Who's the Real Hard Worker Here: the Actual Worker or the Extortionist?

 

Sam I Am: Would You Eat Green Eggs Off His Nuts? Would You Eat Them Off His Putz?

 

Welcome to the World, Gunther Golan

VERSE 1

After nine months of tummies being swollen

Welcome to the world, Gunther Golan

Can’t find your momma? Neither can I

Like a broken resolution, kiss her goodbye

Even I don’t know how you came to me

Must have been a night of drunken misery

But I can’t stand the taste of Budweiser

Another drug kept me from being the wiser

VERSE 2

Sorry for the disappointment, my little guy

Don’t have the patience or money to raise you right

Only resource I have is a life full of baggage

Potential turned to shit like eating too much cabbage

I could get a nice job flipping other people’s burgers

But that won’t offset all my fantasies of murder

Even if I had a million dollars in my bank

The screams still grated, the diapers still stank

VERSE 3

I can’t afford a car to drive you to school

So they give you D’s and C’s and label you a fool

Only option for you is to join the military

Where survivor’s guilt is their burden to carry

Another piece of meat for the sausage grinder

Another statistic in the government binder

This could have been avoided with a simple abortion

But instead the system plotted all this extortion

VERSE 4

After all the trauma and the baby mamma drama

All I had to show was a check from Obama

That was years ago, time flies like a vulture

Makes meals of us all, it’s American culture

We all had dreams at one point or another

Maybe you dreamed of having your own brother

But your legacy ends here, Mr. Gunther Golan

An endless stream of shit like cancer in the colon

FINAL LINE

But I’d give anything to bring you back…

Nowhere to Live

CHORUS 1

Government benefits were slashed in half

Homelessness doubled, it’s simple math

Paper white politicians say they’ll clean up the streets

While they rest comfortably in linen sheets

Nowhere to live, nothing to give

Nowhere to die, nothing to try

Nowhere to live

Nowhere to live

VERSE 1

It’s never been about shit on the sidewalk

It’s about outlining more bodies in chalk

It’s never been about screaming at thin air

It’s about naysayers too brainwashed to care

It’s never been about who’s smoking the crack

It’s about looking for new ways to attack

It’s never been about saving taxpayer money

But keep laughing it off like it’s so fucking funny

CHORUS 1

Government benefits were slashed in half

Homelessness doubled, it’s simple math

Paper white politicians say they’ll clean up the streets

While they rest comfortably in linen sheets

Nowhere to live, nothing to give

Nowhere to die, nothing to try

Nowhere to live

Nowhere to live

VERSE 2

A dollar bill can go for a thousand miles long

A hug and a smile can keep humanity strong

New laws to pass can kick greed in the ass

Need a closer look? Just go touch some grass

Look around at the world that you’re living in

Not everyone can take a Maserati for a spin

Not everyone can eat a steak dinner at night

It ain’t the answer to pull those boot straps tight

CHORUS 1

Government benefits were slashed in half

Homelessness doubled, it’s simple math

Paper white politicians say they’ll clean up the streets

While they rest comfortably in linen sheets

Nowhere to live, nothing to give

Nowhere to die, nothing to try

Nowhere to live

Nowhere to live

VERSE 3

The empathy and sympathy are long gone

The psychopathy and hatred are so damn wrong

This is how we treat those below the elite

We laugh at the paper shoes on their feet

Society is a bitch ball gagged by the rich

If you dare try to snitch, you’ll lay in a ditch

This is what it means to have a heart so cold

Piss the people away like they’re urinary gold

CHOURS 2

Division continues to be slashed in half

Prejudice has doubled, it’s simple math

So much for cleaning up the city streets

It was never a system that was easy to beat

No one to love, no shelter above

No one to embrace, just another dirty face

No one to love

No one to love

Nowhere to live

Nowhere to live

Help Me, Walter Hollywood

 He lights a cigarette, compromises his health

Fresh lungs don’t matter in this neo-noir hell

Every day someone is murdered and forgotten

Until the corpse makes the streets smell rotten

“Help me, Walter Hollywood,” says the dame

Every transaction starts to all sound the same

An envelope of cash, smoke the last of the ash

Hope to god her lover isn’t thrown out like trash

But before he slings the questions around town

Obligatory sex scene with hushed moaning sounds

Almost makes the lover a complete afterthought

But there are bills to be paid, killers to be caught

Every fedora-wearing wise guy takes a swing

Until Walter’s eyes water, nose bleeds, ears ring

Anymore snooping and he’ll be full of bullets

Take his scalp until he’s only left with a mullet

Walter taps the dame up for a little more money

She laughs like his misery and bruises are funny

Admission of failure is just another part of the job

She winks one more time and turns the doorknob

Another body just washed up on the riverbank

Bricks around his ankles ensured that he sank

His face was so familiar despite the taped mouth

And the two black eyes and his nose cut out

Finding the lover was as easy as reading the paper

Nothing about this mystery made Walter feel safer

The money he was paid made him look like a hit man

Police would arrest him, lock him up with a big man

Capitalism made people do the weirdest things

Wait tables, scrub floors, stand on the streets and sing

Taking unclean money seemed like the way out

Why isn’t the dame’s freedom in any kind of doubt?

