VERSE 1
Chasing you has tired me out
I end these childish games now
Save my energy for someone who knows me
Loves me for everything I can possibly be
Don’t waste your ballads on little old me
Don’t fight my battles until you bleed
Give me a reason to break my shell
Without dragging me through hell
CHORUS 1
Chasing you has weakened my legs
Chasing you has forced me to beg
Chasing you has left me for dead
No one shall share my heavenly bed
VERSE 2
Status and fame were all to blame
You made me believe you weren’t the same
I put you on high and you passed me by
Without even telling me how or why
Fairy tales are for pre-school kids
Romance is only for the highest bid
You keep the mace in your favorite place
In case you want to torture my pudgy face
CHORUS 2
Chasing you isn’t worth the pain
Chasing you has driven me insane
Chasing you for hollow lust
Replaced by tabloid headline disgust
VERSE 3
I’m not a paparazzo with small F-stop
I don’t like to dance, I don’t listen to pop
All I have is a wild imagination
And venomous words for a demonstration
I won’t change who I am for any diva
Badass singer or chick named Ziva
College chick with the shortest of shorts
Cheerleader chick who bends and contorts
CHORUS 3
Chasing you has left me weak
Chasing you leaves my future bleak
Chasing you was all for nothing
You don’t believe in the power of loving
You believe in stacks of dollar bills
Doing cocaine in Beverly Hills
Tantric sex and other such thrills
If I can’t have you, then damn it, who will?
STOLEN LINE
Maybe I should let her go
But only when she loves me
She loves me
How can I just let her go?
Not until she loves me
She loves me
(Stolen line is a lyric from "Killpop" by Slipknot.)
Sunday, August 16, 2015
"Star Island" by Carl Hiaasen
BOOK TITLE: Star Island
AUTHOR: Carl Hiaasen
YEAR: 2010
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Environmental Thriller
GRADE: Pass
In this deconstruction of celebrity culture, untalented pop singer Cherry Pye is on the brink of becoming a mega-star with the concert tour of her latest album Skantily Klad. She’s also a drug and alcohol nightmare for her parents, handlers, and paparazzi. Whenever she’s too toasted to go out in public to ruin her career, Ann DeLuisa, her identical imposter, goes out for her and behaves normally. A perverted paparazzo named Bang Abbott desperately wants a photo of Cherry Pye at her worst so that he can sell it for hundreds of thousands of dollars. But when he kidnaps the stunt double, the plot to keep Ann’s name out of the press becomes a chaotic clusterfuck for Cherry’s parents.
I’ve been a fan of Carl Hiaasen’s for almost half a decade now, which I realize is a short period of time considering his lengthy and productive career, but “Star Island” is another reminder of why he’s one of the best in the business when it comes to fast-paced and comedic thrillers. The dialogue is witty, the action never slows down for a minute, and the whirlwind of chaos that ensues in this book is perfectly planned out from beginning to end.
It should also be known that two of Hiaasen’s most famous characters are reintroduced in this book: Skink (deranged ex-governor of Florida turned eco-warrior) and Chemo (flaky-skinned criminal with a weed whacker where his hand was supposed to be). Though they are on opposite alignments at first, the further you read into this book, the more you realize they have a lot in common. They have a disdain for spoiled brats, they don’t take shit from anybody, they’re both on the wrong side of the law, and they can be cunning when they need to be. Chemo prefers to be a hard-ass who trims his victims with his weed eater and Skink prefers more creative methods, such as, attaching a sea urchin to a scumbag banker’s testicles. Sooner or later these two longtime Hiaasen characters are going to meet. And when they do, you’d better batten down the hatches.
Pretty much every character in this book has something kooky going on with them. Aside from Skink’s craziness and Chemo’s intimidation, you also have the main character of the book, Cheryl Bunterman, aka Cherry Pye. This woman deserves no sympathy whatsoever. She’s an airhead, she lip-synchs her way to popularity, she’s spoiled, she’s shallow, and she’ll do any drug she can get her hands on. Chemo is already a loose cannon, so when he’s hired to protect Cherry and keep her out of trouble, even he’s driven to insanity.
Any other kooky characters who mesh well with a chaotic plot? How about the pedophilic CEO of Jailbait Records Maury Lykes? How about the deceptive banker and environmental hazard Jackie Sebago? Bang Abbott is no angel himself: he’s 300 plus pounds of sexual perversion and bottom feeding behavior, which is perfect for his paparazzo occupation. Ann DeLuisa might be one of the few people in the book with a sane head on her shoulders. How she keeps from going insane in the captivity of Bang Abbott is a mystery in itself. All of the characters mesh perfectly with each other whether they’re allies or driving each other nuts. There is not one hint of bad chemistry among these comedic forces.
In addition to playing to his usual strengths of chaotic comedy and environmental hammering, Carl Hiaasen is also a master at dissecting celebrity culture. There’s always this fascination with a celebrity couple doing something as simple as walking the streets together. There’s an even bigger fascination with pop stars who crash and burn under their own stupidity and weakness. We as civilians like to talk about celebrities like we know all about them. We put them on pedestals one minute, but when they fuck up just once, the media shit storm becomes too much to handle. Some celebrities deserve their privacy, while those in the same vein as Cherry Pye deserve to crash and burn and wind up in the shit house. The things people will do for fame and fortune, for better or worse, are all documented in Hiaasen’s novel. If you’ve ever wanted to put celebrities under a microscope instead of on a pedestal, by all means, pick up a copy of “Star Island”.
There’s a reason why Carl Hiaasen is one of Florida’s most widely recognized authors: it’s because he never disappoints when he releases a new novel. Sometimes I grab a Hiaasen novel whenever I’ve read something from another author that was awful. It’s the perfect cure for the one-star blues. A passing grade for a brilliant author and his book.
AUTHOR: Carl Hiaasen
YEAR: 2010
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Environmental Thriller
GRADE: Pass
In this deconstruction of celebrity culture, untalented pop singer Cherry Pye is on the brink of becoming a mega-star with the concert tour of her latest album Skantily Klad. She’s also a drug and alcohol nightmare for her parents, handlers, and paparazzi. Whenever she’s too toasted to go out in public to ruin her career, Ann DeLuisa, her identical imposter, goes out for her and behaves normally. A perverted paparazzo named Bang Abbott desperately wants a photo of Cherry Pye at her worst so that he can sell it for hundreds of thousands of dollars. But when he kidnaps the stunt double, the plot to keep Ann’s name out of the press becomes a chaotic clusterfuck for Cherry’s parents.
I’ve been a fan of Carl Hiaasen’s for almost half a decade now, which I realize is a short period of time considering his lengthy and productive career, but “Star Island” is another reminder of why he’s one of the best in the business when it comes to fast-paced and comedic thrillers. The dialogue is witty, the action never slows down for a minute, and the whirlwind of chaos that ensues in this book is perfectly planned out from beginning to end.
It should also be known that two of Hiaasen’s most famous characters are reintroduced in this book: Skink (deranged ex-governor of Florida turned eco-warrior) and Chemo (flaky-skinned criminal with a weed whacker where his hand was supposed to be). Though they are on opposite alignments at first, the further you read into this book, the more you realize they have a lot in common. They have a disdain for spoiled brats, they don’t take shit from anybody, they’re both on the wrong side of the law, and they can be cunning when they need to be. Chemo prefers to be a hard-ass who trims his victims with his weed eater and Skink prefers more creative methods, such as, attaching a sea urchin to a scumbag banker’s testicles. Sooner or later these two longtime Hiaasen characters are going to meet. And when they do, you’d better batten down the hatches.
Pretty much every character in this book has something kooky going on with them. Aside from Skink’s craziness and Chemo’s intimidation, you also have the main character of the book, Cheryl Bunterman, aka Cherry Pye. This woman deserves no sympathy whatsoever. She’s an airhead, she lip-synchs her way to popularity, she’s spoiled, she’s shallow, and she’ll do any drug she can get her hands on. Chemo is already a loose cannon, so when he’s hired to protect Cherry and keep her out of trouble, even he’s driven to insanity.
Any other kooky characters who mesh well with a chaotic plot? How about the pedophilic CEO of Jailbait Records Maury Lykes? How about the deceptive banker and environmental hazard Jackie Sebago? Bang Abbott is no angel himself: he’s 300 plus pounds of sexual perversion and bottom feeding behavior, which is perfect for his paparazzo occupation. Ann DeLuisa might be one of the few people in the book with a sane head on her shoulders. How she keeps from going insane in the captivity of Bang Abbott is a mystery in itself. All of the characters mesh perfectly with each other whether they’re allies or driving each other nuts. There is not one hint of bad chemistry among these comedic forces.
