The Hot Violinist vs. Kim Davis: The REAL Bowling Green Massacre

 

Larck Fontana, Arguing Wife from "Happy Fun Land"

 

Blake Shelton and Gwen Stefani: the Healthiest Couple On Planet Earth

 

Hughy Casey, Petty Argument Bystander from "Happy Fun Land"

 

Unwanted Relationship Advice, Pt. 2

 

Unwanted Relationship Advice, Pt. 1 (Happy Valentine's Day!)

 

Rebecca Rogers vs. Her Ex-Husband Avery

 

Spit Out the Black Pill

“Woody! Unsweetened iced tea for Woody!” No response. “WOODY!”

Woody Silver snapped out of his gangsta rap induced trance long enough to pull his ear buds out and accept his drink. He did so with a nervous glance around the House of Roses and Chocolates (not a bad name for a coffee bar). He knew these people were gazing at him through figurative microscope lenses. If they adjusted the magnification, they could see his tiny ego shrivel up and die like a chopped off cock.

“What are you listening to?” asked the blond barista with the prettiest of grins.

“Uh…gangsta rap. You know, songs about shooting people in the face.”

The barista darted her eyes around as if she needed to know the nearest exit. “You like that kind of music?”

“Yeah. It’s good stuff. It’s not like I’m the one doing the shooting.”

“…Uh-huh…well, you go enjoy your violent music…Woody.”

This would have been a good time for Woody to put a sock in it and leave with at least a little bit of his shattered dignity intact. But he just HAD to make it worse and even more awkward than before. “Yeah, I get it. When someone commits murder, they blame rap music. When someone commits suicide, they blame heavy metal. Chris Benoit was probably a big fan of Rage Against the Machine.”

All eyes were on Woody now and they were large enough to crush his sense of self-worth ten times over. Whether it was the barista, the lesbian couple near the window, or the little girl and her mother not too far from him in line. After a while of allowing Woody’s anxiety to chill faster than his iced drink, the four-year-old princess said, “You fucked up.” Everyone gave a shocked laugh, though this was a pleasant kind of shock.

Woody didn’t find any of this pleasant. He robotically slumped to the nearest table with his drink, his iPhone, and his ear buds, hanging his head in shame. He wished he could be anywhere but that coffee bar. Even getting hit with a bolt of lightning and being sent to an early death seemed tamer than this incredibly public humiliation. Under his breath, he said, “If this ends up on You Tube, I’m going to be very upset…” Thankfully, nobody heard him and the target on his back didn’t grow a single centimeter.

But a metaphorical target he still had. His stomach turned and boiled and no amount of iced tea could calm his mild nausea. The whole world laughed at him and his defenses were gone. Then again, having shaggy blond hair and dirty clothing didn’t provide much in the way of defenses against scrutiny. But then he reached in his flannel jacket pocket and remembered he had a cure for all of this.

It was a small jar of black jelly beans he found on the internet. He couldn’t remember the name of the website or why these beans were advertised as medicinal. When desperation struck him like that much-wanted bolt of lightning, he didn’t ask a lot of questions. He unscrewed the lid and shoveled a handful of black jelly beans down his gullet, not even taking ample time to chew his food. Then again, choking wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to him that day.

Instead, the rush of energy he got from this candy was the best thing. His hands stopped jittering. He could effortlessly pick up his sunken head. The cloudy weather outside gave way to sunshine through the windows. His iced tea tasted like magic in a cup. The women around him made his heart flutter in ways he hadn’t felt in a long time. Whatever he paid for these jelly beans was worth it. He could be broke tomorrow and die a happy man the next day, as evidenced by the blossoming smile on his face.

His newfound eye-brightening joy led him to believe he could conquer the day, one in which he previously had no schedule and no plan of any sort. He could finally talk to the barista and not be an awkward mess. He floated by the seat of his pants to the beautiful blond, who was now decked out in a light blue dress with flowers and jewels adorned everywhere. But before he could open his mouth and allow poetry to pour from his lips…

The barista twirled like a fairy princess and showed off the wedding ring on her white gloved hand. She sang in an angelic voice with the rhythm of a nee-ner-nee-ner tune, “I got married! And you can’t have me! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha, ha!” 

Woody turned towards the lesbian couple, who were now in matching dark green dresses with forest insignias printed everywhere. Their black gloved hands showed off wedding rings of their own, sparkling like incel tears. “We got married! And you can’t have us!” The same nee-ner-nee-ner tune, the same enchanting high-pitched voices.

And then the mother joined in on the fun with her purple dress, golden crown, and heavenly diamond on her finger. “I got married! And you can’t have me!”

Woody clutched his ears and tightly closed his eyes, running out of the coffee bar and leaving his drink behind. He remembered the iPhone and ear buds, though. The violent rapper’s voice was the only one he wanted to hear…until he had a female guest vocalist who jovially sang, “I got married! And you can’t have me!”

“Oh, come on!” Woody sped down the sidewalk without giving a single solitary fuck who he weirded-out along the way. He was already as small and repugnant as bacteria. He was already lower than the worms crawling beneath the park’s grassy turf. But no matter how far he ran or how many times he actually opened his eyes for a change…

“I got married! And you can’t have me!” sang a white dress-wearing vixen in the sweetest voice.