It’s a system that abuses everyone who struggles

Locks up the failures with big men who snuggle

Gangsters and politicians sip from a glass of wine

And every femme fatale continues to look so fine

Buy Buy Buy

 Here’s a million bucks, go fuck your friends

Here’s a million more, put their lives to an end

Here’s another thousand, sell out your country

Who cares where it comes from? It’s just money

It’s an ultimatum of the very worst kind

A mediocre life is about all you can find

Maybe homelessness is what you’ll get

All my CEO friends have a running bet

Here’s a million bucks, look into the camera

Here’s a million more, sell out your grandma

Here’s another thousand, sell out your minority

Money talks and it’s your only authority

We can buy celebrities for pennies on the dollar

Buy politicians and make them hoot and holler

Buy the police and give them palms full of grease

Buy, buy, buy, it’s an addiction and disease

Here’s a million bucks, don’t give it to the poor

Here’s a million more, don’t shop at little stores

Here’s another thousand, give it all to charity

Tax loopholes are written with such clarity

Ever hear about The Man Who Sold the World?

He gave it to us for the price of diamonds and pearls

We’ve got whole countries sucking our dicks

They come to us when they need a cabinet pick

Here’s a million bucks, go buy the universe

Here’s a million more, go empty your purse

Here’s another thousand, bring aliens to their knees

Business is booming, we buy debts and fees

Whoever said money is the root of all evil

Isn’t hanging out with all the right people

It’s a big ass club only a select few can join

If you’ve got the power, we’ve got the coin

But the younger generation already knows

We’re full of shit and it certainly shows

But what can they do about the world burning?

Oh yeah, our failures are what they’re learning

Clown Music

CLOWN MUSIC
A ball on my nose, a smile on my face
Big red shoes stepping all over the place
Bright green overalls to complete the look
Comedy routines from a high school joke book
Who’s ready to laugh? Who’s ready to dance?
Who’s ready to wet their own underpants?
I’m throwing the pies, riding one-wheel bikes
We can party and giggle for as long as we’d like

COMING HOME
It’s getting pretty dark around the trailer park
Wipe off the makeup, frown the shape of an arc
A bottle of jack and some pills for my back
A pizza for dinner, another heart attack
Another episode of Wheel of Fortune
Another news story about the ban of abortion
Fall asleep on the couch, cancer stick in my mouth
I’ve got no rhyme or reason to be fucking proud

BACK TO WORK
Sunbeam aggravates my pounding headache
Still laying on the couch like I’m dead weight
Can’t put on another smile for the little brats
Can’t put on the overalls, I’m too damn fat
Can’t let them know that my magic is gone
No more faking happiness, no more being strong
Where did I put that damn nine millimeter?
I don’t care if you call me a coward or cheater

BANG!
Suicide attempt didn’t go as it was planned
But I’m still walking amongst the damned
Extra hole in my head, brain dead as can be
Little kids cry as they take a look at me
Mommies holding them, daddies glaring
The love is there, but nobody’s sharing
I am a monster in the eyes of the young
No cracking jokes, no birthday songs sung

Dirty Laundry

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to another episode of Beneath the Surface. I am your host, Aaron Moore. Tonight we’ve got a special treat for you. It’s no secret how Dread City’s debt crisis has ravaged our poor and working class population. Many of our citizens are losing their homes, their jobs, and in many cases, their families due to not being able to pay their debts on time. Here to expose the secrets of this little known debt industry is a man who wishes to be known by the pseudonym Heath Riggs. Heath, welcome to the show.”

“Good to be here, Aaron.”

Heath parked his ass at a dimly lit studio table across from his host, while live cameras filmed the interview from every angle behind the shadows. Aaron Moore clearly enjoyed the spotlight as evidenced by the fancy gray suit and tie he wore just for this occasion. Heath Riggs, on the other hand, thrived in anonymity, his black leather jacket, sunglasses, and hood covering everything but his black face driving the point home. While Aaron leaned his body in to ask the tough questions, Heath kicked back with his fingers in a triangle position and his heel across his lap.

“Now Heath, I want to start off by addressing with you the harassing ways in which debts are collected. The late night phone calls, the vulgar speech, the contacting of family, friends, and coworkers. By your own admission, these tactics should be illegal, yet debt collection companies get away with this all the time.”

Heath cleared his throat. “Well, you’re right about the fact that these tactics should be illegal. If they came from anybody other than a collector, the police would be called in a heartbeat. But the funny thing is, the harassment doesn’t actually get us our money faster. Then again, neither does the impending lawsuit and the subsequent garnishing of wages. This isn’t about collecting money we’ll never have. It’s politics. It’s all about weeding out the poor and disenfranchised so that they can’t influence our governmental policies. It’s not a conspiracy. This shit’s as real as it gets.”

Aaron, who was drinking a mug of hot coffee during Heath’s answer, spit out his beverage and choked on whatever was left. After wiping his mouth with his expensive sleeve, he said, “Mr. Riggs, I appreciate your honesty during this interview, but I have to ask you not to swear when giving your answers. We’re on live television in over a million homes. Surely, you understand.”

“Of course I do.” Heath grinned like he was onto something. “Wouldn’t want to offend your audience’s precious Christian ears. Wouldn’t want the children to hear any of this shit. Lord knows they might grow up to become free thinkers. We know that can never happen.”

“I’m warning you, Mr. Riggs….”

Taking his sunglasses off and revealing gray mechanical eyes underneath, Heath said, “Don’t worry, Aaron, I got the message loud and clear. You can’t swear on television, but if you do it behind closed doors with an unwilling secretary, it’s A-okay. I’m not just exposing the debt industries secrets, but yours as well. I agreed to do this interview because I want a clear conscience. Fourteen years of debt collecting began to wear on my soul after a while. I figured, as long as I’m here with an alleged sexual harasser, I might as well go the full nine, you know what I’m saying?”

