Scorpion from Mortal Kombat vs. Danny Masterson from That 70's Show: Right Message, Wrong Messenger

 

Symphony of Evil

Out of fettle, out of line

Out of metal, out of time

Sympathy unequal

Symphony of evil

Skeletons play their violins with bloody blades

Zombie-ogres beat tympanis with bloodlust rage

Ghosts play their flutes with their dying breaths

Gorgons play xylophones on ribs and chests

Warlocks bang cymbals over screaming heads

Necromantic conductor commands the undead

Mausoleum is the arena for this musical night

Audience to the left and demons to the right

Out of hell, they will climb

Out of spells, more they’ll find

History of sequels

Symphony of evil

The sirens sing their ear-splitting stories

Of tempted fools meeting ends so gory

Of greedy bastards who wanted more

Of rich politicians who waged the wars

Symphony of evil guided their words

Sleeping souls suffer hellfire burns

Let’s party like it’s whatever BC

Sell the whole thing on ten CD’s

Out of death, they rise again

Out of breath, though not the end

Misery of steeples

Symphony of evil

Did you enjoy your night of music?

Get Pinot Noir on your favorite tunic?

Choke on popcorn until you passed out?

Expecting a pop sensation cash cow?

You’ll have your own violin in due time

You’ll have your own lyrics to rhyme

You can join the symphony of evil

Sorry for the lack of heavenly appeal

Blood Rain

One shot would be all it took. A flying diamond-tipped arrow to Shatter Man’s life core would earn Ino Kara the respect she deserved from her mercenary cohorts. No more jokes about her equine features. No more jokes about being ridden like a cowboy. They could forget about trying to feed her hay. They could spare her the horse dick references and anything else that had to do with bestiality. “You fuckers will put respect on my name,” she said in a low voice to nobody in particular.

Shatter Man was ripe for the snipe. Surrounded by a cluster fuck of dead bodies lying on the dirt and bone-covered ground, the necromantic machine sat cross-legged while his exhaust pipe belched red filth into the gray skies above. Ino could smell the ashen cloud it all the way from her sniper’s nest in the treetops. She had to be careful not to hack up a lung if she wanted to stay hidden.

With a bandana tied around her muzzle and stillness taking over her body, Ino pulled one of her diamond-tipped arrows out of her quiver and took aim with her golden edge bow. A shot to the head would have been her preference for any sniping mission, but Shatter Man’s mechanical dome wouldn’t allow it. She had to pierce through his chest at the exact spot and splatter his life core all over the ground. A filthy death indeed, but no more filthy than speeding up climate change with this necromantic smoke. Ino had to find her exact shot and make it quick.

She breathed deeply not only to calm her nerves, but steady her aim. Just when she was ready to release her arrow, a crow flew from out of nowhere and began pecking at Ino’s mask. “Shoo! Go away! Beat it!” she angrily whispered while swatting the bird away. She didn’t want to whack the poor guy too hard due to her respect for animals, but this wasn’t he best time to horse around. There was another mercenary joke that needed to be eradicated forever: horsing around.

Ino steadied her breathing once more and made a second attempt at aiming for the life core. “Easy…easy does it…you’ve got this…now take a shot!” she whispered to herself. The damn crow served as a distraction yet again, but this time perched its claws right over Shatter Man’s life core. The robot didn’t move an inch, just kept spewing garbage into the cloudy skies. “You asked for it, you stupid bird.” Respect would only go so far as Ino Kara finally took her shot.

Shatter Man looked so still and unaware this entire time, not unlike the zombies he was trying to wake up with his putrid smoke. Ino gasped when the mechanical nightmare grabbed the arrow just before it could pierce his life core. He crushed the arrow into dust, including the diamond tip, before ejecting bird seed from his hand as a reward for the crow.

“That little bastard,” whispered Ino, clutching her edge bow so tightly that a little crack formed.

Shatter Man spun his head towards Ino’s sniping nest. His visor flashed an eerie shade of red, making Ino’s heart race no matter how much she tried to suppress her fear. He pointed a drill bit finger at her and puffed even more pollutants into the sky. “My sacred ritual is not your payday!” he said in a monotone, demonic voice. “Arise, my children of the dead!”

A sprinkle of water landed on Ino’s furry head. And another. And another. When she wiped them away, her teeth and legs vibrated at the crimson color. The tiny droplets became heavier and denser until a full-on bloody rainstorm drenched Ino from head to hooves. Her purple battle dress and blue thigh high boots clung to her body like a frightened child wanting his mother’s undying love.

Ino’s own blood grew ice cold and a knot welled up in her stomach when the bloody rain caused the army of dead bodies to twitch. Limbs and heads awkwardly twisted around. Rotting flesh peeled and rolled. Bulging eyeballs retracted back into their owners’ skulls. Slowly and creepily, the shit-smelling dead bodies rose to their wobbly feet until Shatter Man and his crow informant had their own necromantic army.

The horse woman swallowed a golf ball sized lump while clutching her chest, hoping she wouldn’t die of a heart attack before this battle had a chance to begin. “Fuck it,” she said, tossing all caution to the wind. Even as crimson rain pelted her clothing and soaked her fur, Ino tossed aside her growing fear and ran into the fray.

“I want some goddamn respect!” she shouted, knowing assassinating Shatter Man was the only way she’d get it from her fellow mercenaries. As hordes of zombies trudged towards her with their rotten arms extended and their bloody mouths wide open, she fired multiple arrows at once and each one hit their marks. Chests exploded. Throats splattered on the ground. Guts spilled all over the dirt like a gory mudslide. When Ino ran out of arrows, she continued her assault by swinging her edge bow and smashing the skulls of anybody who dared take a bite out of her horse meat.

Shatter Man’s arms folded while the crow sat perched on his shoulder laughing his ass off at the equine warrior. “You little bastard!” shouted Ino as she trampled fallen zombies on her way to snatch the bird, wanting so desperately to rip his feathers out and snap his beak. The zombies wouldn’t stay down for long. As the blood rain continued to pour, they stood back up even with their detached heads and exploded bones. They grabbed at Ino’s shoulders with broken fingers, but she beat them down with her edge bow until they were little more than rivers of blood and organs.

