The Undertaker: the Whole Reason the OK Boomer Meme Exists

 

Judgment Day (Never Back Down)

When Judgment Day comes, may I never back down

May I strike the match and burn it all to the ground

Sticks and stones are going to break my bones

And then you can film it all on your new iPhone

Names will never hurt me, but we know that’s a lie

It’s the buzzing in my brain that makes me want to die

Don’t call it Cancel Culture, ‘cause it’s consequences

It’s called the First Amendment, in all of your defenses

I don’t need whole army to make my excuses

Anything they do will end up being so useless

Let the town square pull out their own hair

‘Cause rage and depravation are their arms to bear

When shit comes to an end, none of us are right

Subjectivity is why we all love to fight

We see the fucked up world through our own lenses

And then bite down on our jaws with stressful intentions

Can we come together? Why would we want to?

To be fair I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near you

All this zealot fire and not a new thing was learned

We still hate each other and the world still burned

All this strangulation over one of my songs

Keep the message simple, just tell me that I’m wrong

On any given day, I could be weak or strong

I ebb and flow so much, yet I’m floundering along

I guess I’ll go back to my comfort zone

And never have to care about those sticks and stones

Judgment Day passed and I never backed down

I’ll see you all tomorrow, we can take it back around

I'm So Sad

 VERSE 1

If I cry about depression and the tiredness after

You’ll contrast my problems to natural disasters

If I curl into a ball and say that nothing matters

You’ll attribute my problems to getting fatter

If I reach out my hand and touch your fingers

You’ll slap my face and the pain will linger

You’re an advocate until my tears pour down

You’ll grab a canoe while I suffer and drown

CHORUS 1

If I don’t shout this at the top of my lungs

I might as well rip out my own damn tongue

I’m so sad!

I’m so sad!

VERSE 2

Everyone around me is falling in love

I’m a jealous bastard, I can’t get enough

Everyone around me is getting their coin

I’d do it myself, but then what’s the point?

Everyone around me is winning at life

Everyone around me is smiling so bright

Everyone around me is secretly hurting

But that doesn’t soothe my own burning

CHORUS 2

If I don’t scream this at the top of my voice

Everyone will think that I still have a choice

I’m so sad!

I’m so sad!

BRIDGE

They call it whining and crying

I say they’re dining and lying

They call it wishful thinking

I say my damn ship is sinking

They tell me to just suck it up

I say it’s time for me to give up

They tell me happy days are ahead

I say I’m already lying in bed

VERSE 3

Dreams come true a million times a day

I couldn’t fight for my own anyway

If you believe, there’s nothing you can’t achieve

Whoever said that is out to deceive

CHORUS 3

If I don’t call bullshit on “fake it ‘til you make it”

I might as well take my own heart and break it

I’m so sad!

I’m so sad!

I’m so sad!

I’m so sad!

Superhuman

I want to be superhuman, fucking invincible

Drive a car without getting smashed into kibble

Write like my life depends on it, because it does

Read a gazillion books per motherfucking month

Make so many friends and know how to keep them

Make my crushes known instead of just a secret

Go back to school and earn a shit ton of A-pluses

Donate my time to fur babies in need of cuddles

Start my very own channel and earn a lot of likes

Sell my books until there’re none left in sight

Travel the world to visit my very best friends

America, South Africa, and Britain around the bend

I want to be superhuman, make my dreams come true

Make the world a better place for guys like me and you

Leave behind a legacy, not a carbon footprint

This is the game of life, I want to fucking win

Future generations can only look up to me

If I’m superhuman even when I hurt and bleed

I want to be fucking tough, I want to like it rough

Unlimited energy is somehow never just enough

The world is mine if I want to take the damn thing

When I get off my ass, they’ll start calling me king

Pain

OPENING LINE

I’m not going to sit here and pretend it doesn’t hurt just so I can make you feel comfortable.

VERSE 1

Why should I be ashamed to talk about what’s hurting inside?

Because male genitals are supposed to be symbol of pride?

If you dig into my corners, darkness is all that you’ll find

Going to catch me like an assassin sneaking up from behind

You could get away with murder if you were in my math class

You could giggle in my ear and put your hand upon my ass

You could take away my ability to focus on the simple tasks

How many polynomials was I supposed to fucking add?

CHORUS 1

Pain! Pain! It’s never really over!

Growing up to have brand new owners!

Pain! Pain! It’s never really fair!

When you attract laughter and wicked stares!

VERSE 2

Why should I be ashamed to dump my problems onto the web?

Because all of this bullshit has somehow already been said?

So much support coming from all over the fucking world, huh?

Yet it still seems appropriate to crawl in bed and curl up

Jealousy and envy are just more feelings for the back burner

Rejection is for suckers who refuse to be fast learners

Charisma is for those who were born with the genetic code

For staying cool when life makes your head want to explode

CHORUS 2

Pain! Pain! It’s never really just!

The suffering and agony were all just a bust!

Pain! Pain! It’s never really explained!

Comes at me full force like a runaway train!

CHORUS 3

Pain! Pain! It’s not just for the weak!

It’s even for the supermen and super freaks!

Pain! Pain! It’s not just for the teens!

But every motherfucker who loves to bleed!

Pain! Pain! It’s not just for the crippled!

