SOLD ME OUT:
CHORUS
You sold me out, you stripped me down
Put me on display for the whole damn town
You sold me out, you left me for dead
This rotten casket is what I call my bed
VERSE 1
You sold me up the river without a paddle
And now every day is like an uphill battle
A river of blood in the name of love
Mental numbness in the name of the dove
The heat was on, you got out of the kitchen
Saving your own ass was your only mission
I don’t see you as an infected wound
I see you as the broker for my own doom
CHORUS
You sold me out, you stripped me down
Put me on display for the whole damn town
You sold me out, you left me for dead
This rotten casket is what I call my bed
VERSE 2
You taunt me and tease me like it’s so damn easy
You knock me down like a wind so breezy
And yet I keep playing the role of forgiver
Hoping that one day you will soon deliver
It’s the same damn story each and every time
You give me my freedom like it’s actually mine
Then you take it away, keep my soul in chains
Doctors call you schizophrenia on the brain
EXTENDED CHORUS
You sold me out, you stripped me down
Put me on display for the whole damn town
You sold me out, you left me for dead
This rotten casket is what I call my bed
You sold me out for the lowest of prices
Left me high and dry to my own devices
You sold me out to a sadistic master
I keep on hoping my sentence goes faster
VERSE 3
I can never figure out how to take revenge
The pills and talks never take off the edge
You’re a part of me whether I like it or not
So come on, bitch, give me all you’ve got!
MICROCOSM:
VERSE 1
My own mind is telling me lies
Who to love, who to despise
I grow exhausted after so many tries
To crush them down to a smaller size
This microcosm has made me ill
The price to pay is a permanent bill
Choke down water with bitter pills
The cure has become worse than the ills
CHORUS
You’re not real
You never were
So why do I
Fucking hurt?!
VERSE 2
Invisible scars are infected with pus
Invisible monsters bathing in bloodlust
Invisible allies with the magic solution
Invisible voices still bring the pollution
CHORUS
You’re not real
You never were
So why do I
Fucking hurt?!
VERSE 3
Why do I feel so crippled and numb?
Why do I feel so distracted and dumb?
I can fool myself some of the time
The microcosm fools me all of the time
EXTENDED CHORUS
You’re not real
You never were
So why do I
Fucking hurt?!
You’re a ghost
Damned and dead
Why won’t you
Get out of my head?!
EXTREMIST:
VERSE 1
Flipping over cars because your favorite team lost
Burning down homes and looting all the shops
The dumb-ass news anchor in his cheap little suit
Says you’re just having fun as you cheer and root
CHORUS
Extremist! Extremist! Pumped full of adrenaline!
Extremist! Extremist! It’s your favorite medicine!
You poor excuse for a human fucking being!
A real sports fan is not what I’m fucking seeing!
VERSE 2
If it’s hockey, then shove that stick up your ass
If it’s wrestling, get your back slammed to the mat
If it’s football, spread your legs for a field kick
If it’s MMA, cut some weight and call in sick
CHORUS
Extremist! Extremist! Pumped full of adrenaline!
Extremist! Extremist! It’s your favorite medicine!
You poor excuse for a human fucking being!
A real sports fan is not what I’m fucking seeing!
VERSE 3
You act like a criminal when things go awry
You swing a lead pipe like you’re a samurai
You start a bon fire in order to inspire
Others to join in when it’s down to the wire
It’s only a game, people win and lose
The fans start a riot while stinking of booze
The concrete jungle has become a war zone
With the riot police ready to break some bones
EXTENDED CHORUS
Extremist! Extremist! Pumped full of adrenaline!
Extremist! Extremist! It’s your favorite medicine!
You poor excuse for a human fucking being!
A real sports fan is not what I’m fucking seeing!
Didn’t your mother teach you any respect?
Or did you throw her in the fire near the car wreck?
You’re a sociopath in the absolute worst way
All because your team sucks on their best day
Saturday, October 10, 2015
Friday, October 9, 2015
The Happy Slasher
Three months of murders and rapes had passed in the wild west town of Tombstone and Sheriff Lisa Roberts was no closer to solving these crimes. The public was beginning to lose faith in her. Hell, they didn’t have much faith in her to begin with seeing as how she was Tombstone’s first female sheriff. At this point, all she wanted to do was get a cold glass of frosty beer at the saloon and forget her failures ever happened. Getting the icy treat was no problem. In fact, it tasted delicious. Passing out afterwards was a little creepier to think about.
She had every right in the world to be creeped out, especially after waking up with a monster hangover and actually having the capacity to think. She didn’t, however, have the capacity to move or talk. Her wrists and ankles were bound by leather straps to what felt like a rickety wooden torture table. Her mouth was stuffed with a red rubber ball with a strap that was nailed to the table. She tried to squirm and muscle her way out of this insidious device, but she was stuck whether she liked it or not. All she could do was listen to her own heart beat in the back of her throat while icy sweat poured down from her long auburn hair.
The room she was in was illuminated only by wall torches. There were no windows to the outside and even if there were, Lisa Roberts wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Her permanent stay in this death dungeon that reeked of mice corpses and horse shit was further cemented when she heard a familiar raspy voice in the background. “I bet you’re wondering why I’ve got you down here, Lisa!”
She knew she heard the voice somewhere before, but it wasn’t until the madman stepped into the light did she realize who this disgusting prick was. He had puffy white hair, a dreadlocked beard, a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and a blood-covered lab coat with little more than a black thong underneath. He also carried a machete that looked sharp enough to cut through steel. Lisa had seen this man before and started panicking through the ball gag once she realized who he was: Cletus Jung aka The Happy Slasher.
Cletus twirled his machete around nonchalantly as he stared into Lisa’s fearful eyes and explained himself. “You’re a tough woman to get a hold of, Miss Roberts. You’re an even tougher woman to ask on a date. It didn’t have to be this way, Lisa. You could have said yes and all would have been right with the world. But instead, you chose the path of a snooty, stuck-up mega whore. You labeled me, Lisa. You labeled me a creep! You labeled me a psychopath! And when all I wanted was a goodbye hug, you threw a beer in my face!”
The madman’s heavy breathing made Lisa perspire and tremble even more. He said, “Well, my darling. My lovely, beautiful, sexy darling. You have every right in the world to say goodbye to me. In fact, it’s your last goodbye. After tonight, you’re not going to be known as the first female sheriff of Tombstone. You’re going to be known as victim number fifty. That’s a lot of bodies to leave behind. I’ve built quite the legacy for myself, haven’t I? I thought that would have been enough to impress you.”
Tears formed in both Lisa and Cletus’ eyes, but for much different reasons. The machete-swinger said, “And this is how you repay me? By turning me down and leaving me a depressed mess? Well, I’m tired of being single, my dear. I’m tired of feeling lonely. With you strapped to that table, I don’t have to be lonely anymore. And goddamn, do you look sexy strapped to that table. I love a girl with a ball in her mouth. Now…let’s get started!”
Cletus raised his bloody blade and slowly stalked Lisa as she rocked the table back and forth with all of her desperate strength. The closer her got, the harder she rocked. The serial killer shook his head at her and said, “Bitch, please, you’re not getting away that easily.” With that said, Mr. Jung raised his machete in the air and brought it down with a powerful force. This would have been the end of many months of sexual frustration for him.