In addition to playing to his usual strengths of chaotic comedy and environmental hammering, Carl Hiaasen is also a master at dissecting celebrity culture. There’s always this fascination with a celebrity couple doing something as simple as walking the streets together. There’s an even bigger fascination with pop stars who crash and burn under their own stupidity and weakness. We as civilians like to talk about celebrities like we know all about them. We put them on pedestals one minute, but when they fuck up just once, the media shit storm becomes too much to handle. Some celebrities deserve their privacy, while those in the same vein as Cherry Pye deserve to crash and burn and wind up in the shit house. The things people will do for fame and fortune, for better or worse, are all documented in Hiaasen’s novel. If you’ve ever wanted to put celebrities under a microscope instead of on a pedestal, by all means, pick up a copy of “Star Island”.
There’s a reason why Carl Hiaasen is one of Florida’s most widely recognized authors: it’s because he never disappoints when he releases a new novel. Sometimes I grab a Hiaasen novel whenever I’ve read something from another author that was awful. It’s the perfect cure for the one-star blues. A passing grade for a brilliant author and his book.
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
Nail Bomb
Riding public transportation can be a daunting task all by itself, judging from the peculiar characters who occupy those bus seats. On this particular day in cyberpunk city, it was downright dangerous. The city bus had its usual colorful characters such as the war veteran with a loud voice, the old man who wanted to know how everybody’s “trading stock” was doing, the mentally ill woman who was talking to herself, and the overweight mother of a baby she never made any effort to keep calm while the little one screamed like a demon.
The only person on that bus who wasn’t bothering anybody and was only minding his own business was the black hoodie-donning Psymon Nordonus. The only movement he made was with his head bobbing back and forth to “Killpop” by Slipknot on his MP3 player. Such aggressive heavy metal was sure to block out the cacophony of weirdoes, all of which were being ignored by the hefty bus driver.
Psymon was barely looking out of the corner of his eye at the large mother and the war veteran arguing with each other. At least one time during that conversation, both parties reminded each other that America was a “free country”. No, Psymon didn’t actually hear that, but he had been around those kinds of people before. Pathetic, he thought to himself.
The verbal spat turned into a shoving match and the baby in the stroller was even more obnoxious to listen to than before. Once the woman was shoved into her seat again, a baldheaded baby doll dropped out of the stroller and started coming to life. The sudden animation put everyone back in their seats as they watched on in terror. This doll was jerking around like it was being electrocuted and then started dancing like a creepy ballerina.
When the little guy in the stroller refused to stop crying, the doll sprayed him with green gas and knocked him into unconsciousness, to which the mother also passed out due to the fright of it all. “Ah, that’s much better!” the baby doll said to itself. The mechanical nightmare started yelling “booga-booga-booga” at everyone and causing them to jump out of their seats. Things really got horrifying when the doll revealed it had a bomb strapped to its back and a dead man switch in his hand.
“Alright, you disgusting cretins, listen up!” screamed the doll. “My name is Baby and I’m here for one reason: to collect all of your wallets and gadgets! You hand them over to me and you can all go home happy! If not, I can let go of this goddamn switch and send a rainstorm of nails flying in every direction! Ooo, the thought of that much blood splattering all over the place gives me the chills! It must be one of those ASMR things!”
The war veteran, whose voice suddenly dropped a few octaves, said, “Listen here, Baby. I don’t keep a wallet on me. I’m just a beggar trying to make enough to get by. It took an entire tin can full of coins just to get on this damn bus.”
Baby’s neon red eyes shot up in mock surprise before the wicked doll pretended to cry like his namesake suggested. He even rolled around on the floor and kicked his legs for added dramatic effect. When the homeless veteran knelt down to see what was up, he was greeted with a metallic head butt to the skull, opening a gash on his forehead and knocking him into a deep slumber.
“You little scumbag!” shouted the doll. “I don’t give two shits if you’re a bum off the streets or a ghetto whore living on welfare! You’re handing your belongings over to me or I’m going to take my thumb off of this goddamn button!”
The bus driver had no idea what to do but to keep driving, as if any release from the acceleration pedal was going to aggravate this terrorist doll some more. He barely had the strength to softly say, “That gentleman needs to see a doctor. He could die.”
“Keep driving, you donut-munching lard-ass! If you even think about going to a hospital or anywhere else where there’re cops waiting, I’m turning this entire bus into a reverse porcupine! Hell, there are already enough pricks on the inside, so I guess it doesn’t matter what I do with the dead man switch!” threatened the evil doll.
One by one, the bus patrons threw their wallets, change, and electronic devices on the floor without further resistance. Baby laughed like a wicked hyena as he went around collecting these items to put in a garbage bag. While he was scooping up his riches, he felt a sudden jolt that bounced his head in all directions and shot out a few sparks. This only lasted seconds and he was back to his old form in no time.
As soon as he recovered from that shock, Baby had eyeballs on the one man he neglected to extort: Psymon Nordonus, who continued to rock out to his heavy metal like it was just another day on the bus.
“Son of a bitch…” said Baby to himself as he walked over to Psymon and kicked him in the ankle to get his attention. The mysterious passenger shook off the slight pain, pulled his hood backwards, and took off his headsets.
“Can I help you with something?”
Baby smiled sarcastically and said, “Yes, I would like something. I want two pieces of chicken, a buttermilk biscuit with extra butter, a large order of French fries, and an extra large Diet Coke to wash all of that down. I can only do so much to watch my weight.” The cuteness was over when Baby screamed, “What do you think I want?! Didn’t you hear a damn thing I said?! Are you crazy?! Have you been listening to that god-awful music this whole time?!”
Psymon said, “Hey, don’t diss Slipknot, okay? They may look like a bunch of serial killers with those masks, but those guys know how to rock. Take a listen and judge for yourself.”
Baby ripped the MP3 player from Psymon’s hands and pressed the volume all the way down so that he didn’t have to listen to the “god-awful” music. “Word of advice, shit head: the next time you try to be a smart-ass to someone with a nail bomb attached to his back could be your last! Seriously, there’s nothing stopping me from letting go of this button right now! I could just lift my thumb and bam, you’re all dead!”
The metal head cleared his throat and said, “Well, that seems to be our situation. I have no idea what being blasted with a nail bomb feels like and I don’t care to find out. But seriously, man, you should try that music sometime. It’ll set your soul on fire, bitch.”
“I’m warning you!” yelled Baby as he raised the MP3 player with his good hand. He was about to lash out at Psymon when he finally saw what was on the device’s screen. Coding. Lots and lots of coding, particularly of the zeros and ones variety. “What the hell? Were you trying to hack into my system? Is that what the jolt was? Oh, that’s it! I’m taking this bus to hell right here and now!”
Before Baby could lift his thumb off of the dead man switch, Psymon made a split second move to hold onto the detonator with one cyber arm and tap the screen on his so-called MP3 player with the other. The last thing Baby saw before dancing and jolting into oblivion was the fact that Psymon Nordonus was a true cyberpunk in every sense of the word. This bus was only supposed to be full of “losers” and “wash-ups” who gave up on their dreams. A vigilante hacker? Not in a thousand years would Baby have anticipated that.
With one square-toed boot, Psymon kicked out the window and threw the thrashing Baby out with his hand on the detonator. When he released it, the storm of sharp metal nails exploded all over the outside of the bus. They dented nearby cars on the highway and cracked a few windows. The drivers were pissed off as evidenced by their obnoxious honking, but otherwise unharmed.
“Driver, get this thing to a hospital. That guy still needs your help,” ordered Psymon, to which the driver complied. Everyone on the bus was in silent shock. The most fearful response in this entire vehicle was traumatic shaking. The real baby started to come around and was crying painfully yet again. The mother? She was snoring the ride away while other people were tending to the unconscious veteran’s wounds.
Going back to his usual introverted self, Psymon didn’t lose himself in an MP3 player this time, but to the computer chip he snagged from Baby’s body before throwing him out of the window. It was marked as property of the DX-Corporation, a fact which made Psymon smile to himself and say, “Oh, the fun I’m going to have with this thing when I get home. You bitches are dead.”
The only person on that bus who wasn’t bothering anybody and was only minding his own business was the black hoodie-donning Psymon Nordonus. The only movement he made was with his head bobbing back and forth to “Killpop” by Slipknot on his MP3 player. Such aggressive heavy metal was sure to block out the cacophony of weirdoes, all of which were being ignored by the hefty bus driver.
Psymon was barely looking out of the corner of his eye at the large mother and the war veteran arguing with each other. At least one time during that conversation, both parties reminded each other that America was a “free country”. No, Psymon didn’t actually hear that, but he had been around those kinds of people before. Pathetic, he thought to himself.
