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.”

"Howl" by Allen Ginsberg

BOOK TITLE: Howl

AUTHOR: Allen Ginsberg

YEAR: 1956

GENRE: Poetry

SUBGENRE: Beat

GRADE: Mixed

It could be that I’m missing something here. It could be that my English degree wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. It could be that Allen Ginsberg is making me feel stupid. But whatever the case, when I tried to piece together the imagery in Howl, all I could say to myself was…”What?!” Sometimes the imagery made sense to me and I could carry on with my reading. Sometimes I had to read it twice or three times and even then my ability to comprehend it was sketchy. The first poem in the book starts off with, “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness.” Ordinarily that would be an awesome way to start a poem. It certainly got me going. But then reading the rest of it, I began to wonder if Allen Ginsberg himself was being destroyed by madness. He does have a creative mind, I’ll give him that. He’s so creative that only he understands what the heck he’s talking about.

But for all of the times that he made sense to me, his poetry truly spoke from the heart. It’s depressing watching great minds descend into madness. It’s depressing to watch the almighty “Moloch” take over everything you love. It’s depressing to know that your best friend is wasting away in a mental hospital while the orderlies employ draconian techniques. I know how depressing these things are because I myself am a schizophrenic. There once was a time when I thought I was going to be institutionalized against my will. I even welcomed it at one point. But if I didn’t get the help I needed when I did, I could just as easily become another statistic a la Carl Solomon (Ginsberg’s insane friend). This book was published in the 1950’s, during a time when ignorance towards mental health was rampant. I’m not so sure I could have survived that era. Thank you, Allen Ginsberg, for bringing me back to reality.

It should be noted how important this book of poetry was to the free speech movement. The sexual imagery, the violence, and the constant swearing had conservative censorship groups up in arms. Despite me not understanding most of the content, I can appreciate the battles Allen Ginsberg went through to get Howl published. Freedom of speech was always a guaranteed right in the American constitution, but it still comes under fire to this day. Luckily, we’re a lot more open-minded as a society, but if not for people like Ginsberg putting their lives on the line for free speech, we would have stayed in the dark ages for a long time. When balancing the confusing imagery with the impact the words had on mental health and the free speech movement, I’ll give this book a respectable mixed grade. It wasn’t a perfect read, but maybe I’m not high enough on the educational food chain to appreciate it to the fullest extent. This is just my opinion. You’re always allowed to have your own, because that comes with the freedom of speech deal.

Your Name Is Motherfucker

VERSE 1

Dehumanize you like you do to your foes

It’s such a mature tactic as everyone knows

I don’t care what it says on your ID card

Your name is motherfucker, now play the part

Your name is dip-shit, your name is jackass

A whole lot of flash, but not a lot of class

I can be cool and edgy just like your bitch ass

But in the end, we’re going nowhere fast

CHORUS

Your name is motherfucker! X4

VERSE 2

Can’t we talk to each other like grown men?

Or on a sour note will our conversation end?

Your name is mud, your name is bullshit

Drag you through them both if I so wish

CHORUS

Your name is motherfucker! X4

BRIDGE

You did it to yourself with nobody’s help

Put us all through hell with the lies you tell

Defamation and subjugation

Diplomacy has become lost in translation

VERSE 3

Don’t blame the victim, blame the attacker

Don’t use the words of a middle school slacker

Don’t build and army of trolls and assholes

Don’t build a wall of your critics’ skulls

Your name is coward, your name is lunatic

Your past is covered with abusiveness

Your name is six-double-five-three-two-one

It’s the number on your orange uniform, son

CHORUS

Your name is motherfucker! X8

The Fun Police

VERSE 1

They’re coming for your offensive jokes

Every guitar riff, every musical note

Every novel with the blackest of magic

Every love story with an ending so tragic

Keeping it clean like an overworked janitor

Keeping it lawful like an overpowered senator

The fun police are coming for your ass

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

CHORUS

Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!

Censoring anything they damn well please!

Stripping you naked of your individuality!

Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!

