Showing posts with label Shit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shit. Show all posts

Sunday, May 9, 2021

Shitting On Your Grave

 I’m shitting on your grave

Like a fucking racehorse

Destroy your tombstone with

A million G’s of force


I’m pissing on your casket

The one draped with the flag

Open the lid and keep going

Make your gray skin sag


I vomit on your flowers

With my stomach full

Of your children’s flesh

And their rotten souls


I burn your mausoleum

With your family inside

They can put out the flames

With the tears they cried


I crash your funeral

Gun down every griever

Stomp the priest to death

Carve him with a cleaver


I taint your history

Slander in every word

Broadcast on every station

Until it’s all that’s heard


I watch you dance in fire

From the heavens above

To the hells below me

Your screams are what I love


You’re nothing but a footnote

In the world’s epic story

I’m treated like a king

Slaying you brings me glory


Trauma is my weapon

More powerful than a bomb

Reduced the world to ashes

All of my enemies gone


I am the war god

I am your worst nightmare

That is if you wake up

That is if you dare

Monday, June 22, 2020

Toilet Humor

***TOILET HUMOR***

You could be running late to a lot of things: a meeting, your job, a date, a party, or school to name a few examples. But if you’re running late to the bathroom, you can bet your ass someone will make comedy out of it. Toilet humor for me is very hit or miss. On one hand, using words like “nasal jelly” and “penis pudding” will always get a laugh. That’s one thing. But if someone is just pissing, shitting, and farting for the hell of it, that’s not comedy, that’s disgusting. If I ever give a book or movie a low review score, it’s probably because the bathroom humor was hammed up to the extreme. “Throw the Damn Ball” is an animal poetry book that received two stars from me because they couldn’t resist talking about piss and shit in every other stanza. “Doggolescence” at least had the decency to keep it to a minimum.

I’m not completely opposed to bathroom humor provided it’s done correctly, a.k.a. the exact opposite of what WWE is known for, which is one of the many reasons I stopped watching it in 2018. Natalya Neidhart, a technical genius in the ring and a naturally beautiful woman, was given a farting gimmick in 2012 and she never recovered from that humiliation. The Authors of Pain, a tag team consisting of two colossal MMA heavyweights, were reduced to a joke after their manager Drake Maverick pissed his pants on live television (and thus they were nicknamed AOPeePee). In 2019, The Usos rubbed their version of Icy Hot all over the inside of The Revival’s wrestling shorts and effectively killed their momentum in the process.

It’s hard to take anybody seriously as a character when they’ve been humiliated by bathroom humor. Apply this logic to any one of your favorite stories. You think Tobias Kaya from “The Savior’s Champion” would have gotten the girl in the end if he was a perpetual farting machine? You think Charlie from “The Perks of Being a Wallfower” would even be allowed into his new social circle if he shit himself on a regular basis? You think Jonathan Quinn from “The Cleaner” would be an effective secret agent if he constantly wet himself? The answer to all of these questions is an emphatic hell no. Bathroom humor by itself isn’t funny, but it really destroys a story if handled in a heavy-handed way.

So why am I telling you all this? Because if I don’t, you’ll think of me as a hypocrite for wanting to write short stories called “The Scatomancer” and “The Uromancer”. Any story with “mancer” in the title is automatically going to have magical implications. Unfortunately in this case, it’s a shit wizard and a piss wizard I’m itching to write about. There’s no way in hell I can tell serious stories given the material I’m working with. They have to be presented as bathroom comedies right out of the gate. The wizards have to be self-aware as far as their magical powers go. Do you honestly think Diablo II: Lord of Destruction would have been a worldwide success if one of the boss enemies was called The Scatomancer? Do you think Final Fantasy VII would take off as a serious emotional story if the Materia allowed the user to practice Uromancy? Oh! What riveting stories! Cloud Strife suddenly has the ability to make Sephiroth piss his pants! What’s so exciting about that?!

But if you’re honest about what you’re selling and you’re self-aware of your gross-out humor, that’s one thing. Case in point, John Kricfalusi, the creator of Ren & Stimpy, although I hate using him as an example because of his predatory behavior towards minors. But if I may be allowed one small second to separate the art from the artist, Ren & Stimpy was a shining example of bathroom humor done correctly. The lysergic animation, the wacky facial expressions, and the daringness to go beyond the capabilities of a TV-Y7 rating: that’s what bathroom humor should be about. However, it sucks that John K is a pedophile and he should be punished for that. Ren & Stimpy could have been dubbed the greatest cartoon of all time and it still wouldn’t absolve him.

I’m not saying I’m an expert in perfecting toilet humor. I openly hate it whenever it’s done incorrectly. I hate the damage it could do to an otherwise beautiful story. But I’ll at least try to get it right when I eventually write “The Scatomancer” and “The Uromancer”. If anybody has tips for me in this regard, I’d be open to feedback. One person I will not take feedback from is Vince McMahon, the same guy who greenlit a colonoscopy segment in 2005 involving Jim Ross where he pulled various objects out of Mr. Ross’s ass before opening it up further with a jackhammer and the Jaws of Life. You know what else Vince McMahon greenlit? A drug testing segment on Smackdown where Jeff Hardy threw a cup of urine in Sheamus’s face. I don’t miss WWE at all. Yeah, I’m happy that Drew McIntyre is finally the WWE Champion, but it’ll take more than that to get me to return to my television set.

Pissing and shitting isn’t comedy. Farting isn’t a ratings booster. They’re natural bodily functions that have to be done behind a locked bathroom door. Repeat: a locked bathroom door. If you have layers on top of those bodily functions, that could count as comedy. But the acts themselves? Not even close to being funny. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!


