"Judge" Bruce Schroeder: Passed the Bar, Failed the Country

 

Jimmy Kimmel vs. Sean Hannity

 

Suck It Up

VERSE 1

When you drop bombs on your least favorite race

The whole world watches with tears on their face

When you cry Cancel Culture after the fact

It should be you in a coffin lying on your back

You never had to suffer like the ones you’ve killed

Just ask your billionaire daddies to pay all the bills

Sugar baby, crybaby, whatever you are

Take your insults on the chin like a boxing superstar

 

PRE-CHORUS

When we call you out on your disgusting violence

The Wahmbulance gets you, let’s flash the sirens

 

CHORUS

Suck it up! You’re guilty as charged!

Suck it up! Yet you’re still at large!

Suck it up! Answer for your sins!

Suck it up! It’s not a war you will win!

Suck it up!

 

VERSE 2

When you fire your gun at the poor and innocent

You better expect an international incident

A golden badge is not a shield from callouts

A precinct won’t save you from nuclear fallout

Your critics don’t have missiles to level the land

They’ve got two middle fingers, one in either hand

Maybe a brick if they’re feeling kind of froggy

A bloody concussion to make you feel groggy

 

CHORUS

Suck it up! You’re guilty as charged!

Suck it up! Yet you’re still at large!

Suck it up! Answer for your sins!

Suck it up! It’s not a war you will win!

Suck it up!

 

BRIDGE

A bruised ego or a rotting corpse?

Which one’s worse? The latter, of course

You play the victim and reverse criticism

Easy as pie, ‘cause you control the system

 

CHORUS

Suck it up! You’re guilty as charged!

Suck it up! Yet you’re still at large!

Suck it up! Answer for your sins!

Suck it up! It’s not a war you will win!

Suck it up!

Suck it up!

Suck it up!

Do the world a favor and shut the fuck up!

Make a Wish on a Star

CHORUS

Make a wish on a star

For an unbreakable heart

For an indominable soul

An irreplaceable role

Make a wish on a star

Leave things better than they are

Smash the Status Quo

Until utopia’s all we know

 

VERSE 1

If wishes were fishes, the world would be an ocean

Masturbatory fantasies, the river’s made of lotion

Problems don’t just go away because of magic spells

Not one person in this life can save the world by themself

There’s strength in numbers, especially in bank accounts

Abusing all the power for an even larger amount

No one has the energy and no one has the solution

We’re stuck in our depression and worldwide pollution

 

CHORUS

Make a wish on a star

For an unbreakable heart

For an indominable soul

An irreplaceable role

Make a wish on a star

Leave things better than they are

Smash the Status Quo

Until utopia’s all we know

 

VERSE 2

We march until our shoes are worn and torn to shreds

And then we wake up in a metal prison bed

Or a hospital with one hand cuffed to the rail

It was like this all along, we were set up to fail

 

CHORUS

Make a wish on a star

For an unbreakable heart

For an indominable soul

An irreplaceable role

Make a wish on a star

Leave things better than they are

Smash the Status Quo

Until utopia’s all we know

 

BRIDGE

The only star worth wishing on is one that will crash

On corporate buildings, capitols, smash them into trash

Yachts and private jets, no, we’re not done just yet

From the river to the sea is a promise, not a threat

 

OUTRO

Make a wish on a star!

Make a wish on a star!

Make a wish on a star!

Let’s take shit too far!

Lay Down and Die

VERSE 1

You’re having a book barbecue

I’m burning the red, white, and blue

We are not the same

Mental chess is my only game

You play checkers like an amateur, dude

 

CHORUS

The things you’re fighting for

Should be kicked out the door

Don’t want to hear you cry

Just lay down and die

Keep on rolling

Rolling

Eat some humble pie

Just lay down and die

 

VERSE 2

You’re killing the chicks who won’t date you

No wonder the whole world hates you

Spit out the black pill

Don’t call the pharmacy for a refill

And pray your next victim escapes you

 

CHORUS

The things you’re fighting for

Should be kicked out the door

Don’t want to hear you cry

Just lay down and die

Keep on rolling

Rolling

Eat some humble pie

Just lay down and die

 

BRIDGE

You want to rule the world and fuck all of the girls

Can’t abide by your lies, give them the toilet swirl

You want to burn the books like a badass cook

Can’t let you, I detest you, you’re the real crook

You want to jail me because I made you see

You’re not the king of everything, you too can bleed

You want Armageddon, bar us all from heaven

Buckle up, buttercup, crash your seven-forty-seven

You sacrificed it all

Just to drop the ball

 

CHORUS

The things you’re fighting for

Should be kicked out the door

Don’t want to hear you cry

Just lay down and die

Keep on rolling

Rolling

Eat some humble pie

Just lay down and die

AITJ: Corey Shields

AUTHOR: Garrison Kelly

ORIGINAL POSTER: Corey Shields

STORY: The Benoit Blues (formerly known as Darkness Reigns)

BOOK: American Darkness

I’m a 45yo male and I’ve been teaching music in the Paulson City school district for close to twenty years. I’ve seen just about everything there is to see during that time. But a recent string of budget cuts has plagued our school and it’s affecting not only the teachers who already have limited resources, but the students as well. I wanted to take my students to Washington DC for a symphonic concert field trip, but the lack of funding for our schools kept that from happening.

