Reads with Rachel vs. J.M. Arlen

 

Voting red means different things in different countries, but in America, where Rachel is from, it means to vote Republican. Fuck the GOP.

My Heroes Are Assholes

 VERSE 1

My heroes sip champagne from a sunken tub

Their sins can’t be scrubbed with bubbly-bubs

Put dark lords in boxes, I’ll give you my balls

Shoot a few foxes, you gave me The Wall

Slag off on the trans, you gave me an edge

Grab a chick’s cans, you pulled me off the ledge

Get away with murder, you gave me new life

Shame those who eat burgers, you parasocial wife

CHORUS

My heroes are assholes

It’s not worth the hassle

To get me an autograph

My heroes are bitches

They get left in stitches

Look in the mirror and laugh

I miss the days of naivety

I miss the days of naivety

VERSE 2

My heroes are older, now they’ve grown colder

Their hatred of young people only gets bolder

No consequences when they kick down defenses

Only Law & Order for those with poverty expenses

To all the foot soldiers, it’s called Cancel Culture

A dog whistle for the machinegun holders

There will be no justice, social or otherwise

Just another day of twisting the butterfly knife

CHORUS

My heroes are assholes

It’s not worth the hassle

To get me an autograph

My heroes are bitches

They get left in stitches

Look in the mirror and laugh

I miss the days of naivety

I miss the days of naivety

BRIDGE

There’s only one hero I can truly rely on

Me, myself, and I, it’s the hill I’ll die on

Others paved the way when I was a boy

I walk that road as a man without joy

FINAL LINES

I miss the days of naivety

I miss the days of naivety

Old Stories, New Genres

***OLD STORIES, NEW GENRES***

Ever since watching and reviewing Jackie Brown and The Hateful Eight, I made it my mission to do the same thing for all of Quentin Tarantino’s movies. One of those movies I plan on watching happens to be Django Unchained. You’ve already heard the name Quentin Tarantino and are probably expecting some controversy to come with these movies. You wouldn’t be wrong no matter what the movie was, but it’s especially true for Django Unchained. Fellow director Spike Lee vowed not to watch it, because, “Slavery was not a spaghetti western. It was a holocaust.” Nobody in their right mind would ever dispute how horrible black slavery was. But that’s not why we’re gathered here today, my dearly beloveds.

Looking at old stories through the lens of a new genre happens to be what most successful storytellers do for a living. In the case of Django Unchained, Quentin Tarantino did indeed turn slavery into a spaghetti western. Ever since watching The Hateful Eight (which is definitely a western, but I’m not sure if it’s a spaghetti western), I’ve had a weird fascination with the genre. Hell, a few weeks ago, I wrote a southern metal song called Spaghetti Western, which you can check out on all of my social media pages (Blogger, Deviant Art, Face Book, and Good Reads). Cheap plug aside, Quentin Tarantino meant no ill will when he made Django Unchained. He gets a lot of heat for being insensitive, but the movies he directs take place in times and locations where insensitivity was the norm. Even in modern day dramas, he has characters using racial slurs, because it’s realistic of their characters, not because he’s a bigoted jerk.

But Quentin Tarantino movies are just one example of what I’m talking about today. Remember all of the talk about SJW’s “ruining” the Star Wars franchise? Well, I hate to break it to you guys, but Star Wars was always about social justice. It’s literally about rebels fighting against a totalitarian government. There are many instances of that happening all throughout history. Star Wars just happened to look at those moments through a science fiction lens with cool light saber battles and Storm Troopers who can’t shoot straight. It was true for A New Hope (which came out in the late 70’s) and it’s still true today. The message hasn’t changed. The complaints have.

And just to show you guys how serious I am about this brand of creative fuel, if any of you know anything horrible about my past and want to look at those life moments through the lens of a new genre, I’d be thrilled to read what you’ve got. You know something about me being bullied in my freshman year of high school? Let’s turn that shit into an epic fantasy! I wouldn’t mind fighting against orc and ogre bullies with a battleaxe or a claymore. What about the time I first started having schizophrenic symptoms? Let’s turn it into…whatever the hell The Matrix is! Hell, I was probably living in The Matrix the whole time I was hallucinating. What about the time I got suspended from college for writing an angry poem about my geology teacher? Is there any way to turn that into wrestling fiction? A spaghetti western? A space opera? Cyberpunk? Actually, cyberpunk would be closer to the truth since I was dumb enough back then to post my poem on the internet.

