Smells Like a Brewery

“The director will be here really soon, guys, really soon!” said Riley Steel with limited conviction as she stared at her watch. Putting on a red cocktail dress and high heeled sandals for nothing wasn’t her idea of a productive day. She tapped her foot while other crew members and actors milled around waiting for their director to come. The stage was all set. Everyone was ready to go. “Where the hell is he?” And then the repugnant odor of alcohol assaulted her nostrils like a boxing champion’s knockout uppercut. “Oh no,” said Riley while shaking her head in shame.

Fashionably late, Director Devon Rollins came staggering into the studio with a beer bottle in one hand and a whole lot of nothing in the other. This was what his cinematic masterpiece Marble Halls meant to him. This was what he signed a contract for: so that he could show up whenever he wanted to in ridiculously baggy clothes, disheveled brown hair, stubble on his face, and a beer stench that could be whiffed from space.

Devon stood in front of his director’s chair and hummed while battering his lips up and down with his index finger. In the most offensively ableist voice imaginable, he said, “Why’s…everybody…always picking…on…me?” He took a seat in his chair and fell on the back of his neck, much to the shock and horror of everyone on set.

“Good God almighty,” said Riley with shock in her eyes as she watched Devon struggle to get up and reposition his chair.

He got an A for effort, but then stumbled over the chair again and just laid on the floor defeated and dizzy. Throughout all of his drunken posturing, he still managed to keep his beer bottle in his hand. Another A for effort for an acting job that was surely an acquired taste, just like the alcohol that he was smashed on.

Riley’s lips curled with anger as she kicked off her uncomfortable heels and marched over to her drunken director. She kneeled down and grabbed him by his Star Wars T-shirt before shaking and slapping the shit out of him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! You smell like a goddamn brewery! We’ve been waiting for you since ten-thirty this morning!”

Burping and slurring his words, Devon said, “I can’t do this anymore, Linda” before dunking his head backwards and falling asleep.

Riley growled before grabbing her director’s greasy hair and slamming his head against the floor once just to wake him up. After Devon yelled to indicate he was awake, his actress tore into him some more. “It’s Riley, not Linda, you idiot! Pull yourself together, for god’s sake!”

“Sure thing, Tina!” said Devon with an obnoxious burp and a thumbs up.

Riley shook her head and watched as actors and crew members filed out of the studio, not wanting any more of Devon’s shit. “Are you happy now?” she asked rhetorically. “Look at them! They’re walking out on you and I should probably do the same thing. The only thing keeping me from doing so is a little something called a contract. You know, that thing you sign which legally binds you to work on Marble Halls. This is your project, Devon! You have to do it professionally! Otherwise, we’re screwed!”

Devon took a few moments to catch his breath, which still reeked worse than a frat boy’s asshole after doing a tampon chug. “Divas…you’re all divas…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nobody will do what I say, Tiffany. I give them one direction and they tell me no like they’ve got a choice. I’m the director. I call the shots! If I have to be a North Carolina dictator, then so be it!” Devon ended his rant with another burp, this time with liquid bubbling up in his throat.

Riley made a disgusted face. “So that’s why you started drinking? Because nobody will do what they’re told? In case you hadn’t noticed, Marble Halls is a team effort. It’s not just a bunch of people doing what they’re told. We have input. We have feelings. We have reservations. For example…do you remember that day I refused to do a nude scene for you?”

“Yeah…I remember…you’re a diva too, Rebecca. It’s part of the script. If the script says take your clothes off, then you take your clothes off.”

Riley folded her arms. “Yeah, the script does say that. The script, by the way, that you wrote from beginning to end, by yourself, with no criticism from others. If anybody has the power to negotiate with his own actors, it’s you. Besides, why does that script even need a nude scene anyways? How does it advance the story? Are you sure you didn’t just put it in there because you don’t know how internet porn works?”

“…Ouch, Ronda. Very, very ouch…”

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“No, I actually mean ouch. Get your knee off my gut!”

Riley stood up and backed away just in time to watch Devon spit up a fountain of barf, covering his own face and chest in biological sludge. He breathed heavily after that while his lead actress could only look on in pity. She shook her head. “Go home, Devon. You’re drunk. Nobody wants to be around you right now. Just go home and sleep it off. We’ll pick up again tomorrow and hopefully you’ll be sober by then.”

“But…what about that contract thingamabob? Isn’t the executioner producer going to be pissed?” Another burp erupted from Devon’s mouth as did a wad of bile.