***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

SECURITY GUARD: Your pants are awfully baggy. You got anything in there?

BAD SANTA: Yeah, my dick. You want to see it?

-Bad Santa-


***POST-SCRIPT***

See? Was that so hard? That’s an example of toilet humor done right!

Thursday, September 12, 2019

Characters Going to the Bathroom


***CHARACTERS GOING TO THE BATHROOM***

When I was little enough to think that piss and shit were funny, I watched movies and TV shows with one burning question in mind: “Why don’t these characters ever go to the bathroom?” Or a more appropriate question for my age group would have been, “Why don’t these characters ever make pee-pee and doo-doo?” This question would continue to burn like an asshole after eating too many spicy wings, something I have too much experience with. It’s true, though, even after all these years of maturing (somewhat): characters never seem to have to go to the bathroom even after eating questionable food. You know why? Because nobody wants to see it, that’s why!

It’s like George Carlin once said: “I’ve never really understood it nor have I really cared for it.”

“I’m going to the bathroom to take a shit.”

“NEVER MIND! Do what you have to do in the bathroom and leave me out of it! And don’t describe it when you come back!”

“Boy, you should have seen it…”

“NEVER MIND!”

“It set off the smoke alarm.”

“NEVER MIND!”

If a character is going to make pee-pee and doo-doo, there better be a plot-related reason for it. Sure, constantly visiting the john would make for realistic storytelling, but not necessarily good storytelling. For instance, let’s say in my rewritten novel Beautiful Monster, Shelly had Windham shackled to her bed and suddenly had the urge to take a wee-wee tinkle. Let’s say she drank too many of her signature milkshakes, without the sedative drugs, of course. How exactly would her urinary needs be met in a way that moves the plot along quicker than her digestive system moves things along? Let’s say she relieves herself over Windham’s face like a Russian prostitute. Does this help the story? No, it doesn’t. Does it turn the reader off and not take Shelly seriously as a femme fatale? Absolutely!

I can only think of a handful of times where bathroom trips helped advance the story along without being disgusting as fuck (most of the time). Quentin Tarantino used bathroom trips as a plot device for Pulp Fiction at least three different times. Vincent had to go to the bathroom when he took Mia Wallace home, leaving her all alone to OD. Had he not gone to the bathroom, the overdosing could have been prevented and therefore, there’d be no infamous scene where Vincent stabs Mia in the chest with an adrenaline boost. Vincent also happens to be on the toilet when Butch goes back to his apartment to get his father’s watch. Had Vincent not been in the bathroom, he would have killed Butch and there’d be no infamous dungeon scene later on. And finally, Vincent goes to the bathroom during the restaurant robbery scene. Had he stayed at his table, he would have thwarted the robbery and Jules wouldn’t have his come to Jesus moment of clarity.

Another example of bathroom plot devices being used to full effect comes from Tales From the Hood. No, I’m not referring to any scene where Crazy K shits himself on the spinning table, because that never happened. I’m talking about the first story, which deals with racist cops. One of the cops urinates on a civil rights activist’s grave. Had he not done that, the zombie wouldn’t have risen from the grave to rip the cop in half and therefore, there’d be no comeuppance for the rest of the cops.

In short, the whole reason why you never see characters going to the bathroom at inconvenient times is because nobody wants to see it. Nobody wants to see Gimley from Lord of the Rings taking a massive dump nor do they want to smell it. Nobody wants to see WWE wrestlers have accidents in the ring, which has happened before, regrettably. Stone Cold Steve Austin once shit his trunks while getting body slammed by Yokozuna in a match in South Africa. Good thing his trunks were black.

Are you sick and tired of all of this middle school toilet humor? If so, you’ve just confirmed your own reason why you don’t want to see toilet breaks in movies and TV shows unless they serve a bigger purpose. Rarely does it serve that bigger purpose, though. If bathroom breaks were as random and haphazard as they were in real life, it would border on Deus Ex Machina storytelling and that’s a big no-no. Suppose Darth Vader had food poisoning at Taco Bell right before his light saber fight with Luke Skywalker in The Empire Strikes Back. If Vader went to the bathroom, Luke could get an easy kill and wouldn’t lose his hand nor learn that Vader is his father.

I feel disgusted for having written this blog entry, but it’s a topic that I’m sure was on everybody’s mind at some point in life, whether in middle school or adulthood. We’ve all thought it, but we’ve never actually dug deeper into the question. Maybe it’s best that we haven’t. Maybe this controversy should be put to bed once and for all. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!


***SONG DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

NURSE: Excuse me, doctor? Do you have a moment?

DOCTOR: A moment? What’s the question?

NURSE: More like a situation. A gentleman in exam three.

DOCTOR: What’s the problem?

NURSE: That is the problem: we’re not sure.

DOCTOR: Do you have the chart?

NURSE: Right here.

DOCTOR: Hmm…not much here, is there.

NURSE: No, doctor. No obvious physical trauma and vitals are stable.

DOCTOR: A name?

NURSE: No, sir.

DOCTOR: Did somebody drop him off? Maybe we can speak to them. Let’s get some background on this fellow.

NURSE: No ID. Nothing. He won’t speak to anyone.

DOCTOR: Well, let’s go and say hello.

PATIENT:…

DOCTOR: Good morning, I’m Doctor Lawson. How are you today?

PATIENT:…

DOCTOR: How are you today?

