Becky Lynch and Nikki Cross Are Not Actually Fucking Each Other (Shocking, Isn't It)

 

Dakota Ditcheva vs. Marlin Stutzman: Unfortunately, No, That's Not a Scheduled MMA Fight

 

Johnny Young Gets a Taste of His Own Medicine, Which Tastes Like Shit

 

Divinyls X Halestorm: "When I Touch Myself, I Get Off" (Rest in Peace, Chrissy Amphlett)

 

Cinnabrit & Bonnie Rabbit: Getters of Coin

 

Get that coin, ladies! We all know that YouTube's algorithm was built by horndogs.

Holly Holm vs. Ronda Rousey

 

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!

What's So Funny?

VERSE 1

You refuse to laugh at female comedians

But you’ll laugh at those who wear above medium

You refuse to laugh at jokes actually funny

But you’ll laugh at those you consider to be ugly

A hairy body or a Buddha belly

A disfigured face or thighs of jelly

You’ve got a shallow point of view and it shows

Your sense of humor sucks, your philosophy blows

CHORUS

What’s so funny? X4

VERSE 2

You laugh when a man gets kicked in the nuts

You laugh even harder at a fat plumber’s butt

Laugh harder than that at the Hashtag Jada Pose

Laugh so fucking hard, milk comes out of your nose

You’ve got the sense of humor of a middle school bully

Yet you smile and laugh like you’re so fucking holy

The whole world thinks you’re a major asshole

So why are you next in line for a seat at the castle?

CHORUS

What’s so funny? X4

VERSE 3

You won’t share a meme unless it has a Nazi symbol

But you’ll gladly pass over Lily Singh and Jimmy Kimmel

You’ll get your comedy from the shittiest places

And then drain the smiles right off your victims’ faces

Nainan eleven, presidential erection

Attention, attention, national dissention

You’re more see through than a wet T-shirt

Your jokes are duds, but the truth will always hurt

CHORUS

What’s so funny? X4

Objectified

The only chicks you like are working at strip bars

The only dudes you like are driving all the fast cars

The only kids you like are trapped inside the cages

The only grandmas you like are all so fucking ageist

The only fat guys like you like are six feet underground

The only fit chicks you like weigh less than sixty pounds

The only crazies you like are Manic Pixie Dream Girls

The only sickos you like are the ones who don’t hurl

The only celebrities you like are ones you masturbate to

The only politicians you like are ones who shit on Me Too

The only workers you like are the ones who lick your boots

The only laborers you like are the ones who pick your fruit

The only athletes you like are the ones who’re undefeated

The only students you like are the ones who have succeeded

The only teachers you like are picking quotes from the bible

The only cops you like are so good at committing libel

The only judges you like are the ones who say the N-word

The only gunners you like are the ones who collect dead birds

The only soldiers you like are the ones in Arnold movies

The only SJW’s you like are the ones who are worth suing

Objectified, electrified, open your asshole wide

As long as they tickle your fancy, you’re always on their side

But one day when you need your very best friends the most

They’ll leave you to die and haunt this world as a wayward ghost

Donate Your Blood Money

***DONATE YOUR BLOOD MONEY***

Have you ever done something for money you’re not necessarily proud of? Does it feel wrong to have that resulting wad of cash because of it? Maybe your paycheck comes from a far-right conspiracy theorist, overseas dictator, drug lord, or otherwise objectionable human being. Of course, if you need that paycheck to survive, then there’re no two ways about it. But…if you’re able to afford it and you’re not comfortable with your blood money…donate it to a worthy cause. If money is the root of all evil, then turn it over to the root of all that’s good in the world and watch the balance of power shift.

Suppose you’re a WWE wrestler and you’re being assigned to perform for the Saudi Arabian government. You can’t stand the oppressive way they treat women and LGBT people. You can’t stand the fact that there’s no freedom of speech. There’s no freedom of anything in that country, but you must perform there at the risk of being fired by the WWE. It’s money from the Saudi Arabian government, so it’s going to be a big fat payday…for a charity of your choice! It could go to RAINN (Rape and Incest National Network). It could go to HIV/AIDS research. It could be used to prevent LGBT suicide. Hey, it’s your hard-earned money. If you want to donate it to a cause that’ll make the Saudi government’s heads explode, that’s your call. WWE can’t tell you not to do that.

Suppose you’re a waitress at a restaurant Rush Limbaugh likes to frequent. You love the fact that he’s a high tipper, but can’t stand the shit he says on live radio whether it’s against women, people of color, the LGBT community, or god knows what else. What do you do with that big ass tip if you don’t feel comfortable with it in your bank account? What any normal person would, of course: donate it to a women’s shelter or a women’s health clinic! This was actually a true story that the Young Turks reported. I can’t imagine Rush was very happy with it and quite frankly I don’t give a shit.

I don’t want you all to think I’m just standing on my soapbox and spouting off my beliefs through a bullhorn, as much as I love to do that. Donating blood money can actually be something a protagonist does in a piece of creative writing. Suppose your main character is a space mercenary who gets a fat briefcase full of money from a disgusting Jabba the Hutt-esque crime lord. Said space mercenary could donate it to impoverished children in the galaxy. Suppose your main character is a streetwalker who takes a hefty paycheck from a client she fucking hates. She can donate it to a women’s shelter.

Part of that ongoing story arc is what the boss man does after the protagonist donates his money to a rival cause. Does he send goons after the protagonist? Does he sue the protagonist? Does he go after the charity with explosive devices? Boss men hate that sort of thing, so it’s going to make your story a hell of a lot spicier than before. Just think of how wicked it would be if Boba Fett donated his bounty hunting money to helping women escape from Jabba the Hutt. It’ll never happen, but just think of the world of possibilities!

