Jada Pinkett-Smith vs. Chris Rock: If They're "Just Jokes", Then You'll Let Jada Clap Back with No Retaliation

 

Spice 1 X Jack Perry: Sorry, Ben Shapiro, But Rap Music IS Real Music and Facts Don't Care About YOUR Feelings

 

Dr. Cushing from Tales from the Hood vs. Kanye West (Rest in Peace, Rosalind Cash)

 

Clarence Thomas X the Tattooed Racist from "Tales from the Hood" (Rest in Peace, Rick Dean)

 

Crazy K from Tales from the Hood vs. Charlie Kirk (Rest in Piss)

 

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-

The Last Aqua Man

***THE LAST AQUA MAN***

Remember a blog entry a few weeks ago about my childhood soccer team The Thunder Eagles? Well, that wasn’t just a fun story. It’s now an undeveloped idea for a novel somewhere down the line. The reason Silent Warrior resonated so well was because it was loosely based on real experiences I had. The Last Thunder Eagle, as it’s now called, will hopefully resonate as well since I used to be a sore loser. In some ways, I still am a sore loser and perhaps this novel idea is what will exorcise those demons forever. But that’s neither here nor there. I’ve already written the first chapter of Beautiful Monster and I intend to see that one through to the epilogue. Wish me luck!

But as long as I’m being inspired by stories from my past (that thankfully aren’t too traumatic), I might as well throw another one out there and see if it sticks. In the same way The Last Thunder Eagle is intended to be about soccer, The Last Aqua Man will be about swimming lessons, should it ever become a novel idea. When I was a kid, I already knew how to doggie paddle from point A to point B. But that just wasn’t enough for some reason, so my parents signed me up for swimming lessons at the community pool. Although I didn’t get hit with any soccer balls or knocked down, I still was not a happy camper.

There were six different levels of difficulty for these classes: Beginner’s Level Parts 1-4, Intermediate, and Advanced. During both rounds of swim lessons, I was placed in Beginner’s Level 4 and never passed to the next tier. One of the big reasons for this was because I hated sticking my head underwater without plugging my nose first. I hate water in my nose, I hate coughing it up, I hate blowing it out, and I hate water in my ears. I would have worn a pair of goggles that protected my nose, but the swim instructors wouldn’t let me use them. Instead they suggested that I hold my breath before sticking my head underwater. Didn’t work. I ended up feeling like a whitewashed version of Crazy K from Tales from the Hood. I know I make that reference a lot, but there aren’t a whole lot of movies out there where somebody shoves IV straws up another man’s nose, so that’s all I’ve got to work with.

During the second season of swim classes, one of our assignments was to dive right into the water, head first, arms extended. The first time I did this came without incident. In fact, my parents applauded me from the sidelines. And then with every successive time came more water in my nose and throat and not enough ways to expel it. After a while I just refused to dive and instead did a pencil jump while holding my nose shut. I already told you guys that I never passed either season of classes, but at this point I didn’t give two shits and a flying fuck. I was the Last Thunder Eagle and the Last Aqua Man all in one childhood. Sports really aren’t my thing after all. Hell, even gym class in general was an exhausting nightmare at times.

When I talked about The Thunder Eagles, I mentioned how soccer could be improved if hardcore violence was allowed. Well, I don’t think the same could be said for this blog entry. My misery was nobody else’s fault…this time. Nobody pushed me in the pool. Nobody tried to drown me. Nobody splashed me while I had my clothes on. Who was I going to beat the crap out of? The closest I could ever come to that would have to be literally cutting my nose off to spite my face. Yeah, that’s right! It’s my nose’s fault for allowing water to get in there in the first place. That’s not what noses are for! Isn’t that right, Melanie Good’s character from Die Watching? Now there’s a reference absolutely nobody is going to get…unless you’re into that sort of thing. Then again, “that sort of thing” is the only reason why I know that movie exists. How sad. How relentlessly sad.

So how exactly would The Last Aqua Man become a reasonable story? Would it be too similar to The Last Thunder Eagle? Am I just destined to write novels about sore losers my entire career? Mitch McLeod was a sore loser (when he did lose, which was not often). Mario Bryan was a sore loser. And now the main character from The Last Thunder Eagle, a ten-year-old named Alex Woodley, is going to be a REALLY sore loser. Brock Lesnar once said it best: in order to know how to win, you have to know how to lose. He was a sore loser in college and so am I in the real world.

And that’s the thing about life itself: failure is inevitable, but it’s how we react to it that will determine future success. Some people will pick themselves up and dust themselves off to go to work the next day. Others will crumble under the pressure and give up altogether. There were some things in my life that were worth continuing and some that I gave up on. I gave up on playing the guitar because I couldn’t move my fingers quickly enough across the frets. I gave up on playing Street Fighter IV because Abel kept getting cheap victories over me. I gave up on playing Magic: the Gathering because it became more about capitalism rather than the love of the game.

But when it comes to my creative outlets, mental health, and physical health, those are things I will never compromise on. These three things can’t exist without each other. I write for a living. I work on other creative endeavors for the love of art. I need a clear mind to do those things. And as far as physical health goes, I know my bulging belly will tell you otherwise, but I’ve actually lost a lot of weight in the past few months. I eat only three meals a day without snacking on sugary foods, I walk long distances whenever it’s nice outside, and I drink a lot of unsweetened iced tea. A lot! I haven’t kept track of how much weight I’ve lost, but I know I must be doing something right, because I can make it up and down the stairs without being overly winded. I guess there is life beyond childhood soccer and swimming. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

ME: You know, Reina, there was once a time when I considered Squall Leonhart from Final Fantasy VIII to be my own personal hero. He had no emotional attachments, no unnecessary relationships, and he mastered the art of giving zero fucks.

REINA: So basically your hero was an angsty teenager?

