Stand Your Ground, Warrior...and Prepare for the CATACLYSM OF AGONY! (LOL)

 

I Don't "Shoot My Shot" Because I Don't Want to Give Women the Ick

 

Heather Ryan (Jeopardy) X Rey Skywalker (Star Wars): Glasses Are Pretty Fucking Cool, Actually

 

Luke Skywalker vs. Ashley St. Clair: Cringe Culture Must Die

 

Dana Scully from The X-Files vs. Anita Bryant: The Truth Is Out There...and It's Not Being Told By Transphobes

 

Fox Mulder from The X-Files vs. Frodo Baggins from The Lord of the Rings: Amazing Grace, How Sweet the Sound

 

Upcoming Character Drawings

Well…you guys saw my political cartoons and hopefully you’ve enjoyed them so far. Now I’m going to start uploading drawings of my characters, particularly ones who will appear in my two novelette collections Lysergic Fairytales and Tacky Tuesday. When I’ll finish the damn stories, I’ll never know, because schizophrenia’s been fucking with my energy and my general wellbeing. I’m drawing characters as a way of keeping hope alive. I will finish my writing someday, even if I have to take forever to mentally heal. Until then…meet the cast and crew!

Mary Shelley: Matriarch of Science Fiction (Happy International Women's Day!)

 

I know I accidentally made her look like J.K. Rowling, but trust me, that's Mary Shelley. History owes her a debt of gratitude. Everyone else owes J.K. Rowling a middle finger.

Willow Heath vs. Nick Adams

 

Mick Thomson from Slipknot vs. Anti-Prophet

 

Jessie Gender

 

Necro Power Plant

Ever wonder how those malls play holiday music?

Keep your internet connection and never lose it?

Keep the lights on in your depressing man cave?

Keep the water warm so you can shower and shave?

 

You can give your thanks to the utility wizards

Necromancy keeps you warm during blizzards

Now that your eyes popped out of your sockets

We run on dead bodies, it’s how we line our pockets

 

Feed the giant slab of rotten gray beef jerky

Through the dynamo of swamp water so murky

Boil them corpses like a pot of spaghetti

Let the green steam get the juicy juices ready

 

What’s the matter, kid? You think this is wrong?

Grab the hippie-dippie guitar, write a protest song

It’s not like we killed the dead bodies ourselves

Who cares when their souls are stuck in hell?

 

Exploiting dead people is a great business model

When politicians do it, the press is sucking milk bottles

When Vince McMahon does it, it’s a sure ratings draw

Whether the corpse has hands or puppy-duppy paws

 

It’s all in bad taste, but it ain’t nuclear waste

We’ve got no souls, but at least it ain’t coal

Call us super villains, we don’t give a goddamn

They’re your lights, bro, you’ve got the wrong man

 

What do you mean we’ve failed the safety inspections?

What do you mean the civil court is now in session?

What do you mean we’ve got to pay a billion dollars?

What do you mean we’ve got debt collecting callers?

What do you mean we’re going right out of business?

What do you mean the plaintiffs got their own star witness?

What do you mean we got to put on these orange onesies?

What do you mean our cellmates are extra snuggly?

En Taro Adun, Space Cadet

“Yoooooooou’re listening to 113.5 WACK FM radio, the conspiracy station. I’m your host Nikki Roman and this is Stargazer Hour episode 750. Before we get into today’s episode, I want to say a quick thank you to this station’s sponsors. 

This episode is brought to you by Raid: Shadow Legends, the only fantasy online RPG where having a giant sword is considered a personality trait and being an ugly goblin is considered a character flaw. 

And also by Noom, the weight loss app for your phone that uses psychology to help you reach your goals. Whether you want that smoking hot beach body or you want to trigger your anorexia, Noom has you covered like a mortician’s body bag. 

And finally by Stuck in the Mud, the newest flavor of chocolate ice cream for anybody who wants to look like a Human Centipede character while eating it. It goes perfectly with that Noom app I mentioned earlier, especially if it’s bulimia you want to trigger instead of anorexia.

Now that our housekeeping is out of the way, I’d like to introduce today’s guest. He’s been itching to come onto the show for a long time, almost as much as he likes to itch his lesion-covered testicles. Please welcome alien skeptic, Bernardino Coffin. Yes, that is what it says on his driver’s license. No, it is not his incel name, but you’d be forgiven if you thought otherwise. Welcome to the show, Mr. Coffin.”

Throughout the sponsorship housekeeping, Nikki kept an eye on the polo shirt-wearing, neck-bearded man sitting across from her booth as his eyes widened in amazement at the studio doodads. In addition to sound equipment and microphones up to yin-yang, elongated purple fingers hung on the walls as well as a transmorgrant for an alien fetus and a lava lamp that looked like a xenomorph jacked off into it.

Bernardino smiled, spread his fingers in a Live Long gesture, and said, “En Taro Adun, Space Cadet. I come in peace.”

“You play one game of Starcraft and you think you can kick my ass in an alien debate? I hope that’s not the only ammunition you brought with you tonight.” Nikki adjusted her purple skull cap as well as her thick-rimmed glasses, not giving away any sign of intimidation.

Bernardino shook his head. “You honestly believe there are aliens out there? Yes, I AM arrogant enough to believe we’re the only ones in this universe. I haven’t seen jack shit ever since you started this stupid radio show. You got a telescope around here? How about a rocket ship? Seriously, where are all these aliens you keep talking about?”