To be honest, I didn’t really think this blog entry all the way through. It happens sometimes. I’ll have this big idea that only expands to…one full page of text. That’s okay. I said everything I needed to say. Remember: only donate your blood money if you’re in a stable enough position to do so. In this fucked up economy, pinching your pennies is paramount to survival. I get that. But if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable with such unclean money, the ASPCA is more than willing to use it to protect precious fur babies. I can only imagine that’s what happened to Michael Vick’s assets once they were seized and rightfully so. Dog murdering bastard! I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER AND EMILIO & MARIGOLD***

Yard sales, house chores, concerts, illness, and general sleepiness have slowed down the process of putting together manuscripts for Beautiful Monster and Emilio & Marigold. But as Valarie Savage Kinney once said in a You Tube video, slow progress is better than no progress at all. E&M’s manuscript is complete and the first three chapters of Beautiful Monster are put together, which leaves twenty-five more to comb through for glaring flaws. Once the manuscripts are complete and I’m sure there are zero typos, I plan on sending them back to Hollow Hills for another few rounds of editing. My other beta readers have been wonderful, but Hollow Hills is the least expensive out of all of them. Plus, with two manuscripts instead of just one, being frugal is important. Sleepiness can kick my ass all it wants, but I’ll keep getting back up even if it fucking kills me!

***BEACH BALL Z***

I’m sure you all have noticed that in between edit jobs for E&M and BM, I’m writing more short stories for the Poison Tongue Tales and American Darkness trilogies. The next short story on deck will be a Dragon Ball Z parody called “Beach Ball Z”. It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Zoku, Martial Artist
2. Jeeta, Martial Artist
3. Nameless Audience Members

SYNOPSIS: In the finals of the Dragon Fist Tournament, Zoku and Jeeta square off at the world famous Preparation H Pavilion. Despite the warriors’ efforts to put on an intense, violent fight for the crowd, the audience is preoccupied with bouncing a beach ball around and getting a Twitter trend going on called #BeachBallZ. While Zoku has a lax attitude towards the distracted fans, Jeeta feels overwhelmingly disrespected and pops the beach ball mid-match, much to the crowd’s booing dismay.

FUN FACT: This story was inspired by true events that took place during a WWE Tag Team Championship match at Summer Slam between The Hardy Boys and Cesaro & Sheamus. Some idiots in the crowd were playing with a beach ball during what was an intense and brutal match, so Cesaro ran out in the crowd and popped the motherfucker. Good on him!

***WRESTLING PROMO OF THE DAY***

(RE: Jake “The Snake” Roberts)

“The first thing I want to be done around here is to get that piece of crap out of my ring! Don’t just get him out of my ring; get him out of the WWF! ‘Cause I’ve proved, son, without a shadow of a doubt that you ain’t got what it takes anymore! You sit there, you thump your bible, and you say your prayers and it didn’t get you anywhere! Talk about your psalms, talk about John 3:16! Austin 3:16 says I just whipped your ass! All you got to do is go buy a cheap bottle of Thunderbird to get back some of that courage you had in your prime!”

-Stone Cold Steve Austin after winning the 1996 King of the Ring tournament-

Incelbordination, Chapter 2

The morning sun blasted through Oswald’s window like a Martian heat ray. His eyes squinted tightly as he struggled to pull himself out of bed for English class. Valerie Sand was a cute teacher and Nikita Johnson was sweet to a fault, but neither of them were worth washing the smell of marijuana out of his hair and beard. Oswald was the most invisible person in that room most of the time, so he supposed it didn’t matter anyways. No shower, no dental hygiene, just a child’s trench coat and “Volcanic” by Death Angel to sooth his tired mind.

During the slow and bone-creaking trek to class, all Oswald could think about was Antero Magnus’s perverse words from the night before. According to the dwarf, the only thing he and Antero had in common was that they were both unloved by the world at large due to their physical appearances and social awkwardness. What was Oswald supposed to do, walk around on stilts? How about Dutch cloggers? How about platform disco shoes? Oswald thought about this so much that he almost smacked his head against the glass door leading into his English lecture for the day. Though exhausted and smelly he was, he made it to class on time as he normally did. At least he did something right.

Oswald took his seat in the back of the classroom like he always did and got a bird’s eye view of the other occupants, namely Valerie the teacher and Nikita the student. He loved how Nikita’s long blond hair flowed so freely across her shoulders. He loved Valerie’s striking blue eyes underneath her thick-rimmed glasses (much prettier than Antero’s cyan eyes by a country mile). And because this was spring quarter and the sun was constantly out, there was always Oswald’s favorite outfit combination on any woman: shorts and sandals. The best part about this? Exposing legs and feet wasn’t considered legally indecent. It was like free porn to him.

Though it was hard to take in his two favorite girls’ beauty when anxiety was the dominant emotion. If only Oswald could smoke a ready roll right here and then. Why did class have to be so long and drawn out? Why couldn’t Valerie Sand give back their short stories now? Did she delight in watching stomachs turn into heavy knots? Did she enjoy the collective feeling of throats drying up? Oswald needed to know his grade now, damn it! The lecture was just extracurricular BS since he never spoke up during conversations anyways (too shy and too introverted). He kept glancing at the digital clock and the numbers kept laughing in his face as they moved slowly.

An hour later and all was right with the world again. The lackluster lecture was over and Valerie began passing back assignments with red ink adorning the pages. Some pages had more of it than others and Oswald hoped and prayed his wasn’t drooling with it like a bloody wound. As students (Nikita included) received their papers back, they exited the classroom with a little more pep in their step. And wouldn’t you know it, Oswald received his last. Scrambling through the pages to see what his grade was, his world went blacker than Antero’s Matrix pills.

There it was in cherry red ink staring him in the face like a pair of angry eyes: a C- for his shy guy romance story. Oswald didn’t even bother reading the critiques. All he saw was the third letter of the alphabet glaring at him, mocking him, laughing at him, daring him to crack under pressure and cry like a bitch. That wasn’t a minus sign next to the C; that was a middle finger. Or a gun barrel, which would have looked completely natural in the dwarf’s slack-jawed mouth.

“Mr. Crow?” said Valerie. No response. “Mr. Crow?” she said again. “Oswald!” That last spark finally jolted the dwarf awake from his living educational nightmare. Adjusting her glasses, the teacher kindly said, “Class is over. You’re free to go.”

Not knowing what the hell to say, Oswald hopped out of his seat and trudged towards the glass door, tossing his paper in the garbage on the way there.

“What are you doing?!” asked Valerie before fishing the paper out of the receptacle. Dusting the corn chip dust off of it, she said, “No, no, no, no, no! You’re not throwing this away. You’ve got notes here that you need to read. That’s how you improve in my class: by accepting criticism gracefully.” No response from Oswald, just a painful glare. “Look, I know you’re frustrated and all, but if you want to put an end to the frustration, you have to improve your writing. This C- isn’t going to go away just because you’re not happy about it. I’d be upset too, but throwing away your homework isn’t the answer.”