“Cut the camera feed! Cut it now!” demanded Aaron. Without checking to see if his orders were followed, he leaned in closer to Heath’s face and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I don’t know what kind of stunt you’re trying to pull, but you have no proof and neither do any of my accusers. Those cases were settled a long time ago. Now do you want to discuss debt collection or do you want to keep toying with me?”

“Why can’t he talk about both? It’s not like you two don’t deserve last words,” said a robotic feminine voice from the shadowy background. While Heath remained calm, cool, and collected, Aaron went bug-eyed and his body trembled at the sight of a cyborg assassin holding two severed heads by the hair like they were cheerleader pompoms. As soon as this mysterious woman stepped into the light, headless bodies all around the studio dropped to the ground and soaked the wooden floors in human blood and cyborg oil. A bald black woman with golden earrings and a green metal suit stared her newest victims down with a mischievous grin.

While Aaron curled up in a ball on the edge of pissing himself, the assassin said, “Don’t worry, honey. None of what you or Heath said made it on the airwaves. I made sure of that. It’s probably just as well. Although, if you want to tell your mindless viewers goodbye for one last time, I suppose I could let you do that.”

“Please…I don’t know who you are, but I’ve got a family I need to get home to. Don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!” quivered Aaron while Heath smiled and shook his head.

“It’s the same old excuse: think of my family so that I don’t have to when I’m trying to take the secretary to pound town. Don’t worry, Aaron, I’ve got this.” Heath cracked his knuckles before getting out of his chair and strutting towards the assassin, who tossed the cameramen’s heads off to the side like they were easily disposable to begin with.

“What are you so cocky about, Mr. Riggs? You’re not making it out alive any more than Hard-On Henry over here. In fact, you’re the reason I came here today,” said the assassin with a grin.

Heath gazed his assailant up and down and whistled. “That’s some expensive hardware you’ve got there. How much did them arm blades set you back? Hundreds? Thousands of dollars? And that metal body? Shit, man, I don’t know how you pay for all that with just a Street Ronin’s salary. If only there was somebody here who knew how to make debt disappear quicker than those cameramen you laid out. Hmm…” Heath stroked his chin as he mockingly pondered this question.

The assassin flipped one of her arm blades and held it underneath Heath’s chin. He didn’t back down from his confident demeanor, but he was all ears for his would-be killer. “When you’re as good as me, money isn’t that hard to come by. I don’t know what kind of lies you’re telling about my client, but these poor suckers don’t go into debt because of politics. They do it because they could never make it in a capitalist meritocracy. That’s my special way of saying they’re fucking lazy.”

“Sure, whatever you say…Harlock!”

Upon hearing the assassin’s name, Aaron slowly lowered his feet to the bloody floor, obviously not caring that much about his designer shoes. “Wait a minute, you know this woman?”

“Not as well as I’d like to, but when you’ve been on the job as long as I have, you learn something about these poor pathetic motherfuckers. The boss man gives you a name, an address, and how much they owe. The rest of the research is up to you, hence why we often resort to calling friends and family to collect the debt. Harlock here doesn’t care about the circumstances of others, which is ironic considering those cyborg parts didn’t come easy in this so-called meritocracy. Besides, if she was really as hot shit as she thinks she is, she wouldn’t have revealed all this information to me. We’d both be dead as fucking fried chicken right now. But as it is…”

“Shut the hell up!” said Harlock as she drew a tiny droplet of blood from Heath’s cheek. He still didn’t budge, only smiled wider as he cleaned the wound off with his finger and licked it.

“Face it, lady,” said Heath. “You don’t want to admit it, but you can see the irony of a debt-burdened assassin working for a debt collection agency. You’re desperate for cash, so you’ll whore your services to anybody who can make shit go away. But the truth is…paying those suckers off ain’t going to solve everything. You would not believe the tricks they pull out of their asses just to keep you paying up. Ever heard of zombie debt? How about fifty percent interest? How about debtor’s prison? They still have that shit.”

Harlock narrowed her bladed eyebrows and dug the weapon deeper into Heath’s skin. He flinched a little bit, but not enough to give away whatever modicum of fear he might have been burdened with. She leaned in and said, “You know nothing about me and my struggles.”

“Exactly! Debt collectors don’t know shit about you, which is why they keep calling your ass in the first place! You could come crying to them with your whole life story and it wouldn’t be enough. They got no heart. They got no soul. If a big ass mega corporation had a heart and soul, they wouldn’t be in business for very long, would they? Capitalism is a bitch.”

Harlock’s eyes slowly lowered to the soggy floor as if Heath’s words got through to her. He took this small window of opportunity to grab her by the arm and swing her blade into her own stomach. While Aaron was in the background this whole time shivering and weeping, Harlock’s mechanical guts spilled all over the ground as she coughed up oil and blood. Heath yanked the blade upwards and split the rest of her upper body in two, bloodying the floor even more than it already was.

“What the hell did you do that for?! She was cooperating!” Aaron screamed.

“Recognizing how badly you’ve fucked up isn’t a Get Out of Jail Free card. In case you hadn’t noticed what’s been going on here the past few seconds, look on the ground. That bitch is beyond redemption. Speaking of which, let’s get them cameras rolling again…”

“No! No cameras! No! I’m done with this!”

“Oh, we’re just getting started, Aaron. We’ve got a lot to discuss. Debt collection and sexual harassment all in one story, although that piss stain on your pants will be bigger ratings boost than anything we talk about.”

Aaron spread his shaky legs to see that there was indeed urine on his groin. “Goddamn it!”

Heath shushed him. “Ah, ah, ah! No swearing! There’re children watching!”