“Clearly, you neglected to do your research before coming here tonight. And no, playing computer games from the 90’s doesn’t count as research and neither does watching Star Wars. George Lucas isn’t in the business of making documentaries, honey.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Nikki reached down into the fridge underneath her booth and pulled out a canister of green slime, unscrewing the top before taking a heavenly sniff of its contents. She fanned herself off for extra effect. “You know what this is?”

“Gonorrhea?”

Nikki chuckled. “No. This is xenomorph blood, my friend. Found this cutie in an abandoned government lab. You’d think they’d want to take stuff like this with them, but apparently it’s not much of a priority and that’s why I have this show. It’s got all sorts of nutrients and DNA and shit. Tastes good too. Want a drink?”

Bernardino’s face contorted in disgust. “No!”

“Fine. More for me.” Nikki downed the canister in record time, making uncomfortable glugging noises with her giant throat. “Mmm! This is some tasty shit! If you like sugary shit, give this a try sometime. Me? I don’t normally drink stuff like this because my boyfriend is a diabetic, which pretty much means I don’t get any sugar either. I do love this stuff, though. It’s like what would happen if the Protoss fucked a can of Mountain Dew.”

“P…Protoss?” Bernardino’s breathing grew heavier as he became visibly nervous. “You just said playing Starcraft didn’t count as research. Now it does?”

“Yeah, playing Starcraft doesn’t count as research. But interviewing the characters does.”

“…HUH?!” Bernardino’s eyes bulged in confusion.

“It’s amazing what you can learn about a culture if you actually sit down and talk with someone. They’ve been at war for seemingly their entire existence with the Zerg. The two races were pretty much made to do battle with each other. You don’t carry warp blades with you unless you’re prepared to slice a zergling in half with one of those. Conversely, you don’t spit acid in someone’s face unless you were trying to kill his ass.”

“…You’re goofy.”

“Really? Does that make you Donald Duck or Mickey Mouse? I really want to know, because I hear Space Mountain is lovely this time of year. If the sunlight hits the Martian mountain at just the right angle, you’ve got these lovely colors blasting everywhere like an Aurora Borealis.”

“…You’re not making a lick of sense…”

Nikki shrugged. “Are you sure you don’t want to see more alien devices? I’ve got one that goes up your…”

“Dude!” The room went uncomfortably silent. “Nobody knows what the fuck you’re talking about. You’re just rambling about stupid random nonsense that nobody cares about. You accuse me of not researching your wacky ideas? Well, guess what, Nikki? You didn’t research my name. You have no idea who I am, do you?”

Nikki remained calm and cool throughout the insanity accusations. “If I Google your name right now, am I going to find your Reddit Manosphere posts? I’m sure those Jordan Peterson quotes are going to make you sound even saner than me right now.” She huffed. “Lobsters. Give me a break. Although, if you really want to find aliens with grabber claws, you should look into studying life on Jupiter. They’ve got some whoppers over there. Yeah, I know the planet is mostly gas that no one in their right mind would want to breathe in, but…”

“Right mind?!” Bernardino clasped his hands over his own skull. “Do you hear yourself? If you would have Googled my name, you would have seen that I work in a psychiatric ward. I published a book about alien conspiracy theorists years ago.”

“Is that where you met your Reddit fans?”

Bernardino whipped out his smart phone and punched a few buttons before showing Nikki something that made her own eyes bulge out of her head in disbelief. “You see that chart? See that? That line nose-diving onto the X-axis is your listener base. You are hemorrhaging audience members! They played along with your bullshit because they like sci-fi and all that, but now you’re just unhinged. How often to people actually call into your show, Nikki?”

She was speechless as the life in her eyes slowly faded.

“How many people, Nikki?!”

Still no answer.

“That’s what I thought. I’m inclined to have you committed right now. We’ve got all sorts of ‘alien devices’ at the psych ward. You’re perfect for us!” A confident smile crept across Bernardino’s face. “Although…there is one way you can still make a living.”

“…Uh-oh…” Nikki’s tummy rumbled underneath her blue and white tie-dye hoodie.

“If this radio show doesn’t work out for you, and it won’t…then you can always sell feet pics for Bit Coin.” Bernardino’s shit-eating grin was in full-effect.

Then again, so was Nikki’s. “You know what? You’re right! With that kind of money, I can get all the insulin I want for my BF. It all makes sense now. Got your camera phone ready?”

“…I was just joking, but…”

“No, no, no, get that camera ready. I’ve got some tootsies for you!”

Bernardino nervously huffed, but nonetheless maintained his smile, got his phone’s camera ready, and said, “Okay! Whenever you’re ready!”

Just like that, Nikki slipped off her flip-flops and planted her tootsies on the booth. But instead of a supermodel moment, Bernardino’s eyes widened with fear. He shook so hard that he dropped his phone and struggled to pick it up again. They weren’t ordinary feet. They were dinosaur-like with purple scales, large soles, and bloody talons that looked like they could slice through steel like a birthday cake.

“Go on! Snap a few pictures. Make me famous!” No response, just more shaking on Bernardino Coffin’s part. “Okay, so maybe you’re not a foot guy after all. Maybe you’d like some tail instead.” Nikki pulled her black jeans down and revealed purple scaly legs with a dripping red scorpion tail attached to the top of her ass. Bernardino dropped to his own ass and slowly inched away.

Nikki pulled off her hoodie and revealed more scaly flesh as well as gigantic bat wings, also with talons and blades, thousands of them, in fact. She then ripped off her human face and revealed a hideous dragon visage underneath, with spiky teeth, a slurpy snake tongue, and glowing gold eyes. By this point in the transformation, Bernardino was pissing himself.