She attempted to hand the paper back to Oswald, but the dwarf shook his head and tried to leave once again, only to have a hand on his shoulder stop him from doing so. “Oswald, please just take the paper.”

After a while of hesitation, the dwarf snatched the paper and skimmed over the critiques. He could have sworn he edited the hell out of this story before handing it in. But the one comment staring him dead in the eye tensed his muscles: the implication that he didn’t have enough experience in the subject of romance to write a story about it. “Thanks for reminding me, Valerie. I wasn’t sure I would have remembered that otherwise.”

“Hey! Look at me!” retorted Valerie. “That’s basic storytelling, Mr. Crow: if you’re going to write about something, you have to know what you’re talking about. If you don’t have firsthand experience with the subject, you should at least research it. A simple trip to Google would have raised this grade to your liking.”

“I don’t drink, but that doesn’t mean I can’t spot a drunk when I see one.”

“Oh please, I’ve heard that excuse time and time again, Mr. Crow. Even the best authors have to do research every now and then. And just so there’s no confusion, when you’re writing sex scenes, Porn Hub doesn’t count as research.”

Oswald tossed his paper to the ground like the proverbial gauntlet and said, “Oh, so you’re a comedian now? You think my loneliness is fucking hilarious? You want to talk about having experience, that’s it, man. They don’t get more experienced than me when it comes to being fucked off.”

Valerie knelt down and cupped her student’s upper arms in her hands. “Listen to me…I don’t like the way you’re talking to me right now. You made a few mistakes in this paper and you have to pay for them. I’m not going to give you straight A’s just because you can’t take a little criticism. The purpose of college isn’t to feed your ego. It’s to help you grow into a better person. You have the syllabus from this class handy somewhere, I’m sure. I grade my students based not on their overall ability, but on their willingness to improve. Right now, you think you’re the hottest thing since Stephen King. You need to bring it down a notch.”

No response from Oswald, just his chin tucked to his chest. Valerie said, “You can be angry all you want and part of me doesn’t blame you for it. But the way you’re talking to me right now? You’re giving me the impression that you’re owed something in life. You think you’re owed A+’s. You think you’re owed compliments. I bet you even think you’re owed romance.”

That last comment caused Oswald to shrug his shoulders out of Valerie’s grasp. “You know what? Give me the paper. Give me the goddamn paper. If I stuff it in my backpack, will that make you happy?”

Handing it back, the teacher said, “That depends. Are you going to actually read the comments and take them to heart or are you just going to take it to the incinerator and turn all of your hard work to ashes? Yeah, I said it: you worked hard on that paper; nobody’s doubting that. I’m not saying you’re lazy. I’m saying your hard work is misguided. You need to listen to me. You need to listen to your fellow students. The knock on your romantic skills isn’t that you have scraggly hair or are three feet tall. It’s that you push everybody away. That’s the vibe I got from your main character. Please, Oswald…listen to reason.”

Oswald reluctantly stuffed the essay in his backpack and tried once again to head out the door. “Just one more thing,” Valerie called out to him. “It would help your future grades handsomely if you spoke up in class discussions rather than stare at my legs and feet.”

The dwarf’s face glowed bright red as he slowly closed the glass door behind him. He frantically checked down at his crotch to see if he had an involuntary boner. Though he didn’t, he pulled his trench coat over his body anyways and speed walked as far away from the classroom as he could. Speed walking turned into jogging. Jogging turned into running. He needed a safe space from this never-ending embarrassment, which should have been a no-brainer considering colleges these days were full of them.

The gym! That was it! He could just throw a few punches at the sand bag for an hour or so. Heh, sand bag. Valerie’s last name was Sand. How poetically appropriate. At least Oswald’s boxing punches couldn’t be marked with a C-. For a little guy, he sure had dynamite in his fists. He had to, especially if his old high school bully Wacey Judge was anywhere nearby.

Things That Scare Me

***THINGS THAT SCARE ME***

It seems as though you can’t go anywhere on the internet without seeing inspirational memes telling you to “do what scares you”. I’m not talking about overcoming phobias like spiders and snakes. I’m not talking about watching the scene in Tales From the Hood where they stick straws up Crazy K’s nose. I’m not even talking about the idea of being flirted with by the demon chick Lucy Butler from Millennium. I’m talking about bigger fears than that. I’m talking about the little things in life that everyone else takes for granted. Since I spent most of my day zombie-walking around and watching WWE Raw, I figured I’d salvage the early dark of morning by writing a blog entry about what scares me more than having a bucket of tarantulas poured over my head. Starting with…

***MARKETING MY BOOKS***

Since I love to write so much, it should stand to reason that I’d want to commit to this career full time, which entails marketing the shit out of my books. But to hear other authors describe how much they have to do, you’d swear they were having a 24/7 root canal. I must confess that I’m only dimly aware of what marketers go through on a day-to-day basis. Being social media savvy, dealing with trolls, giving interviews, and being away from your family are only some of the responsibilities I’ve heard. At least two of those things scare me more than the rest, and I don’t even know what the other steps are. They say “treat this like a real job”. Well, I’ve had a writing job before and it lasted less than a full day. During that internet job, I was so fucking stressed out that I snapped at my family members while wrapping my head around how to write one stupid article about my Coby MP3 player. So many rules…so much shattered creativity…Is it any wonder that I went postal? What if the actual job of marketing makes me even angrier with the people I love? What if it makes me angry at total strangers? Ugh…

***SCHIZOPHRENIC ATTACKS***

Speaking of stress, have you ever wondered why I don’t write blog entries about my schizophrenia anymore? It’s because from 2015 on, I’ve been living a stress-free life. The less stress a schizophrenic has, the less likely he is to experience hallucinations. Being stress-free is important no matter what Penn & Teller say on Showtime. It’s part of the reason why schizophrenics qualify for social security. If they had stressful employment, they’d fall to pieces within seconds. It’s not about being a “snowflake”. It’s biology. It’s psychology. It’s natural fucking brain chemistry. If you feel uncomfortable at the idea of your tax dollars paying for a schizophrenic’s living expenses, maybe YOU’RE the one who needs to have your head examined. When a schizophrenic experiences hallucinations, you don’t know when those hallucinations are going away. Sometimes they go on for days. Sometimes they go on for weeks. Months. Half a year. There’s no timetable for recovery. And in case you’ve ever wondered why I write so many angry songs and stories, it’s because schizophrenics are easily irritated. I throw screaming fits whenever the phone rings or someone’s knocking at the door. Brain chemistry, people.