Spreads across the land like an earthquake ripple!

Pain! Pain! Let’s talk about our pain!

Before we become another suicide stain!

Pain! Pain! Pain! Pain!

My Name In Your Mouth

***MY NAME IN YOUR MOUTH***

Before I begin with the body of this blog entry, I want everybody to know that this isn’t aimed at anybody in particular nor is it meant to be an attack in the first place. This is about something that’s been going on in my mind for quite a while now. I’m sure a lot of my writer friends can relate, or at least I hope they do. But anytime somebody mentions me in association with my writing in real life or in a You Tube video…I panic. I get this anxious sensation in the pit of my tummy and my first instinct is to turn around and run away (or cringe if I don’t have an available exit). These people could be saying the nicest, friendliest things about my work, but I’m still Clockwork Oranged into believing it’s worth being nervous about. Why is that?

I’m no stranger to criticism and I’ve had a lot of it in my career. But I’m also at a place in my life where I’ve come to depend on critiques and notes like the mature adult that I am. Although critiques are necessary to any author’s success, it doesn’t make the nervousness go away. In fact, the longer I have to wait for it, the higher the anxiety builds. Yes, I know I sound like a sensitive snowflake with thin skin and a strong need for a safe space. If I could choose to be more durable, I’d be fucking invincible. It never gets easier for me with age and I can’t understand why.

I’ll always remember a time in late 2010 when I wrote music-themed fan fiction and posted it live on Face Book. One of those stories was called “Awake and Alive” and it was about a young man named Junie Fritz, who wanted to break his own shyness by going to a Skillet concert in Seattle and making friends with a cute girl named Shawn Tucker. My brother’s girlfriend at the time Susan (who doesn’t live with us anymore) caught me in the hallway and said, “So I read your story about Junie!” Without missing a beat I wave goodbye to her and try to retreat into my room. Turns out she liked the story and wanted to praise it (despite the fact that Junie rode a fucking ATV to the arena).

Another example of wanting to cringe and/or retreat was Mother’s Day earlier this year, when I gifted my mom a copy of Poison Tongue Tales. She’s one of my biggest fans and wanted to see a sample of what I’ve published, so I gave her that. She was so happy to have it and immediately jumped into the Two-Sentence Horror Stories section. I cringed hard when she read some of those stories out loud, not because of her, but because I was listening to my own writing and I wanted to get the fuck out of there. It’s like I’ve been conditioned into thinking my own writing sucks by the various haters I’ve had over the years.

Still to this day I have that anxious feeling whenever somebody wants to talk about my writing in real life or on You Tube. Sometimes I feel this way whenever it’s in written form. For a guy who’s trying to market myself to the public so that I can get as many book sales as possible, this is quite the barrier. I should WANT to have my name in people’s mouths. I should WANT the free advertising. I should WANT to have the limelight on me 24/7. But I feel tiny every time my writing comes up in conversation.

Sometimes it’s not even a low self-esteem issue. Sometimes I write a personal story in an email or social media post and there’s a certain part of that story that makes me nervous to talk about it. Just the other day, I wrote an email to my mother detailing why I didn’t want to go on dates when I was in middle school. The biggest reason was because my dad was going through nasty shit with his ex-wives at the time, so I didn’t want to pay alimony or child support to another woman (even though I was fucking thirteen). I told mom that I didn’t want to play second fiddle to a girlfriend who would no doubt prevent me from achieving my college dreams. It didn’t help matters that I watched the Millennium episode “A Room with No View” right around that time and saw Lucy Butler get touchy-feely and kissy-kissy with her hostages. Obviously, things have changed since then and if the opportunity presented itself, I’d definitely go on a date with a nice woman. But still, that was quite the revelation for my mother.

So why all the nervousness? Why all the fuss? Why can’t I just put on my suit of armor and deflect bullets like Superman? Why can’t I just…you know…”toughen up”, like a stereotypical male would say in a Skillset Magazine article? Did my mental illnesses make me this way? Am I just a naturally sensitive person? Do I have too much empathy? Does anybody else feel this sense of panic whenever they hear their own writing? Have I really been Clockwork Oranged into believing I suck? What’s going on here? I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying….well, that would be a good time to retreat to your room and lock the door. No mountain climbing until you calm the fuck down.

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER PROGRESS***

As of today, I’ve written the prologue and first two chapters of this reloaded project. The third chapter will see an argument take place between Torger Manson and Shelly Atwood. Torger wants Shelly to be a businesswoman first and a lover second if she’s going to deny him access to the sex slaves. If you’re not cringing right now, check your pulse. Shelly has already forcibly deflowered Windham, so any conversation she has with Torger about sex will give you the feeling of spiders crawling on your skin. Wish me luck!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Between suicide and all your dirty lies. Are you looking sad for girls? Are you looking bad for sympathy? Between suicide and secrets that you hide. Are you feeling pain like birds? Are you trading pearls for misery? It’s getting hard to say open your eyes. Needles haven’t fixed anything. I guess we’re millions of faces waiting somewhere for somebody else’s place to feel like home. Love is a refuge with fears and doubts. It’s the Jesus on your necklace. Love is a silence to your cry outs. Sleepless hideouts. The cheapest, the fabulous.”

-Your Favorite Enemies singing “Open Your Eyes”-