Be Disgusting

VERSE 1

They’re always the first to play the victim

And then label you as the genocidal villain

Embrace your dark side like it’s all you got

Stuck in this role whether you like it or not

Teabags, fisting, not a whole lot of resisting

F-bombs, S-bombs, jokes about their moms

Exploiting the deaths of their grandparents

“There’s a place in hell for entitled Karens”

PRE-CHORUS

Put on your dark cloak, laugh like a freak

Unzip your fly and give them a sneak peek

You are the monster that they’ve created

God, it never felt so good to be this hated!

CHORUS 1

Be! Disgusting! B-E disgusting!

Be! Disgusting! ‘Cause nobody’s worth trusting!

VERSE 2

Kyle’s brother didn’t die because of a vaccine

He just never knew what family love means

Gloria’s daughter didn’t need essential oils

Still got a body covered in lesions and boils

What’s the matter, Todd? Did I offend you?

You did the same to me, it was time to end you

I’m what you see when you look in the mirror

I sunk to your low, can I make it any clearer?

PRE-CHORUS

Put on your dark cloak, laugh like a freak

Unzip your fly and give them a sneak peek

You are the monster that they’ve created

God, it never felt so good to be this hated!

CHORUS 2

Be! Revolting! B-E revolting!

Be! Revolting! No hands are worth holding!

BRIDGE

Dr. Frankenstein’s got nothing on them

Could build an army of temporary friends

It’s all seduction no matter how you slice it

So take their Kool-Aid and fucking spike it

PRE-CHORUS

Put on your dark cloak, laugh like a freak

Unzip your fly and give them a sneak peek

You are the monster that they’ve created

God, it never felt so good to be this hated!

CHORUS 3

Be! Repulsive! B-E repulsive!

Be! Repulsive! Take nobody’s bullshit!

Be! Disgusting! B-E disgusting!

Be! Disgusting! Now their armor is rusting!

Be! Disgusting!

Be! Disgusting!

Be! Disgusting!

B-E disgusting!

Bands With Gimmicks

***BANDS WITH GIMMICKS***

I can’t remember the exact year, but Nickelback frontman Chad Kroeger once gave an interview where he poked fun at Slipknot for relying on their horror mask gimmicks too much. As much as I love listening to Nickelback, I’m going to strongly disagree with Chad on that one. Who said gimmicks have to be a bad thing? Why can’t bands have fun gimmicks AND fun music. Slipknot frontman Corey Taylor rightfully put Chad Kroeger in his place, saying he has a face like a foot among other topnotch insults. You know the meme, “What does Corey Taylor think of this?” Now you know.

But in all seriousness, what’s wrong with having a gimmick? It’s not just limited to bands, either. Pro-wrestlers have gimmicks. MMA fighters have gimmicks. Artists have gimmicks. Basically, if you take any profession and add a character quirk to it, congratulations, you’ve got one fun-loving motherfucker. A corporate suit with a gimmick? Sure, it can happen. Suppose a corporate stooge walks in the office one day wearing a Slipknot mask and blasting “People = Shit” from his smart phone. I’d want to hang out with that guy all day long!

Having a character trait of some kind doesn’t detract from the actual profession. In fact, as a writer, I encourage it in my characters. I want to write about abnormal characters with creepy face paint. I want to write about elven warriors with superhero costumes. I want to write about highway drifters who dress like Prince. If there was ever a time to talk about three-dimensional characters, a fun and goofy gimmick could be one of those many dimensions.

But let’s get back to the topic at hand, which is about musical acts who use gimmicks in their art. Chad Kroeger can be as bland and vanilla as he wants, but gimmicked bands have been around since rock and roll was even a thing. Pink Floyd could be considered a gimmick band, especially with the many trademarks surrounding their act. The putty faced masks, the floating pig, the rainbow prism, the ass judge, basically, anything from The Wall could be considered a part of Pink Floyd’s gimmick. They made an entire movie out of that album, so who says gimmicks don’t mean anything? By the way, that movie is one of my favorites of all time, not just as a musical, but as a full-fledged story about a man going absolutely bat-shit crazy.

You know who else has a gimmick to go along with their music? Ghost. Their lead singer dresses in a Pope outfit and has creepy paint all over his face. His band mates wear black robes and demonic masks. Their presentation has satanic symbols all over the stage, which reflects a lot of their lyrical content. Ghost is a fun band to listen to and see live, which I’m about to figure out for myself this coming September when they come to Seattle. Yeeeeeeee!

Any other bands with gimmicks? Babymetal has an anime gimmick. Starset has a space opera gimmick. Rob Zombie and Marilyn Manson both have horror movie and satanic gimmicks. Not only do these bands look awesome in concert, but they also produce high quality music to boot. So again, what’s wrong with a musician having a character trait? Anybody? Can anyone answer this without sounding more vanilla and ignorant than Chad Kroeger? Maybe Bill Maher would like to weigh in on this topic. Just kidding, we already know he’s a boring person!

So what kind of gimmick would you like to see in your own characters? A skull-decorated necromancer? A heavily-tattooed alien warrior? A fiendish goblin with a fiery dagger? The possibilities are as endless as your own imagination. But not all characters in your stories have to have gimmicks. They don’t have to be elaborate, especially if they’re passive side characters who don’t add a whole lot to the story. That’s okay.

But if your character drives the entire story, he’d better be interesting in some way. He doesn’t have to have pentagrams tattooed all over his pale body, but he does need to capture your reader’s attention and hold onto that motherfucker for the rest of the story. While gimmicks aren’t always necessary, they shouldn’t be shrugged off so easily by the conformists of the world. In fact, I’d dare say we need a…corrosion of conformity! See what I did there?

I know you all are waiting for me to give examples from my own writing of gimmicked characters (you totally aren’t). So here they are. Beautiful Monster’s main villainess is femme fatale with a libertarian business model and a penchant for vanilla ice cream. Beautiful Monster’s main hero is an elven warrior who worships a lion god and lashes the shit out of his opponents with a chain whip. Incelbordination’s main villain is a Matrix parody who complains about not getting laid and exacts vengeance with a machete and brainwashed followers. Incelbordination’s main hero is a dwarf with a boxing background and plenty of angry reasons to use his fists. Need more examples? Here’s one…

From 2016 to 2017, I wrote a first draft novel called Demon Axe, a chosen one narrative about a titular heavy metal band with a dark fantasy gimmick. They wear robes on stage, they wear creepy masks, they drink bubbling potions before they perform, they have satanic symbols everywhere, and the lead singer’s microphone looks like a war hatchet. This story only a shitty first draft and it’ll be a while before I take it to critiqueville, but I’m proud of it all the same. Plus, Demon Axe brings us back to the original topic of this blog entry being about musical acts. Yay!

Got any fascinating gimmicks you want to talk about? I’m all ears! I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight! Hey, there’s another gimmick right there! That sign-off phrase is from a horror anthology called Tales From the Dark Side! Nice!

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

WOLVERINE: Aren’t you going to tell me to stay away from your girl?

CYCLOPS: If I had to do that, she wouldn’t be my girl.

WOLVERINE: Well, then I guess you’ve got nothing to worry about…Cyclops.

CYCLOPS: I bet it just burns you up inside that a boy like me had to save you. You’d better be careful. I might not be there next time. Oh, and Logan? Stay away from my girl.

-X-Men-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Yes, Wolverine and Cyclops are both gimmicked characters. They’re not only superheroes, but they’re awesome to watch on screen.

3:16

The Death Marshal watched over the Black Widow Amphitheater with an omniscient presence, smiling a razor-toothed smile from the hells below. This afternoon Marilyn Manson concert ran as smoothly as venom through a cobra’s victim. The band was onstage bouncing around to the tune of “Irresponsible Hate Anthem”.

The concertgoers below the stage shoved and slammed into each other in a circle pit that could knock over the heaviest of hitters. The scent of alcohol was seductive to Death Marshal’s nostrils. One lady in the pit removed her Stone Cold Steve Austin T-shirt and threw it to the ground in a heavy metal rage. The energy in this outdoor arena lit the Death Marshal’s soul on fire. The god was pleased.

But of course, nothing could be perfect forever. One bad apple always had to ruin the entire bunch. Outside the cemetery-like gates of the spider-shaped arena stood a red-dressed, purple-haired woman with a crucifix around her neck and a sign in her hand that read, “You Must Be Born Again!” She shouted at Manson fans passing through the gates in a shrieking voice that could sell her own metal albums if she so chose. They either ignored her or flipped her the bird on their way in.

“It’s not too late to save your souls!” the woman belted, pointing an elongated fingernail at passersby. “Leave this place and come to church with me! We can go to heaven together! We can experience Jesus’s love for all eternity! You don’t have to burn in hell! Let us pray together! Let’s fight the devil and push his wicked energy out of our souls! We can be pure again! You must be reborn!”