“To be honest, I’ll take my chances with the EXECUTIVE producer. I’m sure he’ll give me a way out of my contract after what you did today. Besides, if anybody is getting blamed for all of this, it’s you, Mr. North Carolina dictator!” She picked up her heels and tried to leave the studio.

“Wait!” mumbled Devon as he clutched his actress’s ankle. “Don’t go! I…I…”

“You what? You want me to convince the cast and crew to come back? You want me to convince the executive producer not to blacklist or sue your ass? Let go of my damn ankle, Harvey Weinstein!”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Devon coughed and got some acidic spittle on Riley’s bare foot. “I mean…I need someone to drive me home.”

“I’ll call you a taxi.”

“No…I want you to be the one who drives me.”

Riley scoffed. “Yeah, like I’m going to let you stink up my nice Volvo with your beer and vomit breath. You can sleep on the floor for all I care.”

“Wait! Wait, please…I’m not looking for a way home…I want you to take me to Paradise Rehab.”

Riley’s expression softened as she kneeled down beside her director. “You want to check into rehab?”

“I do…I really do…listen to me just for a moment. I know I’m blitzed right now, but I still have something to say.” Devon took a while to catch his rotten breath. “This drinking problem has been going on for a long time now. This is really the first time I came to the set drunk. All the pressure from upper management…all the arguing with the crew members…the deadlines that are impossible to meet…the beer was the only way I could manage my depression.”

“You’ve been depressed this whole time and you didn’t tell any of us?”

“What do you guys care? I’m just another pig who demands nude scenes, which are totally part of the plot, by the way. I don’t give these orders because I want a bunch of brainwashed slaves. I give them because…I want Marble Halls to be the best movie it can possibly be. And when we draw the big money and win the Oscars…I want to share them all with you and the crew. Yes, I know I’m drunk right now…but I mean every word that I say.” There was a teary twinkle in his eye to validate his true feelings.

Riley’s face was etched with pity once again. She wanted to believe these words despite the alcoholic influence. She wanted to believe Devon Rollins had a good side to him. She wanted to believe that his nude scenes were completely necessary. Although she was fighting not to believe those things, she knew that nothing would be accomplished by leaving him on the floor to be sued and fired. Besides, if what he said about depression was true, then he was just as human as the rebellious cast members.

“Come on, Devon. I’m taking you to rehab.” She wrapped his arm around the back of her neck and struggled to lift him to his feet.

“Thank you, Riley. Thank you so much. I won’t let you down….you know, any more than I already have.”

“No problem, Devon. Just do me a favor: don’t barf all over my expensive leather seats.”

Terrible Person

CHORUS 1

If you excuse torture and abuse

If you condone picking at their bones

If human happiness makes you irksome

Congratulations, you’re a terrible person!

VERSE 1

Call it tough love, call it what you will

You still make the public collectively ill

Beatings, insults, hatred, and more

Rated NC-17 for violence and gore

You’re not rehab, you’re a terrorist cell

You’re not a doctor, but a cultist from hell

You’re not a savior, you’re a fucking bully

You’re not a god, you’re fucking unholy

CHORUS 2

If you enjoy the times when you destroy

If you take their brains and drive them insane

If you take part in making teens feel worthless

Congratulations, you’re a terrible person!

VERSE 2

You have no authority to enforce conformity

You have no balls to face the wrath of the majority

You have no business calling yourself an orderly

You have no right to smile ever so cordially

You have the right to watch your empires burn

You have the right to watch your victims unlearn

You have the right to fork over the Benjamins

‘Cause there’s no denying the courtroom evidence

BRIDGE

Isolation is mutilation!

Condemnation is devastation!

Victimization is desecration!

Retaliation is our salvation!

VERSE 3

Say goodbye to the white padded walls

Say goodbye to the screams in the halls

Say goodbye to your dystopian future

Say goodbye, you’re a fucking loser

CHORUS 3

If your methods count as weapons

If your beatings count as feedings

If your message becomes worthless

Congratulations, you’re a terrible person!

Congratulations, you’re a piece of shit!

Congratulations, you’re a perfect fit!

For a prison camp not unlike your own!

Congratulations, you’re fucking boned!

Alcohol of Fame

VERSE 1

How could you do this to yourself?

How could you endanger your health?

How could you put them through hell?

Is it too late to ask for fucking help?

