A Hairdresser vs. Garrison's Autism: You Can't Spell Hairdresser without the Letters HR

 

Desilu Thomson, Cooking Professor from "The Accusers"

 

Leanne Silverwood, Shawnita's Classmate from "The Accusers"

 

Magnum Goldlust, Cooking Classmate from "The Accusers"

 

Jamee Franzen, Cooking Classmate from "The Accusers"

 

Dolores Mackey, Daniel Rush's Live-In Girlfriend from "Be a Good Duck"

 

Daniel Rush, Office Jockey from "Be a Good Duck"

 

Connor Stone, Evil CEO from "Be a Good Duck"

 

Beverlie LaPain, Shawnita's High School Sweetheart from "The Accusers"

 

Axle Whiterock, Patriarch of the Titular Cult "The Accusers"

 

Black Tar Kiss, Chapter 3

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Lacy Yang Strikes Again

ACT I

She stands like a halfling, walks like a giant

Forget the kid shit, ‘cause she’s self-reliant

Learned capoeira from the masters of old

Spin-kicking heads until bodies turn cold

Practice on scarecrows, theory on the dance floor

Helicopter kicks and through the air she soars

But no matter how many bones she breaks

There’s always some jerk-ass who calls her a fake

ACT II

Her name is Lacy Yang, but they call her baby girl

And a bunch of other sweet names to make her hurl

She ain’t tall enough to ride the rollercoaster

They say she’s just small enough to fit inside a toaster

As she sipped her hot tea at the capoeira café

She tried to push these thoughts so far away

Until a forty-something with white in his hair

Drunkenly tried to get inside her underwear

ACT III

He’s got Reese’s Pieces and Peanut Butter Cups

A van full of toys and a ranch full of puppy-dups

Lacy Yang told this pervert to fuck off

Two middle fingers for the incel suck-wad

A slap across her face, a prelude to a spanking

Easily forgetting her martial arts ranking

She tied up her dreadlocks in a giant knot

“Come on, you pedo, show me what you’ve got!”

ACT IV

Cartwheeled out of the way of a punch

Flipped off the table, landed with a feather’s touch

He went for a kick, didn’t protect his dick

Lacy threw a crescent heel, sent him spinning like a wheel

Some kangaroo stomps for his bits and pieces

Dragon uppercut to unleash his loose feces

Head butt to the jaw for breaking molestation laws

Knocked the fuck out, the winner wasn’t in doubt

CONCLUSION

David and Goliath is one hell of a legend

Lacy Yang’s story is worth more than a mention

Let this be a lesson to the wicked and dangerous

May you get your ass kicked from Earth to Uranus

"Kind of Like Life" by Christina McMullen

BOOK TITLE: Kind of Like Life

AUTHOR: Christina McMullen

YEAR: 2014

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Psychological Fantasy

GRADE: Extra Credit

When you put The Matrix and fantasy elements in a milkshake blender and mix them together, you get a delicious treat from Christina McMullen called “Kind of Like Life”. You start the book thinking it’s going to be a utopian love story. Everything that can go right for Renee Ward does go right. And then the world around her is revealed to be a lie. The reality of it all is horrifying as hell. Can she wake up from her nightmare long enough to make things right in the real world? That’s a question you’ll be asking yourself throughout your entire reading adventure. You don’t know what the solution to these problems will be, so nothing is predictable. Hell, you’re not even sure if a happy ending was meant to exist. I love surprises and I love plot twists. Christina McMullen delivers on both of those fronts, which is part of the reason her book is getting five out of five stars.

Another reason why she gets that grade is because the entire book is a celebration of creativity and imagination, a break from the ordinary. Genres can bend at the drop of a hat. One minute you’re in a lush faerie forest full of magic, phoenixes and wonder. Another minute you’re in a Wild West desert being chased by a sheriff and his posse. And then you’re flying through space unleashing pew-pew lasers upon other spaceships that want to gun you down and watch you burn. You know how people say that imagination has no limits? Neither does this book. Crossing genres is creative in and of itself, but telling a cohesive story with compelling characters to keep it from being shallow? That takes a lot of skill and Christina McMullen has that in spades.