The Death Marshal couldn’t possibly understand why this woman hated everything about this arena so much. Was it the tarantula-shaped structure with the eight legs acting as tunnels to the bleachers and pit? The event staff wearing black hooded robes and steel horns? The red and orange fogged lighting that illuminated the rows and stage? The white makeup and black clothing the concertgoers were proudly wearing? The LGBT flag that someone was waving at the back of the bleachers? The gargoyle statues? The blood-soaked walls? The skulls dangling from the ceiling? The bronze statue of Death Marshal taking up the middle of the seating area?

The screaming continued despite the many middle fingers the zealot received. “Don’t you walk away from me! Don’t you turn your backs on Jesus Christ! He has sent me to punish you all for your sins! This is devil music and it must be stopped! And I am the only one who has the power to stop it! Remember the name of JoJo Tornado, your new savior and hero!”

The passersby suddenly erupted in a fit of laughter. Death Marshal couldn’t help but crack a smile and hee-haw like a demon either. All of this fanatical rhetoric, all of these mystical threats were coming from a woman named…JoJo Tornado. Many fans asked her if that was actually the name her mother gave her. Were the Tornados an extended family? Did it actually say JoJo Tornado on her driver’s license? Could she even drive without getting a DUI charge after drinking the blood of Christ? Concertgoers slapped their knees and buckled over as these thoughts circulated among them. For once, JoJo managed to be more entertaining than the concert itself, no offense to Marilyn Manson.

And then the bright sunny day turned gray and cold as soon as JoJo’s face scrunched up in anger and she threw her sign to the ground. Concertgoers who wore jorts and T-shirts to the show found themselves shivering and hugging themselves for warmth. Icy winds picked up all around the arena, so much so that the band stopped playing and looked confused. JoJo’s eyes rolled back in her head while she waved her arms around in some kind of magical dance, guiding the wind wherever she wanted it.

Hooded bouncers circled around her to try and stop this display, but the wind grew strong enough to shove them all back against the spider-legged arena tunnels. The screams of heavy metal energy turned to screams of childish terror when one of the bouncers was impaled on a stony spike, his spilling innards and shattered ribcage making this dark fantasy paradise look even more frightening.

Fans bolted for any exit they could find, resembling an animalistic stampede where concertgoers were either crushed underneath boots or picked up and slammed by the wind. Marilyn Manson and his group were long gone by then. Anybody who wanted to follow suit in their cars were shit out of luck as the wind picked up vehicles and smashed them into concertgoers and bouncers alike. The concessions stand, which looked like a stony apothecary’s hut, shattered into pebbles at the drop of an SUV, spraying a fountain of beer in the air.

Somewhere during this mad dash towards higher ground, somewhere in this sea of blood, guts, and bones, a stage prop was blown off its hinges and launched like a javelin through the heart of the Death Marshal statue, knocking it over and desecrating the one true guardian of this sacred arena.

Suddenly, the dashing stopped. Horrified looks turned to pity and rage. Concertgoers and bouncers stood still in awe of the act of blasphemy committed against the Death Marshal statue. Marilyn Manson and his band returned to the stage and glared daggers at JoJo Tornado, who in turn looked muddled by this lack of chaos she worked so hard to create. “Does this mean…you all are ready to repent? Will you come with me to the gates of heaven?” She held out her hand in a loving gesture, but nobody would take it.

They were too busy staring at the green smoke that erupted from the hole where Death Marshal’s statue used to be. The statue was supposed to be a seal for the guardian beast. It was supposed to be his sleeping grounds. The god of the arena was supposed to be a mere spectator. But he was wide awake now. A slimy brown hand gripped the ledge of the hole and then another hand followed suit. With one growling jerk, Death Marshal pulled himself out of the pit for all of his followers to see.

There he was. A giant among men. A slime-and-dirt-covered creature wrapped in mummy bandages. A foul-smelling demon whose odor would be enough of a reason to seal him away in the first place. No lips have touched his face. No eyes wanted these permanent stains. No hands wanted his corrosive feel. He looked like the devil himself and it was a label he embraced to the fullest.

“So…this is what Satan looks like,” said JoJo, determined as ever to keep the chaos going. “This is what dark seduction feels like. You all worship this false idol? You dare use the lord’s name in vain for this prophet? Then I know how what I must do. I must exorcise this beast once and for all!”

Death Marshal’s murky boots slapped against the stone ground as he rushed towards JoJo with his arms outstretched, like he wanted to wrap his mile-long digits around her pencil neck. But the wind held him in place. The dark clouds opened up and unleashed another gust of holy energy. Death Marshal threw punches and braced himself against the aeromancy, but it was no use. Even a creature with his godly strength succumbed to getting bounced off the edge of the stage and nearly knocked unconscious. His omnipresent vision faded in and out of blackness. He really was about to meet God, albeit in a puddle of his own necromantic sludge.

“Is that all you’ve got?” asked JoJo. “Is this finally proof that God’s will conquers all? Ha! Too easy!”

Pain shot through Death Marshal’s nearly cracked spine as he crawled across the ground, dragging pieces of sloppy flesh and chipped bones across the stony surface. He reached out for something. What was it? A fan’s ankle? An angel’s hand? The devil’s weapons? No. It was the Stone Cold Steve Austin T-shirt the female fan threw on the ground earlier. That fan now had an SUV crushing her bones, but her spirit lived on…as did the spirit of the Texas Rattlesnake himself. A demonic mouth opened up in Death Marshal’s palm and it consumed the woman’s T-shirt, both making JoJo shiver in disgust and the concertgoers and bouncers watch in awe and wonder.

With bones creaking and mummy wrapping tearing, Death Marshal staggered to his feet and gazed at his surroundings with blurry vision. And then he remembered why his vision was so blurry. Not because of the force of the wind slamming him against the stage. But because…he was drunk. The Budweiser flowing through his veins ignited his soul. The fans in attendance suddenly believed in their hero again with chants of “Austin! Austin! Austin! Austin!”

And then, with a stomp of his foot and a thrash of his arms, Death Marshal shouted in a familiar southern accent, “Austin 3:16 says I just whipped your ass!” The fans cheered their heads off and the band couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

JoJo Tornado scowled at her opponent and said, “Such fowl language will not be tolerated in the house of the lord! Take THAT!” She blew a gust of wind at Death Marshal and sent him flying over to the shattered beer stand. But instead of cracking his skull against the ground, he grabbed onto the beer hose and started drinking out of it like he was dying of thirst in a desert country.

After releasing a toxic burp that contributed to global warming, Death Marshal aimed the hose at JoJo and splashed her with a stream of beer. She was knocked over on her ass and scrambled to get back up, but couldn’t. The beer spray was too powerful for her, not unlike her wind magic. She even rolled backwards several feet and got some of it in her mouth. The beer stream couldn’t last forever, but it didn’t matter anymore. JoJo was soaked head to toe in alcohol. Her dress nearly fell off several times. And everyone cheered all around her.

Death Marshal stomped over to his drunken opponent, the fans parting like the Red Sea. JoJo struggled to stay on her feet despite nothing spraying her anymore. She burped, slurred her words, and actually made more sense than when she was picketing outside the gates. In that familiar southern accent, the mummy guardian said, “Don’t take this ass-whopping personally, son!” Two middle fingers later, he kicked her in the stomach and smashed her jaw over his shoulders as he dropped on his ass, or as the WWE would call it, a Stone Cold Stunner.

As fans cheered and roared all around him, Death Marshal held two middle fingers to the sky and rattled his head like the badass he was. Some of the crowd threw him cans of beer and he chugged them down within seconds, swimming in a sea of drunkenness. After another burp that rocked the arena, he said, “If you want to see me set this bitch on fire and send her straight to hell, give me a hell yeah!”

“HELL YEAH!” echoed the fans.

Death Marshal grabbed hold of JoJo’s ankle and dragged the dizzy and confused zealot back to the hole in the ground where he came from. The statue was busted. The magic was exposed. This venue probably wouldn’t make money again given the reckless nature of what happened today. But at least he could get all the sleep he wanted. As a final gesture of goodwill to their dark fantasy guardian, one of the fans slowly raised his hands in the air like another familiar WWE wrestler and threw them down on cue with flames bursting from the hole in the ground. In response, Death Marshal burped and threw the slime-covered T-shirt back up to the surface.