ME: No, that’s not what he is!

REINA: He sounds like an angsty teenager, Garrison. I bet he listens to a lot of Linkin Park.

ME: Final Fantasy VIII came out a few years before the first Linkin Park album.

REINA: He still would have listened to them.

Extremism

***EXTREMISM***

When you’re young and naïve, extreme comments can be very appealing, either because of comedic value or aspirations of badassery. As a teenager, blatantly offensive jokes were the funniest to me. During my early twenties, I still found them wildly hilarious despite me conforming to a college environment. With age comes wisdom and what was once cool in the past isn’t so cool anymore. My 33^rd birthday is this coming June and I’d like to think I at least have enough wisdom to know the difference between what’s acceptable and what’s not. I often find myself measuring my posts online for this very reason. Would you like to hear some of the salty stuff I said during my youth? You may find it darkly funny, then again, your jaw might fall on the floor. Either way, it’ll be a slight departure from the emotional diarrhea blog entries I’ve posted lately. Speaking of which, I finally learned the word that sums up the act of “Wrestling With My Mind”: brooding. How did I not learn this word earlier?!

This journal entry will have three different examples of extreme dialogue and the first one is the most contemporary example I can think of. The year is 2010 and a Roger Waters concert at the Tacoma Dome has just let out. I’m walking the streets with my dad, my step-mom Charlie, and her son Ryan. We’re walking adjacently to the train tracks and there are drunken morons wrestling around on them and yelling like lunatics. The drunks were warned by train station personnel to get off the tracks, but they kept hooting and hollering. When I describe this incident, I could just as easily say things like, “What a night that was!” or “I’m glad we got out of there!” But this is a blog entry about extreme dialogue, so instead I say…“I was kind of hoping the drunks would get run over by the train.” You all know via my poetry how I feel about drug addicts and alcoholics who behave obnoxiously in public, but this is a stretch even for me. And by stretch, I’m talking Gumby levels of stretchiness.

Example number two. The year is 2009 and I’m taking a creative nonfiction class at Western Washington University. As part of the class curriculum, we had to read certain books and one of them was “This Boy’s Life” by Tobias Wolff. There’s a scene where a young Tobias is with his mother at some kind of Seattle fair and these two bearded guys in flannel shirts approach them. The guys treat the Wolff family to sugary treats, hotdogs, and rides on bicycles. The smart thing for me to do would be to answer the actual assigned questions on the online forum for our class. But instead I…sort of…compare the two bearded men to the mountaineers from Deliverance. You know the ones. “Squeal, piggy!” The next day, the teacher announces that several people were offended by my post and that I should be careful about what I say on the internet. In hindsight, this was a good lesson. The problem? I was too arrogant to heed it, so I silently stewed for the rest of the class and laughed about it once we were dismissed.

Final example. The year is 2008 and I’m still attending school at WWU, this time for a dramatic writing class. The class met every Friday afternoon and that was when our scripts for short theater scenes were due. Mine happened to be about a kid named Kurt Liddell who had to be comforted by his girlfriend Georgia Cushing after getting a D- in US history. Kurt could have phrased his feelings any way he wanted. He could have wished for higher marks. He could have vowed to work harder. He could have wished for a transfer request. But no. He says something that would unfortunately be a hallmark for plenty of school-related stories in my future career (including, sadly enough, Silent Warrior). Kurt Liddell says…”Those Columbine kids had it right all along.” Let that sink in for a moment. Kurt channels the Columbine kids because he got a D- in school. If that’s not extreme behavior, I don’t know what is. Nonetheless, I got an A on that assignment and was given the opportunity to write more scenes in that series as an alternative to the scheduled work, so I thought that was pretty cool.

Needless to say, these were not years where I had my shit together. I’m 32 years old and some of my shit is still scattered here and there. If you learn one thing from this blog entry, it’s to not let your ego get in the way of a good lesson. No matter how good you are (or how good you think you are), there’s always room to improve your life, whether it’s creatively, professionally, or personally. The day you stop growing is the day you get complacent. Complacency can be smelled from miles away and it stinks like shit. If growing from extreme behavior is your way of moving on in this world, go for it. I know growing up sucks, but there are still aspects of youth that can be appealing to adults, Legos and videogames being chief among them. I’m Garrison Kelly! Keep climbing the mountain!

***THE NEXT NOVEL***

Silent Warrior has finally been put to bed for the very last time. It’s only a first draft, so there will be lots of editing in the future, which I’m very much looking forward to. In the meantime, I need a new novel to work on. The ideas that seem the most appealing to me right now are Beautiful Monster, Booger the Clown, and (maybe) Suck It Double Dork. Only Beautiful Monster has been developed from beginning to end. The other two need some fleshing out, which is why I spent so much time brooding in the first place. Heh. Brooding. I love that word! Brooding!

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

GANGSTER A: What about us?

GANGSTER B: That shit was wrong, man.

GANGSTER A: You just drove by and started blasting.

GANGSTER B: That shit was wrong, man.

GANGSTER A: We weren’t even the ones who capped your homie.

GANGSTER B: That shit was really wrong, G.

CRAZY K: Man, fuck you niggas! It was your set that did my homie Little Joe! You motherfuckers would try to kill me if you had the chance! Man, fuck you niggas! Fuck y’all!

-Tales from the Hood: Hardcore Convert-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Andrew Gale a.k.a. Booger the Clown is a huge fan of gangster rap and the movie Tales From the Hood. If his story is the one I end up writing, TFTH will be referenced quite a bit. Hell, in the opening segment, I’ll have Andrew drive down a dark highway with “Born II Die” by Spice One blasting on his stereo. “My gat screamed fire! The bullet told me shoot that motherfucker, he’s a liar!” Man, I love those lyrics! Badass!