Speaking of compelling characters, how can you not like the chemistry between Renee Ward and the man who rescues her from the cracking utopia, Blake Carter. They start off being suspicious of each other and sometimes annoyed at their presences. But the more they learn about each other, the closer they become. Blake’s past of being abused by his parents isn’t just an empty attempt to make him appear sympathetic. It’s a trust builder and it ties into the story in a way that sensitively deals with such a traumatic topic. The descriptions of the abuse he went through and how his parents got away with it Scot free are heartbreaking to read about. I came within a hair of shedding some tears for this scene. Renee Ward doesn’t necessarily have to heal Blake through her relationship with him, but she does understand his pain and she does handle his trauma in a delicate way. Does he want to talk about it? Does he want to avoid the subject? Renee is there for him either way. These two characters don’t complete each other; they complement each other. That’s the stuff healthy relationships are built on. We need more of this in fiction today.

This book has an uncanny ability to play with your brain like silly putty as you try to piece together the puzzle of the plot or wrestle with your emotions through all of the heartache. I like being surprised. I like having my darkest emotions triggered. I also like having my lighthearted emotions triggered as well. There’s something for everyone in this novel. You want a thriller? You’ve got one. You want fantasy? It’s all yours. You want a psychological rollercoaster? Have at it. As I’ve said before, “Kind of Like Life” deserves a five out of five star rating for being everything I wanted it to be and more. I know full well that anybody else who picks up this book will have the same glowing opinion. Christina McMullen is awesome like that. It makes me look forward to reading other novels in her catalog as well.

"Fight" by K.L. Cottrell

BOOK TITLE: Fight

AUTHOR: K.L. Cottrell

YEAR: 2014

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Urban Fantasy

GRADE: Extra Credit

When last we left the Light Force, a new breed of enemy from the Dark World was next in line to bring chaos and destruction to this world: the Tatts. Inked up magic users along with their demonic brethren the Hellions have made life miserable for those who don’t conform to their evil agenda. Marienne and Gabe, along with the rest of the Light Force, refuse to go down without a fight. They have the tools, they have the know-how, but most importantly, they have each other and will do anything to protect what is sacred in their lives. There will be blood and death, but there will also be victories and love. Who will survive in this classic clash between good and evil?

Yes, this book is about slaying monsters. Yes, there’s a lot of violence. Despite it all, however, this book maintains a positive vibe from the beginning to the end. The way the Light Force treats each other is refreshing to anybody who wants a break from the drill sergeant mentality so prevalent in fantasy and sci-fi fiction. Don’t get me wrong, I love a dark story as much as the next sicko, but even I need a breath of fresh air every now and then. This book delivers on that front and so much more. You can create conflict in a novel without having your beloved good guys constantly at each other’s throats. The author proves that over and over again. The Light Force isn’t just a group of likeminded people. They’re family. They’re friends. They’re lovers. They’re everything they need each other to be…except Rafe, who’s a total jerk.

As long as we’re keeping the positive vibes going, let’s talk for a bit about the romance between our two narrators, Gabe and Marienne. I’ve read a lot of novels in my day with romantic subplots and I can safely say that these two are my favorite couple, hands down, end of story. They’ve got more chemistry than a periodic table. They can kiss and be physical with each other without being hokey. They’re equal to each other in terms of respect given and how well they perform in fights with Hellions and Tatts. Everything that can go right in this relationship does go right…and I love it to pieces! You know who else I can love as a couple? Wes and Beatrix, who are just as lovey-dovey and just as respectful to each other as Gabe and Marienne. I’m feeling giddy even as I write this review!

But with every hero, there are villains waiting in the wings to bring the happiness to a grinding halt. Though not technically a villain, Marienne’s ex-boyfriend Rafe is painful to read about due to his obnoxious and jealous behavior (which makes me wonder why he’s not secretly a Hellion or a Tatt). Claire, Marienne’s sister, has always been nasty and malicious with her salty dialogue and newly acquired demonic tone. If there’s one villain you have to look out for more than others, it’s Leuan Cain, Tatt billionaire. Yes, he has dark magic and fighting abilities equaled by nobody, but that’s not what’s scary about him. He’s scary because he’s charming to ordinary people. He gives civilians hope and love and in return they give him their free will. He’s a typical politician without ever once landing a position in the White House. In the same way Donald Trump appeals to white nationalists, Cain appeals to the weak and frail. That is one way to make a villain believable and formidable at the same time.