Even more infuriating is our Principal, a 55yo female, not doing everything she can to fight for us when she wields the most power in these budget committee hearings. I’ve even heard rumors that she was funneling some of that money for herself while the rest of us are left holding the bag. I have no way of proving these rumors, but they sound true on paper.

So in a last ditch effort to urge Principal Scotch into action, I had special instructions for my students at this year’s spring concert. They were worried about it at first, but I assured them that everything would be okay. And sure enough, they carried out those instructions at the concert beautifully.

The first and only song that my student band played that night was “Whatever” by Our Lady Peace, which was used as the theme song for former WWE wrestler Chris Benoit. The parents in the audience probably never watched an episode of WWE television a day in their lives, but they know who Chris Benoit is because he was all over the news for killing his wife and son before committing suicide.

Naturally, the parents and faculty were shocked that I would choose this particular song for my student band to play. And then I took the microphone and gave the ultimate punchline: “What? You think that’s offensive? Try withholding funds from our school.” The message was loud and clear for everyone to hear, especially Principal Scotch, who fired me on the spot for my protest anthem. 

Did the school end up getting more funding? Were the teachers actually being paid a living wage? Hell if I know. It probably didn’t help matters that the next day, my phone blew up with angry text messages and emails from the parents of my students along with other teachers and faculty members. While my intentions were good, the outcome was most likely a dud and now the school is probably suffering because of it.

AITJ for using a murderer’s theme music to protest the lack of school funding or does Principal Scotch get all of the blame for this one? I certainly feel like TJ knowing that the protest blew up in my face. I would feel like an even bigger jerk if I knew my students were being punished for what was ultimately my plan.

Save the World

 VERSE 1

I talked some shit online about Dumbass Donald

And his favorite butt puppet Moscow McConnell

I got a million replies telling me I should die

Telling me they’ll drink my liberal tears if I cry

I got a head full of demons and nothing accomplished

Couldn’t find anything we could share in common

But at least I performed my own civic duty

Even though my mind is melting into something gooey

CHORUS

Why does everybody expect me to save the world?

By myself! With nobody else!

Why does everybody expect me to have superpowers?

I wasn’t born tough! I’m just a traumatized coward!

VERSE 2

I went to the protest and held up my cardboard sign

Got a face full of mace and now I’m legally blind

Got a beer bottle broken over my pretty little head

If I come for round two, they’ll shoot my ass dead

I got a hospital bill and not a damn thing changed

I’ve got years of therapy, who’s willing to pay?

But at least I can say that I’ve got some big balls

I hope they’ll help against my debt collection calls

CHORUS

Why does everybody expect me to save the world?

By myself! With nobody else!

Why does everybody expect me to have superpowers?

I wasn’t born tough! I’m just a traumatized coward!

BRIDGE

Is it too much to ask that I see some results

To go with my beatings and bigoted insults?

Is it too much to ask for systematic reform

When dystopia has become the new norm?

Is it too much to ask for some compensation

When I’m crucified by the Teabag nation?

Is it too much to ask that my efforts matter

Or should we keep making the fat cats fatter?

VERSE 3

I went to the courthouse and filed a lawsuit

Against everybody who dared to lick boots

Case dragged on for a whole millennium

I couldn’t outspend every single defendant

I did my best and not a fucking thing improved

No tears for me, because nobody was moved

I guess you could tell me, “Welcome to the club”

Before you beat my ass with it, stain it in blood

EXTENDED CHORUS

Why does everybody expect me to save the world?

By myself! With nobody else!

Why does everybody expect me to have superpowers?

I wasn’t born tough! I’m just a traumatized coward!

Why does everybody think I’ve got what it takes

Then brush it all off with the phrase, “That’s the breaks?”

Why can’t I just lay in bed with my pretty kitty?

I’m not Batman and this is not Gotham City!

George Floyd the Wall

VERSE 1
Son-shine’s gone up to heaven
Abuse of power was the weapon
A wide shot for the viral streaming
And now a nation is left screaming
And now a nation is left screaming!
All in all, it was just a 9-1-1 call
All in all, it was all just 9-1-1 calls

VERSE 2
We don’t need no execution
We just want a revolution
No guns or tear gas in the streets
We will not cower in defeat
No! We won’t cower in defeat!
All in all, it’s just another 9-1-1 call
All in all, it’s just another 9-1-1 call

VERSE 3
I don’t need your lame excuses
I don’t need human rights abuses
Now that our backs are against the wall
Your racist empire will be the next to fall
Yeah! Your racist empire is the next to fall!
All in all, it was all just 9-1-1 calls
All in all, it was all just 9-1-1 calls