El Perfecto

VERSE 1

Getting it right on the very first try

Is setting the bar way too fucking high

Black widow parents feeding kids venom

How to score A’s, how to get into heaven

El Perfecto is an out of reach nickname

Anything below that is all a big shame

No time to play, learn how to pray

That your belt bruises will go away

CHORUS

El Perfecto! X4

VERSE 2

Landing a career as a big shot executive

A hot shit CEO who nobody messes with

Is a privilege for those with money and power

A right for those with their name on a tower

Landing a career jockeying a cash register

Is more than just an old political metaphor

It’s a way of life for those who cannot buy

Their way into a private jet flying in the sky

CHORUS

El Perfecto! X4

BRIDGE

Stressed out! You don’t know what to do

So a gun to your skull is what you choose

Stressed out! You don’t know who to trust

In a world where nobody really gives a fuck

Stressed out! You don’t know how to relax

There are so many knives in so many backs

Stressed out! The oligarchy rules your life

They don’t know what it’s like to want to die

VERSE 3

You swear you’ll take a day off next Monday

But your broken down body has become mundane

You swear you’ll see a doctor next Tuesday

But the prices were jacked up twice today

You swear you’ll get married next Wednesday

But you couldn’t satisfy her on your best day

You swear you’ll end the cycle soon enough

But that hollow sunken belly is yours to stuff

CHORUS

El Perfecto! X4

Pearlescent Beauty

Pearlescent beauty for the cheapest price

A higher cost will allow you to entice

A thousand dollars for a worthless stone

Advertise that shit on the No Spin Zone

Never mind the dirt poor souls who died

To give you a symbol of aristocratic pride

No other function except to look pretty

The Art of the Deal never looked so shitty

A diamond is forever unlike life itself

A diamond is love when it’s forged in hell

Wasted money on toys for your honey

Wasted ceremony, this shit ain’t funny

Those thousands of dollars are better spent

On a poor motherfucker trying to pay the rent

On a homeless dog looking for a new master

On a beaten wife whose husband is a bastard

You’re lucky to learn these lessons in school

If the teachers didn’t already label you a fool

Empathetic emotions are for those who seek it

A starving tummy needs someone to feed it

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

You can’t do a whole lot with material things

If you love somebody, shout it from the roof

Breaking the bank shouldn’t be your only proof

Some People Never Die

CHORUS 1

Some people never die

They thrive on those who cry

On those who dare ask why

Some people never die

VERSE 1

Friends come and go, assholes are forever

Pissing on your party like stormy weather

Killing the planet and killing its people

It’s evil for the sake of just being evil

Hate is their lifeblood, death is their air

The devil and his demons don’t compare

The innocents are left to pick up the tab

Long after laying on cold metal slabs

CHORUS 2

Some people never die

Don’t even fucking try

To get your share of pie

Some people never die

VERSE 2

Mortality is only for those at the bottom

It’s not just a fucking first world problem

The elite of the elite are treated like gods

They get to pick who falls for the frauds

They get to choose who lives and who dies

That’s what they mean by Right to Life

Shoot first and ask questions later, son

Isn’t this a lot of goddamn fucking fun?

CHORUS 3

Some people never die

Some people buy into lies

Some shit just always flies

Some people never die

Some people live forever

Some people have it better

Some people rule the world

Making their queens’ toes curl

CHORUS 4

Some people are pieces of shit

While others had enough of it

Some people are worthy of hate

Revolution? Why should we wait?

Some people wore out their welcomes

While others feel fucking helpless

Some people never die

Some people never fucking die!

Street Sleeper

Johnny De Morgan’s pick strummed delicately across his guitar strings and created a heavenly lullaby for those walking the streets at night. He too could feel the heaviness of his eyelids and the quicksand-like pull underneath his body. Yet he continued to strum his beautiful melodies as the snow gently poured into his guitar case, barely a single gold coin occupying this space. Strangers walked by with their chins tucked into their chests, not giving Johnny the slightest glance.

The night sky blanketed the city in midnight shadows. Johnny wished he too had a blanket of some kind, but all that kept him minimally warm was his checkered overcoat, striped scarf, and thin layers underneath. He struggled to keep his fingers steady in this shiver-inducing weather. Sometimes his melodies would echo awkwardly across the street corner because of his shaking. Johnny stopped playing and gripped the neck of his guitar like he was actually strangling someone. He held the instrument above his head like he was going to smash the fucking thing to pieces.

“Johnny, no!” shouted a feminine voice off to the side. The busker’s eyes must have been too frosty to notice her at first, but that beautiful voice could have only belonged to the elven rogue Debra Lynch. Light green skin, thick layers of black wool, wavy blue hair, and a cap over her scalp: she was unmistakable at this point. She had the same weary and sorrowful expression in her damp eyes that Johnny did. That made her even more beautiful (not that Johnny would ever tell her something like that).

“Johnny, you can’t give up yet. You’ll freeze to death out here if you don’t keep playing,” begged Debra.

“I don’t know, Debra,” said Johnny with his head hung low. “Does it really matter anymore how good I am with this stupid thing? Nobody’s paying attention. Everybody just wants to walk on by like I’m some sort of fucking monster. Forget it, Debra, I’m done with this shit.”

“So what would you rather do? Starve to death?” pleaded Debra while cupping her hands over Johnny’s arm. “You don’t have a choice in the matter. It’s either this or death. Wait a minute…you’re not actually considering…” The elf’s voice grew shaky with those last few words.

“Like you said, Debbie-Cakes: I don’t have a choice in the matter,” said Johnny with more coldness than the snowflakes pounding down on him. “I can stand out here and freeze like a motherfucker playing for pennies…or I can just fall asleep in my own shallow grave. Never have to wake up again. Never have to deal with these ignorant people. Never have to worry about where my next meal’s coming from. Sounds like heaven to me.”