I could go on and on about how much I love K.L. Cottrell’s Light series. I could make a laundry list of reasons why this book in particular deserves five out of five stars, a grade I don’t give out so freely. But when you finally pick up a copy of this novel, it’ll all become clear to you in a heartbeat. You feel the love and positivity right away with the opening speech about our fights in life. You want to be best friends with everybody in the Light Force (except for Rafe). You want to see Cain and other villains get their comeuppance by the time the third novel in this series is over. Those things by themselves are enough to convince me to give any book five stars. But together? Oh man!

Demon Axe, Chapter 12

For Daniel Mercer and his rock and roll crew, time moved slowly and painfully in the confines of their dark holding cell. Pain and disgust were etched on their faces as they ate spoiled bologna sandwiches compliments of the state. Tarantula Man held his sandwich meat and stared at it like it actually was a poisonous arachnid in his hand. His Islamic diet would never allow him to eat such rancid garbage, so he flushed his food down the toilet in the center of the cell and sat back down on the graffiti-covered bench.

The cell had been deathly silent for what seemed like hours (even though only one hour had passed). Every member of Demon Death Juice along with the two pro-wrestlers sat with a miserable and pathetic hunched over posture. As Bear Man tried to stomach the abomination he was feasting on, he piped up, “I know we’re prisoners who’ve been stripped of our freedom, but do we at least have the right to some mustard?!”

For Daniel, it wouldn’t have mattered if his sandwich was covered in an entire bottle of condiments. He took a bite out of the center and gagged so badly that he doubled over. He spit out what appeared to be a dead mouse, complete with teeth marks and sloppy guts.

“Oh god, dear god…” Daniel kept repeating to himself as he held his stomach and rushed over to the toilet. He vomited so hard that it sounded like he was laying down vocals for the first Demon Death Juice album. Another stream of masticated mush came up. And another. And another. Everybody sharing his cell looked on with horror before throwing their sandwiches on the floor in rebellion.

The Lord of the Pit wiped his mouth on his bare arm before slowly standing up and approaching the bars with a predator’s pace. He grabbed hold of them and yelled out to whoever would listen, “Whoever’s keeping us here has a shit load of explaining to do! You arrested us for no fucking reason and feed us these god awful sandwiches like we’re a bunch of goddamn dogs! We’ve been sitting on our asses for who knows how long, so whoever’s out there, you’d better get your ass over here and tell me what the hell’s going on!”

Daniel’s sentiments were echoed by his rock and roll troupe, all five of them sitting up and roaring like animals. They sat back down again at the shrill sound of metal banging on metal. Even the high and mighty Lord of the Pit backed away to the center of the room. The clanging and banging turned into something sharp being scraped across the bars. The prisoners winced and held their ears at the awful shriek.

The sharp metal object stopped at the entrance to the holding cell, where an oil lantern was lit and revealed a green-skinned man holding a machete and wearing a black monk’s robe, complete with a hood shrouding his face. The prisoner’s nerves were jittery and wild as Daniel said, “No way. You can’t be!” The robed figure flipped his hood back and revealed the sinister mug of Roger Zee, elven terrorist. His sharp-toothed grin sent chills up everyone’s spines. Even Daniel was struggling to say, “I’ll be damned” behind his quivering lips.

“Don’t act like you’ve never seen one of my kind before, Mr. Mercer,” said Roger in his grating voice. “I bet you’re wondering what the hell I’ve been doing this past month. I sure as hell wasn’t taking a nap. I also didn’t spend my time behind a computer raving like a teenaged lunatic. On the contrary, I’ve spent my last month of inactivity…getting to know some people around here.”

Daniel crossed his arms and said, “Let me guess: you’re the one who’s got Detective Henry’s balls in your pocket.”