FINAL VERSE
Goodbye, George Floyd
I say in a trembling voice
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
Goodbye, Mr. President
There’s no real reason to keep you elected
Goodbye…

Hit Piece

VERSE 1
“Everything’s a hit piece, everything’s a shit squeeze”
You can’t take criticism
“Everything is cancer, no one has the answers”
You can’t engage in witticism
“Everything is canceled, everything’s an online battle”
Who’s the real snowflake now?
“Everything is PC, they all want to have it easy”
First amendment keeps you loud

CHORUS 1
Anytime you pay your taxes
You always grind your axes
Anytime two gay guys kiss
It’s the dark ages you miss
Anytime you fire your gun
You take away somebody’s son
It’s not a hit piece if it’s true
I don’t care if it’s red, white, or blue

VERSE 2
“Everyone’s got a cell phone, everyone’s mind is blown”
Pass the torch to the next generation
“Everyone wants free shit, it’s a taxpayer’s pit”
Don’t forget your arthritis medication
“Everyone’s got a trophy, they can show it to their homies”
Okay, Boomer, enough is enough
“Everyone’s too sensitive, they always want sedatives”
I thought you old farts were so tough

CHORUS 2
Anytime black people protest
You clutch your pearls to your chest
Anytime we ask for justice
You gag like you’re disgusted
Anytime you spread Corona
You blame it all on California
It’s not a hit piece, where’s the lie?
Let the man child president cry

BRIDGE
BP gas up your ass
Light the very last match
Keep the bleach within your reach
Listen to the con artists preach
Have some fun with your guns
Shoot the shit out of everyone
It’s not a hit piece, fact check that
The golden goose is getting fat

VERSE 3
“Everywhere’s burning down, not in my hometown”
The signs have never been brighter
“Everywhere’s a sanctuary, turn them all to mortuaries”
My people are both lovers and fighters

CHORUS 3
Anytime we get a little angry
You pretend to be so saintly
It’s not a hit piece if it doesn’t slander
Find another place for your star-spangled banner
It’s not a hit piece if it’s true
This world doesn’t revolve around you
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!

"They Called Us Enemy" by George Takei

BOOK TITLE: They Called Us Enemy

AUTHOR: George Takei

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Political Memoir

GRADE: Extra Credit

In 1942, over 120,000 Japanese-Americans were taken away from their homes and placed into dingy prison camps all over the US. They did nothing wrong, but had none of the legal means to prove it to the racist authorities. They were paying for the sins of their home country after the Pearl Harbor bombing. Classic ignorant thinking at its worst: because a small minority of the group committed the crime, the entire group is guilty. George Takei spent most of his tender childhood living under this kind of oppression as he and his family were among the Japanese-American families locked up in internment camps. Reading about this shameful experience through his eyes makes everything that much more heartbreaking. His young mind couldn’t comprehend the ignorance of those in charge. He tried to make sense of the barbed wire enclosures, deplorable conditions, and abusive army guards. Fast forward into adulthood and George Takei does everything in his power as an equal rights activist and Hollywood actor to make sure this terrifying history doesn’t happen again.

This graphic novel is nothing short of a brutally honest look into the politics of fear. Powerful politicians will use their influence and charisma to rile up their supporters into believing that the less fortunate are what’s wrong with this country. We saw it with the Japanese internment in George Takei’s book and we’re seeing it today with the Muslim ban, the family separation policy at the Mexican border, and black people getting harsher treatment from law enforcement than whites. The one thing we learn from history is that we learn nothing from history. But it doesn’t have to be this way. This book has the power to educate its readers. When you familiarize yourself with your fellow world citizens, you’re less likely to judge them. That’s what “They Called Us Enemy” means to me and that’s one of the reasons it’s getting a perfect five out of five stars. The more educated we are, the better off we’ll be. That means leaving behind comfortable bigotry and thinking about what it’s like to be the other guy, which is often a horrifying reality.

But of course, there will always be those contrarians out there who say, “It wasn’t all that bad!” These same people say it about black slavery, they call Mexican border detention centers “Summer Camp”, and they’ll no doubt say it about Japanese internment camps. Having guaranteed living conditions doesn’t mean those conditions are necessarily good. Did I mention the barbed wire fencing around the camps? Did I mention the abusive treatment from the soldiers? What about the fact that George Takei’s family had to live in a horse stall that smelled like rancid feces? What about the infighting among Japanese prisoners who joined the military to prove their patriotism and the prisoners who stayed in the camps to protest? Had enough harsh reality? But wait, there’s one more juicy detail: institutionalization. Some prisoners were so familiar with the routine life of the camps that they couldn’t imagine getting back on their feet in a normal society. Now imagine a child as young as George Takei feeling that way upon leaving the camp. You get to see all of this through the author’s eyes whether you want to or not. It won’t be pleasant, but it’ll be a necessary kick in the butt for the apathetic and fearful.

