Leopold from "Kate & Leopold" vs. Eric Bischoff: Farmer's Bounty Tastes Better

 

Fred Trump, Sr. vs. Chris Benoit: Contenders for Father of the Year

 

Perry Saturn vs. Dr. Dre

 

Bill DeMott f.k.a. Hugh Morris

 

25 Things That Got Me Through 2024

Well…with every year that passes in the 2020’s, I’m doing fewer and fewer activities, whether it’s creative passions or media engagement. That’s the nature of mental illness in a stressful decade that wouldn’t let up. I’ve described myself as having “negative spoons”, or less energy than a neurotypical person would ordinarily have. August was my favorite month of this fucked up year, because that’s when I’ve completely cut the cord on doom-scrolling and consuming rage-bait. Now that it’s September, I’m all out of mental energy again, because I spent all my spoons in one place. I know 2024 is far from over, but these 25 things have gotten me through it all. There might be more list items between now and January, but this is what I’ve got so far:

1. Adopting Mac & Molli (senior kitties)

2. Booker T’s WCW theme music

3. Brandon Sanderson: “Elantris” (not finished yet)

4. Creative writing (poetry, novelettes, and shower thoughts)

5. Cutting the cord on doom-scrolling

6. Dark Side of the Ring: Season Five (not finished yet)

7. Drowning Pool: “Tearing Away” (single)

8. Fatal Fury arcade soundtrack

9. Final Fight 2 soundtrack: “Bears Are Hiding in the Woods” (Japan theme)

10. Fire From the Gods: “American Sun”

11. Fire From the Gods: “Soul Revolution”

12. Latuda instead of Risperidone

13. Legacy.com’s You Tube channel

14. Lego dragon

15. Mac Lethal: “Tom MacDonald Is a Nazi” (single)

16. Marty Robbins: “Love Is Blue” (cover song)

17. Melatonin

18. Mother Mother: “It’s Alright” (single)

19. Nightcore and Daycore remixes

20. Silent Season: “Hopeless” (single)

21. Summer Farrelly (they/them)

22. The Neurodivergent Rebel a.k.a. Lyric Rivera (they/them)

23. The Punk Rock Autistic a.k.a. Dani Noreen (they/them)

24. The Speech Prof a.k.a. Professor Chesko

25. The Warning: “Breathe” (single)

ESPN 30 For 30: Nature Boy

 MOVIE TITLE: 30 For 30: Nature Boy

PRODUCERS: ESPN

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Pro-Wrestling Documentary

RATING: TV-14 for violence, language, and suggestive dialogue

GRADE: A

Putting “The Nature Boy” Ric Flair in the Mt. Rushmore of professional wrestling is right on the money and I’m glad the folks at ESPN agree. Sixteen world championship reigns, a WWE Hall of Fame induction, a multi-decade career full of great moments, and the gimmick of a charismatic bad guy who drew the most fans to the arena throughout the 70’s and 80’s. Watching clips of Ric Flair showing off his expensive possessions, horny fan girls, and hardcore partying would make any blue-collar fan pay good money to see him get his butt kicked. Jealousy was a great way to get under the common man’s skin, but more often than not that jealousy would have to sit and stew for a while longer. Ric Flair wasn’t just a handsome rich guy with a big mouth. He was a technical genius in the ring and his long string of victories proved it. You want to see a living legend? You want to see a true wrestling god? You want to see brilliant character arcs that would work wonders in any other story? ESPN will make sure you get all of that and more. This was a superb documentary that could appeal to not just hardcore fans, but also laymen. Ric Flair transcended the wrestling business and you get to see his greatness on full display in this documentary.

But in real life, Gary-Stus don’t exist no matter how many victories a wrestler has. With the fame and fortune came drawbacks. Yes, Ric Flair got to party and have a good time everywhere he went. He got his extroverted needs met not just outside of the ring, but in it as well. But he did so at the expense of not being able to see his family as often as he needed to. He openly admitted to not being a good father and husband and it certainly showed in the reactions and emotions of everyone who loved him. Being a willfully absent father is atrocious no matter what, but ESPN made Ric Flair look like a flawed human being rather than a real life villain not unlike his wrestling persona. Nothing said against him came off as slanderous or detrimental; it was god’s honest truth. Every storyteller knows that creating flawed characters is endearing to the audience, but it must be done in a way that doesn’t turn people against the story. ESPN knew that Ric had his regrets about being a terrible family man, yet he’s still the living legend we’ve all come to admire. Everybody makes stupid mistakes and some of them hurt more than others. But it’s still a very human experience. In the end, that’s what Ric Flair was: a human. ESPN did a great job in showing these flaws without making him out to be a monster.

Easily, the most heart-wrenching part of the documentary was watching Ric Flair fight his tears while talking about the 2013 death of his youngest son Reid. Ric was a hardcore party boy who drank so much that it’s amazing he still has a liver after all these years. Unfortunately, that attitude rubbed off on Reid and he took it to the extreme, including pills and heroin into his self-destructive routine. Something the documentary thankfully left out was a storyline in WWE where Charlotte Flair (Ric’s daughter) and Paige (her opponent) were feuding over the Divas Championship. Reid’s name was brought up and Paige said, “Your baby brother doesn’t have much fight left in him now, does he?!” WWE won the award for Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic in 2015 from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter due to this storyline. It was such a pointless and damaging TV segment that Ric Flair would have had an even harder time fighting back tears than before. He probably would have continued down an alcoholic path if he was forced to delve into that situation again. Good on ESPN for not putting that 2015 storyline into their documentary. Raw emotion is relatable, but it would have been too much if they’d gone through with it. We don’t need more heartache than we already have. Shame on you, Vince McMahon, for green-lighting that angle to begin with.

For Ric Flair, wrestling was both an escape from reality and a detriment to his physical and mental health. The money line at the end of the documentary was that he didn’t want to be remembered as a father and husband (because he was bad at both), but rather as the greatest professional wrestler of all time. Due in part to the respectful nature in which ESPN handled all of the sensitive topics, they deserved the award for Best Streaming Documentary, another honor voted on by readers of the Wrestling Observer Newsletter. They are true professionals not just as filmmakers, but also human beings. They deserve an A for their hard work. Don’t you agree? WOO!

"Through the Shattered Glass" by Jeanie Clarke

BOOK TITLE: Through the Shattered Glass

AUTHOR: Jeanie Clarke (with Bradley Craig and Neil Cameron)

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Wrestling Memoir

GRADE: Mixed

Whether you know her as a villainous valet in WCW and WCCW or the one who told Steve Austin to drink his tea before it got “stone cold”, you will get an even deeper look into Jeanie Clarke’s life in this hard-hitting memoir. Toxic marriages to wrestlers Chris Adams and Steve Austin, seventeen years of pill addiction, estrangement from her daughter Jade, and a miserable living situation have all taken their toll on this poor woman to where she contemplated suicide at one point. Going through a successful rehab in her home country of England along with telling her own story was exactly what Jeanie needed to exorcise her psychological demons.

As compelling as Jeanie Clarke’s story is, the way it was written didn’t give me the chance to feel her emotions and turmoil early on. Typos aside, the writing style felt a bit rushed, like I was bouncing from situation to situation without being allowed to settle in. I like a good fast-paced style, but not at the expense of sensory details and showing instead of telling. I realize this is a celebrity memoir, but a fast pace and descriptive writing don’t have to be mutually exclusive. Don’t believe me? Ask Chris Jericho.

The rushed writing style only lasted for the first half of the book. Meanwhile in the latter half, the stories Jeanie tells about drug addictions, being stalked, living with racist neighbors, and having a borderline abusive marriage with Steve Austin are easily the most terrifying her memoir has to offer. She took all of those pills as a way to cope with her stresses and it soon spiraled out of control. I know it’s easy to judge people who choose drugs as a way to get over their problems. But to borrow a phrase from Dr. Phil, “I don’t look at her and ask why is she doing this. I look at her and ask, why not.” You want to cheer for Jeanie to get better and have a solid foundation for her children. Spoiler alert: she’s been clean for years now. It’s safe to say she earned her ending, and then some.

If you want some insight as to how the wrestling business works, you’ll get plenty of that from this memoir. The exhausting travel schedule, the injuries, the constant pain, and being creatively stifled are just some of the problems wrestlers face on a day-to-day basis. Taking prescription pills is just one of the ways they cope with it all. This was happening long before WWE started their Wellness Policy in 2005 following the untimely death of Eddie Guerrero. If stricter drug testing had been implemented earlier, who knows how many lives could have been saved. It’s depressing to think about and you feel that depression near the end of the book when Jeanie almost dies of drug-induced shock.

While a mixed grade isn’t the most desirable one I could give, I don’t want it to turn you, my audience, away from this book. Jeanie’s story is one worth listening to despite the rushed writing style. Drug addiction isn’t just something that “weak” people go through. It’s a universal affliction with so many psychological triggers that it’s amazing anybody can be rehabilitated at all. If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, seek help before it’s too late. Jeanie Clarke found help and she’s a better woman for it.