The magic was gone and soon everyone realized just how fucked up all of this was. Many fans and bouncers were still dead, vehicles were smashed every which way, stage and arena props were strewn all about. Not even the all mighty Death Marshal could bring them all back together. This sucked. This sucked badly. A heavy metal concert had turned into a day of trauma and death for those who just wanted a good time. Religious wars never did anybody any good. Two deities waged war and it was the public who paid the price. Marilyn Manson’s lyrics knew all about this phenomenon, oddly enough.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 27

It took fifteen seconds of staring at his own Nikes, but Craig Dunham finally said what he needed to say: “Look, Scott…I’m probably the last person who should be asking you for help right now. You threw a garbage can at me only a few months before. Hell, you probably feel like doing even more than that, maybe deck me a good one on the chin. But…I didn’t ask for this appointment for nothing, I swear to god.”

Sitting in his comfy swivel chair with the ease and professionalism of a true counselor, Scott calmly said, “Listen, Craig, whatever happened between us in the past, it’s all over now. Things are different now, just like Miss Williams said they would be. I have a new job and you happen to be my first client. You’re here for a reason and I’d probably be right in thinking it has something to do with that scar on your hand.”

Craig sighed and lifted up his hooded sweatshirt to reveal he had even more scars than that. One on his belly, one on his ribs, and a couple of bruises on his chest. Scott hypnotically gazed at them in sympathy and replied with a whispery, “Holy shit. Those are fresh. Who did this to you?” No response. “Craig, if I’m going to help you, I need to know everything that happened. How did you get these bruises? Walking into a doorknob doesn’t do that to people and neither does falling down stairs.”

“Funny, because that’s what I’ve been telling people this whole time. Anytime I took off my shirt for gym class or football practice, they’d be as plain as day. I’d laugh about them with the guys, but there’s no way in hell I’m telling them everything. Oh, and I also said they’re from being tackled during games. I think that was what threw them off my trail.”

“Craig, you didn’t answer my question.”

“My dad did this,” said Craig with trembling lips, causing Scott to lean back in his chair with even more pathos in his eyes. “He, uh…he caught me listening to some…questionable music. Here, let me show you.” As Craig choked back tears, he pulled various CD’s out of his backpack, all of the cases cracked, all of the music preaching nonconformist values: Marilyn Manson, Rob Zombie, Motionless in White, and Ghost to name a few.

“Is your dad religious?”

“Oh, that’s putting it mildly. He makes the old testament look like a Disney movie.” Craig still refused to make eye contact with Scott. “The first time I heard about him talking about God and shit, I didn’t know what to make of it. And just for that little bit of doubt, he beat the shit out of me. I was only six years old then. That’s not some Freudian shit and I know it doesn’t excuse what I’ve done to people like you. It’s just that…” The tears slowly fell from his face and Scott was there to hand him tissues.

Scott leaned forward in his chair to further engage in his subject and placed folded steeple hands in his own lap. “Listen to me. I’m sure not many people are inclined to tell you this, but I’m going to tell it to you right now. Nobody…and I mean nobody…should ever use their religion or politics as a weapon against another human being. It’s not a dad’s job to beat the shit out of his kids over a minor disagreement. It’s not discipline. It’s barbarism. There’s nothing wrong with the music you’re listening to and there’s nothing wrong with questioning authority.”

With his lips trembling even harder, Craig wept, “What will the team think of me? They can’t see me crying like this.”

“Well, that’s funny, because I always thought the true definition of a friend is someone who is loyal to you until the end. It’s like Marilyn Manson always said: if you want to find out who your friends are, sink the ship. The first ones to jump are not your friends. If your football teammates make fun of you for being emotional, they’re not true friends. They’re bullies with a close connection to you. The reason you picked on other students so much was because of all these negative influences, and no, that’s not Freudian bullshit.”

Craig shrugged and said, “They’re the only friends I’ve ever had. I can’t just tell them to fuck off.”

“You know what’s worse than having no friends at all? Having shitty friends who bring you down just to build themselves up. I’m sure those kids have some deep-seeded issues just like you do, but until they come forward with open arms and open hearts, they don’t deserve you. If you want to cry your eyes out, you’re more than welcome to do so. Not only is this stigma of men not being able to cry bullshit, but you’re doing it in a safe place: my office. Nothing you do here will ever leave this room…except for one thing.” Scott handed Craig the phone cradle and nodded knowingly at him.

“You want me to call 9-1-1 on my dad? Are you crazy? The cops aren’t going to believe me. They don’t believe anybody who doesn’t have more DNA evidence than a CSI laboratory.”

“Your bruises and cuts are more than enough evidence to put your father away for a long time. And even if the cops don’t believe your side of the story, at least this police report will set everything in motion so that you don’t have to see him again. If there’s another family member or friend you can stay with, find them and pack your bags. The cops may be overly skeptical, but if you don’t try to at least reach out to them, this is going to continue and things will only get worse. Come on, Craig. Just try.”

After a while of staring at his counselor with dewy eyes, Craig took the phone cradle with a convulsing hand and slowly brought his fingers to the keypad. “Would you mind giving me some privacy, Scott? This is my first 9-1-1 call and I…I can’t explain it right now.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me, Craig. I’ve been there before. The first call is never easy. I know this, because I was the one who made the call when my own father died. You never forget your first time for a lot of things. If you want privacy, I’d be more than happy to step outside the office for a little while. Take as much time as you need and don’t leave out any important details.”

With one arm, Craig gave an awkward hug to Scott and thanked him over and over again for his help. Scott reluctantly returned the hug and stepped out of his digs to give Craig his due privacy. Once the door was closed, Scott rubbed his face and breathed sobering sighs. He almost didn’t see Adrienne standing in front of him with a brown paper sack and a smile on her face.

“I take it your new job’s getting pretty intense right now,” said Adrienne.

“It’s a lot to handle at once, but overall, I’m glad I took the job. I just need some time to recuperate after that, that’s all. Is that my lunch?”

“Sure is. You left it on the kitchen counter this morning. And no, there aren’t any worms or maggots in your lunch today. Instead, you’re getting a classic favorite: peanut butter and jelly. Not just any kind of P&J, but Concord grape jelly and crunchy peanut butter. Your favorite!”

“No way!” said Scott with a sudden burst of happiness. Sure enough, he pulled the sandwich out of the sack and there it was in all its glory: the ever important grape jam. “You’re the queen!” he said before kissing Adrienne on the cheek and hurriedly unwrapping the plastic from his sandwich.

“Let me know when you get off work and we’ll see a movie or something. See you soon!” smiled Adrienne before she waved and hopped off to her next class. She didn’t see it, but Scott waved right back at her in a hypnotically slow manner. She probably got the message by now.

Scott had a seat in one of the chairs outside his office and eyeballed the contents of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He even pulled the two pieces of sourdough bread apart to see if there really were worms crawling around in there. His smile slowly descended into a faraway introspective expression. He searched every corner of his sandwich, every squished grape, and every broken peanut in the peanut butter. It was as though he was a detective honoring a search warrant. But no. Not one worm, not one maggot, and not one sing-songy command from his now-known biological mother.

The real test came when Scott took his first bite of sandwich. As he chewed, he rolled the food around in his tongue for yet another throughout inspection. Not one slime-covered creature swirled around in his mouth. In fact, the sandwich tasted as delicious as a P&J could be, probably because it was his personal favorite. Scott took another bite. And another. And another, until the whole thing was gone in record time. For even more reassurance, Scott lifted his T-shirt and saw that the skin was forming nicely over his previously exposed ribcage. If someone was looking for signs of an eating disorder or PTSD, they’d have to actually have the detective skills of someone honoring a search warrant.

Principal Williams made a throat clearing sound and Scott was immediately yanked out of his trance long enough for him to realize he’d been exposing his belly this entire time. Pulling his shirt down, he smiled and allowed redness to envelop his face. Principal Williams didn’t punish him for it, just smiled right back at him and said, “It’s good to have you on the team, Scott. Carry on.”

Public Speaking

***PUBLIC SPEAKING***

Even though I did standup comedy and stage acting as a teenager, I can say with one hundred percent certainty that I can’t stand public speaking. Being nervous and forgetting my lines in front of that many people? Forget it, buddy. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could read from a script the entire time, but then I’m sacrificing that all-important eye contact with my audience. Also without a prepared script, I’m left having to fill time with other topics that I haven’t rehearsed. But as much as I can’t stand public speaking, it’s clear to me after watching one of Jenna Moreci’s You Tube videos that I’ll have to do it if I want to be a successful indie author.

Giving interviews, giving lectures, and recording my own online videos are all part of an author’s platform growth. Not only do I have to swallow my pride and do these things, but I have to sound confident too. In the words of Vince Lombardi, confidence is contagious, so is lack of confidence. If I stutter and stammer over my words, it’s going to stick out like a nun at a porn convention. This is especially noticeable at every job interview I’ve ever conducted. I’d speak in a quiet voice and take time to think about my answers. Not good!