“You still think this is a joke, Dr. Coffin?” Nikki asked in a distorted multi-layered voice. “You still think I’m just a conspiracy theorist with lapsed fans?! Go ahead! Take as many pictures as you’d like!”

Despite the fact that his arm was vibrating like a seizure victim, Bernardino managed to snap a few nice ones on his phone. He even got out a few jittery words. “Y..yeah…yeah...that’s how you get people to believe you…don’t tell them aliens exist…show them?” Dr. Coffin shielded his face with his hairy arms.

Nikki giggled in that sinister voice of hers. “Show, don’t tell. The most basic rule of storytelling and I completely neglected it. Having a radio show instead of a podcast didn’t help matters. Nonetheless…my secret is out. There is life in other worlds. There is a whole family of creatures like me waiting in the outer reaches. My people will be invaded just like any other colonial conquest you humans are known for. But at least you got your proof and I got my ratings back…Isn’t that lovely…”

She swatted away her recording equipment and marched towards Bernardino’s convulsing body while he pleaded, “No!” over and over again. She opened the tip of her scorpion tail as well as the tips of her wing blades and spiked mouth. With all of her frightening limbs, she chomped down on Bernardino’s body and began sucking his life force dry. Every liter of blood. Every chunk of flesh. Every salty morsel of bone marrow. Every muscle fiber on a body not known for Greek god definition. But most importantly, every scream that came out of Bernardino Coffin’s mouth was every bit as delicious and heavenly as the body itself. In fact, his screams tasted like chicken, which went well with xenomorph blood, the Noom app, and Stuck in the Mud ice cream.

Once Bernardino Coffin was wiped completely clean from human existence, Nikki rubbed her tummy and said, “You know what? I could get used to eating this many humans. If they’re coming at me with gauss rifles and shit…I’m coming at them with salt and pepper! And maybe some ketchup. I like ketchup.”

"Super Human" by Michael Carroll

BOOK TITLE: Super Human

AUTHOR: Michael Carroll

YEAR: 2010

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Superhero Sci-Fi

GRADE: C

It feels weird reading a book about a worldwide virus in the year 2022. The difference between this book and the real world is that not only are people actually receptive to the idea of vaccines, but there’s a ragtag group of teenaged superheroes (and Lance) who genuinely want to see the world recover from this. But they can’t achieve those goals without dishing out some violence on the bad guys responsible for this sickness. Their enhanced strength, sonic abilities, and telekinesis can only be used as a means to an end rather than be the one-size-fits all solution. That’s a part of superhero fiction not a lot of authors get, but Michael Carroll pulled it off rather effectively. It also helps that Lance (the normie) is a slick thief who can smooth-talk his way out of any situation. Using brains to solve problems will be more relatable to the audience than using superhuman violence.

But unfortunately, we don’t always get the best use of the characters’ brains. Lance does all the intellectual heavy lifting with his gift for gab. The rest of the characters, both good and evil, don’t always make the smartest decisions and I’m surprised it hadn’t come back to bite them in the worst ways. Freeing supervillain prisoners to combat even more powerful supervillains? Dumb. Driving a military jeep like a speed demon and being surprised when it hits one of the allies? Also dumb. Sparing a powerful villain’s life because, “We don’t kill?” Yeah, we’re past the point of being civil now that there’s a deadly virus causing the adults to vomit inside out. The villains are no better when it comes to cartoonishly-stupid decision-making. Resurrecting an ancient king who might kill them off and is not immune to the virus himself? Beyond stupid. Toying with the heroes instead of finishing them off instantly? Reckless. Revealing the entire plan to the heroes and even going so far as to keep records of their allies’ social security numbers and base coordinates? Colossal fail. Am I reading a superhero book or watching a Three Stooges routine?

The writing itself is, ironically, nothing to write home about. The dialogue between the heroes sounds so similar that I couldn’t tell the characters apart without tags. The characters in general are introduced to the audience via telling instead of showing. Some of the dialogue sounds awkward and clumsy, especially when the characters try to make analogies sound cool, though they wouldn’t sound much better as prose, either. The one character in the story who’s immune to such clunky writing? Krodin, the ancient king the villains are trying to resurrect. He comes off like a total stud, whether he’s conquering entire countries by himself, enslaving everyone he meets, or talking down to his enemies like a godlike king should. He could come off like a Gary-Stu villain, but he’s written so convincingly that I don’t mind him being overpowered. The action scenes in general are well-done since they move quickly and hit hard.

But none of the praise I’ve given this book is enough to elevate the grade above a C, or three out of five stars. I was able to finish it. I even enjoyed it in a lot of places. But this book is cheesier than a dairy farm, which is an analogy Michael Carroll can use for free, but it wouldn’t be a good idea since that’s one of the things I criticized this novel for. Everything just felt so…average. Even the superpowers seemed mediocre and hastily thrown together. This wasn’t a good book, it wasn’t a bad book, it was just sort of…there.

"The Hunger Games: Mockingjay" by Suzanne Collins

BOOK TITLE: The Hunger Games: Mockingjay

AUTHOR: Suzanne Collins

YEAR: 2010

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Dystopian

GRADE: A

I said this with the second book in the Hunger Games trilogy and I’ll continue to say it with this final installment: reading dystopian fiction feels weird in 2021, when COVID-19 has the world in a stranglehold and right-wing politics are at an all time high. And wouldn’t you know it, the Hunger Games world looks every bit as nightmarish as the real one. Oh sure, President Snow and the Capitol have a rebel army to contend with, Katniss Everdeen being the ultimate symbol of resistance known as The Mockingjay. But what good is a rebellion if the people in charge of said rebellion are just as disgusting and violent as their oppressors? Both sides have strict rules. Both sides are not above sacrificing their own to achieve their goals. It’s just a perpetual cycle of abuse that’s passed on from generation to generation, regardless of who’s aligned with who. That paints a very realistic picture of what war is like: there are no winners, only dead bodies. Somehow Katniss must find a way to stay true to her own beliefs and individuality through all of this. Not an easy task, but one worthy of an entire book series. Katniss truly is a symbol of resistance, but on her own terms.