Gyro Psycho Modulator

VERSE 1

A Kafkaesque prison, you’ll never break out

Straws in your nose and a ball in your mouth

The tightest straps on your ankles and wrists

Clamp down on your gut with one more twist

Spinning in circles like the wheel of fortune

Your stomach boils in this evil torment

Your head bursts from all of the mind rape

Bringing torture back to medieval dates

CHORUS

Gyro! Psycho! Modulator! X4

VERSE 2

You need to learn your hardest life lessons

Surrender your soul, lay down your weapons

You’ve done enough damage to your own kind

Let these necromantic images burn in your mind

Lynchings and shootings: what’s the difference?

They both come from those with sinful visions

You can spin forever on that torture table

Keep your supper down if you’re able

CHORUS

Gyro! Psycho! Modulator! X4

VERSE 3

One last chance, you won’t get another

Confront the souls of your slain brothers

Tell them why you murdered their asses

Tell them why you terrorized the masses

Your Freudian excuses are so pathetic

Death and disease is your sick fetish

Tell me all you want how you give no fucks

Tell it to the gangsters who fill you with slugs

EXTENDED CHORUS

Gyro! Psycho! Modulator!

Sensory! Deprivation! Chamber!

Stripped! Naked! For slave labor!

You still! Reject! Your only savior!

FINAL LINE

Welcome to hell, motherfuckers!

Dark Identity

***DARK IDENTITY***

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times (actually, that number is pretty accurate, to say the least): creative fuel can come from anywhere, and I do mean anywhere. There’s a fucking movie about emojis, for shit’s sake (which is also accurate considering there’s a poop emoji as one of the main characters). Back in the year 2004, a different kind of creative fuel flooded my mind: an X-Box game called Unreal Championship. It’s a first person shooter featuring sci-fi creatures, clowns, robots, giants, the works. The female aliens and clowns had raspy voices that reminded me somehow of Starscream from the Transformers cartoons in the 80’s. Thus, the seeds are sown for a one chapter novel idea slash pencil and paper RPG called Dark Identity.

Keep in mind, this was the year 2004, so I was five years away from being a serious reader and even further away from being a semi-pro. In a world of genetic engineering and stratified warriors, you had a badass motherfucker named Dujak Heil (nice last name; not racist at all). He went to a peaceful town armed to the tooth and got arrested for vagrancy in a scene laced with profanity and anti-Nazi references (from a guy whose last name was Heil).

This was the second and final story I submitted to my creative writing class at Olympic College (the same one where I went berserk after a kid named Patrick said my writing sucked). This second outing was much better than the Raggyd presentation. I had students tell me my story should be on Adult Swim. That’s a fucking compliment if I’ve ever heard one! And then I had a bearded troll named Alex tell me he wants Dujak to die a nasty horrible death. The feeling was mutual at the time.

Could Dark Identity have been something more than a one chapter cluster fuck? With some research on genetic engineering and serious commitment to the story, yes, it could have. Do I want to recreate this concept in the year 2017? Probably not. This whole story was centered around Unreal Championship fandom and hearing female clowns yell, “Enemy flag carrier is here!”

I officially beat Unreal Championship in February 2005 (just days after I was suspended from college for writing a nasty poem about my geology teacher). I’ve played it a handful of times with friends since then and that’s about it. So I guess it’s safe to say I’ve outgrown that game. I’d definitely consider playing it again to refresh my memory, but I must confess, the thumb stick sensitivity in that game makes it next to impossible to aim properly with anything but an automatic rifle.

Aside from outgrowing a popular X-Box game, maybe there was some truth to what Alex said about Dujak being a hate-worthy character. He betrayed his tribe, he brought weapons into a peaceful town, and he made wisecracks at the guards for trying to arrest him. Unless there’s some mustard behind those remarks, those aren’t likeable qualities in a main character. The best kinds of protagonists are the ones we can sympathize with. That’s why we have a lot of heroes as protagonists rather than villains: because most of us can relate to being good people with hearts of gold. Mitch McLeod needed a massive overhaul in his character in order to make Occupy Wrestling as polished as it is today.

Dark Identity is just another potentially good idea that got lost in the shuffle of other projects. It hasn’t aged well since 2004/2005, so it won’t be made into a novel or short story. The lesson of the day: not everything you touch will turn to gold. Knowing the difference between diamonds and coal is something all writers need to do. I once heard an internet personality call it a “crap detector”. We all think our crap detectors are strong until we’re proven otherwise, but even then some authors will fight that uphill battle until the end. Listening to your peers (the helpful ones) is paramount to success as an author. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***CREATIVE OUTPUT AND BOREDOM***

These days, I can’t really decide between having a lot of projects to do and having a small amount. I’m either bored out of my mind or overwhelmed to the point of chaos. I need to find a middle ground, but I’m no closer to finding it now than I was the past few weeks, where I had so little to do that I got bored easily. One of my solutions to this boredom is to write short stories for American Darkness 2 and Poison Tongue Tales 2 outside of the WSS. I did that for the first Poison Tongue Tales book back in 2015 during NaNoWriMo and it was a massive success. Perhaps I could do it again this time around, provided I have the energy for it. It turns out, though, that the next AD2 story I plan on writing fits in with the WSS prompt for the week, which is “Searing”.

***AMERICAN DARKNESS 2: WE ARE THE MACHINE***

Yes, you’ll notice that both American Darkness 2 and Poison Tongue Tales 2 have different subtitles than what I originally gave them. In the case of AD2, Black State could have so many different meanings that it could be misinterpreted. Now it’s called We Are the Machine. It sounds cool and nobody’s reading too much into its intended meaning. For this collection, the next story will be called “Street Warriors” (another title I’m considering changing) and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Samir the Skull Crusher, Indian Street Brawler
2. Crackers the Clown, Evil Clown
3. Kristen Miranda, Runaway Teen

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Kristen starts the story by searching for shelter.