***LEAVING MY COMFORT ZONE***

They say the comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there. So what happens when you venture outside the comfort zone and you fall on your ass? Do you still grow? Was the lesson worth the pain? Will the hallucinations come more frequently because of your colossal failure? Is coasting the answer? I asked an old college friend about this and her advice was to leave my comfort zone a little bit at a time. Don’t rush into making big decisions. Take time t think about it and edge slowly towards the outer reaches. While that sounds like great advice to a healthy-minded person, I on the other hand have no idea what slowly testing the waters would entail. Okay, so I leave my comfort zone and market my books. Then what? Do I join one new social media site at a time? Do I film one You Tube video and allow it to be complete shit? What is it? Maybe if I had a mentor to show me the way…

***TALKING TO BEAUTIFUL WOMEN***

As I write this next paragraph, I’m going to try my best not to sound like a desperate creep. That’s not who I am. In fact, the reason I stay away from women to begin with is because I DON’T like making them feel uncomfortable. Even saying hi to someone might be enough to make them turn the other way. Maybe it’s my lack of social skills. Maybe it’s my looks. Maybe it’s my economic status. But whatever it is, I’m pretty sure it’s not what women want. Having my actions rejected in a harsh manner would hurt much more than staying in the shadows and being my shy self. It might even result in a…I don’t know….schizophrenic attack! (Gasp) It’s true! I could be so embarrassed and humiliated at rejection that my hallucinations laugh at me for three months straight. Good god almighty…

***PUBLIC SPEAKING***

I mentioned shooting You Tube videos earlier in this blog. Well, that would mean having an audience. Even though the audience isn’t right there in front of me, knowing the judging eyes are watching me is frightening to me. Sometimes when I’d give presentations in school or college, I’d stumble over my words because I was too fucking nervous. Well, I think I’ve come up with a nice gimmick that will set the record straight. Before any public presentation, I will hold out my hand, place two Xanax tablets in them, say to my audience, “You’re making me do this!”, and then swallow them with Perrier. This is what it takes for me to feel comfortable around these people. It’s about time they feel the way that I feel every time I get up there. Yeah!

***CRYING IN FRONT OF PEOPLE***

If you’ve read my first draft novel Beautiful Monster or Jenna Moreci’s fully-published book The Savior’s Champion, you know how powerful of a gesture it is to be able to show weakness in front of another person. It’s a sign of trust. It’s a sign of love. But being vulnerable in front of others is yet another thing that scares me. What if after the crying spell is over they want to talk about the incident some more? What if during these new conversations…you guessed it, a schizophrenic attack happens? Talking about bad shit doesn’t make a schizophrenic feel better. It makes him feel worse. I haven’t cried since 2007. Don’t make me break my record. Please?

***BEING AROUND AGGRESSIVE PEOPLE***

When I say aggressive people, I don’t mean psychopaths who wield knives and punch people in the face. I’m talking about socially aggressive people. The loud ones. The crazy ones. The ones who invade your space and think nothing of it (even if they’re trying to be “friendly”). These people annoy me. They also scare me. I had to sit next to a drunken moron at Pain in the Grass 2016 and he fit this bill to a fault. I was secretly hoping security would arrest him for public intoxication, but I’m not aware of his fate at this moment. And then there was a guy who walked into Quizno’s bragging loudly and vulgarly about how he was going to get a sandwich with all these certain trimmings on it after a hard day of work. Shut the fuck up! Take your sandwich and fuck off! And don’t get me started on the drunken Seahawks fans I had to ride a night train with in 2008. I could have strangled every last one of them with my massive hands. Lesson of the day: be humble or fuck off!

***TRAVELING***

Ever since I took a “vacation” in 2009 to Pennsylvania, I’ve had this fear of traveling because of all the things that could go wrong. What if my airplane ride has a drunken lunatic or a loud baby onboard? What if I forget my medicine? What if I have to sit for six hours straight and have a painful ass and spine afterwards? As much as I love my international friends, there’s no way I’m getting on an airplane for god knows how long just to see them. There better be soft beds and soundproof booths on that flight or there’s no deal. Traveling wouldn’t be so bad if I could just teleport from place to place, but that’ll never happen, because we’re too busy building our own Space Force. Ugh….

***CONCLUSION***

So basically what all of these fears boil down to is that I need to take good care of my schizophrenic/autistic brain. I don’t drink caffeine. I don’t drink alcohol. I don’t do drugs. And most importantly, I don’t do stressful shit that could send me down a dark path. Is it wrong? Is it right? Does it even matter? Is coasting the answer? Am I eventually going to have to be forced into making these big decisions in my life? I could be screaming into the abyss here, but…I’m going to keep asking these questions for as long as I have to. I’m Garrison Kelly and…fuck it.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Sick and tired of living with this grief. Done with all the sorrow and the pain. Asphyxiated, can no longer breathe. Anesthetized until I’ve gone insane. So carry all this baggage when you leave. Swallow all those bitter pills you take. Blame it on the world, blame it on me. Tolerated too much of your game. A change of weather comes around too much. A sign of a deeper cut. Lying dormant on a bed of nails. Without warning, violently erupt. So bleed the molten river from my veins. Collapse upon myself, disintegrate. Shame upon the world and shame on me. Hate the player, but don’t hate the game. So condescend and patronize my lead. Persecute the innocent again. Rain down on the world and rain on me. Ticking like a bomb that’s got your name. Temperamental, unpredictable. The sky turns black when I exhale.”