“I got married! And you can’t have me!” sang Wonder Woman in the comic book shop window.

“I got married! And you can’t have me!” sang a woman in jean shorts and flip-flops, also in the loveliest high-pitched voice.

“Stop it! I get your point! I get it, I get it, I get it! I’m weird! I’m stupid! Enough is enough!” shouted Woody, though his words only echoed in his head, never once giving the public a shot at hearing his opinion of their love. “Stop it!” His voice grew deeper and more demonic. “No more!” His voice had a hint of ogre-like growling. “STOP!” Except they wouldn’t stop. These impossibly beautiful women from all around closed in on him, reminding him over and over again that they were not prizes to be won by loser men like him.

“Pick up the brick!” shouted an evil bass voice from behind. The clouds grew dark once more, giving way not to a halo of sunshine, but to the brightness of hellfire. The once lovely women in their dresses turned into pitch-black monsters with razor-sharp claws and mocking goblin voices. Woody looked around to see where the original evil voice came from, but couldn’t find the source except in his own head, booming like movie theater speakers.

“The world never loved you anyways. Your parents think you’re a disgrace. Your friends think you’re dragon shit. Society wants to kill you. Pick up the brick and make them all go away. Murder every last one of those undeserving femoids. Pick up the brick, haul back, and let her ho.”

Woody’s anxious sweat quadrupled into a clay-like substance, like his skin was peeling off and revealing a more sinister side to a world that could already see his weaknesses. He gritted his teeth so hard that his gums bled black. He listened to the one voice who understood him beneath the lovey-dovey mockery. He had a mission. It was his job to smash the world into pieces with that one brick. He smiled like a villain, though his clay sweat masked most of those features.

He learned down and picked up the brick, which would ordinarily weigh him down, but was so natural in his hand, like it was a gift-wrapped present from the forces of evil. He wanted to use it. He wanted to make the world suffer the way he did. All those times he was laughed at for simply existing. All those times he was rejected for being just mildly annoying. All those punches he took in the name of creep control.

But then as Woody strode up to his would-be victims, he passed his reflection in the comic book shop window. He saw what he looked like for the first time since this transformation…and empathized with those calling him a freak. His face was melting and folding over. His eyes were coal black. His nose was dripping like chocolate off his face. His body was bloated with monstrous red goo. His dirty blond hair resembled a den of snakes rather than a simple unkempt appearance.

“What are you waiting for?! Use the brick and end the world! KILL THEM ALL!”

But no matter how the voice vibrated in his brain, no matter how hard it made his nerves convulse, he couldn’t do it. He slowly put the brick down…because he hated what he had become. All this hatred turned him into something ugly and unrecognizable. Finally, society had a reason to hate him and his own self-hatred wasn’t manufactured either. His stomach burst and boiled. It exploded with bile and death sauce. Acid in his throat accumulated like the clay sweat. And then, he let go of his anger and all of his fabricated grudges…in the form of black throw-up on the sidewalk.

In one vomit spell, he cleansed his disgust for himself. Every horrible feeling within him stretched his insides out as the black goop flooded the concrete. And then…emptiness was all that remained. An empty stomach. An empty soul. But best of all, an empty mind free from the judgment of a booming voice and lighthearted fairy laughter. He sat on a part of the sidewalk that wasn’t drenched in puke and breathed in and out, as if the cool morning air soothed his throat.

Speaking of throats, a familiar voice cleared hers. Woody opened his dewy, red, puffy eyes to see that the barista was there holding the drink he left behind. No royal dresses. No punch-down comedy. No scorn. Just concern. “Forget something?” she asked. When Woody reached his hand up to grab his drink, she pulled away. “Give me those jelly beans.”

“The…the jelly beans? These ones?”

The barista nodded and Woody Silver did as he was told. She read the label and analytically curled her lips downward. “Black pills. Of course. Medicine for the involuntary celibate.”

“Those were black pills?!”

She nodded again before throwing the jar in a nearby rubbish bin like she was shooting a basketball. “Two points. I used to play basketball in high school. You could have figured that out if you hadn’t gone on about your…murder music, and let me talk for a change.” Woody hung his head in shame once again. “You just need practice, that’s all. Not with me, of course. I’m married.”

“That’s nice. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. No backlash? No insults? Nothing?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Those black pills are out of your system. Here. Drink this instead. I’ll help your stomach.”

“Thanks.” He grabbed the drink and had a few swallows. The coolness was so gentle on his throat that he wasn’t in a hurry to chug it all. He wanted the easiness to last as long as he could draw it out.

“Guess I’ll see you next time you come in. Word of advice, though: I’d retire that Chris Benoit joke if I were you. Send it to the old folks home in Florida.”

“Good idea.”

“Very good. I’m Elizabeth, by the way. But you can call me Liz.”

“Woody. Woody Silver. You already knew that, though. Nice to meet you.”

“Same. Enjoy your tea!” Liz waved goodbye and strolled away.

When she walked out of sight, Woody said under his breath, “Nice to meet you indeed…” He sipped his tea and relaxed against the wall, not caring what the world thought of his vulnerable state. In fact, they didn’t seem to have much of an opinion at all given how the pedestrians mostly ignored him.