But just as the blade came down, so did the table. The wooden table crashed over on its side and Cletus ended up slashing the leather restraint on Lisa’s left hand. Once she tasted that small bit of freedom, she wasted no time in punching Cletus right in his nut sack, doubling him over in extreme pain.
That bought the sheriff a little bit of time to use her free arm to undo her restraints and ball gag as quickly as she could. The adrenaline rush caused her to fumble with the straps as she tried to untie herself and she screamed through her gag in frustration. She was quickly losing precious time since Cletus was slowly standing back up and raising his blade for yet another slash. “You goddamn bitch!” screamed the murderer when he brought down his blade for what was sure to be the final time.
Lisa had undone her restraints and gag with only microseconds to spare and rolled over on her stomach to avoid the slash. She rolled on her back and went for another low blow, but this time Cletus was ready. He caught her cowgirl booted foot and brought it to his face for a deep sniff.
“You sick pervert!” yelled Lisa before she hauled her foot back and planted a big kick right across the bridge of Cletus’ nose. The killer stumbled backward against the wall clutching his bloodied nose and screaming like a hunted animal. While Lisa used the knocked over table to try and lift herself off the ground, Cletus saw another opportunity to bring down the fierce blade.
This time the torturous weapon found its mark. Lisa’s left hand was cut off at the wrist and the cowgirl rolled around on the ground clutching her wound and crying in agony. She held the front of her shirt against the stump to try and suppress the bleeding. Cletus was bleeding too, but it was the result of a fractured nose and he didn’t care.
Instead the creepy machete warrior picked Lisa’s detached hand off the ground and fondled the fingers lovingly. “Yes…yes, this is indeed a beautiful hand, my dear. Now I won’t have to use my own anymore. You gave me a piece of your body.” Happy tears formed in Cletus’ eyes when he said, “And for that I thank you so much! You’re such an angel! At least you’re going to be by the time I’m finished with you!”
The agonized Lisa Roberts was on one knee still trying to stop the bleeding when her attacker raised his weapon and charged at her full force. The lawwoman only had seconds to react, so she decided to be just as disgusting as her opponent when she unwrapped her shirt from her stump and sprayed a stream of blood in Cletus’ eyes, blinding him and causing him to swing wildly at thin air.
“You bitch! You crazy bitch!” screamed Cletus as he was swinging and missing. “Who does that to another human being?!”
Lisa got to her feet with her stump rewrapped and answered that question with, “The same person who cuts off a woman’s hand just because she broke his damn heart. I don’t give two shits about your broken heart, Cletus. I care a lot more about your broken head!”
In the midst of Cletus’ blind slashing, he had his back turned to Lisa for only a few short moments. That was all she needed to make her move, she ran up to him and threw a flying kick to the back of his head, causing him to wobble forward and drop his weapon. He was so dizzy that he dropped to the ground on one knee reaching around for anything to support him. In case he was thinking of getting his weapon back, Lisa kicked it away from him.
She unforgiving sheriff then stepped on his spine and held him there while allowing him to bellow in agony and scream as many curse words as he could think of before the inevitable happened. While one boot was on Cletus’ back, the other boot came down multiple times on the back of his head, effectively curb stomping him out of existence. His brains and broken skull decorated the already pungent floor of the murder dungeon. Then again, so did Lisa’s stump, which was still bleeding heavily and soaking her shirt.
Escaping the dungeon and finding a doctor in time was a cakewalk compared to the battle she had with Cletus Jung. Not only did the doctor stop the bleeding, but he also attached a hook to her left arm so that she wouldn’t be completely disabled. After the injury, Lisa Roberts began to question the validity of returning to work with most of the town despising her anyways.
But after hearing about Cletus Jung’s violent death, the town didn’t feel too hostile toward her anymore. In fact, they could have voted for Lisa over and over again if they wanted to. But was she really ready to return to work with a hook on her hand and a gun in the other? Decisions, decisions.
She had every right in the world to be creeped out, especially after waking up with a monster hangover and actually having the capacity to think. She didn’t, however, have the capacity to move or talk. Her wrists and ankles were bound by leather straps to what felt like a rickety wooden torture table. Her mouth was stuffed with a red rubber ball with a strap that was nailed to the table. She tried to squirm and muscle her way out of this insidious device, but she was stuck whether she liked it or not. All she could do was listen to her own heart beat in the back of her throat while icy sweat poured down from her long auburn hair.
The room she was in was illuminated only by wall torches. There were no windows to the outside and even if there were, Lisa Roberts wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Her permanent stay in this death dungeon that reeked of mice corpses and horse shit was further cemented when she heard a familiar raspy voice in the background. “I bet you’re wondering why I’ve got you down here, Lisa!”
She knew she heard the voice somewhere before, but it wasn’t until the madman stepped into the light did she realize who this disgusting prick was. He had puffy white hair, a dreadlocked beard, a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and a blood-covered lab coat with little more than a black thong underneath. He also carried a machete that looked sharp enough to cut through steel. Lisa had seen this man before and started panicking through the ball gag once she realized who he was: Cletus Jung aka The Happy Slasher.
Cletus twirled his machete around nonchalantly as he stared into Lisa’s fearful eyes and explained himself. “You’re a tough woman to get a hold of, Miss Roberts. You’re an even tougher woman to ask on a date. It didn’t have to be this way, Lisa. You could have said yes and all would have been right with the world. But instead, you chose the path of a snooty, stuck-up mega whore. You labeled me, Lisa. You labeled me a creep! You labeled me a psychopath! And when all I wanted was a goodbye hug, you threw a beer in my face!”
The madman’s heavy breathing made Lisa perspire and tremble even more. He said, “Well, my darling. My lovely, beautiful, sexy darling. You have every right in the world to say goodbye to me. In fact, it’s your last goodbye. After tonight, you’re not going to be known as the first female sheriff of Tombstone. You’re going to be known as victim number fifty. That’s a lot of bodies to leave behind. I’ve built quite the legacy for myself, haven’t I? I thought that would have been enough to impress you.”
Tears formed in both Lisa and Cletus’ eyes, but for much different reasons. The machete-swinger said, “And this is how you repay me? By turning me down and leaving me a depressed mess? Well, I’m tired of being single, my dear. I’m tired of feeling lonely. With you strapped to that table, I don’t have to be lonely anymore. And goddamn, do you look sexy strapped to that table. I love a girl with a ball in her mouth. Now…let’s get started!”
Cletus raised his bloody blade and slowly stalked Lisa as she rocked the table back and forth with all of her desperate strength. The closer her got, the harder she rocked. The serial killer shook his head at her and said, “Bitch, please, you’re not getting away that easily.” With that said, Mr. Jung raised his machete in the air and brought it down with a powerful force. This would have been the end of many months of sexual frustration for him.
But just as the blade came down, so did the table. The wooden table crashed over on its side and Cletus ended up slashing the leather restraint on Lisa’s left hand. Once she tasted that small bit of freedom, she wasted no time in punching Cletus right in his nut sack, doubling him over in extreme pain.
That bought the sheriff a little bit of time to use her free arm to undo her restraints and ball gag as quickly as she could. The adrenaline rush caused her to fumble with the straps as she tried to untie herself and she screamed through her gag in frustration. She was quickly losing precious time since Cletus was slowly standing back up and raising his blade for yet another slash. “You goddamn bitch!” screamed the murderer when he brought down his blade for what was sure to be the final time.