Despite the aching in her own ribcage and limbs, Ino wouldn’t allow her waning energy to get in the way of her quest for respect, coin, and ultimately her life. She smashed more skulls, stomped on fallen bodies, ripped out spinal cords, but the zombies kept getting back up for more. Even the crow got in on the action when he pecked behind Ino’s ears. She swung at the bird, but he kept dodging and laughing the whole time, turning Ino’s ice cold blood into boiling magma. Even as more zombies grabbed her, she ripped her flesh away from their sharp grips and chased after the bird.

When Ino finally latched onto the crow’s tail feathers and seethed with bloodlust as she imagined ripping the little guy apart, a heavy metal punch to the gut doubled her over and caused her to dry heave on the ground. The zombies were called off as Ino touched her damp wound. She knew it was her own blood and not that of the crimson weather. She could feel her naked ribcage because there was no skin to protect it. That punch came from Shatter Man himself, who stood over her with his red visor glowing and blinding her with every flash.

“Go ahead…finish me off…what are you waiting for?!” begged Ino, spitting out blood in between words.

“You exhausted your body, battled my minions, and put your life at risk for a little bit of respect?” said Shatter Man. Ino tucked her head in shame as she laid in the fetal position waiting to die. “Everybody who tried to claim my life has the same story: a minority mercenary looking for acceptance from their peers. Killing me will suddenly net them the happiness they believe they’re entitled to. Truth is, young lady…you could cure cancer and end worldwide hunger all in the same day. You’re still going to be laughed at. You’re still going to be hated by society. Why? Because ignorance and fear are easier to accept than progressive values.”

Tears welled up in Ino’s eyes as this truth bomb hit her harder than Shatter Man’s punch to her guts. “I don’t want to be a horse anymore,” she sobbed. “If being a normal human will get them to leave me alone, then I’ll take it. I never got racial pride anyways.”

“It doesn’t get more ordinary and boring than laying six feet deep in the ground, no matter what race you identify as. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You don’t have to please others to get the respect you deserve. You don’t have to conform to tradition. If you want respect, you’ve got to beat it out of those who deny it to you. You think I chose to be a robot? You think I was born with the name Shatter Man? I didn’t win any popularity contests with my background. Why do you think I have a price on my head? It would have only been a matter of time until you had a price on yours.”

Ino spit up more blood and wiped away her tears with her dress sleeve. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? I’m already on my way to hell. At least in hell, they’re honest about what kind of torture they’re going to give me. Here on earth, they just disguise it as making whatever country they live in ‘great again’.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” said Shatter Man, waving his arm in the sky to show off his bloody rain. “You can have a second chance at life just like my minions. As zombies, they don’t have the highest social ranking. But they take full advantage of their second chance. They hunger for revenge against a society that never wanted them when they were alive. They were and still are weirder than any horse woman they’ve ever seen. Let the blood rain flow into you. Join my army. Don’t wait for respect. Take it from them with both hands.”

The bloody rain poured through Ino Kara’s wounds as she laid on her back waiting for sweet necromancy to overtake her. A warming sensation spread throughout and she didn’t feel like shivering anymore, whether it was because of fear or cold weather. Her eyes rolled back in her head like she was in an orgasmic trance. Her tired body blazed with energy and happiness she hadn’t felt in a long time. Her pain numbed out and was replaced with a massaging sensation throughout her chest, legs, and head.

Slowly and shakily, she rose from the ground. Her stomach pounded with hunger, but not for food and certainly not for hay. She hungered for flesh. She thirsted for blood. Her tormentors would turn into victims. Her cannibalistic meals would taste juicier than a steak dinner. She licked her blood-covered lips and groaned with lust.

Shatter Man placed a hand on her shoulder. “Welcome to my army. You can stay for as long as you desire. They say the taste of vengeance is bittersweet, but you’ll find it to your liking. You will be loved and respected…or else!”

Ino Kara had no words for her seductive master, only groans. Then again, she wouldn’t have to debate the harmful effects of racism with the world ever again. Either her victims took yes for an answer…or they would get chewed up and spit out with no remorse. Ino smiled at that idea. Her newly rotten teeth would make her face look even more horrifying to the racists she would eventually devour. She was strangely okay with that. Fuck beauty. Fuck love. Fuck everybody in this butt ugly world!

Staying In Bed

To hell with being dutiful

Staying in bed is beautiful

A purring kitty on my chest

He agrees that it’s time to rest

Piano music calms me down

Hypnotized by the gentle sound

Cold breeze blowing outside

Under the blankets is where I hide

Back to work on another day

Couldn’t motivate myself anyway

Stare at the ceiling, think about life

Share my bed with an imaginary wife

Watch movies playing in my head

They don’t make a lick of sense

Heater blasting on a winter night

Makes resisting sleep an uphill fight

But I can’t stay here forever and ever

Despite the drop in barometric pressure

Another day waits on the other side

That way you can’t say I never tried

Still walking around like the undead

Not a whole lot going on in my head

A few more hours until it gets dark

Until rainwater floods the public park

Until the moon shines down upon us all

Until face down on the bed is where I fall

Disconnect my telephone line

Tomorrow everything will be just fine

Like it is almost every damn day

No sense in asking me if I’m okay

"The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor" by Max Allan Collins

BOOK TITLE: The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor

AUTHOR: Max Allan Collins

YEAR: 2008

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Urban Fantasy

GRADE: Pass

In the year 200 BC, China’s Dragon Emperor conquered his country with an iron fist and compassion for nobody. Karma would take the form of a sorceress’s curse, which covered him and his army in terra-cotta and banished them in suspended animation for eternity. Fast forward two millenniums and the Dragon Emperor is awakened from his curse by the greedy and zealous General Yang. The globetrotting O’Connell family must now put the mummy back into the ground by stabbing him in the heart with a mystical blade that was guarded for many generations. With an endless supply of firepower and unmatched martial arts skills, the O’Connells truly are the world’s last hope.