So in order to get myself together long enough for an introvert’s worst nightmare, I’ve come up with my own gimmick for these events. Because I have a prescription for Xanax and they’re taken on an as-needed basis, I’m going to bring two pills and a bottle of water with me to every speech and swallow said pills in front of the audience. This is my own special way of telling them, “You did this to me!” without actually going berserk. Once the chill pills wash over me, I’ll probably sound like I just woke up from a nap, but that’s probably better than sounding like I’m terrified.

If the Xanax gimmick sounds a little suspicious to you, it shouldn’t. If something calms you down and makes you perform better in front of a crowd, why question it? I would never drink alcohol myself because of the way it turns otherwise normal people into rowdy assholes. But then you have people who drink before a performance and seem perfectly rational onstage. I don’t know what it is about booze that makes people courageous, but if it works for you and you don’t sound like a total douche, bottoms up. I wouldn’t recommend the hard drugs like cocaine and heroin. I’d be okay with marijuana, but that’s not really considered “hardcore”.

Shit, there are a lot of things people do in order to relax in front of an audience. When Kevin Smith was filming Clerks, the guy who played Randal, Jeff Anderson, would chew gum throughout the movie because it evens him out. Studies have shown that chewing gum is calming because it triggers the same part of the brain as eating. If you need further proof that eating is a calming and joyful experience, look at the size of my belly. If chewing gum helps Jeff Anderson get through his job, more power to him. I’ll even give him a giant wad of Bubbleicious Mondo (if they still sell that).

The easy solution to sounding confident in front of an audience would be to rehearse your lines over and over again. But rehearsing your lines and actually producing them to a crowd are two completely different animals. You could sound like a million bucks in front of a mirror, but with tens of thousands of people judging you with their eyes? Jesus fuck! It’s part of the reason why I wouldn’t want to be a rock star even though I fantasize about singing onstage almost every day. Rock stars tend to be extroverts while authors such as myself are hardcore introverts.

So now that I’ve revealed to the world that I’m calming myself down with Xanax before a big speech, all that’s left is to book some appearances where I’d have to engage the public. Unfortunately, I’m not famous enough to warrant an in-person interview, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make You Tube videos. I have a digital camera, so it’s not like I’m starving for the right technology. What I am starving for is the right topic to discuss. Sure, I could just talk about writing like I am now, but what specifically? These topics have to be carefully chosen and preferably ones where I’m an expert. What am I an expert in? Eh, I’ll figure it out eventually, just not right now.

Leaving the comfort zone is hard for a lot of people (myself included), but it’s a necessary step in becoming successful in the writing industry (or any other industry for that matter). The comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there. I’ve been resisting this truth for far too long. I’ve always figured that sacrificing comfort wasn’t worth it in the end because whatever I did would be a bad decision anyways. Even though I now have a degree and an education, I consider going to WWU a bad decision because of the loneliness and scrutiny I experienced. I left the comfort zone and paid the price. If one of my readers would like to try and convince me to leave my comfort zone and make some You Tube videos, I’d be willing to listen. If not, that’s cool too. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***AMERICAN DARKNESS 3***

Yesterday was one hell of a productive day for me. Not only did I write “Escape From Kentucky” and entered it into the WSS contest for that week, but I did a bunch of other things as well whether it was drawing Walt Magnus, reading my Kelly Carlin book, or even doing the laundry. Let’s keep the momentum going for a story called “Food Stomp”, which goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Rollin O’Neil, Mentally Disabled Food Stamp User

2.      Mike Wolf, Robber

3.      Rachelle Daley, Robber

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Mike and Rachelle wait until a Fudd Meyers grocery store closes and break in to rob it. The dark morning ensures they have no human obstacles, or at least they think so. Rollin keeps appearing out of nowhere like a ghost in an attempt to talk Mike and Rachelle out of robbing Fudd Meyers and making the store’s prices go up.

OOC: It’s easy to tell that this synopsis was written a long time ago, judging from how fucking short it is.

***QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If you want to find out who your friends are, sink the ship. The first ones to jump are not your friends.”

-Marilyn Manson-

Robotic Junkyard

***ROBOTIC JUNKYARD***

Just like with the Necrocosm, the Robotic Junkyard will be another opportunity for creative fuel, whether you’re a writer yourself or an artist of another genre. Really, this blog entry is just an excuse to give you updates on my life, but as long as I’m flapping my gums, I might as well give you a prompt suggestion. You could write a whole novel or short story around it. You could paint a picture of it. You could completely ignore it. No matter what you choose, I’m keeping the buffet table of creative food for thought open all night. You can come back for seconds, thirds, and maybe even the dessert version of food for thought.

The idea of a robotic junkyard isn’t new, but it’s also something I’ve only seen one time and I’d like to see it more often. In other words, it’s highly underrated for all of the potential it could have. I think it was Mega Man 7 for the Super Nintendo that had a boss enemy called Junk Man. His stage was the robotic junkyard and the gimmick was basically throwing mechanical parts at Mega Man until he was junk himself. Morph Moth from Mega Man X2 might have also had a robotic junkyard for a stage, but I’m not one-hundred percent sure.

Either way, getting mechanical robot parts thrown at you doesn’t feel very good, or so I’m told. Imagine getting clocked upside the head by a flying hubcap. Maybe a flying saw blade would be worse. Maybe a broken down machine will come to life and beat your ass into nuts and bolts. And this is just the overhead level. Once you get underground, then the metal parts will really start to fly. I could have just as easily said, “The shit really starts to hit the fan,” because that would be just as accurate.

I experimented with these ideas back in 2011 when I wrote a novelette called “Thunder Ballz”. Yes, you read that correctly. I have nothing to gain by lying to you about that. It was a hybrid of Dragon Ball Z and Mega Man X written by a member of Generation Y. I just used X, Y, and Z in the same sentence. High five! Anyways, this novelette read more like a game of Mega Man X with the number of different places the characters went to and how they defeated their chief enemies in short order. One of the places was a robotic junkyard and the boss battle ended when the upper level of junk came crashing down on the villain. Ouch! That’s a lot of goddamn metal! More metal than the Pain in the Grass concert I’m going to later this month!

Obviously, Thunder Ballz never went anywhere even when all eleven chapters were written. But really, how could you expect it to when the whole objective of the story was to find lizard testicles. Again, I’m not profiting in any way by telling you this. In fact, I’m making my younger self sound like a total toolbox. Hehe! What this means is that the robotic junkyard idea is still up for grabs if I want to recycle it into another story. Heh, I said “recycle” in a conversation about junkyards.

If I was hosting a D&D campaign with a metallic scrapheap as the villain’s main base of operations, there are a few questions I need to answer for myself before starting the game. One, who in their right mind would want to live in a dingy place like a junkyard, and two, why are robotic limbs in the same universe as a fantasy role-playing game? While living in a pigsty isn’t always ideal to us semi-civilized humans, it would be for a tribe of orcs, ogres, or goblins. To answer the second question, if Magic: the Gathering can get away with using futuristic technology, so can D&D. They are, after all, distant cousins of one another since they were invented by Wizards of the Coast.

So you have the dirtiest and most classless races of monsters living in this scrapheap. Now what? What could possibly drive a wandering group of adventurers into this suicide mission? If they’re looking for priceless artifacts, they’d have just as much luck as a hobo diving in a dumpster: none. If a bounty head is hiding out here, that would be a little more realistic. He has protection from the disgusting creatures and, let’s face it, nobody would ever think to look in a place like this because nobody would want to hold their nose for that long. My mother, bless her soul, doesn’t even like being around wild rats. Adventurers like being around smell places even less. When you think about wanderlust and magical battles, a robotic junkyard isn’t the first thing that comes to mind.

But what kind of clues would you, the DM slash author, have to leave behind for someone to even consider digging through a place like this? New shipments? Bills? Noises? Activity? Or maybe one of the protective villains gets unlucky and can’t shake the adventurers off his tail, so he unknowingly leads them into the junkyard. Then again, maybe finding this hellhole of metallic crap isn’t such a good thing after all. You’ve still got swinging motors and flying anvils to duck and dodge. Don’t worry about getting a concussion, because you won’t be alive long enough to experience it!

So how about it, my creative brothers and sisters? Do you have any heroes who are crazy and/or stupid enough to want to go on a suicide mission in a metal scrapheap? Actually, it’s not considered good form to have stupid people for main heroes, unless you’re filming Forrest Gump. If your heroes are going to poke around a dangerous and filthy place, they’d better have a damn good reason. A dead body, a live body with a criminal past, or even an accidentally placed valuable artifact (which would be rare) would tickle the senses of even the most conservative adventurers. If you must adventure in the junkyard, the least you could do is take a gas mask with you. Breathing through your mouth doesn’t actually do anything to sooth the bad smell; that’s just a myth.