"Wrestlecrap" by RD Reynolds and Randy Baer

BOOK TITLE: Wrestlecrap: the Very Worst of Pro Wrestling

AUTHORS: RD Reynolds and Randy Baer

YEAR: 2003

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Wrestling Biography

GRADE: Pass

The history of professional wrestling has seen its fair share of colorful characters and soap opera storylines. Wrestlecrap documents the silliest of those gimmicks from the cartoonish WWF days in the 1980’s all the way to 2003 when the book was published. Whether it’s a voodoo priest named Papa Shango who put curses on his opponents, a magician who was one monocle away from looking like Mr. Peanut, or a baseball player named MVP (Most Violent Player) to name just a few, the idea was for various wrestling promoters to throw something out there and to see what stuck. In many cases, they’re simply throwing wrestle-crap.

The first quality I’d like to praise this book for is the historical significance and research that went into writing it. The authors traced the first real gimmick back to the 1950’s, when Gorgeous George, an effeminate and arrogant athlete, would spray his opponents with perfume so that they didn’t stink up the joint. In the 1980’s, Vince McMahon, CEO of WWF, would take this inspiration and create the colorful characters that era was known for, whether it was the muscle-bound superhero Hulk Hogan or the corrupt millionaire Ted DiBiase. The late 90’s saw a period of more realistic shades of gray characters with TV-14 rated bloodbaths and sex angles. But just like the end of this biography says: the less things change, the more they stay the same. New company, same old wrestle-crap. While some gimmicks stood the test of time, most of them were too unbelievable to be taken seriously. Even in the year 2017, nothing has changed.

As long as we’re having a laugh at these bizarre characters (not the wrestlers portraying them, mind you), feel free to enjoy the lighthearted and comedic writing style employed in this book. The style comes off as extremely sarcastic and razor-tongued, but there are also some good zingers in there to leave you chuckling as well. I mentioned the Mr. Peanut analogy in the opening paragraph. There’s also a line about how Mantaur, a guy dressed in a bull suit, looks like his costume was made by a deranged taxidermist at Disney World. My favorite zinger in this whole book would have to be the author’s answer to, “What could be better than [the plot of the Ready to Rumble movie]?” A trip to the dentist. Getting beaten with a lead pipe. A Pauley Shore movie marathon. I got a few chuckles just transcribing those lines. If wrestling gimmicks and storylines are going to be silly, then expect nothing less than a hearty laugh.

While it’s nice to have a few laughs at the expense of the characters, never forget that RD Reynolds and Randy Baer are wrestling fans to the core, which means they know when it’s time to get serious. Remember, they’re poking fun at the characters, not the people playing them. They have all the respect in the world for anybody who dares get in a wrestling ring to ply their craft. It’s a tough job that taxes the human body like nothing else. That’s why when I read about Renegade’s suicide, it legitimately broke my heart. Say what you want about the guy’s wrestling ability, but he didn’t deserve to have a gimmick completely ruin his life and send him spiraling into the path he took. The way that segment was written was done tastefully and respectfully, which is more than anybody could say about the promoters who saddled the wrestlers with these awful gimmicks.

One thing I will criticize the book for is its occasional grammatical errors. I say occasional because they don’t happen often enough for me to downplay the fun I had reading this book. But noticeable they are, such as when there are dashes in between words that are already whole. It’s as if the book formatting placed the hyphenated words at the end of a sentence in the middle of the paragraph. It looks awkward and doesn’t paint a good picture of anybody who takes up writing as a profession. However, I still give this book a passing grade for knowing when to be funny, knowing when to be serious, and caring enough about the sport to delve into its history. Wrestlecrap is nothing to sneeze at (the book, not the actual crap).

"Titan Screwed" by James Dixon and Justin Henry

BOOK TITLE: Titan Screwed: Lost Smiles, Stunners, and Screwjobs

AUTHORS: James Dixon and Justin Henry

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Wrestling Biography

GRADE: Mixed

From the mid to late 1990’s, World Wrestling Federation engaged in a television ratings war with World Championship Wrestling. While WCW had an overloaded roster with high-ranking superstars, WWF had to desperately change direction if they were going to stay in business. Backstage drama between WWF’s top wrestlers Shawn Michaels and Bret Hart led to the infamous Montreal Screwjob, which sewed the seeds for Mr. McMahon’s tyrannical character, which sewed the seeds for WWF’s Attitude Era, a TV-14-rated period in wrestling where edginess and shades of gray characters eclipsed the cartoonish storytelling of the 80’s and early 90’s. By hook or crook, the WWF won the Monday night ratings wars and became the juggernaut we know as WWE today.

The amount of detail and research that went into this biography is amazing. Not one piece of information in this book comes off as slanderous, just simple brutal honesty. I’ve always wondered what it meant when Shawn Michaels “lost his smile” and why it was considered disgusting at the time. It turns out he faked a knee injury so that he wouldn’t have to lose his WWF World Championship to his backstage rival Bret Hart in a credible wrestling match. I’ve also wondered what it was about the Melanie Pillman interview that made it win Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic of 1997 in the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards. Turns out nobody wants to see a crying widow falling apart on TV while Vince McMahon tries to wash his hands of drug-related controversy. Accurately told stories like these prove that the wrestling business never was and never will be rainbows and skittles. So much anger and toughness runs deep in the veins of everybody who goes out to the ring to put on a show.

The reason I mentioned not knowing much about lost smiles or Melanie Pillman’s interview days after her husband Brian’s death is because there was a period in my life where my mother wouldn’t allow me to watch wrestling (because of its “trashy” content). So when I read about certain things in Titan Screwed that I missed all of those years, I’m suddenly in the mood to watch them. Apparently, Bret Hart vs. Stone Cold Steve Austin at Wrestlemania 13 in a submission match is a five-star classic with hard-hitting moves, a splattering of blood, and a match ending that made both wrestlers look strong. The planning that went into the Montreal Screwjob months later at Survivor Series made me empathetic towards Bret Hart’s seething anger and his physical outbursts, which had to be contained by an entire locker room full of wrestlers. The way these two particular parts of wrestling history were written made the whole story seem novel-like. So intricately detailed, so much dialogue, and so much emotion went into writing this book that I might as well have been reading a classic novel.

As much as I praise the picturesque details of some of the scenes in this book, there’s something about the writing style in general that slows the whole thing down for me. Maybe there’s too much detail. Maybe it’s the dry writing style of the minor parts of the biography. Maybe there’s too much verbiage and not enough action. Maybe it’s the fact that this is in its basic form a biography and not a tried and true memoir. Whatever the case may be, the slow reading pace put a huge strain on my eyes to the point where reading almost became a chore for me. Yes, this book is rich with information I’ve been longing to have since my mother forced me to stop watching wrestling as a teen. But just like with assigned college reading, the pace of the book can make or break the whole thing. In this case, the snail-like reading pace makes me want to downgrade this book to three stars instead of my usual four or five.

While some parts of this book read like a novel, others read like a Plain Jane biography. There isn’t necessarily anything wrong with that as long as you know what you’re getting into. James Dixon and Justin Henry are two wrestling columnists I trust when it comes to analyzing this particular form of entertainment. They’ve done amazing work with websites like What Culture and Wrestle Crap. If you enjoy their work outside of Titan Screwed, you’ll probably get a good read out of this book. If you’re as anal about a book’s reading pace as I am, you might struggle with this one, but I urge you to make it until the end of the book. You can do it. I believe in you. A mixed grade goes to this simple and clean piece of wrestling literature.

Multiple Works-In-Progress

***MULTIPLE WORKS-IN-PROGRESS***

A few months ago, I saw a meme challenge on Face Book where my author friends post the first few lines from three of their works-in-progress. Judging from how many people were doing this challenge, it made me wonder if authors really do like to write three different novels at once (or more). By the time it became my turn to do the challenge, I confessed that I wasn’t working on a novel of any kind, so I just posted the first lines of three Poison Tongue Tales short stories. Seeing so many of my author friends writing novels and getting them done in a timely fashion motivated me to start working on Demon Axe, which I’m halfway done with.

I have Demon Axe planned out from beginning to end, so it’s all a matter of finding the energy to get shit done. American Darkness 2 and Poison Tongue Tales 2 are both anthologies with WSS contest entries as part of the collections, so those are pretty much on a weekly basis. Prophecy is a collection of poems, which will eventually amount to one-hundred since they’re only one page long at best, but I only write poetry when I truly feel like it, no sooner, no later. That leaves me with Demon Axe being the only true WIP I write independently. If I was to do this Face Book meme challenge again, I would only have one paragraph to post (or first seven lines, I forget which one).