Lisa had undone her restraints and gag with only microseconds to spare and rolled over on her stomach to avoid the slash. She rolled on her back and went for another low blow, but this time Cletus was ready. He caught her cowgirl booted foot and brought it to his face for a deep sniff.
“You sick pervert!” yelled Lisa before she hauled her foot back and planted a big kick right across the bridge of Cletus’ nose. The killer stumbled backward against the wall clutching his bloodied nose and screaming like a hunted animal. While Lisa used the knocked over table to try and lift herself off the ground, Cletus saw another opportunity to bring down the fierce blade.
This time the torturous weapon found its mark. Lisa’s left hand was cut off at the wrist and the cowgirl rolled around on the ground clutching her wound and crying in agony. She held the front of her shirt against the stump to try and suppress the bleeding. Cletus was bleeding too, but it was the result of a fractured nose and he didn’t care.
Instead the creepy machete warrior picked Lisa’s detached hand off the ground and fondled the fingers lovingly. “Yes…yes, this is indeed a beautiful hand, my dear. Now I won’t have to use my own anymore. You gave me a piece of your body.” Happy tears formed in Cletus’ eyes when he said, “And for that I thank you so much! You’re such an angel! At least you’re going to be by the time I’m finished with you!”
The agonized Lisa Roberts was on one knee still trying to stop the bleeding when her attacker raised his weapon and charged at her full force. The lawwoman only had seconds to react, so she decided to be just as disgusting as her opponent when she unwrapped her shirt from her stump and sprayed a stream of blood in Cletus’ eyes, blinding him and causing him to swing wildly at thin air.
“You bitch! You crazy bitch!” screamed Cletus as he was swinging and missing. “Who does that to another human being?!”
Lisa got to her feet with her stump rewrapped and answered that question with, “The same person who cuts off a woman’s hand just because she broke his damn heart. I don’t give two shits about your broken heart, Cletus. I care a lot more about your broken head!”
In the midst of Cletus’ blind slashing, he had his back turned to Lisa for only a few short moments. That was all she needed to make her move, she ran up to him and threw a flying kick to the back of his head, causing him to wobble forward and drop his weapon. He was so dizzy that he dropped to the ground on one knee reaching around for anything to support him. In case he was thinking of getting his weapon back, Lisa kicked it away from him.
She unforgiving sheriff then stepped on his spine and held him there while allowing him to bellow in agony and scream as many curse words as he could think of before the inevitable happened. While one boot was on Cletus’ back, the other boot came down multiple times on the back of his head, effectively curb stomping him out of existence. His brains and broken skull decorated the already pungent floor of the murder dungeon. Then again, so did Lisa’s stump, which was still bleeding heavily and soaking her shirt.
Escaping the dungeon and finding a doctor in time was a cakewalk compared to the battle she had with Cletus Jung. Not only did the doctor stop the bleeding, but he also attached a hook to her left arm so that she wouldn’t be completely disabled. After the injury, Lisa Roberts began to question the validity of returning to work with most of the town despising her anyways.
But after hearing about Cletus Jung’s violent death, the town didn’t feel too hostile toward her anymore. In fact, they could have voted for Lisa over and over again if they wanted to. But was she really ready to return to work with a hook on her hand and a gun in the other? Decisions, decisions.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Zombies
***ZOMBIES***
When it comes to the horror genre, the new generation is obsessed with three creatures in particular: vampires, werewolves, and zombies. The latter of those three is what this journal is about. We seem to have an unhealthy obsession with zombies these days whether it’s the zombie apocalypse, zombie strippers, or zombie lovers. What we don’t talk about, though, are the zombies who live in the real world. These zombies don’t hunger for brains. They don’t eat flesh. They’re not even necessarily dead. The only death they experience is on the inside. They’re mentally exhausted, emotionally heartbroken, and spiritually lifeless. They come in many forms whether it’s the working stiff, the mentally ill, the insomniac, or just someone who’s been dealt a shitty hand by life itself.
These are the zombies I want to talk about. Unfortunately, very few people want to talk about them with me. The zombies I empathize with are written off as “weak” and “lazy”. Those two slurs are used by the more fortune ones in our lives who don’t experience the same struggles the zombies do. There are two slurs for people like that as well: “spoiled” and “ignorant”. Do these people actually think the life of someone living in a constant haze is glorious? We all aspire to work hard and improve our situations. But if we can’t wake up from our hazy states, sometimes we have to take a step back and reevaluate things.
If you can’t get anything accomplished due to your constant state of numbness, know that you’re not alone and you’re certainly not “weak”. Your struggles don’t make you “lazy”. In the words of Maria Brink when she sings the In This Moment song “Out of Hell”, “Your struggles make you beautiful.” When you experience failures in your life that lead to emotional numbness, overcoming them is a sweet victory. But sometimes in your battles with the world, you have to lose a few. Nobody likes to lose, especially to an opponent as invisible as a mental wound.
The word “zombie” can also be a slur in and of itself, but know that when I use it, I don’t intend for it to be. In fact, giving a dark fantasy name to a modern world struggle is a good way to ignite anybody’s imagination. The thing about zombies in dark fantasy media is that it takes a lot to kill them. No matter how badly they’re beaten, they keep getting up and feasting on their opponents even more. If you’re experiencing a loss in your battles with your mind and body, know that it’s only temporary. You will have your victory in due time and when you do, it’ll be one well-earned. How’s that for being “weak”, Mr. Ignoramus?
We may be drowning in our own sorrows, but drown as we may, we know what fresh oxygen feels and tastes like. Our little victories aren’t little at all. To say otherwise would earn you the “ignorant” and “spoiled” slurs I spoke of earlier. If you’re an author who’s trying to wake up long enough to write a story, don’t beat yourself up for your story being imperfect. If you’re a mother dragging yourself along to get everything done in addition to tending to your children, then be proud of yourself no matter what the outcome. If you’re working nine to five in a call center and you fucking hate your job, don’t allow the negativity of customers to put you in a deeper slumber.
Waking up from the zombie-like state is a great victory no matter who you are. But when we wake up, it won’t be because of negative attitudes. It’ll be because we engaged this mental monster with our hearts and souls. We’ve got ears, say cheers! If for some reason you think I sound like Kevin McCarthy right now, know that I’m one of the zombies I talked about this whole time.
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s a new week of contests and the prompt is “The Last Goodbye”, which was something I personally harvested from my new Disturbed CD called “Immortalized”. Most of my prompt ideas come from CD’s I’ve purchased recently and being the music hunter I am, that’s a lot of goddamn prompts. I’m happy that Ryan Stone used one of mine this week. He’s an awesome guy! This week’s story will be something I originally intended to do independently, but since it fits the prompt, I’ll write it for the contest. It’s called “The Happy Slasher” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Lisa Roberts, Sheriff
Cletus Jung, Serial Killer
PROMPT CONFORMITY: After this story is over, only one of these two characters will be saying their last goodbyes while the other perishes.