***SLIPKNOT X MARILYN MANSON CONCERT***

If you’ve already heard me talk about this on Face Book, feel free to ignore this section and move onto the next. But it’s true, people: last night I went to see Slipknot and Marilyn Manson at the White River Amphitheater in Auburn and they tore the motherfucking house down. They were heavy, they were creative, they were scary as hell, and they were fun to watch. While Slipknot was playing “Killpop”, I sang along with them in the most aggressive and passionate voice I could muster up. Apparently, this was enough for a guy to fist-bump me and for a sexy lady in a dress and a cowgirl hat to kiss the back of my hand. In the foolishly-written words of Anastasia Steele from “Fifty Shades of Grey”, my face was the color of the Communist Manifesto after that kiss. All in all, it was a fun-filled, magical night. On Sunday August 21^st, I get to do this all again at the annual Pain in the Grass festival headlined by Disturbed.

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

Despite the energy I’ve spent over the past few days, I’m definitely competing in this week’s “Celestial” contest. I wouldn’t want to pass up an opportunity to write “Hardcore Hogan”, which goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Garrison Kelly, Captured Earthling

Hardcore Hogan, Garrison’s Alter Ego

Kasabian, Alien Lord

Random Squid-Faced Alien Warriors

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Kasabian’s ship is flying through the celestial bodies.

SYNOPSIS: Garrison wakes up one day and finds himself in an alien ship’s prison cell. He has no idea what he’s doing there, but when he tries to shake the bars and complain, he gets electrocuted by the guards. Just when he is about to give in, he finds the Hall of Fame ring of his favorite professional wrestler Hardcore Hogan in the corner of the cell. When Garrison puts the ring on, he transforms into the muscular wrestler and puts a beating on the aliens after ripping the bars off the cell door. Kasabian serves as his final enemy and the only person who could possibly explain why Garrison/Hogan is on this ship to begin with.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Looks like I’ve got another Occupy Wrestling villain on my plate and his name is Dovald. He used to have a last name, but I can’t remember what it was and Marie and I both agreed that he shouldn’t have one. Lots of WWE wrestlers only have one name like Kane, Konnor, Viktor, and Kalisto just to name a few. Dovald’s gimmick is that of a dark paladin with thick metal armor and a big fucking flail. The worst part about him? He has a tag team partner named Garra who’s every bit as brutal and badass. Of course, when the time comes to draw Garra, he won’t look anything like Dovald. They may be twins in Occupy Wrestling, but they don’t have to be twins in my drawing gallery.

***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“It’s not a war on drugs; it’s a war on personal freedom. Keep that in mind at all times. Thank you and have a nice day.”

-Bill Hicks-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Hey, that could be another reason why someone would want to go to a robotic junkyard: drugs! There could be a meth lab on the underground floor! A perfect place for filthy and freaky people to hide out!

Slipknot X Marilyn Manson Concert

***SLIPKNOT X MARILYN MANSON CONCERT***

This coming Thursday, Slipknot and Marilyn Manson are going to do a show at the White River Amphitheater in Auburn and I have a ticket to see them. Their opening act is Of Mice and Men, but I have no idea who they are. It’s going to be a fun night of badass music and chaotic visuals. If you go to one of these shows and you’re not excited, check your pulse. One thing I would like to point out is that Corey Taylor, the lead singer of Slipknot, underwent neck surgery earlier this year and won’t be allowed to head bang or jump up and down per doctor’s orders. He’ll still be one entertaining son of a bitch. How can you not be entertained by a dude in a frightening mask screaming at the top of his raspy lungs? That whole show is going to be fucking awesome. I can’t wait!

Just like with the Rob Zombie X Korn concert back in July, this concert is going to require some downtime afterwards for rest and relaxation. That means I’ll need a brief vacation from my creative schedule, but I’ll probably be able to compete in that week’s WSS contest. Actually, that’s not a probably. That’s a definitely. Who knows? Maybe the creepy and creative visuals from the Slipknot concert will inspire another deliciously violent short story. Creative fuel comes from the strangest places and that’s how I fucking like it!

Just like with all concerts and vacations, I’ll be back in one piece with plenty of cool stuff to do afterwards. Downtime doesn’t last forever, you know, not even for hardcore introverts like me. See you soon!

***MOVIE REVIEWS***

I have to admit, I got off to a rough start when it came to writing the review for Ghostbusters. I was so exhausted that day that I wrote down a few words and I couldn’t go anymore. Never fear, because this is easily fixable. And then once I’m done with Ghostbusters, you can have a review of Lucha Mexico. Both movies will receive passing grades a.k.a. four stars.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Remember Kai Oliveira from the 2014 short story “Luna the Moon Kitty”? She’s the child wizard who along with Luna convinces her guardian Hans Metzger to listen to reason and eventually help in building a better world after the demon wars. For the reference picture, I think I’ll use one of Reina’s Halloween photos from Face Book. I have several costumes to choose from whether it’s a fairy princess or the Cheshire Cat. It should make for an awesome picture, because Reina is naturally awesome…whenever she’s not driving me nuts, of course. Hehe!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I’m waiting for the day when we can burn copies of each other’s girlfriends and skip the technology, period.”

-Mac Lethal rapping “Rotten Apple Pie”-

Real Life Projects

***REAL LIFE PROJECTS***

“Real life can get in the way of even the most brilliant creative projects.” I say this all the time to people online who need to take a sabbatical from the internet. Now it applies to me. Things are changing in the Haines-Temons-Stevens-Wilson household and as the family strongman I need to take part in those changes. I woke up at seven in the morning today to help my mom and Dale put together the yard sale. I went back to bed after my work was done and didn’t wake up until two in the afternoon. I also helped my parents put the yard sale stuff away and donate some of it to a local thrift store. There will be other loads of junk we donate on different days. For now, this will do. I felt so exhausted after today’s work that I don’t feel like doing anything creative at the moment.

As many of you know, I don’t handle exhaustion well. If I’m too tired, I won’t do anything creative for fear that my product will suck or that I’ll fall asleep in the middle of it. I owe a lot of this to the fact that I’m overweight. It’s easy to tell me that all I need to do is eat less and go to the gym more often. If things were that simple, I would have been a middleweight a long time ago. Fast food is addictive and car rides to the gym are not always available. I know it sounds like I’m making excuses and allowing my barriers to get the best of me, but if that’s the case, what would you rather I do: walk all the way from Port Orchard to Gig Harbor to the YMCA and then walk all the way back? It’d be a hell of a workout, but one that I would dread until that day I die.

The CPAP machine I was assigned to use by my doctor has been hit-and-miss when it comes to helping me get my energy back. Some nights I can wear the oxygen mask comfortably and wake up the next day ready to tackle anything and everything. Other nights the mask is either tight enough to leave red marks on my face or loose enough to blow oxygen into my eyes and cheeks. On those other nights, I don’t get a good night’s sleep and the whole idea of getting in bed is meaningless. I plan on emailing or calling my CPAP providers on Monday when they’re available to see if they can help me through this dilemma. I’m confident that they can. The lady who showed me how to use and clean the machine (Leah French) was friendly and supportive during the entire demonstration. She even gently told me to “Simmer down” when I was swearing at my failed attempts to unhinge the mask from its straps. Hehe!

The exhaustion isn’t going to end with today’s yard sale and thrift shop donations. For the next few months, real life will be calling my name and I’ll be there to answer that call. There are a few things going on in August that need my attention. My parents want to replace their carpeted flooring with vinyl since it’s easier to clean, so in order for that to happen, I have to help them move their living room furniture out of the way. As someone with autism, I’m more sensitive to pain and stress than everyone else, so doing all of that heavy lifting is going to take its toll. Despite this, if we’re going to keep having pets, this floor replacement needs to be done. My parents are Baby Boomers and can’t do as much as they used to in their younger years.

Dale especially can’t do much to help us with furniture shifting because he’s going to have a second surgery on his kidney in early August. Heavy lifting afterwards might rip his stitches and put him back in the hospital. Plus, he’s going to feel exhausted himself and won’t feel like doing his normal chores around the house. He’s been an awesome stepfather to me in the eleven years he’s lived with us, so it’s only right that I take over for him when he’s at his weakest. He can enjoy basketball and crime dramas in the easy chair until he recovers from his surgery.

On a more exciting, yet still exhausting note, I have two concerts that I plan on attending in August and one that I plan on attending in November. On August 11^th, Slipknot and Marilyn Manson will play at the White River Amphitheater with Of Mice and Men as their opening act. Hopefully, Corey Taylor can stay healthy while he’s entertaining all of us maggots. On August 21^st, the Pain in the Grass festival returns to that same venue and will be headlined by Disturbed. Other bands include, but are not limited to Breaking Benjamin, Alter Bridge, Saint Asonia, and Anthrax. And then in November I’m headed to the Tacoma Dome to see Five Finger Death Punch and Shinedown with Sixx AM and As Lions as their opening acts. How can something so tiring feel so good at the same time? Because I’m a diehard metal head, that’s why!

