Hadag Nahash X Sigmund Freud: Unwanted, But Necessary Relationship Advice

 

A Bastard Sword in a Haystack

Butterflies flapped all around Elizabeth Dempsey as she laid on her back with her hands behind her long brown hair. With the comfort of the grass beneath her, she nearly drifted off into dreamland in this forest she called home. The only thing that kept her awake was one butterfly landing on her nose and flapping its golden wings. Ticklish as that sensation was, she let it slide. She smiled at the heavenly nature around her. The tallest trees protected her from the outside world. The butterflies were her best friends. Occasionally a squirrel would run up to her and she’d feed the little guy a handful of nuts. If not for her ranger duties, she could sleep here forever eating berries and veggies.

And then the distant sound of boots tromping on the ground startled the butterflies and squirrels. They sped away to higher ground while Elizabeth’s eyes were wide open and filled with frustration. “Goddamn it,” she said to herself. She fixed her green cloak, brown tunic, and green baggy pants before snatching up her bow and arrows and nipping up to see what the fuss was about. The longer she stalled, the louder the boots became. “Show time.” She pulled her hood over her head and scaled the nearest tree with the dexterity of a cat.

With one arrow plucked from her quiver, she pulled back on the string ready to fire at a moment’s notice. Whoever disturbed her peaceful new age moment was getting an arrow to the chest if he didn’t have any quick answers. The thumping grew louder and more intense, so much so that Elizabeth almost fell from her perch. “Come on, you big goof, get your butt over here so I can shoot you already.”

And then the source of the noise appeared on the dirt trail huffing and puffing, his massive palms engorging his kneecaps. Elizabeth couldn’t believe her eyes, even going so far as to lower her weapon. This clumsy oaf was at least seven feet tall…and he wore a purple ninja mask, no tunic to cover his muscles, and only tight-fitting purple pants and a pair of metal boots to barely cover the rest of him. “A walking contradiction if I’ve ever seen one,” said Elizabeth under her breath.

The ranger dropped down and landed perfectly on the soles of her leather boots, thinking she was at least a little safer than before. “You made a mistake coming here, my friend. You ran away from one problem and now you find yourself in another. All I wanted was some peace and quiet and you pissed that all away for me. Give me one good reason why I should stick one in that goofy-looking chest of yours.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” said the giant ninja in a stereotypical bass voice, placing his hands together prayer style and bowing to her. “I am Antonio Fujiwara, at your service. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just need a place to hide, that’s all.”

Keeping her hand on her bow, Elizabeth held her fists against her hips and gave Antonio a pathetic look. “A seven-foot tall ninja wants to hide from whatever was chasing him…in a forest full of nothing. First of all, why is a mountain of muscle like you running away from somebody who’s probably shorter than you? Wouldn’t it be easier just to snap his neck and be done with him?”

“It’s not just one person, ma’am. It’s…quite a few.” Antonio fidgeted with his sausage fingers. “I’m being hunted by the Scorpion Clan. Being tall doesn’t mean anything when you’re being hunted by them. They’ll kill me if they find me! Please, you’ve got to hide me!”

“Hide you? I don’t know, Antonio. Seems like the Scorpion Clan is looking for a bastard sword in a haystack. There aren’t a whole lot of good hiding places I can think of for a guy your size. You probably can’t climb a tree and stay there. The caves are too small. The bushes are also too small. Looks like you’re shit out of luck. Now beat it before these Scorpion Clan guys involve me in your mess too.”

A flying dart pierced Antonio in the small of his back and he stumbled around like a drunk, slurring his words like one too. Elizabeth backed up in worry as the giant ninja’s intoxicated dance led him to grab a handful of vine berries in a failed attempt to keep himself hoisted. He collapsed on the ground with a resounding boom and snored his way to the subconscious theater.

Elizabeth pulled on her bow string as several shorter ninjas in red and black uniforms leapt out of hiding and enveloped her in a broad circle. Each ninja was armed with shurikens, which meant a ton of holes in Elizabeth’s body if she tried anything funny. Their hoods and masks covered everything but their eyes, which burned with disciplined fury. In other words, they didn’t come to this forest to fuck around. “Drop your weapon,” one of them commanded, which Elizabeth slowly did.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble. This giant oaf came to me, I didn’t come to him. I just wanted to take a nap and then he comes rolling in…”

“Silence!” belted the ninja. “You’ll have plenty of time to take a nap if we find out you were harboring this fugitive. Stealing money from us was Antonio’s first big mistake. Being stupid enough to come here looking for refuge was his second. Then again, he never was very smart to begin with.” His cohorts chuckled.

“You know what? You’re right. He’s not very smart. Just take him and leave me be, okay? Can we make a deal?” begged Elizabeth, her hands held high.

“You heard her, men. Take this gargantuan mongoloid away,” said the lead ninja. It took the strength of several ninjas to lift Antonio’s massive body and even then they were grunting and groaning. They almost dropped him on his head a few times while the lead ninja continued to hatefully gaze into Elizabeth’s eyes. “Unfortunately for you, we can’t make a deal. You’re a witness. I can’t leave any witnesses.”

“No, no, no, don’t do this! I’m begging you!” said Elizabeth as she got on her hands and knees. The ninja had his shuriken ready, but the pleading was just a cover up as Elizabeth grabbed her bow and arrow and shot the lead ninja between his devilish eyes. The shot was so stiff that the ninja’s entire brain fell out the back of his head.

“You bitch!” yelled one of the ninjas as they dropped Antonio.