Life After Seduction

VERSE 1

When the only chicks who like you are femme fatales

When she separates you from your family and pals

When she won’t let you speak to any other gals

And then stabs you in the heart until you cry and howl

Just remember that the world doesn’t center on her

And that you did nothing at all to deserve being hurt

It’s toilet time for your expensive wedding ring

“We’re fucking divorced!” is the tune you sing

CHORUS

You can break the pattern, but it’ll only matter

If you cover your ears from the toxic chatter

Life after seduction comes with no instructions

But the light at the end needs no introduction

VERSE 2

You swear to yourself that you’ll never love again

It took so long to get back your family and friends

Single as a Pringle, no need to stay and mingle

Because the only thing that matters is how you feel

She calls you and leaves a thousand voicemails

Begging for forgiveness behind the walls of jail

But you put away your phone and go back to sleep

Because you earned your freedom, it’s yours to keep

CHORUS

You can break the pattern, but it’ll only matter

If you cover your ears from the toxic chatter

Life after seduction comes with no instructions

But the light at the end needs no introduction

VERSE 3

On the therapist’s couch, you’ve got lots to talk about

And then here come the tears and the need to shout

None of your pain will ever leave that cozy room

Don’t hold the detonation switch to your own doom

EXTENDED CHORUS

You can break the pattern, but it’ll only matter

If you cover your ears from the toxic chatter

Life after seduction comes with no instructions

But the light at the end needs no introduction

Life is beautiful and it’s still worth living

As long as you learn the limits of your giving

Takers have no limits to their narcissism

Now you see it all with twenty-twenty vision

Romantic Dinner For One

I look around in this cruise ship restaurant
See things I can’t have, but desperately want
Missed opportunities gone with the wind
Sloth has always been my favorite sin

A newlywed couple celebrating their love
Wife dressed like an angel from the heavens above
Husband feeding her strawberries and cream
Won her over by treating her like a queen

A college graduate partying with his friends
Looking at life through a rainbow-colored lens
He’ll make money most will never ever see
More competitive fuel for his Face Book screen

A child dreaming big as she eats chicken nuggets
Untainted by reality, she appreciates and loves it
Drawing pictures of dinosaurs and dragons
I’m over here trying to fight off the maggots

A sportsball team celebrating their victory
Their names immortalized in gritty history
Eat like heavyweights, move like flyweights
Calories to burn from steaks and white cakes

A pale young man has just beaten his addiction
He could inspire others in a book of nonfiction
Was it heroin, beer, social media, or food?
I could use some ice cream to go with my mood

Whoever said the internet breeds bitter jealousy
Never had to dance to their own tragic melodies
In a room full of strangers who live like kings
Romantic dinner for one, the song that I sing

Don’t need sympathy, just some understanding
I reached for the stars, but had a crash landing
They say there’s no time limit for life to begin
I’m still waiting for the day I can finally win

Pearlescent Beauty

Pearlescent beauty for the cheapest price

A higher cost will allow you to entice

A thousand dollars for a worthless stone

Advertise that shit on the No Spin Zone

Never mind the dirt poor souls who died

To give you a symbol of aristocratic pride

No other function except to look pretty

The Art of the Deal never looked so shitty

A diamond is forever unlike life itself

A diamond is love when it’s forged in hell

Wasted money on toys for your honey

Wasted ceremony, this shit ain’t funny

Those thousands of dollars are better spent

On a poor motherfucker trying to pay the rent

On a homeless dog looking for a new master

On a beaten wife whose husband is a bastard

You’re lucky to learn these lessons in school

If the teachers didn’t already label you a fool

Empathetic emotions are for those who seek it

A starving tummy needs someone to feed it

You can’t eat diamonds, pearls, or golden rings

You can’t do a whole lot with material things

If you love somebody, shout it from the roof

Breaking the bank shouldn’t be your only proof

Incelbordination, Chapter 19

The stitches on Oswald’s foot were healing quite nicely. Not as much redness, not nearly as swollen as it once was, the pain was minimal at worst, yet he still felt the need to keep his medical boot on for a few more weeks. Plus, it felt weird staring at his own foot considering he was once caught staring at Valerie’s feet mid-lecture.

The little guy, while sitting on his bed, put the boot back on and hobbled toward his computer desk. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to look up first. Were his grades coming in yet? Did he need information about Jessica Bradley’s funeral (if she had one at all)? Did he need to spend some quality time on Porn Hub? Oswald’s mind raced so much in those few moments that he couldn’t come up with a decent answer. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he asked.

While he couldn’t solve that Sherlock Holmes-esque mystery, his eyebrows furrowed and his fingers drummed against the desk as he got an idea of what he wanted. With Antero supposedly behind bars, was Incelbordination still a thing? Did most of their members get arrested too? Was there any truth in cutting off the head of the viper or did it just create a power vacuum for even more rabid members to fight over? Oswald typed Incelbordination in a Google search engine and his eyes widened at what he saw.

Any legitimate news stories covering this terrorist attack were overshadowed by jilted male virgins voicing their displeasure at Antero’s arrest. Some of these young men called for “The blood of Chads and Stacys everywhere” and how “A few dead college bitches aren’t enough!” Some of these dorks hailed Antero Magnus as a greater civil rights hero than the likes of Martin Luther King, Jr., Thurgood Marshall, and Ruth Bader Ginsberg. One kid suggested building a bronze statue of Antero raping a cheerleader and erecting it downtown for everyone to see.