“Not just his balls, my friend,” said Roger with a wag of his long-nailed finger. “The whole department. I’ve got more balls in my pocket than a game of billiards. Everybody in this god forsaken precinct has something to protect, something to hide, something to lose. I had no idea your city cops had so much to cover up. Racial profiling, racketeering, extortion, political embezzlement, this shit goes on forever. But then again, they can’t all be criminals who are willing to give me their puppet strings over some blackmail, right? Well, not all of them. But enough. Most of them are just hardworking family men who don’t want to see their precious demon seeds get hurt. I’ve got enough connections to take over this entire city if I wanted to.”

“All this just to bring things back to the good old days, huh?” said Daniel with a condescending smirk. “Well, the good old days weren’t all that good! In your so called golden age, bigotry was considered normal, death was the status quo, and beating your wife was an act of discipline. You want to bring that shit back to life? Not on my watch, motherfucker!”

Roger bent backwards and chuckled before saying, “And how is that any different than today’s world? Huh? Bigotry is still normal, death is even more normal, and beating your wife is still a shit load of fun! I’m not really changing much with my so called acts of terrorism. All I’m doing is speeding up the inevitable. Surely, your friend Tarantula Man knows something about this.”

Without his stage mask, Tarantula Man’s white hot angry expression could be seen from the moon. He approached the bars with breakneck speed and barked, “Don’t you ever talk about my religion that way! I am nothing like what you hear in your little bubble! I’m going to raise my kids to be respectful even when scumbags like you are hastening the inevitable as you say!”

Roger held his lantern and machete-holding hands up in defense and sarcastically apologized with, “Whoa, whoa, easy there, big man! I believe you when you say you’re going to raise your children right! Okay?” The elf leaned so close to Tarantula Man’s face that they were touching noses. “After all, if they don’t act proper, you can always strap a suicide vest on them.”

The Muslim rocker took a swing through the bars and got his arm chopped off at the elbow for his efforts. He howled in miserable bloody pain as he stumbled backwards on his ass with Bear Man and Lady Killer tending to his wound.

“Anybody else want to try that shit with me?! Anybody?!” Roger proudly challenged.

Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez, the two beefy wrestlers slowly stood up and took their places next to Daniel, who also had his muscles bulging and pulsating like blood bombs ready to blow. Sonia stared a fireball through Roger as she said, “If you still think beating women is a shit load of fun, let’s see you try that on me, bitch!”

“You don’t have your stupid little crowns anymore, amigo,” said Johnny while punching the bars. “Besides, it’s hard for someone like you to wear a crown with your brains leaking all over the fucking floor!”

“You fucked with my friends one too many times,” said Daniel, who was trembling with rage and ready to snap someone’s head off. “Up until now, I’ve been backing away from you anytime I had an opening. You chopped off my new friend’s arm. He’s never going to play guitar again because of you. And you, you’re never going to eat solid food again because your fucking teeth are going down your goddamn throat!”

Roger Zee laughed like a banshee and blew out the oil lantern, covering the holding cell in shadows once again. Daniel and his wrestler friends didn’t need the light to know where the elf was. They could smell his dick-licking breath from a mile away. The door opened so slowly that the hinges could be heard creaking and grinding.

Johnny, Sonia, and Daniel came out of the gates swinging like wild brawlers. They were certain their savage punches hit their marks, because they could feel the slimy flesh between their knuckles and fingers. Daniel even pierced his knuckle on one of Roger’s sharp fangs, causing a liberal amount of blood to flow from his hand. He didn’t give two shits and a flying fuck.

His veins were ready to blow like dynamite and he wouldn’t stop punching until he heard Roger let out a pathetic squeal of pain. “Ouch…ouch…no more…please…” Each cry for help was getting more sarcastic and it all crescendoed with evil hyena laughter that had everyone in the cell on edge. “My turn!” Roger shouted before the sounds of skin, organs, and bones being slashed pierced Daniel’s ears, causing the traumatized rocker to shriek a prolonged, “No!” and huddle to the ground in tears.

The oil lantern was alight once more and Roger waved the device around the cell to show Daniel that he was right to be traumatized and frightened. Pieces of his band mates and friends were scattered all over the cell with blood drenching the floor. Their faces were hardly recognizable with smashed skulls and popped out eyeballs. Daniel’s tears flooded down his face as he saw that his last circle of friends had left his earth forever.