Elizabeth and the ninjas stood across from each other at a stalemate, a bow and multiple arrows versus god knows how many shurikens. She knew this was a fight she couldn’t win, yet she had no choice now that she crossed the Rubicon. It was all a matter of which ninja would die first. They all looked the same. They all talked the same. But only one of them called her a bitch. Would he be the first to go? Decisions, decisions. At least now she would get the peace and quiet she desperately wanted. Did they have butterflies in heaven? Would she even go to heaven in the first place?

She didn’t have to make the tough decision after all. That decision was made for her when Antonio nipped up and slammed the ninjas’ heads together, concussing the guys on the edges and exploding the skulls of those in the middle. “Take the shot!” yelled Antonio. Elizabeth did just that. Whoever remained after that head slam took a series of arrows to the chest, knocking their hearts and spines out of their carcasses. Antonio chucked the dead bodies over the bushes and into a ditch. He didn’t break a sweat doing it nor did he need a firm grip on anywhere but their ankles.

After the dust settled, Antonio removed his ninja mask and smiled at Elizabeth, who smiled back at him. He said, “The poison these geniuses used in their dart was too low a dose for someone of my size. If they had any brains at all, they would have used a bigger dart. Maybe they could have used a bastard sword in a haystack. Plus, those berries I grabbed were a perfect antidote.”

“And you’re supposed to be the dumb one just because you have a deep voice?”

“Well, I did lead all of these jerks to your forest. That alone wasn’t very smart. Sorry about that. Now I’ve got you involved in my problems.”

“I don’t mind at all, Antonio. In fact, I wouldn’t mind hunting down every last one of those Scorpion Clan jerk-offs. The way I see it, they were going to interrupt my peace and quiet one way or another. Might as well strike them before they strike me. If they really are dumber than a giant with a deep voice, then they’ll fall for my begging and pleading trick again. Heh…like I’d ever beg for my life for those dweebs.”

A still wobbly Antonio wrapped his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders and said, “You and I make a pretty good team, don’t we? Kind of like brains and brawns, right?”

“Well, to be fair, those ninjas have brains too. They just happen to be splattered all over the ground right now. So what do you say we stop running from the Scorpion Clan and start racking up a body count?”

“You can count on me!” Antonio gave a playful slap on Elizabeth’s back and unintentionally knocked her over. He apologized profusely as he picked her up and dusted her off.

“Okay, maybe you are just a little bit thick in the head, but we’ll work on that,” said Elizabeth with a playful smile.

Circus Seal

VERSE 1

Whether I’m eating dinner with my family

Or on the brink of schizophrenic insanity

Or taking a shit in a public bathroom stall

Or watching a movie that makes me bawl

You must have my attention here and now

It doesn’t matter when, doesn’t matter how

An autograph or a private performance

Neither, pal, now go fuck off into orbit

CHORUS

I’m not your circus seal

You don’t care how I feel

Private time is not yours to steal

I’m not your circus seal

VERSE 2

It’s not that I hate my own loyal fan base

It’s just that this is neither the time nor place

I need my moments of peace and quiet

If I turn you away, don’t start a city-wide riot

Don’t post my dirty laundry on the internet

My private and public lives do not intersect

Nothing personal, I just want to unwind

In a place where nobody will ever find

CHORUS

I’m not your circus seal

You don’t care how I feel

Private time is not yours to steal

I’m not your circus seal

VERSE 3

You buy my products, but you’re not my boss

If you despise me, it’s your own damn loss

You don’t own me like a hand puppet master

Threatening me will only make me walk faster

EXTENDED CHORUS

I’m not your circus seal

You don’t care how I feel

Private time is not yours to steal

I’m not your circus seal

I’m not your favorite bitch

You don’t make me rich

I don’t owe you shit

I’m not your favorite bitch

Things That Empower Me

***THINGS THAT EMPOWER ME***

I had a look at my most recent blog entry about things that scare me. Goddamn, did I sound like a sad sap. It could have been that the month of June was a weird one for me and I was still grieving. But July is finally here and it’s time to start over again. No going back this time around! Instead of talking about things that scare the shit out of me, I’m going to talk about things that empower me, thus turning a negative thought into a positive one. Positive thinking has been at the forefront of my happiness since December 2014, when I vacationed at Lego Land in San Diego and when I had the best goddamn Christmas I could ask for. I lost sight of that positivity somewhere in early 2018, but I’m working on bringing that shit back and it begins with this blog entry. Let’s start the list off with…

***SELF-TALK***

Dr. Phil can be full of more shit than a cow pasture sometimes, but the one thing he got right on the nose was that the words we tell ourselves are very powerful, for better or worse. When you tell yourself you’re too fat, too ugly, or not good enough, you believe those things like they’re the word of god. But what if you start sending yourself positive messages instead of negative ones? Let’s say I, for instance, repeat the mental phrase, “If you step outside your comfort zone, good things will happen.” Or what if I just imagine a good-looking version of myself with a skinny body and a sexy haircut like the one I had in my senior year of high school? Or what if I tell myself that I can afford anything I want to buy? What if I tell myself that the world loves me? You say these things often enough, you believe them and you become a happier person because of it. You know what? I’m going to have these thoughts more often, especially the one where I look like a sexy stud with a sweet ass haircut….not an ass haircut, that’s different. Hehe!

***MUSIC***

Some people call it “just noise”, but to me it’s more intoxicating and enchanting than the world’s most powerful drug. I remember being a little kid and listening to my dad’s CD’s from The Police, Pink Floyd, The Moody Blues, and Toto. I loved my Pink Floyd CD’s so much that I spent the entire late 90’s listening to the shit out of them. Then the 2000’s came along and I started listening to alternative metal like Limp Bizkit, Linkin Park, Three Days Grace, Korn, and Papa Roach. My musical library expanded tenfold since then and I wouldn’t trade any of those bands for the world. My current favorite bands include Soulfly, Nightwish, Five Finger Death Punch, Pantera, and Halestorm among others. I love music so much that I refer to concerts as “one-day vacations” and “pilgrimages” rather than “just shows”. I went to a Roger Waters concert in 2000 and my dad referred to at as “taking us to heaven to see god”. There will be many more concerts in the future, which means more opportunities to get high on my drug of choice…which if you haven’t figured it out already is music.