Debra smacked Johnny in the back of his head and messed up his black puffy hairdo. “I don’t ever want to hear you talk about that nonsense again! If you just fuck off the face of this earth, what am I supposed to do for the rest of my life? I need you, Johnny. We need each other!”

Tears welled up in Johnny’s frosty eyes as he said, “Sorry, I’m just a little frustrated, that’s all. God, what I wouldn’t do for a hot bowl of soup and a fucking blanket! Is that too much to ask for?!”

The argument came to an abrupt end when Johnny and Debra’s eyes zeroed in on a heavyset orc strutting down the streets. His leather armor, bloody war paint, and gigantic sword sheathed on his back gave him the aura of an undisputed champion. The burdensome sack of gold coins on his belt caused Johnny and Debra to snap awake with secretive excitement. Johnny strummed his guitar much more vigorously than before in hopes that the rock and roll music would entice this brutish warrior.

The orc attempted to skate on by, but Johnny and Debra blocked his path with the biggest of grins. Debra even rubbed her gloved fingers together to signify what she and her friend wanted. “Fuck off and die!” shouted the beastly warrior as he shoved Johnny into a row of rubbish bins.

“Hey!” belted Debra. “Who the hell do you think you are pushing a defenseless man like that?!” When the orc refused to listen, the elf grabbed him by the thick wrist and jerked him over for attention. “I’m talking to you, you gigantic sack of shit!”

“Debra, wait!” pleaded Johnny as he picked himself and his guitar off the ground. “That’s Link Rotunda! He’s a cage fighting champion! You’re not going to get any gold from him by calling him a sack of shit! Show some respect!”

Link’s rotten grin coincided with Debra’s fiery glare as the orc said, “That’s better! That’s what I like to see: people taking initiative!” He pointed his sausage index finger at Debra and said, “You could learn something from a guy like him!” The elf hmphed and folded her arms, never releasing her death stare from the gigantic bully. “Now then, where were we? Ah yes! You want some of this gold, sonny boy? You want to eat tonight? You’re going to have to earn it! Forget that stupid hipster guitar! You’re going to dance for your supper!”

“He will do no such thing!” grunted Debra before being held at bay by Link’s massive arm.

“What do you say, you sweet little boy? Are you going to dance or what?” asked Link with a devilish smirk. Despite Debra’s angry protests, Johnny tossed aside his guitar and danced around like a monkey attempting ballet. Link’s throaty laughter caused Debra to hold her face in her hands in sheer embarrassment. “Good one, good one! Now put the garbage can on your head! Do it, monkey boy!”

Sure enough, Johnny heaved a garbage can over himself and danced around some more, Debra shaking her head the entire time and Link laughing it up with a few knee slaps to boot. “How am I doing, Mr. Rotunda?”

“Oh, you’re doing great, my friend! You’re going to be a rich motherfucker in no time at all! Just one more thing and you’ll have all the gold you want! Take off that silly garbage can…and suck my dick!”

The monkey dancing was replaced with a frozen stillness and silent weeping underneath the garbage can. He slowly pulled off the bin and revealed an expression full of shock and despondency. “Is that what you really want, Mr. Rotunda? I’ll do it if that’s what you want.”

“This is bullshit!” shouted Debra as she picked up the fallen rubbish bin and tossed it at Link.

The orc slashed it in half with one wave of his newly unsheathed sword. Garbage scattered across the ground and blew away in the winter breeze. Johnny silently asked Debra what the fuck she was doing and elf stood her ground with clenched fists and a raw attitude.

Meanwhile, Link just laughed it off and said, “I guess you don’t really want hot soup after all. It’s a shame, because I could have given you more soup in that one BJ than any restaurant. It’s saltier too! And tastier! Or so I’ve been told!” Link sheathed his sword, waved goodbye, and chuckled, “Keep saving up!” He turned heel and strutted away until the nighttime shadows covered him completely.

Johnny’s cheeks quivered and his eyes cascaded as he struggled to say, “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? He was our meal ticket!”

Debra’s angry breathing intensified to where this winter weather could be confused for a boiling summertime hell. She grabbed Johnny by his overcoat and shoved him against a brick wall. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” raged the elf. “Do you really think he was going to pay you all that money to humiliate yourself like that? Bullshit, he would have disappeared like a fart in the wind! I know you’re a homeless man looking for change, but you should never have to lower yourself like that just for a half ass chance at getting paid! I don’t care if Link Rotunda is the champion of the fucking universe! He’s a bully first and a humanitarian last! How do you think he wins so many of those fights?!”

Johnny snorted loose snot up his nose and swallowed before sobbing, “I’ll take a small chance of getting paid over no chance any day of the week.”

Debra slammed Johnny back first against the wall and raised her fist in the air as though she was ready to knock a few teeth loose. “I should turn that fucking face of yours inside out for saying shit like that! I should rip your brains out through your eye sockets and eat that for dinner instead of some poor man’s soup!”

Johnny De Morgan could feel his insides turning into jelly and his bladder and bowels loosening while anticipating the stinging fist that would eventually shatter his skull into snowflakes. The tension in his stomach made him ill. His skin turned pasty white. He shook harder than when he was struggling for warmth.

And then Debra said, “I’ve got a better idea than that” before showering her victim with a handful of golden coins. Johnny could finally breathe a heavy sigh of relief like a whirlwind of seething pain coming out of his mouth. His elf compatriot brushed his checkerboard coat off and said, “The only way you’ll ever eat with me tonight is if you never pull that shit again. You’re my best friend. I hate seeing you in pain like that. Link was never going to give you those gold coins, so I snatched them from him while he was busy laughing like a fucking hyena.”