He truly was all alone in this world. Every time he brought the metal scene back to life, it was taken away from him again. Every time he tried to have a positive thought, it was slashed to pieces. Every time he tried to live his life again, his happiness was ripped away from him like a teddy bear in a crying child’s arms.

Roger set the lantern down and petted Daniel’s hair in mock comfort while silently shushing him and whispering “sweet sounds” to him. “There, there, my little child. All is not lost. You can call me your friend anytime you want. You know what friends do when one of them is feeling down? We have some fun together. Good…old fashioned…medieval…fun!”

The lantern was blown out yet again and Daniel felt himself being dragged by his follicles across the bloody floor. He wished he had drowned in his own tears and in his fallen friends’ blood, for it would have been a friendlier ending to his story than whatever was about to happen to him next. “Just kill me already!” he pleaded. “Kill me, damn it!”

A Lesson In Literary Marketing

***A LESSON IN LITERARY MARKETING***

Whenever I’ve written a short story or a novel, I wrote it with the idea of doing it for me and me alone. Every character, every plot device, every climax, they were all built around my own personal interests and core values. During these times of self-service, I forget that I’ve often described myself as an island with my interests. Let’s take a look at all of these keywords: liberal politics, professional wrestling, heavy metal music, mental illness, new age music, animal welfare, Dungeons & Dragons-style fantasy, adult Lego fandom, and so many more than I’m often forgetting and often clustering together. Some of these things go great together while others may ruin the witch’s cauldron that is my core values.

As a writer, appealing to yourself will always result in having a fun time. While such individual thinking is encouraged for all forms of art, if you want to get yourself out there, you also have to appeal to people who will actually take an interest in what you do. In other words, you have to know who your audience is.

The example I want to use for this parable is my self-published urban fantasy pro-wrestling novella Occupy Wrestling. Every person who has ever read it from cover to cover has had the same complaint: unfamiliarity with wrestling logic and terminology. The strange lingo, I can understand where they’re coming from. Not everybody knows what the hell a spine-buster is or why being called a jabroni is a particularly humiliating insult.

But even if I were to scrub the novella clean of all wrestling slang, the story would still operate on wrestling logic. Only in wrestling can you justify two guys nearly killing each other over a “stupid” gold encrusted belt. Only in wrestling do you fight one day and come up fresh as a daisy the next day almost injury free. Only in wrestling does doing everything once a week make any sense at all. I can scrub the vocabulary clean, but if I scrubbed the logic clean, it would cease to be a wrestling story. Hell, it wouldn’t be a story at all, for that matter.

Occupy Wrestling is currently sitting pretty at 2.75 stars on Good Reads and Amazon. Even the two people who gave it favorable reviews (Edward Davies and Andy Peloquin) were scratching their heads at the wrestling logic and lingo. My beta reader Marie Krepps was even scratching her head despite watching wrestling during the Attitude Era in the 1990’s.

There’s a lesson to be learned here: if you have a product of any kind, market it to the right people. Do you have a science-fiction story about cute cuddly kitties? Market it to people who make frequent visits to the Humane Society. Do you have an instructional manual about crocheting? That sounds like an activity for an older generation, so market it to them. What’s that? You have a basketball drama? Market it to people who like basketball.

Following this logic, what should I do with Occupy Wrestling? Should I continue to send free copies to English professors, chick-lit lovers, and nonviolent people? Or should I market this book to…(drum roll)…wrestling fans?! Let’s think about this for a minute. Do you know why “YES!” by Daniel Bryan is currently holding a 4.05-star rating on Good Reads? It’s because it’s been marketed to wrestling fans, like me.

I love it myself, but let’s face it, Mr. Bryan writes like a celebrity. His memoir style is nowhere near as polished as Alison Bechdel, James Frey, or Elizabeth Wurtzel. Then again, people love “YES!” because they love wrestling and they love Daniel Bryan. Could I possibly do the insane thing and slip copies of Occupy Wrestling to the Dave Meltzers, Vince McMahons, Stephanie McMahons, and Eric Bischoffs of the world? Imagine that: giving people what they like instead of what you think they should like. Who would’ve thunk it?