***HAVING AN AUDIENCE***

I know I said in my “Things That Scare Me” blog that being in front of large amounts of people makes me want to swallow Xanax. But make no mistake about it: the fact that there are people out there who are willing to listen to me is a blessing. Whether you’re complimenting my writing or critiquing it (hopefully not trolling), I’m grateful to have you as a member of my audience. I know writing is supposed to be a business, but you can’t put a price tag on having someone’s attention and never letting go. Whether writing becomes my main source of income or not is irrelevant, because some things in life are more important than money, like love, friendship, good advice, creative fuel, and the power of a good story or poem. To everybody who has supported me throughout my career, thank you so very much. To everybody that doubts me, your creative fuel is every bit as welcome. There’s another thing to be positive about: creative fuel can literally come from anywhere, whether it’s a news story, a personal experience, or the pencil sharpener sitting on my desk, which I once used in a toy photograph of Razor Ramon doing elevated pushups.

***SPENDING MONEY ON OTHER PEOPLE***

This goes hand-in-hand with my self-talk about being able to afford anything I want. When you believe you’re good with money, you can probably afford to shell out some of it on other people. That’s why I buy birthday and Christmas gifts months in advance for the ones I love: because I can and love them…that, and buying gifts ahead of schedule is a good way to avoid the stress of things like Black Friday. I also donate some of my money to various charities whether it’s the ASPCA, Extra Life, or St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. Spending money on other people, whether in a big or small way, will actually make you happy in the long-term, because you’re strengthening your relationship with that person. You don’t have to clean out your life savings just to make one person happy, but having that kind of confidence with your money and that kind of love for the one you’re spending it on, that says a lot about your mindset.

***CREATIVITY***

To paraphrase Cenk Uygur from The Young Turks, OF COURSE this was going to be a list item! Writing stories and poems gives me a sense of purpose in an economy where English majors and Millennials are frowned upon. I don’t write for the money or the fame. I do it because I fucking love it. I do it because it’s hard work that I can be proud of. I do it because having a legacy is important to me. Do I have lazy days occasionally? All the time. But lazy days are temporary while legacies are forever. I realize that not everybody will like what I have to write, but that’s the nature of subjectivity. There are people who love the shit out of Fifty Shades of Grey and despise Winnie the Pooh. Yes! People actually hate Winnie the Pooh! But if I denied my audience the right to hate my works, I’d come off as a dictator rather than a role model for individuality. Life doesn’t end because of a bad review, or even ten of them. Your career isn’t over until you say it is.

***CONCLUSION***

Goddamn, I’m taking a long time to write this blog entry. Then again, it’s nearly one o’clock in the morning and I spent most of my day in a mental fog. If you can’t concentrate, you can’t write…at least not very well. Here’s hoping my messages of empowerment are well-received by you, my lovely audience. If not, well, at least I tried. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

(In the summer of 2017…)

JAMES: Hey Garrison, what was in the Amazon package you got in the mail today?

GARRISON: Duct tape and a CD.

JAMES: Those two things do not go together! What are you going to do, bind and gag one of your Face Book women and torture her with your music?

GARRISON: That’s not what the duct tape is for!

JAMES: Uh-huh. Sure! The only thing more disturbing than that was that it came in a long and narrow package. I thought it was another one of your corporate pop metal posters.

GARRISON: Goddamn it, James!

RBG

MOVIE TITLE: RBG

DIRECTORS: Betsy West and Julie Cohen

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Documentary

RATING: PG for language and politics

GRADE: Extra Credit

RBG documents the multi-decade career of women’s rights lawyer and Supreme Court justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg. Growing up as a second class citizen by virtue of her gender, she knew right away what she wanted to fight for when she tried her cases. Her legacy laid the groundwork for equal pay, equal opportunities, and equal treatment between men and women. Though we still have a long way to go as a society in terms of how women are treated, Ruth Bader Ginsberg will always be seen as someone who got the ball rolling in the right direction. Even today in her old age, she remains a pop culture icon among liberals, women, and youngsters, even being jokingly called The Notorious RBG, a parody of hip-hop artist Notorious BIG.

Ruth’s quiet and introverted nature was a focal point throughout the movie and makes her come off as likable and trustworthy even among her political opponents. She doesn’t believe in raising her voice or being nasty when arguing a case. As a matter of fact, yelling at somebody to win an argument will always turn the other person off rather than bring them in. If you need further proof of Ruth’s diplomatic approach, she was close friends with Antonin Scalia, a Supreme Court justice and rightwing advocate. If those two clashing personalities can get along, imagine what other kinds of barriers can be broken among our people. Breaking down social barriers is important in Trump’s America due to how divided and venomous we as a society have become. Watching Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s peaceful interactions among her opponents is inspiring to watch and makes me believe in hope all over again.

As a matter of fact, any political documentary that makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside will always earn an extra credit grade from me. That’s the kind of feeling we need in today’s world. It’s easy to feel angry and disenfranchised with everything going on and I’m not immune to any of that myself. Stripping you of your hope and your happiness is exactly what the extremists want. When you lose sight of what’s important in life, you become bitter. Bitter words will never bring us together no matter how loudly we yell. Even though I’m a proud liberal, I wouldn’t trade any of my conservative friends for the world. Some of them have been there for me during the darkest times of my life and that’s a debt I could never repay. Ruth Bader Ginsberg will never raise her voice, but she will fight for everything the world needs. That alone makes her a role model we can all be proud of. In fact, some her fans are so proud that they got T-shirts, coffee mugs, and even tattoos in dedication to her. Tattoos? Really?