Bile rose in Oswald’s throat, but he knew puking all over his computer would dislocate his ribs even further. His mind swirled with questions asking over and over again what the fuck was wrong with these people. His head lightened like a balloon ready to pop. He was so dizzy that he failed to notice a familiar feminine voice calling his name until the last second.

He jumped around in his chair and saw Nikita standing in his doorway with a few bags of pot in tow. Her face seemed to be lacking in color as well as she struggled to say, “I refilled your medication for you, Oswald.”

“Uh…thanks…I, uh…really appreciate that,” said the dwarf while shifting his eyes. Nikita’s own eyes widened as she tilted her head to get a better view of Oswald’s computer screen. “What? What is it?” Suddenly realizing why she gasped and held her mouth shut, he scrambled to find an explanation. “It’s not what you think, Nikita! You have to believe me!”

Dropping the bags of marijuana on the floor, Nikita stammered, “You’re sick. You’re fucking sick.” She attempted to storm out of the building, but Oswald hobbled after her while pleading with her to wait and allow him to explain.

The mini-chase led the two of them to the sidewalk where Nikita sat on the curb trying to collect her tears. Oswald stopped for a moment to let his foot stitches heal, but it was really to take in the stomach-knotting sight of this beautiful lady crying before him. No, not just any beautiful lady. It was the woman he had a crush on for so long and now he offended her by virtue of his internet history.

He limped towards her and attempted to put a hand on her shoulder only to have it swatted away. “No! Don’t touch me, Oswald,” Nikita cried. Silence befell both of them for several heart-wrenchingly tense seconds. Time itself stood still, not unlike Oswald, whose rising anxiety prevented him from comforting her. Nikita wiped away more tears and ranted, “You mean to tell me after all of this time and after all the positive messages sent your way that you still feel the need to identify with those…monsters?! Are you that starved for attention?”

Putting his hands up defensively, Oswald calmly said, “Please, let me explain. I wasn’t looking up those threads for the reason that you think. I needed to know if Incelbordination was still active and…as you just saw…” He tucked his head in defeat, not knowing what else to say to her.

Nikita turned her head to face the sullen Oswald and said, “Of course they’re still active. Sure, they have people who hate their guts, but they also have supporters. Lots of them. There are people who support Al Queda. There are people who support Nazis and the KKK and the Westboro Baptist Church. You’re not going to change everybody’s mind just because one of their prominent figures is behind bars.” She stood up and held Oswald’s hands in her own. “These zealots are stuck in their ways, Oswald. You don’t want to get involved with people like that. If anything, they’re even more motivated now that they have a hero to look up to.”

“Nikita…you have to believe me. I don’t want to be a part of Incelbordination. That’s not who I am. I may be lonely and depressed all the time, but it would never occur to me to take the measures Antero has. In fact…I think that man is a fucking scumbag…He hurt me just as much as he hurt everyone else. That’s why I’m banged up right now. I don’t want to join him. I want to bury him.”

In the midst of this handholding, Oswald hotly debated in his own mind whether that moment was the right time to make his move. He could end his loneliness forever by taking a chance. She couldn’t be any more hurt than she was at that moment. What was a little hand petting going to do? He did just that…and Nikita jerked her hands away and asked, “What are you doing?”

Oswald once again tucked his head in shame and profusely apologized for his come-on. His heart thudded in agony and all he wanted to do was retreat back into his dorm and sleep off the rest of the day. But just as he turned around, Nikita placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “I can’t do it, Oswald. I’m married.”

“…What? You’ve been…I mean…you’re not wearing a ring.”

Nikita knelt down to Oswald’s level and explained, “I know. I had to sell it in order to pay for tuition. My husband had to sell his ring too for his own expenses. I’m not just telling you these things to try and get away from you. If I’m going to believe you’re not an incel terrorist looking for someone to murder, then you need to believe that I’m happily married to the man I love. And of course, I wouldn’t be married to him if I didn’t trust him completely. You and I? We need to trust each other too. I’m not making excuses, Oswald.”

The dwarf face-palmed and shook his head before taking a seat on the curb. The silence between the two friends was heavy enough to crunch Oswald’s ribcage all over again, as if his broken heart didn’t do enough damage in that regard. “So what’s his name?” he finally asked.

“His name is Bill. He goes to school here. He’s a student athlete.”

“Figures.”

Hands on her hips and eyebrows downward, she asked, “What’s that’s supposed to mean?”

Oswald sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that…whenever I hear the words student athlete, I can’t help but think of guys like Wacey Judge. I don’t have the best track record for getting along with them seeing as how…I was…” He wiped away a singular tear. “I was almost killed in high school.”

Her face softening, Nikita placed her hands on Oswald’s shoulders and said, “Bill is not a stereotypical jock, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. You’d like him too. He is definitely not a Chad, so don’t even go there.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Nikita sighed. “Listen, I just came by here to drop off your medicine. I have to get going now. Bill’s picking me up for a dinner date in half an hour. If you’re ever feeling lonely or you need a friend to talk to…don’t ever go back to those incel message boards.”

“Wouldn’t dream of that either.”