Remember, boys and girls: you may get knocked down and it may hurt for a long period of time. Everybody experiences failure at least one point in their lives. It’s our ability to get back up, dust ourselves off, and go back to the drawing board to alter our strategies that makes us immortal in the end. Nobody thought The Beatles would be as big as they’ve been over the past half-century. Michael Jordan locked himself in his room and cried his eyes out when his high school basketball tryouts went up in smoke. There are people who still think Daniel Bryan is a B+ player despite everything he’s been through. None of these famous people gave up and neither should you. They changed their approach to life and I’m changing mine as well. Now I just have to figure out how to reach the wrestling fans in a way that they can relate to my novella. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***CURRENT AND FUTURE PUBLICATIONS***

As of today, I have three defunct publications and three active ones. The active ones are Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage (poetry and song anthology), American Darkness (contemporary drama anthology), and Occupy Wrestling (urban fantasy novella). Though self-publishing these three active books hasn’t earned me a great deal of fame or fortune, I’m still grateful that they’re out there and in the public eye. I don’t write because I want to be greater than JK Rowling or Stephen King. I write because I love to create beautiful things. You can call it artistic passion, the creative urge, or just plain autistic tendencies. Either way, there will be other self-published books to come and no matter how tough things get, there will be no giving up. Here’s a look at those future publications:

　

American Darkness 2: Black State (contemporary drama anthology)

Blood Brawl (Dungeons & Dragons-style fantasy novel)

Filter Feeder (environmental fantasy novel)

Necrograph (dark poetry and heavy metal song anthology, almost a sequel to Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage)

Poison Tongue Tales (science-fiction, fantasy, and horror anthology)

Watch You Burn (psychological fantasy novel)

　

***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***

“Coincidence is killing an oversized house spider with a paperback copy of ‘Silence of the Lambs‘. Irony is using a Carl Hiaasen novel instead.”

-Me-

I, Barbarian

“So your name is Corey Darkside, huh? Is that the name your momma gave you or are you just being cute with me? You wouldn’t happen to be an injun, would you? Either way, missy, it’s time to cut the crap. You’re here for a reason, which happens to be that vagrancy is illegal and you’re being accused of it. You have anything to say for yourself, sweetheart?” said the heavyset Sheriff Ace Hank, who sat across the interrogation table eating a pink-frosted donut and sipping a cup of coffee.

“This is the way you treat your homeless? By locking them up in monkey cages? Even a barbarian like me would be disgusted by the behavior of your world, which is why I prefer living in solitude,” said Corey Darkside, a muscular female warrior dressed in bear skins, furry boots, and metal armor. She looked like she leapt out of the pages of a Dungeons & Dragons player’s handbook.

Ace, on the other hand, thought she looked more like a loony as evidenced by the look of puzzlement on his chubby face, which was now covered in donut sugar. He said, “Listen, lady, I don’t know where you came from or why you decided to wander the streets of my city looking for handouts, but whether you want to believe it or not, you’re in serious shit, my friend. And you’re not doing yourself any favors by arguing vagrancy politics with me. I for one support clean streets and working folk.”

The unimpressed Corey spit at her inquisitor and happened to get vile green fluids in Ace’s coffee. The unhappy sheriff threw the rest of the coffee in the barbarian’s face. The coffee had gone tepid, so it didn’t burn her face that badly, but it still had all of that oral muck Corey shot from her mouth earlier. “Now we’re even, bitch,” said Ace.

The barbarian wiped the snot and coffee off of her face with her bear skin tunic. She said, “I don’t know what kind of information you hope to get from me, but as long as you sit there with your arrogant ways and your disgusting junk food, I shall tell you nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“That’s okay, sweetie pie. I don’t need anything from you. I’m just here to tell you to get ready for a court hearing sooner than later. Until then, my men are going to transport your smelly ass to jail so you can think about what you did.”

“There’s nothing to think about, fat boy. All I did was wander into your town and you’ve shown me how you treat your less desirables. It’s a sad day when barbaric tribes behave better than those who claim to be civilized.”

Ace reached across the table to slap Corey in the mouth, but the steadfast barbarian caught the massive hand and squeezed with a vice grip at the wrist. The sheriff grimaced in pain as he tried to suck it up and free his hand, but the woman’s grip was too powerful. The cop’s fingers began to turn purple when a swarm of other police officers descended upon the interrogation to pull Corey off and restrain her arms and legs.

