Gray Days

***GRAY DAYS***

If you live in the Pacific Northwest like I do, you would have noticed the overwhelming number of gray days during the summer season. Hell, it might be happening in other parts of the country or even the world, but Pacific Northwest weather is notorious for catering to gray days. It could be sunny one minute and pouring down rain to the point of flood conditions the next.

Anybody who knows the old me knows I would have constantly complained about gray rainy weather. It’s not the best to go walking in, especially if I’m thirsty for a bubbly beverage and the convenience store is around the corner. Now that I’m 31 years old and have a more mature outlook on life, I’ve learned to love the gray days, even during the summer season. If I was that thirsty all the time, I could just make a pitcher of ice cold iced tea. Yum-yum-yum! If I was so bored that I needed to go for a walk to clear my head, there’s nothing stopping me from bumming a ride from my family to the YMCA. They have a jogging track upstairs and a shallow swimming pool on the bottom floor; how hard could that be to comprehend?

I didn’t realize until recently how wonderful gray days can be for getting creative work done. Or if I just want to be lazy that day, I could just take a nap while there’s new age music playing in the background. Smokey seems to agree with the latter ten times out of ten. The low barometric pressure during gray days can make anyone sleepy enough to want a nap because of the lack of oxygen, which is a major source of energy for the human body. If you feel sleepy, give into it. The creative work will always be there for you when you’re ready for it. If you’re in school, however, it’s probably a good idea to turn your work in on time and in tiptop condition.

And then there are people who enjoy running around in rainy weather. The cold rain definitely feels good on the skin after a long day of exercise. I remember going to a Linkin Park concert with my brother James at the Tacoma Dome in 2003. After we jumped up and down for a lot of their songs, the rain felt so good to us that we didn’t bother putting our jackets back on. That’s part of the reason why I’m not worried about rainy weather happening on the same day as my July and August concerts, which take place in an outdoor amphitheater. If Korn, Rob Zombie, and In This Moment get my cardio going for god knows how many hours, I’m going to love that sweet cold rain.

It’s true, folks: I have nothing better to write a journal about than gray days. I don’t know what else I could say about them, so I’m just going to sign off and give you all updates on my creative projects.

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

The new contest got started this past Tuesday and the prompt for the week is “Piece By Piece”. For the second week in a row, my short story is a modern day drama and will therefore be shelved under “American Darkness 2: Black State”. It’s called “Toy Trauma” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Kevin Hunt, Toy-Loving Child

Marty Hunt, Kevin’s Father

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Marty dismantles the action figure piece by piece.

SYNOPSIS: Ever since gaining custody of Kevin in a nasty divorce, Marty has been stressed out to where even the smallest incidents send him into a screaming rage. One morning during breakfast, Kevin brings his favorite action figure to the table with him and plays with it a little too loudly for his father’s tastes. After several unanswered warnings to his son, Marty grabs the action figure and snaps its arms and legs off. The toy abuse leaves Kevin in a fit of tears and even causes him to say that he hates his father. Is this enough for Marty to realize how far off the deep end he’s gone or will he always be a sourpuss?

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

I’m sure you all noticed the recent uploads of Rook Maxwell and Edward Glass and hopefully you’ve enjoyed them. Coming up next is a character from the villain department. He’s Jax Nightshade and he’s a dark paladin from “Medicine Man”, a short story I submitted to one of the WSS’s monthly contests. For some reason they aren’t doing monthly contests anymore. I don’t know if the admins forgot or if they’re legitimately discontinuing them due to a lack of activity. Either way, the Medicine Man himself is going to be immortalized. Be on the lookout for a dark paladin badass!

***READING TASKS***

As of today, I have three different authors to (beta) read from: Andy Peloquin (Lament of the Fallen), Marie Krepps (What Money Can’t Buy), and Zero Urrea (Rake). I have no problem with the workload, because when I have the energy, I can get anything done in record time. The past few days haven’t been kind to me in terms of energy. Sleep apnea had really been kicking my ass and making me too sluggish to get anything done. To those who rely on my help, I’m sorry. But I can safely say that I’m doing something about my lack of energy. I requested an appointment with my sleep study doctor and he’s going to teach me how to use a CPAP machine, which will give me oxygen while I’m sleeping and my windpipe is flat. I’m also going to start going to the gym more often with James. My workout will start off with thirty minutes of walking around the track and end with weightlifting. So far, it seems to be paying off. Let’s keep that shit going!

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Enzo Amore is so skinny he could hang glide with a Dorito. He already looks like a bird.”

