Ripley Verdugo (The Shield) vs. Todd Blanche (Department of Justice (LOL)): Hey, at Least He's Cooperating!

 

Matt Mitrione: His Hate-Boner for Fallon Fox Turned Out to Be a Real One

 

Ray Parker, Jr. vs. Louis C.K.: Who You Gonna Call? My Lawyer!

 

Yvette the Maid Is Here to Bring You Sex Positivity

 

Divinyls X Halestorm: "When I Touch Myself, I Get Off" (Rest in Peace, Chrissy Amphlett)

 

The Who X Green Day: "All by Myself with Pictures of Lily"

 

The One

VERSE 1

“Surf the internet in incognito mode?

You’re on your way to hell, a lonely road

Pray to god and take your ginkgo biloba

Stop drinking every bottle of diet soda”

Your medical advice must be so nice

For those on a diet of crackers of rice

You care so much if I’m seduced and enticed

By the ladies on the screen who bring the spice

 

PRE-CHORUS

Since you’re so emotionally invested

Here’s a little challenge so unexpected

 

CHORUS 1

Find me! The one who cares

Find me! The one who stares

At me with pretty eyes

Makes my spirit rise, destroys your lies

Find me! The one who cares

Find me! The one who shares

Her bed with me tonight

It’s a trick question, just admit I’m right

 

VERSE 2

“Yo, bro! Just swallow these red pills

Watch some UFC, get those bloody thrills

Don’t simp for nobody, go get yourself laid

It doesn’t count if your lover gets paid”

I’ve never seen so many SWERFS in one whole place

Who never gave a woman her own O-face

That’s okay, I haven’t done that myself

So I’m jerking it raw for my mental health

 

PRE-CHORUS

Since you’re so emotionally invested

Here’s a little challenge so unexpected

 

CHORUS 1

Find me! The one who cares

Find me! The one who stares

At me with pretty eyes

Makes my spirit rise, destroys your lies

Find me! The one who cares

Find me! The one who shares

Her bed with me tonight

It’s a trick question, just admit I’m right

 

VERSE 3

“Your computer’s slowing down, are you watching corn?

There must be other ways to keep your dick warm

Go touch some grass and then go get some ass

Here’s your invoice for the day, credit or cash?”

Five hundred bucks? Who’s got that kind of money?

I could have spent it in The Land of Milk and Honey

Oh wait, you’re one of them Elon Musk tech bros

Is that why you’ve got brown stains on your nose?

 

CHORUS 2

Oh well! It feels like no one cares

Oh well! It feels like no one wears

Every little hat I’ve got

You couldn’t walk in my shoes, couldn’t take my spot

Oh well! It feels like no one cares

Oh well! It feels so unfair

And now I sound just like a guy

With a microphone and a podcast, why?

March Was the Drizzling Shits

…Alright, look…I’m not going to bullshit you guys. The month of March in 2024 has been absolute dogshit for me. I’m grateful to get off of Risperidone, but there’s a price to pay for doing that. I thought I’d been over the worst of it when I stopped sweating profusely and when I wasn’t boiling hot all the time. But there’s another side effect that I’m still dealing with today that I don’t talk about very often. I don’t talk about it because it’s a creepy subject. Ever since I got off Risperidone, I’ve been incredibly horny 24/7. I’ve been living in my own head thinking about these elaborate sexual and romantic fantasies while being completely disconnected from the real world. Anytime I’ve had to step outside my own “heaven” as I call it, I’ve been cranky and irritable, even if I’m doing something that’ll benefit my family like doing laundry or going grocery shopping. I was shopping at Safeway one time and I was getting frustrated that I couldn’t go home to my room and…take care of business. But “taking care of business” only keeps the horniness at bay for a short period of time. And then I’m banging on “heaven’s gates” wanting to be let back in. This has been my entire March in 2024. Three poems and a stream-of-consciousness essay came out of it, sure, but not much else beyond that. I haven’t cracked open “Elantris” since early February. I haven’t written a chapter of Rainbow Ranch since January. I haven’t written a chapter of Beautiful Monster since last year. Last! Year! I haven’t drawn a picture since February. Everything is piling up while I’m trapped in my own fucking head. Take it from me: being horny all the time isn’t the kind of fun that most incels and alpha males would make it out to be. It sucks. It absolutely fucking sucks. How much longer do I have to wait for my brain to recalibrate? Patience is not one of my virtues, in case it wasn’t abundantly clear. So if you ask me what my plans are for the day, I’ve got none. My schedule is clear, but my head is not. I’m counting down the days when this bullshit will end. Thanks for listening to me for a while. Sorry if me talking about sex makes you feel uncomfortable.