CHORUS 1

Alcohol of fame

Your career’s going up in flames

Alcohol of fame

You’ve only got yourself to blame

VERSE 2

Snort a little cocaine, shoot some heroin

Chugging Oxycontin and good old Vicodin

Popping Viagra while committing mortal sins

The pressure brings you to your dirty shins

CHORUS 2

Alcohol of fame

Your excuses are so damn lame

Alcohol of fame

You make zombies look so tame

VERSE 3

Everything of yours is going down the tubes

You’re fucking yourself with bloody lube

You’re smashing up your own hotel room

Wake the fuck up or meet your own doom

CHORUS 3

Alcohol of fame

Your pathetic stories sound the same

Alcohol of fame

Watch it all go down the drain

Yeah!

Alcohol of fame

Psycho visions swirling in your brain

Alcohol of fame

Watch you dying in the coldest rain

FINAL VERSE

It’s never too late to turn back the clock

And drag your sorry ass back to the top

Admitting you’re wrong is the first step

Lying to yourself is the bridge to death

You can be clean and start over again

Or you can be the author of your life’s end

Make a decision, don’t think too hard

The road to recovery is no holds barred

Zombie

“Read me the summary on this one,” said Gail Reinhold, a red trench coat donning paladin with a sword slung over her back and a good reason to use it most of the time. In this holy church of Paladine with oak-smelling pews and beautifully-lit stained glass windows, it was just her and Deacon Simms, the latter of which held the clipboard with all of the information Gail needed.

Simms flipped through the pages and read out loud, “The subject’s name is Mattie Dent. She’s a 25-year-old space mercenary with a rap sheet that includes murder, aggravated mayhem, drug trafficking, and manslaughter. She was taken to the basement of our church because she overdosed on combat drugs and has become violent with our fellow priests.”

The dark-skinned, black afro-haired deacon flipped back to the front page and shook his head no before saying, “I have to be honest with you, Gail. This woman seems like a lost cause. The basement is supposed to be a place where drug addicts can get clean. Miss Dent is so far gone that she doesn’t know what she wants anymore, except to beat up more of our priests.”

“Is she safely secured?” asked Gail.

“Indeed she is. She’s strapped to one of the beds right now with everything that’s capable of holding somebody down. We’ve got chains, leather belts, handcuffs, nylon wrappings, the works. She’s going to have to be bound down until all of the drugs are out of her system. Even then, she could still be dangerous given her criminal history.”

Gail placed a comforting hand on Simms’ shoulder and said, “You should know me better than that by now. This is my church and as long as it is, I will not give up on anyone who comes here. This Mattie Dent may be somewhat of a project for me, but I’ve had tough clients come here before with worse problems.”

“Are you sure about that?” asked Deacon Simms.

The paladin hung her head in contemplation for a moment and said, “Trust me on this one, Simms. I don’t give up and I don’t lose. She’ll come around eventually. If she’s a deadly warrior like you say she is, then there might be a possibility of her joining our ranks as a paladin.”

“I hope up and down to God above that you’re right about this one, Gail. If not, we’ve got a lot of problems on our hands.”

The two church officials crossed themselves before Gail proceeded to make her way to the basement. She was walking much slower than usual as if she allowed the gory details of Mattie Dent’s file get in her head. Then again, the other thing currently occupying space in her head was the mantra of not giving up and never losing. Cautious though she may be, Gail was deemed ready for whatever was waiting downstairs.

The entry to the basement was hidden behind a bookcase full of old religious texts. Descending those stony stairs gave most people chills up and down their spines, darkness aside. Climbing into the unknown wasn’t nearly as scary as passing through the thick wooden door. Calling the basement a dungeon wasn’t appropriate given the church’s good intentions, but that didn’t make things any less frightening.

In a dimly lit room full of empty beds, crucifixes, refrigerators, and bookshelves, the one bed that stood out the most was the one containing the zombie-like Mattie Dent, who was covered in every wrapping known to man as Deacon Simms pointed out. The thick-skulled, ratty-haired warrior stared into the ceiling with neon green eyes and a series of low growling hums to herself. She truly did look like she was brought back from the dead.

Gail Reinhold tiptoed over to the drugged out mercenary and spoke to her in a gentle whisper. “Good morning, Miss Dent. I’m Gail and I’ll be your counselor for the day.”