Circling back to the idea of nothing changing, it reminds me of something George Carlin once said while performing standup comedy: “If you have selfish, ignorant citizens, you’re going to have selfish, ignorant leaders. Term limits will do you no good, because you’re just going to get another crop of selfish, ignorant leaders every time.” This seems to be true no matter who we elect as our leaders: they’re either too soft on right-wing extremism or they are themselves right-wing extremists. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. The Hunger Games holds a mirror up to our worst parts of society and it makes its readers uncomfortable. But sometimes a little discomfort goes a long way. The truth can sometimes be an ugly thing, but that doesn’t mean we don’t eventually have to come to terms with it. Katniss and people like her can only do so much. Yes, she’s the hero of her own story, but she can’t do everything. She, like the rest of us, has to rely on her allies to do the right thing and they don’t always do that. Can Katniss achieve true rebellion? Only time will tell.

But no matter what shape the ending of this book takes, you can always count on the fact that Katniss Everdeen is a strong female character. I don’t mean strong in the sense of having muscles and a surfboard-sized sword in each hand. She’s well-written. She has flaws, ambitions, interests, and most importantly, a sense of individuality that makes her stand out from the rest of the character cast. She makes mistakes and doubts herself like any normal human would, but none of her errors result in being comically stupid. And when she messes something up, she fixes it like the responsible adult she grew up too quickly into being. Individuality is what leads to true resistance, not guns and bombs. Any artist will tell you that, because creativity cannot exist without individuality. Same goes for standing up for what you believe in.

I very much enjoyed what I read in this book, whether it was Katniss’s realness, the action sequences, the ugly truths behind politics, or even the fact that every chapter ends in a cliffhanger of some sorts. I know that last part seems like such an obvious thing to do, but it’s really noticeable in this book and it keeps me coming back for more, which is important for any book to accomplish. Suzanne Collins is an excellent writer who has created a bleak world, one where the media really does control people’s opinions and violence is disturbing no matter who it happens to. Mockingjay gets five stars out of five, no question about it.

Demolition Man

MOVIE TITLE: Demolition Man

DIRECTOR: Marco Brambilla

YEAR: 1993

GENRE: Dystopian Sci-Fi

RATING: R for violence and language

GRADE: B

Imagine a future where everybody is smiling and nothing could go wrong. No foul language, no unhealthy foods, no sex, no music other than TV jingles, no contact sports, no drug use…wow…That’s a lot of no’s for a utopian society. John Spartan, Simon Phoenix, and Edgar Friendly don’t fit into this new future’s plans. So what do they do about it? Edgar Friendly leads an underground rebellion, Simon Phoenix causes violence wherever he goes, and John Spartan does pretty much the same as those two, but under the guise of police work. So much for Dr. Cocteau’s perfect society. Taking the fun completely out of life isn’t utopian at all. It’s dystopian. Already this movie is sounding like the libertarian’s bible, right? But let’s not forget that most left-wingers don’t have a problem with so-called “degenerate” behavior either. We like sex. We like marijuana. We like good food. We like heavy metal music and hip-hop. Everybody has their own interpretation of what Demolition Man means to them. I’ll speak for myself and say that this is generally a fun movie that takes place in a boring society. That’s it. That’s all it needs to be. We don’t need to have bloodbaths across the aisle over this fine piece of cinema. Let’s just sit down and watch it with a bucket of popcorn on our laps. And by the way, that popcorn is going to swim in butter and salt until it’s unrecognizable. Be well indeed.

But of all the major food groups this movie represents, none are more heavily pushed upon the audience than cheese. Good old fashioned cheesy goodness. Enough cheese to open a few Pizza Huts in this world of Taco Bells. I’m of course being metaphorical when I talk about how much cheese this movie has. You can hear it in the dialogue, whether it’s ordinary citizens, police officers, Cocteau’s obese assistant, or the socialites hanging out at Taco Bell. First and last names are used so bloody often. The elite vocabulary sounds awkward and clumsy and it’s enough to make the audience cringe. The TV jingles that are on the radio could drive someone insane if they hear it long enough, let alone in the short screen time they’re given. I get that this cheesy dialogue is supposed to be representative of a new future with a new brainwashed culture. Foul language is banned, so that’s a huge part of it. But after a while, it can grate on the audience’s ears. It’s so noticeable that it keeps the movie from being pitch perfect. But hey, when you’re watching a movie with Sylvester Stallone in the starring role, you can expect a little cheese every few seconds.