The verbal spat turned into a shoving match and the baby in the stroller was even more obnoxious to listen to than before. Once the woman was shoved into her seat again, a baldheaded baby doll dropped out of the stroller and started coming to life. The sudden animation put everyone back in their seats as they watched on in terror. This doll was jerking around like it was being electrocuted and then started dancing like a creepy ballerina.
When the little guy in the stroller refused to stop crying, the doll sprayed him with green gas and knocked him into unconsciousness, to which the mother also passed out due to the fright of it all. “Ah, that’s much better!” the baby doll said to itself. The mechanical nightmare started yelling “booga-booga-booga” at everyone and causing them to jump out of their seats. Things really got horrifying when the doll revealed it had a bomb strapped to its back and a dead man switch in his hand.
“Alright, you disgusting cretins, listen up!” screamed the doll. “My name is Baby and I’m here for one reason: to collect all of your wallets and gadgets! You hand them over to me and you can all go home happy! If not, I can let go of this goddamn switch and send a rainstorm of nails flying in every direction! Ooo, the thought of that much blood splattering all over the place gives me the chills! It must be one of those ASMR things!”
The war veteran, whose voice suddenly dropped a few octaves, said, “Listen here, Baby. I don’t keep a wallet on me. I’m just a beggar trying to make enough to get by. It took an entire tin can full of coins just to get on this damn bus.”
Baby’s neon red eyes shot up in mock surprise before the wicked doll pretended to cry like his namesake suggested. He even rolled around on the floor and kicked his legs for added dramatic effect. When the homeless veteran knelt down to see what was up, he was greeted with a metallic head butt to the skull, opening a gash on his forehead and knocking him into a deep slumber.
“You little scumbag!” shouted the doll. “I don’t give two shits if you’re a bum off the streets or a ghetto whore living on welfare! You’re handing your belongings over to me or I’m going to take my thumb off of this goddamn button!”
The bus driver had no idea what to do but to keep driving, as if any release from the acceleration pedal was going to aggravate this terrorist doll some more. He barely had the strength to softly say, “That gentleman needs to see a doctor. He could die.”
“Keep driving, you donut-munching lard-ass! If you even think about going to a hospital or anywhere else where there’re cops waiting, I’m turning this entire bus into a reverse porcupine! Hell, there are already enough pricks on the inside, so I guess it doesn’t matter what I do with the dead man switch!” threatened the evil doll.
One by one, the bus patrons threw their wallets, change, and electronic devices on the floor without further resistance. Baby laughed like a wicked hyena as he went around collecting these items to put in a garbage bag. While he was scooping up his riches, he felt a sudden jolt that bounced his head in all directions and shot out a few sparks. This only lasted seconds and he was back to his old form in no time.
As soon as he recovered from that shock, Baby had eyeballs on the one man he neglected to extort: Psymon Nordonus, who continued to rock out to his heavy metal like it was just another day on the bus.
“Son of a bitch…” said Baby to himself as he walked over to Psymon and kicked him in the ankle to get his attention. The mysterious passenger shook off the slight pain, pulled his hood backwards, and took off his headsets.
“Can I help you with something?”
Baby smiled sarcastically and said, “Yes, I would like something. I want two pieces of chicken, a buttermilk biscuit with extra butter, a large order of French fries, and an extra large Diet Coke to wash all of that down. I can only do so much to watch my weight.” The cuteness was over when Baby screamed, “What do you think I want?! Didn’t you hear a damn thing I said?! Are you crazy?! Have you been listening to that god-awful music this whole time?!”
Psymon said, “Hey, don’t diss Slipknot, okay? They may look like a bunch of serial killers with those masks, but those guys know how to rock. Take a listen and judge for yourself.”
Baby ripped the MP3 player from Psymon’s hands and pressed the volume all the way down so that he didn’t have to listen to the “god-awful” music. “Word of advice, shit head: the next time you try to be a smart-ass to someone with a nail bomb attached to his back could be your last! Seriously, there’s nothing stopping me from letting go of this button right now! I could just lift my thumb and bam, you’re all dead!”
The metal head cleared his throat and said, “Well, that seems to be our situation. I have no idea what being blasted with a nail bomb feels like and I don’t care to find out. But seriously, man, you should try that music sometime. It’ll set your soul on fire, bitch.”
“I’m warning you!” yelled Baby as he raised the MP3 player with his good hand. He was about to lash out at Psymon when he finally saw what was on the device’s screen. Coding. Lots and lots of coding, particularly of the zeros and ones variety. “What the hell? Were you trying to hack into my system? Is that what the jolt was? Oh, that’s it! I’m taking this bus to hell right here and now!”
Before Baby could lift his thumb off of the dead man switch, Psymon made a split second move to hold onto the detonator with one cyber arm and tap the screen on his so-called MP3 player with the other. The last thing Baby saw before dancing and jolting into oblivion was the fact that Psymon Nordonus was a true cyberpunk in every sense of the word. This bus was only supposed to be full of “losers” and “wash-ups” who gave up on their dreams. A vigilante hacker? Not in a thousand years would Baby have anticipated that.
With one square-toed boot, Psymon kicked out the window and threw the thrashing Baby out with his hand on the detonator. When he released it, the storm of sharp metal nails exploded all over the outside of the bus. They dented nearby cars on the highway and cracked a few windows. The drivers were pissed off as evidenced by their obnoxious honking, but otherwise unharmed.
“Driver, get this thing to a hospital. That guy still needs your help,” ordered Psymon, to which the driver complied. Everyone on the bus was in silent shock. The most fearful response in this entire vehicle was traumatic shaking. The real baby started to come around and was crying painfully yet again. The mother? She was snoring the ride away while other people were tending to the unconscious veteran’s wounds.
Going back to his usual introverted self, Psymon didn’t lose himself in an MP3 player this time, but to the computer chip he snagged from Baby’s body before throwing him out of the window. It was marked as property of the DX-Corporation, a fact which made Psymon smile to himself and say, “Oh, the fun I’m going to have with this thing when I get home. You bitches are dead.”
Sunday, August 9, 2015
Blood Brawl, Chapter 1
Orcs didn’t give two shits about what “lesser” races thought of their appearances. An orcish warrior could walk down the street covered in pig mud and horse piss and it would be completely normal to him. On this night, however, it wasn’t about odors or clothing; it was about hair. It was a rowdy and raucous night in the Dragon Wings Orc Bar. Every smelly disgusting orc raised their arms in the air and shouted like sports fans. The latter could have been because they were sports fan, particularly combat sports.
Two grimy wrestlers stood across from each other in the bar’s circle pit while others gathered around them and cheered in lovely orcish cacophony. The fighters never took their eyes off of each other as they stared across the circle pit. They had the one thing that made orcs stand out from the rest of the fantasy races: ruthless aggression. Their fangs were clamped down tightly. Their slimy green lips were quivering. Their bulging muscles were trembling. Their fists were harder than blocks of cement. The biggest blow to the loser wouldn’t come in the form of bruises or cuts. It would come in the form of having his head shaved completely bald.
Tazz Battler, the one with the black dreadlocks and brown fur wrestling trunks, got in his combative stance and looked ready to slam his opponent on the wooden floor with a deafening thud. Gargoth Trencher, the one with blond pigtails and gray sharkskin trunks, remained arrogant with his folded arms and wicked glare. Word around the campfire was that Gargoth wasn’t taking this Hair vs. Hair matchup seriously since he believed Tazz was beneath him. It was either a big mistake or a prophecy, an answer only having this wrestling match would tell.
With the thunderous ring of the brass bell, the fight was underway. Tazz let out a monstrous warcry and wasted no time in bull rushing his opponent. Gargoth, being the arrogant prick he was, allowed his adversary to engage him in a collar-elbow tie-up without much effort. The two of them pushed and shoved their away around the sea of orcish humanity just to see who would gain the first advantage. Even the biggest bruisers were being knocked over with ease by these two warriors.
Gargoth drew first blood when he grabbed Tazz by his dreadlocks and shoved him face first to the floor. To add insult to injury, the pigtailed orc placed his steel boot on his opponent’s head and held him there while posing and pandering to the wildly cheering crowd.
Tazz thrashed underneath the weight of his rival in an attempt not to suffocate on this dingy wooden floor. He then got the idea of grabbing Gargoth’s free ankle with both hands and yanking his body out from underneath, sending the blond oaf crashing to the ground.
Playtime had officially come to an end for these two grapplers. They scrambled together on the floor in an attempt to lock in a submission hold of some kind. Their slimy skin and deadly strength left them both at a stalemate since grabbing onto a limb was next to impossible.