Johnny and Debra embraced one another and gave their bodies enough warmth to last through two more winters. It wasn’t just physical warmth that Johnny felt throughout his body. It was that special warm fuzzy feeling of knowing his best friend had his back through thick and thin (even if she did scare the shit out of him). Johnny could picture the bowl of soup sliding down his throat and soothing his frosty wounds. Broccoli cheddar soup from a garlic bread bowl. Thank you, Mr. Rotunda. Thank you so much!

McDonald's Prostitute

VERSE 1

Which tastes worse: the blowjob or the burger?

Which is more sadistic: slavery or murder?

Which is more dangerous: the fries or the lies?

Which is more confusing: the whats or the whys?

Stretched so thin like lying on a torture table

Scraping up whatever small change you’re able

Put on the pounds and make orgasmic sounds

Nobody will help you in this selfish town

CHORUS

McDonald’s prostitute, what’re you fighting for?

An economy that doesn’t subsidize war?

A market that doesn’t overpower the rich?

They’ll be the first to tell you that life is a bitch!

VERSE 2

What ice cream do you want: vanilla or chocolate?

Where’s your money: in your purse or your pocket?

Where do you call home: the bridge or the streets?

What’s the ending to this story: victory or defeat?

I would never judge you for your desperation

I would never insult you or give you lacerations

It’s not your fault and you’re not in the wrong

Have my twenty dollar bill and the lyrics to this song

CHORUS

McDonald’s prostitute, what’re you fighting for?

An economy that doesn’t subsidize war?

A market that doesn’t overpower the rich?

They’ll be the first to tell you that life is a bitch!

VERSE 3

A triple bacon burger with onions and pickles

A man in black robes with a sick-looking sickle

The loneliness will kill you before the food does

A disgusting fucking joke is what this all was

Everybody wanted it to go wrong from the start

They vote with their balls and not with their hearts

Now they can’t even fill up their shopping carts

Except with their last possessions and metal parts

CHORUS X2

McDonald’s prostitute, what’re you fighting for?

An economy that doesn’t subsidize war?

A market that doesn’t overpower the rich?

They’ll be the first to tell you that life is a bitch!

A Million Dollars

(A parody of rich people who sue for ridiculous reasons.)

VERSE 1

To make money, you have to have money

I’m laughing to the bank, it’s so damn funny

I’ll take you to court for every fucking penny

Spend your money on hookers named Jenny

You don’t have much, but it’s mine anyways

It’s not my fault you work for minimal pay

The coffee you served me was too damn hot

Someone has to pay for my scarred up crotch

CHORUS

I am going to sue you!

I am going to screw you!

I’ll make you holler!

I’m going to sue you for a million dollars!

VERSE 2

Telling lies about me, that’s called slander

Choke on your bullshit, choke on your candor

Spreading misinformation, that’s defamation

Kidding yourself with mental masturbation

The judge has no sympathy for liars and cheaters

Even if you’re nothing more than a bottom feeder

You have a welfare check? Try to make it stretch

In your financial future, I’ll throw a monkey wrench

CHORUS

I am going to sue you!

I am going to screw you!

I’ll make you holler!

I’m going to sue you for a million dollars!

VERSE 3

It’s not your fault that the system is crazy

It’s all your fault that you’re too damn lazy

Keep manning the grill while I crack the whip

Keep fairytale lies from coming out of your lips

EXTENDED CHORUS

I am going to sue you!

I am going to screw you!

I’ll make you holler!

I’m going to sue you for a million dollars!

I’ll show up to court in a suit and tie!

Watch as you curl up in a ball and die!

See you on the streets, your brand new home!

See me vacationing in the city of Rome!

Fighting Game Neighborhoods

***FIGHTING GAME NEIGHBORHOODS***

I’m sure most of my reading audience is old enough to remember videogames from the Nintendo and Super Nintendo gaming consoles. What I don’t know is if any of you have played beat ‘em up fighting games like Double Dragon or Final Fight. If you haven’t, then you probably won’t understand just what the hell I’m talking about. In which case, feel free to skip past this portion of my journal and go straight to the creative project updates and the quote of the day.

For those of you who did play those kinds of videogames as a child, congratulations, your childhood was fucking awesome. There’s no violence quite like senseless violence as you move your ass-kicking character from one side of the screen to the other. No talking, no nonsense, just straight up ass-beatings and maybe some kya noises. What this journal deals with in particular is how most of those games take place in poor, dilapidated neighborhoods.

You know the kinds of neighborhoods I’m talking about. The buildings are so broken down that they look like they’re about to collapse. Cars parked on the side of the road live up to their moniker of Fixed or Repaired Daily. The roads and sidewalks have so many potholes that it’s amazing your character doesn’t trip over them constantly. There’s trash everywhere, and I mean everywhere. In the second stage of the first Final Fight game, the subway train’s windows are bashed in and there’s graffiti all over the walls.

If you’ve ever lived in a small town or inner city district before, then you’ve probably made the connection between your own life and a fighting videogame. You would often pretend to be Billy Lee or Cody Travers as you punch and kick at invisible enemies. You couldn’t do that to real people walking by or else that would be considered assault and battery. There are places in Port Orchard and Chehalis, WA that look like they could be backdrops for a fighting game based on their depressing appearances alone. I haven’t met anybody in Port Orchard who was worthy of a Mike Haggar piledriver. Chehalis? Oh, that was quite the different story.