I’ve thought about tacking on another novel to work on. I often run the scenarios of each novel idea through my head as if they’re actual WIP’s. I for instance have a college romance idea called “Is This Weird?” where I incorporate my strange sexual fetishes into the main relationship of the story. I also have a pro-introvert high school drama called “The Silent Warrior”, which will have to go through a complete overhaul in order to make the main character less angry and more reasonable. If I was to work on a secondary novel alongside Demon Axe, I would want it to be a contemporary drama instead of a sci-fi, fantasy, or horror. I would want it to be the American Darkness to Demon Axe’s Poison Tongue Tales. For some reason contemporary dramas are easier to write.

That leaves me with a novel idea I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. It’s inspired by the movie Clerks as well as my experiences with going to rock concerts and being around drunken idiots. It’s called “Chicken and Fries” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Maxine Bennett, Concessions Clerk
2. Belle Anthony, Slacker
3. Evan Olson, Maxine’s Bouncer Boyfriend
4. Sean Steiner, Straightedge Rocker
5. Nameless Concertgoers
6. Nameless Boss

SYNOPSIS: Maxine started working at the Brown River Arena in order to save up for college. Since being hired, she has been yelled at, sexually harassed, and assaulted by intoxicated customers. When Sean Steiner and his touring band are the main attraction, beer and cigarettes are not for sale, which upsets the already wild fans. Instead of taking another minute of abuse, Maxine begins fighting back against the customers. On what she says is her last day on the job, she burns customers with pizza, splashes soda against them, dips their heads in the deep fryer, and even shoves chicken tenders down a customer’s shorts and burns his crotch. Evan tries to calm Maxine down on several occasions, but she’s unresponsive to his pleas. Things go from bad to worse when Maxine notices Belle, who called in sick earlier that day, partying in the audience and enjoying the music instead of taking her shift like she was supposed to. At the end of this deliciously violent day, the only one with common sense is Sean Steiner, who is the last customer to order chicken and fries for dinner. Sean helps Maxine realize just how much trouble she’s in by telling her a story of a time he smashed up a hotel room in an act of rage.

FUN FACT: The novel is called “Chicken and Fries” because that’s the most common thing the patrons order, just like cigarettes were the most common thing Clerks customers bought.

Nothing is permanent yet. I still don’t even know if writing a second novel alongside Demon Axe is a good idea. Yes, other authors are capable of doing it, but I’m not other authors. I’m not the kind of writer who pours everything onto a page and because of that I only write when I’m mentally and physically one-hundred percent. If I’m taking such a long time writing Demon Axe, I’ll probably take just as long to write Chicken and Fries. This is something I really have to think about before I dive into it. Until I make my decision, I’d like to know everyone else’s take on the subject of working on multiple novels at once. Is it a welcome side project or is it too much work at once? We’ve got ears, say cheers!

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

The new week started this past Wednesday and the theme is appropriately going to be “Christmas Eve”. After today, I have three more days to write my story before the submission deadline. I probably won’t do it tomorrow since it’s going to be Christmas and I’d rather spend time with my family. That leaves me with Monday or Tuesday to get shit done. My story will be called “I Want Presents” and is based on a disturbing dream I once had. Here’s the synopsis:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Glenn Robertson, Mental Patient

2.      Kate Spencer, Head Doctor

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Christmas is getting closer as Glenn’s mental state worsens.

SYNOPSIS: After losing his parents in a plane crash, Glenn regresses into childlike behavior and eventually has to be institutionalized. It’s getting close Christmas and he refuses to say anything else but, “I want presents.” Kate and her staff of nurses and doctors have tried everything in their power to medicate Glenn into a normal state, but he seems to be getting worse every day. In a last ditch effort to make progress, Kate assumes the unlikely role of Glenn’s mother-figure and does something special for the holidays.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

This will be the second drawing in a row that features a character from my latest WSS entry “The Theomancer”. It will be of Yeti, a gigantic mummy who serves as the gatekeeper between Krimson and Seven. Yeti is really just a direct copy of the WCW wrestler of the same name, but he’s different enough to avoid a lawsuit. Besides, Yeti gets a better push in “The Theomancer” than he ever did in WCW. After all, it’s hard to push a gigantic mummy when he’s best known for spooning Hulk Hogan and humping him from behind. I’m not kidding, that actually happened. What Culture jokes about it all the time.

***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If you take all of the vowels out of Reince Priebus’s name, it says RNC PR BS.”

-Jim Cornette-

The Theomancer

Krimson hated the way the masked snowmen were looking at him. Each of them were lined up on either side of the Frigid Highlands with skeletal masks that glowed an eerie shade of purple. The red ninja balled up his cannonball fist and knocked one of the snowmen’s block off. Underneath the shattered head revealed the dead body of one of his brethren. Members of the proud Raven Strike Society were buried underneath the guise of snowmen. The thought made Krimson sick to his stomach.

This was no time for such a weak reaction. With his red ninja gear, steel boots and gloves, demonic mask, and straw triangle hat, Krimson was dressed for battle. He stomped his way up the snowy hill, glaring with electrified eyes at each of the snowmen. Such disrespectful desecration, Krimson thought to himself. His blue-skinned muscles and bright green aura brought out his deathly side, which he would need for this upcoming battle.

The top of the hill was book-ended by the tallest snowman of all with his bladed mouth, cross-decorated black pope’s hat, and purple cloak that blew in the frosty winds. Krimson folded his arms like he was the true giant and spoke callously to the creature before him. “You must be the one they call The Theomancer. Seven is obviously to cowardly to come greet me himself, so he sends this popsicle to do his bidding. Seven is just like any other god: too afraid to come out of hiding when he’s needed the most. I intend to beat the answers I want out of him and you’re in my way, Theomancer. Are you ready to get your skull cracked in?” That last line was accented with Krimson cracking his bumpy knuckles.

The snowman’s eyes glowed with each piece of dialogue. “You claim followers of Sevenism are delusional, yet here you are thinking you can simply beat answers out of our lord and prophet. Even if you were to somehow have contact with him, the foundation of our religion has already been laid. No money-hungry king or bloodthirsty queen will ever give up their faith just because you’re foolish enough to venture to these sacred lands looking for a fight. Each of these snowmen contains the spirits of those who were even stupider than you. What makes you so special, human?”

“You want to talk about deities? You’re looking at one. I am Krimson, the God of Vengeance. I associate with the Raven Strike Society not because of their heretical beliefs, but because a world under their leadership will thrive while a world under Sevenism will crumble into dust. You’re standing in the way of that goal and for that you will pay.” Krimson held his steel fists up in a boxing stance while electrical and fiery energy flowed through them.

“If you want to complete your kamikaze mission so badly, be my guest. But know this: you’re not fighting with any mere mortal. You’re not even fighting with the Theomancer. Yeti is what I’m called. With Seven as my witness, I shall rip your heart from your chest and feast on it like a barbaric meal!” Cracks began to form in Yeti’s snowy shell, each of them glowing with a brilliant yellow light. The shell continued to crack until an explosive storm of ice and snow showered upon Krimson, who kept his arms in his face to block the assaulting weather.

No more was the Theomancer. In his place was a seven-foot tall mummy with slimy green skin, glowing yellow eyes, and razor-sharp fangs with maggots crawling around them. Yeti flexed his muscles and cracked his own neck before getting in a defensive stance and waving for Krimson to come at him.

“Let’s do this!” roared the God of Vengeance, whose chilling glare never erased from his face. Krimson rushed into battle with a flying kick that sent an aftershock of pain throughout Yeti’s body, yet the mighty mummy never moved. The red ninja continued throwing rapid fire punches and kicks around Yeti’s legs while the hulking creature tried swatting around the smaller opponent’s head.

Krimson dodged every swipe by ducking and rolling on the frostbitten ground. He could not avoid having both of Yeti’s hands grab his throat and hoist him in the air. Yeti glared at the God of Vengeance with a piercing gaze and rancid shit breath. Krimson broke free from the chokehold by placing a hard knee into Yeti’s elbow. The mummy growled in pain as his arm bent in a direction it wasn’t supposed to go. He grabbed himself by the wrist and popped it back into place, much to the disgust of Krimson, who had a hard time catching his breath.

While the red ninja was on the ground clutching his chest and wheezing, Yeti threw a hard soccer kick only to have Krimson cartwheel out of the way. The God of Vengeance launched his thick head into Yeti’s knee before throwing an uppercut to the giant’s groin. Yeti hauled back and screamed to the sky in unbearable pain, but only for a short while. He ducked his head down to meet Krimson’s gaze.

The red ninja felt queasy after smelling his opponent’s breath so many times in this fight. He clutched his stomach and resisted the urge to puke his guts out all over the snow. This time Yeti threw a kick and knocked the ninja backwards, rolling him down the hill and causing him to lose his lunch along the way. He sprayed a few snowmen with his stomach acids and melted their faces.

It had been a long and tiring roll to the bottom of the hill. Krimson laid there weak and helpless while Yeti was tromping down the hill looking to end this fight. The ninja’s vision was blurry at best and dark at worst. He was sure he’d join these snowmen in this blatant disrespect for the dead. And that was when he saw the faces of those he threw up on. The stomach acid ate the snow off their faces and caused the masks to drop.