Finally, Gargoth grabbed both of Tazz’s wrists and squeezed as hard as he could while whispering angrily, “Are you a wrestler…or a whore of the night?! If you’re going to fight me, do it without trying to get laid!”
It was advice well-taken. Tazz ripped his greasy, unwashed arms out of Gargoth’s grip, stood up, and jumped up before planting both heavy feet into his opponent’s stomach. The pigtailed warrior let out a throaty scream of agony while the orcish audience cheered their approval of this brutality, especially after blood was leaking from Gargoth’s bottom lip.
Tazz Battler wasn’t finished yet. He hooked his massive arms around his nemesis’ ankles and spun him around in a classic wrestling move known as The Giant Swing. Around and around the two of them went, Tazz not caring if he smacked a few orcish audience members along the way. This gargantuan display of power was ended when the dreadlocked warrior lifted Gargoth even higher in the air and slammed him repeatedly on his back until the pigtailed brute passed out from the pain. So many crunches, so much bleeding from the mouth, and the audience was there to cheer on the whole thing.
“Hand me the razor! He’s finished!” screamed Tazz while holding his hand out. Someone gave him a shaving razor that looked more like a rogue’s dagger and probably hurt like one when cutting hair. But as Tazz went to work on the pompous pigtails and everything in between, Gargoth was still out of it from being slammed on his back so many times.
By the time the once arrogant prick came to, his green scaly scalp had deep gashes and cuts, but no pigtails. He was completely bald while Tazz Battler held the remaining bloody hair in the sky with pride and orcish adrenaline. To confirm this was really happening, Gargoth placed a gentle hand on his own head to feel the wounds. He really was shaved bald. The Hair vs. Hair stipulation had been fulfilled.
Upon realizing his “lovely locks” were gone and upon listening to the orcish audience laugh at him and cheer for Tazz, Gargoth’s lips quivered in sadness while tears streamed down his cheeks, prompting even louder laughter from his peers. He was even treated to slurs like “fag”, “man-whore”, and “big baby” for good measure. The once proud orc was reduced to a blubbering child as tears poured from his eyes in a waterfall of sadness. He was traumatized for life.
The horse laughing and name calling would have gone on all night if it wasn’t for the fact that Gargoth’s tears had turned blood red. Orcs were accustomed to seeing blood on a daily basis, but this was weird enough to cast universal silence in the bar. The more Gargoth cried tears of blood, the angrier he became. His breath became hot enough to blow fire. His bald wounds were healing over with parasites. His muscle-bound body was forming cracks with burning orange light shining through them.
The once tough orcish crowd was now backing away from Gargoth Trencher as he stood up and started peeling his skin off. This wasn’t gentle peeling; this was ripping and shredding, which started to scare the once proud orcish audience. The huge chunks of ripped flesh were turning into maggots and leeches that stank worse than the entire bar clientele put together.
With a sea of orcs cowering and quivering in fear before him, Gargoth Trencher had peeled away his old self to reveal the form of a flaming skeletal death angel, complete with black metal wings and enough of an odor to knock a buzzard off of a shit wagon.
With a deeper, more demonic voice than before, Gargoth screamed, “Is this what you call entertainment?! Is this you’re idea of fun?! Then goddamn it, let’s have some mother…fucking…FUN!!” That last word was prolonged with extra fire in his voice, fire that scorched the skin of the orcs in the tavern.
Gargoth continued to breathe fire and tear the flesh off of the orcs around him. His violent rampage made the entire bar look like a bloodbath of fire and flesh. Some of the cowardly and bullying orcs were able to run for the exit, though most of them were thrashing and burning in never-ending pain. Death came slowly and torturously for Gargoth’s victims.
He could have won bonus points for mental torture as well. In the distant corner of the Dragon Wings Orc Bar was the barkeep, cowering, quivering, and making himself as small as humanly possible. He shivered and cried in his little space and wished death would come instantly. Get in line, barkeep. The only thing that gave him any peace whatsoever was the sudden extinguishing of the flames around him and the disappearance of Gargoth Trencher, death angel at large.
The bartender slowly stood up and surveyed the horrifying damage around him. His furniture had turned to ashes, though that was the least of his concerns. His patrons were mangled and twisted into funny shapes while drowning in a heap of blood and smoke. Judging from the sorrowful look on the bartender’s face as well as his unwillingness to stop shaking, this battlefield would haunt him for the rest of his life. All he wanted to do was sit in bed and cry, but no eiderdown was soft enough to sooth his mental wounds.
Two grimy wrestlers stood across from each other in the bar’s circle pit while others gathered around them and cheered in lovely orcish cacophony. The fighters never took their eyes off of each other as they stared across the circle pit. They had the one thing that made orcs stand out from the rest of the fantasy races: ruthless aggression. Their fangs were clamped down tightly. Their slimy green lips were quivering. Their bulging muscles were trembling. Their fists were harder than blocks of cement. The biggest blow to the loser wouldn’t come in the form of bruises or cuts. It would come in the form of having his head shaved completely bald.
Tazz Battler, the one with the black dreadlocks and brown fur wrestling trunks, got in his combative stance and looked ready to slam his opponent on the wooden floor with a deafening thud. Gargoth Trencher, the one with blond pigtails and gray sharkskin trunks, remained arrogant with his folded arms and wicked glare. Word around the campfire was that Gargoth wasn’t taking this Hair vs. Hair matchup seriously since he believed Tazz was beneath him. It was either a big mistake or a prophecy, an answer only having this wrestling match would tell.
With the thunderous ring of the brass bell, the fight was underway. Tazz let out a monstrous warcry and wasted no time in bull rushing his opponent. Gargoth, being the arrogant prick he was, allowed his adversary to engage him in a collar-elbow tie-up without much effort. The two of them pushed and shoved their away around the sea of orcish humanity just to see who would gain the first advantage. Even the biggest bruisers were being knocked over with ease by these two warriors.
Gargoth drew first blood when he grabbed Tazz by his dreadlocks and shoved him face first to the floor. To add insult to injury, the pigtailed orc placed his steel boot on his opponent’s head and held him there while posing and pandering to the wildly cheering crowd.
Tazz thrashed underneath the weight of his rival in an attempt not to suffocate on this dingy wooden floor. He then got the idea of grabbing Gargoth’s free ankle with both hands and yanking his body out from underneath, sending the blond oaf crashing to the ground.
Playtime had officially come to an end for these two grapplers. They scrambled together on the floor in an attempt to lock in a submission hold of some kind. Their slimy skin and deadly strength left them both at a stalemate since grabbing onto a limb was next to impossible.
Finally, Gargoth grabbed both of Tazz’s wrists and squeezed as hard as he could while whispering angrily, “Are you a wrestler…or a whore of the night?! If you’re going to fight me, do it without trying to get laid!”
It was advice well-taken. Tazz ripped his greasy, unwashed arms out of Gargoth’s grip, stood up, and jumped up before planting both heavy feet into his opponent’s stomach. The pigtailed warrior let out a throaty scream of agony while the orcish audience cheered their approval of this brutality, especially after blood was leaking from Gargoth’s bottom lip.
Tazz Battler wasn’t finished yet. He hooked his massive arms around his nemesis’ ankles and spun him around in a classic wrestling move known as The Giant Swing. Around and around the two of them went, Tazz not caring if he smacked a few orcish audience members along the way. This gargantuan display of power was ended when the dreadlocked warrior lifted Gargoth even higher in the air and slammed him repeatedly on his back until the pigtailed brute passed out from the pain. So many crunches, so much bleeding from the mouth, and the audience was there to cheer on the whole thing.
“Hand me the razor! He’s finished!” screamed Tazz while holding his hand out. Someone gave him a shaving razor that looked more like a rogue’s dagger and probably hurt like one when cutting hair. But as Tazz went to work on the pompous pigtails and everything in between, Gargoth was still out of it from being slammed on his back so many times.
By the time the once arrogant prick came to, his green scaly scalp had deep gashes and cuts, but no pigtails. He was completely bald while Tazz Battler held the remaining bloody hair in the sky with pride and orcish adrenaline. To confirm this was really happening, Gargoth placed a gentle hand on his own head to feel the wounds. He really was shaved bald. The Hair vs. Hair stipulation had been fulfilled.
Upon realizing his “lovely locks” were gone and upon listening to the orcish audience laugh at him and cheer for Tazz, Gargoth’s lips quivered in sadness while tears streamed down his cheeks, prompting even louder laughter from his peers. He was even treated to slurs like “fag”, “man-whore”, and “big baby” for good measure. The once proud orc was reduced to a blubbering child as tears poured from his eyes in a waterfall of sadness. He was traumatized for life.