PATIENT:…

DOCTOR: Look son, you’re in a safe place. We want to help you in whatever way we can, but you need to talk to us. We can’t help you otherwise. So what happened? Tell me everything.

-“Lost Keys (Blame Hofmann)” by Tool-

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

Goddamn Dog


As Tim Coleman laid half asleep in bed on a rainy afternoon, he kept wondering why his girlfriend Jade Quinn had “One More Light” by Linkin Park playing on repeat before she left for work in the morning. She wasn’t her usual peppy self. No smiles. No kisses. Not even a hug. Just cold, empty eyes as she left Tim in charge of dogsitting duty. The pouring rain coupled with the dour mood made him curl up against his pillow even more. A pillow was no substitute for Jade, however. He would have settled for Millie crawling up under the blankets. But then…

Something assaulted Tim’s nose like a wrecking ball to the face and had just about as much knockout power. He pulled his nostrils under the blanket, but he could still smell that rancid, god-awful odor coming from the living room. “Oh no…no, no, no…please tell me she didn’t do it…no…no…NO!”

He threw the blankets off of him and stomped out to the living room wearing just his athletic shorts. The harder he stomped, the more rage pumped through his ogre-like body. The odor set his nostrils nearly ablaze as he tried to suppress the urge to vomit. And then he made it to the living room and saw that Jade’s hardwood floors had become a battlefield of landmines. Gigantic, steaming brown landmines with the general herself laying on the ground in guilt. Millie the salt n’ pepper colored Labrador mooed like a cow before unleashing a cloud of toxic gas from her already putrid bunghole.

“Goddamn it, Millie! You stupid fucking goddamn dog!” shouted Tim from the top of his lungs. “I am so sick and tired of cleaning up your fucking messes! You goddamn dog!” Fury and venom poured from the fat man’s lips with every swearing scream. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you stupid dog!” Though he would never go through on such a threat, Millie wouldn’t have known as she guiltily tucked her head.

Tim stomped to the bathroom and fetched the necessary cleaning supplies for a job this disgusting: paper towels, a mop, and a bucket he filled with soapy water. In between retrieving these necessary items, he kept on roaring like the pissed off lion he was. “You goddamn dog! Quit shitting all over the fucking floor, asshole!”

His first course of action was to scoop up all of the dog turds with god knows how many paper towels before flushing them down the toilet separately. Every time he bent over, the odor triggered his gag reflex to where he wanted to vomit himself inside out. While that would be an instant relief to his aching and tired body, it would also mean more messes to clean up. “Goddamn stupid ass fucking dog!” he screamed.

After flushing the turds down the drain, he sat on the toilet seat for a while and wiped the sweat from his body, which poured like the rainy weather outside. Tim took several deep breaths not only to recover his lost energy, but also in a vain attempt to calm himself down. “Stupid dog…stupid goddamn dog!” he screamed, completely destroying his ambitions of nirvana.

Step two of this ultimate cleaning job was to mop the floors as vigorously as he could. A few strokes in and he was already sucking wind. Wind, by the way, that was broken by a sixteen-year-old dog huddling in the corner. “Stupid dog!” Tim screamed again as he scrubbed the wooden floor. No matter how hard he mopped, the air thickened like he was in a burning building. At this point he was genuinely surprised the smoke alarm didn’t go off during this job. “You stupid motherfucking dog! Quit making me clean up after you, you little shithead!”

Once he was certain the shit was completely cleaned up off the floor, he death-marched to the bathroom to flush the mop water down the toilet. His head ached worse than if he had been beaten with hammers. His heart pounded as if a Mortal Kombat character was trying to rip it out. His lower back flared with pain like he had taken a body slam over a pile of razorblades. Tim sat on the toilet and sucked some more wind, confident that his job was finally over.

He had recovered a modicum of his energy before he put the cleaning supplies back in the bathroom closet. Slowly and languidly, he waddled out to the living room and took care not to slip on the wet surface. The only wet surface he had to deal with it that moment was the one on Jade Quinn’s horrified face, an intensification of what she felt when she left for work this morning.

There she was in her business skirt, high heels, and wrinkled dress shirt. She dropped her purse by her feet and stared down Tim’s guilty soul with wetness in her eyes. Her lips quivered as she tried to form a sentence. “T…Tim…did I just…hear you…yelling at Millie?” No response, only a saggy frown to match his guilt. “Answer me!” she cried.

Tim’s own face quivered as he too tried to muster up the words he needed. “Jade, I’m sorry. She…she shit all over the floor and…I panicked…I would never do anything to hurt Millie, you know that, right?”

Pointing her manicured finger at Tim, Jade fought back the rest of her tears in vain as she mumbled, “You…would never…hurt Millie?” Silence hung between the two lovers like a yawning, fiery chasm. “You just did, you insensitive asshole!” Jade dropped to her knees and held her long blond hair in her hands, emptying her eyes of emotional fluids. Millie slowly edged towards her and got a scratch behind the ears from her one true master.

Tim gingerly approached his girlfriend and knelt down to put his massive hand on her shoulder. Jade swatted him away instantly. “Don’t touch me!” she sobbed. “You’ve done enough damage today!” She hugged Millie around her neck and cried into her salt and pepper fur. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m sorry he yelled at you like that.”

Tim stood back up not knowing what else to say. Apologizing didn’t work. Explaining his actions didn’t work. Not even a gentle touch of the shoulder could bring his girlfriend out of her sorrowful abyss. He knew he fucked up badly and could do nothing but sit on the leather couch with his pudgy face in his hands.