Men, women, children, animals, all of them represented by these mummified snowmen. The markings on some of the adults’ uniforms suggested they were priests and took a vow of pacifism. They came to this sacred ground just to negotiate and bring peace to an otherwise violent world. They did nothing wrong. They were just innocents caught up in the crossfire. They were somebody’s son or daughter. They were somebody’s wife or husband. The dog corpses sickened Krimson to where he’d want to throw up again. The dogs had less at stake than the priests and they were viciously murdered and desecrated anyways.

Krimson felt a clawed hand reach for the back of his uniform and hold him up high. There it was again: that sewage-like smell. It was the feeling of eating rotten fruit that had been urinated on. It was the feeling of performing oral sex on a diseased phallus with open sores. That breath. That horrible Yeti’s breath. The red ninja didn’t think he had anymore food left in his stomach after smelling something like that. Instead he blew out naked stomach acid all over Yeti’s face.

The mummy’s eyes burned to where he had to release his grip of Krimson’s uniform. The red ninja plummeted on the soft snow below while his adversary danced around in pain like his face was on fire. Feeling weak himself, the red ninja didn’t think he could make it back to his feet. But slowly and with every last ounce of strength left, he was standing tall and striking his deadly pose yet again, renewed by the anger of his lost brethren.

“Seven! I’m coming for you, you sick son of a bitch!” shouted Krimson before throwing several haymakers and roundhouse kicks at Yeti’s breaking body. Cracks formed in his skin like broken pottery. Blood oozed out of him like spoiled fruit juice. Punches and kicks to the head, chest, arms, and legs, all of them with brutal speed and ursine strength. The assault ended when Yeti crumbled to the ground and bled all over the snow, his body nothing more than a pile of wrappings.

“Where are you, Seven?! Show yourself! Answer for your sins, you disgusting pig!” Krimson shouted to the sky, huffing and puffing after such an exhausting battle, not to mention the heavy vomiting that saved his life as well as weakened him. He dropped to one knee and glared harshly at the pile of wrappings. A victory well-earned, he thought to himself.

Out of the mummy bandages emerged a mere mortal of a man dressed in a black trench coat and black hat, both of which contrasted with his pasty white skin. Krimson stared at him in shock and then looked again at the mummy wrappings to see that the cracks and “blood” were all just part of a metal costume. “What the hell is the meaning of this?!” Krimson demanded.

“You called out the name of Seven. Now you’ve found him,” said the pasty individual with a wicked grin. “There was never any paradise. There was never any hope at salvation. Sevenism is a business model and nothing more. Just like any religion, it was a business model for controlling the masses. And they fell for it hook, line, and sinker. You can call me a prophet if you want, but I’m really just a salesman with too much time on his hands.”

Krimson pointed a nervous finger at Seven and said, “You…you son of a bitch…what have you done?! I’ll kill you!”

“Go ahead! Take your best shot!” dared Seven. “But what will killing me prove? Like I’ve told you before, the foundations of Sevenism are already in place. If you kill me, there will be another prophet slash salesman to represent my created religion. And another. And another. And another. Somebody is always willing to go down for the cause. And our cause is business! Business is booming!”

“This isn’t happening! No!” shouted Krimson.

“Oh, it is happening, my friend. I’m sure you’ll want to tell all of your friends about it, even those at the Raven Strike Society. Those atheistic fools are already set in their ways. But what about the rest of us who need Sevenism to get through our days? Will they be so trusting? Sure, why wouldn’t they trust the God of Vengeance? I’ll tell you why. Because you’re no god. You’re just a prophet like me and everyone who represents my religion.”

“You bastard!” shouted Krimson as he charged toward Seven, only to get a knife to his stomach by the false prophet. The ninja’s stomach was already aching from vomiting so much, and now his innards were spilling all over the snow as Seven gutted him alive. The ninja dropped to his knees and fell on his face in a slow and gory death.

Seven looked down at him, shook his head, and laughed like the super villain he was. “Time to make another snowman!” he said before licking the blood off of his knife in a lustful manner.

Perfectionism vs. Word Vomit

***PERFECTIONISM VS. WORD VOMIT***

If you’re a budding author, you’ve probably heard this piece of advice before: “Write every day. It doesn’t matter if it’s carefully chiseled out or the worst thing written in the history of the world. Let the editors take care of your mistakes.” A lot of professional authors say this and for a lot of rookies this advice works. This is just my preference, but this particular piece of advice doesn’t work for me.

If I write something, I want it to be golden from the start. While it’s true that no first draft is perfect the first time around, I at least want to try to make it into the best thing I can. This is why I don’t write everyday: because there are some days where my brain is so foggy that I can’t produce that perfect piece of writing. To my way of thinking, if I can’t be good at what I do, then what’s the point? Do my editors really want to go through the nightmare of cleaning up my messes?

If you’ve ever seen my drawings before, you would ask why I don’t take the perfectionism route with them given their weird quality. Yes, it’s true that my drawings don’t always look like golden goose eggs. But that doesn’t mean I don’t try. That’s the important thing for me: while I’ll never be 100% perfect, I at least have to try my hardest. Editing will be much easier if I actually make an effort to produce a good piece of art.

But like I said earlier, this approach to art doesn’t work for everybody, but it works for me. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I used to have a huge ego back in my college days. It’s true: even the smallest criticisms would make me retreat into my safe place, and this was in my late teens and early twenties. When my creative nonfiction teacher asked the class, “How many people here don’t think their own writing sucks?” I was the only person who raised my hand. Of course, my big ego didn’t match up with my writing skills at the time, because I wasn’t a diehard reader yet. Instead of having high self-esteem, I was arrogant, both of which are two separate things.

As I got older, I realized that being overly arrogant was a terrible approach to writing, because I desperately needed to let my critics into my inner circle in order to get better. That’s when I reached out to Second Draft Critique Services (a subdivision of Writer’s Digest) for help. Of course, their services were quite expensive, so I could only submit short stories. I was nervous at first, but when I actually read their critiques, I was confident that I could make chicken salad out of chicken shit. That’s the difference between arrogance and self-esteem: arrogance means you’re the king of the world and self-esteem means you believe you can grow from anything.

But if it’s true that I don’t have a massively inflated ego anymore, why do I still feel the need to be a perfectionist? I guess the easy answer would be that old habits die hard. Then again, if I didn’t believe in myself at least a little, I wouldn’t be writing in today’s world. I’ve had my fair share of evil criticisms and it would have been easy to give into those people. But being stubborn and full of fire got me through those hard times. Only years later did I realize that positivity and kindness were the answers, not hatred and anger.

So it stands to reason that if I write word vomit as opposed to the perfect product, I would have sufficient self-esteem to believe that I can fix it and make it shine. I’ll grant you that, but consider this: if I write the perfect product, I won’t have nearly as much work to do when the time comes to edit. Editing can either mean a few grammar corrections or a complete overhaul of the story. To make the process less intimidating either way, I take the perfectionist approach to my writing.

I know full well that first drafts will always have mistakes. The current first draft versions of “Watch You Burn” and “Filter Feeder” read like acid trips. While being on drugs may or may not be a heavenly experience (I wouldn’t know), that’s not the feeling I want to give my readers. It may work for Pink Floyd’s music, but not me. I’m not Roger Waters or David Gilmour no matter how hard I try to be.

There’s another thing that I try to practice: not using other artists’ transgressions as excuses to do them myself. I watched Pulp Fiction as a teenager, so my very first movie script “Pumping Filter” had a bunch of swearing, violence, and racial slurs, all of which didn’t need to be there. Because it could never have been perfect, I abandoned the script altogether. Another example would be me listening to Immortal Technique’s music and thinking it’s okay to use homophobic slurs in my poetry. If you want to use creative fuel, make sure you analyze it first and run it through your mental filters. Because I couldn’t do that just yet, many of my hateful poems are no longer in my archives. Thank god.

So now the question of the day is, are you a perfectionist yourself or do you allow your writing to truly be a first draft? I’d love to hear other opinions on this subject whether you agree with me or not. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

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

When my brain finally agrees to cooperate with me, I’ll write something for the “snow man” prompt called “The Theomancer”. It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Krimson, Red Ninja
2. Yeti, Mummy Giant
3. Seven, Prophet of Sevenism

PROMPT CONFORMITY: There are snowmen all over The Frigid Highlands, each of them with creepy decorations.

SYNOPSIS: The true identity of Krimson is unknown, but he is believed to be an emissary of the Raven Strike Society. They are a secret organization of atheists dedicated to disproving the beliefs of Sevenism, the religion of choice for oppressive authority figures in this dystopian fantasy world. Krimson ventures to the Frigid Highlands to assassinate Yeti, the gatekeeper to Seven’s paradise. The battle between these two warriors is fierce and intense, but Krimson is determined to get answers and revenge from Lord Seven himself. The red ninja is believed to be a deity in human form, which is why he’s having moderate success against Yeti in the first place.