Despite the shortness and quick pacing of the book, you will feel as though you’ve taken an entire US history course in one sitting. Let this be a message to you all. Treat your neighbors with kindness and respect. Treat your inferiors with the same level of understanding and love. If you see an injustice happening, don’t stay quiet. Be the activist you were meant to become. Be a passionate enough voice in this battle for equality that those in power will have no choice but to listen. Let your words haunt them like schizophrenic ghosts. Will this change anything? Let me put it this way: we don’t have a choice but to activate our activism. The world can’t survive without making progressive leaps and bounds. That is the nature of time. Any questions?

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

Hope Punk

VERSE 1

Worldwide genocide, national pride

Taking the sheep for a nickel ride

Insanity is the brand new reason

Jingoism is the brand new treason

Thinking hate is something great

It’s sealing this world’s final fate

Dictators pop up in every country

I don’t find this shit normal or funny

CHORUS

Hey, Hope Punk! Let’s rise up!

Let’s show them we can win this one!

Hey, victim! Rise from the grave!

No more living like mindless slaves!

Hey, Hope Punk! Hey, victim!

Let love conquer this unjust system!

VERSE 2

Refuse, resist, stay fucking pissed

No one tells us how to fucking live

Never tell us to sit down and take it

Dystopian bullshit will never make it

Build utopia from our hearts and souls

Everybody matters in these new roles

Be an activist, the fucking catalyst

Worldwide change can be arranged

CHORUS

Hey, Hope Punk! Let’s rise up!

Let’s show them we can win this one!

Hey, victim! Rise from the grave!

No more living like mindless slaves!

Hey, Hope Punk! Hey, victim!

Let love conquer this unjust system!

VERSE 3

Democracy doesn’t have to die

To say otherwise is a blatant lie

Some doubters will never even try

Content to let their lives pass them by

The countdown clock is ticking away

Won’t settle for less for another day

Won’t settle for mediocre or just okay

We’ve got the power, we’re here to stay

CHORUS

Hey, Hope Punk! Let’s rise up!

Let’s show them we can win this one!

Hey, victim! Rise from the grave!

No more living like mindless slaves!

Hey, Hope Punk! Hey, victim!

Let love conquer this unjust system!

FINAL WORDS

Hey, Hope Punk!

Hey, victim!

Hey, Hope Punk!

Time to bring the loudest funk!

Tristan Jealous

VERSE 1

Dr. Jealous, what has become of me?

Can you give me something to set me free?

A shot of horse to keep me cheery and bright?

A can of caffeine to keep me up all night?

Laziness and comfort, my two best friends

A friendship this close rarely ever ends

Can you scrape me out of my bed?

So I can meet my goals, keep my ego fed?

VERSE 2

Dr. Jealous, I have something to prove

I need my fix to keep me on the move

I came to the protest with my cardboard sign

And a pocket of pills to make me feel fine

I can face the world one demon at a time

But all at once? That’s the steepest climb

Here comes the circus, here come the clowns

Not one safe space in this crumbling town

VERSE 3

Dr. Jealous, do you think she likes me?

Is this dangerous risk even worth trying?

Pop a Xanax or two, maybe even three

Only then will she see the best of me

I sit in the park trying to remain calm

Another day’s dosage in my shaking palm

Maybe I should turn and walk away

Save my courage for yet another day

BRIDGE

Tristan Jealous, I’m overzealous

I’m feeling a little bit rebellious

Call a medic, yes, I said it

My chart is in need of an edit

I cannot take this, I cannot fake it

I’m not sure if I can even make it

Doctor, doctor, help me out now

‘Cause I’m not ready to bow down

VERSE 4

Dr. Jealous, I can’t reach the phone

I’m trapped in this white cell all alone

The nurses told me over and over again

That I’ll be free when eternity ends

Everyone here is blending together

Washed away like stormy weather

Dr. Jealous, I’m calling your name

Please tell them that I’m not to blame

The Fun Police

VERSE 1

They’re coming for your offensive jokes

Every guitar riff, every musical note

Every novel with the blackest of magic

Every love story with an ending so tragic

Keeping it clean like an overworked janitor

Keeping it lawful like an overpowered senator

The fun police are coming for your ass

They’ve got you cuffed, face down in the grass

CHORUS

Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!

Censoring anything they damn well please!

Stripping you naked of your individuality!

Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!

VERSE 2

Don’t say those words; they’re bad for the ears

It’s been that way since the medieval years

Don’t play with yourself; it’s a mortal sin

Even though you’re the owner of your skin

Don’t question authority; it’s against the law

Listen only to your bible-thumping grandpa

The fun police? More like the fun SWAT Team

Invading your deep desires and sweet dreams

CHORUS

Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!

Censoring anything they damn well please!

Stripping you naked of your individuality!

Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!

VERSE 3

A squeaky clean world is boring as shit

All because you couldn’t help throwing a fit

All because you got offended by one little tit

All because you can’t handle the mosh pit

Keep your hands off of my fucking fun

Stop whining about everything under the sun

Being miserable is not really an excuse

For all of the power you’ve come to abuse

EXTENDED CHORUS

Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!

