The Queer Kiwi vs. Isaac Butterfield

 

Parasocial

VERSE 1
The beacon of light I’ve been waiting for
A platonic friendship or something more?
One-sided romance from across the screen
Like I don’t know what parasocial means
We never talk, but I can still have dreams
About making this more than it seems
The real world doesn’t even compare
The real world doesn’t fucking care

CHORUS
Parasocial, parasitic
Lovey-dovey, sick and twisted
Parasocial, paranormal
Who cares about morals?
Supernatural, superficial
Let’s tie the knot, make it official
Superstardom, Superhero
Take a chance on this weirdo?

VERSE 2
I don’t have a knife or pepper spray
Yet you back the fuck up anyway
I would too, so I can’t blame you
Don’t know if I have a loose screw
Don’t know if I’m a creepy terrorist
No confidence and less arrogance
Where else am I supposed to go?
Got nothing here but wires and crows

CHORUS
Parasocial, parasitic
Lovey-dovey, sick and twisted
Parasocial, paranormal
Who cares about morals?
Supernatural, superficial
Let’s tie the knot, make it official
Superstardom, Superhero
Take a chance on this weirdo?

VERSE 3
I hate riding in cars in long traffic lines
I hate flying on planes for a long ass time
I hate riding on buses with dog logos
I hate riding on trains, it’s never solo
I don’t have the patience to see this through
Yet I yearn to be even closer to you
Back to the keyboard for another comment
In hopes we still have friendship in common

CHORUS
Parasocial, parasitic
Lovey-dovey, sick and twisted
Parasocial, paranormal
Who cares about morals?
Supernatural, superficial
Let’s tie the knot, make it official
Superstardom, Superhero
Take a chance on this weirdo?

FINAL VERSE
Growing older
Growing colder
You’ve moved on
Still I wait so long

Stalking Is Not the Answer

I haven’t watched WWE since November of 2018, when they put on that horrible episode of Monday Night Raw where Drake Maverick peed on Bobby Roode’s robe. But I still like to stay in the loop via podcasts and You Tube channels. I sincerely hope Sonya Deville’s story gets the appropriate amount of coverage outside of the wrestling bubble. A few weeks ago, a disgusting bastard by the name of Phillip Thomas attempted to kidnap Sonya in her Lutz, Florida home. For years he had sent her creepy messages on social media that were of the lovey-dovey variety mixed with suicidal threats and mentions of wanting to murder her family. So what does he do to satisfy his romantic urges? In addition to sending the freaky messages, he showed up to her house one night carrying a knife, pepper spray, duct tape, zip ties, and god knows what else. He planned on kidnapping Sonya Deville, but she got the hell out of there and the police promptly arrested Phillip Thomas with a judge denying him bail.

Now…there are many ways in which you can show your appreciation for your favorite celebrities. Stalking and attempting to kidnap them is not one of them! Forgetting the fact that Sonya Deville is openly lesbian and therefore isn’t interested in men anyways, Phillip Thomas had no fucking chance with her by virtue of his creepy online behavior. He has even less of a chance with her now that he attempted to kidnap her. Haven’t you learned anything from being sickened while watching 365 Days? That Stockholm Syndrome fantasy shit doesn’t work! When Phillip Thomas showed up at Sonya Deville’s home with weapons and bondage equipment, she didn’t have stars in her eyes and a smile on her face. She was fucking terrified, as well she should be!

Having romantic feelings for a celebrity is nothing new to the world. It’s a relationship that could never work due to the imbalance of power, but we like to have fantasies anyways, because these fantasies make our hearts flutter and they give us extra pep in our step. We form parasocial relationships with the celebrities we love. Maybe the celebrity gives us roses. Maybe they squeeze our shoulders. Maybe they let us cradle our heads in their laps while they stroke our hair. But once the fantasy wears off, you begin to realize the impossibility of the fantasy and it depresses the shit out of you. You invested so much time and energy into this fantasy that when the rug gets pulled out from underneath, you’ve got nothing left but sadness. If you feel like your celebrity crushes are interfering with your wellbeing, talk to somebody. Anybody. See a counselor. Confide in family and friends.