SYNOPSIS: Kristen runs away from home and finds herself in the darkest, dankest part of Paulson City. When she tries to warm up next to a garbage can fire, she’s confronted by Crackers the Clown, who claims that she doesn’t belong in these streets and needs to get the hell out. The only way Crackers will let Kristen stay is if she agrees to have sex with him, to which Samir the Skull Crusher intervenes, claiming to be the one who gets to have her. The two scary characters brawl while Kristen is cowering in the corner wishing she was home right now.

***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***

Here’s the story I plan on working on independently. It’s called “Mine All Mine” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Chris Buyatt, Capoeira Fighter
2. Michael Tyoni, Pyromancer
3. Nina Thomas, Politician

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Chris and Michael’s race against each other leads them to the Black Dust Salt Mine, where videotaped evidence against Nina’s corruption is being secretly kept. Chris wants to bring the evidence to light while Michael wants to use his pyromancy to burn it and save Nina from embarrassment. The warrior and the wizard battle it out with Mayor Thomas watching in the background with a shotgun in hand.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

With new characters come new drawings. The first on the barbecue rack is Chris Buyatt from Mine All Mine. He was previously used in my Final Fantasy videogame idea from 2002-2005 as Gail Reinhold’s ex-boyfriend, but has since been scrapped until now. Gail is now a part of the Poison Tongue Tales story “Zombie” and Chris will make his official debut in “Mine All Mine”.

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

CRAZY K: Sensory what?!

DR. CUSHING: Sensory deprivation chamber. You will see nothing, you will hear nothing. Your mind will have nothing to feed upon but itself. It’s a tiny meal indeed. Hahahahaha!

-Tales From the Hood: Hardcore Convert-

One Million Faces

***ONE MILLION FACES***

One of my mother’s favorite nicknames for me is Sonshine (no, that’s not a typo), so it’s only natural that for my 32^nd birthday she would buy me a copy of Anette Olzon’s solo album called “Shine”. Before her termination in 2012, Anette Olzon was the lead singer for Nightwish and Tarja Turunen’s replacement in that same band. Her solo album is a much softer departure from her work with Tuomas Holopainen’s symphonic metal band. I contemplated referring to Anette Olzon as the female Michael Bolton with her new soft rock sound, but I don’t know if she would take it as an insult or a compliment, so I decided to keep it to myself. Hehe! Anyways, my favorite track on the CD has easily become “One Million Faces”. I listen to that song more often than anything else on that album and it’s because of the melodic and sorrowful nature that I’ve grown attracted to in music recently. If you’re ever surfing You Tube, be sure to look up “One Million Faces” by Anette Olzon. Or better yet, buy her entire solo album and support her music career. She’s been through a rough breakup with both her ex-husband and her old band Nightwish, so she needs all the support she can get. There’s not one bad track on that CD, but you’ll really get sentimental about “One Million Faces”. These are the lyrics:

VERSE 1

Where are those hidden miracles
We once shared
The laughter in the night
No one knows how the story goes
Make believes
Hidden like a ghost

CHORUS

All I wanted in my life was you
Dreams and moments that was shared with you
One million faces but the one I knew
Were all a masquerade
One million faces

VERSE 2

In the dark
In the darkest night
All I hear are shadows from behind
Now I see all the things so clear
But my pain still remains the same

CHORUS

All I wanted in my life was you
Dreams and moments that was shared with you
One million faces but the one I knew
Were all a masquerade

One million faces

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Normally, I begin my litany of self-promotions by talking about my next WSS contest entry. Yesterday evening, I already posted “The Golden Angel”, so that kind of spoils the surprise of it all. But with this new piece of superhero fiction comes new characters to draw. I’ve already drawn The Golden Angel himself and he looks like a weird hybrid between Goldust and Stardust from the WWE. The Dark Paladin, Goldie’s nemesis, is next on deck and he’s going to look just as terrifying as he was in that story, minus the maggot-infested dick.

***THE BEST IN THE WORLD: AT WHAT I HAVE NO IDEA***

If you follow me on Good Reads, you would have noticed that I deleted “Dana White: King of MMA” by June White from my reading list. I tried to read it earlier today, but I just couldn’t get into it. She repeats herself a lot, she has a boring writing style, and she tells instead of shows. I didn’t want to give her a one-star review because I generally don’t like giving those since they have the power to ruin an author’s reputation. So instead of dragging June White’s name through the mud, I decided my next nonfiction book should be a breath of fresh air: “The Best in the World: At What I Have No Idea” by Chris Jericho. Chris has always been a source of wisdom and entertainment in books past, so this third memoir of his should be just as exciting and fun.

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

CRAZY K: Shut up! Shut the fuck up!

DR. CUSHING: Why should they, Jerome? Are they saying things you don’t like to hear?

CRAZY K: So now you’re going to blame all this shit on me? You trying to make me crazy, motherfucker? I don’t owe any responsibilities to these motherfuckers!

DR. CUSHING: But you are responsible, Jerome, for the lives you’ve taken and for the dreams you’ve turned into nightmares.

CRAZY K: Nightmares? Motherfucker, what about my nightmares? What about the nightmare I’ve lived in? What about the nightmare I’ve lived in since I was born in this motherfucker? Who’s responsible for that?

DR. CUSHING: I don’t know, Jerome, you tell me! Who is responsible? Your mother? Your father? Your teachers? The world? Who?!

CRAZY K: Yeah, that’s right! All those motherfuckers created me! So now I’m the motherfucking nightmare!

DR. CUSHING: The nightmare ends when you say it does, Jerome! You’ve got to take responsibility to wake up! You’ve got to take responsibility to break this chain!