The horse laughing and name calling would have gone on all night if it wasn’t for the fact that Gargoth’s tears had turned blood red. Orcs were accustomed to seeing blood on a daily basis, but this was weird enough to cast universal silence in the bar. The more Gargoth cried tears of blood, the angrier he became. His breath became hot enough to blow fire. His bald wounds were healing over with parasites. His muscle-bound body was forming cracks with burning orange light shining through them.
The once tough orcish crowd was now backing away from Gargoth Trencher as he stood up and started peeling his skin off. This wasn’t gentle peeling; this was ripping and shredding, which started to scare the once proud orcish audience. The huge chunks of ripped flesh were turning into maggots and leeches that stank worse than the entire bar clientele put together.
With a sea of orcs cowering and quivering in fear before him, Gargoth Trencher had peeled away his old self to reveal the form of a flaming skeletal death angel, complete with black metal wings and enough of an odor to knock a buzzard off of a shit wagon.
With a deeper, more demonic voice than before, Gargoth screamed, “Is this what you call entertainment?! Is this you’re idea of fun?! Then goddamn it, let’s have some mother…fucking…FUN!!” That last word was prolonged with extra fire in his voice, fire that scorched the skin of the orcs in the tavern.
Gargoth continued to breathe fire and tear the flesh off of the orcs around him. His violent rampage made the entire bar look like a bloodbath of fire and flesh. Some of the cowardly and bullying orcs were able to run for the exit, though most of them were thrashing and burning in never-ending pain. Death came slowly and torturously for Gargoth’s victims.
He could have won bonus points for mental torture as well. In the distant corner of the Dragon Wings Orc Bar was the barkeep, cowering, quivering, and making himself as small as humanly possible. He shivered and cried in his little space and wished death would come instantly. Get in line, barkeep. The only thing that gave him any peace whatsoever was the sudden extinguishing of the flames around him and the disappearance of Gargoth Trencher, death angel at large.
The bartender slowly stood up and surveyed the horrifying damage around him. His furniture had turned to ashes, though that was the least of his concerns. His patrons were mangled and twisted into funny shapes while drowning in a heap of blood and smoke. Judging from the sorrowful look on the bartender’s face as well as his unwillingness to stop shaking, this battlefield would haunt him for the rest of his life. All he wanted to do was sit in bed and cry, but no eiderdown was soft enough to sooth his mental wounds.
Saturday, August 8, 2015
WWE Battleground: The Prime Time Players vs. The New Day
MATCH: The Prime Time Players (Titus O’Neil & Darren Young) vs. The New Day (Kofi Kingston & Big E with Xavier Woods lurking outside) for the WWE Tag Team Championship
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Battleground
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
Ever since its inception in 2013, the Battleground pay-per-view has been cursed with negative reviews for one reason or another. For two years in a row, the Wrestling Observer Newsletter has given Battleground the award for Worst Major Show of 2013 and 2014. The event in 2014 received a lot of bad press because of two candidates for that year’s Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic that year: Lana’s offensive promo about the Malaysia Airways plane going down in The Ukraine and WWE false advertising Seth Rollins vs. Dean Ambrose.
While I haven’t seen the entirety of 2015’s Battleground pay-per-view due to the WWE Network’s incompetence with Roku devices, I knew this year had to have a stacked card from top to bottom in order to break their two year curse with the WON, which is a respectable publication, by the way. When it comes to Battleground’s Tag Team Championship match between The Prime Time Players and The New Day, it’s not a bad start on breaking that curse. The buildup to this match was particularly exciting for both teams since they’ve gone through serious gimmick and alignment changes over the past year.
In the case of The New Day, the three members Big E, Kofi Kingston, and Xavier Woods were mid-card baby-face talents who were just hanging around and not really going anywhere with their careers. And then in late 2014, the three of them adopted a new gimmick of being overly positive black gospel preachers who clapped, danced, and smiled their way into every match. This was intended to be a baby-face gimmick, but the WWE Universe thought they were too much of a racist joke to be taken seriously, so all three members of The New Day eventually turned heel by cheating in their matches and insulting the crowd during their preaching promos.
While The New Day preached positivity, both members of The Prime Time Players practiced it. In 2013, Darren Young was the recipient of the Most Inspirational Wrestler of the Year award from Pro-Wrestling Illustrated due to him publicly coming out as a gay man. The best part about that? The WWE didn’t make a stereotypical gimmick out of Young’s sexuality; they just let him be himself. Titus O’Neil is inspirational in a lot of ways too. In 2015, he won the Celebrity Mega Dad of the Year award and later on in that year received national attention for taking a group of homeless people out to dinner just out of the kindness of his heart. At the Money in the Bank pay-per-view prior to Battleground, O’Neil and Young actually won the Tag Team Championship from The New Day to start this feud. The championship win marks O’Neil and Young’s first major title reign in WWE since debuting on the main roster in 2010. Five years of hard work lead to all of this: hell yeah, gentlemen. Hell yeah.
And now for the actual match itself. In one corner, you’ve got The Prime Time Players in the form of the mega-muscle Titus O’Neil and the aggressive athlete Darren Young. In the other corner, you’ve got The New Day, which consists of high-flying Kofi Kingston, ultra-powerful Big E, and though he’s not an official participant of this match, Xavier Woods will make his presence known by screaming at the desk announcers and interfering on behalf of his team.
From beginning to end, this tag team match was marked with unrelenting aggression and hard-hitting stiff moves. We as the audience got to see things like Darren Young back suplexing Xavier Woods on the edge of the ring (which is the hardest part of the whole structure), Big E giving a belly-to-belly suplex on the outside of the damn ring, all five members of the match getting tossed into the barricade, and of course, where would a New Day match be without the constant corner stomping and tagging combinations from that team in order to restart the referee’s five count?
Darren Young found himself on the wrong end of a lot of these moves and wasn’t able to get to his tag team partner for the longest time. But when Titus O’Neil was tagged in, oh damn, you’d better get off the tracks when that train is coming through. Titus clotheslined, booted, and shoulder tackled his way through The New Day and even slung Kofi Kingston around like the Ghanaian superstar was a small child.
Like I said before, this match was above all else hard-hitting. There was not a single move in this match that didn’t hurt or was badly botched. Even something as simple as a shoulder tackle from Titus O’Neil or a big splash from Big E would feel like getting hit by a transcontinental bus. Hell, Kofi Kingston had been taking abuse in his midsection throughout the match and Darren Young didn’t make matters any better when he gave Kingston the Gut Check, which is a double knee rib breaker. It got worse for Kingston when Titus finished the match with a thunderous pump handle slam to retain the WWE Tag Team Championship.
While I don’t have any idea how the Battleground pay-per-view fared in the eyes of the critics (mostly because I couldn’t watch the damn thing on my Roku), I do know that this match in particular deserves high praise, both for the buildup and for the ultra-violent performance itself. In fact, I’d even dare say that this match would go a long way in breaking the two-year curse that Battleground pay-per-view events have with the Wrestling Observer Newsletter.
Now that the brutally aggressive Prime Time Players are champions and more than willing to defend against anybody, the tag team division is wide open and goddamn there are a lot of teams. You’ve got a pair of wasteland barbarians in The Ascension, high-flying luchadors in The Lucha Dragons, high-flying matadors with a silly gimmick in Los Matadores, and The New Day is still hanging around, so don’t forget about them. Who’s going to step up and face the super-powerful and widely inspirational Prime Time Players? It’s going to take a lot to knock these two badasses off of their thrones. Then again, iron sharpens iron. The more teams they have to fight, the better they’ll become. I’m not against bringing up NXT tag teams to deal with these two warriors. You hear that, Buddy Murphy and Wesley Blake? Bring your A game, boys!
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Battleground
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
Ever since its inception in 2013, the Battleground pay-per-view has been cursed with negative reviews for one reason or another. For two years in a row, the Wrestling Observer Newsletter has given Battleground the award for Worst Major Show of 2013 and 2014. The event in 2014 received a lot of bad press because of two candidates for that year’s Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic that year: Lana’s offensive promo about the Malaysia Airways plane going down in The Ukraine and WWE false advertising Seth Rollins vs. Dean Ambrose.
While I haven’t seen the entirety of 2015’s Battleground pay-per-view due to the WWE Network’s incompetence with Roku devices, I knew this year had to have a stacked card from top to bottom in order to break their two year curse with the WON, which is a respectable publication, by the way. When it comes to Battleground’s Tag Team Championship match between The Prime Time Players and The New Day, it’s not a bad start on breaking that curse. The buildup to this match was particularly exciting for both teams since they’ve gone through serious gimmick and alignment changes over the past year.