Back in February of 2018, I saw a one-man show depicting the life and legacy of Thurgood Marshall, another Supreme Court justice who fought for equality, but among races. Ruth Bader Ginsberg showed the same heart and dedication when she built her legacy around gender equality. These two performances have a lot in common, particularly in the way they show how powerful a good debating strategy can be. In their cases, the lawyers were so influential that they became Supreme Court judges. It’s not a role to be taken lightly. It can be the difference between living in a civilized society and throwing everything back to the Dark Ages. Sometimes it feels like we’re living in the Dark Ages all over again, which is why it’s so important never to give up hope or give up the fight for the common good.

Watching this documentary will empower you to levels you’ve never imagined. It’s a wakeup call for everybody involved whether they want to be woken up or not. As I’ve stated earlier in this review, I’m giving the documentary an extra credit grade for being an empowering life lesson without preaching to the choir. It’s not just a pat-on-the-back for ninety minutes. It’s something we could all use at least once in our life.

Young Turk

VERSE 1

I am the Young Turk, I am creative fuel

I don’t say this shit because it sounds cool

I do it for the fire, I do it for the passion

Fuck what’s trendy, fuck what’s in fashion

Call me a Young Turd, call me a Young Jerk

You’re the only one who’s going berserk

You’ve got a loud voice? Mine is even louder

My words are explosive like lit gun powder

VERSE 2

I am the Young Turk, social justice ronin

Adrenalize the world with a dose of serotonin

I don’t need your guns, I don’t need your bombs

You don’t need armor, just a hug from your mom

Call me a snowflake, call me easily triggered

Watch as this movement gets bigger and bigger

You’ve got an army? Mine is even stronger

Your iron fist won’t rule for much longer

VERSE 3

I am the Young Turk, your worst fucking nightmare

The ghost breathing down your neck until you’re tired

You will relent one day, you will fucking pay

For all the sins you’ve put on internet display

For all the shots fired, for all the brains wired

For all the demon seeds you’ve fucking sired

You’ve got a congregation? Mine is everywhere

Watch as the one percent rips out their own hair

FINAL LINES

I am the Young Turk, lightning in a bottle

I am the Young Turk, American role model

I am the Young Turk, see you in November

I am the Young Turk, always fucking remember

I am the Young Turk! X4

Because of You

Whether or not you believe it to be true

This world is different because of you

Every word you say, every dollar you spend

Every action you take, every position you defend

Every friend you make, every heart you take

Every enemy you kill, all the blood you spill

What seems like nothing on the surface

Could feel to others overwhelmingly urgent

A lifelong lesson or an honorable mention

A permanent heaven or a hellish weapon

For every action, there’s a consequence

No in-betweens, no riding on the fence

Do you want to be a force of positive change?

Or a constant source of negative pain?

No matter what decision you ultimately make

Have no regrets unless you want to break

This world is different because of you

Either tear it apart or become its glue

Black Panther

MOVIE TITLE: Black Panther

DIRECTOR: Ryan Coogler

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Superhero

RATING: PG-13 for violence and language

GRADE: Extra Credit

The secret African nation of Wakanda harvests a powerful mineral called vibranium and uses the unstable element as the basis for all of their technology. Part of their technological advancements include an impenetrable superhero suit for the king of Wakanda, T’Challa a.k.a. Black Panther. A mysterious black American soldier named Erik “Killmonger” Stevens wants the vibranium for himself so that he can carry out his own political agenda. The power struggle between Black Panther and Killmonger runs deeper than just superficial greed. Revenge, revolution, and altruism are at the heart of this battle in which loyalties will be tested on both sides of the equation.

The main reason this movie gets an extra credit grade is because of how strongly black people are portrayed. Representation matters, especially in a world where racism and classism governs every part of American life. The audience will love the Black Panther character for more reasons than just being a kick-ass superhero. There’s a struggle within him that’s more taxing than the physical battles he endures. He wants to be a good king to his people, but a small part of him wants to share his loyalty with the entire world despite protests from his own subjects. This dynamic between selfishness and altruism is something we all have to consider in our lives. We need to have empathy for each other if our world is going to know true peace and the director seems to agree with that sentiment. Blood begets more blood and love begets more love. Underneath all of the action-packed fight scenes, the truth resides, though some people aren’t ready to hear that truth, which is why we have the bloodbaths we have today.

But of course, if the power struggle is to be believed, then the villain must buy into his own hype and make a strong case for it. That’s exactly what Killmonger does and the actor’s portrayal of such is to be praised. Killmonger wants revenge on a world that looks down upon him with racist bigotry. He wants to overthrow entire governments just so he can flash a middle finger to the man. It goes to show that even in a superhero movie like this, there are shades of gray in between the two extremes. The audience actually has to think for themselves and decide what is right. I hate power hungry oligarchs as much as anybody, but do we need constant assassinations left and right? It’s easy to give into the dark side when anger becomes your driving force. Be better than that. I’m begging you.

No matter what side King T’Challa takes, he’s going to have to pay his dues with one hundred percent interest. Just because he’s a superhero, doesn’t mean he’s not vulnerable to losing every now and then. Physical strength and godlike endurance can only take a man so far. It’s what’s on the inside that will bring him to any victories he needs. Anybody can throw a spear. Anybody can shoot a machinegun. But the real enemy must be conquered from within and that takes more strength than a bullet can provide. Some people don’t have that strength and they either meet an early death or they cross the moral event horizon themselves. Can Black Panther pass his own moral test? Buy a ticket and see for yourself.