But why is this trope so relevant to fighting games? Why do they always take place in shitty neighborhoods? You never see fighting games that take place in friendly or rich neighborhoods. Even Belger’s penthouse from the first Final Fight game looked like shit. But what if there was an installment of Double Dragon that took place in a gated community? Would it have the same feel? Would it make less sense? Are people in rich neighborhoods suddenly better than people in poor ones?

And that’s how you can tell if class warfare exists. You won’t see Guy slinging a katana at some Wall Street motherfuckers. If Mike Hagger ever got elected president, you wouldn’t see him clotheslining Andore out of his boots at the white house. You won’t see Shadow Master drinking a glass of Chablis while eating caviar with Liberace playing in the background. The poor neighborhood trope in fighting games is stereotypical of how Americans see their economic inferiors. Then again, nobody played those games because of they were models for progressive values. They played them for the same reason I’d love to play them again someday: because kicking ass is a lot of goddamn fun!

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

Speaking of kicking ass and taking names, this week’s story will be called “Kink Floyd” and will conform to the Captive prompt. It goes like this:

 CHARACTERS:

Tarja Hunter, Cop

Daniel “Kink Floyd” Alexander, Bondage Enthusiast

Johnny Filter, Straightedge Gangster

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Tarja is the captive of Daniel and Johnny.

SYNOPSIS: In order to gain leverage over the Paulson City Police Department, Johnny kidnaps Tarja (their best detective) and takes her to Daniel’s studio. “Kink Floyd” as he’s nicknamed poses her in humiliating sexual bondage positions while Johnny takes pictures on his iPhone. Distributing these pictures could do serious damage to the Police Department’s reputation, which is why Johnny wants to use the photos to blackmail them into allowing him and his gang to do whatever they want. But even in kinky bondage, Tarja won’t give up without a fight to the death.

FUN FACT: If Tarja ever arrests her two captives, not only will they be charged with assaulting an officer and attempted conspiracy, but they’ll also be charged with murder. The victim? Pink Floyd’s music.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

If Stinger Crushwar’s head looks like it’s a little too far on his left shoulder, I apologize. That was a goof on my part and hopefully there will be fewer of them in the future. No sense in crying over spilled milk, though, because the next one to appear on the list is Mathias Jorgenson, the elf sorcerer from “Forever Autumn”. I already drew a picture of Autumn the parrot wizard, so Mathias was naturally next on the list. “Forever Autumn” was described by my audience as “cute” and “cartoon-like”, so hopefully I’ll capture those essences when I draw Mathias.

***POISON TONGUE TALES***

Only my Deviant Art members will understand why this section of the journal is significant since they’re the only ones who see my editing work. The next three stories that will undergo literary surgery are the three M’s of Poison Tongue Tales: “Mastodon”, “Minnie-Moo”, and “Molly-Dolly”. All three of these stories deal with animals and they all start with the letter M, which spells out MMM!! Tarja Hunter’s going to be saying that a lot when I eventually write “Kink Floyd” for the WSS contest. Hehe!

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call a mean Canadian?

A: Eh-Hole.

Nike Nut Sack

CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack

VERSE 1
Every man has his price and yours was pretty low
But you’re watching that cash exponentially grow
The puppet strings are wrapped around your throat
And it’s all in the name of an all-American C-note
You repeat what they say like they’re your opinions
When really you’re just another one of their minions
They own everything of yours, including your life
To sweeten this deal, they’re going to need your wife

CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack

VERSE 2
Did you ever think to ask the million dollar question?
How many of these sins are funding federal elections?
How many of these kids worked themselves to death?
How many corporate executives will benefit in the end?
To ask these questions, you need a mind of your own
But you were too busy taking selfies with your phone
The hash tags are flying across the worldwide web
While the world’s pain is flying right over your head

CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack

HOOK
Your friends got pissed off and they walked away
Your family wondered why you’d ever go astray
Your heart is broken, but don’t mind the noise
Because your palms are greased by the big boys

EXTENDED CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
Play basketball even though you’re not an athlete
Ride in limousines with party chicks named Ashley
Drink all the champagne and snort all the cocaine
When you’re all fucked up, you’re the one to blame

Economic Status

CHORUS
Why are you so interested in my economic status? X4


VERSE 1
I’ve never been a member of the top one-percent
And it’s something I should never have to defend
It’s none of your business what I do for a living
It’s none of your business if I’m taking or giving
Bury your face back in your Wall Street Journal
We already know that your wealth is eternal
Please excuse me while I pig out at McDonald’s
While you enjoy caviar with Mitch McConnell


CHORUS
Why are you so interested in my economic status? X4


VERSE 2
Filling out applications gets old really fast
My tenure of employment doesn’t even last
Curse words and hellfire come out in a blast
I’ve long since given up, this is all in the past
Why are you interested in my problem solving skills?
Just hire my ass so I can pay my fucking bills
The more things change, the more they stay the same
The corporate ladder is like the Monopoly board game


MODIFIED CHORUS
Why are you so interested in my economic status?
Why does my bank account make you the maddest?
Why do my ambitions give you the worst nightmares?
Is being different really one of the boldest dares?


HOOK
If I’m writing a story or writing a song
Then my path to happiness can’t be wrong
If I’m drawing pictures or taking photos
Then I can’t always be a stereotypical hobo


CHORUS
Why are you so interested in my economic status? X4

Underdog

VERSE 1
Nothing in this life was ever handed to me
Except for Uncle Sam’s wad of hush money
“Stay on the sidelines, don’t get yourself hurt
Don’t get mud on your shoes or blood on your shirt
The workplace has nothing for you at this time
In social development, you’re ten years behind”
Underdog has always been my middle name
Would you trust me with fortune and fame?