This phenomenon was especially true for me when I studied at Western Washington University from 2007 to 2009. I was a socially awkward dweeb who had very little in the way of human interaction. So what did I do? I formed a parasocial relationship with Tarja Turunen, the former lead singer of Nightwish. Her lovely raven hair, her milky white skin, her cherry red lips, and that singing voice of an angel, oh my god, she was so beautiful to me. My heart had the singing voice of an angel every time I laid eyes on her. But when I cycled through my head all the loving ways we could interact, I quickly realized that I was still alone at WWU despite having a strong imagination. I had nothing but my fantasies. Fantasies are great, but they’re not tangible and don’t amount to anything in real life. But did I threaten to kidnap Tarja Turunen? Did I threaten to kill her husband Marcelo Cabuli? Did I show up to her home in Finland with duct tape and a hunting knife? Fuck no! That would be horrifying! If you claim to love someone as much as you do, you don’t show your love by threatening to slash them if they don’t have sex with you. That’s not love. That’s violence. In a real relationship, that’s domestic abuse and it would be grounds for not only divorce, but prison time.

Sonya Deville is a beautiful woman. She’s a brilliant character on WWE television. She’s got mixed-martial arts skills for days that will remind the audience of Wonder Woman. You want to know what she isn’t? Yours to kidnap and have sex with! You as a fan are not owed anything! You’re not owed sex and romance! If you want those things, you have to earn them by being sweet and empathetic and even then if the woman says no, you ought to listen. Sonya Deville is not going to say yes to someone who sends her disgusting messages on Twitter threatening to hurt her if she doesn’t give into him. I thought this point was made clear when pretty much every news outlet on the planet dissected Incel culture with a scalpel. We’re supposed to be past this shit. But people like Phillip Thomas didn’t get the message. Apparently, neither did the other Twitter trolls who sent Sonya Deville messages like, “I’m going to finish what Phillip started” and “My knife is bigger than Phillip’s.” How romantic! What a bunch of charming motherfuckers! Breakfast, meet floor!

Back at Summer Slam, Sonya Deville was written off of WWE television when she lost a No Disqualification Loser Leaves Town match to longtime rival Mandy Rose. She didn’t actually lose her job. It’s just a storyline excuse for her to sort things out legally and emotionally before getting back in the ring. She’ll be back one day. I’d like to think she’ll be back stronger than ever, but that’s not how psychological trauma works. That shit eats away at you like a cancer. There are triggers that will set you off. There are nightmares. There are moments where you’ll lose focus of what you’re doing, which isn’t an ideal scenario in a profession where you slam people on their backs for a living. Thanks a lot, Phillip Thomas. You traumatized Sonya Deville for life, all because you wanted a romance that never could have happened, lesbian status or not. That’s not love. That’s psychosis. Get some fucking help!

Being a celebrity of any kind, whether you’re an attractive woman or otherwise, will open up the floodgates for stalking and harassment. This shit has been going on long before the internet was a thing. So what should you do if you find yourself in this situation? Do you hire security guards? Do you buy a weapon? Do you move to another home? Do you stay off of social media? Do you get a restraining order? There’s no one-size-fits-all solution to this problem. Sometimes it’s multiple things at once, which is something the celebrity in question will consider as anxiety floods their minds with all the possibilities of scenarios. Hell, you don’t have to be a celebrity to experience stalking. The reason for stalking doesn’t even have to be romantic or sexual. There are some sick pieces of shit out there and the sooner they’re locked up, the better off we’ll all be. If you find yourself obsessing over someone, don’t become the next Phillip Thomas. Get help. Reach out to someone you trust. That’s my public service announcement for the day. Stalking is not the answer. It never is.

Punished For Nothing

VERSE 1

The rift between crime and punishment

Is the rift between democracy and government

A slap on the wrist for a child rapist

A lifetime in prison for the drugs taken

Beaten and tortured for freedom of speech

What lessons are we supposed to teach?

That you’re fucked no matter what?

Unless you’ve got over a billion bucks?

CHORUS

Punished for nothing! X4

VERSE 2

Protesting peacefully in a crowded street

Pepper spray burns like hellfire heat

Bones broken by a pair of booted feet

A life sentence for daring to question

The authority that screwed you over

No punishment for the country’s owners

Administrative leave for those who smash

The skulls of innocents who’re treated like trash

CHORUS

Punished for nothing! X4

VERSE 3

White man, black man, what’s the difference?