In the same way that Wonder Woman was empowering to females, Black Panther is empowering for black people. While it’s nice to live vicariously through the titular superhero, it’s what we do in the real world that will make the biggest difference. What will you do to make a change? Will your actions be more powerful than a lead bullet? Will you become superhuman by virtue of your work towards a better day? Black Panther will steer you in the right direction and for that it gets an extra credit grade.

Apartheid

VERSE 1

Nation of segregation!

Burning crosses, immolation

Vision of division!

Survival by your permission

Dark times of apartheid!

Bend over and open wide

Silence and violence!

Ruled by one-percent tyrants

CHORUS

Splitting the people apart

Is where the slaughter starts

Watching fires from afar

Apartheid lowering the bar

VERSE 2

Empire of gunfire!

Bodies stacked like a spire

Kingdom of war drums!

Isn’t this a lot of fucking fun?

Debunk the splatter-punk!

That sailing ship has sunk

Rebellion is for hellions!

Degenerate into skeletons

EXTENDED CHORUS 1

Splitting the people apart

Is where the slaughter starts

Watching fires from afar

Apartheid lowering the bar

This is the new normal

This is the new cordial

This is the new order

These are the new borders

VERSE 3

World peace, make this cease!

We’re more than skin and beliefs

Weapons and heaven!

Mutually exclusive times seventy-seven

Nation of education!

No more racist occupation

Arm in arm, do no harm!

Peaceful protests near and afar

EXTENDED CHORUS 2

Splitting the people apart

Is where the slaughter starts

Watching fires from afar

Apartheid lowering the bar

This will soon be history

Mark the end of misery

It ain’t a fucking mystery

Come together in synergy

Robo Heck

“How in the hell did the mechanics fuck this one up?” blurted David Masters V as he twisted various bolts into his gigantic robot with a monkey wrench. Lost and alone in a remote island lush with tropical vegetation, David cringed at the smoke and steam floating freely from his machine’s engine. He tried rapping it several times with a hammer. Nothing. He tried pouring lake water onto it to cool it off. Nothing. He tried twisting even more bolts with that pathetic monkey wrench of his. Electrical storm that zapped the tip of his finger. The pilot sucked on his wound and murmured, “There’s going to be some fucking hell to pay when I get back to base!”

The earth shook beneath David and all he could think was, “Oh no, not again! What now?!” He frantically twisted bolts and screws with his monkey wrench thinking the big ass machine was going to explode in a cataclysm of fiery death. The engine smoked some more. The electrical storm zapped him in his other finger. While sucking on his new wound, he kicked his machine and ran off to hide in the bushes. The earth trembled some more and nearly flipped David on his back. All he could do was clutch the bush roots for dear life and ride out whatever the hell was going on here. Forget sucking his zapped finger, he should have been sucking on his thumb.

Just when he was ready to cry for mommy so many miles away, the ground ceased shaking. Slowly David released his grasp of the bush root and backed away with tender steps. He fell on his ass after colliding with something sharp, which turned out to be a toenail. “What the fucking hell?!” whispered David fearfully as he took one look at the sky above and saw a giantess standing over him with a menacing scowl on her face. David’s sick twisted mind, she could have been a looker if she was human-sized, with her braided blond hair, golden bra, flowing green leather skirt, and wicker flip-flops.

The giantess leaned her face towards David’s so that he could feel the venom and sickness washing over him some more. He shivered while trying to crab walk away from her, but a row of palm trees halted his path. “That’s it, I’m fucking toast!” he whimpered to himself.

The giantess aimed her treacherous gaze at David’s robot, pointed at it with her freight train finger, and asked, “How dare you bring this war machine to my island?!”

“W…war machine? War machine? Hehehehe! No, you have the wrong idea,” stuttered David as he used the tree bark to help himself to his feet. “I’m not a soldier. I’m just a civilian contractor. I’m a builder, that’s all. That’s just a cutting torch he’s holding.”

“Hmm…cutting torch, huh?” She yanked the machinegun out of the robot’s hand, aimed it at the robot itself, and blasted it to shreds until the weapon was out of ammo. David ducked down in the fetal position to avoid pieces of shrapnel slicing him to bits. They were already stuck in the trees and damn near knocked them over. And then the giantess tossed the unloaded rifle across the forest and watched it roll down a mountain hill before it crashed into the ocean and sank like a stone. “Nice cutting torch,” she mocked.

David stood up once again, but this time staggered around nervously and almost fell over. He tried his damnedest to be brave like the soldier he lied about not being, but all that came out were weak little squeaks. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done, missy? That was a million dollar piece of military equipment. The global government is going to be furious with you. There’s no telling what kinds of bombs they’ll drop on this place.”

“So you are a soldier, aren’t you? You had thirty seconds to lie to me and all you could tell me was that your assault rifle was a goddamn cutting torch. Maybe I should get a real cutting torch and seal your dick shut so that you can’t reproduce and create more war than there already is!” snapped the giantess.

David’s balls suddenly felt like they were the size of pumpkins when he took that insult. Arms akimbo, he shouted, “You know why they call me David Masters V? Because there’s five of us! Five generations of proud soldiers who would do anything to make this world a better place! You’re not only shitting on my family name; you’re shitting on the world as a whole!”

“So your idea of a better world is one where children and women are buried under rubble? Motherless children? Fatherless sons? You think you can win any argument with a war machine? It’s moronic men like you that made me want to stay on this beautiful island uninterrupted!” the giantess roared.