“You can’t sit there anymore, Tim,” blubbered Jade. “Not after what you did. This was supposed to be Millie’s special day. I was going to take her to the park and get her ice cream after I got off work. And now…all she’s going to remember is you yelling at her…How could you, Tim?”

“Wha…What do you mean all she’s going to remember? Is that why you played that Linkin Park song this morning? Jade, you can tell me what’s going on.”

Wiping away tears even though they wouldn’t stop coming, Jade lifted her face from her hug with the dog and said, “Millie has stomach cancer. That’s why she’s been going to the bathroom on the floor a lot. And you react to this mild inconvenience by yelling those awful things at her?!”

Tim didn’t notice it when he was cleaning, but now that he thought about it, there were small traces of red in Millie’s stool. The guilt choked him up like a noose around the neck. His eyes grew sore, but he did a better job of hiding his sadness than his girlfriend. Even during this dark time he was too proud to fall apart in front of her. But he couldn’t help it. One tear rolled down his cheek while many more cascaded from Jade’s eyes.

“You know, Jade…there’s no reason…why we can’t still get Millie ice cream.” His voice trembled as he etched out those words.

“Yes, there is!” shouted Jade as she stood back up. “She’ll just shit all over the floor and you’ll scream like a little child again as you clean it up! The only reason why you’re sorry is because you got caught! You don’t care about my dog! You don’t care about my emotions! In fact, get your fat ass off my couch and get dressed! I don’t want you here anymore!”

Tim didn’t get up. He sat there and let another tear roll down his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jade.”

“No, you’re not!” cried Jade as she grabbed Tim’s arm and tried in vain to jerk him to a standing position. When he wouldn’t budge, she just crumpled to a pile on the floor and cried some more, prompting Millie to lick her face dry.

“Jade…if you give me the keys to your car…I will go to the supermarket and buy vanilla ice cream for Millie. She loves vanilla, right?”

“Go to hell, Tim!”

“Listen to me!” urged Tim as he cupped Jade’s shoulders in his hands. “If you still want me gone from here, I’ll go. But please let me get the ice cream for Millie. She deserves that much. Right, old lady?” Tim petted Millie’s head and talked cutely to her about what a good dog she was, even planting a kiss on her wet nose. Millie returned a puppy kiss for his efforts.

Tim then held Jade’s hand in his own and begged, “Please…let me get the ice cream. You can even come with me if you want and we’ll listen to One More Light for as long as you want. I love that song too. And Millie can come ride with us. She can stick her head out the window and…”

“Tim, enough,” said Jade while a holding a hand in front of her boyfriend. She wiped away a tear and sniffed snot up her nose. “I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. She’s just going to shit in the car again and you’ll go on another yelling spree. If anybody’s going to get the ice cream, it’s me.”

With that said, Jade and Millie walked out of the house together for a ride in the car while Tim sat on the couch in his shorts sulking it up. A few tears escaped his eyes and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. It was over. It was all over. Not just for him, but for Millie as well. The puppy kiss didn’t even feel like true forgiveness. Knowing his hands were unclean (in more ways than one), Tim Coleman pulled himself off the couch and trudged back to the bedroom, presumably to get his things and go.

And then…he walked past the kitchen and saw something magnetized to the refrigerator door. He pulled down a familiar sheet of glossy paper and studied it for a while before making his final attempt at goodwill towards Jade and Millie. Wasting no more time, he picked up the phone and dialed a number on the sheet of paper. A few rings later, he was patched in.

“Thank you for choosing Pizza Hut. How can I help you tonight?”

“Yes, I’d like an extra large meat lover’s pizza with stuffed crust.” Tim couldn’t contain his sorrow over the phone and it was noticeable.

“Are you okay, sir?”

“Not really. But I’m sure my dog will be happy to see you once you get here with that pizza.”

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

The Shit


Ray Hardy’s alcoholic scent could be smelled from a country mile away, yet his equilibrium and speech remained normal enough for functioning in society. Though it was hard for a cheap bottle of Thunderbird to mess up someone’s balance when none of it entered the man’s mouth. Instead the bitter liquid stained his white T-shirt to where it looked like he was sweating bullets. Coupled with the venomous expression on his face, his fists at his sides, and heaviness in his footsteps, Ray’s roommate Adam Victor was in for a rude awakening as soon as the former crossed the threshold into the apartment.

Even though Ray was one hundred percent sober, he still had a hard time fitting his key in the door on account of his trembling hands. When he finally fit the damn thing in the lock, he made his wrestler-like entrance by swinging the door open as hard as he could. Adam, who was previously channel surfing on the leather couch in his sweatpants, jumped to his feet at the sight of his roommate and best friend looking awful as fuck.

“Good god, are you alright? What happened to you?” Adam asked.

Ray sucked in his belly and released a heavy sigh upon formulating an answer. “Adam, I don’t think you give a shit how I’m doing tonight. But to answer your question…I’m not okay. In fact, I don’t think anything’s going to be okay ever again. There’s no way in hell I can show my face at that bar again, not after what Ruby did to me.”

Nervous and fidgety, Adam said, “Okay, um…so…what did she do to you? You can tell me.”

“Of course I’m going to tell you, dumb ass!” snapped Ray, causing his best friend to lean back a little bit. “But then again, you can probably find the whole thing on You Tube if you look hard enough. I finally did it, Adam. I stepped out of my comfort zone. I approached the woman I had a crush on for so long…” He pulled his glasses off and wiped a singular tear from his face. “Ruby threw a drink in my face while her friends laughed their asses off. That’s why I smell so bad.”

“Oh my god, that’s horrible! Why the hell would she do that?”