One is automatically declared innocent

The other is treated like he’s second class

Yet we refuse to acknowledge the racist past

Calling the cops for doing mundane tasks

Sparing those who kiss the authority’s ass

One nation under fraud, justice for none

It’s all just a joke to you, all in good fun

CHORUS

Punished for nothing! X4

FINAL VERSE

They always tell us to not break the law

But even innocents can have a broken jaw

Even a jaywalker can eat a fucking bullet

The American Dream has been stolen

Due Process

“Savages. Fucking savages,” said McKenzie Youngblood under her breath as she power-walked through the halls of Aspire Mental Hospital. Every jacked up orderly and nurse made her skin crawl. Every image of “crazies” suffering in silence on their padded cells made her stomach turn. The walls and floors probably hadn’t seen a sponge and bucket since the Reagan Administration. If they did, it was most likely off the backs of these patients.

The closer she stomped toward Dr. Oliver Killian’s office, the hotter McKenzie’s blood boiled. Her flat shoes were the most audible part of the hallway. Her chubby scowl and gray business suit indicated she meant…well…business. Deep inside, a wildfire began to grow as these white orderlies scowled at her black skin. Nonetheless, she was a professional first and foremost. Just deliver the papers to Dr. Killian, get in, and get out. A pepper spray bottle in her leather briefcase would only be used as a last resort.

McKenzie adjusted her suit and skirt and gave a hard series of knocks on Dr. Killian’s office door. “Come in!” he commanded and she did just that.

The first thing she noticed was the pristine condition of his office. Bookshelves with infinite wisdom, wooden plaques containing various college degrees, a marble office table with the latest computer technology sitting on it, and not one speck of dirt or dust unless one were to count Dr. Oliver Killian sitting with his hands behind his white fluffy hair. He adjusted his glasses and asked, “What can I do for you, young lady?”

“My name isn’t young lady. It’s McKenzie Youngblood and I’m a process server. The Paulson City Courthouse sent me here.” She pulled a thick manila envelope out of her briefcase and dropped it unceremoniously on the marble table. “You’re being sued by your former patients. Rough treatment, suppression of rights, unnecessary procedures, lengthy incarceration with no due process of any kind…you’re in deep trouble, Dr. Killian. It’s your right and your responsibility to contact the courthouse within a week of receiving these papers. Otherwise, the case will go on without you. Any questions?”

Dr. Killian’s sarcastically pleasant demeanor turned to silent rage as he rifled through the papers and read them hurriedly. “Psychiatric patients don’t have rights. This case will never stick.”

“Well, then I guess you have nothing to worry about, Doctor.” McKenzie leaned forward and said, “And I use that term loosely.”

Slamming the papers on the table, Dr. Killian, without raising his voice, seethed as he said, “Our facility is one of the best in the country. We are the good guys. We’re not the ones committing heinous acts on the street. We’re not the ones making life difficult for our loved ones. These patients are here because they deserve to be here. They’re a threat to society. How dare you question my methods!”

“Technically, I don’t have to stand here and have a debate with you. I could just walk out of this hospital and tell the judges you were served. But I’ve got to know something before I head out. When was the last time these patients have seen the summer sun? When was the last time they’ve had visitors? When was the last time they’ve had love or kindness of any sort? I know how this place works. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Day after day, every hour on the hour. This isn’t a hospital. It’s a death camp, especially for minorities and women, which make up eighty percent of your patient roster.”

Dr. Killian stood up and slammed his palms on the table, still maintaining his silent anger. “We use those methods because they work. They’re the only thing that will. Crazy people don’t learn any other way. They don’t listen to reason. They don’t comprehend order and decency. They don’t live in our reality. If we don’t do this to them, the world will. These patients should be thankful for the lessons we teach them. Instead, they want to make a few bucks off of us and complain about us to the liberal media. If anybody should feel oppressed right now, it’s me and my staff!”

McKenzie leaned in closer until she was almost touching noses with Dr. Killian. She did her best to contain her own anger as she told him, “You’d better hope the judges and jury buy into your twisted propaganda. If not, then you’ve got a shit storm on your hands, buster. Who knows? Maybe this dump will be closed once and for all. Good luck with your trial.” Just as she was turning around, Dr. Killian grabbed hold of her wrist, his bony fingers barely making a dent in her thick skin. “You have three seconds to pull your hand away and then I’m whipping out the pepper spray.”

“Okay, Miss Youngblood. You win. You can have a tighter grip if you prefer that.” Upon releasing his clasp, Dr. Killian pointed his elongated, creepy finger at the door to his office.

McKenzie turned around and saw two beefy orderlies standing there with their arms folded and their faces fixed in death stares. “Great idea, Dr. Killian,” she said. “You can have yet another lawsuit on your hands and hemorrhage money like no tomorrow. You tell these orderlies to back off or I’m taking your ass to court.”