FUN FACT: This story draws inspiration from the Mortal Kombat and WCW franchises from the 1990’s. Krimson is a red palette swap of MK ninjas Sub-Zero and Scorpion while Yeti is the direct theft of a WCW wrestler of the same name. Seven is also taken from a former WCW wrestler, this time one of the alter egos of Dustin Rhodes. All I needed was an excuse to use the title “Theomancer” and now I have a reasonable story idea.

***TWITTER WAR OF THE DAY***

TWITTER TROLL: You’re a professional wrestler. Lift some weights or do sit-ups. Good God!

BARON CORBIN: It’s your girl’s fault. She keeps bringing cookies over late at night.

Common Dreams

***COMMON DREAMS***

Ever since I started using my CPAP breathing machine in the summer of this year, I’ve had a harder time remembering my dreams. That’s probably because my dreams were either about weird ass competitions I was in or scenarios that would make good novels but only in the dream and not in the real world. Those are the only two types of dreams I have difficulty remembering. While this is normal for people who use a CPAP, there have been nights where my dreams were as clear as day. I don’t talk about my dreams as often as I used to. I used to do dream posts all the time on my blog Garrison’s Library, but what those amounted to was a bunch of boo-hooing that they didn’t involve sex or having a girlfriend. Hey, I was lonely and didn’t know what to do with my life, give me a break. Thankfully, I won’t subject you guys to any of that shallow whining. Tonight’s journal entry will be about common themes in the dreams I can actually remember. I don’t know what they mean or why they keep coming up, but I can assure you that it has nothing to do with my deep rooted desire to have a romantic relationship with a female rock star. Let’s get started.

1. Air Travel. My parents take a lot of vacations and sometimes I tag along with them. Some of them involved air travel, such as New Orleans, Hawaii, California, Colorado, or New Mexico. Maybe I keep dreaming about boarding airplanes because of these experiences. It used to be that I would feel anxious while having one of these dreams because I’d forget to pack my schizophrenia medication. Not the case anymore.
2. Cats. I’d move either way from an old house or into a new one and both times there were cats I’d have to take care of. Lots of cats. Orange cats, black cats, calicoes, marmalades, tuxedos, lots of goddamn cats. I once had a WSS member named Mark ask why he was more weirded out by me being a crazy cat man than after any reading of my violent short stories. I laugh about it every time I read that comment, because it was intended to be good natured. But now I think maybe he has a point. Hehe!
3. Chehalis. I’ve lived in the small conservative town of Chehalis, Washington from 1996 to 2001. While I don’t look back on this time in my life favorably, the dreams I’ve had about this town were noteworthy in many ways. I’ve dreamed about buying prostitutes, having a library job, visiting my childhood friends Winn and Duncan, catching a bus ride, searching for my childhood friend Nathan, and wandering through the apocalypse. If the apocalypse was really going to happen, it would definitely happen in Chehalis. Trust me on that one.
4. Concerts. It mattered not who was playing and it mattered even less where they were playing. In my dreamland, I’ve been to a Three Days Grace concert that took place in a college classroom. I’ve been to a Roger Waters concert at a stone-built temple. I’ve been to a Rammstein concert at both a Chinese restaurant and a roller skating rink. I’ve been to a Pantera concert at an abandoned grocery store (they played where the deli used to be). I’ve been to a concert where Skillet opened for Green Day and me and James got kicked out of the venue when Green Day played. I must really love concerts.
5. Diaper Shopping. These dreams would involve me waking up at an ungodly hour of the day, walking through dark and dreary weather, and cruising Fred Meyer or Rite Aid looking for a package of adult diapers, which would be used for sexual purposes. The dilemma of these dreams was that I had nowhere to hide the diapers from my family. Well, in the dreams, diaper sex was a great idea, but when I woke up, I realized it wouldn’t happen in a million years.
6. Dragon Ball Z. When I’m watching this anime in my dreams, I’m playing a desperate game of catch-up with some new series they put out, usually involving Vegeta getting humiliated or an apocalyptic scenario. Maybe these new DBZ episodes took place in Chehalis. I also play catch-up with new Gundam shows, but those are normally easier to follow than Dragon Ball Z episodes. Should I start watching anime again as a means of curing my boredom? Maybe when I get a better streaming service than my burned out Roku.
7. Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune. I would either participate in these games or watch them on TV. Every time I do either, all of the players would fail miserably at both games. It’s kind of like the real world, but it’s more brutal, it’s drawn out forever, and it would take place in the past. During the toss-up rounds in Wheel of Fortune, Vanna White would actually flip the letters on that old-school board and the contestants would still get it wrong. Sometimes they’d even guess numbers and punctuation marks. Jesus Christ, man. One time during an episode of Jeopardy, Rosalind Cash (Dr. Cushing from Tales from the Hood) hosted Final Jeopardy and the category was Prostitutes. Double Jesus Christ, man.
8. Libraries. These are some of my favorite dreams, obviously because I’m an author who eye-guzzles literature on a daily basis. I always dream about checking out a shit ton of books, buying a bunch of RPG rule books, or checking out a Robotech book since I also dream about playing catch-up with this book series. Sometimes I would dream about playing D&D or buying action figures and Legos from a library. No nightmare fuel here!
9. Pink Floyd the Wall. When if first saw the music video for Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2 in the mid 1990’s, I tried my damnedest to try and avoid looking at the faceless masks ever again. They were creepy and nightmare inducing to the point where I’d even avoid looking at them in my dreams. I eventually got over my fear when I saw Roger Waters in concert in 2000, but in my dreams, I always avoid going to the Pink Floyd section of every record and video store.
10. School. Whether it’s middle school, high school, or college, the common themes in these dreams include failing classes, dropping out of classes, finding a seat in class that doesn’t have a bunch of graffiti on it, finding my next class while naked, taking gym classes at a community college, and reading a novel and actually being able to pass the class because of it. A less common theme would be fighting with a bully, to which I would feel angry after waking up. Why am I so obsessed with school? Is this why I write a lot of school-related stories for the WSS?
11. VHS Tapes. I’d have dreams about visiting my biological father Michael Temons and while I was at his house I’d dig through his VHS collection. Sometimes they would be episodes of Monsters. Sometimes they would be music videos from VH1. Sometimes they would be cartoons from the 80’s and 90’s. No matter what it was, I’d want those VHS tapes in the worst way. Same thing with his audio tapes. Maybe this is my brain’s way of thanking my dad for giving me an old school state of mind. He did introduce me to The Police, The Moody Blues, and Pink Floyd, after all.
12. Videogames. I played a lot of goddamn videogames until I officially retired in 2010 due to getting my ass kicked multiple times by a lava dragon in Final Fantasy III. Maybe these dreams are trying to pull me back in. I’ve played Super Mario games with Phantos aplenty, Final Fight games where I got my ass quickly kicked, Street Fighter games where I threw my opponent off of a high ledge, Mega Man games where I’d get frustrated as hell, Diablo II sequels that were exactly the same as the prequel but more frustrating, and Final Fantasy NES games where I couldn’t figure out what the hell I was doing. I’d also play Final Fantasy-themed RPG’s where I’d be on the verge of fighting the Calcobrena Puppets in some creepy form. I once fought a bunch of baldheaded puppets that sat in rocking chairs, pointed at my characters, and laughed evilly. When it comes to videogames, every time I think I’m out, they pull me back in!
13. World Championship Wrestling. The Monday Night Wars between the WWE and WCW were a time in wrestling history where both sides actually cared about improving and nobody had a complacent monopoly. My WCW dreams, however, tell a different story. Sometimes there would be a shitload of championship belts. Sometimes Rey Mysterio would dominate the show. Sometimes the WCW Nitro episodes would take place in a wooden hut. Sometimes Hulk Hogan would come to the ring to a Moody Blues song. Maybe WCW would actually stay in business today if these things really happened. Or it would have folded sooner than 2001, we don’t know.

I’d like to think that I could harvest some decent creative fuel from these odd dreams. I certainly thought that when I dreamed about Hulk Hogan battling a crew of squid-like aliens. But the problem with using dreams as creative fuel is that they don’t amount to solid stories unless you tweak so much of the original dream that it loses its genuineness. The author has a decision to make between a good story and staying faithful to the original inspiration. I’ll always choose to have a good story, which is why the Hulk Hogan dream never materialized into an actual piece of literature: too many loose ends and plot holes. This is not to say that dreams are meaningless and that they should be ignored. There’s a reason I keep having these themes pop up in my head at night. If only I could tap into them in a way that made sense.