-Jerry “The King” Lawler-

Song of Myself

***SONG OF MYSELF***

This past Monday night, instead of watching WWE Raw, I went to the Showbox SoDo in Seattle to listen to the epic music of Nightwish along with their opening acts Sonata Arctica and Delain. It was a fun and exciting night, one that I will cherish as much as when I saw them in 2008 at the same venue, if not more so. Nightwish was one of the many bands that got me through a lonely life at college from 2007 to 2009. To repay them for their awesomeness, I will do another lyric journal, but with their namesake. “Song of Myself” was released on their 2011 album Imaginarium, the final CD to feature second lead singer Anette Olzon. While I don’t know if her departure was on sour terms, I do miss her a lot, but that’s not to take anything away from Floor Jansen, who’s just as awesome as her first two predecessors. But no matter who the lead singer is, she’ll have Tuomas Holopainen’s genius lyrics to guide her through every song. Let’s get busy!


The nightingale is still locked in the cage
The deep breath I took still poisons my lungs
An old oak sheltering me from the blue
Sun bathing on its dead frozen leaves

A catnap in the ghost town of my heart
She dreams of storytime and the river ghosts
Of mermaids, of Whitman's and the ride
Raving harlequins, gigantic toys

A song of me song in need
Of a courageous symphony
A verse of me verse in need
Of a pure-heart singing me to peace

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing

All that great heart lying still
In silent suffering
Smiling like a clown until the show has come to an end
What is left for encore
Is the same old dead boy's song
Sung in silence
All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing

A midnight flight into Covington Woods
A princess and a panther by my side
These are Territories I live for
I'd still give mt everything to love you more

A silent symphony
A hollow opus #1, 2,3

Sometimes the sky is piano black
Piano black over cleansing waters

Resting pipes, verse of bore
Rusting keys without a door

Sometimes the within is piano black
Piano black over cleansing waters

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angel wing

I see a slow, simple youngster by a busy street,
with a begging bowl in his shaking hand.
Trying to smile but hurting infinitely. Nobody notices.
I do, but walk by.

An old man gets naked and kisses a model-doll in his attic
It's half-light and he's in tears.
When he finally comes his eyes are cascading.

I see a beaten dog in a pungent alley. He tries to bite me.
All pride has left his wild eyes.
I wish I had my leg to spare.

A mother visits her son, smiles to him through the bars.
She's never loved him more.

An obese girl enters an elevator with me.
All dressed up fancy, a green butterfly on her neck.
Terribly sweet perfume deafens me.
She's going to dinner alone.
That makes her even more beautiful.

I see a model's face on a brick wall.
A statue of porcelain perfection beside a violent city kill.
A city that worships flesh.

The 1st thing I ever heard was a wandering
man telling his story
It was you, the grass under my bare feet
The campfire in the dead of night
The heavenly black of sky and sea

It was us
Roaming the rainy roads, combing the gilded beaches
Waking up to a new gallery of wonders every morn
Bathing in places no-one's seen before
Shipwrecked on some matt-painted island
Clad in nothing but the surf - beauty's finest robe

Beyond all mortality we are, swinging in the breath of nature
In early air of the dawn of life
A sight to silence the heavens

I want to travel where life travels,
following its permanent lead
Where the air tastes like snow music
Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden
I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture
I would bathe in a world of sensation
Love, goodness and simplicity
(While violated and imprisoned by technology)

The thought of my family's graves was the only moment
I used to experience true love
That love remains infinite,
as I'll never be the man my father is

How can you "just be yourself"
when you don't know who you are?
Stop saying "I know how you feel"
How could anyone know how another feels?

Who am I to judge a priest, beggar,
whore, politician, wrongdoer?
I am, you are, all of them already

Dear child, stop working, go play
Forget every rule
There's no fear in a dream

"Is there a village inside this snowflake?"
- a child asked me
"What's the colour of our lullaby?"