I understand that Spike Lee is proud of his heritage as well he should be. He should fight for the greater good. He should be an inspiration to all. But picking fights with Quentin Tarantino when he hasn’t even seen the damn movie? Not cool. That won’t help his image in the slightest. Like I said before, I haven’t watched Django Unchained yet, but I desperately want to as part of my quest to fairly review all of Quentin Tarantino’s movies. The key word in that last sentence was fairly, as in I want to give them a chance before I harshly judge them. Does he constantly lay golden eggs? No. Are there parts of his movies worth criticizing? Absolutely. But I can’t make those criticisms until after I see the movie. Even if I DNF the damn thing somewhere in the middle, that’s better than jumping to conclusions any day of the week.

What about you guys? Are there any old stories you want to see through a new genre? Should the Final Fight franchise be told through prehistoric times? Should the Star Wars franchise be told through medieval fantasy? Me personally, I’ve always wanted to see the Gundam franchise get a medieval fantasy reboot. One of the giant robots could be a paladin. Two of them could be smaller robots piloted by goblin twins. Space travel would still be possible and goddamn, does that open up a whole universe of possibilities with storylines and creative fuel. Yes, this was a real idea I had back in my teens. I never followed through on it, because…reasons? Now that I think about it, I’d still like to try this idea out someday, but I can’t use the word Gundam unless I want the copyright whores to strangle my ass in court. But what about you guys? Got any genre remixes you’d like to see?

I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight! Hey, there’s another idea! I could retell Tales From the Dark Side episodes through a medieval fantasy lens! Maybe for once it wouldn’t be so fucking hokey that way! Woo-hoo! Yeah!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

So…I haven’t been very faithful with updates from this novella I’m working on, so here goes nothing. I finished the most recent rewrite back in July, but I didn’t pay for Hollow Hills to critique it until early November. I got my critiques back at the beginning of December. Goddamn, do I have a lot of work ahead of me. The world needs to be fleshed out, the battle and sex scenes need to be toned down, and most importantly…the protagonists have to STOP CRYING ALL THE FUCKING TIME! Okay, Marie Krepps didn’t put it in those words. Plus, I’m prone to exaggeration. But the sentiment is the same. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me before Beautiful Monster is ready for the public. I don’t have a due date for when it’ll be officially published. I thought it would have been this year, but I was too optimistic. And if you think I’ve got a lot to do for Beautiful Monster, just remember…I still have Emilio & Marigold in the chamber!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Who do you think you are? You’ve now gone much too far. Out of the ashes a clear light will shine. A power like the sun, but the heat is all mine. Blinding to all those too close to the light. I’ll bury your souls in the dark of the night. Underground you’ll make no sound. Got nowhere left to go. Things begin, but then they end. The truth it hurts to know. I watch with wonder as you go under. Words to the unwise. The story’s ending and I’m attending the scene of your demise. I bring the darkness. I am the thunder. I come from Hell and I’ll pull you under. I’ll make you feel the wrath of my ways. I’ll make it real. I’ll be your end of days.”

-Baron Corbin’s WWE Theme Music-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Don’t let the lyrics fool you. I’m still abstaining from watching WWE due to their awful programming and I’m not regretting it. Last week on Friday Night Smackdown, Baron Corbin smothered Roman Reigns in dog food. Get it? Because Roman Reigns calls himself The Big Dog? Woof, woof? Hahahahaha…haha…ha…Fuck this company.

Social Justice Warrior

The November breeze stung Pete Winger’s face while neon signs were burning his eyeballs. The sound of boots marching on concrete streets was the coup de grace in slowly waking him up from his head-pounding slumber. His first instinct was to roll out of bed and get in his trench coat and hat. Except where he laid was significantly less comfortable than a coil spring mattress. He couldn’t roll off of it either since his wrists and ankles were held in place with steel cables. Struggling for freedom didn’t get him an inch off of the steel surface that made his spine ache.

Pete finally opened his eyes, but not enough to take in the glow of the neon motel signs. Rundown buildings with American flags barely hanging on the doors (if the buildings even had doors). Concrete streets with potholes the size of dinner plates. Windows shattered. Graffiti smeared all over the brick walls. Minorities in ragged clothing out on their porches wondering just what the hell was going on.