Censoring anything they damn well please!

Stripping you naked of your individuality!

Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!

Sound the alarm! It’s the fun militia!

They’re going berserk and fucking ballistic!

They claim to want a smaller government!

No obstacles for their forced covenant!

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

Toilet Cleaner

VERSE 1

The glass ceiling is lower than the floor

I earn my check, yet I always need more

Scrubbing your toilets spic and span

Not much of a future, not much of a plan

I could never be a real family man

Then again, how could I give a damn?

Power is something you’re born with

Every other talking point is bullshit

CHORUS

Toilet cleaner!

American dreamer!

Toilet cleaner!

Silent screamer!

VERSE 2

It’s not the smell that assaults my nose

It’s that my grave won’t earn one rose

It’s not the work that destroys my back

It’s being left behind in the corporate pack

It’s not the graffiti imprinted on the walls

It’s the thanklessness of scrubbing the stalls

Honey, I’m home! Oh wait, I’m alone

These slothful sins I shall never atone

EXTENDED CHORUS 1

Toilet cleaner!

American dreamer!

Toilet cleaner!

Silent screamer!

Bathroom bitch!

The new non-rich!

Restroom junkie!

Low-grade flunky!

BRIDGE

I drop the mop!

Say fuck it to the bucket!

I quit this shit!

I school these fools!

My path of wrath!

The edge of dredge!

Bow to the cash cow!

Never forever!

EXTENDED CHORUS 2

Master of my destiny!

Master of my enemies!

Slave to my deepest rage!

Beast inside a steel cage!

Toilet cleaner!

Megaphone screamer!

Bathroom bitch!

Pull the kill switch!

I Am Death

Kobra and Lux embraced each other lovingly as they watched the scene unfold from their abandoned building hideout. Black protesters, with rage on their faces and profanity on their cardboard signs, surrounded the courthouse waiting for the perfect moment to unleash their fury. White hooded Klansmen stood on the opposite side with nooses and effigies to show their disgust. In between the two extreme parties were police in riot gear, armed with batons, tear gas grenades, and facial expression fiercer than an entire hunting party of starving wolves.

Lux, dressed beautifully in a fairy-like white dress, black knee high boots, and a glittery mask over her stunning blue eyes, gazed into her lover with and said with the softest voice, “What will happen if this plan doesn’t work?”

Kobra, with a snake’s mask covering his face and black robes with skeletal armor covering his toned body, stroked his girlfriend’s long black hair with soothing comfort and said, “Let me put it this way, my love: we don’t have a choice. Any minute now, the verdict for Keith Turner will be revealed. No matter what it may be, this city will descend into chaos in a heartbeat. I never really did like politics, but I hate senseless violence even more.” He touched a gentle finger underneath Lux’s chin and said, “Everything will be alright. The devices are rigged, everything is in place, and we’ve rehearsed this act until the end of time. They’d be foolish not to be frightened by Death himself.”

“I love you, Kobra.”

“I love you too, Lux.”

The two magicians shared a passionate tongue kiss only to be distracted by the noise going on outside. They peered out their window and saw Keith Turner and his lawyers dancing happily down the courthouse stairs. No shackles. No cuffs. Not a damn sign that he had been found guilty. The long brown-haired defendant even had a sadistic smile on his face. Kobra shuddered to think that was the look he gave the eight-year-old black girl before he murdered her in cold blood. And now the illusionist’s blood came a rolling boil now that this racist son of a bitch would walk free.

Just like Kobra predicted, the scene outside the courthouse descended into madness upon hearing the news that Keith Turner was free. Black protesters shouted and scrambled toward the heavily-guarded murderer while slinging their signs like steel chairs in a wrestling match. The KKK members swarmed the protesters and threw haymakers and shin kicks, not to mention a few choice N-words and other delightful racial slurs. The riot police struggled to maintain order and instead resorted to swinging their batons at anything that moved, be it protester or Klansman. Blood filled the streets of Paulson City and Mr. Turner watched from the stairs above without an ounce of warmth in his heart.

“It’s show time, Lux. Levitate me!” demanded Kobra. The magician had thin wires running through his robes that were undetectable by sunlight, yet powerful enough to hold his 180 lb. frame. Once Lux pounded a few buttons on a nearby control panel, those wires gave the illusion of floatation as Kobra “levitated” out of the window and high above the riot in progress.

Only a few rioters and police officers stopped to watch the floating death angel with wide-eyed awe and wonder. Kobra gained everyone’s full attention when he pulled a tab inside his robes and unleashed a pair of metallic angel wings. He winked at Lux inside the hideout and prompted her to activate the flamethrowers rigged on both sides of the street. This burning gesture was on cue with Kobra raising his arms in the air and extending his fingers like a sorcerer casting spells.

What once was a riot full of angry people and weary cops now turned into a theater with a dumbstruck audience. No more bloodshed, no more racism, just shaky bodies and faces of fear. Kobra loosened a few bladders and bowels once he swung his arms to the side and summoned a hurricane force wind around his body. He threw down his hand and tossed a rigged lightning bolt onto a gimmick fire hydrant, which exploded into a secondary Old Faithful.

