourse, woman-on-woman action, and from time to time, man-on-man action. As I’ve said before, it doesn’t matter what your sexual preferences are, because sooner or later, no matter who’s getting it where, you’re going to have some serious libido afterwards. Do you all remember that episode of Family Guy where Glenn Quagmire discovers internet porn and suddenly his right arm is more muscular and toned than the left arm? That’s going to be you by the time you complete the first chapter. Maybe after the first page. But as sexy as this book is, there are some points in it that are completely mind boggling. Having sex slaves run around a track and jump through hoops like circus lions? That’s a little bit bizarre even for the bondage genre. All in all, I can’t complain, because those bizarre moments are very few and far between. There are far more hot and sexy moments than there are weird and awkward moments. The one moment that’s my personal favorite is when Prince Alexi has sex with The Queen for the first time. And then afterwards, she grabs various body parts of his and claims that they are hers. And when I say body parts, I’m obviously not doing a good job of being subtle. In short, if you want something that’ll make a Playboy magazine seem about as fun as The Wall Street Journal, buy this book. I will admit, though, that it’s not the quickest read you’ll ever have. But then again, with sweet action like this, it doesn’t have to be. You’re not just going to be hooked all the way through this book, you’re going to be chained and gagged to it as well.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“She is dangerous, she is dangerous, I’m sure. And she’s all dressed up and knocking at my door. She is dangerous, she is dangerous, I know. But she’s got my heart and she’s never letting go.”

-James Blunt singing “Dangerous”-