Even though this book earned its passing grade (four out of five stars), it’s not without its glaring flaws, particularly in the cheese department. The narrator constantly complimenting the female characters’ beauty, the gratuitous explosions, the sometimes off-color use of similes and metaphors, the instant chemistry between Alex O’Connell (the son) and Lin (Chinese tomb guardian), and the most obvious cheese of all, Alex and his father Rick using penis analogies to describe their submachine guns and pistols. Considering this was once a poorly received movie, I don’t doubt that these cheesy elements turned off plenty of viewers.

But that’s not to say that this book doesn’t deserve the praise it gets. All in all, it’s a fun little book filled with action, adventure, and opportunities for young authors to learn how to write in a fast-paced manner. It turns out that describing every punch and kick within a Jackie Chan-style fight isn’t one hundred percent necessary. In fact, that would take forever and impatient readers like me don’t have forever. We like hard-hitting action. We like hailstorms of bullets. We like tooth and nail struggles that bring the warriors to the edge of death and back again. Although the O’Connell family is blessed with martial arts skills and expensive firearms, they’re no doubt going to earn whatever victories they get. To put it in Rick’s terms, this struggle is going to make them HATE mummies!

The wild imagination of this story is something I also want to praise. Magical elements, bloodthirsty three-headed dragons, barbaric yetis, immortal Chinese warriors, a pool of eternal life, mystical artifacts, this urban fantasy has everything you need in order to get those inner wheels turning. While some of the magical occurrences come off as random at times, they don’t take away from the action or drama of the book and actually make sense in hindsight. Look at it this way: how else is a mere mortal named Rick O’Connell going to beat the crap out of a warrior mummy who won’t stay down? Anybody? Hello? Yes, the dragon dagger comes off as a McGuffin and McGuffins are considered literary sins, but if you’ve got a better way to kill off this seemingly immortal Dragon Emperor, I’d like to hear it.

Sometimes all a reader wants to do is have some fun and you’ll get that with this third installment of The Mummy series. You could also consider seeing the movie this book was adapted from, but diehard readers will want to choose the book instead. The writing style is cinematic in and of itself, so what are you waiting for? Pick up a copy of this four-star book today! Don’t be too turned off by the fact that this story has more cheese than a Domino’s pizza. After all, this kind of cheese would make even a vegan hungry.

Shipping Meme

***SHIPPING MEME***

During the past few days, I’ve been having conversations with my friends Zero Urrea and Marie Krepps about how much fun it is to link two things together with the letter X (a practice commonly found in Japanese anime). Would you go to a concert that was featured as Korn X Starset? You’re damn right you would! Would you ever play a videogame that featured the team of Super Mario X M. Bison? Sure, why not? And of course, the X link is used to signify collaboration between two romantic partners. Cloud X Tifa, Mario X Peach, and Squall X Rinoa are all mainstream examples of this. You could also mix and match between genres and canons…and genders. Would you ever read an erotic fan fiction that featured Tifa Lockhart X Stephanie McMahon? You bet your sweet ass!

Which brings me to something authors might have to deal with if their work becomes famous enough: shipping. If you write a novel that’s highly enjoyable, your readers are definitely going to want to tinker with various combinations of characters as romantic couples, for better or worse. You know who’s not okay with this? Anne Rice, who went to great legal lengths to make sure her fans don’t do that to her books. Some people are okay with this, others are not. More important is how you feel about your own fans doing this to your books. Me personally? I think it’d be flattering no matter what the combinations ended up being.

Unfortunately, I only have one edited and published novel to my name and it’s not even a full length book, so I don’t have a wide roster of characters to work with. Then again, if I include minor characters, this meme could actually be lots of fun. So here’s how this works: I’m going to make a list of Occupy Wrestling characters, use a number generator to randomly pick two of them from that list, and discuss how they’d work as a couple. I won’t use the same character twice and I’ll only generate five different couples. Are you ready? I know I am!

1. Debra Winter, Human Valet
2. Desilu McCourt, Amazonian Knight
3. Dovald, Superhuman Knight
4. Garra, Superhuman Knight
5. Hall Markata, Undead Necromancer
6. Jason Finnegan, Human Wrestler
7. Keegan Day, Human CEO
8. Mitch McLeod, Human Wrestler
9. Monzo Bleeder, Orc Wrestler
10. Nina Jordan, Human Cop
11. Riley Warpthroat, Skeleton Knight
12. Rosie Rogers, Human Referee
13. Snake of Jehovah, Skeleton Monk
14. Stephanie McMillan, Human Wrestler
15. Teiji Roughhouse, Rat Wrestler

FIRST COUPLE: Riley X Keegan

THOUGHTS: Keegan’s blatant bigotry aside, these two would be perfect for each other. They’re both hell-bent on dominating the wrestling scene. They’re both sadistic. They can intimidate the hell out of anyone. And lastly (and this is the most important part), they both look like they were just brought to life by a necromancer. Maybe when these two are in the bedroom, Keegan can use the Day Family Gem as a ball gag for Riley. Keegan does control his minions with that magical MacGuffin, after all.

SECOND COUPLE: Snake of Jehovah X Dovald

THOUGHTS: Another pair of viciously monstrous villains? Sure, why not? Though considering the fact that all Snakes of Jehovah look the same covered up with monk robes and snake masks, Dovald could end up accidentally cheating with another minion. But if that were to happen, how exactly would they initiate the cheating? Snakes of Jehovah are skeletal minions, with no sexual orifices or genitalia, so the closest Dovald could get to achieving sexual pleasure is to take the snake mask off and go through the eye sockets.

THIRD COUPLE: Jason X Stephanie

THOUGHTS: At least we’re back into normal territory since they’re both humans. Plus, they actually have things in common that they could bond over. They’re wrestlers. They’re despicable heels. They’re both championship material. Ship them, damn it! There’s just one curiosity I have: if Jason is a three hundred pounder who suffers a heart attack in the first chapter, even if he lived through it, would he be healthy enough for sexual activity? Would he have to be on bottom while Stephanie was on top? Would he fall asleep halfway through and lose his erection? So many burning questions.