Blade Master

 Butchered genitals, agony in general

Slash those cocks like a samurai sentinel

They call you Blade Master, I call you torturer

Target little children, never be a warrior

You say it’s just a snip as you steal the tip

But it feels like fire, but it feels like a rip

Do it all in the name of stopping masturbation

Do it all in the name of god’s favorite creations

But if I could hide behind a mystical deity

I could impale you with a spear against the ceiling

I could shove a chainsaw right up your ass

Give you a torture test that you’ll never pass

I could blame it all on who I pray to at night

I could call it freedom or my inalienable right

Doesn’t feel good when I’m the one with the blade

Chopping off your schlong, no more babies to be made

In case you want make a point about abortion

Don’t even try, because we know it’s extortion

A clump of cells ain’t got shit on a living child

Stop dicing dicks and adding to your growing pile

Blade Master, Blade Master, rest in little pieces

Know you can’t do fuck-all about sexual releases

Got no resume to take with you to heaven

Take the elevator down to the land of bad intentions

Tell the demons about the parents’ medical decision

Give them a lecture on what you call circumcisions

Intimate Psychotherapy

***INTIMATE PSYCHOTHERAPY***

I’d like to be able to stand on a mountaintop with my electrified staff raised high and yell, “I AM HOPE!” to all of my dearly beloveds. But in order for that to be taken seriously, I’d have to have some kind of god complex. Because I’m a writer who makes mistakes often and isn’t afraid to talk about them, I can’t afford to have a god complex. Part of the reason why I continue to fuck up from time to time (aside from being human) is because all of the romantic tropes from my favorite movies, books, and TV shows don’t work to my advantage the way that I thought they would. Manic Pixie Dream Girls? Gone. Changing other people through romance? Out. Damsels in Distress? Only if the trope is subverted somehow, which I guess could be said for any tired old trope.

But we’re not talking about those today, no, no, no, no. Today we’re talking about something even more controversial: Intimate Psychotherapy. You might know this better as the “sex cures everything” trope. Are you feeling depressed? Have some sex. Are you feeling anxious? Conquer your shyness and then have some great sex. Victim of sexual assault? Never fear, because the good sex will make you forget you’ve ever had bad sex. Well…to quote Theory of a Deadman, “All those flavors of the rainbow, too bad that shit don’t work, though.” I can’t confirm this due to my own virginity, but great sex releases an assload of endorphins in your brain. Masturbation does that too, something I have a little more direct experience with. But does this rush of endorphins cure everything? Hell no, not even a little bit. If you’re a victim of sexual assault, the “great” sex won’t erase your shitty experience. It’ll trigger you to where you can’t function anymore.

So where did I first hear about Intimate Psychotherapy? I do have a clear answer, but I don’t want anybody to misinterpret it as the sole reason why. Keep in mind that I don’t know the meaning of the term moderation. Every piece of creative fuel I absorb, I take to the extreme without questioning it. Not questioning creative fuel was my first mistake, especially since that fuel came from a movie called The Sessions. In this movie, a sex surrogate played by Helen Hunt is hired by a physically disabled poet to help build his romantic confidence via sex. Sex surrogacy is a legitimate practice, but when interpreting it as creative fuel, it shouldn’t be blown out of proportion. Yes, exposure therapy has benefits. Yes, being exposed to great sex can help awkward people overcome their fears. But is it a one-size-fits-all solution to everything? No!

If I, a socially-awkward schizophrenic, flew out to Reno, Nevada tomorrow morning (Corona Virus be damned) and visited a legal brothel to lose my virginity, I wouldn’t also lose my mental illness. It’s not like I could bust a nut and then suddenly flush my meds down the toilet. Remember, masturbation has the same benefits as far as endorphins go. If masturbation doesn’t cure mental illnesses, great sex won’t either. I’m sure there are prostitutes out there who have crippling depression. I’m sure there are strippers who have severe PTSD. I’m not saying every sex worker hates their own job, but what about the ones that do? You think they’re finding healing in what they do? What about victims of child trafficking? Now, we’ve gone too far down the rabbit hole, but hopefully everything is clear to you by now.