One of the cops pulled out a shotgun and tried to squeeze off a few shells in Kobra’s direction. The combination of wind, lightning, and fire blew the ammunition every which way and almost blew out one of the covered-up flamethrowers. Instead of wiping off his sweaty brow in relief, Kobra went right into his distortion box-voiced tirade against the masses.

“Fools! Each and every one of you! You’re nothing but goddamn fools!” shouted the masked illusionist. “You’re gathered here today to spread mayhem and murder, the same mayhem and murder that the idiot in the gray suit was so happy to commit not too long ago!”

Even as Keith Turner stared daggers at him with a brown-toothed smile, Kobra wouldn’t shake and stutter so easily. The magician pointed an elongated, bony finger at the killer and shouted, “If you think you’re going to get away with your sins so easily, you’re sadly mistaken! I am Death himself! I am nightmare fuel! I speak the words of every victim you have claimed! That girl you killed had a name! That name is…”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Keith interrupted with a booming voice. “Does anybody else here think this Angel of Death garbage is a bunch of bullshit?! Am I the only one who sees this cocksucker for who he is?! You don’t scare me, snake boy! None of y’all niggers scare me either! White power!”

With Mr. Turner performing a Nazi salute, the KKK members did the same before clashing with black protesters and riot police once again. Their nationalist rage transformed back into pants-wetting, voice-stealing fear once Kobra shot a lightning bolt a jimmied mailbox and ignited the flamethrower underneath. “Silence, you fools!” shouted the Angel of Death.

“If you think those streets are bloody now, keep testing my patience!” bellowed Kobra. “I shall turn this city into hell itself! I shall turn this world into a necrocosm! I shall avenge every restless soul…”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Yeah, we get it! Armageddon and shit!” yelled Keith with his arms folded and arrogant anger etched on his face. “Tell you what, shit head! Why don’t you float on down here and I’ll rearrange that pretty little snake face of yours! No more magic tricks and hocus pocus bullshit! Just you and me slugging it out, baby!”

Kobra sweated profusely inside his costume trying to think of ways to keep his bluff alive. He had an idea, but it was risky. But with no risks came no rewards. Either this would pay off or it would get him killed. “Tell you what, Mr. Turner,” said Kobra in his usual demonic aura. “Why don’t you come over here instead! You think this is a gimmick?! You think this is a fairytale?! I don’t deal in fairytales, you sodomite! I deal in death! Bring your bastard ass over here and prove to me you’re more than just a coward who targets children!”

Keith took off his suit jacket and angrily threw it to the floor before cracking his knuckles and putting his dukes up. He breathed heavily like a beast ready to jump on its prey. But then he chuckled egotistically and said, “Who am I kidding? I’m a free man. I’ve got nothing to prove to you. You’re the one breaking the law, not me. Hey, officers! Do your job and put this pinheaded asshole on trial! Maybe these jiggaboos out here can get a hashtag going on Twitter that says Snake Lives Matter or some shit.”

“Suck my dick!” shouted a random protester who threw a cardboard sign at Keith. With kicks, punches, elbows, and knees being thrown every which way, the rioting crowd and the armored police were back to square one with the bloody violence.

Kobra had one last trick up his sleeve and he had to make it count. He turned to his lovely partner Lux and gave her thumbs up before dragging that thumb across his throat. She smiled and nodded at him before pulling the biggest lever her control panel had. Slowly but surely, a parked police van on the sidewalk levitated off the ground with the same invisible wires to support it, though nobody could see them.

The fighting ceased once again despite Keith Turner’s constant bellowing that this was just another “hocus pocus stunt”. The higher in the air the van got, the more the crowd parted like the Red Sea. Protesters, cops, and Klansmen alike dispersed from the streets running like Olympic athletes. They left behind a battlefield of blood and bodies. There were even wounded bodies in the streets struggling and crawling to get away.

“This is horseshit! This is absolute horseshit!” Keith complained. He jumped into the nearly empty streets and started kicking the dead bodies of black protesters. “I’m so sick of this crap! Black lives don’t matter, motherfuckers! Your lives don’t mean shit to me! I’m sick of that stupid goddamn hashtag going around the fucking internet! You hear me?! I said do you hear me…”

The wires, being thin enough to evade detection, were bound to snap with that much weight underneath. Kobra knew this part of the illusion was a bad idea and covered his eyes, not wanting to watch his cinematic masterpiece crumble beneath him. But the sound of metal crunching on concrete deafened his ears, he opened his field of vision again to see that the only thing crumbling beneath him were Keith Turner’s bones. He was crushed underneath the wrecked vehicle with just his head poking out and his eyes bulging from his skull.

The poetic justice brought laughter to Kobra’s throat from the depths of his belly. It was an evil laugh that only a sick and sadistic demon could pull off. He even raised his hands to set off more flamethrowers and lightning bolts to keep his gimmick alive in the eyes of those still hanging around (which weren’t many). The howling laughter continued even as Kobra was slowly being pulled inside the hideout by Lux’s controls.