-Death Angel singing “Volcanic”-

Evil Men

VERSE 1

She doesn’t owe you her body or mind

A definitive no is all that you’ll find

But you transform from man into monster

Your next move is an act of dishonor

You take everything she has in one night

Her virginity, her soul, and her inner light

It’s time to make an example out of you

Your punishment for rape will reign true

CHORUS 1

Evil men walk this scorched earth

Evil men give demons their birth

Evil men get away with everything

Evil men manipulate the evidence

VERSE 2

A slap on the wrist, a suspended sentence

Your victim is dishonorably mentioned

You used every excuse for wicked abuse

The raging public now has a broken fuse

Alcohol, clothing, flirtatious behavior

You act like you’re some sexual savior

You are a threat to women and children

If you don’t traumatize them, you kill them

CHORUS 2

Evil men don’t take responsibility

Evil men claim so-called divinity

Evil men walk away with smiles

Evil men cover up their guile

BRIDGE

The gravy train has made its last stop

Take your luggage and get the fuck off

You’re a dead man in the very worst sense

Your assassin doesn’t work for dollars and cents

VERSE 3

You’ve effectively placed a bounty on your head

For all of the violence and the shit you’ve said

Revenge is the greatest thing since sliced bread

Bang, bang, motherfucker! Your ass is dead!

CHORUS 3

Evil men will get what they deserve

Evil men won’t be able to swerve

Evil men get locked in a cell

Evil men spend their lives in hell

So this is how the story will end

You have no allies, family, or friends

Take your medicine like a man

Your evil ass is forever damned

In the Corner

VERSE 1

Sitting in the corner with my headphones blasting

How much longer is this party going to be lasting?

How much longer must I sit alone in silence?

How much longer until I can close my eyelids?

I want to burn this fucker to the ground tonight

Run for the highlands until I’m well out of sight

Scream to the moon, the only one who will listen

And not pass judgment for my violent decision

CHORUS

All you partygoers look the same to me

Too busy with your drugs to talk to me

Too busy with your girls, I’m behind borders

So I’ll just go over here and sit in the corner

VERSE 2

The techno music makes my ears bleed buckets

My heavy metal music tells them all to suck it

Why did I come here in the first fucking place?

Was I that desperate for a smile on my face?

Was I so lonely that I needed a quick date?

When it comes to making sense, it’s too late

Getting up and leaving is my favorite option

But I like this corner, got my own party poppin’

CHORUS

All you partygoers look the same to me

Too busy with your drugs to talk to me

Too busy with your girls, I’m behind borders

So I’ll just go over here and sit in the corner

HOOK

It’s not enough, I need more

Being at home is such a bore

A room full of strangers galore

Is what this night has in store

VERSE 3

The cure for fifty of the coldest strangers

Is one friend who will share your danger

Someone to talk to in your darkest hour

Watch your alliance bloom like a flower

Fuck this party; I’ve had all I can stand

My own safe haven is what I demand

Walking home in the pale moon light

Feels good enough to call it a night

CHORUS

All you partygoers look the same to me

Too busy with your drugs to talk to me

Too busy with your girls, I’m behind borders

So I’ll just go over here and sit in the corner

"My Fight / Your Fight" by Ronda Rousey

BOOK TITLE: My Fight / Your Fight
AUTHOR: Ronda Rousey (with Maria Burns-Ortiz)
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Nonfiction
SUBGENRE: MMA Memoir
GRADE: Pass

Ronda Rousey is world renowned for being an undefeated MMA fighter in her first twelve matches, a Women’s Bantamweight Champion, and the sole reason why women’s MMA is as respected as it is today. On an episode of TMZ in 2011, an interviewer asked UFC President Dana White when he was going to include a women’s division. His answer? “Never.” But the minute he saw Ronda Rousey generating buzz with her quick victories and trash talk, he never said never again. The rest is history. It’s a history that not just transformed a combat sport or women’s rights, but it changed the whole world. Anybody who says, “It’s impossible!” is a bold-faced liar. Just ask Ronda.

Getting to the top of the UFC’s mountain may seem like an open and shut case for Ronda given her fast victories in the cage. But make no mistake about it: the road to success was paved with blood, sweat, and tears. Lots and lots of tears. The obstacles thrown in front of her included the death of her father, dealing with losses at the Olympic Games, being broke and living in her car to, arguing with her strict judoka mother, and having rotten boyfriends who treated her like crap. This memoir is just one big David vs. Goliath battle where Ronda is David and the harshness of life itself is Goliath. Most people would allow Goliath to crush them underneath his leather sandals. Not Ronda. She fought back and threw Goliath on his big ass before wrenching his arm out of its socket. The toughness and passion of this woman is something that will inspire everybody who reads her memoir.

The other thing I thoroughly enjoyed about this book was the way Ronda described her opponents leading up to either a judo competition or an MMA fight. With the fiery, hateful, and often colorful language she uses to talk about people who stand in her way of success, you’d swear she was a mass murderer. Hell, there is even several occasions where she says in her head, “I’m going to fucking kill you, bitch!” This hellfire and brimstone attitude is actually an excellent motivator for her to win her matches in convincing fashion. Isn’t that right, Miesha Tate? In their second fight, Ronda beat the living shit out of Miesha for three straight rounds, not because Miesha was actually capable of outlasting her, but because Ronda wanted to tear her apart limb from limb and leave her a rotting corpse in the cage. All that fire, all of that venom, and all of that rage has lead Ronda to twelve victories in her MMA career, all but one of them ending in the first round. Yikes!

The final thing I would like to touch on is the amusing nicknames she gives her ex-boyfriends. It’s a creative way to avoid a slander lawsuit by avoiding their real names. Her first lover was named Dick Itty-Bitty and he was a lying, cheating son of a bitch. Another boyfriend she had was Creepy McSnappers, who took naked pictures of her and prompted her to kick the shit out of him. And then there was Norm, who was so average in every department and had a knack for being a control freak. The one flattering name she gave an ex-boyfriend was DPCG (Dog Park Cute Guy), an animal lover whose past with drugs and alcohol caught up to him one too many times. As of March 2016, the month I’m writing this review, she’s dating fellow UFC fighter Travis Browne. If she writes another memoir, what nickname will she give him? Big Ass Hawaiian? Sounds reasonable to me. Hehe!

Even if you’re not a fan of mixed-martial arts, the memoir stands alone as a tale of overcoming difficulties and being strong to keep going afterwards. Not only did Ronda Rousey rise from the ashes of a heartbreaking and nightmarish life, but she looks like goddess and smells like roses. Actually, there was one point where her Honda Accord smelled like dirty laundry and dog BO, but those things are badges of honor in a life where everything is earned through battle and blood. A passing grade for an A+ superstar like Ronda Rousey!