Which feels weird to say, because Sylvester Stallone plays John Spartan perfectly. He’s gritty, profane, ultra-violent, and loves to have fun even at the expense of a perfect and pretty future. Instead of using the three seashells once he’s done in the bathroom, he wipes his butt with the tickets he accumulates for swearing so much. He eats a rat burger when it’s the only meat available (and he loves it). He constantly has to correct Lelina Huxley after she butchers a 20th century idiom. You know who else likes to have fun at the expense of the future? Simon Phoenix, who’s played by Wesley Snipes. He can make even the most mundane insult sound intense with his delivery. He comes off like a psychopath loony toon not just in his constant laughter, but also in his movements, be it martial arts or otherwise. Couple these things with a terrorist mindset and you’ve got the most dangerous criminal in the movie. And then there’s Edgar Friendly, played by politically incorrect rapid-fire comedian Denis Leary. When he says he wants to eat salty, fatty, and buttery foods while smoking a cigar in the non-smoking section, you’ll believe he’s like that in real life. Denis Leary could start a revolution right now if he wanted to; that’s how convincing he was as Edgar Friendly. The only other character with halfway decent dialogue was Bob Gunton’s character, Captain Earle, who can be strict and aggressive without breaking the 21st century’s new laws. If he wasn’t a brainwashed pacifist, he could take on Simon Phoenix himself.

Yes, this movie was made in 1993, but it has aged like fine wine. Demolition Man sounds like it predicted the future in a lot of ways, but make no mistake, it was a satire turned up to eleven of things going on at the time. Whether you see it as a “libertarian manifesto” or not, the very least you can do is have fun while watching this movie. It’s action-packed, it’s witty, it’s dramatic, and an all-around good movie if you’re not too bothered by the cheesiness of the futuristic characters. You don’t even have to be drunk or stoned to watch this movie; it can be enjoyed at face value. But if you want to be drunk or stoned in the privacy of your own living room, I’m not going to try and stop you. I don’t want to turn your home into a Dr. Cocteau dystopia. Give this movie any grade you want and have no regrets. Me? I’ll give it a solid B.

Why I Don't Believe in Aliens

I don’t want it to seem like I’m breaking a longstanding oath to the Jedi order, because in order to do that, I’d have to acknowledge the slim possibility of Jedi knights being real. I’d have to watch Star Wars and Star Trek like they’re documentaries. I’d have to play Starcraft like I’m reviving Kriegspiel. These things that I’ve mentioned are labeled as science-fiction, keyword there being fiction. If they were nonfiction, our world would be fucked, even more so than it is now in the year 2020 with Corona Virus and governmental tyranny. Okay, so we MIGHT have a Jabba the Hutt look-alike in the oval office right now, but that’s as close to admitting the realness of aliens that you will get from me. That’s right. I can’t believe I have to say this, but I’m going to anyways. My name is Garrison…and I don’t believe in aliens. Never have, never will.

Aliens do make for some interesting creative fuel, I’ll admit. I played the hell out of Starcraft from 2000 to 2001. I slashed the shit out of everyone with the Protoss zealots’ photon blades. I ate space marines alive with the Zerg’s blade-fanged Ultralisk creature. Every piece of fiction I’ve ever written during that time period was basically Starcraft thievery, which I would get defensive about because I didn’t want to get stuck in a frivolous copyright lawsuit. But let’s be real: Zerglings, Ultralisks, Hydralisks, Protoss dragoons, Protoss carriers, Protoss templars, they can only be enjoyed on a fictional basis. If these biological monstrosities existed in the real world, they would ransack the shit out of earth and we’d be completely defenseless. How’s that Space Force working out for you, Mr. President?

I know I’m going to hear the argument somewhere down the line, “Well, Garrison, are you so arrogant that you believe earthlings are the only ones who exist in the universe?” Until I see otherwise, yes, I am. Where are all these lizard people that I keep hearing about? Where are the goopy Martians with their slime-covered bodies and bug eyes? When is Darth Vader going to destroy the world with his Death Star? I don’t see any of these things. I don’t pick up on them with my other senses either. If I can’t sense them in any way, I’m not going to believe in them just because there’s a small chance they MIGHT exist outside of the Milky Way.

I treat extraterrestrial life with the same amount of skepticism that I do religious deities, which is to say I’m an atheist through and through. If I don’t believe God, Allah, or Shiva exist, why would I suddenly believe that aliens exist? Religion and alien culture have the same amount of proof to convince me, which is to say none at all. This is just my take on it, though. If other people want to practice religion or believe in wacky ideas, I’m not going to try and stop them. Me personally? I refuse to believe in something I have no proof exists. And as long as we’re crossing gods and aliens off the list, where’s all the zeal for other fantasy and sci-fi creatures? What about ogres? What about goblins? Or elves? Or dragons? Or big ass tarantulas? How come the people who put so much stock into aliens don’t believe in those things as well? “Are you so arrogant that you believe elves don’t share this world with us?”

Like I said before: aliens should be treated as fictional characters in enjoyable science-fiction. They should not influence politics on any level. We should not have radio show hosts and podcasters spouting conspiracy theories about aliens poisoning our drinking water or shoving rods up our asses. We shouldn’t have conspiracy theories about anything else as well, whether it’s Obama being from Kenya, the earth being flat, pizza shops being safe havens for pedophiles, or COVID-19 being a hoax designed to derail conservatives. The silliness alone seems harmless and can even be explored in filmmaking or story writing, but the minute people start dying in the real world over them, that’s when I have a problem. Hundreds of thousands of people have died from COVID-19 because the public and its politicians aren’t taking it seriously. What does this have to do with aliens? I don’t know, but I bet their existence could be shoehorned into these theories to gain political leverage. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again.