***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 5***

There is a month-long discrepancy between chapters three and four of Demon Axe. This is unacceptable to me, especially since National Novel Writing Month is coming up after Halloween and I want to make the most of it. Let’s see what I can come up with for chapter five of this WIP novel. The chapter is going to start off by somebody smashing Daniel Mercer’s windows and breaking into his house. Raven Triscloud seems to think that she and Daniel are being followed by Roger Zee’s newly-enslaved minions Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez. Daniel and Raven will have to put aside their disagreements if they want to make it through this night alive.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

One of the things I’m trying to do with these character drawings is show them in different poses from what I feel comfortable doing. Too many of these drawings show the character folding his arms, having his hands at his sides, or waving his hands in the air. Very rarely does the character stand at an angle and when he does, it usually ends ridiculously as seen with the Shawn Henry drawing. That’s the thing about trying new ideas: sometimes you strike gold and other times you spill fertilizer. I’m hoping to strike gold with Soa, one of the two Samoan cannibals from the short story “Chunky Puffs”.

***COLLEGE HUMOR DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

GOOGLE GUY: Come on in. Don’t worry about me. It’s Jackson Polluck’s birthday today and I’m covered in paint to celebrate his particular art style.

USER: Why do farts smell?

GOOGLE GUY: One of the most important painters of all time and you want to know why farts smell.

-If Google Was a Guy-

"A Lion's Tale" by Chris Jericho

BOOK TITLE: A Lion’s Tale: Around the World in Spandex

AUTHOR: Chris Jericho (with Peter Thomas Fornatale)

YEAR: 2007

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Pro-Wrestling Memoir

GRADE: Pass

From humble beginnings in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada to landing his dream job in the WWE, Chris Jericho details the many hardships and hilarious moments he went through on his quest to be a well-known professional wrestler. As a child, he would watch Hulk Hogan, The British Bulldogs, and the Hart Family on TV and in the arenas dominating their competition and putting on a show. This prompted Jericho to want to train at the infamous Hart Dungeon, where students were pushed to their breaking point with painful submission holds and wrestling tactics. Jericho would continue to gain experience around the world in places like Mexico, Japan, Germany, and eventually in the good old US of A. It was only a matter of time until the Titan Tron counted down the seconds before Y2J’s official entrance into the WWE. A legend was born that night.

If you’ve ever wanted to know what the wrestling business was like behind the curtain, Chris Jericho was more than happy to tell you in his memoir. Every aspiring wrestler had to have an extreme amount of physical and mental toughness in order to take as many athletic risks as they do. Jericho didn’t even have a breaking point when it came to the abuse he took. Knowing how to wrestle was only the first half. The second half of what the industry entails is having the business sense and creativity to negotiate yourself into winning predicaments and having a good gimmick to go with them. Chris Jericho comes off as an encyclopedia of this kind of knowledge, which is one of the reasons he’s a respected legend in the industry today.

Of course, the other thing that made this book memorable was his quick-paced, humorous writing style. He can get away with using pop culture references and one-liner jokes, because neither of those two things bogs down the storytelling. Even the laziest reader could get through all five-hundred plus pages of this book and feel like a champion afterwards. Chris Jericho knows what the people want and it’s a chuckle-worthy and delightfully-honest memoir. An example of his sense of humor comes when he gets in a brawl with a former convict and says, “I’m going to throw hands with you Winnipeg style!” What the hell does that even mean? Yes, the ex-convict was laughing too. If the reader was to flip to a random page in the book, he would find a lighthearted line somewhere in there, even during some of the dour moments of the book. Never a dull moment!

The only gripe I have about this book is so minor that it doesn’t take away from the four stars I plan on giving it. I would have liked to see him go into a little more detail about some of his wrestling matches. I’m sure a few descriptions of the choreography and storytelling wouldn’t have slowed the pace down at all. When I read Ronda Rousey’s memoir earlier this year, she went into full detail about how she beat the crap out of her opponents on the judo mats and in the MMA cage. While Chris Jericho could easily be just as descriptive, it’s not the biggest flaw this book has. In fact, any reader will enjoy it no matter what walk of life he comes from.

Do you like stories about overcoming adversity, toughing it out, and making dreams come true in the end? Look no further than “A Lion’s Tale” by Chris Jericho. It’s fast, intelligent, and hilarious throughout the whole thing. The sorrowful moments are few and far between, but they’re still important to this man’s story and the writing about them was executed perfectly. There are a few people who would be uncomfortable with Chris Jericho constantly praising Chris Benoit (a wrestler who murdered his wife and son before committing suicide in 2007). However, as the author’s not clearly states, this book was published before Chris Benoit’s double murder-suicide, so Jericho had no way of knowing what the hell was going to happen. If you’re really bothered that much Benoit’s presence in the book, toughen up like Chris Jericho has throughout his career. This is an awesome book and you shouldn’t expect anything less from the former six-time WWE Champion and nine-time Intercontinental Champion.

Dark Fantasy Gimmicks in Wrestling

***DARK FANTASY GIMMICKS IN WRESTLING***

There actually used to be a time in the history of professional wrestling where everybody took it seriously and didn’t question its fictitious nature. When Hulk Hogan body slammed Andre the Giant, it was a proud American moment. When the N.W.O. took over WCW, it felt like being a part of the battlefield. Suspending disbelief was as easy with professional wrestling as it was with movies and television shows. And then the internet boomed with popularity and everyone was finding out wrestling’s dirty little secrets. Chris Jericho says in his first memoir “A Lion’s Tale” that being a wrestling fan in the 1980’s is different from being one in the 2000’s.

Before the internet became as popular as it is now, were dark fantasy gimmicks to blame for the inability to suspend disbelief? Many wrestling insiders thought so. In 1992, a voodoo priest named Papa Shango used to cast spells on his opponents and make them shake and vomit into unconsciousness. Instead of being feared by adults, he was given the following awards from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter that year: Worst Gimmick, Most Embarrassing Wrestler, and Worst Feud of the Year (vs. The Ultimate Warrior).

Then again, the WON is the same publication that gave The Undertaker the Best Gimmick award from the years 1990 to 1994 for being an undead wrestler. We all know zombies don’t exist in the real world (unless they’re extremely tired or high on drugs), but how was The Undertaker more believable and likeable than Papa Shango? This is a guy who made lightning crash all around him, who put his opponents in body bags and caskets, and teleported to the ring at will when the lights went out.

What’s my opinion of occult gimmicks in wrestling? You should all know by now just from reading my stories that I love the dark fantasy genre and therefore have no problem with seeing those kinds of characters in wrestling. Yes, wrestling is supposed to be believable, but that doesn’t mean it always is. If it works in movies like Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and the upcoming Warcraft, why can’t it work in WWE? Kayfabe died a long time ago when Scott Hall, Kevin Nash, Triple H, and Shawn Michaels hugged each other in Madison Square Garden back in the 1990’s.

You’re probably going to think I’m crazy for saying this, but I actually enjoyed the Stardust gimmick. He came to the ring with silver paint on his face, a black jumpsuit, and a red cape with spikes for shoulder pads. That’s some serious dark fantasy shit right there! Yet in 2015, the readership of the WON voted Stardust as having the Worst Gimmick of that year. Cody Rhodes got so upset with portraying Stardust that he recently asked for his release from WWE and was granted it along side his wife Eden Stiles. Poor Cody. Poor, poor Cody.

And then you have some more dark fantasy creative fuel with The Wyatt Family, a backwoods cult consisting of 300 lb. giants with scraggly beards and dingy clothes. I guess The Wyatt Family was a little more realistic than other dark fantasy gimmicks, because cults do exist in this world. Maybe that’s why The Wyatt Family won Best Gimmick in 2013. But then why would Bray Wyatt, the leader of the group, get nominated for a Worst Gimmick award in 2014? Wasn’t he doing the same things he was doing a year earlier?

I don’t see why wrestling fans get their knickers in a twist over dark fantasy gimmicks in the WWE or any other organization. It didn’t bother them when they were playing Diablo II on their computers. It didn’t bother them when they were gathering around the table playing D&D and eating Doritos. It won’t bother anybody who eventually goes to see the new Warcraft movie, which I’m dying to see. So why should it be bothersome in WWE? We know it’s fiction, so why not go the full nine?

Combining dark fantasy elements with professional wrestling is basically what I’ve done when I wrote and published “Occupy Wrestling”. Mitch McLeod, a professional wrestler with the body of Mike Haggar and the hair of Goku, kicks the asses of and gets his ass kicked by skeletons, ogres, orcs, demons, devils, and even a group of hooded mask-wearers called The Snakes of Jehovah. I actually had a beta reader named Layla who told me that combining urban fantasy with pro-wrestling was a bad idea. I had two chick lit-reading women give my book a two-star rating. Thank god I have people like Marie Krepps (Babe-a-Licious Mondo), Edward Davies (The Delightful Brit), and Andy Peloquin (The Kick-Ass Canadian) who believe in me and my ideas.

In fact, now that I’m almost finished editing the shit out of Occupy Wrestling with Marie, she’s given me some valuable advice that I’ll definitely take to heart. Once it’s been republished, I should market it to people who are both wrestling and fantasy fans, who will most likely be males ages 20-29. I may have to search far and wide for these people, but they’re worth finding, because they’ll love what I’ve got. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Marie. It’s a debt I can never repay in my lifetime.