“…Because…because she thinks I’m too fat and ugly.”

“She said that to you? What the hell’s wrong with her?!” Holding his hands up defensively, Adam hurried his next words along. “Listen, I had no idea this was going to happen, okay? I genuinely thought stepping out your shell would do you some good. I didn’t anticipate her throwing a bottle of Thunderbird in your face and…”

“Shut up, Adam!” retorted Ray while pointing an accusatory finger. “You wanted this to go wrong from the start! Do you even know why they call it a comfort zone in the first place? Because nothing bad happens there! If I had just sat there staring at my shoes all damn night, I wouldn’t smell like a bottle of hobo wine!”

In response to Ray’s heavy, beastly breathing, Adam kept his hands up and said, “Calm down, buddy. The important thing here is that nobody got seriously hurt.”

“Don’t give me that shit! I’m hurting now! I’m hurting badly! And it’s all because you brainwashed me into believing that everything would be okay!” Wiping away another angry tear, Ray said, “You know what? There is one way this will all be okay. I tried my hand at talking to women and I failed miserably. I lived up to my end of our little deal. Now it’s time for you to live up to your end too. The wooden box, the one marked The Shit, where is it?”

Backing slowly away, Adam said, “Um, Ray, now you’re really going to be mad at me. There’s been a little bit of a snag with the box full of shit. You see, I didn’t get my paycheck this week and…”

“Where’s the shit?!” Ray bellowed, causing an uncomfortable silence to hang between the best friends. Adam slowly stepped to the side and waved his arm towards the wooden chest, which was sure enough marked The Shit with a permanent marker. “Yeah, I’m going to get the shit. DVD’s, gift cards, money, CD’s…yeah, I could use some shit right now!”

Ray skulked towards the wooden chest and flung the lid open as fast as he could, almost making a crack in the wall. His imagination ran wild with the kinds of surprises that could be in there. Maybe there was a gift card to McDonald’s. Maybe there was the latest Hellyeah CD. Maybe there was a wad of twenty dollar bills. But when Ray poked his head inside the box, his insane smile drooped into a saggy frown. “A mirror? A fucking mirror?! Is this a joke?! Huh?!”

“Ray, as I was saying, I didn’t get my paycheck this week, so I couldn’t buy you anything. I’m sorry.” No response, just a frozen stare into the mirror from Ray Hardy. Adam swallowed a lump of saliva and said, “If it’s any consolation to you, at least you learned something from your experience. You can’t put a price tag on that. No Double Quarter Pounder will ever replace a valuable lesson. Right?”

Ray stood up and slowly turned to face his best friend with a vicious gleam in his eyes, causing Adam to tremble and back away a little bit. “Lesson? Yeah, I learned a couple of things, actually. One, women aren’t worth the trouble anymore. And two, neither are best friends! I was counting on there being some good shit in this box! I needed these things to be there for me when I failed!” Pointing his sausage-like finger, he yelled, “I! Want! A safety net!”

“You want a safety net?!” belted Adam, sending a shockwave throughout Ray’s tense muscles. “No, you don’t get a safety net, my friend! You know why? Because safety nets are nothing more than rewards for failure! You don’t get rewarded for failing! You get rewarded for succeeding! I put a mirror in that box because I wanted you to take a good long look at yourself! I wanted you to realize that there are no participation trophies in life! But you should know that because you’re a college kid! If you get too many F’s and D’s, you don’t get gift cards and CD’s! You get kicked out! I put that mirror in the box because I didn’t want my best friend to coast through life, that’s all!”

Adam’s burst of rage muffled back into fear at the sight of his friend huffing and puffing like a rabid wolverine. Ray growled, “Coasting, huh? Do you even know what it means to coast? It means to become comfortable with your own success to where you become complacent. Let me ask you something, Mr. 4.0 GPA: how am I supposed to be comfortable with my success…when I don’t fucking have any to begin with?!”

Adam tucked his chin to his bare chest and solemnly said, “I don’t know, Ray. I just don’t know. Look, I know how much that box of shit meant to you, but…” He let out a sigh and continued. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you just now. I often forget that you didn’t have it easy growing up and you don’t have it easy now as an adult. I guess what I did doesn’t make me a very good friend, does it?”

Ray slammed the lid shut and sat down on the box, his glasses in his pocket and his head in his hands. The two friends had a cold war of silence between them for the longest time. And then Ray wiped away his few tears, sniffed mucous up his nose, and softly said, “You know what? Can we just end this night right now, please? I don’t want to think about this shit anymore. I don’t give a damn about Ruby and I don’t give a damn about anything else. Tell you what, Adam, if you really want to be a good friend, do me a favor. There’s a bottle of pills in the kitchen with my name on it.”

“Wha…wait a minute…your medication? You mean the stuff for your…” Adam tapped himself on the head to signify a mental illness of some kind.

“Yes, those pills. I’d get them myself, but I don’t feel like getting up right now. I need two pills and a bottle of Perrier. If you get those things for me, I’ll completely forget that you screwed me over tonight.”

“Well, of course you will, because that’s what your medication does.”

“Don’t be a smart ass, Adam!” snapped Ray before taking a few deep breaths and calming down once again. “Just please, get me my pills and something to swallow them with. I’m not going to make any decisions about my comfort zone until the morning. Right now I just want to go numb for the rest of the night…and try to forget that I smell like the world’s worst wine.”

Adam nodded and said, “Okay” before fetching the two pills and bottle of sparkling water. He gave them to Ray and allowed the big guy to medicate himself for the evening. He shivered in disgust at the bitter taste of the pills, but otherwise remained peaceful with his head in his hand.