You know what I really love about alien culture? This idea of anal probing, which was made popular by that season one episode of South Park where Cartman gets a metal rod shoved up his ass. Later in the episode, the rod expands into a satellite dish that communicates with extraterrestrials. Please tell me you don’t think South Park is nonfiction. Just laugh at the comedy. Don’t take it too seriously. Matt Stone and Trey Parker, the creators of the show, don’t take life too seriously and they would encourage their audience to follow suit. Nobody’s going to shove a glowing metal rod up your ass. If they do, you’re probably stuck in a BDSM dungeon. Or the pawn shop from Pulp Fiction, one of the two.

I know I’m ranting and raving over here, but I actually have a message to go along with this aggression. If you’re going to believe in something, don’t use that as an excuse to hurt others. You can believe in Jesus all you want, but don’t beat up LGBT members because of it. You can believe in aliens all you want, but don’t use that as an excuse to influence world politics and radicalize already unstable people. Do whatever you want to do as long as it doesn’t hurt anybody else.

Nobody will mind if you watch Star Trek: the Original Series and be blown away by the philosophical nature of it. Nobody will mind if you enjoyed all nine episodes of Star Wars instead of just episodes four through six. Nobody will mind if you play Starcraft until your ass is sore from sitting for so long (and not because the Protoss shoved a photon rod up your anus). If we could all just agree to get along and not hurt each other, the world would be a better place. Write that sci-fi novel. Write that lizard man movie script. Put together a videogame about venomous blobs of goo from Jupiter and Saturn. Do what Nickelback did in the song “Million Miles an Hour” and travel through the galaxy after taking that “everlasting pill”. Do what you want and don’t be a dick!

If you have anything you want to add to this conversation, speak now before the UFO comes to my house and pulls me onboard with their tractor beam! Ooo, I know! Why do UFO’s have to be circular disks? Why can’t they be any other shape? How about a cylinder? How about a trapezoid? How about a pyramid? Imagine a pyramid-shaped vessel that could spin in circles like a drill and mine our precious resources from the depths of the planet. Now that’s a hell of a novel prompt! Don’t worry, I’m not trying to stir shit up and make you even more paranoid than you already are. But just imagine the possibilities of a spinning pyramid ship helmed by elven warlocks and dragon necromancers. Imagine that they’re harvesting our oil to fuel an even greater weapon to use against the ogre and Protoss alliance, crushing their oppressors once and for all! Now there’re no excuses for a blank page!

Hell Don't Need Me

Millions of years of evolution came unraveling for Harrison. Tufts of brown fur covered his already battered body. A tail protruded from his backside like a sword’s exit wound. His teeth sharpened and bulged from his gums in the same sword-like manner. His wild staring eyes grew bloodshot with rage and agony. His ham-like fists pounded against his cage as the anger within him built like dynamite. There was no more begging and pleading for the mercy of his eco-terrorist cohorts. The damage was done. Harrison was no more. In his place was a primitive savage with a thirst for blood and a nose for seeking out his prey. The more he punched the cage door, the hotter his rage became. And then…the door fell off.

There were other apes like him trapped in adjacent cages, pounding and growling for freedom. Harrison paid them no mind. His mother wanted a savage beast and she was about to get one. No plan of action. No intricate designs for revenge, just the love of revenge itself. Once he was free, with monkeys screaming in the background like his own personal cheerleaders, he pounded on the steel door to the prison room, creating little dents with each passing blow. Another series of punches, another dose of hot blood flowing through him. One dent turned into a crater of violence. And then, just like the door to his cage, this new door flew off like a leaf on a breeze.

Harrison sniffed around and perked his pointy ears up, but detected no signs of life, just an empty spaceship hallway complete with pipes and wires. More doors. More computer screens. More mumbo jumbo that used to mean something during his life as an eco-terrorist. Those days were long behind him, unlike the pipe he ripped off the wall with ease, which was right in front of him. Harrison smacked the steel pipe in his palm and bashed it off the floor several times, creating new dents where there were previously none. He howled and squeaked with a combination of excitement and anger. He loved this new weapon. He would love it even more once it struck somebody’s flesh.

And then…the common monkey scents grew stronger…and stronger. Harrison already knew he was basically occupying a zoo…but this animal prison had new blood…familiar blood…He took deeper whiffs to make sure he was locked onto this primal smell. His target burned into focus. They were all congregating down the hall. The excitement bubbling within Harrison caused even more primal screams and bashes of his lead pipe as he ran like a lunatic towards his destination. Another door to the cockpit? Where has he heard this story before? Harrison bashed his pipe against the door over and over again, creating the loudest thuds a prehistoric savage could possibly make. The deafening pounds didn’t create dents this time, but little explosions. Pieces of metal became lodged in his fur. Some got in his face, but Harrison didn’t bother wiping it away.

A few more bashes later and the door, much like Harrison’s evolutionary decline, was history. There they were, all in the cockpit like one big happy family. Except they too had prehistoric violence coursing through their veins. The monkey virus had gotten to all of them. His three brothers’ scents were powerful enough to knock a buzzard off of a shit wagon. But his mother…the revered leader of a once powerful terrorist unit…the perfume and glamour had given way to a pungent odor that no mother should have. Every guilty party was gathered in one convenient room, all of them swinging around and bashing the environment around them. They didn’t even try to acknowledge Harrison’s presence. Maybe he was too far gone after all. But if that was true…how did he utter the words, “Hell don’t need me!”

Brother number one was the first to feel Harrison’s wrath in the form of a tail chomp so bloody that the limb fell off. The furry attachment flailed around like a crazy cobra while the brother screamed and writhed in agony. The other two brothers flew into battle with their anvil fists ready to disfigure any face they came across. Harrison bashed one of their ribcages in with the steel pipe and got pounced by the other brother. Harrison’s attacker leaned his face in with monster teeth bared, prepping to take a bite of delicious animal meat. Harrison held the pipe to his brother’s throat and pushed as hard as he could, drawing a small amount of blood from his mouth. Then the victim took the role of the bully as he bit his attacker’s finger off and spit it in his eye. Once Harrison was free, he wailed on his brother with the steel pipe over and over again until he was nothing more than a pile of shattered bones and pooling blood.