FOURTH COUPLE: Hall X Nina

THOUGHTS: Spoiler alert: Hall ends up using his necromantic powers to raise Nina from the dead as an ash-covered zombie. I’m more curious about what you, the readers, didn’t get to see when all that happened. You think Hall is into that kinky shit? Does he forgo apps like Tinder and Grinder and just settle for a trip to the cemetery? Well, he doesn’t have to anymore if he’s got Nina as his minion. While Nina isn’t the most attractive woman in my book, there’s something sexy about a woman in uniform.

FINAL COUPLE: Desilu X Debra

THOUGHTS: If it wasn’t for the fact that Desilu tried to snap Debra’s spine in two with a camel clutch, this could actually be somewhat normal. Debra is a bisexual who appreciates both masculine and feminine features in both genders. Desilu is a big fucking Amazonian who knows how to wrestle (not just in the ring). Hell, she could probably do a better job of protecting her than Mitch ever could. That, and Desilu is happy to train Debra in wrestling herself since that’s all Miss Winter really wants: to be self-reliant. Of course, if Debra is that desperate for wrestling lessons, she might have to take a serious beating at the hand of Keegan’s minions. Oh wait, that already happened.

Okay, I must admit that I had fun doing this. Maybe I can do it again when I publish another novel. Hell, even my unpublished first drafts could use some love and war. What if I took Mario Bryan from Watch You Burn and paired him up with Daniel Mercer from Demon Axe? Or as the Japanese would say, Mario X Daniel. They’re both mentally ill, so they could help each other through their toughest episodes. Mario is schizophrenic and Daniel has PTSD. The two illnesses are similar to each other, but schizophrenia is a psychotic disorder and PTSD is an anxious disorder. This could actually work! But that’s a story for another day. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you soon!

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Fifty Shades of Grey is to literature what candy corn is to vegetables.”

-Bill Maher-

"Fang and Claw" by Markie Madden

BOOK TITLE: Fang and Claw: Undead Unit 1

AUTHOR: Markie Madden

YEAR: 2015

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Paranormal Crime Drama

GRADE: Pass

In a future where undead creatures pass as everyday citizens, vampire detective Lacey Anderson has been assigned a new partner in the form of werewolf Colton Scarber. Vampires and werewolves are natural enemies, but Lacey takes it to an even more personal level seeing as how her family was murdered by a pack of werewolves when she was little. Lacey and Colton have a hard time seeing eye-to-eye, but they must learn to coexist when a string of assaults and rapes plague their hometown of Dallas, Texas. The two detectives agree that these crimes were committed by the same suspect, but proving it to a judge and jury is an uphill task where cooperation is paramount to success.

Markie Madden’s extensive knowledge of the law and police procedure is so evident in this novel that it resembles an episode of Law & Order, NCIS, The Shield, or any other cop drama on TV. Lacey Anderson has a striking resemblance to Olivia Benson from Law & Order: SVU when it comes to her professionalism and the tender way she deals with rape victims. Colton Scarber, on the other hand, resembles Vic Mackey from The Shield with his passionate outbursts and triggered anger, though Colton has slightly more respect for the law than Mackey ever could (even if procedure can be a pain in the ass sometimes). The DNA testing, the interview questions, interrogation tactics, and even something as basic as paperwork have all the intricate details of a well-crafted crime drama. My only question is, when will Dick Wolf or Donald Bellasario order a TV series for this novel?

Everything flowed so naturally in this book that Colton’s behavior in the early portions of the story took me off balance. Werewolves, by their very nature, have rage issues which prompted laws that required their race to take anger management classes. That part is understandable. What I don’t understand is why Colton has to whine and complain about doing menial tasks like internet searches, paperwork, or witness interviews. It’s not like Lacey is asking him to join a Bosnian death squad and slay children; she’s asking him to do basic police chores that will only take a small amount of time to complete. At this point, I chalk it up to immaturity rather than rage. But since this behavior doesn’t last long and more of Colton’s professional nature starts to reveal itself near the middle of the novel, this isn’t a huge knock against the book and won’t devalue the passing grade it receives. This flaw is just worth noting, that’s all.

As far as other details go, there are a few minor grammatical errors (she spells “did” without an I at one point), but not enough to take the reader out of the story. The calm way the police psychologist Marcell was portrayed is every bit as convincing as the police themselves. Lacey’s trauma of losing her family to a werewolf attack is also realistic since she has pent up anger and night terrors to go with it. Her fear of heights can be vicariously felt through the reader, especially near the end when it matters the most. Genre-wise, the police drama elements are more prominent than the paranormal ones. I would have liked to see the racism elements played up a little more, but that probably won’t happen since undead creatures are everyday citizens. Yep, that’s all I have to say for now.

All in all, there’s not a whole lot to complain about when it comes to Fang and Claw. If you do have any complaints, they’ll be quickly usurped by the intense and compelling story that’s unfolding before your very eyes. I highly recommend this book to anybody who loves both the paranormal and crime genres. The reading is easy on the eyes and will bring you to the edge of your seat as the story draws to its conclusion. A passing grade will go to a fine piece of literature like Fang and Claw! Congratulations on knocking it out of the park, Markie!

Necrocosm

***NECROCOSM***

This will be the first of many journal entries where I come up with an idea for a setting and hopefully a short story, D&D campaign, or novel will snowball from there. What are we kicking off with? The Necrocosm, of course. People who read my poetry will remember a heavy metal song called Necrocosm which basically described the audience at WWE Fast Lane 2015. Even though there was excitement and action going on in the ring, the Tennessee audience acted bored out of their minds. Therefore, they’re living in a necrocosm, or a death world (because they’re a dead audience). It seemed like an apt description to me.

The suffix “cosm” in the Greek language means “world”. I know this because I used to spend my time surfing You Tube for Clerks videos and in one of them, Randal says to Dante, “This is a life of convenience for you and any attempt to change it would shatter the pathetic microcosm you’ve fashioned for yourself.” I looked up the word microcosm on dictionary.com and it was defined as a “little world”, micro meaning “little” and cosm meaning “world”.