SYNOPSIS: In the wild west, Lisa has been investigating a string of murders in her desert town of Tombstone. She’s ready to call it a night and heads toward the saloon for a frosty beer. After a few chugs, she passes out on the ground and wakes up bound and gagged in Cletus’ dungeon. Cletus reveals himself to be “The Happy Slasher” and the reason for his string of murders is all because he asked Lisa on a date and she “rudely” turned him down. This loser in love now plans to butcher Lisa with an overly sharpened machete.
***POISON TONGUE TALES***
The most recent story from this series I edited was “The Beautiful People”. I thought it was going to be a miserable experience and it turned out to be yet another cakewalk. The next one I plan on doing is “Conform”, which is about two necromancers who try to control a single zombie (we’ve come full circle with the zombie theme). It’ll have a new title, but the story will be the same albeit improved.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
For a novel that barely had the chance to take off, I’m sure taking a liking to drawing pictures of Blood Brawl characters. The next one I plan on doing is of Balrog Deathtrap, a Halfling monk who serves as the main villain of the demon town Aragon. Yes, his race says he’s a Halfling, but his hideous features will dictate otherwise. Hehe!
***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
RICH BRENNAN: Do you think Renee Young was giving you a hard time about not being a real Canadian?
KEVIN OWENS: I don’t know, Rich, does anybody give you a hard time about looking like Millhouse from The Simpsons?
When it comes to the horror genre, the new generation is obsessed with three creatures in particular: vampires, werewolves, and zombies. The latter of those three is what this journal is about. We seem to have an unhealthy obsession with zombies these days whether it’s the zombie apocalypse, zombie strippers, or zombie lovers. What we don’t talk about, though, are the zombies who live in the real world. These zombies don’t hunger for brains. They don’t eat flesh. They’re not even necessarily dead. The only death they experience is on the inside. They’re mentally exhausted, emotionally heartbroken, and spiritually lifeless. They come in many forms whether it’s the working stiff, the mentally ill, the insomniac, or just someone who’s been dealt a shitty hand by life itself.
These are the zombies I want to talk about. Unfortunately, very few people want to talk about them with me. The zombies I empathize with are written off as “weak” and “lazy”. Those two slurs are used by the more fortune ones in our lives who don’t experience the same struggles the zombies do. There are two slurs for people like that as well: “spoiled” and “ignorant”. Do these people actually think the life of someone living in a constant haze is glorious? We all aspire to work hard and improve our situations. But if we can’t wake up from our hazy states, sometimes we have to take a step back and reevaluate things.
If you can’t get anything accomplished due to your constant state of numbness, know that you’re not alone and you’re certainly not “weak”. Your struggles don’t make you “lazy”. In the words of Maria Brink when she sings the In This Moment song “Out of Hell”, “Your struggles make you beautiful.” When you experience failures in your life that lead to emotional numbness, overcoming them is a sweet victory. But sometimes in your battles with the world, you have to lose a few. Nobody likes to lose, especially to an opponent as invisible as a mental wound.
The word “zombie” can also be a slur in and of itself, but know that when I use it, I don’t intend for it to be. In fact, giving a dark fantasy name to a modern world struggle is a good way to ignite anybody’s imagination. The thing about zombies in dark fantasy media is that it takes a lot to kill them. No matter how badly they’re beaten, they keep getting up and feasting on their opponents even more. If you’re experiencing a loss in your battles with your mind and body, know that it’s only temporary. You will have your victory in due time and when you do, it’ll be one well-earned. How’s that for being “weak”, Mr. Ignoramus?
We may be drowning in our own sorrows, but drown as we may, we know what fresh oxygen feels and tastes like. Our little victories aren’t little at all. To say otherwise would earn you the “ignorant” and “spoiled” slurs I spoke of earlier. If you’re an author who’s trying to wake up long enough to write a story, don’t beat yourself up for your story being imperfect. If you’re a mother dragging yourself along to get everything done in addition to tending to your children, then be proud of yourself no matter what the outcome. If you’re working nine to five in a call center and you fucking hate your job, don’t allow the negativity of customers to put you in a deeper slumber.
Waking up from the zombie-like state is a great victory no matter who you are. But when we wake up, it won’t be because of negative attitudes. It’ll be because we engaged this mental monster with our hearts and souls. We’ve got ears, say cheers! If for some reason you think I sound like Kevin McCarthy right now, know that I’m one of the zombies I talked about this whole time.
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s a new week of contests and the prompt is “The Last Goodbye”, which was something I personally harvested from my new Disturbed CD called “Immortalized”. Most of my prompt ideas come from CD’s I’ve purchased recently and being the music hunter I am, that’s a lot of goddamn prompts. I’m happy that Ryan Stone used one of mine this week. He’s an awesome guy! This week’s story will be something I originally intended to do independently, but since it fits the prompt, I’ll write it for the contest. It’s called “The Happy Slasher” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Lisa Roberts, Sheriff
Cletus Jung, Serial Killer
PROMPT CONFORMITY: After this story is over, only one of these two characters will be saying their last goodbyes while the other perishes.
SYNOPSIS: In the wild west, Lisa has been investigating a string of murders in her desert town of Tombstone. She’s ready to call it a night and heads toward the saloon for a frosty beer. After a few chugs, she passes out on the ground and wakes up bound and gagged in Cletus’ dungeon. Cletus reveals himself to be “The Happy Slasher” and the reason for his string of murders is all because he asked Lisa on a date and she “rudely” turned him down. This loser in love now plans to butcher Lisa with an overly sharpened machete.
***POISON TONGUE TALES***
The most recent story from this series I edited was “The Beautiful People”. I thought it was going to be a miserable experience and it turned out to be yet another cakewalk. The next one I plan on doing is “Conform”, which is about two necromancers who try to control a single zombie (we’ve come full circle with the zombie theme). It’ll have a new title, but the story will be the same albeit improved.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
For a novel that barely had the chance to take off, I’m sure taking a liking to drawing pictures of Blood Brawl characters. The next one I plan on doing is of Balrog Deathtrap, a Halfling monk who serves as the main villain of the demon town Aragon. Yes, his race says he’s a Halfling, but his hideous features will dictate otherwise. Hehe!
***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
RICH BRENNAN: Do you think Renee Young was giving you a hard time about not being a real Canadian?
KEVIN OWENS: I don’t know, Rich, does anybody give you a hard time about looking like Millhouse from The Simpsons?
Saturday, October 3, 2015
WWE Live From Madison Square Garden: Brock Lesnar vs. The Big Show
MATCH: Brock Lesnar vs. The Big Show
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Live From Madison Square Garden
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
On one side of the ring, you have a seven foot tall, 450 lb. giant with multiple championships and an Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royal trophy on his resume. On the other side of the ring, you have a 6’7”, 285 lb. fighting machine with championships from the NCAA, WWE, and even the UFC to his credit. These two super heavyweights aren’t just big and burly. They’re legitimate athletes. They can steamroll any opponent put in front of them. They can put multiple people in the hospital at once. They’re fighters by nature. And even though they’re both past their primes, they keep getting bigger, stronger, meaner, nastier, and better. Only on the WWE Network will these two weapons of mass destruction be allowed to compete. What better place to hold the deadly fight than at Madison Square Garden, the world’s most famous arena and a staple of New York City?