I've never been so close to truth as then
I touched its silver lining

Death is the winner in any war
Nothing noble in dying for your religion
For your country
For ideology, for faith
For another man, yes

Paper is dead without words
Ink idle without a poem
All the world dead without stories
Without love and disarming beauty

Careless realism costs souls

Ever seen the Lord smile?
All the care for the world made Beautiful a sad man?
Why do we still carry a device of torture around our necks?
Oh, how rotten your pre-apocalypse is
All you bible-black fools living over nightmare ground

I see all those empty cradles and wonder
If man will never change

I, too, wish to be a decent manboy but all I am
Is smoke and mirrors
Still given everything, may I be deserving

And there forever remains the change from G to Em


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

Although I posted “Medicine Man” online yesterday, that wasn’t the one that will go into this week’s contest. I have different plans for the “paper hearts” prompt. It’s called “Ninja” and is named after a Skindred song, much like “Medicine Man” is named after a Pantera song. Here’s the synopsis to “Ninja”:

CHARACTERS:

DJ Rouge, African Assassin
Andrew Bradley, English Mercenary

PROMPT CONFORMITY: DJ leaves behind paper hearts as his calling card.

SYNOPSIS: Andrew is assigned by Babylon Bank to raid an African diamond mine in an attempt to bring them a priceless rock known as the Ninja’s Ruby. When he gets there, armed with an AK-47 and a belt of grenades, he begins slaying mine workers and rebel soldiers left and right with no absence of malice. The actual rock he’s looking for isn’t in the mine itself, but in the eye socket of a sword-slinging vigilante named DJ Rouge, who also came to the diamond mine, but to free the slaves instead of kill them. DJ and Andrew engage in a heated battle over the gem and the former’s quickness and stealth earns him the nickname “African Ninja” from his opponent.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next on the barbecue rack is Courtney Robyn, the psycho-bitch serial killer from “Mastodon”. Is it strange to say that this murderer is scarier to be around than a raging version of the eponymous animal in question? Shit, I’d rather get stepped on by a wild beast than get stabbed in the chest by Courtney Robyn.


***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

KEVIN OWENS: What happened to the guy with the weird hair and the glasses?

MICHAEL COLE: Mauro Ranallo is ill this week.

KEVIN OWENS: Yeah, he probably got sick from listening to your commentary.

MICHAEL COLE: That’s nice.

Medicine Man

Maggot therapy wasn’t the prettiest form of medicine nor was it the safest. And yet, Tetra Engel knew he had to have it. It was his sister Lily’s only chance at survival. Dressed in brown rags with a demon mask over his face, Tetra took deep breaths in and out in order to calm his nerves. One wrong move could mean certain death. Then again, knowing that there was arguing going on inside the Church of Darkness could prove to be a worthy distraction for those guarding the maggot farm.

Tetra pulled out a rope with a hook at the end of it and twirled it over his head. As the whooshing noises were getting progressively louder, he threw the hook with all of his might and hit his target: the rim of the church’s roof. He was certain the maggot farm was on the top level and getting in through the roof would be his best shot at stealing the medicine.

With the hook firmly grasping its target, Tetra held the rope and walked up the wall of the church. His faith in maggot therapy was met with stomach wrenching anxiety as he saw the designs in the multi-colored windows. He saw minotaurs slashing the throats of small children with sling blades, death angels breathing fire on veiled women, and dragons spitting acid on helpless farm animals. Such violent imagery caused Tetra to puke in his mouth a little bit as he was scaling the wall.

His blood also started to chill when he heard the argument within the church intensifying. Voices were throatier and louder. Plus, the sounds of weapons clanging together and wooden furniture breaking didn’t relieve Tetra’s anxiety any further. He took a break from climbing and wiped the cold sweat off of his forehead. He also spit out some bile onto the street below and then continued climbing until he reached the tiptop of the church.

The rooftop was ordinary enough with its flat stone surface. Nothing unusual there. And then Tetra Engel saw the steeple, which depicted a baldheaded vampire chowing down on a unicorn’s neck and splattering blood every which way. “God, these people are fucking disgusting!” said Tetra silently to himself.

Before the cunning rogue could take his first step, the middle smashed open and a purple light beam shone from within the church. Flying from that magical beam was a dark-skinned woman with a red Mohawk, a black halter top, and black baggy jeans. As she rolled backwards toward Tetra, the metal spear she was carrying dropped in his lap. Tetra tossed the spear aside and crawled over to get a closer look at her.

As soon as he saw who she was, the thief cowered backwards in an anxiety-driven crabwalk until he was at the corner of the roof. Being a thief gave Tetra a certain level of street wisdom. This woman was Anya Kolobalos, the leader of the Blood Dagger Syndicate. Anybody who messed with her would end up as a little shit on the floor after she gutted them alive with her spear and drank their blood like religious Kool-Aid.

Anybody except the dark paladin who sprouted black demon wings and flew gracefully up the purple light beam and onto the rooftop. This man was Jax Nightshade, the innovator of maggot therapy and the city’s most vile businessman. His black trench coat and steel armor underneath gave him that villainous look he always wanted. The baldheaded, dark-skinned knight slowly walked over to Anya and Tetra with a bloody smile on his face.