In addition to one-day vacations a.k.a. rock concerts, I’m also going to go on a week-long vacation to Hawaii on October 3^rd. I’ve only been to Hawaii one other time in my life and it was in the fall of 2010. The weather was beautiful, the beaches were beautiful, and the brown women were even more beautiful. Hey, it’s not racist if I actually like their race. You can thank Jerry Seinfeld for that joke. Going to Hawaii will be all about rest and relaxation. We’ll probably do one major activity during each day and spend the rest of the time hanging around. Low-key vacations are the best, especially for hardcore introverts like me.

Before Dale, Mom, Aunt Ruth and I all go to Hawaii, Mom and Dale are taking a six-day vacation in September to Utah to see all of their national parks. I’m choosing to stay home and babysit the animals while they’re away since national parks aren’t my cup of tea. It’s a bunch of trees and rocks: so what? I even wrote a short story for American Darkness about this called “Trees, Rocks, and Murder” (it used to be called “Forest Dump” before Marie and I agreed that it wasn’t the best choice for a title). The trees and rocks part of the title apply to the national park vacation, but not murder, thank goodness.

Going back to August for a moment, my therapist Rachel is having a barbecue at her house on August 13^th, which is exactly two days after the Slipknot X Marilyn Manson concert and eight days before the Disturbed concert, the latter of which Rachel and her husband will go to if it’s not raining that day (it’s an outdoor venue). She and I have lots in common when it comes to our love for badass heavy metal. She’s also been very helpful to me since 2003 when I first confessed to my family that I was hearing voices and feeling suicidal. Managing my schizophrenic attacks is much easier thanks to her, so seeing her at the barbecue will be lots of fun. Besides which, I never turn down an opportunity to eat a good barbecued meal.

I hope I didn’t leave any important details out when it comes to mapping out the next few months for me. There’s going to be a lot of work to be done and a lot of fun to be had. It’s the same kind of duality in life Gemini Syndrome preaches in their music. Speaking of which, I hope Gemini Syndrome will be at the Pain in the Grass festival, because that would be fucking awesome! Getting back on topic for a minute, having this many things to do may be so tiring that I will have to take a sabbatical from creative work and the internet in general. That means I might not compete every week at the WSS nor will I meet my deadlines for beta-reading Andy Peloquin and Marie Krepps’ manuscripts.

I’ll try to make this hectic schedule work, but I’m making no promises. Never fear, though, because no matter what happens in my life, I always make time to say hi and shoot the breeze with my friends and family, including my online ones. I may be gone for a little while, but never permanently. You guys have been so supportive of me and my author career over the years, so I’ll always miss you when I’m away. It’s not going to be like the Brave Little Toaster where I wait an entire generation to come back to my loved ones. In the same way that you all have been there for me, I will always be there for you. Thank you so much for listening to me.

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE FOR THE DAY***

JERRY: Hey, wait a minute; you have the Mark McEwen TV Guide.

WINONA: That’s Al Roker.

JERRY: Well, they’re both chubby weathermen. I get Dom Deluise and Paul Prudhoe mixed up too.

-Seinfeld-

Remember Every Scar

***REMEMBER EVERY SCAR***

I was listening to the rock music station on my TV and they played a song called “Remember Every Scar” by Escape the Fate. The lyrics basically said that every horrible thing you’ve been through will make you a stronger person in the end. We hear this sentiment all the time: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Does it? Do people really learn to move on from their traumas or do their demons haunt them forever and either turn them into nasty people or make them consider suicide? Does this mean that in order to get stronger you have to already be strong? Does this mean you can’t learn to rebuild over time because you already have to have those skills?

Personally, I don’t believe it’s a matter of innate strength. It’s more of a matter of feeling overwhelmed and having no solutions. In order to gain that inner strength, there has to be some kind of solution to the emotional demons available. Maybe a person to reach out to? Maybe a quick call to 9-1-1? Maybe what it really takes is a well-placed scream to the sky above. Screaming is good, especially if you’re going to see a heavy metal concert. When people consider suicide as an exit from their problems, it’s not because they’re “weak” or “selfish”. It’s because they genuinely believe there are no solutions to their distress. I threatened suicide twice in my lifetime, once in 2000 when I had PTSD and once in 2003 when I had schizophrenia. My mental illnesses were interfering with my ability to function and I unfairly labeled myself as being stupid because of these distractions.

But does reaching out and finding peace really make a person stronger afterwards? Not always. Remember the serial killer Henry Lee Lucas? His prostitute mother beat the hell out of him and humiliated him when he was a kid. He could have gotten mental health counseling, but instead he grew up to have one of the highest body counts of any serial killer. Would he have turned out that way if he grew up in a loving family? Maybe, maybe not. This is a nature vs. nurture debate waiting to happen.

Then there are people who don’t harm others, but harm themselves instead. They chug alcohol by the bottle and take a large dosage of pills while doing it. They shoot heroin into their arms. They get involved with shady people and allow them into their lives. Coming back from something as intense as this requires rehabilitation, but with our current drug laws, they’ll instead get jail time, which could include mandatory minimum sentences. The solutions are getting less and less available for these poor people and a lot more wounds are about to be opened in addition to coping with the past.

If someone in your life is trapped in a whirlpool of negativity, the best thing you can do for that person is never give up on them. Maybe the correct song isn’t “Remember Every Scar” by Escape the Fate. Maybe it’s “Never Have to Say Goodbye” by Papa Roach. Jacoby Shaddix used drugs and alcohol to escape from his demons, but he eventually found his permanent solution in the form of a best friend who never gave up on him. When the best friend died, Jacoby wrote that song about him. He’ll never have to say goodbye, because the lessons he learned from this best friend were enough of an inspiration for him to get his ducks in a row and continue being a badass rocker.

The phrase “Never give up” sounds cheesy to someone who’s going through a lot of turmoil, but that’s only because he doesn’t hear it enough from people who actually believe in that mantra. The more you believe in never giving up, the more convincing it will sound to someone else when you pour your heart out to them. It’s not just a catchy slogan on John Cena’s T-shirt; it’s something to remember when you feel you’re too close to the edge. There is always a solution to your worries. It’s not always readily available, but if you look for it, you’ll find it. If you’re a friend of mine and you need help, know that I’ll never give up on you. Do you have a dream? I’ll see you through it. We can do this together. We always do. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

This week’s theme is “The Final Curtain”, so I decided that I wanted to enter a story about a school talent show. Holy shit, I write a lot of short stories about school! This one is called “Zion Heart” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Eleanor Paris, Student Guitarist

Jeremy Land, History Teacher

Gary Weinberg, Jewish Principal

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Eleanor’s “offensive” performance could lead to the final curtain of the talent show.

SYNOPSIS: A year-end talent show is taking place at Central River High School and the final act of the day is Eleanor playing “To Kill the Child” by Roger Waters on her acoustic guitar. Halfway through the song, her microphone is cut off by Principal Weinberg, who sees Roger Waters as anti-Semitic since the former Pink Floyd bassist supports Palestine instead of Israel. Just when Eleanor is about to leave the stage in tears, Mr. Land stands up for her while demonizing Weinberg. Jeremy goes on to say that rock and roll is about artistic freedom and by censoring Eleanor, the Principal is proving Roger Waters right.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

My next drawing will be of a character from last week’s short story “Vampire Empire”. It will be of Michael Finn, the vampire warrior who stumbled upon a satanic church for shelter from the sun. For a reference picture, I was thinking something along the lines of Marilyn Manson. Speaking of which…

***QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If you want to find out who your real friends are, sink the ship. The first ones to jump aren’t your friends.”

-Marilyn Manson-

Current Events

***CURRENT EVENTS***

You would think that with all of the political poetry and short stories I post that I would be more active when it comes to talking about current events. Truth is I don’t like talking about current events at all. I might make a few posts on my friends and family’s Face Book memes, but that’s about it. It’s not because I don’t care about tragedies. It’s because if I do talk about them, I’m going to sound like a ticking time bomb instead of a reasonable human being. A lot of these news stories make me angry, but not nearly as angry as the disgusting reactions to them on the internet and in the media.

I don’t intentionally engage people on the internet about recent stories because I’d rather people learn to get along than argue furiously with each other. Whenever there’s a story about gun violence in America, we don’t all come together and be the good neighbors we should be. Instead, we get all fired up about the second amendment, free states, and all this other ridiculous nonsense that has nothing to do with love or understanding each other. After I posted a story called “Putting the Ass in Assault Rifle” online, you should all know by now how I feel about gun control, but that’s not the point of this journal.