Believe it or not, these two behemoths have survived each other’s onslaughts before. Their first recorded WWE match was in 2002 at the Survivor Series for Lesnar’s WWE Championship. 2002 was Lesnar’s rookie year and already he was dominating this turnbuckle jungle. He won the King of the Ring Tournament. He defeated The Rock to become the WWE Champion at age 25, the youngest at the time. He held multiple victories over The Undertaker. Nobody could stop this wrecking machine from hell…except for The Big Show, who with a steel chair and a little help from a treacherous Paul Heyman, pinned Brock Lesnar and won the WWE Championship.
As badly as these two men beat each other over that year, it wouldn’t compare to an episode of Smackdown in 2003, when Brock Lesnar once again had to defend his WWE Championship against The Big Show. Ass beatings were definitely in order, but the climax of the match didn’t come until Big Show was on the top rope and Lesnar had the idea of super-plexing this mega giant. Not only did Brock Lesnar have the Greek god-like strength to heave the 500 lb. man up, but when the two superstars crashed to the mat, the entire ring fell to pieces. The match was declared a draw, but that moment remained one of Smackdown’s most memorable.
Fast forward to the year 2014 when both The Big Show and Brock Lesnar had developed as brutally powerful athletes. They would meet again at that year’s Royal Rumble pay-per-view. The even itself was greeted with negativity due to Daniel Bryan’s absence from the actual Royal Rumble match, but if the fans ever needed a reason to cheer up, they got it when Brock Lesnar and Big Show’s match never got started. The reason for that being Lesnar’s vicious steel chair assault to Big Show, leaving bruises, blood, and slashes all over the giant’s body.
And now we fast forward to the year 2015 at WWE’s live event in Madison Square Garden. No more bullshit. No more draws, No more cheap shots. No more betrayal. Just straight up violence and nothing more. Though the match itself was relatively shorter than the rest of the matches on the card, it was no less brutal or deadly. It was a match that started with Lesnar attempting a double-leg takedown on Big Show and getting thrown over the top rope by Show instead.
The first few minutes of the match consisted of Lesnar trying to heave and toss around this 500 lb. warrior to no success whatsoever. Big Show decided to end it early with not one, not two, but three choke slams and a leg-hook pin. Even after falling seven feet three times, Lesnar got his shoulder up at two and the match resumed. Big Show was pissed. He was so pissed that he wanted to end it early again, this time with a knockout punch once Lesnar got to his feet.
Big Show didn’t get a KO victory, no, no, no. He got a one-way all expenses paid trip to Suplex City and Madison Square Garden was the capitol building. Brock Lesnar went behind the massive athlete, wrapped his arms around Big Show’s waist, and gave him not one, not two, not even three, but four German suplexes. Having enough strength to throw a 500 lb. man around like that says something about how much of a slayer Lesnar really is. And then this display of brutal strength was capped off with an F5 from Lesnar to Big Show, followed by a leg-hook pin for a full three count.
You think this is over? Aren’t you forgetting the bonus material? That’s right. Big Show actually got back up to his feet and flipped of his opponent. Granted, this titan was on spaghetti legs and couldn’t clear the cobwebs out of his thick skull, but he was clearly itching for another fight. Lesnar was more than happy to oblige. He got back in the ring and delivered an overhead belly-to-belly suplex to the massive ogre before picking his battered ass back up and giving another F5 for good measure. Needless to say, Brock was fully satisfied and walked away from the arena a happy man.
Big Show, on the other hand, walked to the backstage area holding his ribs and trying to maintain his equilibrium. When ringside announcer Eden Stiles said into her microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it one more time for The Big Show!”, all the seven-footer heard was a chorus of boos.
Despite the short length of this match, the multiple displays of sheer power by Brock Lesnar were awesome to watch. Having The Big Show do a job for him was the right move by WWE. And not only was it an important victory for Brock, it was a convincing one. Big Show suffered losses over his career to men much smaller than him.
But this match didn’t feel excessively scripted. This match actually felt like two big men trying to outmuscle each other. Lesnar isn’t used to being the underdog in his matches, so him being victorious in definitive fashion is a huge momentum builder for what awaits him next: a Hell in a Cell match with The Undertaker. After tossing around a man twice his size like he was medicine ball, Brock Lesnar doesn’t look like an underdog anymore, especially not against The Undertaker in a match the latter made famous.
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Live From Madison Square Garden
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
On one side of the ring, you have a seven foot tall, 450 lb. giant with multiple championships and an Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royal trophy on his resume. On the other side of the ring, you have a 6’7”, 285 lb. fighting machine with championships from the NCAA, WWE, and even the UFC to his credit. These two super heavyweights aren’t just big and burly. They’re legitimate athletes. They can steamroll any opponent put in front of them. They can put multiple people in the hospital at once. They’re fighters by nature. And even though they’re both past their primes, they keep getting bigger, stronger, meaner, nastier, and better. Only on the WWE Network will these two weapons of mass destruction be allowed to compete. What better place to hold the deadly fight than at Madison Square Garden, the world’s most famous arena and a staple of New York City?
Believe it or not, these two behemoths have survived each other’s onslaughts before. Their first recorded WWE match was in 2002 at the Survivor Series for Lesnar’s WWE Championship. 2002 was Lesnar’s rookie year and already he was dominating this turnbuckle jungle. He won the King of the Ring Tournament. He defeated The Rock to become the WWE Champion at age 25, the youngest at the time. He held multiple victories over The Undertaker. Nobody could stop this wrecking machine from hell…except for The Big Show, who with a steel chair and a little help from a treacherous Paul Heyman, pinned Brock Lesnar and won the WWE Championship.
As badly as these two men beat each other over that year, it wouldn’t compare to an episode of Smackdown in 2003, when Brock Lesnar once again had to defend his WWE Championship against The Big Show. Ass beatings were definitely in order, but the climax of the match didn’t come until Big Show was on the top rope and Lesnar had the idea of super-plexing this mega giant. Not only did Brock Lesnar have the Greek god-like strength to heave the 500 lb. man up, but when the two superstars crashed to the mat, the entire ring fell to pieces. The match was declared a draw, but that moment remained one of Smackdown’s most memorable.
Fast forward to the year 2014 when both The Big Show and Brock Lesnar had developed as brutally powerful athletes. They would meet again at that year’s Royal Rumble pay-per-view. The even itself was greeted with negativity due to Daniel Bryan’s absence from the actual Royal Rumble match, but if the fans ever needed a reason to cheer up, they got it when Brock Lesnar and Big Show’s match never got started. The reason for that being Lesnar’s vicious steel chair assault to Big Show, leaving bruises, blood, and slashes all over the giant’s body.
And now we fast forward to the year 2015 at WWE’s live event in Madison Square Garden. No more bullshit. No more draws, No more cheap shots. No more betrayal. Just straight up violence and nothing more. Though the match itself was relatively shorter than the rest of the matches on the card, it was no less brutal or deadly. It was a match that started with Lesnar attempting a double-leg takedown on Big Show and getting thrown over the top rope by Show instead.
The first few minutes of the match consisted of Lesnar trying to heave and toss around this 500 lb. warrior to no success whatsoever. Big Show decided to end it early with not one, not two, but three choke slams and a leg-hook pin. Even after falling seven feet three times, Lesnar got his shoulder up at two and the match resumed. Big Show was pissed. He was so pissed that he wanted to end it early again, this time with a knockout punch once Lesnar got to his feet.