David chuckled, “For someone who hates war machines and how they kill tons of people, you look like you can just step on me and splatter my ass across the ground right now. What’s stopping you? Huh?”

“Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to stomp all over your military bases and government buildings, but if I did that, I’d be a massive hypocrite. Staying on this island is the only thing keeping me sane in times of war,” she said.

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, Mother Theresa, but my superiors are going to figure out sooner or later that I’m MIA and they’re going to come looking for me. When they see what you’ve done with their million dollar robot, they’re going to bring the hammer down on your big ass! Bullets, missiles, bombs, you name it, they’ll drop it on your pathetic fucking island!”

The giantess gritted her teeth and scooped David in her massive hand while he kicked and screamed, “Put me down! You’re hurting me!”

“I hate to burst YOUR bubble, but your superiors aren’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you and that goddamn machine are fucking expendable!” the giantess belted, which nearly caused permanent ringing in David’s sensitive ears. “They probably think you’ve already died in the crash. They probably don’t even know this island even exists. You think you’re worth something to your government? Only in the form of yellow ribbons and god awful national anthem lyrics! If they cared so much about you, they wouldn’t have suffered you or any of your four ancestors to go to war in the first place!”

The more David Masters V squirmed in the giantess’s grasp, the softer his bones felt. The tightness alone made him feel as though his head would burst like a grape. Yet he remained defiant until the end. “You know how many times I’ve heard that crap from hippies like you?! My family has been protested so many times that we just shrug it off like annoying little gnats! Besides, what the fuck do you know about peace and love?! You’re squeezing me so fucking hard that I thought I heard my spine pop about three or four times!”

“I’m sure you’ve said this to your loved ones when they hugged you tightly enough that you couldn’t walk away from them,” said the giantess. David’s face grew solemn and long while she lectured him some more. “The reason us ‘hippies’ say these things all the time is because it’s true. You think I don’t feel the pain of war every single day? You think that just because I’m a giant that I can just shrug things off as easily as you? Wake up, dumb ass! I’m the enemy! I’ve always been the enemy! Anybody this goddamn tall is automatically a pariah!”

David tucked his chin to his chest in dark contemplation. His squirming and thrashing had ceased. His big fat mouth morphed into a big fat frown. He couldn’t believe he was feeling sympathy for someone who was capable of squashing him into jelly with one strong grip. He remembered all of the times he was picked on as a kid and during basic training. His mind felt like it was rubbed with Novocain all of those years, but when those memories came flooding back to him, he couldn’t resist any longer. Every swear word, every punch to the gut, every slap to the face, every obnoxious laugh, and every punch to the mouth flashed through his brain at a hundred miles an hour.

The giantess shook him hard to snap him out of his trance and he gagged at the gyro-psychotic sensation. “Sorry, I just…I just…Jesus, what the hell’s wrong with me?”

“It was all going to come out sooner or later, David,” said the giantess in a gentle tone reminiscent of a psychiatrist. “Nobody is immune to the ghosts inside their head, especially not in times of war. You can push them down as much as you want, but they’ll always come back stronger than ever. Your generals won’t admit it in public company, but it happens for them too. Believe it or not, it happens to me all the time. I can’t go out in the human world without getting a heedful of garbage. That’s why I like this island. It’s cool, it’s calming, and it’s perfect out here because I’m the only one.”

“Doesn’t it get lonely out here with just you here?” asked David while sheepishly turning his face away.

“As a matter of fact, it does, my friend. But it doesn’t have to be lonely anymore. And you don’t have to suffer those hideous thoughts anymore. You have no way of getting back anyways, with no war machine and no radio.” That last sentence was punctuated with a loving grin on the giantess’s face.

“Wait a minute…why are you…you’re not planning on….” David looked down at his groin and asked, “How exactly would that work?”

“It wouldn’t work, David. You’d be nothing more than a shit stain in the ground before you had the chance to blow.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t talking about that! I, uh…uh…” David’s face reddened like a strawberry at his own stupid assumption.

“On the contrary, my friend: I have much different plans for your permanent vacation therapy here. And while we’re on friendly terms, I have a name, you know: Amalia. Amalia Strom. But you can call my mommy if you’d like. Oh, do I have plans for you!”

David Masters V gulped a cannonball-sized lump down his throat while Amalia reached in her satchel for something that sounded fuzzy and leathery. Before the traumatized soldier knew it, his head was wrapped in a furry cap with pink bunny ears on top. Amalia cradled him in her arms like a baby and lovingly cooed, “My own little bunny rabbit! I will name him George and hug him and kiss him and squeeze him!”

After grimacing in pain from being hugged and squeezed, David formed a sweet smile on his face and said, “I loved that cartoon when I was a kid. And then I got spanked with a fucking belt for liking ‘faggot shit’. My bones hurt like hell, but keep squeezing anyways, Miss Strom!”

“And I will caress him and pat him and pet him and love him and rub him…”

David Masters V didn’t know if he felt warm and fuzzy inside because he could finally let go of his war trauma or because his organs were squishing together inside of him. For the first time in his life, his smile wasn’t because of a corny sex joke his drill instructor told him. His secret deep down wish came true after all.

Peace and Love

ONLY VERSE

When a riot breaks out, you pass the buck

Like you have a monopoly on peace and love

You’re the one sending kids to die in wars

Selling automatic rifles in convenience stores

Pushing the big red button to drop the bombs

Turning rape victims into first-time moms

Sending the mentally ill to the electric chair

Excusing the cops who drag women by the hair

You invented violence, you encouraged silence

You’re the one taking free speech like a tyrant

Who’s the one taking the low road now?

Who’s the one making bratty baby sounds?