Nikita patted Oswald on the head and said her goodbyes before turning heel and walking away. The dwarf continued sitting on the curb even though the couch in his dorm room was a more comfortable option. How could he get up with his heavy heart weighing him down? How could he send another storm of pain through his body just to retreat into his personal space?

Instead he just buried his face in his knees and allowed his tears to drop like summer rain. He didn’t give a damn if anybody was watching. Chances were good they didn’t care if he got his heart broken anyways. Piling that on top of Jessica’s death, Antero’s transgressions, and his own battle-scarred body and he could have just slept on the sidewalk all he wanted. Concrete? A mattress? What was the fucking difference when he felt bad either way?

Sex Surrogate

VERSE 1

It’s been forever since our last session

Not much going on that’s worth mention

I still coast through life at a turtle’s pace

I still have my famous Resting Bitch Face

Should’ve called you when I had the chance

Not much happening in the way of romance

How many more sessions am I allowed to have?

Can we still meet for at least an hour and a half?

VERSE 2

I’m sorry I’m late, but traffic was a mess

I’m sorry for these excuses I must confess

I got cold feet and stalled for a while

I might as well be walking the green mile

We all know how this session will end

I can’t be cured, but I can make amends

I’m sorry I’m not who you want me to be

Whether in bed or in life, nothing is free

VERSE 3

I must admit that I’m starting to like you

I’m sorry if this confession frightens you

I know we can’t have romantic feelings

But it’s a desire which I’ve been feeding

You’re married and happy, I understand

Reciprocation isn’t something I demand

I just had to get it all off my chest today

What a wonderful time to feel so brave

VERSE 4

This isn’t working, give me back my pills

This never ending pain is mine to kill

Sedated and jaded, everything has faded

Nothing left after my ego has deflated

The comfort zone is calling my name

It tells me to stop playing these sex games

It tells me that taking risks is foolish

Maybe I’ll listen until the day I’m ghoulish

"A Day in the Life of Marlon Bundo" by Jill Twiss

BOOK TITLE: A Day in the Life of Marlon Bundo

AUTHOR: Jill Twiss

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: LGBT Children’s Book

GRADE: Extra Credit

In the stuffiest room in the white house, there lived Marlon Bundo, a lovable bunny rabbit whose grandpa is the dull and boring Vice President Mike Pence. Feeling lonely in his little room, Marlon hops out into the garden and meets another beautiful male bunny named Wesley. The two rabbits fall in love and decide to get married so that they can hop everywhere forever. The only thing stopping them is the strict rule of Mr. Stink Bug (an obvious Mike Pence parody), who says that boy bunnies can only marry girl bunnies. Only when the creatures of the garden come together for a democratic vote can Marlon and Wesley show Mr. Stink Bug that love trumps hate.

If you’re a regular viewer of Last Week Tonight with John Oliver like I am, you’ll know exactly why this book was published: to screw with hard-right homophobe Mike Pence. Anytime that the LGBT community gets to shine its brightest colors is a good day for the world at large. There’s too much bullying and hatred against these poor folks, so any victory they achieve in the name of social justice should be celebrated. What better way to celebrate than with a cute and cuddly gay wedding between two sweethearted bunny-pies?

Speaking of things that are cute and cuddly, that’s another aspect of this book that will earn critical acclaim. Your smile will get bigger and goofier when you see Wesley and Marlon hopping around together like sweet little bunnies should. The other garden animals from the puppy-duppy to the turtle will also steal your heart. And then when the wedding finally happens, you’ve got little mice and porcupines dressed up in their Sunday best, which always looks adorable. You’ll be saying “aww” throughout the entire book. Not even the inner ugliness of Mr. Stink Bug will ruin your experience because once again, love trumps hate and his hateful ways won’t last forever.

So now that we’ve got our LGBT pride and cuteness nailed down, the only other thing to discuss is how important democracy is, since it plays a vital role in the book’s ending. I know there are times when democracy seems dead as a doornail. I know we don’t always like our choices between candidates. I know the people in power like to make voting difficult for the less fortunate. I know it seems like elections can be bought and sold like Wal-Mart goodies. But just like in this book, the power of your vote is more urgent now than it has ever been. If you don’t vote, the Mr. Stink Bugs of the world will.

One hundred percent of the profits from this book will be donated to LGBT charities specializing in suicide prevention and AIDS research. Even if you don’t have children of your own, you’ll still enjoy this book to its fullest extent for all of the reasons I’ve listed above. If on the other hand you do have children, let them know that being different is okay and should be celebrated rather than feared. Nobody is truly alone in this world despite the negative pressure dictating otherwise. An extra credit grade will go to this beautifully crafted book with a positive message and cuddly characters.

Run Like Hell

CHORUS

Run like hell from the perfume smell

Run like hell from the wedding bells

Get your ass home before you turn to stone

Find another place to bury your bone

VERSE 1

Locked in a contract like Christian Grey

This newfound prison is your wedding day

Shotgun loaded and pressed to your head

Say the words “I do” lest you end up dead

Run like the wind, it’s your only chance

To get your ass out of this toxic romance

A hellish honeymoon in a seaside resort?