Big Show didn’t get a KO victory, no, no, no. He got a one-way all expenses paid trip to Suplex City and Madison Square Garden was the capitol building. Brock Lesnar went behind the massive athlete, wrapped his arms around Big Show’s waist, and gave him not one, not two, not even three, but four German suplexes. Having enough strength to throw a 500 lb. man around like that says something about how much of a slayer Lesnar really is. And then this display of brutal strength was capped off with an F5 from Lesnar to Big Show, followed by a leg-hook pin for a full three count.
You think this is over? Aren’t you forgetting the bonus material? That’s right. Big Show actually got back up to his feet and flipped of his opponent. Granted, this titan was on spaghetti legs and couldn’t clear the cobwebs out of his thick skull, but he was clearly itching for another fight. Lesnar was more than happy to oblige. He got back in the ring and delivered an overhead belly-to-belly suplex to the massive ogre before picking his battered ass back up and giving another F5 for good measure. Needless to say, Brock was fully satisfied and walked away from the arena a happy man.
Big Show, on the other hand, walked to the backstage area holding his ribs and trying to maintain his equilibrium. When ringside announcer Eden Stiles said into her microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it one more time for The Big Show!”, all the seven-footer heard was a chorus of boos.
Despite the short length of this match, the multiple displays of sheer power by Brock Lesnar were awesome to watch. Having The Big Show do a job for him was the right move by WWE. And not only was it an important victory for Brock, it was a convincing one. Big Show suffered losses over his career to men much smaller than him.
But this match didn’t feel excessively scripted. This match actually felt like two big men trying to outmuscle each other. Lesnar isn’t used to being the underdog in his matches, so him being victorious in definitive fashion is a huge momentum builder for what awaits him next: a Hell in a Cell match with The Undertaker. After tossing around a man twice his size like he was medicine ball, Brock Lesnar doesn’t look like an underdog anymore, especially not against The Undertaker in a match the latter made famous.
Harvest Moon
The orange and red harvest moon was the only thing bright about the medieval night in the city of Tristan. Everything else seemed dark, damp, and gloomy. The Red Warrior Funeral Home was no different. Yes, the bodies were preserved in neat, comfortable bedding within their casket homes. It was the living who suffered the brunt of the foul stenches, ripped curtains, and occasional mice crawling across the floor. Even the tarantulas weaving webs in the corners of this place weren’t immune to the pungent atmosphere as evidenced by their corpses being littered all over the stone floors and walls.
The only person who could take in all of this gloominess and come out of it feeling somewhat neutral was Kendra Callahan, assassin for hire. With dark robes and a hood surrounding her and only an oil lantern guiding her way, her combat boots clanked off the stone floors of the funeral home. If somebody was down here defiling the corpses, she would be the first one to notice and that person would get the shit kicked out of him or her.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she thought to herself as she made her rounds. Guarding this funeral home would have been a cakewalk and she could have had the rest of the evening to herself. How would she have filled that time? Reading? Sharpening her blades? Staying in shape? No. This evening wouldn’t afford her the luxury of a comfortable home, because someone was down here.
The sight squeak of a coffin lid put Kendra Callahan in defensive mode. She got in a fighting stance and drew her steel poison-tipped claws. This sudden racket wasn’t caused by a mere mouse or spider. The intruder was as careful as any stealth artist should be. Kendra took a few more steps and shone her lamp in the general vicinity of the noise.
As soon as the light danced in the right places, the quick and light sounds of footsteps could be heard skittering across the floor. Someone was definitely there and Kendra was determined to give this intruder a taste of her poison. She reached into her belt and chucked a shuriken in where she believed the burglar was standing.
The sounds of pierced flesh and dripping blood put a smile on Kendra’s face. She jogged over with her lamp to see just what had happened, but it wasn’t what she expected at all. A flare of green light illuminated the entire funeral home. The source of such brilliant magic was a witchdoctor dressed in a demon mask and velvet red wizard robes. He gently pulled the shuriken out of his stomach and his wound healed over as if nothing happened.
“What the hell are you doing down here, Ambrose?” said Kendra sternly. The man she was referring to was Ambrose Volta, a delightfully eccentric wizard who didn’t mind delving into his darker side every once and a while.
“Do forgive my abrupt entrance, Miss Callahan, and I shall forgive the shuriken in my stomach. You know why I’m here,” said Ambrose.
“Actually, I don’t have a single fucking clue, but I can take a wild guess and say that you’re down here to get it on with your new undead girlfriend,” said Kendra with a smart-assed smile.
“I would never do such a thing and you know that to be true, my dear,” said Ambrose. “What is true, however, is that these preserved corpses concern me. Their souls are forever trapped in these caskets, a prison for the afterlife of sorts. No more will they suffer. After I work my magic, these souls will find a new and more comfortable place to rest: the Harvest Moon. It’s what religious folks refer to as heaven up there. But the Harvest Moon welcomes everyone and gives them a second chance at peace and beauty, not just those who conform to a certain ideal.”
A confused look formed on Kendra’s face when she said, “And I’m supposed to believe all of this, why? It’s almost like you’re asking me to conform to something I don’t trust myself. Well, there’s a reason why I’m wearing these claws and there’s a reason I’m patrolling this funeral home. Intruders are to be killed on sight. Well, Ambrose, you’re an intruder, so I guess I’ll have to kill you now.”
Kendra started the battle by bolting toward Ambrose and throwing her clawed fists in every direction he planned on going. One scrape from these weapons and even a powerful mage like Ambrose would have keeled over from the poison. And yet, he dodged every slash and every roundhouse kick that followed with so much ease that Kendra hit the wooden caskets instead and knocked a few corpses over.
Ambrose wagged his finger at his nemesis and said, “Naughty, naughty!” He then stretched out his fingers and shot a ball of black sludge in Kendra’s face. The assassin rolled around on her back trying to scream and peel through the tar. The mice and tarantulas were attracted to the scent of this goop and congregated around her face to nibble and chew her snow white flesh.
“Now, where was I before you so rudely interrupted me?” said Ambrose Volta as he turned his attention to one of the corpses that got knocked over. He knelt beside what looked like a young man in his 20’s and shot two bolts of purple lightning in his face.
By this time, Kendra Callahan peeled off the sticky sludge and crushed most of the mice and spiders that were eating her face. The end result was a visage full of nasty-looking battle scars, the same visage that wore an angry expression as the clawed warrior charged at Ambrose again.
She threw rapid-fire punches and kicks at the shaman while he was in the middle of casting his spells. This time there was no easy defense. Ambrose took every slash and every bone-crunching kick and rolled over on his back bloody and beaten. This felt too much like a hollow victory for Kendra. No way it could be over that easy.
She was right. The orange soul of the young man Ambrose was working on floated out of its host body and clutched Kendra around the neck. The soul screamed in a fiery voice, “You idiot! Some of us are trying to get to the Harvest Moon! Meanwhile, all you’re worried about is some shallow payment of gold and silver!”
The soul released its grip and dropped Kendra to the ground, where she hacked and wheezed as she held her throat and tried to suck in oxygen. The soul was laid to rest once more. But it didn’t go back into its own body. The flaming spirit was orally sucked in by the now sitting up Ambrose Volta. The vile wizard stood up and dusted himself off as if he didn’t just get his ass brutally beaten.