For just one moment, can we all come together and be friends and neighbors to each other instead of pushing and shoving to be the loudest person in the group? Is it too much to ask to give each other hugs and hair fuzzles, maybe even a few kisses? Am I really demanding a lot out of you when I ask that you pet your kitties and belly rub your puppies? Positivity isn’t just a new age buzz word; it’s a way of life for those who refuse to become bitter at the world over news stories.

Being positive doesn’t mean we should feel happy for doing nothing. Being positive means we have the power to change the world for the better. You don’t have to be Superman or Batman in order to change things. Hell, you don’t even have to be a character from Mr. Robot. Even the smallest gestures can have the biggest impact. You could donate money to the victims’ families, whether it’s ten dollars or five hundred. You could post heartfelt and honest songs on your Face Book page. You could give a hug to someone who has been deeply affected by the tragedy. No one person can do everything, but everybody can do something. If everybody does something positive on a regular basis, that’s a lot of good deeds that the world will remember for almost eternity.

We’ve got ears, say cheers! I say that all the time whenever I write a journal entry. I stole it from a Disney-themed kids show called Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Such simple words are one of my small contributions to a happier world. It’s microscopic at best, but as long as one person gets the message, it’ll spread to everyone eventually, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it’ll happen one of these days.

***SLIPKNOT X MARILYN MANSON CONCERT***

This past Saturday, I was expected to see Slipknot and Marilyn Manson in concert at the White River Amphitheater in Auburn, WA. Unfortunately, the concert date was moved to August 11^th because the lead singer for Slipknot, Corey Taylor, had to have emergency spinal surgery. Keeping with the theme of positivity, instead of complaining about a postponed concert, I’m going to wish Corey Taylor a speedy recovery. I’m not sure if he’ll want hair fuzzles, though. Hehe!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

For this week’s contest, the admins decided to use one of my prompt suggestions, which I’m thankful for. The theme is “Stained Glass” and my story is called “Vampire Empire”. It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Michael Finn, Vampire Warrior

Paul Singer, Devil Worshiper

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The satanic church has stained glass windows.

SYNOPSIS: Michael needs a place to stay during the day so that he doesn’t burn up. Paul offers him sanctuary in his satanic church, but on one condition. Reverend Singer wants Michael to turn him into a vampire so that he can have the powers necessary to take over the world and spread satanic culture wherever he goes. Michael tries to explain to Paul that being a vampire isn’t as glorious or powerful as it seems. The reverend gets offended to where he threatens to kick his guest out of the church.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next is the eponymous King Blizzard, who will look a lot like Sabertooth from the X-Men series because I used an action figure of him to represent that character when I played with my childhood friend Lance. Over the decades, Blizzard went from being an indestructible giant to a guy who sat on a pile of furniture and punctured his intestines. Ouch!

***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call a fuzzy doll modeled after Daniel Bryan?

A: B-Plush Player.

My 31st Birthday

***MY 31^ST BIRTHDAY***

This coming Friday (June 3^rd), I’m going to be a 31-year-old man, but I’ll still be a big kid at heart. Age is all about mind over matter: if you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. I may be too old for a lot of things, but playing with action figures, playing with Legos, snuggling with animals, and writing whacky stories are not among them. Action figures of Konnor, Viktor, and Sting from the WWE are just the beginning for me. June is going to be an eventful month for me in three different ways, my birthday on the third being one of them.

On June 8^th, five days after I turn 31, I’m finally going to have my sleep study. I know this sounds boring to a lot of people, but to me, it’s the most important way I can take care of myself. Whenever I’ve refrained from doing creative activities, it was always because I was too mentally exhausted to carry on with my day. I would go to bed late and wake up late, still feeling sluggish and shitty. The sleep study will determine if I need an oxygen mask for my sleep apnea, which I probably will. Having that oxygen mask and continuing to eat healthy and exercise will be my saving grace when it comes to my lack of energy. More energy means more creativity. More creativity means a happier audience. A happier audience means a happier me.

Three days after I have my sleep study, I’m going to the White River Amphitheater in Auburn, Washington to see a concert headlined by Slipknot and Marilyn Manson with the opening act being Of Mice and Men. This means lots of scary masks, lots of scary makeup, lots of heavy ass metal, and lots of creative fuel for an author whose tank is overflowing. This will be just the first of many concerts I will attend in 2016. In July, it’s Rob Zombie X Korn with In This Moment as opening guests. In August, it’s the Pain in the Grass festival with Disturbed headlining the event. Finally, in November, I’m headed to the Tacoma Dome to see Five Finger Death Punch X Shinedown with Sixx AM and As Lions as the opening acts. Let’s get ready to rage, motherfuckers!

All in all, living on this earth for 31 years has been a great experience. I got to go on many vacations to both American and foreign places. I got to see many concerts of bands I love. I got to snuggle with many puppies and kitties over the years. I’ve written many stories and songs and had them self-published. I’ve met many wonderful people along the way. I got to do all of these things with my loving family on both sides of the marriage. The best part of all of this? I’ve got many more decades to go, many of which will be filled with even more magical moments. Never forget the power of love and happiness; it doesn’t just end after your birthday. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

The new week started a few days ago, but not to worry, because I still have a few more days left before the deadline. The prompt will be “Cracked Mirrors” and my story will be called “Subway Smackdown”. It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Khan Shou, Monster Warrior

Venice Reyes, Human Model

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The damage to Venice’s car includes shattered mirrors.

SYNOPSIS: In a dystopian future where monsters roam the city freely, Venice’s car is vandalized as she leaves her apartment. The only way she can get to her first modeling gig without being late is to take the subway. Venice tries to find a comfortable place to sit, but the subway train is covered in filthy creatures, both in attitude and appearance. Khan Shou, a seven-foot tall piece of raw meat, takes special interest in her and tries to coax her into a romantic relationship. With no fighting skills and nobody to help her, Venice has to brave this subway ride as best as she can.

On a side note, I’m going to be featured in the WSS’s monthly magazine for submitting “Tiger Bullet Kick” in their June edition. I consider that to be an early birthday present!

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

It took me three attempts to get Christopher Brown right, so now I can set my sights on Andrew Bradley, the English mercenary from “Ninja”. For a reference picture, I think I’m going to use Freddie from the second Final Fight game. He’s got the size, the hairy body, and the military getup, so he’ll be perfect for drawing Andrew. Hopefully, it’ll only take one attempt this time. Hehe!

***BUMPER STICKER OF THE DAY***

We have a daughter in public school who hasn’t been knocked up yet. We have a son in public school who hasn’t shot any of his classmates, but he does sell drugs to your honor student. Plus, he knocked up your daughter.

Computer Rage

***COMPUTER RAGE***

Good news, potty mouths! Scientific studies are showing that people who swear have a higher understanding of English language skills than people who don’t. This is indeed good news for me, because most of my horrific swearing bouts have come at the expense of my computer. Anytime my computer slows down, freezes, or just plain stops working, it’s not enough just to sit and wait. No, I have to unleash a firestorm of curses at the computer, most of which would land me in jail if I said them to a human being. For the first time ever, I will provide everyone here with a transcript of the most offensive, god-awful insults I’ve ever screamed at my computer. I’m purposefully excluding homophobic slurs from this transcript because I have too much respect for the LGBT community to post them. Otherwise, happy reading!


“Quit douching around!”

“You stupid ass computer!”

“Get moving, bitch!”

“Get your ass in gear!”

“Get your ass online!”

“I’m going to smack the shit out of you, you stupid son of a bitch!”

“I’m going to put my dick in your CD drive!”

“Goddamn it, move!”

“Don’t you disconnect! Don’t you fucking disconnect! Goddamn it!”

“I hope you goddamn die, you fucking computer!”

“Go to hell, you piece of shit!”

“You’re going to get your ass kicked if you don’t move your fucking ass!”

“Blow me! Blow me, blow me, blow me!”

“Screw you, you douche-bag!”

“I’m going to take a big fucking shit on you if you don’t move!”

“Play the goddamn fucking song!”

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!”


What can I say? It’s a healthy way to release angry stress. It’s not healthy for everyone in my house who has to listen to me, but it’s healthy for me. I’ll take a firestorm of swear words over squeezing a rubber ball or doing yoga any day of the fucking week. See what I did there? We’ve got ears, say cheers, bitches!


***OCCUPY WRESTLING***

I plan on posting this journal on many websites and Deviant Art is one of them. If you follow me on Deviant Art, then you’ve probably noticed a few chapters of Occupy Wrestling stacked up in your inbox, my most recent one being number five. I hope I get to sit down and edit some more on a regular basis. If I can bulldoze the first American Darkness book, I can probably do the same with Occupy Wrestling. We’ll just have to wait and see.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next on deck is my second attempt at drawing a female character since making Danielle Courtney look like Marilyn Manson in drag. My niece Reina seems to think Miss Courtney looks like a “sassy black lady with a puppet face”. Hehehehehe! Here’s to hoping Hannah Jason looks a little more pleasant. Who’s Hannah Jason? She’s the magic-wielding assassin from “Bee Jay the Glutinous” who protects the little orange kitty from Raul Thunderstone’s cruelty. Hannah is modeled after the Diablo II sorceress, so maybe that will influence what I chose for a reference picture. Eh, maybe not.