“Well, well, well, it looks like we’re not alone after all, Anya. I didn’t know my church had a rat infestation. In fact, those are the two biggest rats I’ve ever seen in my life,” said Jax in a smooth baritone voice that sent chills up Tetra’s spine. “Which one of you shall I exterminate first? Should I just play a game of spin the bottle? How about ink-a-dink? Or maybe I’ll just take both of you at the same time. Yeah, that’ll be lovely!”

Tetra stuttered, “L-L-Listen, Mr. Nightshade. I didn’t come here for any trouble. I just want s-s-s-s-ome of your maggots. My sister Lilly has breast cancer and I was hoping th-th-th-that…”

“Shut up, you sniveling cretin!” shouted Jax in a voice that mustered up intense winds. He smiled evilly once again and said, “Of course, if you want to have access to my maggots, you’ll have to pay just like everyone else. But judging from those rags you’re wearing, it doesn’t look like you have deep pockets full of gold. Couple that with the fact that you came here through the rooftop instead of the front doors and I know exactly what’s going on. You’re a thief. You’re a liar. You’re a fucking sewer rat!”

This arguing allowed Anya enough time to pick herself and her spear off the ground before charging at Jax with rapid fire thrusts. Jax held a purple cloud of energy in his hand like a shield and blocked every single one of those shots with perfection. The dark paladin then slapped the gangster across the face and sent her rolling to the ground. He jumped on her chest and began raining down punches with green lightning around his fists. Anya covered her face with her arms before reaching up with her free leg and placing a kick to the back of Jax’s head to stop the assault.

The dark paladin rolled off of the gangster and clutched the back of his head in mock pain. He even let out some unconvincing “ouches”. Anya tried to pick herself up off the ground again, but her arms were fried and she couldn’t get a stable grip. Out of the corners of their eyes, the two of them saw Tetra trying to pick the lock to the trap door that lead into the maggot farm.

“Hey! Those are mine, bitch!” screamed Anya as she crawled agonizingly across the roof. Tetra shot up and said, “Uh-oh!” while looking for a way out. He tried to run back to the grappling hook, but was intercepted by a flying Jax Nightshade, who grabbed the thief by his neck with one hand and hoisted him in the air.

“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted off of this roof? You can fly like a birdie if you want!” said Jax with a sick smile and gritted teeth. He dragged Tetra kicking and wheezing by his neck to the edge of the roof. Still holding the thief by his throat, Jax dangled him over the edge and forced him to look at the street below.

Tetra’s vision was fading from being strangled, but when he saw how high he was off the ground, his stomach had a knot the size of a watermelon and his eyes were tearing up like rivers. He thought of his cancer-stricken sister Lilly and how he had failed her not only as a caregiver, but also as a brother. His last supply of oxygen would be spent thinking of how shitty of a way this was to die. His eyelids were getting heavy and he was ready to sleep his life away.

And then Jax let go of his grip and Tetra got a whirlwind of oxygen back into his lungs. He snapped back to reality and had enough alertness to grab the rope next to him and hold on for dear life. His hacking and wheezing caused him to slip down a few notches, but not without looking up and seeing Jax Nightshade with a metal spear through his head. The dark paladin’s purple and green magic faded out and he fell over the edge of the church, hitting the ground with a sickening thud and a bloody splatter. The spear went all the way through his head upon impact and spread his brains all over the cement ground.

Tetra heard the sounds of Anya moaning in pain. Her burned arms gave their last ounce of strength when they put the spear through Jax’s head. This was Tetra’s chance to break into the maggot farm. With the little strength he had left after being choked, the rogue pulled himself up the rope while grunting and straining along the way. He fell down a few notches, but then started walking along the wall like he did before. He made it over the lip of the roof and rolled around on the stone floor. He laid there for a while taking deep breaths in and out and smiling to himself.

And then his breathing was hindered when he felt the presence of Anya Kolobalos sitting on his stomach with her bloody and blackened fist raised high. Her other fist grabbed Tetra’s hair and she said, “I have had it with you fucking street rats! I’ve still got one more punch left in me and guess who’s going to get it!”

Tetra grabbed hold of Anya’s hair-grabbing arm and sunk his teeth into the fried meat. She squealed and rolled on the ground in pain afterwards while bleeding all over the rooftop. The thief took a few more deep breaths and rolled over to pick himself up. Anya tried to do the same, but Tetra quickly wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisted her up, and used the last of his dying strength to suplex her over the edge. The gangster hit the ground doubled over and snapped her neck while shattering her skull on the pavement.