Even a hardened warrior like Gail was jumpy when Mattie let out a monstrous roar accompanied by wolf-like chomps from her powerful jaw. The groans were getting more intense with the holy fighter’s presence before Mattie yelled, “Get these fucking straps off of me, you disgusting street whore! I don’t belong here! I have a paycheck to collect and asses to beat! You can either unhook me from this goddamn bed or I’ll break free myself and snap your ass in half!”

The whirlwind of growling curse words caused Gail’s heart to race and her head to lighten. She had seen a lot of crazy things in her day, but this was the first time she met someone with such an overwhelming amount of aggression. Gail was a fighter by nature, so that was saying something.


And because she was a fighter, she had no choice but to steel her spine and stare Mattie down with deadly eyes herself. “Listen, Miss Dent. I want to help you in whatever way I can. But if you continue to sweat at me and make threats, I’ll have to keep you in your binds indefinitely. You caught me off guard for a little while, but if you think I’m going to run away from someone like you, you’re dead wrong. Now tell me, Mattie, how many combat drugs did you take at once?”

The drug zombie chomped and roared once more as she struggled with her bindings. Her answer in no uncertain terms was, “I took a whole shit-load of drugs! I love drugs! I love sex! And I love rock and roll! Not necessarily in that order!”

“Shut up!” snapped Gail, which seemed to hold Mattie’s silent attention for a while. “The more you fight the system, the harder the system is going to fight back. I don’t care who you are or what kind of life you lead. Physical combat will only take you so far. But if you think you’re going to battle with the world and you’re going to win, then you’ve got some serious waking up to do, little girl. You’re in my care now, sister. I don’t take excuses and I don’t give handouts. If you fail this drug program, I will not hesitate to turn you over to the authorities. Do you understand me?”

“Shove it up your ass, bitch!” growled Mattie as she thrashed and slashed some more. Gail folded her arms and watched this pathetic attempt at freedom unfold before her. The paladin could just stand there and stare daggers all day long while the mercenary roared and thrashed about. And then the miracle of all miracles happened: Mattie relaxed into her bed and started crying her eyes out, her tears goopy and thick.

“It’s okay to cry, Mattie,” said Gail, who still maintained a stoic presence. “You’re not the first one to do it and you won’t be the last. Given everything you’ve been through in your life, I’d be worried about you if you weren’t crying. But know this: your tears are not a Get Out of Jail Free card. While I am not without sympathy, I am without weakness. I don’t give up on my clients now matter how erratic they become. If you want to get out of this mess, then I expect you to show the same courage. Agreed?”

After a few more sobs, Mattie said, “You church people are all the same. You think you can change the world just by preaching lines from a stupid book. Your god may be real to you, but for me, the only thing that’s real is the paycheck I get from stomping heads in the ground.”

“Well,” said Gail. “That’s going to have to change if you want to…”

“You’re damn right I did those drugs!” shouted Mattie as she struggled some more. “I did those drugs because I want to win! I want to kick ass! I want to burn the world to the ground! But more importantly than that…I want to burn this whole goddamn church to the ground with it!”

The psychotic drug zombie gave one more trash and snapped her bindings like the bones of her many victims. She was free and started to sit up, while Gail backed up slowly in horror. The paladin drew her sword and activated a magical lightning current around the blade. She’d been put into situations where she had fight viciously, but never had Gail killed one of her patients before. She was determined not to start at that moment.

Mattie leapt from the bed only to be met with a stream of lightning shooting into her chest. With any luck, her heart rate would slow down and she’d fall asleep. The only effect Gail’s magic had, however, was slowing down the drug zombie’s walking speed. The holy warrior threw a more powerful stream of lightning. And another. And another.

Her bolts became progressively stronger, but it didn’t matter to Mattie, who backhanded Gail’s sword away and lunged for the paladin with huge monster hands. The paladin scrambled on the floor in an attempt to retrieve her sword, but she was kicked in the ass and sent flying over one of the beds.

Mattie was feeling so powerful in her green, muscular, drugged-out body that she beat her chest repeatedly with iron fists before letting out another terrifying growl at Gail. The paladin rolled over on her ass and crab-walked backwards out of fear for being eaten alive by this lunatic. With no sword, it appeared as though Gail was done for.

The mercenary leaped toward her prey like a tiger and was ready to devour her. Mattie then had a thick blanket thrown in her face and she was struggling to get it off her head. Gail’s newfound courage allowed her to stand up again and go around the beds throwing blankets and comforters over Mattie’s head. The angry mercenary was so enraged that her intensity built up as she tried to unwrap the blinding laundry from her screaming head.