“How do you feel?” asked Adam.

“…A little bit better. I’m actually surprised at how quickly this stuff works.”

Adam took a seat on the wooden box next to Ray and put a gentle hand on the back of his neck. Mr. Victor then sang the lyrics to “Rx” by Theory of a Deadman, a song about taking medication and being depressed. This got a sad chuckle out of Ray, who then said, “You know what? Maybe I won’t go to bed just yet. I’d rather just sit here and listen to you sing goofy songs.”

“So in other words, me hanging out with you and being there for you during your time of need is safety net enough?”

Ray sighed, “I almost hate to admit it, but…I guess that’s what I want.”

Adam patted Ray on the shoulder and said, “Truth be told, buddy, you don’t need a woman like Ruby if she’s going to treat you like that. You can stay in the comfort zone for as long as you want. Come out only when you’re ready.”

“I probably won’t be ready for a while…but if I crash and burn again…will you be the one who gets me my pills?”

“Not only that, but I might have to fill that wooden box up with pills and call that The Shit.”

The two friends laughed and sang together for hours that night. They even sang a Pantera song whose title fit the situation perfectly: “Good Friends and a Bottle of Pills”. How convenient. Then again, safety nets usually were.

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

Dumb Asses

VERSE 1
A drug zombie with his Johnson hanging out
A drunken loony shouting gibberish so loud
Giving hand jobs in exchange for change
With a hairy palm all covered with mange
Giving blow jobs with infected bloody gums
Now you’ve got rivers of pus in your cum
These are the characters you see at a bus station
Or out on the streets doing public masturbation

CHORUS 1
Dumb asses should be a priority
Locked up by the highest authority
Locked up in a room full of white
Straightjacket fitting oh so tight

VERSE 2
Laughing at nothing but the wall in front of him
Shouting conspiracy theories about the government
Smelling like shit and a pack of cigarettes
Jaywalking blindly where the streets intersect
Everyone’s walking just a little bit faster
While the acid trip is his psyche’s master
His hand goes up an unsuspecting woman’s skirt
He squeezes so hard that it starts to fucking hurt

CHORUS 2
Dumb asses should be a priority
Everywhere we go, they are the majority
Buses, ferries, and even taxi cabs
Walking ain’t crowded, but it’s sure a drag

VERSE 3
I’ll never go back to this city anymore
Except to listen to music so hardcore
Except to eat at the best restaurants
Except to hold signs in the biggest font
A love-hate relationship with the clown town
For every breath of fresh air, a stain that’s brown
For every sane guy, there’re a hundred freaks
For every bus trip, there’s the jerk of the week

COMBINED CHORUSES
Dumb asses should be a priority
Locked up by the highest authority
Locked up in a room full of white
Straightjacket fitting oh so tight
Dumb asses should be a priority
Everywhere we go, they are the majority
Buses, ferries, and even taxi cabs
Walking ain’t crowded, but it’s sure a drag

FINAL LINES
Dumb asses should be a priority X4

Dumb asses!

Sunday, November 5, 2017

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!

Saturday, September 9, 2017

Shooting Star

Rachel Phoenix finally figured out why the structure she was climbing was called the Tower of Venom and it had little to do with the owner’s namesake. Even with a black veil over her nose and mouth, she still gagged and coughed at the fowl odor emanating from the barred windows. Feces, urine, vomit, and god knows what else assaulted her slender nose like a war hammer to the face. The heat waves from the oncoming shooting star in the sky baked this biological sludge like the ophidian tower was a gigantic oven. The elf rogue had no time to waste vomiting herself inside out. This mission had to be completed no matter how badly she wanted out.

Just a few more dry heaves in her ninja veil and a hell of a lot more tugs on her grappling hook and the winded elf in black rags rested on the top of the tower for a while. She could just drift off into dreamland no matter how horribly it reeked. In fact, this murderous odor would have been the perfect anesthesia if it hadn’t been for the raucous sound of a tornado fart echoing throughout the land. Rachel snapped out of her trance long enough to hold onto her rope with a death grip to avoid being blown off.

Once the literal shit storm subsided, Rachel couldn’t hold her lunch down any longer. She removed her veil spilled her guts off the side of the tower. The tidal wave of sickness left her light green skin pale and her muscles so weak that she could barely stand up. She was barely on her knees when she turned around and saw the source of the odor in its entirety. There he was: the ironclad dragon giant sitting on…a toilet. The Tower of Venom…was a giant fucking toilet…for a giant fucking man dragon.

Atlas Venom, as the giant was known, laughed so hard that he sent another gust of wind Rachel’s way. The tiny elf held onto her rope with the strength of someone ten times her size. Sickness or not, flying away in the barf-worthy breeze was an undignified way to die, especially when so many lives were at stake.

Once the giant’s obnoxious cackle ended, he leaned his rotten skull down to level with his intruder and asked, “Can I help you?” The elf rogue took the time she needed to catch her breath and settle her rumbling stomach. “Well?!” Atlas belted.

A few more heavy breaths later, the elf said, “My name is Rachel Phoenix. I’ve been sent here by the Order of the Forest to keep you from doing something incredibly stupid and potentially dangerous. Well, you do stupid shit all the time from what I’ve heard, but this is really going to get your attention.”

She pointed at the flaming star in the sky, which seemed to have grown tremendously since she last gazed upon it. “You see that? We all know you have the power to smash that thing to pieces. You’ve smashed everything else to pieces, why not a shooting star? But if you do that, neighboring villages will be affected by the blast radius.”