The illusionist stripped off his robes, skeletal suit, and angel wings to reveal a T-shirt and jeans underneath. “How did I do?” asked Kobra with a sexy smile on his face.

Lux wrapped her silky arms around her lover’s neck and said in a seductive voice, “I hope they give out Oscars for performances like that. You were wonderful, my dear. You even had me scared for a minute. Come here, sweetheart.” The magic-wielding couple pulled each other in for an emotional kiss. This illusion was a long shot in the making, but it paid off handsomely. Magic was real whether it was in the bloody streets of Paulson City or in the embrace of two passionate sorcerers.

“I love you, Kobra.”

“I love you too, Lux. Don’t ever forget that.”

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

Necrocosm

VERSE 1
We’ve got hot and heavy action all night long
We’ve got hard-hitting brawlers so fucking strong
We’ve got hulking ogres who lift shit with ease
We’ve got flying ninjas who float through the breeze
Yet no matter how hard they smash each other
You all bitch and whine like you want your mothers
You might as well be asleep or even clinically dead
There aren’t enough pillows for all of your heads


CHORUS
Did you come here under protest or to see a show?
Scream like a horde of demons so we all know
Instead you fall asleep in your shallow graves
The necrocosm is what you all secretly crave


VERSE 2
The battered warriors are wondering what went wrong
Was the violence and mania just a little too damn strong?
Were the battle cries and political speeches too damn long?
Have you all had enough of this heavy metal song?
Too fucking bad, sit your asses in your comfy seats
Enjoy the fucking show and let us know your heart beats
The necrocosm is going out of business forever
Because zombies don’t give a shit about fiery weather


CHORUS
Did you come here under protest or to see a show?
Scream like a horde of demons so we all know
Instead you fall asleep in your shallow graves
The necrocosm is what you all secretly crave


HOOK
You wasted your money for a ticket you didn’t want
Then you rant online in the biggest fucking word font
You bitch and whine like an entitled little baby brat
Still the bloody warriors slam each other to the mat


EXTENDED CHORUS
Did you come here under protest or to see a show?
Scream like a horde of demons so we all know
Instead you fall asleep in your shallow graves
The necrocosm is what you all secretly crave
A casket match is meant for the fighters only
Not for the bitchy fans so righteous and holy
The necrocosm doesn’t want your blood money
The necrocosm doesn’t think you’re fucking funny

Football Sucks

When Democratic Mayor Irwin Gladden opened the blinds to his office window, what he saw shook him to his very core. Protesters. Lots and lots of protesters wearing football jerseys and helmets. All of them shouting incoherently at the top of their dragon-like lungs. Some of them with signs that said, “Football doesn’t suck!” and “Impeach Gladden!”. Most of them with Photoshopped pictures of the Mayor in a Nazi uniform or a turban with a bomb strapped around his body.

Being new to the job, Mayor Gladden obviously wasn’t used to this kind of violent treatment down on the streets of Paulson City. His blood was chilled. His jaw was quivering. His hands were vibrating. He had a knot in his stomach the size of a cannonball and a lump in his throat the size of a watermelon. All of these normally fine young citizens came together through their mutual hatred of this newly-elected official.

Though he wasn’t one-hundred-percent prepared for a day like this, he could think of a good reason why it was happening. The football paraphernalia, the firecrackers going off, the trumpets blasting everywhere, they could only mean one thing. These citizens were protesting because Irwin Gladden wanted to convert their beloved football stadium into the city’s largest public library. If that wasn’t “sacrilegious” enough, the thirty-something Mayor actually had the balls to say, “Football sucks!”

His balls weren’t feeling so big anymore. In fact, as soon as he saw a firecracker zooming towards his window (only to veer off at the last minute), Irwin snapped the blinds shut and cowered in the center of his office. How could so many people be so zealous and ignorant over a game of football? It made no sense.

Mayor Gladden’s day went from bad to worse when his front door hastily opened, causing him to spring backwards in fear and sit on the edge of his desk. He thought he was going to get mugged by these protesters. Instead, it happened to someone else entirely. Irwin’s personal bodyguard, Fred Jacobs, had stumbled into his office, slammed the door behind him, and collapsed on the floor while coughing up blood.

Irwin and Fred could not be more physically different from each other. The bodyguard was a hulking bad black man in a brown suit and tie while the Mayor was only this gray suit-wearing, skinny twig who barely filled his counterpart’s shadow. Fred Jacobs didn’t look very intimidating at that moment. Rolling over on his back and spewing up more blood didn’t help create that kind of image.

The frightened politician rushed over and knelt by his bodyguard’s side and asked, “Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?! Where are the goddamn paramedics?!”