The Intimate Psychotherapy trope in its most extreme forms could be disproved over and over again and there would still be instances of books and movies carrying on the misinformation. I will admit that it makes for a tempting story, albeit a misleading one. Sex can be enjoyable. Masturbation can also be enjoyable. The prospect of sex on its own can be very alluring to any consumer of media. Yes, I know Intimate Psychotherapy doesn’t work in the real world. Yes, I know how offensive it comes across in fiction. But what if there was a way we could subvert a trope or otherwise make it fresh? Don’t say, “This doesn’t work.” Ask, “How can we fix this?”

What if you’re writing a fantasy story and the white mage of the party a.k.a. the healer used sex as part of the magic? What if there’s an alien race in a sci-fi story that has medicinal properties in their semen? What if prostitution was seen as a vital part of the healthcare industry and the prices of which were jacked up to phenomenal proportions? You know, just like in the healthcare system we have today? What if sex was used as a truth serum? What if condoms were laced with healing salve? The possibilities are as endless as your imagination. The trope can work as long as you don’t blow it out of proportion and as long as you put your own spin on it. By itself, it’s offensive as hell. But under the watch of a truly creative soul? Wow…

Isn’t that how we should be looking at old tropes to begin with? Don’t get rid of them altogether, just put your unique touch on them. Manic Pixie Dream Girls could be femme fatales in a heartbeat. Or there could be an opposite of a femme fatale, where the seducer brings the mark to greatness and healing instead of danger and death. What about Damsels in Distress? We’ve seen that trope hundreds of times, but what if the kidnapper was a female and the victim was a male? Or what if the damsel was a dead body with a restless soul? The key word in creative writing is creative. If you recycle the same shit over and over again, your audience is going to notice. But if you freshen things up with that old creative fuel, they’ll notice it even more and might even love you for it. If they love you enough, they can cure your Impostor Syndrome with Intimate Psychotherapy! Just kidding! Or am I? Hmm…

I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

Prior to writing this blog entry, I wrote chapter ten of Beautiful Monster and I didn’t have nearly as many problems doing so as I did chapter nine. The writing process went fairly smoothly. Maybe not so much in the beginning, but it didn’t take long at all to find my grove again. And by the end of the chapter, a slave-trader’s head was blown to bits and her brains were scattered all over a wooden stage. This message was brought to you by the Smoke Wagon XT, the same gun that was used to murder the slave-trader. Why does it have an XT at the end? Who knows? Who cares? Orphaned acronyms are a thing. But where does that leave chapter eleven? Well, after all the hoo-ha in Devon Bay dies down, Windham and Tarja finally get a room together. Shut up, that doesn’t mean what you think it means. Although sex is indeed a theme in this chapter, there’s nothing romantic or hot about it. It’s disturbing as fuck. It’s the reason why the story is called Beautiful Monster. Ugh…

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Sometimes I feel I’ve got to run away. I’ve got to get away from the pain that you drive into the heart of me. The love we share seems to go nowhere. And I’ve lost my light, for I toss and turn, I can’t sleep at night. Now I know I’ve got to run away. I’ve got to get away. You don’t really want anymore from me. To make things right, you need someone to hold you tight. And you think love is to pray. Well, I’m sorry, I don’t pray that way. Once I ran to you. Now I’ll run from you. This tainted love you’ve given. I give you all a boy could give you. Take my tears and that’s not nearly all. Tainted love. Oh, tainted love. Don’t touch me, please. I cannot stand the way you tease. I love you, though you hurt me so. Now I’m going to pack my things and go. Tainted love. Touch me, baby, tainted love.”