Miss Darkside thrashed around and screamed in a guttural voice, but the many cops who came to hold her still were too powerful. They even managed to get her wrists behind her back and zip-tie them together while pressing her face-down to the floor.

With the barbaric warrior still howling like an animal, Ace shook off the pain in his hand and wrist and said, “There, are you happy now?! You can add assaulting an officer to the list of charges! Get this crazy bitch out of here! Jail is too good for this renaissance fare freak! She’s going straight to the rubber room where she’ll really have some fun!”

After a count of three, the many police officers hoisted Corey up by her arms and legs and carried her out of the interrogation room. She was still thrashing and screaming, but again, the officers were too powerful for her. It wasn’t until a thunderous bang resounded throughout the police station that the fierce action stopped.

“What the hell was that?!” asked Ace.

Corey managed a smile with razor-sharp teeth and said, “He’s here. He wants to put an end to our rivalry once and for all. If it’s a brawl he wants, it’s a brawl I’m going to give him!”

“Who the fuck are you talking about, lady?” asked Ace.

Even more monstrous bangs blasted throughout the building. The source of the tremors came rushing in like an F5 tornado, slashing and throwing around any police officer who would try to stop him. It wasn’t a mere mortal, but a 7’5” grizzly bear decked out in metal armor and carrying steel claws on his already massive paws. He let out a deafening roar at the officers who were holding Corey, who were then so terrified that they dropped her on the floor and drew their pistols to open fire.

A storm of bullets that powerful would send anybody to heaven. Instead the bullets either deflected off of the bear’s armor or served as a mere annoyance like a fly landing on his fur. “Pathetic! You all are pathetic!” screamed the bear before spinning like a hurricane again and bulldozing the officers into a pile of ripped flesh, bitter blood, and shattered bones. Corey had long gotten out of the line of fire before she too could become worm food.

The bear had his sights set on Sheriff Ace Hank, who was shivering in terror with his eyes wide open while sporting a urine stain on his oversized trousers. With one gigantic paw, the bear lifted Ace in the air and pressed him against the wall before asking in a throaty roar, “Where is she?! Where’s Corey Darkside?! I know that bitch is in here! She fucked with my tribe for the last goddamn time!”

“Sheriff, I want you to meet my rival, Magnus Warcry, leader of the Warcry Nation. Do you want to arrest him for vagrancy too? Well, do you?!” said Corey, who stood next to a pile of dead cops with her arms folded.

Magnus tossed the pudgy sheriff aside and focused all of his attention on Corey, who cracked her knuckles, back, and neck before getting into a martial arts-esque fighting stance. The malevolent bear let out a destructive roar and then charged into his fierce rival, who wasted no time in throwing kicks, punches, knees, and elbows to the bear warrior’s ribs and stomach. These stiff shots rocked the monstrous creature back several steps, but it wasn’t until Corey threw a flying kick to the bear’s face that he was knocked on his back.

Corey jumped up in the air and planted both feet in Magnus’ gut, but the pissed off grizzly smiled a devilish grin at her and grabbed her ankles before standing up and spinning her around in a dizzying circle. The circular pressure made Corey so nauseous that she projectile vomited right in her opponent’s face, causing the big guy to drop her near one of the cops’ desks.

The human warrior was exhausted and was ready to pass out at any moment while the bear warrior, who just wiped the puke off of his face with his paw, was still ready to go. He even let out a battle cry that was so loud it could have waked the dead. But still there were cop corpses lying around everywhere bathed in blood and broken beyond repair.

The one cop who decided this vagrancy case was too important fired a shotgun blast right into Magnus’ ribcage. Hell yeah it hurt, but no more than a bee sting or spider bite. Instead of being in tremendous pain, Magnus just looked annoyed as he stared down Ace Hank with the intent to rip him to shreds.

As Ace shook while keeping the shotgun trained on the bear, Magnus Warcry said to Corey Darkside, “You know what, babe? I think I may have found someone who’s more of an asshole than you.”

The human barbarian was just coming around when she said, “Tell me about it. This guy cares more about his stupid vagrancy laws than he does about the people he’s paid to protect. Hey Magnus, I got a proposition for you.” She stood up and shook off her battle wounds. “What do you say we call a temporary peace between our tribes and instead beat the shit out of this guy. Hell, we can tear down his building for all I care. Truce?”