As soon as Kendra recovered most of her oxygen and gingerly stood back up herself, she saw Ambrose standing before her with his hands on his hips shaking his head. She freaked out when she said, “No! No! That’s impossible! Why won’t you die, damn it?!” She bum rushed the wizard again, this time with even faster kicks and punches. Her strikes would have been enough to kill most people instantly, but Ambrose concocted a whirlwind cocoon around himself and felt nothing.
Once the assassin tired herself out and stood hunched over, she saw that her adversary took off his demon mask and revealed himself to be a smiling old man with stringy white hair. At least that was one side of his face. The other side held the half-visage of a rotten black skeleton with a glowing orange eye. Even though she was a hardened warrior with virtually no emotions, Kendra Callahan knew it was time to be scared and showed it by shivering violently.
“Miss Callahan,” said Ambrose Volta in a syrupy voice. “I think the two of us have had enough, wouldn’t you agree?” The wizard held out his fingertips and telepathically threw Kendra against the wall, which conveniently enough had deer antlers mounted against it. The tough bones pierced through the clawed fighter and she bled out and died instantly, never once letting out a scream because her powerful lungs were punctured like balloons. The battle was over and all that was left for Kendra’s vision was a field of darkness.
Hours had passed in this dark plain. Not a single noise. Not a single sensation. And then out of nowhere, she heard gentle voices telling her to wake up from her dream. Kendra slowly opened her eyes and allowed them to adjust to the orange morning sky. She slowly stood up and found herself in a field of multi-colored autumn leaves. The voices that comforted her were those of the corpses in the funeral home, their bodies healed and their faces gently smiling.
“Where am I?” asked a weary Kendra Callahan.
A young girl grabbed her by the hand, which no longer had a claw, but a velvet red glove. The girl smiled brightly and gently said, “You’re on the Harvest Moon. Welcome to your new home!” And what a heavenly home it was.
The only person who could take in all of this gloominess and come out of it feeling somewhat neutral was Kendra Callahan, assassin for hire. With dark robes and a hood surrounding her and only an oil lantern guiding her way, her combat boots clanked off the stone floors of the funeral home. If somebody was down here defiling the corpses, she would be the first one to notice and that person would get the shit kicked out of him or her.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she thought to herself as she made her rounds. Guarding this funeral home would have been a cakewalk and she could have had the rest of the evening to herself. How would she have filled that time? Reading? Sharpening her blades? Staying in shape? No. This evening wouldn’t afford her the luxury of a comfortable home, because someone was down here.
The sight squeak of a coffin lid put Kendra Callahan in defensive mode. She got in a fighting stance and drew her steel poison-tipped claws. This sudden racket wasn’t caused by a mere mouse or spider. The intruder was as careful as any stealth artist should be. Kendra took a few more steps and shone her lamp in the general vicinity of the noise.
As soon as the light danced in the right places, the quick and light sounds of footsteps could be heard skittering across the floor. Someone was definitely there and Kendra was determined to give this intruder a taste of her poison. She reached into her belt and chucked a shuriken in where she believed the burglar was standing.
The sounds of pierced flesh and dripping blood put a smile on Kendra’s face. She jogged over with her lamp to see just what had happened, but it wasn’t what she expected at all. A flare of green light illuminated the entire funeral home. The source of such brilliant magic was a witchdoctor dressed in a demon mask and velvet red wizard robes. He gently pulled the shuriken out of his stomach and his wound healed over as if nothing happened.
“What the hell are you doing down here, Ambrose?” said Kendra sternly. The man she was referring to was Ambrose Volta, a delightfully eccentric wizard who didn’t mind delving into his darker side every once and a while.
“Do forgive my abrupt entrance, Miss Callahan, and I shall forgive the shuriken in my stomach. You know why I’m here,” said Ambrose.
“Actually, I don’t have a single fucking clue, but I can take a wild guess and say that you’re down here to get it on with your new undead girlfriend,” said Kendra with a smart-assed smile.
“I would never do such a thing and you know that to be true, my dear,” said Ambrose. “What is true, however, is that these preserved corpses concern me. Their souls are forever trapped in these caskets, a prison for the afterlife of sorts. No more will they suffer. After I work my magic, these souls will find a new and more comfortable place to rest: the Harvest Moon. It’s what religious folks refer to as heaven up there. But the Harvest Moon welcomes everyone and gives them a second chance at peace and beauty, not just those who conform to a certain ideal.”
A confused look formed on Kendra’s face when she said, “And I’m supposed to believe all of this, why? It’s almost like you’re asking me to conform to something I don’t trust myself. Well, there’s a reason why I’m wearing these claws and there’s a reason I’m patrolling this funeral home. Intruders are to be killed on sight. Well, Ambrose, you’re an intruder, so I guess I’ll have to kill you now.”
Kendra started the battle by bolting toward Ambrose and throwing her clawed fists in every direction he planned on going. One scrape from these weapons and even a powerful mage like Ambrose would have keeled over from the poison. And yet, he dodged every slash and every roundhouse kick that followed with so much ease that Kendra hit the wooden caskets instead and knocked a few corpses over.
Ambrose wagged his finger at his nemesis and said, “Naughty, naughty!” He then stretched out his fingers and shot a ball of black sludge in Kendra’s face. The assassin rolled around on her back trying to scream and peel through the tar. The mice and tarantulas were attracted to the scent of this goop and congregated around her face to nibble and chew her snow white flesh.
“Now, where was I before you so rudely interrupted me?” said Ambrose Volta as he turned his attention to one of the corpses that got knocked over. He knelt beside what looked like a young man in his 20’s and shot two bolts of purple lightning in his face.
By this time, Kendra Callahan peeled off the sticky sludge and crushed most of the mice and spiders that were eating her face. The end result was a visage full of nasty-looking battle scars, the same visage that wore an angry expression as the clawed warrior charged at Ambrose again.
She threw rapid-fire punches and kicks at the shaman while he was in the middle of casting his spells. This time there was no easy defense. Ambrose took every slash and every bone-crunching kick and rolled over on his back bloody and beaten. This felt too much like a hollow victory for Kendra. No way it could be over that easy.
She was right. The orange soul of the young man Ambrose was working on floated out of its host body and clutched Kendra around the neck. The soul screamed in a fiery voice, “You idiot! Some of us are trying to get to the Harvest Moon! Meanwhile, all you’re worried about is some shallow payment of gold and silver!”
The soul released its grip and dropped Kendra to the ground, where she hacked and wheezed as she held her throat and tried to suck in oxygen. The soul was laid to rest once more. But it didn’t go back into its own body. The flaming spirit was orally sucked in by the now sitting up Ambrose Volta. The vile wizard stood up and dusted himself off as if he didn’t just get his ass brutally beaten.
As soon as Kendra recovered most of her oxygen and gingerly stood back up herself, she saw Ambrose standing before her with his hands on his hips shaking his head. She freaked out when she said, “No! No! That’s impossible! Why won’t you die, damn it?!” She bum rushed the wizard again, this time with even faster kicks and punches. Her strikes would have been enough to kill most people instantly, but Ambrose concocted a whirlwind cocoon around himself and felt nothing.
Once the assassin tired herself out and stood hunched over, she saw that her adversary took off his demon mask and revealed himself to be a smiling old man with stringy white hair. At least that was one side of his face. The other side held the half-visage of a rotten black skeleton with a glowing orange eye. Even though she was a hardened warrior with virtually no emotions, Kendra Callahan knew it was time to be scared and showed it by shivering violently.