So what about it, Dave Meltzer (the Editor at Large for the Wrestling Observer Newsletter)? What awards will you give Mitch McLeod? Wrestler of the year? Feud of the year (vs. Keegan Day)? Dare I say, Most Overrated or Worst Gimmick? I sincerely hope the newest version of Occupy Wrestling makes it in the mailboxes of some of these wrestling insiders. They may be harder to get a hold of than the 20 to 29-year-old males, but it would satisfy my curiosity at least. It would be worth it to hear Jim Cornette scream in his Kentucky drawl. Hehe! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

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

The new contest is already here and I’m damn well ready for it. Speaking of dark fantasy, I have yet another short story ready with the suffix “mancer” in the title. The theme this week is “Dark Truth” and my story will be called “The Cryomancer” (a wizard who controls ice). It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Julian Kane, Human Screenwriter

Olivia Snow, Elf Cryomancer

PROMPT CONFORMITY: After being exhausted by his relentless work schedule, Julian’s fried brain doesn’t now what the dark truth is anymore.

SYNOPSIS: Julian’s latest movie script features Olivia as a fictional character as she does battle with an army of orcs. In the middle of writing, Olivia starts talking to Julian as if she was a real person. The exhausted screenwriter figures that it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, but when it starts hailing outside and his apartment becomes unexplainably cold, he begins to think that maybe Olivia’s requests for a lighter battle schedule seem reasonable.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Continuing with the theme of dark fantasy, my next drawing will be of someone who in no way can cast a decent spell. His weapon of choice is a modified blunderbuss and his diet of choice is meat from the carcasses of the game animals he kills. He is a chubby motherfucker named Joseph Stone and he comes straight from the short story “Unleash the Animal”. Stinger Crushwar may have been the most obnoxious character in that story, but never forget who the real villain is. That’s right, Joseph, I’m looking at you, fat boy!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“All my life they let me know how far I would not go. But inside the beast still grows, waiting, chewing through the ropes. Who are you to change this world? Silly boy! No one needs to hear your words. Let it go. Carnivore! Carnivore! Won’t you come digest me? Take away everything I am. Bring it to an end. Carnivore! Carnivore! Won’t you come and change me? Take away everything I am. Everything I am.”

-Starset singing “Carnivore”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

It’s just a coincidence that the next Dark Fantasy Warrior is a guy who eats too much meat and the lyrics of the day come from a song called “Carnivore”. Then again, I just ate a whole Meat Lover’s Pizza from Pizza Hut earlier today, so maybe it’s not much of a coincidence anymore.

WWE Wrestlemania 31: Sting vs. Triple H

MATCH: Sting vs. Triple H in a No Disqualification match
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Wrestlemania 31
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass


In the 1990’s, the ratings war between WWE and WCW was one that would determine which company would remain in business. Both companies had high-rising superstars. Both companies had millions of dollars. Both companies pushed the envelope with their edgy television shows. In the beginning of this competitive war, WCW introduced the world to The New World Order, a faction of rebels consisting of mega-stars like Scott Hall (formerly Razor Ramon), Kevin Nash (formerly Diesel), Hulk Hogan, and many other wrestlers with a legendary legacy.

But in the end, it was the youth and freshness of Mick Foley, Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Rock, and Degeneration X that slew the beast known as WCW. The star power-fueled company known as WCW closed its doors permanently in 2001 with many of their wrestlers serving as jobbers for the WWE during the “invasion” storyline.

Fast forward to Survivor Series in 2014, which was 13 years after the WCW legacy was buried forever. The Authority (Triple H and Stephanie McMahon) were throwing their weight around and making life for young up-and-comers miserable. Daniel Bryan had been put on the injured reserve list, Dolph Ziggler had many handicapped matches to deal with, John Cena was losing his opportunities at star power, and oh yeah, the Big Show cried like a baby.

Who decides to show up at Survivor Series of that year? Sting, the face-painted, trench coat-wearing, baseball bat-wielding vigilante who said more with just one stare than most wrestlers could in a ten minute interview. He continued to cost The Authority matches and play mind games with Triple H. Sting was at one point WCW’s lone soldier against the powers of the New World Order. Over a decade later, he wants revenge against Triple H for putting that company out of business and leaving Sting in an indefinite stasis (actually, he wrestled for TNA, which is basically WCW for the 2000’s, but who’s keeping track?).

Several months after Sting’s WWE debut, a match between him and Triple H is made for 2015’s biggest pay-per-view event, Wrestlemania 31. It was billed as a clash between icons of their respective companies, Sting representing WCW and Triple H representing WWE. These two wrestlers were past the prime of their careers, yet they were determined to wrestle with the spirit of youth. For Sting, this wasn’t just about WCW closing its doors in 2001; this was about knocking a tyrant like Triple H off of his throne.

Fast forward to the actual match between these two. Wrestlemania events are known for super-creative entrances to the ring. This match was no different when Sting came to the ring with face-painted Japanese warriors were playing Taiko drums to introduce him. Triple H chose something slightly more epic for his entrance. He dressed like The Terminator and carried metal skulls to the ring with him. Sting promised the samurai warrior spirit and Triple H promised futuristic destruction that spared nobody. Which one would prevail?

Sting and Triple H had a lot of miles on their bodies, but with those miles comes wisdom and experience. The opening parts of the match were wrestled with basic maneuvers such as clotheslines, hip tosses, knee drops, back body drops, suplexes, and the occasional corner splash. Yes, these are old school moves, but Triple H and Sting did them with such perfection that they were actually entertaining to watch. Even more entertaining was when Sting had Triple H dead to rights in the Scorpion Death Lock.

And then we hear the Chris Warren band screaming, “Break it down!”, which could mean only one thing: the arrival of Degeneration X members Road Dog, Billy Gunn, and X-Pac, all three of which were instrumental in bringing WCW to its knees. If they wanted to get involved in the match, they could since it was announced as No Disqualification. The numbers game was sure to catch Sting off guard.

And then we hear Frank Shelley’s guitar twanging and twisting, which meant the arrival of New World Order members Hulk Hogan, Scott Hall, and Kevin Nash, all three of which had achieved WWE Hall of Fame inductions. Outside of the ring, the New World Order and Degeneration X members beat the hell out of each other. They threw each other against barricades, ring posts, the punched and kicked like there was no tomorrow, and there was even a time when Road Dog back body dropped Scott Hall on the concrete floor…and Scott Hall, as elderly as he was, got back up!

And then the hardware started to come out, Sting with his baseball bat and Triple H with his sledgehammer. While the NWO and DX were fighting outside the ring, the two actual match competitors fought like medieval warriors with their hardcore weapons. Triple H was determined to be the badass barbarian he always was with his hammer, but with one strike from Sting’s bat, the hammer broke in two and Triple H was cornered.

And then, the final member of DX, Shawn Michaels, another Hall of Famer, came out of nowhere and super-kicked Sting into unconsciousness. It was another blow from Triple H’s now broken hammer that finally did in the vigilante known as Sting. A count to three later and Triple H was declared the winner of this war between WWE and WCW. After all was said and done, the members of the New World Order, Degeneration X, Triple H, and Sting all got together and showed each other respect with hand shakes and hugs.

Normally when old wrestlers get in the ring, they’re huffing and puffing as they struggle with their equilibrium, which is why a lot of WCW were boring to watch. But when the remnants of DX and the NWO got in their time machines and threw themselves into the Wrestlemania 31 vortex, it had the crowd chanting, “This is awesome!” over and over again. I would have chanted the same thing if I was in San Francisco that day. Hell, that whole audience was having nerd-gasms all night long after this match. There wasn’t one bad match on that whole pay-per-view. In fact, Wrestlemania 31 might get the nod for Best Major Show of 2015 from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter and it would be a well deserved honor.

Nerd-gasms and childhood memories aside, the conclusion of this match does beg the question of what Sting’s role within WWE will be now that he failed to dethrone Triple H. Is his momentum completely destroyed? Will he strictly have a backstage role? Will he show up at another major show and shift the balance of power again? I wouldn’t mind seeing Sting again someday. He has many decades of wear and tear on his body, yet he wrestles like a 21-year-old. In other words, the man forgot to age. Give him another chance, damn it!

WWE TLCS: Erick Rowan vs. The Big Show

MATCH: Erick Rowan vs. The Big Show in a Steel Stairs Match

PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment

EVENT: Tables, Ladders, Chairs, and Stairs

YEAR: 2014

RATING: TV-PG for moderate violence

GRADE: Pass

The WWE broadcast team calls The Big Show the World’s Largest Athlete for a reason. He’s over seven feet tall and weighs a quarter of a ton. He’s not just a guy who hit the genetic jackpot. He’s strong, agile, and hits so hard his victims feel the pain for years on end. The Big Show started his wrestling career in the 90’s with WCW and won several championships there. He jumped to WWE in the latter part of that decade and is still a dominant ass-kicker in today’s wrestling world, having won even more world championships and being billed as a future first ballot Hall of Famer. I can’t say The Wrestling Observer Newsletter readers like him very much judging from all the negative awards they’ve given him over the years, but whatever.