VERSE 2

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

It’s been that way since the medieval years

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

Even though you’re the owner of your skin

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

Listen only to your bible-thumping grandpa

The fun police? More like the fun SWAT Team

Invading your deep desires and sweet dreams

CHORUS

Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!

Censoring anything they damn well please!

Stripping you naked of your individuality!

Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!

VERSE 3

A squeaky clean world is boring as shit

All because you couldn’t help throwing a fit

All because you got offended by one little tit

All because you can’t handle the mosh pit

Keep your hands off of my fucking fun

Stop whining about everything under the sun

Being miserable is not really an excuse

For all of the power you’ve come to abuse

EXTENDED CHORUS

Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!

Censoring anything they damn well please!

Stripping you naked of your individuality!

Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!

Sound the alarm! It’s the fun militia!

They’re going berserk and fucking ballistic!

They claim to want a smaller government!

No obstacles for their forced covenant!

Soccer Sucks

The summer sun shone down upon the gym students of Santa Consuela High School like an oven baking a pizza. As they played soccer on the school’s grass field, sweat rained down from their bodies to where their gym clothes looked like they had just gone swimming in a river. The kids and their teacher Miss Lopez were in tiptop athletic shape, so slowing down wasn’t a problem. For mildly overweight student Ben Troy, huffing, puffing, and sluggishly dragging himself across the field was as natural as the sweat pouring from his body.

Ben hated gym class so much that his muscles tightened at the though of it, only to ask himself, what muscles? He gritted his teeth together every time Miss Lopez told him to “pick it up”. No gym teacher could begin to fathom what it’s like to be overweight and constantly tired. Ben could sleep for days after a shitty soccer game like this. He was already in such a foul mood that he could blow off a firestorm of swear words at the smallest annoyance.

But instead all it took was a flying soccer ball to Ben’s ribcage. The impact stung him so badly that he dropped to his knees and screamed like a wounded lion. The other students, who paid more attention to the game than to Ben, accidentally knocked him down as they passed him by, leaving the big guy rolling around in the grass and crying in agony.

Rather than relishing in his agony, Ben nipped up and stopped the game with cacophonic vitriol. “That’s it! I fucking quit! I hate this goddamn game and I hate you stupid ass motherfuckers! Why don’t you look where the fuck you’re going next time, you goddamn faggots!”

Every student on the field had their wide eyes on him and one kid mocked him with an, “Ooo, I’m so scared!”

“Shut up, pencil dick!” shouted Ben before stomping off of the field and sitting on a metal bench with his spine and shoulders hunched over. He looked down at his black sneakers and gray athletic shorts and breathed deeply in anger. Contrary to popular belief, heavy breathing didn’t calm him down in the least. He still felt like punching the heads off of everybody on that field. Maybe he could grab them by the legs and split them in half like a banana. Those seemed like reasonable options to a pissed off kid with weight issues and a teacher who constantly told him to “pick it up”. In Ben’s mind, the only thing they would be picking up his pieces of skull off of the grassy field.

“We need to talk,” said Miss Kira Lopez.

Deep down inside, Ben always thought that his thirty-something gym teacher looked attractive with her brown skin, black ponytail, and red gym shorts. But he was in no mood to think with his penis. He wanted to strangle people. He wanted to head butt that kid who made fun of him. He wanted to rip out the spinal columns of everyone who had ever made fun of him for being bad at sports.

Miss Lopez sat down next to Ben and said, “You know you’re going to get detention for swearing at your fellow students. Sure, I don’t like being hit with a soccer ball either, but those were some pretty harsh things you said. I certainly don’t appreciate you using a homophobic slur against them. You know the one I’m talking about.”

“Faggot isn’t a gay slur. It’s a generic insult. Everybody knows that,” argued Ben, still with his crew cut-wearing head tucked against his chest.

“You can debate the semantics of an insult all day long, but that doesn’t change the fact that you just earned yourself detention. I want to see you here after school for thirty minutes. We’ve got a lot to talk about,” said Miss Lopez.