Time to cut that shit so fucking short

CHORUS

Run like hell from the perfume smell

Run like hell from the wedding bells

Get your ass home before you turn to stone

Find another place to bury your bone

VERSE 2

She screams like a demon, bites like a vampire

A virgin sacrifice is what she will require

You’re strapped to a cross naked as a baby

Gagged with a sex toy, screaming like a lady

Your heart beats fast as the seconds pass

Sweat pours down, you start to drown

Here comes the blade, the pact is made

I now pronounce you lonely and afraid

CHORUS

Run like hell from the perfume smell

Run like hell from the wedding bells

Get your ass home before you turn to stone

Find another place to bury your bone

VERSE 3

Get the fuck out like a scared little mouse

Get your ass free and run like the breeze

Never turn back for a heart so black

Suck down air to calm your standing hairs

Take your ring off and give it a toss

An instant divorce is what you get of course

I know you’re tired, I know you’re scared

I know the trauma will never be fair

FINAL LINES

Run, motherfucker, run, motherfucker, run! X3

Run! Like! Hell!

Down with the Sickness

Another new year, another lonely meal for Anthony Robertson. He absentmindedly twirled his shrimp linguini with his fork while gazing with a silent fury around Red Lobster’s clientele for the evening. So many happy people. So many successful couples with adorable kids. Men in suits and ties. Girls in cocktail dresses. All of them beautiful and perfect like the Mary-Sues they were. All Anthony had to show for his troubles was a doughy body covered by a Star Wars T-shirt and sweatpants along with a permanent resting bitch face.

He sighed and twirled his food some more, only occasionally taking a sip of his diet cola. He could see his reflection in the drinking glass and though distorted, he hated that image with fire and fury. Anthony could easily join a gym, shave his face, cut his hair, maybe even speak up for himself every now and then. But what was the point of it all? How would any of this make a difference at thirty years of age? How would this set of New Years resolutions be any different from the others? He thought maybe he should have the waitress box his meal up so he could eat it when he got home. No sense in taking in this circus of conformity any longer.

Of course, no circus of conformity would be complete without its own set of clowns. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” Anthony mumbled to himself. Dancing happily towards their booth was the tuxedo-wearing Ryan Lawrence and his new wedding dress-wearing wife Lillian, their faces familiar to Anthony dating all the way back to high school. Prom king and prom queen. Football stud and cheerleader chick. Cult of personality and goddess of love.

The newly-minted Lawrences occupied the same side of the booth so that they could spoon together like the lovebirds they were. At some point during Anthony’s silent apoplexy of jealousy, he had forgotten that there was a plate of shrimp linguini in front of him and a cup of diet cola not too far off. He closed his burning eyelids and took a bite of his meal. Creamy sauce, check. Soft noodles, check. Garlicky shrimp, check. Lillian’s lipstick, check…wait a minute…

Sure enough, the jarhead Ryan and his blond bombshell were playing a Stanley Cup-worthy game of tonsil hockey, much to the ignorance of the other patrons. Every time their tongues bathed in each other’s mouths, Anthony could feel the same sensation just from eating his meal. Suddenly his entire pasta dish looked like saliva and dentistry. His stomach felt like it was pregnant with a bag of bowling balls.

Yet Anthony couldn’t look away from this romantic display. He could have heard their lips and tongues smacking even if he was in Scotland….during a rock concert…with plugs in his ears…and permanent ringing. The PDA even included Ryan fondling his wife’s breasts through the dress. Any chance of Anthony getting a boner that night had died a long time ago with his high school self-esteem.

The lonely juggernaut waddled over to Ryan and Lillian’s table and slammed both fists on the wooden surface to snap them out of their little love fest. With a gaze as scalding as the coffee pot on the table, Anthony said, “Now that I have your attention…and everyone else’s attention in this fucking restaurant…could you do me a favor? The next time you plan on shooting a porn movie in a public place, make sure to send me an advance copy so that I can rub one out instead of crying myself to sleep at night.”

While Lillian folded her arms and pouted in shock, Ryan laughed it off and said, “Listen, buddy, I know it’s hard for a big guy like you to get girls, but if you look hard enough, you’ll find one someday. Maybe you’ll get to shoot your own porno in public. Until then, could you please get the fuck out of here so my wife and I can enjoy our suppers?”

Anthony stood up straight and hollered into the waitress’s vicinity, “You hear that? These two want to enjoy their meals! Don’t bother bringing them crab legs and cheddar biscuits! They already have someone, I mean, something to eat!”

While that last joke earned a few awkward chuckles from the other patrons, Lillian’s expressed the opposite of humor when she stood up in the booth and asked, “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Ryan barricaded his wife with his arm and sat her down again while saying, “It’s alright, honey, I got this.”

“That’s right, Lillian, there’s no need to fight your husband’s battles for him,” mocked Anthony. “As soon as the two of you have a daughter together, that’ll be her job, not yours.”

Ryan stood up and was nose-to-nose with his assailant, teeth gritted and fists clenched. “What the fuck is your deal, you ignorant cow?!” He muttered. “This is not the time or the place for your jealous bullshit!”

Anthony grabbed Ryan by his bowtie and growled, “Speaking of not being the time or the place for anything, I think you’re pretty much forgotten that this is a restaurant! A restaurant where people eat food! Nobody wants to eat their food with a bunch of disgusting tongue warriors next to them! You know that old phrase get a room?! Well, that sounds like damn good advice right now, don’t you agree?!”