So then I thought, what other Greek prefixes could we pair up with the suffix cosm? I’ve done this exercise plenty of times with the suffix “mancer” and thus we have short stories like The Aeromancer (wind wizard), The Hydromancer (water wizard), and The Cryomancer (ice wizard). Let’s see what we can do with the word “cosm”. A pyrocosm would be a world of fire and can actually be an alternative word for the sun. A cryocosm would be a world of ice and that’s basically what Pluto is. A thermocosm would be a world of heat and Mercury would qualify since it’s the closest planet to the sun.

So what could we do with a necrocosm, or a world of death? Lots of things, actually. Some would say the earth in the year 2016 would qualify as a necrocosm since a lot of mass shootings and celebrity deaths took place. Some would say heaven and hell are necrocosms since according to Christianity, that’s where dead people go. Maybe the word necrocosm could apply to graveyards, funeral homes, and morgues.

Those are all valid interpretations, but what if I took it a step further? What if there was a planet in our solar system governed by an alien race of zombies? It doesn’t even have to be a structured government. It could be anarchy with zombies rising from the dirt to feast on trespassers. Maybe it could be an autocracy with an evil necromancer governing everything so that one day he can use his minions to conquer other worlds. Maybe it’s just one big farm where souls of the dead are kept and harvested. I’ve often thought of the possibilities of entire planets being used as seals for demons and undead creatures. Once that seal is broken, all bets are off, motherfuckers. Keegan Day from “Occupy Wrestling” never thought of this shit. Or did he? Hmm.

Okay, so we’ve got this world of reanimated dead bodies. What we need now is a reason for an adventurer to go there. Surely, traveling to such a violent and savage place would be a suicide mission. There must be something or someone of value on this necrocosm that would be worth wading through an army of dead bodies. A villain to fight, a prisoner to rescue, an artifact to steal, these are all good reasons to risk life and limb for a journey to that planet. If you know how to build tension, you can pull off this storyline and be successful at it.

So how about it, ladies and gentlemen? If this became a D&D campaign, would your character have the cajones to venture onto such a planet with the lingering fear of having his flesh and organs gnawed on? Would you have the solid steel spine to read through a novel that went behind fierce enemy lines like the war zone the necrocosm is? Could I possibly fit an entire world’s worth of action and drama into one short story? So many possibilities, so little time. Hell, if somebody else wants to expand upon this idea and do something with it, I’m not against it as long as you remember where you got this juicy creative fuel from. The table of opportunity has been set, people. What are you going to do?

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

It’s a brand new week and a brand new prompt has been put into place. Apparently, this suggestion was from many years ago when a former admin named Mike Ragland first posted it in the prompt ideas forum. The theme is Crumbling Well (that definitely has Mike’s fingerprints all over it), so my story this week will be called “The Ophidiomancer” (more Greek wordplay, for sure). It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Shaun Goldberg, Sheep Mask-Wearing Giant

Carlos Pierre, Psychotic Snake Handler

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Carlos keeps his poisonous snakes in a crumbling well in the middle of the field.

SYNOPSIS: Shaun is a thirty-year-old man child who recently escaped from his abusive mother and is wandering the plains like a mindless zombie. He stumbles upon Carlos and his followers in the middle of a snakebite ritual. Carlos offers to heal Shaun’s soul with a “test of faith”, but when the snake bites the man child, he goes berserk and starts throwing the followers around. Carlos tries to get out of dodge, but he keeps stumbling and rolling.

FUN FACT: For all of you WWE fans out there (both old school and new), these two main characters are based off of actual wrestlers that worked with the company. Shaun Goldberg is likened to Erick Rowan and Carlos Pierre has similarities to Jake “The Snake” Roberts. They come from two completely different eras of wrestling and bring their own form of creepiness to the table. Since a match between Rowan and Roberts won’t actually take place due to Roberts’ old age, this short story is the next best thing.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Elizabeth Wilson has been knocked out of the park and now it’s time for someone new. That someone is Desilu McCourt, the Amazonian hammer swinger from “Occupy Wrestling”. You know the one. She’s the ogre chick who nearly snapped Debra Winter’s spine in half before Mitch McLeod came to the rescue. I’ve done a drawing of Desilu in the past, but I don’t think very highly of it, so I’m going to attempt her again. Wish me luck!

***MOVIE REVIEWS***

The last time I did a movie review, it was for Zootopia and that was many months ago. I don’t do movie reviews very often, but that’s only because I can count the number of visits to the theater I’ve made this year on one hand. I don’t plan on doing a review of Star Wars: The Force Awakens, because I’m still afraid of pissing off people who haven’t seen it yet with plot spoilers. That leaves me with two items on this short task list: the 2016 version of Ghostbusters and a little known documentary called Lucha Mexico. Ghost hunting and masked wrestling: such a delightful combination. Both movies will receive passing grades (four stars). It’s all a matter of putting the words and debating points together in a clean and crisp manner.

***BOOK REVIEW***

As most of you know, I’ve been doing some beta reading for my wonderful author friends Andy Peloquin and Marie Krepps. Their deadlines for publication are drawing near, so you can expect book reviews for them around those times. The first one to come up will be of Marie Krepps’ teen romance novel “What Money Can’t Buy”. It’s being published on August 11^th, the same day as my Slipknot X Marilyn Manson concert. We both have things to be excited for!

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“School uniforms: bad theory! It’s the idea that if kids wear uniforms to school it’ll help maintain order. Don’t these schools do enough damage trying to get these kids to think alike? Now they’re going to get them to look alike too? And it’s not a new idea. I once saw it in old newsreels from the 1930’s, though it was a little hard to understand because the narration was in German!”

-George Carlin-

The Undertaker

The bitter taste of wheat beer slid down Heath Danielson’s throat like a flash flood of numbness. It was like drinking horse piss, but it was effective at making him forget how badly his father was screwed over when he lost his bakery to the bank. Heath also forgot that he was supposed to behave in a gentlemanly manner when drinking at this particular bar.

When he fell asleep, his face landed right into a neighboring woman’s chest. All of her screams and slaps across the head were like flies buzzing: a mere annoyance. It was the beefy bouncer who grabbed Heath by his scraggly brown hair and floppy arm that finally made him realize how fucked up he had become. Being tossed out on the streets and landing firmly on the unforgiving concrete was not a mere annoyance. The scrapes and bruises were proof of that.