Who’s the one running to his safest space?

In case you have a confused look on your face…

CHORUS

You don’t know shit about peace and love! X3

You’re the one with blood on your boxing gloves!

You don’t know shit about peace and love! X3

Now who’s the one who has to toughen up?!

Zealot

VERSE 1

Holding peaceful protesters hostage

Grinding individuality into sausage

Never knowing what will cause it

Bigoted tendencies out of the closet

A zealot in the worst sense of the word

Keeping the masses caged like birds

Clipping their wings so they can’t fly

Slashing their throats, they can’t say bye

CHORUS

I don’t believe in you or your ideas

I don’t believe in your verbal diarrhea

I don’t believe in the life of a zealot

I don’t feel the least bit fucking jealous

VERSE 2

Keeping their eyes glued to the TV

Keeping your words far from PG

Keeping your presence hypnotic

Keeping your bombs atomic

When you offend, it’s for the ratings

When you pick fights, it’s race baiting

The midnight slot is too good for you

Shoot the TV with a shotgun boom

CHORUS

I don’t believe in you or your ideas

I don’t believe in your verbal diarrhea

I don’t believe in the life of a zealot

I don’t feel the least bit fucking jealous

BRIDGE

The violence, the riots, they’re all your fault

The hoax, the jokes, in the wound goes the salt

The rebels, the devils, they’ve got your balls

The hellions, the zealots, they all must fall

VERSE 3

At the end of the day, was it all worth it?

Did you achieve your ultimate purpose?

Did you get everything handed to you?

Did you get revenge on the ones you sued?

All you created was a world of dead shit

Flames and infernos are eternally lit

Did this to yourself with your puppeteer’s help

Let’s pull your string and hear you yell

EXTENDED CHORUS

I don’t believe in you or your ideas

I don’t believe in your verbal diarrhea

I don’t believe in the life of a zealot

I don’t feel the least bit fucking jealous

I don’t believe the blind leading the blind

I don’t believe it is heaven that I’ll find

I don’t believe in the life of an assassin

I don’t believe in politics for ransom

I Don't Have To

VERSE 1

Just because I won’t join the fucking army

Doesn’t mean I wear the clothes of Barbie

There is no shame in staying right at home

It’s better than being dead and buried alone

The drill instructors are too damn loud

The abusive authority is too damn proud

I won’t die for some rightwing agenda

Or have visions of war burned into my retina

CHORUS 1

I don’t have to and I don’t want to

I don’t care if “Uncle Sam wants you!”

They can do just fine without me

The war machine will not devour me

VERSE 2

Blaming a whole generation of people

Is just as bigoted and just as evil

Millennials figured out a long time ago

If you step on a land mine, it’s going to blow

Body parts are strewn across the desert

Staying at home sounds so much better

We’re not the cowards you make us out to be

We’re just like you; we were born to be free

CHORUS 1

I don’t have to and I don’t want to

I don’t care if “Uncle Sam wants you!”

They can do just fine without me

The war machine will not devour me

VERSE 3

Coming home in a wooden casket

Flowers on your grave in a woven basket

Going insane with the trauma of war

Held prisoner behind padded cell doors

Financially crippled, forever homeless

Forever damaged, forever hopeless

This is far from being the American Dream

It’s the American Nightmare, time to scream

CHORUS 2

I don’t have to and I don’t want to

Death and blood will forever haunt you

I don’t belong in a body freezer

It’s not betrayal, I’m not stabbing Caesar

Weird Ass Dreams

***WEIRD ASS DREAMS***

I don’t often talk about my dreams anymore, but since I’m desperate for journal topics and it’s past the three day limit, I think this needs to be said. Last night, I had two of the weirdest dreams I could possibly have. The first one was just plain weird while the second one could be considered a nightmare. You don’t have to worry about me being traumatized or anything like that. But if I don’t share these dreams with you guys, I feel like it’ll be all for nothing. So, here we go…

　

In the first dream, my brother James took me to a theme park. At first I didn’t know what theme park it was, so naturally I envisioned water slides and rollercoasters as I tried to guess this surprise. Turns out it was a theme park based on the idea of Muslims and Jews getting along. I shit you not. Among the attractions were the two cultures sitting in a giant field with each other and going swimming together in an indoor pool. I like the idea of people coexisting peacefully, but there’s just one problem: no rollercoasters. None. Not one fucking rollercoaster. So I decide to send James a text message saying I’m headed for home to find something more fun to do than to hang out at the theme park. He sends one back to me saying that I’m ignorant and uneducated, basically muscling me back into the theme park with a guilt trip. And then the two of us run around the theme park pretending to be Clerks characters. I ate an ice cream cone beforehand, so naturally I gassed out early while James, being the athlete he is, outruns me for miles.

And then you have the second dream, the one I consider to be a nightmare. The dream took place in a massage parlor based on one that’s right here in my home town of Port Orchard. I wish I was making that part up. It’s in a strip mall next to the tobacco store where I used to buy Susan cigarettes. The windows are blacked out and the business sign just says “Massage”. In my dream, I finally decide it’s time to lose my virginity, so I go into that same massage parlor looking for sex. I have to wait in the lobby so that the staff can find me a suitable girl who will be my first lay. Here’s where the sexy dream turns into a nightmare. In the lobby, there are television monitors mounted on the walls. And on these monitors, they’re showing…(gulp)…overly muscular cartoon men from around the world raping each other as well as raping a few animals. I got the hell out of there as soon as I could, but the trauma still lingered. Regardless, James took out his smart phone and Googled a better place to get laid, which is in California. Before I had the chance to drive there, I woke up from the dream feeling terrified of what I saw in the massage parlor.