Ryan kneed Anthony in his pudgy gut and dropped him to the ground. Waitresses, waiters, and patrons scrambled onto the scene to hold the husband back and prevent further violence. Their tight grips on his arms and legs didn’t prevent Ryan from shouting a few choice swear words at his opponent, who grabbed the edge of the table to pull himself to his feet.

Lillian, who didn’t have the disadvantage of a crowd blocking her path, stood up from the booth, slapped Anthony across his bearded jowls, and sneered, “Serves you right! Come on, honey, let’s eat somewhere else!”

The knee to his stomach and the slap across his face lit a fire within Anthony Robertson’s soul. If his pent up rage of twelve long years of loneliness and disgust was an actual fire, the governor would declare a state of emergency. Anthony didn’t have the power of pyromancy at his side. He didn’t have a flamethrower or cigarette lighter handy. But he could burn it all down anyways. In one swift motion, he spun Lillian around by her wrist and splashed scalding hot coffee in her once beautiful face.

The blood curdling scream caused Ryan to push the now weakened onlookers aside and kneel by his wife’s side. Her flesh peeled, reddened, and in some places bled profusely. Her tongue grew pitch black like she had just swallowed a lit cigar. Steam rose from her blistered face like a California wildfire.

Anthony’s grin grew wider than even his jowls could allow. “Go ahead, Ryan. Kiss her. Kiss her deeply. Show her how much you love her. Go ahead and cannibalize her. She’s what the steak chefs would call…well-done!”

Holding his wife tightly while patrons scrambled to call 9-1-1, Ryan’s visage was a cauldron of rage and sorrow. He looked so heartbroken that he couldn’t bring himself to his shaking legs to bring the fight to Anthony. Instead all he asked was, “What the fuck is wrong with you, man? All we did was kiss each other! There’s nothing wrong with kissing! It’s all about love, right?”

Anthony leaned closer to Ryan’s melting puddle of a face and said above the din of Lillian’s slowly calming screams, “I wouldn’t know what good kissing is like. According to you and your football friends, the only kissing I knew was with a hideous pimple faced princess named Jennifer. You think I forgot about those lies you spread about me, Ryan? Sure, it was over a decade ago, but try explaining that to my traumatized mind. Try telling me that as I eat my meals and see Jennifer’s face in my plate. That disgusting, disfigured, retarded face chewing my food for me! It’s a shame, too. I was enjoying being on the honor roll. They don’t let traumatized kids on the honor roll, Ryan. They don’t even let them have English degrees.”

Ryan’s face softened from rage and agony to shame and regret. His wife was still a fucked up mess with her acid-like burns. No more kissing for this triangle of terror known as Anthony, Ryan, and Lillian. Nobody knew what Ryan was thinking, but it probably had something to do with Anthony’s mental scars being just as painful as Lillian’s physical ones. At least that’s what Mr. Robertson hoped as he waddled away from the scene of the crime.

A whole litany of racing thoughts burned through Anthony’s mind as patrons scrambled to administer first aid to Lillian. He secretly wondered if Ryan would divorce his wife on the basis of her not being attractive anymore. But then again, he believed those two deserved each other until the end of forever. While Anthony couldn’t have his cake and eat it too, he could eat something else that was probably more nutritious and realistic: the plate of shrimp linguini he had been nursing for half an hour.

But that wasn’t how revenge worked. Instead of healing his mind, Anthony’s thoughts raced faster and faster, each damning trauma flaring in his mind ever so painfully. He knew he was destined for the hellhole of prison for his actions. He knew the food would taste even more disgusting than a false high school girlfriend’s mouth. Maybe it would have worms and maggots in it. Maybe there would be more traumas waiting for him behind bars. There was no turning back now. Anthony sucked in a deep breath and prepared to surrender his body and fucked up mind to the colorful police sirens outside Red Lobster.

Theocracy

VERSE 1

Welcome to the theocracy

Forget your sexual fantasies

It’s all about diseases and pregnancy

Cross the line, you’re the public enemy

Abstinence doesn’t do a damn thing

It’s somehow better with a wedding ring

Don’t try to analyze, just conform

Theocracy is the brand new norm

CHORUS

Sex ed will fuck with your head

STD’s will leave you for dead

We know what goes on in your bed

Theocracy is what you need instead

VERSE 2

Never mind that we’re telling lies

Why should this come as a surprise?