WWE NXT Takeover: London: Bayley vs. Nia Jax

MATCH: Bayley vs. Nia Jax for the former’s NXT Women’s Championship
PROMOTION: WWE NXT
EVENT: Takeover: London
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass


When you have a dream, the only way to achieve it is through lengthy journeys and honest-to-God hard work. Attaining such a huge goal may take weeks, months, years, possibly even decades, every second filled with the highs and lows of soldiering on. There may be moments when you feel like quitting, but if you do, all of the heartache will be for nothing. You fight, you scratch, you claw, and you bleed until what you want is within your reach. NXT diva Bayley wanted to not only wrestle, but to be a champion that little girls can look up to. When she defeated Sasha Banks in a grueling five-star match at Takeover: Brooklyn, she exceeded expectations. Congratulations, you tough chick. You’ve earned it.

But of course, winning a prestigious championship is only part of the equation. It takes a shit ton of hard work and sacrifice to win it, but it takes even more guts and brutality to keep it. Not only did Bayley successfully do so in a 30-minute Iron Man rematch against Sasha Banks, but also against Alexa Bliss and Eva Marie. That totals three different divas that Bayley scratched off the long list of those gunning for her diamond-encrusted championship. At Takeover: London, she had quite possibly the toughest challenge a woman of her size could possibly have. She had to defend her title against Nia Jax.

Who exactly is Nia Jax? She’s well over six-feet tall, her weight is well-established within the 200’s, she’s a former plus-size model, she has more strength than an entire African jungle full of wild animals, she fights like an army of barbarians wielding blood-stained axes, and she’s a cousin of WWE legend and movie star Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. NXT color commentator Corey Graves wasn’t kidding when he said Nia Jax vs. Bayley was like watching Mike Tyson vs. Manny Pacquiao. In other words, they were both talented fighters, but the weight discrepancy is mind-boggling. Needless to say, Bayley was outgunned big time.

When the actual match took place in London, England, Bayley had two things that kept her alive throughout the match: a speed advantage and a crowd support advantage. About the latter, of course they’re going to fall in love with Bayley. She’s everything a role model should be: strong, positive, and tireless. Since the event took place in England, it was only appropriate that the crowd sing parodies of Beatles songs and change the lyrics to conform to Bayley. Crowd support can bring any wrestler to life, but in the end, that’s all they can do. When it comes to the actual fight, you’re on your own, lady.

Being so many sizes smaller than the ogre-like Nia Jax, Bayley stuck to her own advantages and used her superior speed to avoid being readily disposed of. She threw quick elbows, quick dropkicks, quick forearms, and although these moves kept the giantess at bay for a little while, they didn’t faze the bloodthirsty bitch at all. It would only be a matter of time before Nia Jax would have her turn at offence and goddamn, did she deliver.

While Bayley’s offence could only be comparable to an annoying fly buzzing around, it was Nia Jax who did the swatting. Turnbuckle body splashes turned Bayley’s insides into mush. Three consecutive fireman’s carry back drops smashed her bones into sugar bits. How about a leg drop from a leg that weighs about as much as a fallen tree. How about another leg drop that feels like a falling building, but this time across the left shoulder? All of these hard-hitting, body-smashing attacks were coming from a woman that outweighed Bayley by at minimum 100 lbs. After suffering it all, the super positive super heroine just laid on the ground lifeless, limp, and ready for a hearse. Rest in peace, Bayley-Pie. I’m not The Undertaker, but I’ll say it to you anyways.

But if the RIP analogy is true, then why does Bayley continue to kick out of these bone-crunching moves? The referee’s hand was only a micrometer from hitting the mat a third time and the little angel that could got her aching shoulder out of the pinning combination to avoid losing. Coming back to life repeatedly was only delaying the inevitable according to the sad saps at the commentary booth, which were the Millhouse look-alike Rich Brennan, the always dorky Byron Saxton, and the heavy metal stud muffin Corey Graves.

Bayley wasn’t going to give up that easily. Nia Jax was getting ready to slam the smaller wrestler on the mat in what would be a modified spine-buster. But the little chick wrapped her arm around Nia’s neck and squeezed so hard that her rhino skull was going to pop like a zit. But then Bayley was slammed down hard and lifeless once more. Nia knelt down to pin her and was again caught in that headlock choke. Once again, Bayley was slammed hard on her back and was ready to meet Jesus with a firm handshake.

After a few wheezes and coughs from Nia Jax, the heavier diva knelt down again for a pin attempt and for the third time in a row got caught in the headlock choke. Bayley’s arms don’t look at that big on television, but she might as well have had 24-inch pythons like the immortal Hulk Hogan. She squeezed so tightly that she would prove why that technique was called a guillotine choke. Before the monstrous diva could be decapitated, she tapped out and the referee awarded the victory and the NXT Women’s Championship to Bayley.

Walking through the fiery valleys of hell is a necessary part of achieving hard-fought victories in the WWE. Not only did Bayley walk them in this match, but she dragged her lifeless body across them until she was fingertips away from her milestone. When she slew the beast known as Nia Jax, Bayley was exhausted. She spent the longest time lying on the ground and trying to get to her knees. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was taken to the hospital after the match was over. But she did it. She’s the biggest example in women’s wrestling of a strong heroine who overcomes the obstacles put in front of her despite the insurmountable odds. Little girls don’t have to grow up to be spoiled princesses. They can grow up and be raging warriors like Bayley. The example she sets for women everywhere is why this match gets a passing grade.

Okay, all you male supremacists out there. I’ve got a question to ask you. Do you still think a woman’s place is in the kitchen? Do you still expect your wives and daughters to cook and clean for you while popping out babies left and right? Raise your hands if you feel this way. Raise them high so that Bayley and Nia Jax can see them and beat the living piss out of all of you. These two women put on a show that nobody is going to forget for a long, long time. If you’d like to forget it so badly, go ahead and trust Bayley with an iron skillet. With one whack upside the head, you’ll probably forget pretty easily. A janitor will have to mop up your brains afterwards, but you’ll forget anyways. For the rest of us who live in the 21^st century, we’ll enjoy this classic women’s wrestling match.