Harrison surveyed the damage he did in that small moment of white hot anger. His first brother passed out on the floor bleeding profusely from his tail, gangrene not too far behind. The brother with the shattered ribcage took his last breaths in the form of punctured wheezes. The less said about the third brother, the better. Harrison raised his lead pipe to the sky and roared like the savage he was meant to become. He even bashed the steel floor a few more times just to make sure he got all of his primal instincts out of his system. They were, but not in the way he had anticipated. Another cry sounded off in the room, but this one was tear-laden and shaky.

The mother monkey sat in the pilot’s seat of the ship with pleading and sorrow in her eyes. She got on her hands and knees begging for forgiveness, begging for a second chance despite the fact it would never be possible after these transformations. Wetness dropped from her bloodshot eyes and mucous splashed the floor beneath her. She even extended her arms for a peaceful hug, mother to son, just like the way it should have been.

Harrison’s former human side clouded his mind during this sympathetic display. He was feeling things again. His heart ached. His eyes dewed up when he took a second look at his fallen brothers. He snorted mucous upon locking eyes with his mother. “M…M…Mom?” This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Families weren’t supposed to treat each other this way. Everyone was in the wrong. Everyone had something to be guilty over. This was what it meant to be human, even if that particular DNA was a small percentage. Harrison dropped the pipe and embraced his mother, the two of them shedding tears on each other’s furry shoulders. They could start over and track down the bastard who did this to them.

But then the mother took a big bite out of Harrison’s right ear, gnawing it completely off and causing a rainstorm of blood to soak his fur. The mother bit him again, this time on the cheek. And again in the other ear. And again on the nose. Harrison tried to howl in pain, but blood was pouring onto his tongue and censoring his animalistic speech. His heart was broken. His stomach ached with betrayal. Screwed over twice by his own mother. This would be his legacy going forward. He started out as an incompetent eco-terrorist and he would die as a dumb ass monkey. With most of his face bloody and eaten, now wouldn’t be the good time for a head butt. Then again, logic wasn’t the animal kingdom’s strong suit, not even in the human world.

Harrison head butted his mother in the face and cracked her skull, causing her to spit out her sharpest front fangs. The two of them punched and wrestled each other, causing even more blood to stain the already dirty battlefield. Bones cracked. Organs sloshed around. Vomit projected from the mother’s mouth after a vicious kick to the stomach. Despite having cracked teeth himself, Harrison took one last bite out of his mother’s tail, ripping it off and bleeding her dry. The rage-filled demeanor in the mother monkey’s eyes rolled backwards to reveal dizziness and defeat. She stumbled around aimlessly while Harrison dragged his battered body over to the steel pipe before picking it up.

Once the mother plopped backwards on the ground, Harrison dragged his knuckles and his weapon across the ground, creating annoying screeching sounds in doing so, before raising the pipe in the air to deliver the final blow. “Hell…don’t…need…ME!” When Harrison brought the pipe down across his mother’s sternum and exploded her heart, he fell with her, though that was more owed to the sudden shaking of the spaceship they were in. Harrison’s dizzy eyes shifted in and out of focus as the turbulence jostled him around. The mild turbulence became a full on crash, launching Harrison through the windshield and onto the pavement.

This was it. With glass fragments stuck in his fur and blood pouring all over his body, Harrison could finally rest knowing his family was burning in hell. But then a familiar scent awakened him. His eyes slowly opened and his vision was obscured by tears and blood. It was a painstaking process pulling himself to his feet. But drag his body he did, leaving a smattering of life juices across the pavement.

Somebody else’s broken body laid on the sidewalk. All life was completely gone from this new corpse’s eyes, his fingers stuck in a gun position, his blue suit and tie a mess, and his puffy hair ripped and torn. Upon whiffing even deeper, Harrison recognized the familiar scent as the bounty hunter who unleashed his mother’s own monkey virus on the family. Spike Spiegel his name was, right?

Harrison, still holding onto his pipe, gritted his shattered teeth and crawled slowly towards Spike’s prone body. He raised the pipe in the air as if to write the final chapter of this story, despite that chapter already passing. One bash and Harrison’s revenge would be complete. And then…the human side took over once more. Harrison tossed the lead pipe aside and instead cradled Spike’s head in his lap, once again repeating the symbolic words, “Hell…don’t…need…me…” The monkey’s head swam as his vision blacked out. That would be his final act as a living creature: forgiveness for his former enemy. Why? Because it just felt right. It felt…human, at best. Evolution had taken root once again, more so in those last few seconds of life than a million years ever could.

“Hell…don’t…need…me…”

"The PROX Transmissions" by Dustin Bates

BOOK TITLE: The PROX Transmissions
AUTHORS: Dustin Bates
YEAR: 2017
GENRE: Graphic Novel
SUBGENRE: Science Fiction
GRADE: Pass

A greedy one-percent corporation who wants total control of humanity-saving technology? Check. That same corporation wanting to keep the masses ignorant and amnesic? Check. A secret society that wants to make the technology public so that we don’t live through an apocalypse? Check. And what about a couple of pawns who happen to be highly-esteemed engineers? Double check. When you strip away the sci-fi elements, this graphic novel begins to read like a prophecy. Unlike Mike Judge, Dustin Bates wasn’t off by 490 years. This is classic capitalist dystopia at its most dangerous. When profits come before people, the people won’t remain and they’re the most important resource we have. The loudest voices of our generation are being silenced, provided those voices don’t belong to the willfully ignorant or the economically powerful. If this graphic novel about decoding a space transmission doesn’t serve as a warning to humanity, I don’t know what will.