In his brain-dead ecstasy, Heath managed to pull himself up off the ground using a parked car as leverage. Staying up would prove to be harder as he stumbled and crawled his way down the sidewalk. He occasionally let out an obnoxious burp and everybody in his vicinity scurried away from him. Cars began honking at him as if their horns were enough to awaken him from his drunken nightmare.

All Heath really wanted to do was find a nice place to empty his bladder, which was the size of a snow tire. He couldn’t go back to the bar or any other place of business since he was too drunk to read their signs. He did however find a nice shade of darkness where he was convinced he was the only one there. Perfect!

Heath waddled and stumbled into the darkness until his forehead hit a brick wall and temporarily woke him up. He had a lump where he smacked his head, but it was as good a place as any to drain the lizard. He struggled to find his jeans zipper, but eventually unzipped it and let the urine pour from his system like the floodgates of bliss. This simple bodily function put a stupid grin on Heath’s face, as if it was the only form of happiness he could experience since his father had to close his bakery.

Once his bladder was drained, Heath tucked his thingamabob back in his pants and unwittingly gave himself a zipper injury. The spark of pain got a yelp out of him as well as the temporary ability to read what was in front of him. The drunkard’s eyes grew wide and his body was shaking violently at what he saw. He just pissed on the memorial of Zell “The Undertaker” Jardine.

“Oh, shit!” Heath said to himself. Before he could turn around and run away, a trench-coat wearing arm rose up from the grave and grabbed him around his throat, squeezing with the strength a silverback gorilla. Even without significant oxygen and a brain full of booze, Heath could easily make out this zombie’s features: an old man with white horseshoe hair, muscles upon muscles, and a trench coat that carried god knows what. Zell tossed Heath on the ground and allowed him to hack and wheeze what little oxygen he could back into his body.

As soon as the lush was breathing normally (albeit with raspy overtones), he had the urge to relieve himself once again when he saw Zell pull a long, bloody, and jagged machete out of his trench coat. “I’m going to enjoy every minute of this,” said the former war hero. “Which one of your limbs should I cut off first? Your arms? Your legs? Or maybe I should make that zipper injury feel like a paper cut and hack off your tiny dick!”

Heath crawled backwards and waved his hand defensively as he tried to plead his case to someone nicknamed “The Undertaker”. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know that was your grave!” The lush let out another sickening burp. “I’m just really pissed off tonight. You see, my dad just had to close his…”

“Silence!” shouted Zell. Heath’s breaths were getting faster and deeper with every step The Undertaker took towards him. The sounds of militia boots hitting the pavement were loud and clear to even someone with drunken vision. “I didn’t spend ten years in a government prison getting tortured half to death just so I could have disrespectful faggots like you pissing on my grave! All I want is a little peace and quite and you can’t even give that to me! You and your disgusting burping; it’s damn insulting!”

Heath’s eyes were cascading with tears when he said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Jardine. I’m really sorry. Please don’t kill me. I’m fucking drunk as a skunk right now. I don’t even know where the hell I am right now. I’ll give you your peace and quiet if you’d just let me go.”

Zell’s demonic eyes rolled backwards when he reached down and grabbed Heath by his shirt collar to hoist him up, holding the jagged machete to his throat in the process. “If you have any brain cells left in that thick skull of yours, then you’d better start begging for your life a lot better than that. I’ve cut up many demons and undead warriors with this machete and it would be an honor to take your head off as well. Go ahead, you little bitch! Scream for your life!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again! Please let me go! My father needs me!” shouted Heath in a pathetic voice, prompting Zell to release his shirt collar and allow him to drop to the ground. The demonic zombie still had the machete pointed at his would-be victim. Heath waved his hands defensively and said, “Look, man. I’m just the son of a baker. I used to be before the goddamn bank took everything away. You just said you were in a government prison for ten years. Didn’t you feel like doing…you know…something drastic?” That last sentence was punctuated by another burp.

“Every damn day I felt like doing something drastic!” shouted Zell. He allowed that comment to hang in the air for a few long seconds before putting his instrument of destruction back in his trench coat. “Every damn day,” he said with more compassion. “Even when I got out of that prison and we eventually won the war, things were never the same. The story doesn’t end just because the author puts his pen down. I had nightmares when the war was over. Sometimes I’d wake up and wouldn’t know where I was. And yes, I did a lot of drinking during that time, even more so than you.”

Heath looked up at his now calmed down assailant with compassion of his own. And then he turned his head to the side and puked his guts out. Some of the flowing stomach acid managed to dirty up Zell’s boots, which once again put a sadistic frown on the war hero’s face. After wiping the bile from his mouth with his jacket sleeve, Heath realized what he just did and said in that same pathetic voice, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! Please, don’t kill me!”

Zell’s eyes rolled back and he this time picked Heath up by his unwashed hair before pulling the machete back out to hold it to the drunkard’s throat. Mr. Danielson cried like a little baby with his tears coming as quickly as his puke. The zombie warrior shouted, “Shut up! Stop your blubbering, little boy!” The tears had dried up. “So that’s how your story’s going to end, huh? You’re just going to let these corrupt banks do whatever they want with your father’s business? One that he worked so hard to obtain?”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” said a whiny-voiced Heath.

The Undertaker pressed the blade against Heath’s throat even harder, drawing a little speck of blood and causing the raspy breaths to come more rapidly. And then Zell turned the blade over and put the handle of the weapon in Heath’s shaking hands. “I have no more use for this now that I’m dead and gone. But for you, my friend, it’s not too late. Take this blade and show those asshole bankers that you’re not one to be fucked with!”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t just attack them like that!” said Heath.

“You’re right,” said Zell sarcastically. “They’re just going to give your father’s bakery back to you like civilized gentlemen. Because that’s how the real world works: everything is handed to you and nothing has to be fought for. That’s why I have my own tombstone where I’m resting more comfortably than I would in a Hilton Hotel.”