After Corey Darkside extended her hand, Magnus reluctantly shook it, but the mutual agreement was there nonetheless. He even said, “Don’t forget, woman, this is a temporary peace. Now let’s beat some ass!”

Ace Hank was terrified by what he just saw: two vagrant barbarians agreeing on the fact that he deserves to die and this building deserves to burn. He tried to aim the shotgun, but his hands were convulsing too hard to keep his grip and he eventually dropped it. He turned around and tried to run away, but his shaky legs and overweight body kept him from getting too far. He even stumbled over the dead body of one of his coworkers and just laid face down crying his eyes out and begging for forgiveness.

With Magnus grabbing Ace’s wrists and Corey grabbing the sheriff’s ankles, the bear warrior said, “On the count of three, were rip this chubby piece of garbage in half! One! Two! THREE!!”

RIP!!

"The Blood Guard" by Carter Roy

BOOK TITLE: The Blood Guard
AUTHOR: Carter Roy
YEAR: 2014
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Urban Fantasy
GRADE: Pass


Ronan Truelove is a 13-year-old boy who spent his whole life taking martial arts and athletic classes on the orders of his mother. One day after school, those skills could very well come in handy. His mother loads him into the car and speeds away from evil-looking agents in suits and ties. After the mother and son manage to get away, Ronan is sent to the nearest train station to Washington, DC, to meet up with other people who are just as deadly with a sword as Mrs. Truelove. From that moment on, Ronan is accosted by other evil minions in suits without further explanation as to why all of this is happening. As the novel progresses, the mystery unravels and Ronan Truelove gets closer and closer to proving his worth to a world about to be thrown into chaos.

To say that this book is a little fast-paced would be like saying sumo wrestlers are just a little heavy. The action is hot and heavy. The breaks in said action are few and far between. It’s a nonstop sword slinging, laser beam shooting, acrobatic dive from one chapter to the next. The only idiom I can use to describe such a breakneck pace is, “No rest for the weary.” And it’s true: Ronan Truelove nor his companions can even tie their shoes before another group of suited minions tries to kill them. It all seems like random action at first, but that’s the nature of mysteries: all will be revealed in due time. Until then, kick back, buckle in, and hold on tightly. It’s a bumpy ride all the way to the end.

A good majority of this action is being performed by a main character, Ronan, who doesn’t look anything like a typical hero. He’s a 13-year old boy. He’s skinnier than a paperclip. He’s oblivious to even the most thought out explanations. His fighting skills are nowhere near as polished as those of his enemies. He’s just as fearful as a layman watching his battles from the sidelines. And yet, he’s perfect for this kind of story, because fantasy is not about extraordinary people doing extraordinary things. It’s about every day people like you and me accomplishing the impossible. If a little beanpole like Ronan Truelove can save the day and solve the mysteries that surround his attacks, then what other doors does that open for us? Maybe the reader can feel inspired as well. Maybe that’s what Carter Roy intended.

And while I won’t go into the exact details of the Blood Guard mystery, I will say that there are a lot of twists and turns in this bumpy road to heroism. You’ll find out things you never would have imagined possible about the story arc. You’ll be surprised by everything, especially near the end of the story when the reader finds out who’s responsible for all of this chaos. I couldn’t be more silent about this plot if I had duct tape over my mouth. If you want to know what the hell is going on in this turbulent tale, you’ll have to figure it out on your own. Buy Carter Roy’s book and give him your patronage. And know that there’s plenty more mystery where that came from, especially since The Blood Guard is the first in a series of novels featuring Ronan Truelove. Then again, do you really want such an adrenaline-pumped story to end so soon? A passing grade for a badass novel.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“The CIA doesn’t kill people anymore, they neutralize them or they depopulate an area. The government won’t lie to you anymore, they’ll engage in disinformation. The Pentagon actually measures nuclear radiation in something they call sunshine units. Israeli murderers are called commandos. Arab commandos are called terrorists. Contra killers are known as freedom fighters. Well, if crime fighters fight crime and firefighters fight fires, what do freedom fighters fight?”

-George Carlin-