CHORUS
The lower tier is for those with tears
Stemming from their greatest fears
It may take months, it may take years
To get the underdog on out of here


VERSE 2
2.75 or the 666?
To me it’s all just stones and sticks
62 or is it all about you?
Are those childish insults really true?
99-percent and barely paying rent
For an underdog driven and hell-bent
Knock me down as many times as you’d like
Because I’ll always get back on my bike


CHORUS
The lower tier is for those with tears
Stemming from their greatest fears
It may take months, it may take years
To get the underdog on out of here


VERSE 3
You’re a nonbeliever in the overachiever
You blame the poor and label us whores
Do you know what it’s like to be underrated?
To become the background so gray and faded?
Everything I have I earned in spades
I don’t measure success on how much I’m paid
I don’t measure my love on orgasmic trances
I take control by exploiting my chances


HOOK
Everybody has their own opinion
It doesn’t mean I’ll become your minion
I know I’ll make it one of these days
My future is another conquerable maze


CHORUS
The lower tier is for those with tears
Stemming from their greatest fears
It may take months, it may take years
To get the underdog on out of here

Dreams About Fighting Criminals

I haven’t been in a fight since 2003. I’m not talking about a pitty-patty slap fest, I’m talking about a real, down in the dirt, drag-out brawl. In 2003 when I had my last fight, I punched my opponent in the face and then he ended up dragging me to the floor and returning the favor tenfold. Ever since then, I’ve thought about getting in more fights, but I’ve never actually done it. It could be that I’ve developed allergies to a jail cell and the people who occupy it. But lord knows there were plenty of people in my life worth kicking the shit out of. I could do it too if I put my mind to it. This must be the reason why I keep having dreams at night about getting in fights with criminals. Not just anybody, but criminals. High school bullies, street thugs, people who think they’re street thugs, and just plain guys from Seattle: in my dream’s theater, they all want a piece of me. Every time they look for a battle with me, they always lose. I’ve done everything in these subconscious battles from twisting them into submission holds to breaking their necks to just plain delivering punches and kicks. Hell, there was even one dream where I collected the scalps of everybody I fought. What exactly do these dreams mean? Do they mean that it’s time to kick some ass again? I’d like to think so, but again, I’m not looking forward to a life in prison. That reminds me of a little trope about growing up. When you’re a kid and you get in a fight, you get a time out. When you’re a pre-teen, you get a one day vacation from school. When you’re a full-blown teenager, you get a five day vacation from school. But when you’re an adult, that vacation can last anywhere from a short-lived night to a 25-year sentence behind bars. The lesson here is that the older you get, the worse the punishment. If you have people to beat up, do it before you’re old enough to go to prison for a life sentence. This is especially important if you come from a poor family. Matt Taibbi wrote an entire book about how poor people are punished worse than rich people. If you’re a working class black lady and you slap your cheating boyfriend, you’ll go to jail for a long, long time. If you’re a rich white cocksucker who molested his children, the judge will give you probation because rich people “don’t do well in prison”. No wonder I have so many dreams about fighting people: there are lots of people to fight and lots of anger to go around. But this is just the dream world. In the real world, I do all my fighting through my short stories. I have characters who fight for their lives, for justice, for love, and for honor. They don’t always do it with an AK-47 and a Sherman tank. Sometimes they just scream with all their soul power and that’s often enough.

　

***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***

“If Mike Tyson asks permission to do something, is it wrong to tell him to knock himself out?”

-Me-

"The Outsiders" by SE Hinton

When members of Generation Y think of “The Outsiders”, it will either mean one of two things. It’ll either refer to the tag team in WCW that consisted of Scott Hall and Kevin Nash, or it’ll refer to the SE Hinton novel that described the class warfare between two cliques of teenagers known as the Greasers and the Socs. As entertaining as a match with Scott Hall and Kevin Nash sounds, it can’t compare with the battle royal that took place near the end of the book between the two warring cliques. But how exactly did the two groups get to that particular moment? Exclusion. Like any clique you’ll find in high school, the Greasers and Socs were highly exclusive toward each other and therefore didn’t like one another. It’s comparable to the classic nerds vs. jocks war that constantly goes on in high school. In the case of “The Outsiders”, the Greasers were working class heroes and the Socs were spoiled rich kids. You read this book and wonder why anybody would want to bully another human being for not having the same amount of money as the one doing the bullying. It makes no real sense. For Johnny Cade and Pony-Boy Curtis, it didn’t make much sense to them either. In fact, Johnny specifically said that there shouldn’t be groups of people, just people. It may have sounded hypocritical coming from someone who was a lifer within the Greasers, but it wasn’t since those two main characters were the most sane people in the group. It’s almost like what we see in today’s political climate where some members are dubbed the “sanest people in their party.” It sounds unrealistic to someone with strong beliefs, but to an open mind, it’s always possible. But as it was, the Greasers and Socs were so close-minded toward each other that Johnny Cade slew one of the Socs with a switchblade. The only reason why it didn’t tarnish Johnny’s personal character as a voice of reason was because the murder was out of defense for his friend Pony-Boy Curtis, who was being suffocated in a park fountain. “The Outsiders” has a lot of strange dichotomies similar to this one, but the message remains crystal clear: get along or die. John Lennon tried to say this a long time ago and he got assassinated for it. It makes me wonder if mankind is ever going to change.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Don’t give me love, don’t give me faith, wisdom nor pride, give innocence instead. Don’t give me love, I’ve had my share. Beauty nor rest, give me truth instead.”

-Nightwish singing “The Crow, the Owl, and the Dove”-