WWE Night of Champions: Charlotte vs. Nikki Bella

MATCH: Charlotte vs. Nikki Bella for the latter’s Divas Championship, which she could have lost also by disqualification or count-out
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Night of Champions
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass


For the longest time, the divas division of the WWE has been in murky waters. It has been plagued with short matches performed by smoking hot supermodels who fight more like cats than real wrestlers. If a WWE fan wanted to watch women’s wrestling that was actually entertaining, he or she had to get a subscription to the WWE Network and watch NXT. That all changed in a heartbeat one night. Almost a full year had passed since Nikki Bella won the Divas Championship against AJ Lee at Survivor Series in 2014 in a twenty-second disaster. Nikki, her twin sister Brie, and Alicia Fox all got together and danced in the middle of the ring thinking they had complete reign over the divas division.

And then Stephanie McMahon’s “Queendom” music played and out came the iron-fisted queen of WWE herself. She cut a promo about how female athletes all around the world were getting recognition for being just as good or even better than their male counterpart, whether it’s Ronda Rousey in the UFC or Carli Lloyd in soccer. Stephanie believed the WWE should be a part of that women’s revolution as well. So what did she do? She called three NXT divas up to the main roster: Charlotte, Becky Lynch, and Sasha Banks. Not just NXT divas, but badass battlers who could break a supermodel in half with just one punch.

And then the Divas Revolution was underway. The matches were longer, the women got better storylines, they got time in the ring to cut promos, and the matches were actually fun-to-watch wrestling competitions instead of just boring catfights. Despite this adrenaline shot to the heart of the divas division, there were still critics out there who thought pushing all of these women to the top was a waste of time. WWE Hall of Famer Greg “The Hammer” Valentine gave the most disgusting quote of the year when he said if he was in charge of the WWE, he would fire all of the divas and make them work in strip bars. I’m still waiting for Ronda Rousey to put this asshole in a shoulder lock and rip his goddamn arm out. If I have to wait forever, then damn it, I’ll wait forever.

At WWE Night of Champions in the year 2015, the critics would have duct tape on their mouths forever. Charlotte had just earned a chance to face Nikki Bella at this event for the latter’s Divas Championship. With her father Ric Flair and the NXT staff’s training, Charlotte could accomplish anything she wanted to. She was tall, lean, athletic, and she could beat the crap out of anybody put in front of her. She once out-wrestled Natalya for the vacant NXT Title. Natalya was trained in wrestling and jujitsu in the infamous Hart Dungeon, so getting a hard-fought victory over her in a classic back-and-forth war is saying something. Now Charlotte looks to do the same with Nikki Bella.

Before this match started, Nikki Bella was being written off by fans across the world as a supermodel with a middle school mentality who got an easy path to success by beating other girls just as “weak” as her. When the match actually started, she showed how much of a vicious wrestler she could be. Nikki’s entire game plan throughout the match was to not just attack Charlotte’s left leg, but also maul it, destroy it, and cripple it.

And damn, did Nikki deliver on that game plan. She suplexed Charlotte into the ropes and turnbuckles with the victim’s knee landing right on those hard structures. And while Charlotte was sitting on the ring apron hoping to recover, Nikki grabbed her injured leg and threw her to the concrete floor in a hard-hitting move known as the Dragon Screw. To add insult to injury, Nikki applied Ric Flair’s patented submission hold, the Figure Four Leg Lock, across the steel ring post with Charlotte’s legs bound and twisted in ways they’re not supposed to bend. And then the champion applied more pressure on the leg by twisting it backwards in a Single-Leg Boston Crab. And then more suplexes into the ropes and corners. And then a shoulder tackle to the back of the leg.

The relentless assault took a huge toll on Charlotte’s mobility. She was so badly in pain that she couldn’t even walk straight, let alone run off the ropes for a decent clothesline. My niece Reina watched this match with me and though she wasn’t in it, she still had aches and pains going through her own body while she was empathizing with Charlotte. If competing in this match cripples Charlotte, then the viewers at home and at the Houston, Texas arena would leave in wheelchairs. That’s how torturous this match looked on TV.

Which is why it’s so rewarding for the underdog Charlotte to come back from this endless pain and pull off a big move that will win her the Divas Championship. As Nikki dove off the top rope for another shoulder tackle, she got a spear tackle of her own right to the gut compliments of the challenger for her title. And then Charlotte did the unthinkable. Even with her severely battered left leg, she applied not only her father’s Figure Four Leg Lock to Nikki, but also bridged backwards to make it The Figure Eight. She held this position for as long as she painstakingly could and Nikki Bella eventually tapped out to lose the championship, ending her reign at 300-plus days.

Overcoming adversity is something women have had to do not just in sports, but in life in general. They had to take beatings just to earn the right to vote in America, they had to live as pariahs just to have the right to divorce their husbands, they’re being shot at for wanting feminine healthcare, and even today in this somewhat liberalized culture, women still have to fight for recognition in this world.

After seeing Charlotte win a hard-fought match for her first WWE Divas Championship in which the referee almost stopped it due to injury, I only have one thing left to say to Greg Valentine and everyone else who thinks that a woman’s place is in the kitchen. Would you really trust a red-hot warrior like Charlotte or Ronda Rousey with an iron skillet in one hand and a bread knife in the other? You want a woman to cook and clean for you? Okay. She can cook you with a flame thrower and clean the evidence of your existence off the floors so that the police don‘t suspect a thing. How does that sound?

Violet Smith

NAME: Violet Smith
AGE: 28
OCCUPATION: Mixed-Martial Artist
CANON: Choice


Abortion is a sensitive topic no matter who you talk to. The mixed-martial arts community are not known for their sensitivity. So why then would I in 2012 write ten-page long story that combines both of those things? The MMA community is the same group of people who went bat shit crazy when Fallon Fox came out as a transsexual woman. How do you think they’re going to handle news of a female fighter having an abortion so that she can continue her career? They’re going to handle it the same way conservative wing nut and MMA fighter Violet Smith handled it: with hellfire and fury.

In the story known as “Choice”, the main character and fellow MMA featherweight Rachel Gustafson dispels pregnancy rumors at a press conference by sugar coating the fact that she had an abortion. Violet Smith, another featherweight and a religious zealot, screamed at Rachel and almost got in a fight with her right there at the conference. Somewhere down the line, Rachel and Violet would meet inside the eight sides of steel. Not only would Rachel win in the first round, but she would steal Violet’s abused boyfriend Neil Hahn afterwards.