Mattie then grabbed the sheets all at once and ripped them in half like a pro-wrestler with his shirt, growls and rage included. She looked around and saw that Gail was running toward her fallen blade once again. In this heated race for the steel weapon, Mattie had her monstrous hands held high and was ready to wrap them around her counselor’s throat. Just one squeeze and Gail would burst like a pimple.

But there was no squeeze, only a hard impalement through Mattie’s stomach from a lightning enchanted sword. Gail held onto the hilt of the blade and pumped more electricity through Mattie’s body, causing huge explosions of yellow puss and blue blood everywhere. The basement was beginning to look more dungeon-like with every burst. And then the drug zombie melted into a puddle of multi-colored bile and flooded the floors with her biological slop. She died in the most disgusting way possible.

Gail never had to kill one of her own patients before and knowing she did just that caused her eyes to bulge, her skin to sweat, her breathing to hasten, and her legs to weaken. She took a seat on one of the beds as tears poured from her eyes. She may have defeated her toughest opponent to date, but this was no victory for her.

The sounds of light footsteps came down the stairs and Deacon Simms sheepishly poked his head through the doorway. “Is everything alright down here?”

Through a sobbing voice, Gail answered, “No!”

“Why not?”

“I…I failed her, Simms. I thought I could change her. I’ve never given up hope on anyone before. She gave me no choice and I had to kill her. I can’t be a member of this church anymore, it’s impossible.”

Simms tiptoed his way around the flood of bodily fluids and digested combat drugs in order to sit next to Gail. He allowed her to rest her head in his lap while he stroked her long raven hair. “Some people don’t want to change, Gail. The only way you can ever help someone is if they want to help themselves. Mattie Dent clearly never wanted help. She wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.”

“But…I’ve never lost before, Simms. I’ve always stayed with the people who came here.”

Deacon Simms patted Gail Reinhold on the head and said, “Anybody can lose just one time, Gail. Nobody goes through life undefeated. Sometimes, you can’t reform people who don’t want to be reformed. Sometimes…you just have to kill them. God gave you that sword for a reason, Gail: because one of these days, you’re going to have to use it again. And again. And again.”

"A Million Little Pieces" by James Frey

If you were to take a good look at James Frey’s body, you’d assume that he exercises a lot. According to his loudest critics, the only exercises he does are stretching the truth and jumping to conclusions. Imagine that: a former drug addict exaggerates details of his memoir. Who would’ve thunk it? Truth is, I could care less if “A Million Little Pieces” is a true story or not, because it’s still a beautifully depressing book with a quick writing style.

If you really want to use the “fake” argument against me, then I’m going to tell you the same thing I tell people who say that professional wrestling is fake. I’m going to say, “Hey, Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings are fake and I don’t hear you bitching about them. I don’t hear you complaining about The Flintstones not being a documentary.”

Whether this particular book is fact or fiction is irrelevant, because if you enjoy reading heartbreaking memoirs that are also triumphant, you’ll love “A Million Little Pieces”. It doesn’t even read like a typical memoir with linear progression. It actually reads like a novel with a beginning, middle, and end. It also has likable and three-dimensional characters. The writing style is present tense and takes a lot of liberties with the exclusion of quotation marks and other forms of punctuation, but that’s what makes it an exciting read in the first place.

If I have to keep on driving home the point that this is a dark and depressing memoir, then consider this paragraph to be the final nail in that coffin. James Frey starts the story with him waking up on an airplane with a broken nose and missing teeth, both of which were aggravated from his lifelong addictions to alcohol and drugs. He’s being taken to a clinic in Minnesota to be treated for these addictions, because if he uses again, he will die, no ifs ands or buts.

Life in a drug rehab center isn’t a whole lot of fun in case you couldn’t tell. There are people in constant pain from detoxing, there are people vomiting, there are people acting hostile and crazy, none of these things unlike what James Frey used to be before the story’s end. How does one combat all of these things for six weeks and come out smelling like roses? Mr. Frey doesn’t want to do it through God or a higher power of any kind. If you want to see how he triumphs through all the darkness and depression, you’ll have to read this book.

If you’re still complaining about how James Frey is a “phony” and a “fraud”, then you just go ahead and do all the drugs you want until you become an addict. We’ll see if your story is any different from Mr. Frey’s.

　

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DEEKS: Let’s go for a beer.

GRANGER: To drink or to post on Face Book?

-NCIS: Los Angeles-