“How many minutes of detention are those morons getting for knocking my ass over and smacking me with the ball? Huh? Soccer is supposed to be a non-contact sport, which means nobody’s supposed to get hurt. If you really wanted to injure your students so badly, why don’t you teach some MMA or some shit like that? At least then, beating the shit out of students will be legal.”

Miss Lopez placed a gentle hand on Ben’s shoulder and caused him to glare at her with the viciousness of a wild wolf. She said, “Listen to me. First of all, that look your giving me doesn’t mean anything right now. You can get mad all you want, but you’re in a gym class and you have an assignment to do. Second of all, if we allowed you to beat up whoever you wanted, you’d completely miss the point of soccer. In addition to being a non-contact sport, which you alluded to earlier, soccer is a team sport. In order for a team to be successful, they have to learn how to get along. That’s what school is about: building communities. What kind of community are we going to have if you’re constantly screaming vulgar insults at your classmates and threatening to kill them?”

“If you don’t want me to do those things, then tell those kids to stop hitting me with the goddamn ball. It’s that simple. And if they do hit me with the goddamn ball, give them the same amount of detention that I have,” suggested Ben.

“You know full well that that was an accident. Sure, we should try our best to reduce the number of accidents in sports, but that doesn’t mean everybody’s going to suddenly be perfect. Whether you know it or not, those other kids are depending on you to be their rock. They need your help in achieving victory. If you’re going to deny that to them, then you’re not really part of a community at all, are you?”

Ben swatted Miss Lopez’s arm away and said, “What the fuck do they need me for? I’m just a big fat ass who’s slower than an old lady crossing the street.”

The gym teacher folded her arms and looked at her student incredulously before saying, “Is that what you really believe? Do you really think that using your weight issues as a crutch is going to bring you happiness? I know you’re unhappy with your body, which is another reason gym classes exist. I know you don’t believe this right now, but I actually want you to live a long and healthy life. I want good things for you, Ben. You’re not going to get those good things if you’re just sitting here on the bench while your teammates are losing. Come on, give them another chance. Please?”

Ben breathed heavily in and out as he contemplated this point while trying to sooth his fiery anger. He reluctantly stood back up with his fists clenched at his sides, ready to go at a moment’s notice. But then he looked down at his teacher with the same venomous glare and said, “The next motherfucker who knocks me down is getting the shit kicked out of him. I don’t care how much detention I get. I still think soccer sucks.”

The vengeful student tromped his way back on the field and engaged his classmates in even more athletic warfare. He struggled with his cardio and sucked as much air as he possibly could from this burning and humid weather. Getting the soccer ball away from his opponents while managing to stay on his feet this time was a struggle that only added to his huffing and puffing.

Deep inside he didn’t want any more trouble than he had already gotten himself into. Something about Miss Lopez’s words struck a chord with him, though he wouldn’t openly admit it. Maybe it was teenaged attraction, but this was an even worse time to think with his penis. He had a game to win and goddamn it, he was going to win come hell or high water.

After a long while of sucking in air like a cyclone, Ben finally managed to gain control of the soccer ball. The easy part was over. Now it was time to channel is rage into positivity. All of this fire burning in his belly and lungs was now being used as fuel for his newfound athleticism. He ran with the ball like a freight train bursting down the tracks. He didn’t care about his saggy belly or thunder thighs. He didn’t care about his lightheadedness or quickly beating heart and brain. He didn’t care that his insides felt like he swallowed molten steel. He had this ball and he wasn’t letting go.

After a slight bump of the shoulders with another student, Ben felt like kicking some heads. In one thunderous motion, he threw his biggest, most earth-shattering kick his heavy frame would allow. But instead of concussing another student, his raging energy was directed toward the soccer ball. It flew through the air like cannon volley and sailed past the goalie before touching the net. Prior to that goal kick, the score was ten-to-ten. With only seconds remaining, Ben Troy just scored the final kick and led his team to victory.