Pete had the answer they were looking for. White hooded minions carried him on a steel crucifix while a cowgirl with an AK-47 strapped to her back led the charge. Her annoying voice seemed all too familiar to Pete when she ordered her hooded cohorts to stop. It was her alright. Long brown hair in a ponytail. Curvy hips. A leather biker gang jacket. A cowgirl hat with a feather in it. She was unmistakable. She was none other than Tifa Cody, America’s loudest voice.

Pete struggled some more in his bindings while Miss Cody goose-stepped into the middle of the street to address the impoverished citizens of this ghetto. “Alright, now listen up, y’all!” she belted in her signature southern accent. “It’s November and you know what that means for America: new politicians, same old crap. And in the interest of fairness, I’m here to make sure none of y’all are going to vote illegally in our fine democracy. Voter fraud is as real as it gets. If I catch one of y’all stuffing the ballot boxes this Tuesday, you’re getting an assload of lead!”

As Tifa unhooked her AK-47, Pete groggily said, “Hey there! You think you can get me off of this cross? I mean…Blue Lives Matter, right? Isn’t that what you’re always saying on the radio?”

Tifa pointed her gun at Pete. “Listen, Detective, and I use that word loosely, the operative phrase there is Blue Lives Matter, not Blue States Matter. I respect the authority of real cops who do their damn jobs, not Dick Tracy knockoffs like you who protect snowflakes like these!”

“Miss Cody…do you not see the irony of what you just said?”

Tifa cocked her gun. “What irony, Mr. Pete ‘Left’ Winger?”

“Well…um…You’re getting mad over the fact that poor black people are allowed to vote and yet they’re the snowflakes. Tell me how that adds up.”

Tifa fired a series of warning shots past Pete’s ear and had the minorities ducking for cover, their children screaming and crying. “This ain’t about skin color, you Snowflake Justice Warrior! This is about protecting our democracy from cheaters and thieves! You libtards don’t have a leg to stand on in the facts department, so you try to vote multiple times. And for the record, my stepfather is black, so don’t even try to play the race card with me!”

Pete chuckled nervously. “Okay, so we know you have a stepfather. But do you have any nieces and nephews? And when you visit them on their birthdays in Bumfuck, Alabama, do they refer to you as…Aunt Tifa?” That zinger got a chorus of “oo’s” from the ghetto dwellers.

“Lay him down, guys,” she ordered her robed minions. After they complied, she butt-stroked Pete in the stomach and earned a series of smoker-like coughs. He also spit up a wad of blood-laced saliva. “Your jokes are about as funny as the so-called woke comedians on late night TV. All that PC propaganda is turning your brain into mush. You don’t know how to tell a decent joke anymore because you’re too scared of getting thrown in Twitter jail.”

“Come on, you had to admit that was punderful.”

“I don’t have to admit a goddamn thing. As a matter of fact, boys, stand him up. I’m about to go all Auschwitz on his funny ass!”

As the hooded minions stood up the steel cross, Pete let out a string of, “No’s!” as if they would actually reconsider burning him alive. While he struggled once more to get free, Tifa pulled out a book of matches and struck them all on the collapsing pavement.

Her back turned to the residents, she said, “Are y’all seeing this? This is what happens when you try to fuck with my country! Ain’t no cops coming out to save him because he’s a damn traitor to real Americans, not the handout takers and ballot stuffers! Cops don’t like that shit! That’s why y’all keep getting shot all the damn time!” Tifa turned around momentarily. “Are you shitting me right now?! Are you filming this on your damn phone?!”

Tifa aimed her AK-47 at a shivering black teenager with his smart phone recording her. “This ain’t no comedy bit for your Tik Tok app or whatever the hell you young fuckers love to do! You drop that damn phone or I’m shooting it out of your damn hands!”

The teen refused to obey but continued to shiver. Pete knew it was now or never if he was going to save more lives than his own. He wiggled around on the cross some more. He struggled even harder. And harder. The steel bindings cut into his flesh and formed purple scars on his wrists and ankles. But the cross moved just a little bit at a time, so much so that the hooded minions had a hard time keeping it erect. They tried to call Tifa’s name, but she was in the middle of a tirade and had none of it.

Pete wiggled again. And again. His muscles ached and his limbs seemed as though they would fall off. And then…the steel cross lurched forward. “Look out!” shouted one of the minions as the cross landed on top of Tifa, bringing her and Pete into chest-to-chest contact. Her gun was knocked out of her hand, but the book of matches still burned and that tiny spark was enough to weaken the straps on Pete’s right wrist.