-Soft Cell singing “Tainted Love”-

Lingerie

CHORUS 1

I’m going to dress you up in women’s lingerie

In women’s lingerie, in women’s lingerie

I’m going to dress you up in women’s lingerie

In the most delightful way

VERSE 1

Make you look sexier than Dita Von Teese

Because every beauty needs their own beast

Nothing wrong with public humiliation

See if you’re worth sixty second masturbation

CHORUS 2

I’m going to dress you up in women’s underwear

In women’s underwear, in women’s underwear

I’m going to dress you up in women’s underwear

I don’t even give a care

VERSE 2

Make you look sexier than Scarlett Bordeaux

Make you the star of your own smoke show

Wrap my hands around your neck when it’s over

Leave you in the streets with a post-mortem odor

CHORUS 1 & 2

I’m going to dress you up in women’s lingerie

In women’s lingerie, in women’s lingerie

I’m going to dress you up in women’s lingerie

In the most delightful way

I’m going to dress you up in women’s underwear

In women’s underwear, in women’s underwear

I’m going to dress you up in women’s underwear

I don’t even give a care

VERSE 3

Make you look like a fool just like you did me

Make them laugh their heads off so wild and free

Maybe my methods are a little too extreme

Maybe I’m giving into my weirdest dreams

Maybe I need to see a shrink or a priest

Take a bite of wafer cookies like the final feast

Maybe I need to tone this down a little bit

Then again, I really don’t give a fucking shit!

CHORUS 1 & 2

I’m going to dress you up in women’s lingerie

In women’s lingerie, in women’s lingerie

I’m going to dress you up in women’s lingerie

In the most delightful way

I’m going to dress you up in women’s underwear

In women’s underwear, in women’s underwear

I’m going to dress you up in women’s underwear

I don’t even give a care

Busted

Cami Delmore had never looked more beautiful. Chocolate brown hair, strawberry red lips, icy blue eyes, and a body deserving of the many bikinis she wore in these modeling photos. Owen Finley sat in front of his computer clicking through these photos while having a wide-awake wet dream. Something about this felt so wrong, yet it was so right. This was the perfect way to wake up in the morning. Every day, pictures of Cami making his life so wonderful. And then…

“Owen!” shouted a feminine voice from the bedroom doorway. The teenager turned around and covered himself up with his hands while his stepmother stared him down with a look of shock and seriousness. “Breakfast is on the table. It’s oatmeal and honey. Come on down before it gets cold,” said Cami before shutting the bedroom door.

“Come on down? Is she kidding me?” panicked Owen as his arousal went flat. He scrambled as fast as he could to find clothing for the day. Black jeans? Check. A Green Day T-shirt? Check. Sneakers? Check. He never dressed himself so quickly in his lifetime. Was there time to eat the honey oatmeal? “Fuck the oatmeal, I’m out of here!” he said to himself.

He grabbed his backpack and bolted toward the door, but stopped midway knowing Cami’s judging eyes would be zeroed in on him throughout the morning. His hand trembled on the doorknob at the thought of being scrutinized by her. He’d probably never get an erection again, nor would he want one. Maybe his balls would be cut off with an olive fork. Maybe his dick would be broken with a meat tenderizer. Maybe his face would be slashed open with a butcher knife.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god…” Owen murmured while trying to think of a better escape route. Of course! The window! He snapped his fingers at the idea and made a beeline for the fresh air outside. He didn’t care if it was a tall drop to the outside; he jumped anyways. A sore ankle was better than being castrated by his own stepmother and it was the former he got. He hobbled and limped towards the bus stop looking like hell.

The whole school day was nothing but a numbed out blur. Math homework? What math homework? Gym class? Who needs that? US history? The revolutionary war actually happened? No shit! Owen almost got in trouble in class several times for his incessant shaking. The laughter from his various classmates made him tremble that much harder. But when asked about his quirky behavior, he kept giving false answers and otherwise remained tightlipped. He kept looking down at his own crotch to make sure he didn’t get an erection in the middle of a lecture.

By the time the school bus dropped him back off at his house, Owen took his sweet time getting to the front door. The front door? He couldn’t go there. Cami was probably waiting for him with a pair of surgical scissors. These thoughts brought a weakness to his stomach and jitteriness to his legs. Where was the goddamn ladder when he needed it? He snapped his fingers once again as he remembered it was in the tool shed.

He heaved the clumsy metal object towards his bedroom window and became winded after the anaerobic exercise for the day. Owen’s heavy breathing was for more reasons than that. He tried so hard to calm his stomach down and shake the feeling back in his rolled ankle. By the time he actually started climbing, the ankle pain flared up like a burning building, almost to where he fell off several times. He hurried as fast as he could up the metal device and successfully made it through the window.

Owen’s energy was completely sapped from his body and all he wanted to do was lie in bed and sleep it off. If he never woke up again, it would mean never having to talk to Cami. Mission accomplished. Not one awkward conversation was had. Not one genital was snipped. Not one more look of anger from the object of misplaced affection. Or at least so he thought.