In the case of The New Day, the three members Big E, Kofi Kingston, and Xavier Woods were mid-card baby-face talents who were just hanging around and not really going anywhere with their careers. And then in late 2014, the three of them adopted a new gimmick of being overly positive black gospel preachers who clapped, danced, and smiled their way into every match. This was intended to be a baby-face gimmick, but the WWE Universe thought they were too much of a racist joke to be taken seriously, so all three members of The New Day eventually turned heel by cheating in their matches and insulting the crowd during their preaching promos.
While The New Day preached positivity, both members of The Prime Time Players practiced it. In 2013, Darren Young was the recipient of the Most Inspirational Wrestler of the Year award from Pro-Wrestling Illustrated due to him publicly coming out as a gay man. The best part about that? The WWE didn’t make a stereotypical gimmick out of Young’s sexuality; they just let him be himself. Titus O’Neil is inspirational in a lot of ways too. In 2015, he won the Celebrity Mega Dad of the Year award and later on in that year received national attention for taking a group of homeless people out to dinner just out of the kindness of his heart. At the Money in the Bank pay-per-view prior to Battleground, O’Neil and Young actually won the Tag Team Championship from The New Day to start this feud. The championship win marks O’Neil and Young’s first major title reign in WWE since debuting on the main roster in 2010. Five years of hard work lead to all of this: hell yeah, gentlemen. Hell yeah.
And now for the actual match itself. In one corner, you’ve got The Prime Time Players in the form of the mega-muscle Titus O’Neil and the aggressive athlete Darren Young. In the other corner, you’ve got The New Day, which consists of high-flying Kofi Kingston, ultra-powerful Big E, and though he’s not an official participant of this match, Xavier Woods will make his presence known by screaming at the desk announcers and interfering on behalf of his team.
From beginning to end, this tag team match was marked with unrelenting aggression and hard-hitting stiff moves. We as the audience got to see things like Darren Young back suplexing Xavier Woods on the edge of the ring (which is the hardest part of the whole structure), Big E giving a belly-to-belly suplex on the outside of the damn ring, all five members of the match getting tossed into the barricade, and of course, where would a New Day match be without the constant corner stomping and tagging combinations from that team in order to restart the referee’s five count?
Darren Young found himself on the wrong end of a lot of these moves and wasn’t able to get to his tag team partner for the longest time. But when Titus O’Neil was tagged in, oh damn, you’d better get off the tracks when that train is coming through. Titus clotheslined, booted, and shoulder tackled his way through The New Day and even slung Kofi Kingston around like the Ghanaian superstar was a small child.
Like I said before, this match was above all else hard-hitting. There was not a single move in this match that didn’t hurt or was badly botched. Even something as simple as a shoulder tackle from Titus O’Neil or a big splash from Big E would feel like getting hit by a transcontinental bus. Hell, Kofi Kingston had been taking abuse in his midsection throughout the match and Darren Young didn’t make matters any better when he gave Kingston the Gut Check, which is a double knee rib breaker. It got worse for Kingston when Titus finished the match with a thunderous pump handle slam to retain the WWE Tag Team Championship.
While I don’t have any idea how the Battleground pay-per-view fared in the eyes of the critics (mostly because I couldn’t watch the damn thing on my Roku), I do know that this match in particular deserves high praise, both for the buildup and for the ultra-violent performance itself. In fact, I’d even dare say that this match would go a long way in breaking the two-year curse that Battleground pay-per-view events have with the Wrestling Observer Newsletter.
Now that the brutally aggressive Prime Time Players are champions and more than willing to defend against anybody, the tag team division is wide open and goddamn there are a lot of teams. You’ve got a pair of wasteland barbarians in The Ascension, high-flying luchadors in The Lucha Dragons, high-flying matadors with a silly gimmick in Los Matadores, and The New Day is still hanging around, so don’t forget about them. Who’s going to step up and face the super-powerful and widely inspirational Prime Time Players? It’s going to take a lot to knock these two badasses off of their thrones. Then again, iron sharpens iron. The more teams they have to fight, the better they’ll become. I’m not against bringing up NXT tag teams to deal with these two warriors. You hear that, Buddy Murphy and Wesley Blake? Bring your A game, boys!
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Kill, Cut, Scalp
Buildings crumbled to rubble. Oceans flooded the streets. Volcanoes burned this once great Earth. Lightning flashed in the gray skies. And who did the people of Earth have to thank for all of this? Their new master, the necromancer Dark-Law. Those who agreed to Dark-Law’s leadership survived long enough to live as slaves. Those who didn’t were tortured with spikes and fire or decapitated with a skeletal minion’s energy saber. Dystopia was an overused word to describe situations such as this. Hellish nightmare would have been more appropriate. The worst part about this? Nobody was powerful enough to slay this sorcerer and restore peace to this destructive landscape.
The wicked magician spent most of his free time in his bone-constructed temple bathing in a pool of blood, which he would also use as a screen to monitor his minions’ handiwork. The blood was warm and bubbly, just like a Jacuzzi. The skull decorations and tribal masks lining the walls of his personal room were relaxing as well. The blue-fleshed, baldheaded, sharp-fanged wizard draped his arms across the edge of the pool, threw his head back, and let out a peaceful sigh.
“Excuse me,” said a tired and dull voice.
Dark-Law lifted his head and opened his weary eyes to see that a young gentleman with a plump stomach, sweat pants and a T-shirt, a bald head, and droopy jowls standing on the other side of the bloodbath. The poor guy looked so tired and uncharismatic that he could have fallen over and passed out at any minute. But he didn’t. For all of his lack of charm, this gentleman had some kind of reason for being here.
The blood pool showed visions of the skeletal guards outside the temple in perfect shape and standing stoically. They appeared to be doing their jobs, but they obviously weren’t considering this poor excuse for a hero just showed up in Dark-Law’s private chambers. The necromancer would deal with their insubordination later. Until then…
“What’s wrong, young lad? Are you lost? Did you stumble into the wrong room? Leave my chambers, post-haste! You’ve seen what I’ve done to this world, so killing off an everyday loser like you would be a cakewalk!” threatened Dark-Law.
With his jowls swinging freely from his chin and cheeks, the boring hero said, “I didn’t make a mistake. My name is John Bush and I’m here to take your scalp off with this pocket knife.” He indeed had a pocket knife in his hand and it looked about as long as his sausage-like pinky finger.
Such disturbing threats would normally be met with a lightning bolt or a bone spear from the deadly wizard. Instead, Dark-Law burst into monstrous, throaty laughter and pounded the edge of his blood pool with his fists. “Are you serious? Your name is John Bush and you’re here to kill me? And here I thought you came all this way to file my taxes!” He laughed some more.
Maintaining a stoic and dull aura, John Bush said, “I’m not kidding around, Mr. Dark-Law. Everything I tell you is the truth.”
“The truth?! You want to know what the truth is, laddie?! You’re a big pudgy idiot named John Bush and you’re carrying a pocket knife the size of a goddamn toothpick! No wonder my guards let you in so easily!” said Dark-Law as he continued to pound the edge of the pool and laugh like a hyena.
“Okay, Mr. Dark-Law. I warned you,” said John before kicking off his sandals and touching the blood pool with his toe.
“HEY!!” shrieked the deathly wizard, which caused the unlikely hero to jump back in fright. Dark-Law stood up in the pool and waded across it while maintaining an evil stare. “I’ve tolerated you up until this point, Mr. Bush. But nobody, and I mean nobody, bathes in my pool of blood except for me!”
Instead of tiptoeing his way in the pool, John Bush jumped in and created a huge splash with his hefty body. “What now, Mr. Dark-Law?”
The sorcerer growled and teleported over to John’s position. Face to face with stale breath invading his opponent’s nostrils, Dark-Law wrapped his claw-like hand around the top of John’s head and shoved him under in an attempt to drown him. The hot temperature and acidic taste of the blood weren’t enough to make Mr. Bush put up a huge struggle against his suffocation. He either really was a passionless hero or he was enjoying the bubbly feeling like he was in a hot tub.
As John’s oxygen bubbles got smaller and smaller, Dark-Law screamed at him, “I rule this world with death and destruction! This planet is my plaything! But you, John Bush! You are my one and only bitch!” It was at that moment when Dark-Law felt a jab of sharp pain in his leg and jumped backwards underneath the blood while John Bush stood back up coughing and gasping.
Dark-Law also stood back up and had a fresh scar running across his leg compliments of the “toothpick” in his opponent’s hands. For such a small weapon, it created quite the gash. But this wizard wasn’t going away that easily. His wound healed quickly and new skin formed over it. Despite the hopelessness ahead of him, John didn’t look the least bit disappointed.