And then there’s his opponent Erick Rowan, a seven foot tall, over three hundred pound Generation Y member who just arrived on the scene in WWE in 2012 as part of The Wyatt Family. Though he never won any major championships while he was with the group, he did make a major impact as somebody who was also strong and agile at the same time. He and his brethren Luke Harper and Bray Wyatt have dominated WWE by assaulting top tier guys and leaving them broken heaps. The three of them even won a Best Gimmick award from the WON in 2013 for being a backwoods cult. The Wyatt Family has since split up on account of Bray Wyatt “curing” Luke Harper and Erick Rowan, but these three ring warriors are no less dangerous.

Rowan and Show’s rivalry started when they were both on Team Cena at the Survivor Series 2014 pay-per-view against Team Authority, where Big Show betrayed his team at the last minute by knocking out John Cena and having him eliminated. Though Team Cena would still win the match, the anger towards Big Show from the WWE Universe was still strong for his cowardly act. Who would be the first to confront him and show him what an idiot he was? Erick Rowan, who in no uncertain terms said he doesn’t like bullies before dispatching of The Big Show.

And now we have this Steel Stairs Match at the TLCS pay-per-view the following month of December. In this match, there are no count-outs or disqualifications, only pin falls or submissions. Steel ring stairs are not only legal to use as weapons, they’re encouraged as such. Steel ring stairs weigh about as much as a typically-sized wrestler, which is somewhere north of 220 lbs. Erick Rowan and The Big Show are so huge and so strong that when they pick up steel stairs, those big pieces of metal look like toys in their arms. They make lifting the stairs look easy and make using them as weapons look even easier. It’s like a D&D-style gnomish rogue carrying a punch dagger. It’s that easy and that crafty.

To start off the match, Erick Rowan threw a martial arts spin kick and knocked Big Show down. I repeat, a 350 lbs. man threw a spin kick like he was Adrian Neville or Sami Zayn, both of whom are cruiserweights. Then the two wrestlers threw each other into the posts, into the barricades, and slammed each other on the outside floor, which is made of concrete and nothing more.

After the beginning flurry from Erick Rowan, The Big Show put on a dominant, squash match-style performance for the rest of the fight. Among the things the Big Show used the steel stairs for included as a battering ram, as a throwing weapon, as a slamming surface, as bowling pins for throwing Erick Rowan, he even put that huge piece of metal on the English announce table and scared the crap out of Michael Cole, JBL, and Jerry Lawler.

Over and over, Big Show smashed Erick Rowan with those stairs and knocked him unconscious several times. Rowan was dizzy and dumb after multiple blows to the head. His “high IQ” dropped a few points after this destructive ass-beating. And then to top it all off, Big Show figured Erick Rowan was going to kick out anyways, so Show held the steel stairs against Rowan’s gigantic chest and pinned him for a three count with all of that pressure. Even a zombie wouldn’t be able to kick out of that.

The creative ways to beat people with stairs, the impact of the blunt force trauma, the easiness of their use by both men, and the athletic displays also by both men are all what make me want to give this match a passing grade. There’s just one thing that bothers me, but it’s not enough to demote this match to a mixed grade, so don’t worry. Ever since this one-sided ass-kicking from Big Show to Erick Rowan, the latter was very rarely seen on television, and by television I mean Raw and Smackdown and not anything on the WWE Network.

The last time I heard of Rowan’s whereabouts was that he had a match with “The Swiss Superman” Cesaro on a minor league show called WWE Superstars. How exactly does a former Wyatt Family member with that much hype go from a deadly war at TLCS to being mingled with lower-status wrestlers? My theory was that Erick Rowan was only carrying the top spot until various injured wrestlers came off the shelf. It’s sad and unfortunate to think of Erick Rowan that way. He had and still does have lots of potential.

Fav Whores

The term “Fav Whore” is common on Deviant Art and I’m sure it exists on other websites as well. It refers to somebody who adds pieces of art to their favorites collection only for page views or general attention. Whether or not that person actually likes your work is debatable. In fact, it may never come up in conversation again. While being active in the internet community is a good way to get attention, what kind of attention are you actually seeking by being a fav whore? Do you just want page views? If so, what exactly are you going to do with page views? Just because somebody looks at your work, doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll like it or spread the news. So if favorites and views don’t mean a damn thing anymore, then what does? Comments? It is true that an in-depth comment or critique will be sure to make both parties feel enriched. But what about comments like, “I love it!” and “Awesome!”? Do those really do anything for the artist seeking attention and love? Not really. Some people dig those comments, but when they’re accompanied with phrases like, “Come check out my art blog and/or gallery!”, that’s when it starts to get annoying. There’s a huge difference between flattering somebody and investing time in them. Flattery will only go so far, but investing time in someone will ensure a friendship that will last a lifetime. It’s the difference between having a friend and having a fan. Friends will never turn their backs on you during hard times or moments of joy. Fans will take that twelve inch blade and sever your spinal column the minute you fuck up. Fans are more common than friends, but now that we have this thing called the internet, it should be easier to make friends with the people you enjoy talking to. But the relationship between artist and viewer doesn’t always make it past the fan stage. I know this because there are celebrities that I have a fan-like relationship with. I used to like Scott Hall when he was wrestling for WWE as Razor Ramon and when he was wrestling for WCW under his real name. After all the no-shows and drug spirals, I stopped being a fan of his. It seems hypocritical of me given all the things I’ve said so far, but if I actually took the time to get to know Scott Hall a little better, I’m not sure he’d return the friendship. That’s why I choose to be a fan of wrestlers like Daniel Bryan and CM Punk. They’re reliable employees, they put on fun matches, and they’re nice guys in real life. I’m sure both guys would return my friendship, but I’ll never know, because I don’t have a Twitter account and I don’t know of any other way to contact them. Bottom line: if you want friendships that will bring happiness to your life for a long, long time, don’t be a fav whore; be a friend. Shallow behavior will get you nowhere in the end.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Daniel Day-Lewis spent lots of time trying to get inside Abraham Lincoln’s head for his role. The one person who was able to get in Lincoln’s head the most was John Wilkes-Booth. What? Two-hundred years later and it’s still too soon?”

-Seth MacFarlane-

"Undisputed" by Chris Jericho

Welcome everybody to Raw Is Jericho! Well, technically this isn’t Monday Night Raw, but if I was to say welcome to Garrison’s Library Is Jericho, it wouldn’t have the same ring to it. In fact, it would sound flat-out dorky. Just because it isn’t always Monday night, doesn’t mean you can’t have your fill of Y2J Chris Jericho, as evidenced in the memoir he wrote in 2011 called “Undisputed”. This memoir documents his days in the WWE from 1999 to 2007. Jericho had a particularly tough time transitioning from WCW to WWE since they do things a bit differently. Every match is planned out ahead of time instead of improvised. The sooner Chris Jericho learned this, the sooner he would become a major star. And become a major star he did. He is credited as being the company’s first Undisputed World Champion, hence the title of his memoir. In addition to being a mega-star in WWE, his metal band Fozzy was also taking off like a rocket ship. For the most part, whenever Jericho wasn’t fighting with Bill Goldberg or getting cussed at by either Vince McMahon or the producers, he was having the time of his life. But don’t think for a moment that this book doesn’t have its darker sides as well. As I said before, this memoir documents his life all the way to 2007. The years 2005 and 2007 were shrouded in sorrow as those were the years that Eddie Guerrero and Chris Benoit died respectively. Guerrero and Benoit were Jericho’s best friends in the industry all the way back from his WCW days. He did Eddie Guerrero justice when talking about him extensively near the middle of the book. The one part of the book I don’t agree with, though, is where he says that Chris Benoit should be forgotten about based on the double murder-suicide that ended his life. The way I see it, Benoit’s deadly behavior was not consistent with the rest of his life, which was decorated with entertaining matches and illustrious championships. For all the Chris Benoit fans out there, don’t take this as a sign that you should pass up this book. Chris Jericho’s life story is an awesome one and should be enjoyed by everyone who reads it. The witty descriptions alone are enough to put a smile on anybody’s face. But for all you future authors out there, take this as a cautionary tale, because Chris Jericho does something that is taboo in the literary world: he name checks celebrities. The only reason why he can get away with it is because of his popularity with wrestling fans. In the end, however, if you’re grinning from ear to ear and enjoying his references, it doesn’t really matter. Pick up a copy of “Undisputed”. It won Best Book of the Year in 2011 from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter, after all. Those awards are not easy to get.

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I was once part of a band called T-Mobile, but we kept breaking up.”

-Jerry Lawler-