“We need to talk,” was the quote the snapped him awake. Sure enough, Cami was standing right there in his doorway with her arms folded and her face emboldened. Now Owen really started to sweat. His eyebrows shot up to the ceiling while his eyeballs moistened and trembled. This was it. He was a dead man. He crawled backwards toward the window only to have Cami yell, “Hey!” at him several times and drag him back inside by his ankles.

“Let me go, damn it! Let me the fuck go!” shouted Owen, but nobody could hear him and he wasn’t going anywhere with Cami pinning his legs together on the bed. He tried screaming some more. “I’m sorry! I’m fucking sorry! Now please let me go!” It was no use. Cami held her hand over Owen’s mouth and the only other screams that came were capital M’s. He could thrash around all he wanted, but there was no escape from what he perceived to be a trip to the gallows. Owen couldn’t help but let a few soggy tears out.

And then Cami’s demeanor changed when she removed her hand from Owen’s mouth and instead petted his puffy black hair. She whispered, “It’s okay” to him over and over again until the stepson stopped shaking. His tears wouldn’t stop coming, but he was at least calm enough to sit on the bed and have a real conversation with the new family member he masturbated to this morning. He couldn’t even look her in the eyes. He kept his head down and allowed his tears to stain his jeans.

“Owen? Look at me,” she said, finally getting his semi-relaxed attention. “I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not?”

“Not at all. I was more worried about you than I was angry. You left this morning without eating your breakfast. Come here,” she said while hugging her crying stepson around the shoulders. “You don’t need to be afraid to talk to me. I may not have given birth to you myself, but I’m still your mother. Nothing will ever change that, do you understand?”

Owen wiped the tears away with his wrist and sobbed, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Look, I know you don’t take kindly to being embarrassed and that’s okay. You’re a sensitive guy and I respect that. But we need to talk about what happened this morning. I saw what you did and I saw who you were doing it to. Can we please just talk about this and not avoid each other anymore?”

Snorting snot up his nose, Owen said, “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Cami hugged her stepson some more and rocked him back and forth while she talked. “There’s nothing wrong with masturbating, Owen. It’s perfectly normal. Everybody does it whether they like to admit it or not. I bet there’re some preachers in our neighborhood who do it too even though they don’t say anything. I’m sorry I walked in on you like that. I’ll knock next time, okay?”

She kissed him on top of his head and rocked him some more. “But here’s the part I want you to understand. You and I can never be together that way. You know that, right? It would tear our family apart. Your dad would divorce me and he’d never forgive either of us. On top of that, you’re only fourteen years old, Owen. You’re way too young to have sex, let alone with someone my age. I’ll still be your mother and you’ll still be my son. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Owen’s cheeks burned a bright red as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Cami. I really am. I feel stupid right now…”

“Hey,” said Cami while pointing her stepsons chin up with her delicate fingers. “You’re not stupid. I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. You’re a teenager. This is what teenagers do. You’re just figuring out the world around you. And that’s okay. Besides, it’s not my place to tell you what you can and can’t fantasize about.” She pointed at his head and said, “What goes in on here is nobody else’s business but your own. Your mind is the last sanctuary you have.”

Owen’s jaw stopped convulsing and he could actually get words out this time. “I don’t know, Cami. I’m taking this sex ed class, right? And I don’t even want to ask anything in front of everybody because they’re a bunch of giggly assholes. Besides, the teacher won’t stop talking about abstinence and STD’s and shit. Yeah, like that’s going to do a lot of good. I’m already fucked up as it is!” Owen’s last sentence was punctuated by him kicking his own backpack and Cami holding him even tighter to calm him down.

“Sounds to me like you’re not getting a real education out of that class. I want you to listen to me, Owen. Forget everything that teacher taught you. There’s more to sex than just getting green stuff on your penis. There’s more to romance than waiting until you’re married. That’s all bullshit and it doesn’t work. If you see a girl at school that you like, don’t be afraid to introduce yourself to her. Treat her like an equal and she’ll treat you the same way. I should probably have a talk with the principal at your school.”