“Get off of me, goddamn it! Who do you think you are, Bill Clinton?” Tifa struggled while her hooded thugs ran away from not only the fallen cross, but also the minority residents who began throwing bottles and bricks at them. Some of them got away with no bruises other than their egos. Some of their heads splattered on the pavement. One hooded punk got his back cut up by pieces of glass.

As Tifa squirmed and wiggled to slowly pull herself out from under Pete and the cross, the detective tugged harder on the burning straps. His wrist singed with red hot pain. His skin grew crispy and black. The purple bruises opened up to leak pus and blood. But get his hand free he did. While Tifa crawled towards her AK-47, Pete began to unlatch his other wrist before hunching down and undoing his ankles.

Both Tifa and Pete slithered like snails across the ground while the hooded thugs were still being chased away by the impoverished residents. Tifa was fingertips away from her gun when Pete grabbed hold of her ankles and bear-hugged them. She rained knuckles on Pete’s scalp until she was able to crawl close enough to the AK-47 to grab it. But Pete ignored his head, wrist, and stomach trauma long enough to squirm over to her and get in a tug of war over the weapon.

Tifa elbowed and kneed Pete in the ribs and stomach, but he refused to let go of the automatic rifle. He spit a wad of blood in her eyes and snatched the rifle out of her hands, sharp pain in his chest aside. Despite being temporarily blinded, she slowly pulled herself to her feet and staggered towards one of the abandoned buildings. Which one, Pete couldn’t see because he was too busy curling up in a ball on the ground. Some neighborhood kids pulled him to his feet and supported him. When he asked where Tifa was, they didn’t know.

“Damn it, I can’t believe I’m letting that bitch get away!” Pete’s rib and chest pain sharpened like he was being closed in an iron maiden. He doubled over and spit up more blood, dazed at his surroundings. “Do me a favor, kid. Get me that American flag over there. I got an idea. Just do it!”

The teen retrieved the ratty-looking American flag off of a neighbor’s front porch and handed it to Pete. The detective waved his helpers away for a moment and he was able to stand up on his own two feet, beaten, but not dead.

“Tifa Cody! Get your ass out here and face me, you militia nitwit!” Screaming that caused even more sharp pain to bend him over. Still he waved off the neighborhood kids, who all gathered around with their smart phones to record the action now that Tifa and her stooges were a non-threat.

“So Tifa…you like to call people who don’t agree with you snowflakes, right? You like to call them SJW’s whenever they rightfully complain about being disenfranchised? Well…now it’s your turn to cry, sweetheart! I’m going to raise this flag…and everyone around me…will take a knee. Go on, do it!” The neighborhood residents did just that: get on one knee.

“Oh, that’s not enough to piss you off, Tifa? Sure pissed off the rest of your political flunkies. Wait a minute…I’ve got a better idea. Tifa Cody…if you don’t get your ass out here and surrender…I’m going to do something to this flag that’ll make your precious eyeballs leak like faucets. But what will I do to it? Will I wipe my ass with it? Will I blow my nose on it? Will I cough up blood on it? No…I think I’ll just fill it full of holes with your own assault rifle! And yes, it is an assault rifle no matter how much you say otherwise! I’m counting to three and this flag is going up in smoke! One…two…three!”

On cue, Tifa bolted out of a nearby building and shrieked, “NO!” before tossing a brick at Pete. It didn’t have the chance to smash his face in. It disintegrated into dust the minute Pete pulled the trigger and filled Tifa full of holes. Her bloody carcass dripped and splattered all over the building steps before rolling into the gutter. Everyone in the neighborhood, Pete included, took a moment to breathe heavily, either out of relief or heart-pounding adrenaline.

Pete slowly turned around and faced the cell phone cameras. “You see that?” He spit out blood and kneeled down in pain. “Crime doesn’t pay…no matter…who you vote for…For all of you…who say…All Lives Matter…clearly Tifa Cody’s didn’t…Don’t believe me?...Just ask her…She…drew…first…blood…” Pete’s vision blackened as he stumbled over face-first onto the ground, bleeding out of the mouth and any other wound her had. The neighbors gathered around to try and help him, but he was a lost cause.