CRAZY K: I’ve only got one fucking responsibility in this world and that’s me! That’s it, motherfucker! So everybody and everything that ain’t me ain’t shit! Do you understand me?!

DR. CUSHING: That’s a question best posed to yourself. I’m giving you a chance! I’m giving you a shot at redemption! Do you understand that?!

CRAZY K: I don’t give a fuck about any of these stupid motherfuckers! So what you do is stop fucking with my mind, man, and let me out of this motherfucker!

DR. CUSHING: There’s nothing to stop you, Jerome.

(Crazy K breaks free and puts Nurse Roland in a sleeper hold.)

DR. CUSHING: Jerome!

CRAZY K: Shut the fuck up! Shut up! You let me out of this motherfucker or I swear to God I’ll snap this bitch’s neck!

DR. CUSHING: Jerome, it’s not too late to be saved! You won’t get another chance!

CRAZY K: I don’t need no motherfucking chance! You know why?! ‘Cause I don’t give a fuck! I said I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a FUCK!

-Tales From the Hood: Hardcore Convert-

Wade Fish

NAME: Wade Fish
AGE: 31
OCCUPATION: Prisoner
CANON: Pretty Colors


When certain people grow up with a tough life in a crime-infested neighborhood, they look for positive ways to leave it all behind. Some people turn to music, some turn to sports, some even go so far as to join the military. And then you have those who are so consumed with their demons that their only escape comes from the worst kind of drugs available, either from the streets or at the local Walgreen’s. Guess which kind of escapist Wade Fish turned out to be. I’ll give you a clue: it involves hypodermic needles, a snorting straw, and pill bottles.

When most people look at Wade, they only see his dirty appearance. They don’t see the past he tried to leave behind. He was bullied in school by teachers and students alike. He was abused by his step-father. Crime was everywhere in his ghetto neighborhood. At the age of 31, he still lived with his abusive step-father and frightened mother. To summarize everything I’ve just said, Wade was not only dealt a crappy hand, but he willingly gave up his chips in exchange for a life in the gutter.

If there was a drug within Wade’s reach, he did it and became a zombie afterwards. He swallowed pills despite not knowing what they were. He snorted cocaine despite never knowing where it came from. He shot heroin into his veins and formed infections around both arms. And when the high took over, he was unstoppable. Wade would lash out at anybody who passed him. It didn’t matter if you were a gangster, a school student, or even a cop on foot: if Wade had a knife, you were fucking dead. Unfortunately for him, he found the one cop who was willing to shoot him in the leg in order to subdue him

Though in today’s warrior cop world, Wade would have been dead a long time ago. But since I need a story worth writing, his story won’t end at the hands of a brutal police officer. While in prison, Wade is offered a chance at freedom on the condition that he undergoes “behavioral modification”. If this sounds at all like a cheap knockoff of either A Clockwork Orange or the fourth story in Tales From the Hood, it’s because Pretty Colors was. And just like Crazy K from the latter of the two movies I’ve mentioned, Wade didn’t give a fuck about anybody’s feelings; he just wanted an easy way back on the streets.

The best way to relieve someone of traumatic stress is to take away their demons or at least neutralize them. In a part of prison called The Diamond Room (which is a colorful version of Crazy K’s sensory deprivation chamber), Wade Fish can do just that by confronting the people from his past who fucked him over. One by one, the “demons” come to life. First it’s his mother. Then it’s his teacher. Then its his stepfather. And now it’s a multi-headed hydra with all three of their heads, plus the heads of the warden and the scientist who created The Diamond Room in the first place. Wade goes into an “I don’t give a fuck!” rage at each of his demons and ends up dying in the colorful room due to a stroke brought on by a seizure.

After Wade dies, the REAL warden and scientist enter the room and say that The Diamond Room, “Just needs some fine tuning.” Really? That was the problem with this whole setup: it wasn’t tweaked enough? Never mind that a human being’s life was on the line. And by the way, just like with any prisoner, Wade’s legacy was buried deep within the beaurocracy of the prison and his body was thrown away like common garbage. Wisdom, justice, and love, my ass.

Even though Wade’s disturbing past is enough of a reason for him to gain sympathy, he will be cast as a villain for the next time I use him. He technically could be a “sympathetic villain”. Maybe he can be like the narrator in “A Million Little Pieces” and just be a lovable asshole. Either that or he can be a low level henchman who’s doing it all for the smack. So many doors can be opened for Wade Fish. All that’s left is for him to walk through one of those doors and become a literary icon. Or I could just bury him again, that always works out so well.

　

***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“You get me slapped with a fine, you argue with the customers and I have to patch everything up, you get us thrown out of a funeral home for violating a corpse, and to top it all off, you ruin my relationship! I mean, what is your encore?! Do you anally rape my mother while pouring sugar in my gas tank?! You know what the real tragedy behind all of this is?! I’m not even supposed to be here today!”

-Dante Hicks from “Clerks”-

Tales From the Hood: Hardcore Convert

MOVIE TITLE: Tales From the Hood
SUB-STORY: Hardcore Convert
DIRECTOR: Rusty Cundieff
YEAR: 1995
GENRE: Gangster Horror
RATING: R for violence, vulgar language, and male nudity
GRADE: Pass


In the final story from the Tales From the Hood anthology, Jerome Johns aka Crazy K is a psychopathic gangster who goes on a rampage and eventually gets captured by the police. After serving four years of his life sentence, Crazy K meets Dr. Cushing, a scientist who gives him the chance of being released back on the streets on the condition that he undergoes “behavioral modification”.

Crazy K thinks this is an easy way out of jail, but the physical and psychological torture he is subjected to suggests otherwise. He’s forced to have a conversation with a racist serial killer, be strapped to a spinning table while watching violent footage, and be lowered into a sensory deprivation chamber to confront the ghosts of those he murdered. Is Crazy K capable of being a respectable human being or is he just a lost cause who “Doesn’t give a fuck”?