After coughing up a splash of blood, Fred explained, “The protesters are blocking the streets from all angles. They’re not going to move even for first responders. What kind of shit storm did you cause out there, buddy?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal!” said Irwin defensively. “It’s just a stupid arena! More taxpayer money goes into that stadium than anywhere else on the budget! We could have used that money to improve roads, hire more teachers, feed our poor, cure our sickly, and instead it’s going into this big ass stadium so that more athletes can end up in the hospital or even dead! Tell me my logic is wrong! I dare you!”

“Alright, dude,” said Fred as he sat up and looked his boss in the eyes with fiery zeal. “Your logic is wrong! There, I said it! Do you want to fire me now?!”

Irwin stood up in disbelief and backed up slowly. “What are you talking about? This makes perfect sense. Instead of going out there and giving people concussions, we could turn the whole stadium into a public library and actually improve their brain power for once.”

“That’s exactly how fucked up you are, Mayor!” Fred Jacobs stood up and spit a wad of chunky blood on the ground. If he was dizzy before, he wasn’t showing it at this moment. “A library? Really? You actually thought people would be onboard with that? This is Paulson City, damn it! People here don’t know whether to scratch their watches or wind their asses! They don’t give a shit about literature! You’re basically forcing your personal tastes on these poor people!”

Just like his bodyguard, Irwin Gladden suddenly found his testicle power when he snapped, “No! I’m not forcing anything on anybody! It’s called tough love! If these people won’t educate themselves, it’s my job and my responsibility to push them along!”

“Alright, man,” said Fred as he snorted blood up his nose and swallowed in a massive gulp. “I didn’t want to have to tell this story, but if it’s the only way to get through to your sorry ass, then goddamn it, it’ll have to do. You want to know how I got this big ass body? I didn’t get it through sitting on my ass eating Cheetohs and watching The Simpsons. I played football all throughout high school and college. That’s right! I was a quarterback for the Paulson City Warlords!”

“You’re kidding me,” said Irwin when he folded his arms.

“Back then they called me Freddy the Barbarian. They would have called me Inmate Number Blah-Blah-Blah if it wasn’t for football. It was either football or gangs and drugs for me. I lived in a poor neighborhood, my friend. A neighborhood that the previous Republican mayor promised to fix. Instead, all we had was more drugs, more gangs, and a shit load more police brutality. I joined the Paulson City Warlords to get away from all that disgusting crap. So the next time you say football sucks, think of this big ugly face staring you down!”

The big ugly face was indeed staring Mayor Gladden down and it was more frightening to look at than a dark fantasy demon. The politician’s body language showed it all: a trembling body that barely managed to stay seated to the edge of his desk. For the longest few seconds, Irwin and Fred didn’t say a damn thing to each other.

And then the Mayor screamed like a girl and ran into his bodyguard’s arms when he heard a cacophonous bang shattering his window and ripping his blinds. One of the firecrackers from the demonstration exploded against his window and went out in smoke.

Mayor Gladden had every reason in the world to piss his Armani pants and cry into Fred Jacobs’ Men’s Warehouse jacket. It was a tempting offer, but instead Irwin was red-faced with anger. He got down from his protector’s arms and stomped over to the phone. When asked what the hell he was doing, Irwin said, “I’m putting an end to this right now. Screw the riot police. If they’re not coming to my rescue, then I’ll declare a state of emergency and get the National fucking Guard! I’ll even tell them to bring AK-47’s instead of those wimpy rubber bullets. And real grenades too instead of that tear gas shit!”

“Put down that goddamn phone, Mayor Gladden!” screamed Fred, to which the Democrat slowly and shakily did. “Look at you, man! It’s your first week on the job and you’re already cracking under pressure! That’s not the Mayor I signed up with! You’re supposed to be this caring progressive who thinks of others! And now look at you! You’re actually considering killing those protesters with AK-47’s all because a firecracker got launched through your window!”

No arguments there. Irwin had snapped big time and all he could do was plop in his chair and try to block out the cacophony going on outside. It was doubtful another firecracker would make its way into his office again; that last one was a lucky shot. The city official just held his face in his hands and wept. “I can’t do this, Fred. I can’t do this. I want to step down.”

“No, you don’t,” said the bodyguard after putting a comforting hand on his boss’s shoulder. “You came here for a reason and that was to clean up Paulson City. You have the chance to do that right now by phoning the riot police. There are people down there who need you whether they know it or not. Do the right thing, Mayor. If the riot police won’t come, then you have my permission to get the National Guard. Just please, none of that AK-47 and real grenade crap this time.”

Irwin took a few deep breaths in and out, calming himself down in the midst of the outside chaos. “You’re right, Fred. You’re absolutely right. I don’t know what I’d do without you. And if football made you the man you are today, I doubt it could suck that badly.”

Fred Jacobs smiled and patted Irwin on the shoulder before leaving him alone to make the phone call. Just a few minutes ago, this ex-football player was dizzy and bleeding. Now he was toughing it out like a pro and that was inspiring to Irwin, who then picked up the phone and made this announcement: “Send them in. It’s an emergency.” The call for help was placed and all Irwin and Fred could do at this point was ride out the storm.