We’re the same guys who grade opinions

Turn you all into mindless minions

It could be another brick in the wall

Or lesions all over your dick and balls

Or green pus oozing out of your holes

Or HIV racking up a bloody death toll

CHORUS

Sex ed will fuck with your head

STD’s will leave you for dead

We know what goes on in your bed

Theocracy is what you need instead

VERSE 3

Masturbation can relieve your tension

But we don’t give it the slightest mention

Wait until you’re married, it all makes sense

Don’t try to debate us or put up a defense

We’re the ones who give A’s and B’s

To students who always aim to please

We’re also the ones who give F’s and D’s

Who question the curriculum about disease

BRIDGE

Sores on your cock until forever o’clock

Sores on your ass, wait for eternity to pass

Kick you when you’re down in this rightwing town

No apologies for theocracy

EXTENDED CHORUS

Sex ed will fuck with your head

STD’s will leave you for dead

We know what goes on in your bed

Theocracy is what you need instead

Bible verses aren’t something to dread

Your holy spirit is what needs to be fed

A sip of Kool-Aid and a chunk of bread

Poison for your mind like water with lead

Vicarious

VERSE 1

Never get married, never have kids

Never drink booze, never smoke cigs

Never have sex with a total stranger

Never put yourself in fiery danger

Vicarious lessons are the best kind

Without them, I’d be lost and blind

Living through the mistakes of others

Dying free instead of being smothered

VERSE 2

Never take a job that will leave you aching

Never date a girl who thinks hearts are for breaking

Never go to a place where you won’t make it home

Never befriend losers when you feel so alone

Vicarious teachings are my curriculum of choice

I walk that graduation isle with a shit load of poise

Living through the regrets of my people

Dying with the credo that we’re all equal

BRIDGE

Safe and sound from the hungriest hounds

Feeling relaxed with my vicarious facts

Nobody can take this away from me

If they try, let them suffer and bleed

VERSE 3

Never try a hobby where you know you’ll suck

Never play a game where you’re shit out of luck

Never question the source of your infinite bucks

Never drive a car and plow into logging trucks

Never question your future, live in the present day

Never dwell on your past, learn to get the fuck away

These are the lessons from the wisest sages

Vicariously passed down to the youngest of ages

STOLEN LINE

Vicariously, I live while the whole world dies!

Child Bride

VERSE 1

You cover it up when you forcibly fuck

You go on a search for the nearest church

To get wed and to get inside of her bed

To put traumatic visions inside of her head

CHORUS

Where’s the pride for the child bride?

We all know what you’re trying to hide

You’ll never keep this all on the inside

Justice will be served by those who cried

VERSE 2

Will having nine children be enough for you?

Having a million arguments about nothing new?

She never had a choice, you took her voice

You rave and rant as you take off your pants

EXTENDED CHORUS

Where’s the pride for the child bride?

We all know what you’re trying to hide

You’ll never keep this all on the inside

Justice will be served by those who cried

Where is the pride for the soul that died?

When will we fight for all that is right?

This is entrapment in the worst sense

This is enslavement with the worst sex

VERSE 3

Your secret is out, so you scream and shout

There was never a question or even a doubt

The child bride has spoken her damn mind

All lights on you, they needed to be shined

Stutter and sputter, your shit melts like butter

You piss your pants and do a little dance

You plead guilty and get a hundred years

While the child bride keeps living in fear

EXTENDED CHORUS

Where’s the pride for the child bride?

We all know what you’re trying to hide

You’ll never keep this all on the inside

Justice will be served by those who cried

Where is the pride for the soul that died?

When will we fight for all that is right?

This is entrapment in the worst sense

This is enslavement with the worst sex

"Reaching For the Light" by TL Katt and Marie Krepps

BOOK TITLE: Reaching For the Light

AUTHORS: Marie Krepps and TL Katt

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Fictional Short Stories

SUBGENRE: Mental Illness Fiction

GRADE: Extra Credit

In a joint effort to promote acceptance and love for the mentally ill, two back-to-back short stories are collected in this one volume. Marie Krepps’ story is called “High Heels and Ice Cream” and focuses on Brianna, an anxious, depressed, bisexual college student who struggles with her attraction to her beautiful roommate Carla. TL Katt’s story is called “Bloom” and takes a dark plunge into the world of domestic violence through the eyes of traumatized wife Jen. In the end, you will cheer for Brianna and Jen to reach for the light and live wonderful lives outside of their past traumas. If you or someone you know is suffering from mental illness, don’t wait to get help. Every second counts when it comes to healing fresh wounds.

High Heels and Ice Cream is clearly the more lighthearted of the two stories, but it still tugs at the reader’s heartstrings. As someone who is shy around beautiful women, I can relate to Brianna on a deep level. Hell, there are many things I have in common with her whether it’s mental illness of my own or aspirations to be a successful author. College was a lonely experience for me, so watching Brianna curl up inside herself as she fights her urges is heartbreaking to watch. I want her to find love and happiness with Carla, but there’s always that small chance Carla isn’t gay and might actually be homophobic. While I won’t spoil what happens at the end of this story, you will believe in love once again and you will reach for the light one of these days.

And then we have the dark and dour Bloom, a domestic abuse story that nearly drove me to tears. All Jen wants is a happy marriage with her husband Cam, but the way he beats and insults her is way too realistic of what goes on in these situations. Every traumatic nightmare Jen has, the reader will have as well. TL Katt’s descriptive language is so on-point that you have no choice but to squeeze your eyeballs dry at this one. Even more frustrating is when Cam’s family blames Jen for everything rather than see him for the psychopath that he really is. If they won’t help her through the PTSD, somebody else has to. Jen needs her friends and family in the worst way. Will she reach for the light and look forward to a better day? Read and judge for yourself.

I encourage all of my readers to pick up a copy of Reaching For the Light and spread its message to everybody they meet. Proceeds from the book sales will go to mental illness charities. Being mentally ill isn’t something society should be afraid of. It’s not about “craziness” or “bats in the belfry”. These people need love and respect just like any other member of our community. Treat them well and end the stigmas surrounding mental illness. As someone with schizophrenia and autism, I’m a proud supporter of this book’s goals. An extra credit grade is in order for this beautifully-written collaboration by two amazing authors.