The idea of brainwashing a violent person into becoming a pacifist has been explored before, particularly in the Anthony Burgess novel which later became a movie “A Clockwork Orange”. The conditioning techniques used in both “A Clockwork Orange” and “Hardcore Convert” are similar in the sense that the subject will become violently ill after watching or attempting brutality. The difference between the two is that the conditioning in “A Clockwork Orange” actually does its job in making the main character into a “model citizen” while Crazy K continues to defy authority.

Experimental treatments are judged on a trial and error basis, so Crazy K’s rebellious ways are believable. In fact, his multiple F-bombs and aggressive tone make him a quotable character. Just don’t quote him in a public place where children are present. Also, when somebody asks you if you’re interested in science, don’t say, “I saw a few chemicals in my day.” That doesn’t sound promising. It’s funny as hell, but not promising.

Here’s the million dollar question that I’ve always had when watching this part of Tales From the Hood. During the spinning table scene, were the sexual overtones intentional or were they accidental? I’ve wrestled with this question plenty of times in my analysis of this movie. Crazy K is wearing nothing but a black g-string (which leaves very little to the imagination), he’s being tied to a table, he has a metal ball gag in his mouth and feeding tubes in his nostrils, he has electric pasties on his nipples, he has a spring-loaded clamp on his groin, and the women who are doing all of this to him are smoking hot. Even in her 50’s, Rosalind Cash (Dr. Cushing) was a gorgeous woman, so that furthers my last point.

To answer the question of whether the sexual overtones were intentional, I’m still on the fence on that one. Yes, the spinning table scene has all of those kinky elements going on, but it also has some rather disturbing ones. The slide show that Crazy K is being shown basically compares KKK lynchings to gangs shootings. These are all brutal photos, but the bold point is being made that black gangsters are no different from white supremacists in the sense that they both randomly kill other black people. And let’s not forget, these points are being made while Crazy K is being spun around on a torture table and becoming nauseated afterwards. If there was an attempt at fan service, it fell apart the minute the table started spinning.

You can look at this final Tales From the Hood story from any angle you want. You can jokingly call it “Fifty Shades of K” or “Clockwork Orgasm” all you want, but let’s not forget that there’s a serious tale of gang violence being told in this story. The fact that Crazy K can remain defiant after everything is done says something about our society: some people just can’t be cured. You can help them all you want, but in the end, it’s up to that individual to make a conscientious decision to change his or her life. Crazy K wanted an easy way to freedom and he got schooled instead. The easiest path to your goals isn’t always the best one. Cheaters never win and winners never cheat. That’s why Crazy K is in a coffin at Simms’ Funeral Home and not at home rebuilding his life. A passing grade for a tale of tragedy.

"My Bloody Roots" by Max Cavalera

Max Cavalera is without a doubt one of the hardest working metal musicians in the industry. He’s fronting three bands (Soulfly, Cavalera Conspiracy, and Killer Be Killed) and he was the founding member of one of the most successful metal bands today: Sepultura. He’s not going to flaunt his greatness in public because he’s a humble and friendly guy, so I’m going to do it for him in what little space I have in this blog entry about his memoir, “My Bloody Roots”.

The reason he can keep a frenetic pace in his work life is he has an unrivaled passion for heavy metal music since it basically saved his life. His father died while Max was only nine years old. Without him, the Cavalera clan lived in poverty in autocratic Brazil. He knew he could never make it as an ice cream salesman or a schoolchild because he was too pissed off about his father being gone. So what did he do? With what little money he had, he bought heavy metal albums and let them inspire him to become the hardcore rock and roller he his today.

All of this energy in his music didn’t come without a price. Aside from his father dying, he also had to deal with the death of his stepson Dana Wells, whose murder remains unsolved to this day. Max’s wife and Dana’s mother Gloria spent the longest time in despondency and all Max wanted to do was to be there for her while the guys of his band at the time, Sepultura, wanted to go on tour right away. One thing led to another and Max eventually left the band along with his wife, who was their manager.

Max was an emotional wreck to say the least, so much so that it affected his ability to continue his music career. So what did he do? The same thing any passionate metal head would have done: he formed Soulfly and became an instant success. The first Soulfly album was released in 1998 and they’ve been in business ever since. Add to that workload Cavalera Conspiracy and Killer Be Killed and you’ve got the recipe for true heavy metal badassery.

I won’t go into too much detail about Max Cavalera’s life (I fear I may have done that already). All I’ll say is that he came back from so many hardships and he did it all through the power of heavy metal music. It’s aggressive, fast-paced, and hardcore music straight from the soul. Without it, not only would Max not have found an escape, but those who listened wouldn’t have either. He doesn’t just rock out for the hell of it; he touches lives.

　

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DR. CUSHING: Jerome, it’s not too late to be saved! You won’t get another chance!

CRAZY K: I don’t need another motherfucking chance! You want to know why?! ‘Cause I don’t give a fuck! I said I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a FUCK!!

"Holes" by Louis Sachar

A lot of people don’t know if they’re unlucky or not, so I came up with a little test to try and help them out. Things like, if you’ve ever been sent to a boy’s detention center called Camp Green Lake for something that wasn’t your fault, you might be unlucky. If your overseers are complete douche bags who would rather watch you die of dehydration than give you an adequate amount of water, you might be unlucky. If your workload at Camp Green Lake consists of digging a five foot hole in all directions during the hottest part of the day, you might be unlucky.

Or you could just be a kid named Stanley Yelnats, who personifies unluckiness to the nth degree. A pair of stolen celebrity shoes literally fell from the sky and landed in his hands. An officer stopped and arrested him before he was eventually sent to Camp Green Lake to do tedious and body-shredding work. If that’s not an odd coincidence, I don’t know what is.