Heath could feel the cold steel in his hand. It was such a simple weapon of war with jagged edges and many lives claimed. A prolific war hero was passing down his instrument of death to a mere drunkard who never thought he could change the world with a bloody slash. This blade made Heath Danielson feel powerful. It made him feel revolutionary. Those suit-wearing jackasses at Babylon Bank didn’t stand a chance against him. They could have all the beefy security and all the brutal cops they wanted and they would all fall down one by one. A sea of blood would overtake the streets as the souls of those claimed by this machete would be burning in hellfire for all eternity.

“You can count on me, Mr. Jardine. Nobody steals from the Danielson family! Nobody!” shouted Heath…right before he puked up another meal on Zell’s legs.

“For God’s sake, man, don’t ever drink that much alcohol again!” shouted the zombie before shoving the drunkard down on the ground.

"Diablo III: The Order" by Nate Kenyon

In a world full of demons and sorcery, Deckard Cain’s better days are behind him. His muscles are sore, his bones are creaking, and he’s not getting any younger. But more importantly, he feels traumatically guilty. Images of his friends and family being slaughtered by Diablo’s forces haunt him to where he no longer believes in himself. This kind of thinking was amplified when a paladin under his watch, Akarat, succumbed to the forces of evil. With another wave of demons and undead set to take over the world of Sanctuary, Deckard Cain must now keep watch over a little girl named Leah who possesses magical abilities far beyond her own comprehension.

The entirety of this book, set to a dark fantasy backdrop, is a redemption tale as Deckard Cain looks to find peace within himself as he battles the forces of evil. How could he possibly win a war with a brittle body and a traumatized mind? Granted, he is extremely wise in his old age and can provide those around him with the wisdom and courage they need to carry on. But there are still those “fingers of doubt” that crawl up and down his spine to keep him from repairing his broken self-esteem. It seems like an impossible journey for an old man.

But if there’s anything fantasy storytelling has taught me, it’s that true adventure is not about extraordinary people doing extraordinary things. It’s about everyday people like you and me doing extraordinary things. On paper, Deckard and Leah are not a formidable team. It takes 400 plus pages for them to realize their inner greatness, but it happens nonetheless. Fiction is not about if a happy ending is reached. It’s about how it’s reached and how much work it took to reach it.

Despite the fact that I’m a sucker for ass-kicking battle scenes, I’m actually glad the ultra-powerful monk Mikulov wasn’t overused. He’s a warrior in the truest sense of the word: powerful, disciplined, and the closest thing to God you’ll find. If he goes around saving the world with his punches, kicks, and fire attacks, nobody will learn to fend for themselves. Don’t get me wrong. Mikulov plays an important role in this story, but he’s not the whole story and that’s what makes the novel so breathtaking and believable.

You’re probably wondering why I would rate such an incredible tale only four stars instead of the maximum five on Good Reads. Everything fell into place perfectly except for one thing: the pacing. Diablo III: The Order dictates a slower pace than the books I’m used to reading and because of that I’ve had to spend more time recovering my mental energies than I did reading the damn book. However, the novel has so many redeeming qualities that a slightly slower pace seems like small potatoes. The creative and vivid descriptions may slow you down a bit, but they’re necessary in painting a picture of the blood-stained world of Sanctuary.

Buy a copy of this book and give Nate Kenyon your patronage. Even if you’re not a fan of the Diablo videogame franchise, you’ll be an instant believer in the power of morbid storytelling.

Terrato Matrix

When I was a kid watching TV, a commercial would come on for Taco Bell and their “crunchy supremes” or whatever the hell they were called. The tagline of those commercials was “Crunch so big, crunch so low, so everybody eat tacos!”

Around that same time, my brother James was playing Final Fantasy VI on the Super Nintendo and there was a monster in the game called Terrato, a giant snake who when summoned would cast a spell called Earth Aura and did a shit ton of damage to the enemies. Putting two and two together, I said, “Crunch it high, crunch it low, let’s all eat Terrato!” James, being the clever comedian he was, said in a mocking voice, “Let’s all eat a poisonous snake!”

If it hadn’t been for that small moment of childhood bliss, I wouldn’t have a fascination with the name Terrato and the character in question (Terrato Matrix) would have probably been named something else.

The Matrix part of his name was easy: he wore a black trench coat and sunglasses, just like Neo, Trinity, and Morpheus from The Matrix. Nearly a decade and a half after the moment of childhood bliss, I put two and two together once again and came up with the main character for a movie script I wrote called “Tower of Heaven”.

In “Tower of Heaven”, disgusting monsters called Intimidators took over the earth and the only safe sanctuary was an aura-protected tower named after the title of the movie. Terrato Matrix’s job was to find as many innocent people as he could and bring them safely to the Tower of Heaven until somebody could find the solution to this Intimidator apocalypse.

If anybody was qualified for the job, it was Terrato. He carried a machete everywhere he went, but he was more than a slasher. Most wizards carried wands, but when Terrato was slinging his machete, he was casting badass spells from fireballs to tidal waves to lightning bolts to shadow spikes to poison thorns. If “Tower of Heaven” didn’t end up sucking so badly and having a Deus Ex Machina ending, Terrato Matrix wouldn’t be unemployed right now.

Another job opportunity came for Terrato in the form of a dark fantasy novel called Zeromancer. He was a member of the story’s first act, though he didn’t get that much time in the limelight. He was embroiled in a rivalry with his brother Baraka over a marine chick named Jet McCammon. Terrato and Baraka both wanted her and the war between them got so heated that Jet was believed to be dead at one point. The two machete-wielding, trench coat-wearing brothers dueled it out until the fight ended in a draw and the main character of that act, Kento Bladecaptain, was left with fewer allies to fight the real threat to the world, a dragon barbarian named Atlas Venom. Way to get off track, Terrato.

That’s okay, because Zeromancer didn’t stand much of a chance either. It was written in 2011, a time where I thought it was acceptable to abuse hyperbolic comparisons and to write paragraphs a full 8.5 x 11 page long. To say Zeromancer was beyond repair would be putting it mildly. To say it was a fucking mess would be vulgar, but more accurate.

To show you how much Terrato meant to me during both 2008 (Tower of Heaven) and 2011 (Zeromancer), listen to this. He wasn’t just another character I could throw away willy-nilly. He was slated to be the next Deus Shadowheart when it came to popularity.