***REINA***

On the 19th of this month, Reina will be celebrating her 12th birthday with me and the family. It’s hard to believe that my little baby niece is on the precipice of teen-hood. Holy shit! She wants to celebrate this coming-of-age milestone by playing in the swimming pool at the YMCA and by seeing the new Star Wars movie at the Regal Cinemas. I got her two presents for her special day, but I won’t be divulging what they are since Reina could potentially read this online and have her surprise spoiled. I hope she likes them! Happy Birthday, Reina-Bear! It’d be nice if everyone who reads this wishes her a Happy Birthday as well.


***TWEET OF THE DAY***

(RE: having a high character ranking in UFC’s latest videogame)

“Not since Samus Aran was revealed to be a woman have dummies been this butt hurt about a video game.”

-CM Punk-

Zombies

***ZOMBIES***

When it comes to the horror genre, the new generation is obsessed with three creatures in particular: vampires, werewolves, and zombies. The latter of those three is what this journal is about. We seem to have an unhealthy obsession with zombies these days whether it’s the zombie apocalypse, zombie strippers, or zombie lovers. What we don’t talk about, though, are the zombies who live in the real world. These zombies don’t hunger for brains. They don’t eat flesh. They’re not even necessarily dead. The only death they experience is on the inside. They’re mentally exhausted, emotionally heartbroken, and spiritually lifeless. They come in many forms whether it’s the working stiff, the mentally ill, the insomniac, or just someone who’s been dealt a shitty hand by life itself.

These are the zombies I want to talk about. Unfortunately, very few people want to talk about them with me. The zombies I empathize with are written off as “weak” and “lazy”. Those two slurs are used by the more fortune ones in our lives who don’t experience the same struggles the zombies do. There are two slurs for people like that as well: “spoiled” and “ignorant”. Do these people actually think the life of someone living in a constant haze is glorious? We all aspire to work hard and improve our situations. But if we can’t wake up from our hazy states, sometimes we have to take a step back and reevaluate things.

If you can’t get anything accomplished due to your constant state of numbness, know that you’re not alone and you’re certainly not “weak”. Your struggles don’t make you “lazy”. In the words of Maria Brink when she sings the In This Moment song “Out of Hell”, “Your struggles make you beautiful.” When you experience failures in your life that lead to emotional numbness, overcoming them is a sweet victory. But sometimes in your battles with the world, you have to lose a few. Nobody likes to lose, especially to an opponent as invisible as a mental wound.

The word “zombie” can also be a slur in and of itself, but know that when I use it, I don’t intend for it to be. In fact, giving a dark fantasy name to a modern world struggle is a good way to ignite anybody’s imagination. The thing about zombies in dark fantasy media is that it takes a lot to kill them. No matter how badly they’re beaten, they keep getting up and feasting on their opponents even more. If you’re experiencing a loss in your battles with your mind and body, know that it’s only temporary. You will have your victory in due time and when you do, it’ll be one well-earned. How’s that for being “weak”, Mr. Ignoramus?

We may be drowning in our own sorrows, but drown as we may, we know what fresh oxygen feels and tastes like. Our little victories aren’t little at all. To say otherwise would earn you the “ignorant” and “spoiled” slurs I spoke of earlier. If you’re an author who’s trying to wake up long enough to write a story, don’t beat yourself up for your story being imperfect. If you’re a mother dragging yourself along to get everything done in addition to tending to your children, then be proud of yourself no matter what the outcome. If you’re working nine to five in a call center and you fucking hate your job, don’t allow the negativity of customers to put you in a deeper slumber.

Waking up from the zombie-like state is a great victory no matter who you are. But when we wake up, it won’t be because of negative attitudes. It’ll be because we engaged this mental monster with our hearts and souls. We’ve got ears, say cheers! If for some reason you think I sound like Kevin McCarthy right now, know that I’m one of the zombies I talked about this whole time.

　

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

It’s a new week of contests and the prompt is “The Last Goodbye”, which was something I personally harvested from my new Disturbed CD called “Immortalized”. Most of my prompt ideas come from CD’s I’ve purchased recently and being the music hunter I am, that’s a lot of goddamn prompts. I’m happy that Ryan Stone used one of mine this week. He’s an awesome guy! This week’s story will be something I originally intended to do independently, but since it fits the prompt, I’ll write it for the contest. It’s called “The Happy Slasher” and it goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

Lisa Roberts, Sheriff
Cletus Jung, Serial Killer

　

PROMPT CONFORMITY: After this story is over, only one of these two characters will be saying their last goodbyes while the other perishes.

　

SYNOPSIS: In the wild west, Lisa has been investigating a string of murders in her desert town of Tombstone. She’s ready to call it a night and heads toward the saloon for a frosty beer. After a few chugs, she passes out on the ground and wakes up bound and gagged in Cletus’ dungeon. Cletus reveals himself to be “The Happy Slasher” and the reason for his string of murders is all because he asked Lisa on a date and she “rudely” turned him down. This loser in love now plans to butcher Lisa with an overly sharpened machete.

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES***

The most recent story from this series I edited was “The Beautiful People”. I thought it was going to be a miserable experience and it turned out to be yet another cakewalk. The next one I plan on doing is “Conform”, which is about two necromancers who try to control a single zombie (we’ve come full circle with the zombie theme). It’ll have a new title, but the story will be the same albeit improved.

　

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

For a novel that barely had the chance to take off, I’m sure taking a liking to drawing pictures of Blood Brawl characters. The next one I plan on doing is of Balrog Deathtrap, a Halfling monk who serves as the main villain of the demon town Aragon. Yes, his race says he’s a Halfling, but his hideous features will dictate otherwise. Hehe!

　

***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

RICH BRENNAN: Do you think Renee Young was giving you a hard time about not being a real Canadian?
KEVIN OWENS: I don’t know, Rich, does anybody give you a hard time about looking like Millhouse from The Simpsons?

Obnoxious Characters

Obnoxious characters are not always fun to read about, but they are the most necessary. While it would be nice to have every single character in a story be relatable and charming, it’s not true to the real world. These obnoxious characters can be anybody from a screaming street preacher to a psychopathic child molester. The world certainly has no shortage of people who fit these archetypes. When we’re their victims, we don’t see any need to relate to them on a personal level. When bank robbers are holding victims hostage, the victims’ first thought isn’t going to be, “I wish they were more charming” or “They must be hurting on the inside.” Their first thoughts are probably going to be something like, “Please get us out of here!” or “Will someone shoot these assholes in the head?!” But then you have something called Stockholm Syndrome, where a captive learns to depend on his kidnapper in a relationship akin to romance or family. Even then, when the victim is free, they’re going to be doing summersaults and back flips when they finally return to their original families. It’s a harsh reality that we have to live with sociopaths, but it still is reality. Of course, there’s also the argument that when someone reads a book or goes to a movie, they’re engaging in escapism. People like to go to The Hobbit in order to visit a world of dragons and fantasy, something they wouldn’t otherwise get in their current reality. But even then, there will still be characters that you root for and characters you’re rooting against. In the case of The Hobbit, you cheer for Bilbo Baggins and against that one-armed orc warrior whose name escapes me. But what if you have a story where everybody is capable of being a villain? Then who do you root for? It wouldn’t be completely out of line to wish that a meteor would come crashing down from the heavens and shatter the bones of everybody in the story. It’ll never happen, but sometimes the bad guys get away with whatever they’re doing. In the Saw series, the Jigsaw Killer gets away with murder every single time. And yet, it still counts as escapism because there’s an element of fantasy in these gory movies. In the end, it comes down to which side of the fantasy-reality spectrum you’re on. If you don’t care who wins in the end, then you’re siding with reality. If you always want the good guys to win, then you’re a little closer toward fantasy. But no matter which side you find yourself on, obnoxious characters will always exist whether you want them to or not. Lord knows I’ve had to put up with Ari from NCIS for a long, long time. And the heel version of Michael Cole from the WWE? He got jammed down our throats every night one of those shows was on the air. If you expect justice in every single story you immerse yourself in, you’re going to be sorely disappointed sometimes.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“And the world spreads its legs for another fucking star! ‘Cause I am the all-American antichrist! I was made in America and America hates me for what I am! I am your shit! You should be ashamed of what you have eaten!”

-Intro to “Rock n’ Roll Nigger” by Marilyn Manson-