Atlas scratched his ass and belched a cloud of toxic sludge before standing to his full height and pulling his iron pants up. Rachel didn’t know what was more disgusting: the tower slash toilet or the fact that Atlas’s lesion-covered ding-a-ling had been hanging there this whole time. She tried to keep herself together by gently massaging her stomach.

“Listen, you dumb bitch,” burped Atlas. “I don’t hear you coming up with any great ideas on how to get rid of that thing. Last time I checked, I’ve got pubic lice bigger than you, so there’s no fucking chance you’re going to smash that thing away. If you’ve got any better ideas, then you’d better start flapping those gums or else you’re one dead little whore!”

Rachel folded her arms and said sternly, “Alright, if it’s ideas you want, it’s ideas you’ll get. If you have the power to smash a shooting star to pieces, you certainly have the power to catch one and drop it in the neighboring ocean behind you. You could break it up little by little and flush the pieces down that lovely toilet of yours. You could even have it as a snack if you wanted to. I’m sure whatever’s rotting in that gut of yours isn’t going to be too badly affected if you ate a giant flaming star.” She paced back and forth with her hand propped on her chin. “Let’s see, you can throw it in the sky and then break it up. You can…you know what? Literally anything else would be better than you scattering the pieces across the land with your reckless ways. Anything!”

Atlas gazed up at the shooting star and noticed that it grew once more. The scorching flames caused a few beads of sweat to trickle down his hairline. Rachel tapped her foot impatiently and said, “Well? We don’t have much time. What’s it going to be, big boy?” The remark caused the dragon giant to scoop her up in one hand and squeeze her already thin body into the width of a toothpick. No matter how pathetically she screamed or how many crunching sounds her body made, Atlas refused to take pity on her.

“Unlike all the filth swirling at the bottom of my tower,” he shouted. “I don’t give two shits about the other villages! They’re the ones who couldn’t accept me to begin with! They’re the bastards who laugh and throw stones at me whenever I show my face! You think my life is just one big fucking joke?! You think I choose to sit here on a giant fucking toilet?! That was the king’s idea! That’s what he calls comedy! I don’t feel one bit sorry for those pieces of dog shit! They’ll get what’s coming to them in short order!”

A tropical storm of sweat trickled down Rachel’s face as she felt the shooting star hurling closer to the tower. “Wait!” she squeaked, prompting Atlas to loosen his grip around her body. “If you put an end to this disaster, you just might be a hero to those people! Nobody would even think to treat a hero that way!”

“Hero?! You think these fucking people deserve a hero?!” roared Atlas while shaking Rachel in his fist. “Their idea of a hero is some rich snob who flaunts his money around without giving a drop of it to the poor! Apparently, those kind of fools work harder than the poor, or so I’m told! You, Rachel…you represent all of those people! All of those monsters! They don’t deserve shit!”

“I don’t represent anybody who casts judgment on others! I represent the innocent ones who will bear the brunt of your reckless ways!” squealed Rachel, who squirmed and struggled until at least her arms were free from Atlas’s grasp. “You’re painting my society with a broad brush, my friend! There are good and evil people from all walks of life! People should be evaluated as individuals, not as groups! If you’re too blind to see that, then you’re no different from the evil ones you claim are bullying you!”

Atlas peered up at the shooting star and then back at Rachel several times while contemplating everything the elf told him. The diminutive rogue took this time to catch her breath and collect her cracked bones. Even with sore ribs, she managed to burst out, “Hurry up and make your decision! That star’s getting closer!”

“You don’t have to rush me, you stupid bitch,” snarled Atlas. “I’ve already made up my mind.” His own eyes resembled shooting stars as they blinded Rachel with a hateful gaze. He could feel the elf quiver and vibrate in his massive lizard hand. He then grinned evilly at her and dropped her in the toilet. “Down you go with the rest of the shit!” he snapped before pulling the handle and watching her swirl.

Except the rogue didn’t swirl. She clung onto the side of the bowl with another grappling hook rope, the blades igniting little sparks as they struggled to keep her still. The swirling brown water dragged Rachel across the bowl while she kicked her legs and held on with a death grip around the rope. Adrenaline flowed even hotter through her veins when she heard Atlas laughing about this whole incident. She kicked harder and held on tighter. And then, the rope snapped like a twig and she was destined to spend eternity in a shit-covered hell.

As she swam through the toilet water whilst ignoring her injuries, she could hear Atlas’s monster laugh morph into a prolonged, “No!” followed by an explosion, a burst of fiery light, and crunching bones of his own. The Tower of Venom bottomed out from underneath Rachel and she went on a tidal wave ride throughout the land. She struggled to keep her head above the shitty current, but eventually sank beneath and swallowed the most vile substance ever to exist. Between heaving for oxygen and vomiting at the same time, Rachel’s lungs felt like she had swallowed the shooting star herself. The current jostled her around like a rag doll, giving her more bumps and bruises along the way. When she was ready to pass out, she landed with a thud.

Except that thud was cushioned by several bales of hay and the tidal wave of shit and piss had crashed upon the land below. Rachel coughed, gagged, and breathed heavily all in the span of a few seconds. Her ribcage ached as though someone fired a cannonball into her gut. Her legs couldn’t carry the weight of sickness and crumbled underneath her when she tried to stand. When she caught most of her breath back, she wiped the sludge away from her eyes and ears long enough to see what just happened.