When I first introduced Deus in 2002, everybody at the Final Fantasy-themed MSN community he was a part of was excited to see him (except for a few douche bags who thought I was stealing from Starcraft, but that’s beside the point). Deus is still fresh in the minds of guys like James Howell, Kenny Flynn, Robert Hatfield, and many others who were old enough to remember. While Terrato didn’t reach that level of popularity, I was at least hoping he would. Don’t worry, Terrato: your turn for fame will eventually come. I hope.

　

***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“We’ve had our eye on you for quite sometime, Mr. Anderson. It appears you’re living two lives. In one of these lives, you’re Thomas Anderson. You’re a program writer for a respectable software company. You have a social security number. You pay taxes. You even take out your landlady’s garbage. In the other life, you’re alias hacker Neo. You’re guilty of virtually every computer crime we have a law for. One of these lives has a future. The other does not.”

-Agent Smith from “The Matrix”-

Leon De Taj

Not since William Wallace has anybody been able to shoot lightning bolts out of their ass quite like Leon De Taj. Actually, that sounds like a very painful bowel movement waiting to happen. I hope Leon doesn’t have to do a colon cleanse anytime soon. Maybe it’ll be better if he shoots all of his lightning bolts from his fingertips and perhaps from the back of his throat like a dragon would. We don’t need a dark fantasy version of Ren & Stimpy anytime soon.

All joking aside, if you need somebody to electrocute a savage beast, a fire breathing dragon, or a barbaric orc, Leon De Taj is your man. In the same way that necromancers deal in death and pyromancers deal in fire, Leon, a bona fide electromancer, is an expert in throwing lightning wherever it is needed.

He’s so good at his occupation that he could get a job powering Las Vegas’ neon signs and maybe get paid some serious overtime. He might also find his calling as a Texas-based executioner since they love to kill their prisoners with the electric chair so much. Then again, if he did that, they might accuse him of witchcraft and nail him to a cross. Bad idea, scratch that.

What you really need to know about Leon De Taj is that he’s more than just a limitless energy source. He’s also a hopeless romantic. When last he was used, it was in a movie script called Tower of Heaven. The premise of this movie was that bloodthirsty monsters called Intimidators took over the earth and the Tower of Heaven was the only place civilians could be safe from these dangerous warriors.

It would take a real backstabber to ruin a safe haven such as that. Leon became that backstabber when his girlfriend was taken away from him by the main character of the story, Terrato Matrix. Leon became so jealous that he removed the magical barrier from around the Tower of Heaven just so he could get back at that one guy who seduced his girl.

You talk about a real sourpuss, that’s it man. This is one case that Clark Gable III and Joey Greco would be both well advised to stay away from. I can picture Bob Magruder’s voiceover right now. “Leon De Taj. Age 25. An electromancer accused of calling down the thunder and reaping the whirlwind on his relationships.”

If this extreme jealousy is going to work in a story that hasn’t been scrapped yet, Leon would have to have been with this girl for a long, long time. Their connection must be deeper than a shallow bikini party or a one-night fling that resulted in a pregnancy. He’s 25 years old as Bob Magruder said, so maybe he knew this girl since middle school. Middle school can bring about a lot of hormone-induced feelings.

No matter what I end up doing with this character, lightning and testosterone will never make for a romantic mix.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Pain! Without love. Pain! I can’t get enough. Pain! I like it rough, ‘cause I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all.”

-Three Days Grace singing “Pain”-

Rash Barder

When there’s something strange in your neighborhood, who’re you gonna call?! Actually, it’s probably not a good idea to call The Ghostbusters, because they’ll probably exterminate Rash Barder with those nuclear guns of theirs. You see, Rash Barder is a lich. I admittedly know very little about liches except that they’re evil ghosts who will eat you alive like a Taco Bell five buck box. Add to his lich heritage his occupation of bounty hunter and he instantly becomes a mind fuck and nightmare fuel all rolled into one. Can you imagine a creepy looking ghost staring you in the eyes asking questions about where the world’s most dangerous criminal is? At that point, I don’t know who you should fear most, the wanted criminal or Rash. It’s like the cure being worse than the disease, which is the medical equivalent of Cialis causing your dick to hemorrhage blood and your eyes to pop out of your head. As frightening of a bounty hunter as Rash Barder is, he actually comes from very humble roots. He first made his debut in an RPG I was a part of in 2002 with an old friend named Justin and my first girlfriend Jesse. In this RPG, Jesse’s character, Makoto Tribal, was looking for her husband, another character I created named Sharry Seran. The only thing that remained of Sharry was a final love letter before he officially went off the grid. Makoto hired Rash Barder to help her look for the love of her life and Rash was more than happy to accommodate her. The scene between Makoto and Rash was very tender, almost in a best friend relationship sort of way. Justin was confused by all the tenderness going on, because according to him, people are apparently very bigoted towards the undead. I assigned the lich species to Rash Barder without knowing the full depth of how racist the non-player characters could be. Unfortunately, the RPG didn’t last very long and was inactive within the first few weeks. Rash didn’t have the appropriate amount of time to experience prejudice from his humanoid peers. At this point, I didn’t know if it was better to put my characters in compromising situations like racism or try to build them up as much as possible without unnecessary obstacles. Throughout my role-playing career, I’ve done things to my characters to purposefully put them in harm’s way. As I grew older, I realized it was better to do that when writing a book as opposed to playing an RPG. The G in RPG stands for game and games are meant to be won (even though the role-playing variety has no pre-determined goal). But in books, the idea is to create a story and the best way to do that is to create obstacles for your main characters. Can I do such a thing with Rash Barder? Can there really be a civil rights movement for liches? I could call the book Stuck Rotting Baby! (Groan)

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Ever seen the Lord smile? All the care for the world made beautiful a sad man? Why do we still carry a device of torture around our necks? Oh, how rotten your pre-apocalypse is. All you bible-black fools living over nightmare ground. I see all those empty cradles and wonder if man will never change. I too wish to be a decent man-boy, but all I am is smoke and mirrors. Still given everything, may I be deserving. And there forever remains the change from G to E minor.”

-Dialogue from “Song of Myself” by Nightwish-