“You see that, Mr. Bush! That’s what happens when you sell your soul to the devil himself! I traded a normal life for these godlike powers and now this world is brought to its knees! But you, Mr. Bush. You won’t have the luxury of living on your knees much longer. Instead you’re going to die like a whore on your back!” threatened Dark-Law as he gathered black energy in the palm of his hand.
John didn’t look too impressed with Dark-Law’s magical abilities, but probably would be once the shadow ball was tossed his way. One hard throw and this charade was over. After a cannonball-like shot from the sorcerer’s hands, the bullshit was indeed over, but in a different way.
John Bush swatted the energy ball away and revealed that his pocket knife hand had turned into a burning red skeletal hand. He had been playing mind games this whole time and Dark-Law was just now figuring it all out. The blue-skinned sorcerer backed up into his pool in sheer fright of what he was seeing, his body shaking and his head barely above the blood.
“The games are over, Dark-Law. And now it’s time to see who the real bitch is!” said John in a demonic scream unlike the medicated voice he was using this whole time. He began to tear his own flesh off until all that remained underneath was a fiery red skeleton with steel angel wings and a crown of spikes.
“No…no, this isn’t happening! Where the hell are my guards when I need them?!” screamed a fearful Dark-Law. The blood pool showed that the skeletal guards outside the temple were also part of the façade. Upon gazing at them a second time, their bones crumbled into ashes and dust.
“For god’s sake! If you worthless minions can’t handle this, then I will!” shouted Dark-Law as he leaped out of his pool and started throwing green energy balls left and right at the death angel known as John Bush.
Every ball found its target in John’s bony chest and he appeared to be bending backwards in pain. Dark-Law raised his arms and cheered in hope that he had won this battle. But victory wouldn’t come so easily for the deadly wizard. Instead the green energy projectiles caused John’s death angel body to grow larger and fierier. The red skeleton shouted a demonic cry before firing his own projectile straight through Dark-Law’s heart: a fire spear that drained his black blood into the already disgusting pool.
The evil ruler screamed his last scream of pain and thrashed his last bone-breaking thrashes. His now hollow corpse was tossed aside and John Bush’s death angel form had transformed back into his uncharismatic chubby body, still with the pocket knife in his hand.
John waddled over to Dark-Law’s corpse and sat his big ass down to start cutting away at the man’s scalp. “This will make for some awesome scientific research.” Indeed it will, John, because this dystopian nightmare shall never happen again. And to think, it was all because the almighty Dark-Law refused to take his most unlikely opponent seriously. For shame.
The wicked magician spent most of his free time in his bone-constructed temple bathing in a pool of blood, which he would also use as a screen to monitor his minions’ handiwork. The blood was warm and bubbly, just like a Jacuzzi. The skull decorations and tribal masks lining the walls of his personal room were relaxing as well. The blue-fleshed, baldheaded, sharp-fanged wizard draped his arms across the edge of the pool, threw his head back, and let out a peaceful sigh.
“Excuse me,” said a tired and dull voice.
Dark-Law lifted his head and opened his weary eyes to see that a young gentleman with a plump stomach, sweat pants and a T-shirt, a bald head, and droopy jowls standing on the other side of the bloodbath. The poor guy looked so tired and uncharismatic that he could have fallen over and passed out at any minute. But he didn’t. For all of his lack of charm, this gentleman had some kind of reason for being here.
The blood pool showed visions of the skeletal guards outside the temple in perfect shape and standing stoically. They appeared to be doing their jobs, but they obviously weren’t considering this poor excuse for a hero just showed up in Dark-Law’s private chambers. The necromancer would deal with their insubordination later. Until then…
“What’s wrong, young lad? Are you lost? Did you stumble into the wrong room? Leave my chambers, post-haste! You’ve seen what I’ve done to this world, so killing off an everyday loser like you would be a cakewalk!” threatened Dark-Law.
With his jowls swinging freely from his chin and cheeks, the boring hero said, “I didn’t make a mistake. My name is John Bush and I’m here to take your scalp off with this pocket knife.” He indeed had a pocket knife in his hand and it looked about as long as his sausage-like pinky finger.
Such disturbing threats would normally be met with a lightning bolt or a bone spear from the deadly wizard. Instead, Dark-Law burst into monstrous, throaty laughter and pounded the edge of his blood pool with his fists. “Are you serious? Your name is John Bush and you’re here to kill me? And here I thought you came all this way to file my taxes!” He laughed some more.
Maintaining a stoic and dull aura, John Bush said, “I’m not kidding around, Mr. Dark-Law. Everything I tell you is the truth.”
“The truth?! You want to know what the truth is, laddie?! You’re a big pudgy idiot named John Bush and you’re carrying a pocket knife the size of a goddamn toothpick! No wonder my guards let you in so easily!” said Dark-Law as he continued to pound the edge of the pool and laugh like a hyena.
“Okay, Mr. Dark-Law. I warned you,” said John before kicking off his sandals and touching the blood pool with his toe.
“HEY!!” shrieked the deathly wizard, which caused the unlikely hero to jump back in fright. Dark-Law stood up in the pool and waded across it while maintaining an evil stare. “I’ve tolerated you up until this point, Mr. Bush. But nobody, and I mean nobody, bathes in my pool of blood except for me!”
Instead of tiptoeing his way in the pool, John Bush jumped in and created a huge splash with his hefty body. “What now, Mr. Dark-Law?”
The sorcerer growled and teleported over to John’s position. Face to face with stale breath invading his opponent’s nostrils, Dark-Law wrapped his claw-like hand around the top of John’s head and shoved him under in an attempt to drown him. The hot temperature and acidic taste of the blood weren’t enough to make Mr. Bush put up a huge struggle against his suffocation. He either really was a passionless hero or he was enjoying the bubbly feeling like he was in a hot tub.
As John’s oxygen bubbles got smaller and smaller, Dark-Law screamed at him, “I rule this world with death and destruction! This planet is my plaything! But you, John Bush! You are my one and only bitch!” It was at that moment when Dark-Law felt a jab of sharp pain in his leg and jumped backwards underneath the blood while John Bush stood back up coughing and gasping.
Dark-Law also stood back up and had a fresh scar running across his leg compliments of the “toothpick” in his opponent’s hands. For such a small weapon, it created quite the gash. But this wizard wasn’t going away that easily. His wound healed quickly and new skin formed over it. Despite the hopelessness ahead of him, John didn’t look the least bit disappointed.
“You see that, Mr. Bush! That’s what happens when you sell your soul to the devil himself! I traded a normal life for these godlike powers and now this world is brought to its knees! But you, Mr. Bush. You won’t have the luxury of living on your knees much longer. Instead you’re going to die like a whore on your back!” threatened Dark-Law as he gathered black energy in the palm of his hand.
John didn’t look too impressed with Dark-Law’s magical abilities, but probably would be once the shadow ball was tossed his way. One hard throw and this charade was over. After a cannonball-like shot from the sorcerer’s hands, the bullshit was indeed over, but in a different way.
John Bush swatted the energy ball away and revealed that his pocket knife hand had turned into a burning red skeletal hand. He had been playing mind games this whole time and Dark-Law was just now figuring it all out. The blue-skinned sorcerer backed up into his pool in sheer fright of what he was seeing, his body shaking and his head barely above the blood.
“The games are over, Dark-Law. And now it’s time to see who the real bitch is!” said John in a demonic scream unlike the medicated voice he was using this whole time. He began to tear his own flesh off until all that remained underneath was a fiery red skeleton with steel angel wings and a crown of spikes.
“No…no, this isn’t happening! Where the hell are my guards when I need them?!” screamed a fearful Dark-Law. The blood pool showed that the skeletal guards outside the temple were also part of the façade. Upon gazing at them a second time, their bones crumbled into ashes and dust.
“For god’s sake! If you worthless minions can’t handle this, then I will!” shouted Dark-Law as he leaped out of his pool and started throwing green energy balls left and right at the death angel known as John Bush.
Every ball found its target in John’s bony chest and he appeared to be bending backwards in pain. Dark-Law raised his arms and cheered in hope that he had won this battle. But victory wouldn’t come so easily for the deadly wizard. Instead the green energy projectiles caused John’s death angel body to grow larger and fierier. The red skeleton shouted a demonic cry before firing his own projectile straight through Dark-Law’s heart: a fire spear that drained his black blood into the already disgusting pool.
The evil ruler screamed his last scream of pain and thrashed his last bone-breaking thrashes. His now hollow corpse was tossed aside and John Bush’s death angel form had transformed back into his uncharismatic chubby body, still with the pocket knife in his hand.
John waddled over to Dark-Law’s corpse and sat his big ass down to start cutting away at the man’s scalp. “This will make for some awesome scientific research.” Indeed it will, John, because this dystopian nightmare shall never happen again. And to think, it was all because the almighty Dark-Law refused to take his most unlikely opponent seriously. For shame.