The thief looked over the lip of the roof and smiled in satisfaction as he saw two of the biggest scumbags lying on the ground dead and bloodied. “What a couple of morons,” he said to himself while laying on the ground and catching his breath once more. Those maggots were as good as his.

The next morning, Tetra, without his demon mask, crept happily into Lilly’s bedroom and saw her lying in her bed peacefully with a smile on her face and her hands folded in front of her. Even with a bald head and a weak body, she still looked like a beautiful warrior. “Pssp! Lilly, wake up! I have something for you!”

The sickly woman slowly stirred from her sleep and looked up at her brother with hopeful eyes. “Good morning, Tetra! Did you get the medicine?”

“I sure did. I got all the medicine you’ll ever need,” said Tetra as he pulled a jar of hungry black maggots out of his coat. At first, Lilly’s face was covered in anxious fear. “Don’t worry, dear sister. This will help. I know it will. Trust me.” He opened the jar and poured the maggots all over her cancerous left breast.

The sensation of magical maggots digging into her flesh felt like a massage when it was first happening. And then it felt ticklish, which put giggles in Lilly’s throat. And then she started arching her back in agony. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t because blood was pouring out of her mouth.

Tetra grabbed his sister by the arms and shouted, “Lilly! Don’t die on me! What the hell is going on here?! Fight it! Fight!” It was too late. The maggots ate through her breast and chowed down on her lungs and heart. Her face was covered in the vomit and blood she spit out. She was dead.

Tears were forming in Tetra’s eyes as he backed away and slowly sat down against the wall. Mild tears turned to loud sobs. And loud sobs turned to shouts of “Fuck!” and “Shit!” Curse words turned to fists pounding against the ground and wall. Tetra was a thief, which meant tricking people was part of his job. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He fucked up big time and lost his sister because of it. All he wanted to do was die and meet his sister in the afterlife. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was that he bought into Jax Nightshade’s bullshit. “The Church of Darkness? What a crock!” he shouted to himself.

His suicidal thoughts were racing harder in his mind when he took a look inside the jar and saw there were still some maggots left. “What the hell?” he said. “I’ll probably taste better than piss-flavored beer.”

Self-Esteem

***SELF-ESTEEM***

When I watched George Carlin perform standup comedy for the last time in 2008, he ripped into people who believed in The Self-Esteem Movement. He argued that making all children feel special only makes them complacent and incompetent as students and workers. Because Carlin was a huge influence on me back then and still is today, I took his word as gospel and never questioned it. And then I saw another comedy routine he did back in the 1990’s where he slammed the environmental movement and liberals in general. Naturally, there’s a disagreement between us.

So as long as I’m learning to question what everyone says, what can be said about The Self-Esteem Movement? Yes, it’s important to have children who will grow up to be winners in life. I get that. Hard work, passion, and dedication are the keys to success. But what happens when they have a setback? Do they deserve to feel poorly about themselves afterwards? Such negative thoughts can take you to a dark place in life. Drugs, alcohol, sadness, suicide, self-harm, so many negative ways to cope with a heavy loss.

I’m currently reading Ronda Rousey’s “My Fight / Your Fight” memoir and there’s a lot to be said about her inner strength. Her judoka mother was always hard on her when she suffered a loss in a judo competition. Her mother also made Ronda compete through pain and injuries as if they’re completely ignorable. The proof is in the pudding: Ronda Rousey was undefeated for twelve MMA fights, she’s a former Women’s Bantamweight Champion, she’s wanted for movie roles, and she’s making a shit load of money.

But then there are the times in life when Ronda lost. Her most recent defeat was at the hands of Holly Holm, who kicked her in the head to earn a KO victory and the UFC Women’s Bantamweight Championship. Because she was conditioned to feel poorly after a loss, Ronda had suicidal thoughts as revealed in an interview with Ellen DeGeneres. I’m glad she never acted on those harmful thoughts, but what if she had? What if she didn’t have her UFC boyfriend Travis Browne to be her rock? What if her mother didn’t occasionally come to her rescue? Then what?

Is it possible to have a balance between the two extremes? Can children be told they’re special and be successful people at the same time? Consider this quote: “It’s easier to build up a child than to repair an adult.” Suffering losses and feeling bad about doesn’t “build character”. Remember that scene in Full Metal Jacket where Private Pyle shoots his sadistic drill instructor and then himself? That’s one instance where tough love goes wrong and it’s probably not an isolated incident.