Atlas’s gargantuan body laid strewn across a wheat field with the shooting star crumbled on top of his broken bones, shredded skin, and bloody organs. Instead of celebrating a staved off apocalypse, nearby farmers in overalls and straw hats laughed their asses off because of the literal shit storm that followed.

Rachel’s brows furrowed together and her teeth clamped down hard in anger despite the taste in her mouth. The villagers’ attitudes left a worst taste in her mouth than anything from the Tower of Venom ever could. Atlas had been right this whole time. The whole world did think he was a freak. While his mannerisms could have used some work, his spirit was in the right place. All of that mind-numbing, soul-crushing torment broke his heart like it would have someone a fraction of his size. Even the biggest and the baddest had feelings too, unlike the pigs who mocked his death.


Rachel slowly drew a knife from her sheath and jumped to her feet, her raging adrenaline allowing her to ignore the pain delving into her body. “Hey!” she shouted at the farmers, who now began trembling in fear and backing up carefully. Trembling herself (but for a different reason), Rachel angrily whispered, “If Atlas Venom was alive right now, he’d say…you’re welcome!”

Thursday, July 6, 2017

Swearison

VERSE 1
I swore at Lego Land and the Great Wolf Lodge
I swore as a teenager under parental watch
I swore when I cleaned dog shit off the floor
I swore until my motherfucking throat was sore
Letting out swear words is a form of therapy
I don’t give a shit if it’s a form of heresy
I don’t give a flying fuck who I offend
I take a deep breath and turn it up to ten

CHORUS
You can call me Swearison
Or you call me a barbarian
I’m sorry for your embarrassment
But you’re hanging out with Swearison

VERSE 2
I scream goddamn it when I bang my elbow
I yell motherfucker when I stub my big toe
I shout Jesus Christ when I bang my head
I bellow like a beast and wake the fucking dead
I should probably sign up for anger management
But it’s too much fun to commit sacrilege
It’s too exciting to shout from the rooftop
Get out of the kitchen if you think it’s too hot

CHORUS
You can call me Swearison
Or you call me a barbarian
I’m sorry for your embarrassment
But you’re hanging out with Swearison

VERSE 3
Cussing in a church or in a courthouse
Using more sex puns than a whorehouse
Cussing in school or a grade below this
Life’s too short for G-rated bullshit
Cussing in a theater with a Disney flick
The Little Mermaid’s tower looks like a dick
Cussing isn’t stupid or even immoral
If you don’t like it, you can give me some oral

EXTENDED CHORUS
You can call me Swearison
Or you call me a barbarian
I’m sorry for your embarrassment
But you’re hanging out with Swearison
My real name is Garrison
I’m a loud and proud heretic
I’m sorry for your sensitivity

I guess you’re really just shitting me

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

The Media

VERSE 1
Caught on camera, a vicious beating
Made me throw up what I was eating
Made me blow a fuse just like dynamite
Your son’s heart beats booze and cyanide
Teach your child some real lessons
Not to use hate and fear as weapons
Not to blame others for his own undoing
Not to be surprised when parents are suing

CHORUS X2
It is not the media’s fault
That your son’s an ass and he got caught

VERSE 2
He laughs at suicide whenever it happens
Laughs at the mourners, calls them faggots
His ribs are broken from the many chuckles
His knees are shaking as they start to buckle
Let’s see him pick a fight with a true giant
Let’s see his lips quiver in the dead of silence
Let’s see his blood pressure hit the maximum
Piss a million gallons and call it going platinum

CHORUS X2
It is not the media’s fault
That your son’s an ass and he got caught

VERSE 3
In the end, he’s nothing but a coward
He thought he wielded the ultimate power
But all he got was a golden shower
His tight jockey shorts smell a little sour
All the bravado was for absolutely nothing
All the laughter never led to something
Now he’s got a spotlight burning so bright
He’s shitting himself from the stage fright

CHORUS
It is not the media’s fault
That your son’s an ass and he got caught
It is not the victim’s fault
That your son’s another brick in the wall
It is not the judge’s fault
That his dad has lost his balls
Blame yourself and no one else
Blame yourself for building your own hell

FINAL LINE X4

It is not the media’s fault!

Thursday, February 2, 2017

Everything You Touch

CHORUS 1
Everything you touch turns to piss
Your ignorance is far from bliss
Your hate language is a goodbye kiss
Why should we put up with any of this?

VERSE 1
A frog in one hand, your dick in the other
Pissing all over your human race brothers
You’d sell out your own goddamn mother
To see your face on a memoir book cover
You’d sell your soul for a million dollars
You traded your mind for a tight dog collar
You bought into a world built solely on lies
Now you think you’re Jesus Christ in disguise

CHORUS 2
Everything you touch turns to shit
Every slap in the face is a knockout hit
Every kiss to your loved ones turned to spit
Calling you out will send you into a fit

VERSE 2
Go ahead and try to cut through the human chain
You’re the architect and author of your own pain
Every protest sign you’ve written to yourself
You’re the engineer and CEO of your own hell
For someone who preaches such insensitivity
You sure feel agony until the end of infinity
You say one thing then you do something different
You’re the warden and guard of your own prison

CHORUS 3
Everything you touch turns to vomit
You laugh it off like a standup comic
The only joke I see is your political career
We’re shutting down your campaign of smears

VERSE 3
Enjoy your life as a D+ player
Enjoy your career as a spiteful hater
Enjoy your dreams never coming true
This has never been your red, white, and blue
If you’re so dangerous, put up your dukes
If you’re so inspiring, don’t make us puke
If you’re so noble, put up or shut up
Until then, you’re a troll who’s fucked up

FINAL LINE

Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out!