“No, Cami, you can’t do that! If the rest of the school finds out you…”

Cami shushed her stepson three times and petted his hair some more. “Nobody else has to know that I talked with him. It’ll just be a one on one conversation. They shouldn’t be teaching that abstinence crap anyways. It’s not realistic. There’s a lot they’re not talking about that they should. Do you even know how to use a condom?”

Owen shook his head and Cami sighed in disgust. “Yeah,” she said. “I should definitely have a talk with that principal. In the meantime, you’ve got homework to do. I’ll leave you alone and let you do that. And remember, if you have any questions that you don’t want to share in front of the class, you can share them with me. Okay? I love you.” She kissed him on the head again and proceeded towards the bedroom door. “Good talk tonight, son. Let’s do it again sometime.”

“Uh, Cami?”

“Yes?”

“C….could you not tell dad about what happened this morning?”

Cami smiled and made a lip-zipping motion to solidify her silence. She then waved at him and closed the bedroom door behind her. Owen plopped backwards on his bed and breathed heavy sighs of relief. Embarrassment still clung to him tightly and the tears still hadn’t dried up. But at least now he knew what he needed to do. He slowly picked his exhausted body off the bed and proceeded to delete all of Cami’s pictures from his computer. “I need this family. I love her too much for this bullshit,” Owen said to himself.

Lunatic Justice and Silent Warrior Announcements

***TWO ANNOUNCEMENTS***

I prepared two speeches tonight. Hopefully, I’ll get to use the one in my left pocket. No, I have no idea what that means either; I just heard it on an episode of The Shield. Let’s get started, shall we.

***LUNATIC JUSTICE***

First and foremost, it finally happened. My third collection of poetry, Lunatic Justice, is currently online in paperback and (soon to be) Kindle format, though it’ll take a few days for the book to actually be buyable. The poems cover a wide variety of topics whether it’s politics, anger, violence, drugs, bullying, or even something as simple as being stuck in traffic. There are a few comedy songs in there too whether it’s the David Bowie parody “Ground Control to Uncle Tom” or the ridiculously put-together “Conspiracy Theory”. This book is geared towards mature audiences due to the abundance of cursing, sex references, and delicious bloody violence.

Good Reads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/38324494-lunatic-justice

Amazon Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1984137816/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1517543240&sr=1-1

***SILENT WARRIOR, CHAPTER 7***

Remember how I said a few blogs ago how I would never post sex-oriented chapters of Silent Warrior online? Well, my lovely beta reader Marie Krepps suggested that I post them to a safe haven for this kind of content, Wattpad. I wrote chapter seven two days ago and it’s there now if you want to read it. I should warn you all that it’s not all hot and spicy action. There’s some heart-wrenching drama shortly after Scott George gets done stroking his meat. Your hard-on will be dead by the time this chapter is over.

Wattpad Profile: https://www.wattpad.com/user/Garrison-Kelly

I’d give you all the direct link to chapter seven, but I’m exercising a little caution with this one since this blog entry is going live on my non-mature social media accounts.

***SILENT WARRIOR SIDE NOTE: TITLE***

The further I get into writing this novel, the more I question whether Silent Warrior is the best title for it. Sure, it sounds cool and all, but Scott George is neither silent nor a warrior. He’s very outspoken about his opinions and the most violent thing he’s done in this story so far is strangle Alan Young over the back of a bus seat (not to mention that Alan lives through the whole thing). Maybe something I can do tonight is brainstorm a list of possible alternatives for titles. One that I’m thinking about is “A Community of Worms”, which is a reference to the nightmare Scott has in the opening chapter. And yes, that nightmare and its characters will factor into the novel later on, in case you were wondering. I can’t think of any other title ideas at the moment, so I’ll leave it to you guys to let me know what you think of all of this.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking at the barrel of an Armalite. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days keeping out of trouble like the soldiers say. I don’t want to spend my time in hell looking at the walls of a prison cell. I don’t ever want to play the part of a statistic on a government chart. It’s dark all day and it glows all night. Factory smoke and acetylene light. I face the day with my head caved in looking like something that the cat brought in. And they’re only going to change this place by killing everybody in the human race. They would kill me for a cigarette. But I don’t even want to die just yet. There has to be an invisible sun. It gives its heat to everyone. There has to be an invisible sun. It gives us hope when the whole day’s done.”