I know this book doesn’t seem like much of a message given it’s only eighty-eight pages and the first half of it is riddled with cheesiness. Sometimes the dialogue seems like an exposition dump or wholly unrealistic. The romantic relationship between Stephen and Dana happened way too quickly, which might have been by design considering what we learn about Dana. Some of the main characters are removed from the plot too easily and when they come back it almost seems like Deus Ex Machina. While I appreciate the scientific terminology being broken down into laymen’s terms, that too feels a lot like an exposition dump. The sob story that Stephen tells Dana about his ongoing divorce feels forced and only thrown in there as a ham-fisted attempt to garner sympathy. The fact that it was so endearing to Dana is a little bit sick. After this first half was over, I wrestled with myself about what grade I should give this book.

And then the second half came along and everything became as clear as day. The action got hot and heavy in a hurry when the assassination attempts on the main characters were taken more seriously. The cryptic text messages weren’t just a cliché plot device after all and actually led to the greater good. The technology that the evil corporation wants to get their hands on would quite frankly go a long way in rebuilding our economy in the real world. The anti-capitalist themes were more apparent and more urgent-sounding. There were twists and turns that made me forget about the Deus Ex Machina reinsertion of lost characters. The ending brings about a full circle effect that leaves the story open-ended, much like the uncertainty of life itself. I guess what I’m trying to say with this paragraph is that if you’re waiting for things to stop being cheesy and start being real, then your patience will be rewarded with a brilliantly-written story. The eighty-eight pages will feel jam-packed with everything you’re looking for in a dystopian journey.

The author of this graphic novel, Dustin Bates, also happens to be the lead singer and songwriter for the electronic rock band Starset. He doesn’t just write a neat little story; he lives the gimmick. He believes everything he says and we should listen to him. Does the sci-fi aspect seem silly to ordinary people? Absolutely. But does the genre make the message any less important? No way. Whether you think he believes his own gimmick too much or not, Dustin Bates is doing what every classic sci-fi storyteller has done before him: predict the future and call his readers to arms. For that, this graphic novel deserves four out of five stars.

"Kind of Like Life" by Christina McMullen

BOOK TITLE: Kind of Like Life

AUTHOR: Christina McMullen

YEAR: 2014

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Psychological Fantasy

GRADE: Extra Credit

When you put The Matrix and fantasy elements in a milkshake blender and mix them together, you get a delicious treat from Christina McMullen called “Kind of Like Life”. You start the book thinking it’s going to be a utopian love story. Everything that can go right for Renee Ward does go right. And then the world around her is revealed to be a lie. The reality of it all is horrifying as hell. Can she wake up from her nightmare long enough to make things right in the real world? That’s a question you’ll be asking yourself throughout your entire reading adventure. You don’t know what the solution to these problems will be, so nothing is predictable. Hell, you’re not even sure if a happy ending was meant to exist. I love surprises and I love plot twists. Christina McMullen delivers on both of those fronts, which is part of the reason her book is getting five out of five stars.

Another reason why she gets that grade is because the entire book is a celebration of creativity and imagination, a break from the ordinary. Genres can bend at the drop of a hat. One minute you’re in a lush faerie forest full of magic, phoenixes and wonder. Another minute you’re in a Wild West desert being chased by a sheriff and his posse. And then you’re flying through space unleashing pew-pew lasers upon other spaceships that want to gun you down and watch you burn. You know how people say that imagination has no limits? Neither does this book. Crossing genres is creative in and of itself, but telling a cohesive story with compelling characters to keep it from being shallow? That takes a lot of skill and Christina McMullen has that in spades.

Speaking of compelling characters, how can you not like the chemistry between Renee Ward and the man who rescues her from the cracking utopia, Blake Carter. They start off being suspicious of each other and sometimes annoyed at their presences. But the more they learn about each other, the closer they become. Blake’s past of being abused by his parents isn’t just an empty attempt to make him appear sympathetic. It’s a trust builder and it ties into the story in a way that sensitively deals with such a traumatic topic. The descriptions of the abuse he went through and how his parents got away with it Scot free are heartbreaking to read about. I came within a hair of shedding some tears for this scene. Renee Ward doesn’t necessarily have to heal Blake through her relationship with him, but she does understand his pain and she does handle his trauma in a delicate way. Does he want to talk about it? Does he want to avoid the subject? Renee is there for him either way. These two characters don’t complete each other; they complement each other. That’s the stuff healthy relationships are built on. We need more of this in fiction today.

This book has an uncanny ability to play with your brain like silly putty as you try to piece together the puzzle of the plot or wrestle with your emotions through all of the heartache. I like being surprised. I like having my darkest emotions triggered. I also like having my lighthearted emotions triggered as well. There’s something for everyone in this novel. You want a thriller? You’ve got one. You want fantasy? It’s all yours. You want a psychological rollercoaster? Have at it. As I’ve said before, “Kind of Like Life” deserves a five out of five star rating for being everything I wanted it to be and more. I know full well that anybody else who picks up this book will have the same glowing opinion. Christina McMullen is awesome like that. It makes me look forward to reading other novels in her catalog as well.