In the midst of all of this raspy breathing, Ben’s eyes grew wide with disbelief as his fellow teammates cheered their heads off. He was in an even bigger state of disbelief when they actually had the strength to hoist him on their shoulders in an act of celebration. A small grin formed on his pudgy face as he was lowered to the grass. He finally did it. He made a difference in a way that didn’t involve homophobic slurs or extreme violence. For that small moment, he found his happiness. And then the overweight student collapsed to the ground and blacked out.

“Somebody get some help! Call 9-1-1!” shouted Miss Lopez. That was the last thing Ben heard before taking his happy ass into dreamland, or wherever the dark side was.

Computer Rage

***COMPUTER RAGE***

Good news, potty mouths! Scientific studies are showing that people who swear have a higher understanding of English language skills than people who don’t. This is indeed good news for me, because most of my horrific swearing bouts have come at the expense of my computer. Anytime my computer slows down, freezes, or just plain stops working, it’s not enough just to sit and wait. No, I have to unleash a firestorm of curses at the computer, most of which would land me in jail if I said them to a human being. For the first time ever, I will provide everyone here with a transcript of the most offensive, god-awful insults I’ve ever screamed at my computer. I’m purposefully excluding homophobic slurs from this transcript because I have too much respect for the LGBT community to post them. Otherwise, happy reading!


“Quit douching around!”

“You stupid ass computer!”

“Get moving, bitch!”

“Get your ass in gear!”

“Get your ass online!”

“I’m going to smack the shit out of you, you stupid son of a bitch!”

“I’m going to put my dick in your CD drive!”

“Goddamn it, move!”

“Don’t you disconnect! Don’t you fucking disconnect! Goddamn it!”

“I hope you goddamn die, you fucking computer!”

“Go to hell, you piece of shit!”

“You’re going to get your ass kicked if you don’t move your fucking ass!”

“Blow me! Blow me, blow me, blow me!”

“Screw you, you douche-bag!”

“I’m going to take a big fucking shit on you if you don’t move!”

“Play the goddamn fucking song!”

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!”


What can I say? It’s a healthy way to release angry stress. It’s not healthy for everyone in my house who has to listen to me, but it’s healthy for me. I’ll take a firestorm of swear words over squeezing a rubber ball or doing yoga any day of the fucking week. See what I did there? We’ve got ears, say cheers, bitches!


***OCCUPY WRESTLING***

I plan on posting this journal on many websites and Deviant Art is one of them. If you follow me on Deviant Art, then you’ve probably noticed a few chapters of Occupy Wrestling stacked up in your inbox, my most recent one being number five. I hope I get to sit down and edit some more on a regular basis. If I can bulldoze the first American Darkness book, I can probably do the same with Occupy Wrestling. We’ll just have to wait and see.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next on deck is my second attempt at drawing a female character since making Danielle Courtney look like Marilyn Manson in drag. My niece Reina seems to think Miss Courtney looks like a “sassy black lady with a puppet face”. Hehehehehe! Here’s to hoping Hannah Jason looks a little more pleasant. Who’s Hannah Jason? She’s the magic-wielding assassin from “Bee Jay the Glutinous” who protects the little orange kitty from Raul Thunderstone’s cruelty. Hannah is modeled after the Diablo II sorceress, so maybe that will influence what I chose for a reference picture. Eh, maybe not.


***REINA***

On the 19th of this month, Reina will be celebrating her 12th birthday with me and the family. It’s hard to believe that my little baby niece is on the precipice of teen-hood. Holy shit! She wants to celebrate this coming-of-age milestone by playing in the swimming pool at the YMCA and by seeing the new Star Wars movie at the Regal Cinemas. I got her two presents for her special day, but I won’t be divulging what they are since Reina could potentially read this online and have her surprise spoiled. I hope she likes them! Happy Birthday, Reina-Bear! It’d be nice if everyone who reads this wishes her a Happy Birthday as well.


***TWEET OF THE DAY***

(RE: having a high character ranking in UFC’s latest videogame)

“Not since Samus Aran was revealed to be a woman have dummies been this butt hurt about a video game.”

-CM Punk-