-The Police singing “Invisible Sun”-

Fap

VERSE 1

Princess Leia in a metal bikini

Daphne Blake sucking on a weenie

Wonder Woman with tape on her mouth

Chun Li getting some of the in and out

Masturbating is as natural as breathing

Yet it leaves all the churchgoers seething

They have kids to raise, to protect from sin

As I throw this Kleenex in the garbage bin

CHORUS

Fap X10

VERSE 2

Sheryl Crow with her feet on the dash

Cammy White with a thong up her ass

Tifa Lockhart with a big fucking chest

None of this requires an STD test

‘Cause jerking off is as natural as eating

No judgment for the meat you are beating

It’s the safest fun you can have for free

How about Chi-Chi from Dragon Ball Z?

CHORUS

Fap X10

BRIDGE

You like to judge and point your fingers

Put your blame on those “devil singers”

Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it

Who knows? You might just like it!

VERSE 3

Harley Quinn with her lust and sin

Mercy Graves will never behave

You have the room all to yourself

Have nothing to fear, not even hell

CHORUS

Fap X20

Sunday School

VERSE 1
Masturbating doesn’t make you a sinner
Jumping for Jesus doesn’t make you a winner
Having a wife doesn’t guarantee dinner
You were told otherwise by the holy swindlers
It’s all a distraction from the bigger picture
The altar boy with his finger on the trigger
The barrel pointed to his sweating forehead
The only way he could learn how to forget


CHORUS
We’re not going to Sunday School!
We’re staying home!
We’re not joining the congregation!
We’re doing this alone!


VERSE 2
Bend his little body over the holy altar
Make him scream in pain, make him holler
To you it’s just business, not worth a bother
Just drown him in the river, the Baptist water
Your deadly sins tend to go unnoticed
The police do nothing, though they know this
A transfer request to a different church
You can do it all again, except much worse


EXTENDED CHORUS 1
We’re not going to Sunday School!
We’re staying home!
We’re not joining the congregation!
We’re doing this alone!
We’re not singing in the choir!
We’re picking up the phone!
We’re going to tell anyone who will listen!
Something they’ve already known!


VERSE 3
Heaven doesn’t want you, neither does hell
Neither does the chime of the funeral bells
Neither does the water of the holy wells
Nobody is buying the things that you sell
We know it’s bullshit, we don’t say it enough
What you did to that boy was far from love
Tell us the truth, we don’t scare so easy
Though the news makes us feel queasy


EXTENDED CHORUS 2
We’re not going to the mega church!
We’re protesting outside!
We’re not going on your private jet!
We’re forming a line!
We’re not going on your holy mission!
We’re turning the tide!
Keep your hands off our fucking bodies!
I’ll see you on the dark side!

Creeps

As we’ve seen with Dr. Frankenstein and Hannibal Lector, it doesn’t take much of an imagination for a character to be creepy. The question then becomes how creepy can the character be and will he be remembered for his disgusting sins? Here are some examples of what I’m talking about. Starting with…

Creepy is sticking your hand down a child’s pants. Ultra-creepy is whispering a passage of “50 Shades of Grey” while you’re doing it.

Creepy is staring at a skirt-wearing girl for thirty minutes. Ultra-creepy is getting a hard-on in leather underwear while doing it.

Creepy is texting your girlfriend about how you want to fuck her in the ass. Ultra-creepy is being hidden in her closet while doing it.

Creepy is slashing somebody’s arm with a razor. Ultra-creepy is drinking the blood with a shot of Jack Daniels.

Creepy is jacking off to a picture of livestock. Ultra-creepy is jacking off while actually being in the presence of livestock…and the farmer’s daughter.

Creepy is using a hand puppet to perform oral sex on your girlfriend. Ultra-creepy is giving her multiple orgasms in the process.

Creepy is posting a picture of your penis on Deviant Art. Ultra-creepy is photoshopping Homer Simpson giving you oral sex on that same picture.

Creepy is drawing a picture of Bugs Bunny wearing a strap-on. Ultra-creepy is having Bugs Bunny in that same drawing mention his audience members by name.

Creepy is licking a Spongebob Squarepants poster. Ultra-creepy is getting a premature orgasm while doing it.

Are you scared? Are you really fucking scared now? You shouldn’t be, because you’re on Scare Tactics with Tracy Morgan!

　

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

ME: Aww! The seven dwarves are so cute! I want to snuggle with them!

SUSAN: You want to snuggle with a bunch of old midget men?!