Thinking highly of yourself has to account for something. If you don’t believe in your own abilities, what makes you think anybody else will? You can experience failure and still have the wherewithal to change your strategy and turn your life around.

The WSS group at Good Reads recently launched an e-magazine where the stories and poems of the contest winners would be featured. I have to admit, because I put a lot of pressure on myself to succeed, I initially felt sorry for myself because I hadn’t won a contest since 2014 when I entered “Luna the Moon Kitty”. I didn’t think this launch celebration had anything to do with me. And then I remembered that the WSS is still all about friendly competition and helping each other succeed. If my story didn’t get exposure on the e-magazine, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. There are other ways to get exposure and the WSS will still hold true to their principles of being a friendly community. God, I love those guys!

If you want to feel good about yourselves, you have my permission. I won’t give you grief for receiving a “participation trophy” after playing a game of little league baseball. The fact that you even want to play baseball and have the athleticism to do so should say a lot about you. I’m over 300 lbs., so there’s no way I’m becoming an athlete of any kind in the near future, which means no participation trophy. Sports are hard to play and hard to be good at, which is why I stay away from them and stick to what I’m good at: writing, drawing, and photography. We’ve got ears, say cheers!


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

As part of the WSS’s newly launched e-magazine, they’re holding a monthly contest in addition to the weekly ones, so I figured, why not write another story? This one will be called “Medicine Man” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Tetra Engel, Thief
Jax Nightshade, Dark Paladin
Anya Kolobalos, Gangster

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Tetra wants to give his cancer-stricken sister a fresh start in life by healing her.

SYNOPSIS: Jax is the innovator of “maggot therapy” and charges excessively high prices to cure his patients. When Tetra’s sister develops breast cancer, instead of forking over his life savings, he goes out and attempts to steal the maggots from Jax. In addition to the so-called “Medicine Man”, Tetra also has to be weary of Anya, a spear-wielding gangster who wants to steal the maggots to make recreational drugs to sell at an even higher price. It’s a three-way battle on the rooftop of Jax’s satanic church. Who will survive?


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

The next drawing I will turn out is of Caitlin Sparks, the rebellious swordswoman from “Sage Against the Machine”, which I wrote independently of the WSS contests. I’m trying to think of a cool costume for her, but nothing’s coming to mind just yet. Eh, I’ll figure it out eventually.


***POISON TONGUE TALES***

I’ve been busy editing the shit out of short stories and so far, so good. If I have my way, there will be one day where I edit six at a time just like I did today. The next to be bulldozed will be…

Guns, Drugs, and Misogyny

The Happy Slasher

Harvest Moon

Hell Yeah

I, Barbarian

If I Offer You My Soul (the one that coincidentally features a character named Ashley Marie)


***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DANTE: Here’s what I don’t understand about you: you have a driver’s license, you can operate a grownup vehicle, but after you drive a go-kart, you somehow feel better about yourself.

RANDAL: Look, it just centers me, okay? Kind of like the way jerking off in the men’s bathroom at work centers you.

DANTE: Hey, that was one time and it wasn’t to center me.

RANDAL: You’re right. It was to cum.

DANTE: So why did we have to drive all the way out here just so you can ride the go-karts?

RANDAL: Look, I don’t want to jerk off in the bathroom at work. What if I’m going and a customer comes in all sex nuts and retard strong? Next thing you know, I’m fighting him off while he tries to jam my dick in his mouth.

DANTE: The likeliest of scenarios.

RANDAL: Yeah, well, I don’t know about you, but cumming centers me.

DANTE: Man, that shit Lance said must have really bothered you.

RANDAL: Oh, fuck him. He’s an asshole. He always was. I’m sorry I let him bother me for even a minute. At least I got a go-kart trip out of it.

DANTE: Why do the go-karts help?

RANDAL: They just remind me of a better time in my life.

DANTE: Like when?

RANDAL: When we were young and the world was right there in front of us.

DANTE: You’re not that old.

RANDAL: I know, but sometimes I think the world left us behind a long time ago.

DANTE: You can do something about that.

RANDAL: I told you, I’m not jerking off in the men’s bathroom at Mooby’s.

DANTE: No, not that. Have you ever thought about leaving Mooby’s and changing your situation in life?

RANDAL: What’s the point? Besides, why do you give a shit? You’re leaving.

-Clerks II-