The last thing Pete Winger heard before passing into the afterlife was police sirens off in the distance. This left him with an anxious feeling in his gut. Would these cops do the right thing? Whose side would they take: his or Tifa’s? Would these impoverished voters surrounding Pete become easy casualties? Pete Winger never got an answer to any of these questions. But hopefully whoever was watching the live videos being taken would question everything all at once, including their government. That’s all Detective Pete Winger could ask of them in his weakened state. His duty as a blue life that mattered was complete.

Young Turk

VERSE 1

I am the Young Turk, I am creative fuel

I don’t say this shit because it sounds cool

I do it for the fire, I do it for the passion

Fuck what’s trendy, fuck what’s in fashion

Call me a Young Turd, call me a Young Jerk

You’re the only one who’s going berserk

You’ve got a loud voice? Mine is even louder

My words are explosive like lit gun powder

VERSE 2

I am the Young Turk, social justice ronin

Adrenalize the world with a dose of serotonin

I don’t need your guns, I don’t need your bombs

You don’t need armor, just a hug from your mom

Call me a snowflake, call me easily triggered

Watch as this movement gets bigger and bigger

You’ve got an army? Mine is even stronger

Your iron fist won’t rule for much longer

VERSE 3

I am the Young Turk, your worst fucking nightmare

The ghost breathing down your neck until you’re tired

You will relent one day, you will fucking pay

For all the sins you’ve put on internet display

For all the shots fired, for all the brains wired

For all the demon seeds you’ve fucking sired

You’ve got a congregation? Mine is everywhere

Watch as the one percent rips out their own hair

FINAL LINES

I am the Young Turk, lightning in a bottle

I am the Young Turk, American role model

I am the Young Turk, see you in November

I am the Young Turk, always fucking remember

I am the Young Turk! X4

I Didn't Know It Was Wrong

***I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS WRONG***

In addition to being a cardboard sign in Seether’s music video for “Fine Again”, you can also say the title of this journal whenever you create a piece of art that was unintentionally offensive. I can’t stress the word unintentionally enough. Sometimes all you want is to create a loving romance between two people and their relationship becomes hypersexual. Sometimes you want to show off the fighting abilities of a barbarian tribe from another culture, but they end up looking like stereotypes. Surely, you weren’t trying to be offensive, but that’s how it came across anyways, through no fault of your own. All together now…

I didn’t know it was wrong!

Yes, this is a reasonable defense against charges of unintentional bigotry, but there will always be that one smart ass who smashes you over the head with a hardcover book and then says…

Sorry, I didn’t know it was wrong!

You’re damn right it’s wrong! That’s assault, you moron! It carries a prison term of at least seven years! How about we save the phrase for people who actually need it? Wes Anderson, the writer and director of Isle of Dogs, could easily use this phrase and get away with it. As a white guy from Texas, his depiction of Japanese culture was frowned upon even though it didn’t deserve to be. There was nothing inherently offensive about it, at least not compared to Dick Tracy cartoons from the 1960’s where Joe Jitsu comes across as ultra-stereotypical (in case his name wasn’t obvious enough). Hey, Wes! Say it with me!

I didn’t know it was wrong!

I wish I knew this phrase when I was writing offensive shit back in the day. It could have helped me when I wrote a pornographic parody of “Stole” by Kelly Rowland. It could have helped me when I was swashbuckling with teenagers after they read “Class of ‘13”. It might have even helped me when I was writing the super-violent Zeromancer for my second multi-genre writing class in college. None of these scenarios would have been a cheap escape if I used that phrase, because I legitimately didn’t know they were offensive reads. I don’t know if I chalk it all up to being young and immature, growing up in Chehalis, watching TV-MA rated shows and not processing them correctly, but say it with me…

I didn’t know it was wrong!

You know what else I didn’t know was wrong? Incorporating a trope called the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. It’s a literary pejorative for any supporting female character whose main role in the story is to boost the self-esteem of the brooding male protagonist. Adrienne Simpson from “Silent Warrior” reeks of this trope, and in some ways, Tarja Rikkinen from my current WIP “Beautiful Monster” qualifies too. It was never my intention to make them this way, but you have to understand…

I didn’t know it was wrong!