I’ve always envisioned Violet Smith as being the conservative version of fellow female villain Colleen Owens. Violet is loud, obnoxious, in-your-face, crass, rude, and egotistical. To show you how much of a crazy bitch she is, in “Choice”, she compared Rachel Gustafson to kid rapist Phil Garrido in the sense of how they treat small children. If that doesn’t get your blood boiling, nothing will. That’s the kind of sick joke that causes PTSD in a lot of people. Violet Smith was the clear villain of that short story.

But did she need to be THAT much of a villain? Did she need to achieve Complete Monster status by not only traumatizing women who’ve had abortions, but also abusing her boyfriend at the time Neil Hahn? The poor guy had a 1-4 MMA record and thought he could jump start his career by hanging out with a woman who was 12-3, a former Women’s Featherweight Champion, and a multiple time post-fight bonus money winner. Neil shed the blood, sweat, and tears it took to be an MMA elite, but only because he was being slapped in the face and screamed at by Violet, criminal that she was.

As a writer, it’s my job to invoke emotions within my readers. Extreme anger may not be the best choice, which is why Violet Smith is currently in my unemployed pile. I actually had an idea of what I could do with her. I could Clockwork Orange her ass! Yeah! If she wants to go around beating up helpless women and downtrodden men, let her pay the same price as Alex De Large.

She could be shown films of anti-abortion and other Christian crusaders committing violence while a Demon Hunter, Skillet, or We As Human song is playing in the background. And then afterwards she can confront the ghosts of those she hurt in a sensory deprivation chamber, but that’s not Clockwork Orange, that’s Tales From the Hood’s fourth story Hardcore Convert.

But if I put Violet Smith through a Clockwork Orange storyline, will she be as defiant as she was when she was free or will she break down and have a moment of clarity? Can she really look a hallucination of Rachel Gustafson in the eyes and ask for forgiveness? Can she do the same thing to real life female MMA fighters like Liz Carmouche and Raquel Pennington, who are both openly lesbian and probably offended by Violet’s zeal?

But since this is an MMA fighter we’re talking about, maybe instead of confronting the hallucinations and giving them a bunch of false answers, we could have an actual match. Yeah! If Violet is really as remorseless as she says she is, let’s see if she can put Jessica Andrade in a rear-naked choke or TKO Fallon Fox into oblivion. If that’s the case, she won’t be winning any major championships. She’ll be showing the prison guards that she’s far from ready for normal society.

The Clockwork Orange angle is just one possibility that I’ve thought about. There are so many other things she can do. She can be a Dungeons & Dragons cleric for all I care. And since she’s good at unarmed combat, she can probably be a cleric and monk homebrew class. She can tell people to “Choose life!” while throwing a flying bullet kick a la Liu Kang from Mortal Kombat. But no matter what role she took, she will always be a villain due to her obnoxious Complete Monster mentality. In the case of D&D, she would be a level five lawful evil cleric/monk. Violet, have you met my good friends Deus Shadowheart and Brutus Warcry? They’re dying to get to know you! Hehe!

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I apologize, you son of a bitch!”

-Vince McMahon to CM Punk-

Lawrence Moody

NAME: Lawrence Moody
AGE: 43
OCCUPATION: Romance Author
CANON: It’s Just a Story


Whenever a celebrity is accused of bigotry, it can be a traumatizing experience for that person, especially if he or she is innocent of those charges. Does anybody remember a former UFC bantamweight fighter named Miguel Torres? He was once fired from the company for tweeting a rape joke.

The backlash against him was brutal and maybe he deserved some of that. But in order to ease himself of the trauma, he donated his time and money to rape shelters in Chicago and took sensitivity classes. He was subsequently rehired by the UFC. Dana White could be quoted as saying, “Everybody fucks up. It’s what you do afterwards that makes you who you are.”

And thus we have a segue into Lawrence Moody, a romance author who gears his books toward piggish male fantasies and responds to his critics not by apologizing or taking sensitivity classes, but by physically assaulting them or arranging to have them beaten by police or security detail. The most disgusting part about this? Most of his critics are women and Lawrence is much bigger than all of them.

It didn’t help matters that Lawrence was dating a Filipino model named Venice Reyes and used her sexy photographs as part of the covers to his novels. If anybody needed to be convinced of Lawrence’s “innocence”, it was Venice. The couple got into many arguments over the subject of sexism, mostly while trying to get away from angry female protesters who threw eggs with stinging impact.

Lawrence could do his damnedest to try and convince Venice that he was just a normal guy and not a bigot, but when she actually read his recent novel, she found out what exactly it was he was promoting: wife swapping. Their final argument ended when Lawrence accidentally shoved Venice down the stairs of their home and crushed her skull. The story concluded with Mr. Moody turning himself in to the police.

The fact that I didn’t get any backlash from writing this 12-page story was a stroke of luck. After all, Lawrence was portrayed as the hero and the feminist protesters and critics were the evil antagonists. Originally, I wrote this story to prove the point that zeal, no matter what form it comes in, is no good for anybody. But instead it read like a chauvinist manifesto that I’m now ashamed of.

While it didn’t happen for this story, I have been accused of bigotry before whether it was against women, children, or just plain guys from the deep south. Suffering that wave of verbal assaults was traumatizing for me. Sometimes I would respond by screaming in my critics’ faces and it would bring about even more backlash than before. When I actually apologized for my actions and told the truth of not being bigoted, things calmed down and were much happier for me.

Over the years, I’ve learned being diplomatic is better than being violent. Hatred breeds more hatred while love breeds more love. During the times I was accused of bigotry, I wasn’t aware that I was being prejudiced in the first place. I actually thought those things were normal. Thanks to a broader worldview and a lot of experience, I know how to cool down the fires I start, intentional or not.

If I ever do use Lawrence Moody again, it won’t be in a heroic fashion. He will be portrayed as an example of what NOT to do if you’re an artist of any kind. He will be aggressive. He will be unsympathetic. He will be everything my audience hates in a villain. When he is conquered by his own boiling cauldron of hot rage, he will deserve every minute of his suffering.

He may take the form of a sexist romance author. He may be a politician. He may even be part of the top one-percent of the top one-percent, in which case, he better be ready for Mr. Robot to serve his ass on a platter. No matter what role he takes, Lawrence Moody will never speak for my misguided past ever again.

　

***CELEBRITY QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If a man wants you for your breasts, thighs, and legs, send him to KFC. You’re a lady, not a cheap value meal.”

-Nicholas Cage-