　

Will I be using these dreams for creative fuel? The answer to that question is the same as any other dream I’ve posted about in Garrison’s Library: no. I kept saying yes during those past posts, but I never got around to it, so I might as well give an honest answer and say no this time. However, the idea of weird ass dreams and nightmares could work in a short story for the WSS. Maybe the guy could go to a sleep clinic and have the worst nightmare in his whole life. He could be possessed by a demon or he could be haunted by psychological demons from his past. I like where this is going! We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DANTE: Things happened today, things that probably ruined my chances with Caitlin.
RANDAL: What, the dead guy? She’ll get over fucking a dead guy. Shit, my mom’s been fucking a dead guy for thirty years. I call him dad.
DANTE: Caitlin and I can’t be together after this, it’s impossible.
RANDAL: Melodrama seems to come as naturally for you as a normal bowel movement.

-Clerks-

"Om" by The Moody Blues

It’s easy to create art out of the remains of destruction. Just a few posts ago, I created three new characters based on the internet arguments I had with the members of Play By Web in 2002 and 2004 over age limits: Zeal, Chakko, and Natron (The Undertaker doesn’t count since he’s copyrighted by the WWE). Three new characters are all well and good, but their births don’t change the fact that I still had depression and anger within me. Creativity is a great healing agent, but it doesn’t solve everything.

Music, on the other hand, is a very powerful drug that can be taken with any dosage of creativity. Creativity can be Prozac and music can be Abilify, if you really understand the power of medicine metaphors. In the case of 2002, the song that laid those fiery feelings to rest was “Om” by The Moody Blues. They already have a reputation for being peace-loving, leftwing hippies, but now that “Om” is on the market, they’ve taken it to a whole different level. “Om” is a word yoga masters use whenever they want to achieve a quiet mind through meditation, so it’s not much of a coincidence.

It’s a gorgeous piece of music complete with flutes, bass bongo drums, sitars, and of course, Mike Pinder’s Melotron keyboard (where would an early Moody Blues song be without it?). I’m not sure if it would put me to sleep due to the relaxation, but it definitely put my demons to sleep back in 2002 after the verbal battles were over. I was able to concentrate on my schoolwork and get the good grades I rightfully deserved.

If you have a fiery mind, “Om” by The Moody Blues is the tidal wave that will put out those destructive flames. If nothing else, it reminds us all that life is too short to be pissed off all the time. Metal fans will probably argue against that point since anger is a huge part of that aggressive genre of music. To those people, I argue there’s a huge difference between being psyched up for a metal song and pissed off at the world. When you’re psyched up for a metal song, it’s positive energy that will lead to having a good time. When you’re pissed off at the world, nobody wants to be around you and you will ultimately destroy yourself.

Not every situation calls for grinding, loud, explosive heavy metal. Sometimes you have to take a moment to calm down and assess the situation. Sometimes you have to lock yourself in your bedroom and let peace wash over you like warm Hawaiian beach water. You don’t necessarily have to do the whole “hippie-dippie” meditation routine in order to achieve this moment of peace. All you need is a moment to yourself and a deep look into your thoughts. Thinking is the best way to travel and it’s reiterated in “Om” by The Moody Blues. And once you’re done thinking, you can go back to the real world without unnecessarily spilling blood, especially your own.

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“People on the internet like to take cheap shots at me, but they’ll never be more critical of me than I am of me.”

-Dave Batista-

"Last Train Home" by Pat Metheny

From September 2007 to June 2008, my main method of transportation between Bellingham (college) and Port Orchard (home) was the Greyhound Bus. The filthy, disgusting, degenerate Greyhound Bus complete with a urine and shit-scented bathroom and mentally unstable passengers who have an uncanny knack for breaking out of straightjackets. It was a miserable experience that I don’t wish to repeat anytime soon. One day in late 2008, my senior year of college, I was in the bus station with my mom and I told her in the saddest voice possible, “I hate this place.” It wasn’t hard for her to see why. Therefore, instead of taking the putrid and rancid Greyhound Bus with dirty diaper stains and beer-scented creeps, I took the Amtrak home on the weekends. The train is a much gentler experience than an intercity bus. The people are sane, the staff is friendly, the scenery is much more pleasant, the passengers get to move around at will instead of being cramped all the time, and best of all, they had a food lounge in a separate car. Such a joyous public transportation experience deserves a special kind of music and that song is called “Last Train Home” by Pat Metheny. I used to listen to this song all the time when I was a kid, but I didn’t know it until I asked my dad about it. My main question to him was, “What was the song with the train in the music video and the guy who looks like George Harrison?” It wasn’t much to go on, but dad came through for me when he told me the name of the song. It was a worthy quest for knowledge. Imagine these peaceful instruments coming together to make beautiful music: an Indian-style guitar, a grand piano, a snare drum with brush sticks, an upright bass, and maracas. You’ll be knocked out within the first few seconds of the song. That is, if you aren’t already relaxed by the orange and pink sunset followed by the starry night with the vanilla moon in your train window. And just for the hell of it, imagine a hotdog and diet soda on your food tray while you patiently await your next destination. If listening to this music with Bose noise-cancelling headsets, you get bonus points, because if there’s ever a disrupting noise such as children screaming or cowboys laughing, Pat Metheny’s gorgeous music will be all you hear. Simple pleasures such as these open up creative pathways in more ways than just getting schoolwork done. You could actually write novels under these conditions. Or you can do what I’m currently doing, that is edit the hell out of preexisting stories you’ve written in preparation for a new anthology to be released. If you have an imagination as vast as the stars in the night sky, you can make these beautiful circumstances work.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Washington: we’re left of Idaho. Then again, who isn’t?”

-John Keister-