I think I’ve given you guys enough examples that you’re adequately educated. Luckily, there is help for anybody who needs it. When you’ve finished writing your manuscript, you can send it to somebody called a “sensitivity editor”. This person will comb through your work and make sure nothing sticks out when it comes to potential offensiveness. Because they’re sensitivity editors and get this kind of work all the time, you can bet your ass that they won’t judge you even if your manuscript is glowing like a nuclear rod with offensive material. I didn’t even know these people existed until I started watching Jenna Moreci’s You Tube videos. Perhaps I should hire the services of one when I’m ready to get cracking on editing Silent Warrior. Hell, there’s probably more wrong with it than I thought and that extends beyond Adrienne Simpson being a Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

If you think for some reason I’m just bending to the will of the Social Justice Warriors and ignoring my own individuality, you’re wrong. There used to be a time in my life when being offensive was my bread and butter. I was young, immature, and had the sense of humor of an alt-righter despite being a hard leftist. Well, some things have to change because a bigot is not who I am nor would I be proud of being one. I want to represent the positive side of humanity, not the worst. I want to be on the right side of history and be a good role model for readers who look up to me. If that makes me an SJW, then fine, I’m an SJW. Fuck it, I don’t care. In fact, you can go ahead and call me the Social Justice Barbarian if you want. Barbarians appeal to me more than regular warriors since the former has the ability to rage out of control at a moment’s notice. Plus, I get to eat raw meat, howl at the moon, and swing a bloody battleaxe. How much fun is that?!

Sorry, guys! I didn’t know it was wrong! I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

In the interest of bouncing back and forth between the past and present of this novel, chapter four will feature a look into Windham Xavier’s captivity, where he’s strapped naked to a table and felt up by Shelly and Torger. Don’t worry, you won’t have to go all the way to Wattpad to read this, because no sex will take place (yet). Lord knows Deviant Art has enough nudity as it is, so a chapter of Beautiful Monster with a naked male elf won’t hurt the status quo too much. Look forward to it! And before you ask, no, I’m not gay and even if I was it wouldn’t be the reason why I write about naked male elves. Grow up!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“The world is precious, a gift to you and me. I suggest we treat her right, with love and dignity. Everybody’s looking for some peace of mind. If you seek the truth, then you will surely find. Everybody wants to have global peace, whilst the press of a button can shake the world to its knees. Some say might is right. I beg to disagree. I say we all unite and redirect our destiny. Everybody’s looking for a quick solution. Our lungs are choking from breathing in air pollution. I say put down the guns and stop the revolution. I say it’s time to make a restitution. Can you hear what I’m saying? There’s so much starvation, so much untruth, so much prejudice, so much liquidation. Oh, how long? How long?”

-Toto singing “Can You Hear What I’m Saying?”-

Social Justice Warriors

***SOCIAL JUSTICE WARRIORS***

You’re in no way obligated to get in political discussions with people who don’t want to change. But if you do, a common slur you’ll hear a lot in those discussions is SJW, or Social Justice Warrior. This gets tossed around by people who think their opponents get offended by everything or are too politically correct. If you ever get called a Social Justice Warrior, don’t be offended. Say thank you. You know why? Well, all you have to do is take a look at the last word in that slur: warrior. Sounds badass, doesn’t it? When I think of warriors, I think of big muscle men with battleaxes and spears. Or it could be a fierce and tough-minded woman with a bow and arrow that doubles as a striking blade. Either way, there’s nothing wrong with being called a warrior. Dungeons & Dragons characters hear this all the time and they give their thanks.

And while we’re on the topic of warriors, suppose you’re a D&D player who prefers another character class. Okay, no problem. You can be an SJB (Social Justice Barbarian). Barbarians sure as shit have enough rage to care about their causes. What about SJC’s (Social Justice Clerics). Since clerics have the ability to heal their party members, they could easily be useful for when a protest goes awry. And don’t forget about SJP’s (Social Justice Paladins). If you’re too laidback to be a barbarian but you still want to be a warrior, be a paladin, the bringers of truth and justice. But maybe SJW can mean something else entirely: Social Justice Wizard. Some people would rather use magic than engage in close quarters combat. Maybe the wizard specializes in pyromancy, which is bad news for any Nazi marching with a Tiki torch. Maybe the wizard specializes in cryomancy, which means the only snowflakes you have to worry about are the ones freezing your balls off. So many possibilities!