Or it could be that his great grandfather was cursed by a witch for not keeping a promise. It seems petty to blame an entire misunderstanding like Stanley’s story on a witch’s curse. However, the more Stanley digs these holes and finds interesting artifacts, the more he realizes that his family history plays a huge role in this story. Suddenly, this tale of bad luck turns into a conspiracy theory that almost kills Stanley multiple times.

That’s a lot for a small child to take in as he reads “Holes”. Then again, “Holes” is the kind of story that both children and adults can enjoy despite the former being the target audience. It is read in grade school, after all. It just wasn’t read in my grade school, because “Holes” came out in 1998 and I was already a teenager.

I found out about this gem after Disney took it upon themselves to make a movie out of it. I never watched the movie, I just saw portions of it. I didn’t even realize Camp Green Lake was a detention center until I heard about Stanley Yelnats having a lawyer. So when I saw this novel in a bookstore in Asheville, North Carolina, I knew I had to have it.

Yes, most of the book consisted of harsh treatment toward the unfortunate, but since it was geared toward children, it had things that distinguished it from “bully porn” as I like to call it. It has a fast pace, dark humor, and an overall creative story that left no stone unturned in terms of interweaving plot devices.

You don’t have to feel like a toddler for reading this wonderful book. On the contrary, you might actually learn something from this despite having qualified for retirement benefits from social security. Chew on that for a minute.

　

***PARODY DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DR. CUSHING: What’s wrong, Crazy K? You don’t like being strapped to a spinning torture table? Well, you should have thought about that before you agreed to behavioral modification.

CRAZY K: Mmmmmmmmmmm!!!

-Tales From the Hood-

You Might Be a Sociopath

If you’ve ever drawn a picture of Spongebob Squarepants giving a blowjob, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever complained about WWE programming not having enough man on woman violence, you might be a sociopath.

If you can see the irony in finding a coat hanger in a catholic church, you might be a sociopath.

If you constantly refer to Nickelodeon as “The Foot Fetish Channel”, you might be a sociopath.

If you actually know there’s a website called Wiki Feet, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever been kicked out of the mafia for being too violent, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever ripped the wings off of a fly and then poured hot bacon grease over it, you might be a sociopath.

If the spinning table scene from Tales From the Hood gives you an erection, you might be a sociopath.

If a Soulfly song has ever changed your life, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever cracked your knuckles during a moment of silence for 9/11 victims, you might be a sociopath.

If you go to a grocery store and buy duct tape and adult diapers at the same time, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever refused medical treatment because you like to watch yourself bleed, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever spanked a baby for being too loud, you might be a sociopath.

If the only reason you buy stuffed animals is to make them have sex with each other, you might be a sociopath.

If you have a crush on Casey Anthony, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever photo-shopped a ball gag in Nelson Mandela’s mouth, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever been hungry for human jerky, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever smacked a child and claimed it was self-defense, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever told a pregnant woman to staple her vagina shut, you might be a sociopath.

If your best strategy in a political debate is to burn an American flag, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever wanted to scalp somebody for not liking your art, you might be a sociopath.

Jeff Foxworthy never though of this shit, did he! Jeff Foxworthy, eat your heart out! Actually, don’t do that. Otherwise, you might be a sociopath.

Names I Will Never Use

We all have to encounter people we absolutely have a deep hatred for at some point in our lives. Like Times New Roman, you know the type. They torment you over a long period of time to the point where their name is a curse word. I have a few names that are like that for me and therefore, when I do my writing, I won’t use them when I’m introducing characters to my stories. Who knows? I may use those names for Complete Monster villains that are going to get their comeuppance eventually in my story, but it’s highly unlikely. Until somebody somewhere makes the name “cool” again, the name will go completely ignored in my stories. For instance, I used to have an aversion to the name Aaron because I got beat up in high school by a kid with that name. But when I started watching MMA and I started hearing about people named Aaron Simpson, Aaron Rosa, and Aaron Riley, the name was cool again and I started using it more often. I have characters named Aaron Jackson “AJ” Rollins and Aaron Edge, the former being a psychotic mercenary and the latter being a dark comedian. I also used to have an aversion to the name Cody because in middle school I had an aggressive bully with that name. Ever since purchasing a copy of Final Fight for the Super Nintendo and playing as a boxer named Cody, the name stopped being forbidden. You see where I’m going with this? If the name becomes used in a positive way, then I won’t have an aversion to it and I’ll use it for my characters. The most noteworthy character for Cody is a female MMA fighter who has an I at the end of her name instead of a Y. Her last name is Oliveira, by the way, and she’s a Brazilian Jiu-Jitzu ace. But then there are some names out there that have no redemption value whatsoever, mainly because nobody names their children that anymore. The most prominent example of a name that will never be cool to me is Art. I had a step-father named Art who was verbally abusive to me and my mom, so that hits close to home. I know there are people out there with the name Art that I can like. I like Art Evans (the crazy old man from the third story of Tales From the Hood), Art Wicks (an English teacher I had in college), and Art Dent (the main character from The Hitchhiker’s Guide To the Galaxy, which is on this blog). Despite three perfectly cool people with the name Art, the name Art itself isn’t very pleasant sounding. If I ever use it in my stories, it’ll be as a last name such as Arthur or McArthur. The second and final example of a name beyond redemption is Cindy. I had a senior social studies teacher named Cindy who like Art was verbally abusive. As of today, nobody in my current life has made the name Cindy cool. I guess I should cite Cyndi Lauper as an example of someone who did, but her music sucks, so no. The only time I’ve ever used the name Cindy in a story was for someone who was a bitchy girlfriend to a comedian named Marcus Edge (Aaron Edge’s brother). As of today, the only two names that have no redemption value to me are Art and Cindy. I’ve had a lot of people express hatred toward me, but their names were made cool again, so I don’t worry about that anymore. In the words of Mike “The Streets” Skinner, do you understand or do you need an interpreter?