Dr. Killian whispered into her ear, “What good is a lawsuit…if you can’t even make it to the courthouse? You think you’re the only one to serve me papers lately? You think you’re the only one who’s trying to sue me? We’re not just doctors and nurses. We’re magicians. We make lawsuits…disappear.” He licked her ear hole to punctuate his last point.

She turned around to try and slap him, but he ducked out of the way and allows his orderlies to grab her tightly by both arms. McKenzie struggled and fought while screaming curses at her captors, but their grips would only serve to leave purple bruises on her arms later on. They bent her over the table and yanked her hair so that she was facing Dr. Killian, who glared at her with ophidian eyes.

“Nobody’s taking my money away,” snarled Dr. Killian. “We’re making enough of it as it is. Turns out locking people up is quite the lucrative business. The more patients we’ve got, the richer we all are. It’s basic economics.” He leaned his face close to McKenzie’s. “You’d have to be crazy to stand up to capitalism. So crazy, in fact…you’d need your own padded cell.” With the orderlies’ hands firmly behind McKenzie’s neck, Dr. Killian planted a sloppy tongue kiss on her lips and slammed her forehead against the table.

McKenzie’s head swam as she was roughly dropped to the ground. Sparkling stars and colorful clouds filled her vision as darkness threatened to overtake her. She tried to stand up on her own two feet, but her legs and arms felt like rubber. Any last chance of rebellion was snuffed away when an orderly kicked her in the skull and sent her on a one-way ticket to dreamland.

It felt like an eternity since she slipped into unconscious hell. Waking up from it proved to be an even bigger drain on her body. She tried to wiggle around yet again, but leather straps held her horizontally against a metal table. She tried to yell for help, but her lips were held together with what appeared to be medical tape. Despite being in bondage, she never stopped struggling, especially when Dr. Killian’s hazy image swirled into view.

“Fighting isn’t going to make things better, Miss Youngblood. Or should I say, Patient #855341. Why fight something you have absolutely no control over? Why keep fighting and expecting different results? That is the true definition of insanity. You’ll eventually leave this place like any other patient of mine. How soon depends on your ability to conform to my rules.

From this point going forward, you will do what I say. You will think the way I tell you to think. You will be cured of your insanity. Your brain is mine to play with. Your body is mine to puppeteer. It’s crazy to rebel against basic human order. It’s crazy to think you’re capable of winning. It’s crazy to bring a can of pepper spray to a gunfight.”

As soon as Dr. Killian dangled the can of pepper spray in front of McKenzie’s face, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and ripped the tape off that way. She spit in Dr. Killian’s face before taking deep breaths and trying to relax for the horror she would have to endure.

He smiled, wiped the spit off with his finger, and sucked it down like maple syrup. McKenzie shivered in disgust before Dr. Killian grabbed her by the throat and squeezed as hard as he could.

As she gagged, wheezed, and struggled for oxygen, Dr. Killian held the spray bottle to her eyes and laughed maniacally as he pulled the trigger. Except instead of a blizzard of hot chemicals, he got a beeping noise. He slowly let go of the chokehold and allowed McKenzie to cough violently and regain her breath.

Dr. Killian studied the device even further, his face growing more and more confused. He glared at the bottle before peeling the label off and seeing that the pepper spray was actually a beacon.

“What? You thought the courthouse wasn’t going to investigate their own process servers going missing? In about five minutes, the cops are coming to tear this place apart. You could have taken your blood money and paid off your patients like a good corporate stooge. You could have kept this quiet. But you made this shit personal and it’s going to get as loud as a motherfucker up in here!” McKenzie smiled as the words and rage dripped from her mouth.

It didn’t take five minutes. Sirens blasting off in the distance echoed throughout the room and Dr. Killian paced back and forth in nervousness. “No, no, no, no, no! I’m supposed to be the good guy in this story! I’m doing God’s work!”

“Sorry, Dr. Killian…but it’s crazy to rebel against the system,” said McKenzie with a wink.

“Okay, Mrs. Black Lives Matter! Okay, you Snowflake Justice Warrior! You want to be a martyr?! I’ll make you a martyr!” Dr. Killian pulled shock pads from the sides of the table and electrocuted McKenzie’s brain. She could feel her insides droop. She could feel her face fall off. She could feel her brain melting like butter on mashed potatoes. Her eyes popped out of her skull at one point. But she never lost that smile no matter how many volts of electricity she was subjected to. Why would she? It was hard to frown at the prospect of justice being served. She was a process server, after all.