Okay, so you’ve seen all of those different character classes, but you still want to be a Social Justice Warrior instead of anything else. No problem! You know who else wanted to be a warrior? WWE Hall of Famer The Ultimate Warrior. He wanted to be a warrior so much that Warrior became his legal name. No kidding! And now his wife and children have Warrior as their last name. Call me crazy, but I’d love to see a big muscle-bound wrestler in tassels and face paint called The Ultimate Social Justice Warrior. The only difference is, The USJW can actually wrestle. And his promos make sense. And he’s not a racist. Or a homophobe. Or a guy who’s happy about Bobby Heenan having cancer. Or a…you know what, you probably get the picture by now.

Maybe professional wrestling isn’t your cup of tea, and quite frankly, there are times when I’m watching WWE and I can’t blame you for that. How about some videogames instead? If you want to see some real Social Justice Warriors in action, look no further than Final Fantasy VII, everybody’s favorite in the series and a true classic. The main characters in that game were part of a pro-environmental faction called Avalanche and their goal was to stop the evil mega corporation Shinra from draining the planet of its spiritual energy to make a profit. Yes, you heard me right: Barrett Wallace, Cloud Strife, and Tifa Lockhart were all a bunch of tree-hugging hippies. And they won! Of course, with Barrett’s arm cannon, Cloud’s big ass sword, and Tifa’s martial arts abilities, the writing was on the wall for the Shinra Corporation.

If somebody calls you a Social Justice Warrior in conversation, say thank you and be on your merry way. And while we’re at it, what does that make Keyboard Warriors? I could imagine that it takes a lot of power to smash a keyboard over someone’s head without breaking your damn weapon. You know who would make good Keyboard Warriors? Going back to my wrestling examples, the entire roster of old school ECW. Those guys would hit each other with trash cans, steel chairs, cookie sheets, and cheese graters (holy shit, that was brutal!). If you gave Tommy Dreamer, the Sandman, or Bubba Ray Dudley a computer keyboard, do you think they’re going to smash it across their opponents’ backs? You’re damn right they will! If it’s not nailed down, they’ll use it in a hardcore wrestling match. Hell, they could probably beat people to death with rolled up copy of Hustler, right?

Of course, as tempting as it may seem, beating the shit out of people during political activity is not recommended. I know, I know, you’re going to call me out on this because I have a bunch of violent political songs in my two poetry books Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage and Necrograph. Those poems are fantasies, but political violence in the real world is much more dangerous. Separating fantasy from reality is what’s going to get you by in this world more than anything. Okay, so you can’t show up to a protest riding a warhorse while carrying a bastard sword. You don’t have to. You can still be a warrior in many other ways. Fighting the good fight doesn’t always mean throwing fists (unless you’re defending yourself in a life or death situation, which is a whole different story entirely).

You can’t ride on a fire-breathing dragon, but you can lift your head as high anyways. You’ve got this. You can win the big one. All you have to do…is BO-LIEVE! Goddamn it, another wrestling reference! Well, I suppose it’s better than doing all of your warrior business on a pay-per-view called Great Balls of Fire. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Going back to the topic of Final Fantasy VII and their environmental stance, I wrote a first draft novel a few years ago called Filter Feeder which is basically the same thing, but with clam fishing and the Materia are magical clam shells. Filter Feeder’s Sheila Victor is a dead ringer for Final Fantasy VII’s Scarlet, so that’s how I’m going to draw her. You know what I’m hoping for? I hope when I eventually go back and have Marie Krepps beta read Filter Feeder, she won’t find too many similarities between the two stories. Maybe some, but not a lot. Well, I can always wish in one hand and shit in the other to see which one fills up first!

***AMERICAN DARKNESS 3***

Remember how I said that real world violence is a bad thing? Well, it doesn’t get any closer to the real world than this next story idea I have for American Darkness 3. It’s called “Belts and Welts” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Owen Hall, Angry Father

2.      Valerie Hall, Lenient Mother

3.      Leila Hall, Bratty Teenaged Daughter

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: In the Hall family, Valerie spoils Leila and gives her everything she wants, including the right to back-sass Owen and completely disregard his authority. Over a lengthy period of time of being disrespected, Owen has his breaking point. During a family dinner, he and Leila get into a heated argument in which the bratty daughter mocks everything her father says. Having finally snapped, Owen does something to Leila that has never happened to her before: he beats her severely with a belt and promises more beatings if the disrespect continues.

OOC: You know what? This might actually be more controversial than Puberty X Piracy.

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Tell me, Brian, how does it feel to be the least cultured guy at a bus station?”

-Stewie Griffin from “Family Guy”-