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Did you hear the one about me giving a shit? ‘Cause if I ever did, I don’t remember it!”

-Five Finger Death Punch singing “Under and Over It”-

Darkness and Crudeness

There’s a fine line between being dark and being crude. As someone who’s tried to experiment with the dark style all my life, I’ve crossed the blurred line several times in my career. No matter how many times I try to avoid it, somehow I keep crossing that border whenever I’m pumping out first drafts. And then I end up feeling horrible about it since there’s a slim chance I may have unintentionally offended someone. Offending people is good, but not when it’s unintentional. Here’s an example. There’s a short story in Foe vs. Blade called Choice, where an MMA fighter named Rachel Gustafson has an abortion so that she can continue to compete. When she finally has her next fight, her pro-life opponent Violet Smith compares her to Phil Garrido since abortion is allegedly the same as child abuse. Before publishing Foe vs. Blade, I removed that crude and unnecessary comment and replaced it with both fighters instead electing to go back to their corners. The DeviantART and Facebook versions of Choice still have the Phil Garrido remark, but that’s only because nobody pays attention to first drafts anyways. You can apply the darkness-crudeness continuum to your own work as well. For example, let’s say you’re going to make a joke about Cleopatra’s menstrual cycle. A calm and sensible person who still wished to be dark and offensive would phrase the joke like this: “Q: Why did Cleopatra use tampons? A: Because she was on her pyramid.” A crude and tacky person would phrase the seemingly innocent joke like this: “Q: Why did Cleopatra shove tube steaks up her fucking twat? A: Because the bitch was on her pyramid, yo!” The lesson learned here is that swearing is not always a good way to enhance your material. If all you have is swearing and no substance, you’re not going to survive the creative world. That’s why whenever I’m walking the streets of downtown Bremerton and I hear a random guy rapping about a woman “sucking a dick in less than a minute”, I cringe and try to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. The only purpose swearing and other forms of darkness serve is to make the story realistic. There are people out there who use crude language, but when writing, try to capture it in such a way that it doesn’t completely make your audience’s stomachs turn. A good example of darkness used to perfection would be Tales From the Hood. Yes, the characters love to cuss, but whenever Bulldog yells, “Where’s the shit?!” your stomach is sore not from nausea, but from laughing. Leave the nausea up to Crazy K as he gets spun around several times on a torture table while watching black people getting killed, which is apparently what he’s been doing all of his life according to Dr. Cushing. Peace! I’m out!

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“One of the side effects for these diet pills is anal seepage. If you take this pill, I don’t care how much weight you’ve lost, you ain’t looking good in them jeans.”

-Jeff Foxworthy-

Book Burnings

There are some zealous people out there who love a good book burning ceremony. Terry Jones, that idiot priest in Florida, was going to burn several copies of the Quran on the anniversary of 9/11. I don’t know if he actually got around to it, but there’s something Mr. Jones needs to be aware of for the next time he plans a book burning ritual. In order to obtain copies of a book, you have to, surprise, surprise, buy them. Every time you buy a book from somewhere, whether it’s $20 at Barnes and Noble or one cent plus shipping and handling on Amazon.com, you’re giving your patronage and your money to the original author along with their publishing company. I hate to burst your bubble, Mr. Jones, but in the end, it doesn’t matter why you buy multiple copies of a book, because a sale is a sale regardless of the reason. You can say whatever you want about the Twilight series, but if you’re buying a hundred copies just so you can rip them up or use them as toilet paper, you’re still giving Stephanie Meyer a shit load of money. And if you think you’re being slick by going on an author’s page and giving him a negative review, sorry, but that’s another way of attracting attention to that author. More attention (good or bad) means more sales, more sales means more money for the author, and more money for the author means that he won’t have to go on welfare and REALLY make you shit your pants. Going back to the original example of that loser Terry Jones, he may have pissed off a bunch of extremists by attempting a Quran burning, but thanks to his ass-load of cash, some publishers are going to be eating a chicken dinner for a long, long time. Winner, winner, chicken dinner! Wakey, wakey, eggs and bacey! Rise and shine, it’s breakfast time! And of course, this blog wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t use myself as an example to further my point. This past Friday, I visited Lulu.com and put together yet another self-published book under the name Garrison Kelly called Foe vs. Blade. It’s another anthology just like Red Blood, White Knuckles, Blue Heart, but Foe vs. Blade is much darker and much more offensive. I may be hypersensitive to criticism, but business will go on as usual whether you’re with me or against me. But in hindsight, I’ve only sold one copy of either of these two books in the past few weeks and that was to my best friend Kenny on Facebook. Either way, that one sale is going to multiply into many sales and I will become well-fed and well-paid whether you want to set fire to my books or recommend them to friends. You’ve got a lighter? Flame on!

　

***PARODY DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DR. CUSHING: Our tests show that you have a weak stomach. Have you ever been strapped to a torture table and spun around several hundred times until you puked your guts out?

CRAZY K: Yeah, I saw a few rollercoasters in my day.

-Tales From the Hood-

　

***POST-SCRIPT***

Anybody who says Tales From the Hood’s fourth story is like A Clockwork Orange is secretly looking for a way to make everybody look away from his massive hard-on. Did Alex De Large walk around in his underwear? Did Alex De Large have stimulators on his nipples? Did Alex De Large have a spring-loaded clamp on the base of his dick? And finally, did Alex De Large have a ball gag in his mouth? The answer to all of these questions is not just no, but a definitive hell no. If you’re going to masturbate to that torture scene in Tales From the Hood, at least be honest about it.