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
Hush
***HUSH***
Over the past week, I’ve maintained a minimal presence on the internet. It’s almost as if a hush had fallen over my social media accounts, which is weird because I’m currently listening to a song called “Hush” by Hellyeah, but it’s not about the same thing. Because of this “hush” over the internet, I’ve only gotten two pieces of writing done (“Saggy-Maggie” and “WWE Tough Enough”) and my online presence has been limited to Face Book posts of heavy metal songs from You Tube. You guys have been very supportive of me and even told me that I don’t have to apologize every time there’s lack of activity. I believe you guys when you say it, so I won’t apologize. However, I do feel that at least some kind of explanation is necessary. In that case, there are three different things going on in my life that keep me from maintaining a full internet schedule: housework, sleep apnea, and lopsided creative work.
For anybody who doesn’t know, this past June, Susan and Reina have moved out of the house and aren’t on good terms with either of my parents. This move was going to happen sooner or later since Mom and Susan really never could get along. They were always arguing over the messiness of the house and Susan’s parenting abilities. When Susan and Reina finally moved out, they left in a huff and a lot of their possessions were left behind. Mom, Dale, James, and I spent the last week boxing up Susan and Reina’s possessions and remodeling the house. It was exhausting work for all of us. In fact, just today, after I got done shampooing the carpets, I passed out on my bed for five hours. No kidding. Mom and Dale wanted to get all of this work done before they flew out to North Carolina to inspect what will eventually become our new home. On a positive note, our house here in Port Orchard looks MUCH better than it did before, but at what price?
This past July, I visited my therapist Rachel Burgett’s office and one of our topics was my mental and physical energy. I told her about my newly formed caffeine habits and how I drink either four tall cans of Diet Coke or three large bottles of Diet Mountain Dew just so I can stay awake and alert. Caffeine is not conducive to being a schizophrenic since it has been known to trigger head voices. After saying that, Rachel suggested that I might have problems with sleep apnea due to my ongoing weight issues. The sleep apnea suggestion might be the closest thing to the truth I need to hear. In college, my roommates kept moving out of my dorm because I snored too loudly. One of my roommates even said I stopped breathing before the snoring started. Snoring is a problem in my present life and it shows, because even though I get 12 to 14 hours of sleep a night, I still feel exhausted throughout the day. As soon as Mom and Dale get back from their two week trip to Asheville, they’re going to schedule me for a visit to a sleep clinic to see what they can do about my sleep apnea. I might need a breathing mask, but I’m not sure.
I’m sure you all have noticed by now that I’ve stopped talking about “Star Island” by Carl Hiaasen as my current reading project. It’s not because I stopped enjoying it. On the contrary, it’s quick and witty just like any Carl Hiaasen book should be. I was recently asked a favor by my friend and fellow independent author Andy Peloquin to read “Blade of the Destroyer” and give it an honest review on Amazon and Good Reads. He says he needs the review by August 21st, but also keeps insisting there’s no rush and that if I miss the deadline it’s no big deal. In his words, “Any time before the end of the world would be nice.” I also need reviews of my books, Occupy Wrestling in particular, so I agree to this favor. I don’t mind doing this favor at all. In fact, I think very highly of Andy Peloquin’s writing skills. It’s just that for some reason, I became so obsessed with this reading project that I’ve completely ignored all of my other creative obligations. It’s been ages since I saw a new episode of NCIS: Los Angeles. And that first chapter of Hair vs. Hair (which will now be called Blood Brawl)? Not up yet. No movie reviews, no character profiles, no paperback versions of Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage and Occupy Wrestling, nothing. The problem here isn’t that I’m doing someone a favor. The problem is that I’m obsessing over it. I did the same thing when I was editing Occupy Wrestling with Marie Krepps.
Couple my obsessive work schedule with cleaning up after Susan and Reina and sleep apnea problems and it should all be clear by now what’s going on in my life. I still haven’t decided yet if I’m going to compete in this week’s WSS contest, I’m so tired. I need a few moments to figure everything out in my life. It’s suddenly not as easy as going to random.org anymore.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“You are not alone. I’m standing by your side. I walk with you through hell. I walk with you tonight. We are the forgotten that nobody wants to face. Together we can rise. Let’s climb out of hell. You are not forgotten. I’m standing by your side. Your struggle makes you beautiful. Out of hell we will climb.”
-In This Moment singing “Out of Hell”-
Over the past week, I’ve maintained a minimal presence on the internet. It’s almost as if a hush had fallen over my social media accounts, which is weird because I’m currently listening to a song called “Hush” by Hellyeah, but it’s not about the same thing. Because of this “hush” over the internet, I’ve only gotten two pieces of writing done (“Saggy-Maggie” and “WWE Tough Enough”) and my online presence has been limited to Face Book posts of heavy metal songs from You Tube. You guys have been very supportive of me and even told me that I don’t have to apologize every time there’s lack of activity. I believe you guys when you say it, so I won’t apologize. However, I do feel that at least some kind of explanation is necessary. In that case, there are three different things going on in my life that keep me from maintaining a full internet schedule: housework, sleep apnea, and lopsided creative work.
For anybody who doesn’t know, this past June, Susan and Reina have moved out of the house and aren’t on good terms with either of my parents. This move was going to happen sooner or later since Mom and Susan really never could get along. They were always arguing over the messiness of the house and Susan’s parenting abilities. When Susan and Reina finally moved out, they left in a huff and a lot of their possessions were left behind. Mom, Dale, James, and I spent the last week boxing up Susan and Reina’s possessions and remodeling the house. It was exhausting work for all of us. In fact, just today, after I got done shampooing the carpets, I passed out on my bed for five hours. No kidding. Mom and Dale wanted to get all of this work done before they flew out to North Carolina to inspect what will eventually become our new home. On a positive note, our house here in Port Orchard looks MUCH better than it did before, but at what price?
This past July, I visited my therapist Rachel Burgett’s office and one of our topics was my mental and physical energy. I told her about my newly formed caffeine habits and how I drink either four tall cans of Diet Coke or three large bottles of Diet Mountain Dew just so I can stay awake and alert. Caffeine is not conducive to being a schizophrenic since it has been known to trigger head voices. After saying that, Rachel suggested that I might have problems with sleep apnea due to my ongoing weight issues. The sleep apnea suggestion might be the closest thing to the truth I need to hear. In college, my roommates kept moving out of my dorm because I snored too loudly. One of my roommates even said I stopped breathing before the snoring started. Snoring is a problem in my present life and it shows, because even though I get 12 to 14 hours of sleep a night, I still feel exhausted throughout the day. As soon as Mom and Dale get back from their two week trip to Asheville, they’re going to schedule me for a visit to a sleep clinic to see what they can do about my sleep apnea. I might need a breathing mask, but I’m not sure.
I’m sure you all have noticed by now that I’ve stopped talking about “Star Island” by Carl Hiaasen as my current reading project. It’s not because I stopped enjoying it. On the contrary, it’s quick and witty just like any Carl Hiaasen book should be. I was recently asked a favor by my friend and fellow independent author Andy Peloquin to read “Blade of the Destroyer” and give it an honest review on Amazon and Good Reads. He says he needs the review by August 21st, but also keeps insisting there’s no rush and that if I miss the deadline it’s no big deal. In his words, “Any time before the end of the world would be nice.” I also need reviews of my books, Occupy Wrestling in particular, so I agree to this favor. I don’t mind doing this favor at all. In fact, I think very highly of Andy Peloquin’s writing skills. It’s just that for some reason, I became so obsessed with this reading project that I’ve completely ignored all of my other creative obligations. It’s been ages since I saw a new episode of NCIS: Los Angeles. And that first chapter of Hair vs. Hair (which will now be called Blood Brawl)? Not up yet. No movie reviews, no character profiles, no paperback versions of Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage and Occupy Wrestling, nothing. The problem here isn’t that I’m doing someone a favor. The problem is that I’m obsessing over it. I did the same thing when I was editing Occupy Wrestling with Marie Krepps.
Couple my obsessive work schedule with cleaning up after Susan and Reina and sleep apnea problems and it should all be clear by now what’s going on in my life. I still haven’t decided yet if I’m going to compete in this week’s WSS contest, I’m so tired. I need a few moments to figure everything out in my life. It’s suddenly not as easy as going to random.org anymore.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“You are not alone. I’m standing by your side. I walk with you through hell. I walk with you tonight. We are the forgotten that nobody wants to face. Together we can rise. Let’s climb out of hell. You are not forgotten. I’m standing by your side. Your struggle makes you beautiful. Out of hell we will climb.”
-In This Moment singing “Out of Hell”-
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