“Miss Callahan,” said Ambrose Volta in a syrupy voice. “I think the two of us have had enough, wouldn’t you agree?” The wizard held out his fingertips and telepathically threw Kendra against the wall, which conveniently enough had deer antlers mounted against it. The tough bones pierced through the clawed fighter and she bled out and died instantly, never once letting out a scream because her powerful lungs were punctured like balloons. The battle was over and all that was left for Kendra’s vision was a field of darkness.
Hours had passed in this dark plain. Not a single noise. Not a single sensation. And then out of nowhere, she heard gentle voices telling her to wake up from her dream. Kendra slowly opened her eyes and allowed them to adjust to the orange morning sky. She slowly stood up and found herself in a field of multi-colored autumn leaves. The voices that comforted her were those of the corpses in the funeral home, their bodies healed and their faces gently smiling.
“Where am I?” asked a weary Kendra Callahan.
A young girl grabbed her by the hand, which no longer had a claw, but a velvet red glove. The girl smiled brightly and gently said, “You’re on the Harvest Moon. Welcome to your new home!” And what a heavenly home it was.
Weird Ass Dreams
***WEIRD ASS DREAMS***
I don’t often talk about my dreams anymore, but since I’m desperate for journal topics and it’s past the three day limit, I think this needs to be said. Last night, I had two of the weirdest dreams I could possibly have. The first one was just plain weird while the second one could be considered a nightmare. You don’t have to worry about me being traumatized or anything like that. But if I don’t share these dreams with you guys, I feel like it’ll be all for nothing. So, here we go…
In the first dream, my brother James took me to a theme park. At first I didn’t know what theme park it was, so naturally I envisioned water slides and rollercoasters as I tried to guess this surprise. Turns out it was a theme park based on the idea of Muslims and Jews getting along. I shit you not. Among the attractions were the two cultures sitting in a giant field with each other and going swimming together in an indoor pool. I like the idea of people coexisting peacefully, but there’s just one problem: no rollercoasters. None. Not one fucking rollercoaster. So I decide to send James a text message saying I’m headed for home to find something more fun to do than to hang out at the theme park. He sends one back to me saying that I’m ignorant and uneducated, basically muscling me back into the theme park with a guilt trip. And then the two of us run around the theme park pretending to be Clerks characters. I ate an ice cream cone beforehand, so naturally I gassed out early while James, being the athlete he is, outruns me for miles.
And then you have the second dream, the one I consider to be a nightmare. The dream took place in a massage parlor based on one that’s right here in my home town of Port Orchard. I wish I was making that part up. It’s in a strip mall next to the tobacco store where I used to buy Susan cigarettes. The windows are blacked out and the business sign just says “Massage”. In my dream, I finally decide it’s time to lose my virginity, so I go into that same massage parlor looking for sex. I have to wait in the lobby so that the staff can find me a suitable girl who will be my first lay. Here’s where the sexy dream turns into a nightmare. In the lobby, there are television monitors mounted on the walls. And on these monitors, they’re showing…(gulp)…overly muscular cartoon men from around the world raping each other as well as raping a few animals. I got the hell out of there as soon as I could, but the trauma still lingered. Regardless, James took out his smart phone and Googled a better place to get laid, which is in California. Before I had the chance to drive there, I woke up from the dream feeling terrified of what I saw in the massage parlor.
Will I be using these dreams for creative fuel? The answer to that question is the same as any other dream I’ve posted about in Garrison’s Library: no. I kept saying yes during those past posts, but I never got around to it, so I might as well give an honest answer and say no this time. However, the idea of weird ass dreams and nightmares could work in a short story for the WSS. Maybe the guy could go to a sleep clinic and have the worst nightmare in his whole life. He could be possessed by a demon or he could be haunted by psychological demons from his past. I like where this is going! We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
DANTE: Things happened today, things that probably ruined my chances with Caitlin.
RANDAL: What, the dead guy? She’ll get over fucking a dead guy. Shit, my mom’s been fucking a dead guy for thirty years. I call him dad.
DANTE: Caitlin and I can’t be together after this, it’s impossible.
RANDAL: Melodrama seems to come as naturally for you as a normal bowel movement.
-Clerks-
I don’t often talk about my dreams anymore, but since I’m desperate for journal topics and it’s past the three day limit, I think this needs to be said. Last night, I had two of the weirdest dreams I could possibly have. The first one was just plain weird while the second one could be considered a nightmare. You don’t have to worry about me being traumatized or anything like that. But if I don’t share these dreams with you guys, I feel like it’ll be all for nothing. So, here we go…
In the first dream, my brother James took me to a theme park. At first I didn’t know what theme park it was, so naturally I envisioned water slides and rollercoasters as I tried to guess this surprise. Turns out it was a theme park based on the idea of Muslims and Jews getting along. I shit you not. Among the attractions were the two cultures sitting in a giant field with each other and going swimming together in an indoor pool. I like the idea of people coexisting peacefully, but there’s just one problem: no rollercoasters. None. Not one fucking rollercoaster. So I decide to send James a text message saying I’m headed for home to find something more fun to do than to hang out at the theme park. He sends one back to me saying that I’m ignorant and uneducated, basically muscling me back into the theme park with a guilt trip. And then the two of us run around the theme park pretending to be Clerks characters. I ate an ice cream cone beforehand, so naturally I gassed out early while James, being the athlete he is, outruns me for miles.
And then you have the second dream, the one I consider to be a nightmare. The dream took place in a massage parlor based on one that’s right here in my home town of Port Orchard. I wish I was making that part up. It’s in a strip mall next to the tobacco store where I used to buy Susan cigarettes. The windows are blacked out and the business sign just says “Massage”. In my dream, I finally decide it’s time to lose my virginity, so I go into that same massage parlor looking for sex. I have to wait in the lobby so that the staff can find me a suitable girl who will be my first lay. Here’s where the sexy dream turns into a nightmare. In the lobby, there are television monitors mounted on the walls. And on these monitors, they’re showing…(gulp)…overly muscular cartoon men from around the world raping each other as well as raping a few animals. I got the hell out of there as soon as I could, but the trauma still lingered. Regardless, James took out his smart phone and Googled a better place to get laid, which is in California. Before I had the chance to drive there, I woke up from the dream feeling terrified of what I saw in the massage parlor.
Will I be using these dreams for creative fuel? The answer to that question is the same as any other dream I’ve posted about in Garrison’s Library: no. I kept saying yes during those past posts, but I never got around to it, so I might as well give an honest answer and say no this time. However, the idea of weird ass dreams and nightmares could work in a short story for the WSS. Maybe the guy could go to a sleep clinic and have the worst nightmare in his whole life. He could be possessed by a demon or he could be haunted by psychological demons from his past. I like where this is going! We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
DANTE: Things happened today, things that probably ruined my chances with Caitlin.
RANDAL: What, the dead guy? She’ll get over fucking a dead guy. Shit, my mom’s been fucking a dead guy for thirty years. I call him dad.
DANTE: Caitlin and I can’t be together after this, it’s impossible.
RANDAL: Melodrama seems to come as naturally for you as a normal bowel movement.
-Clerks-
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Unleash the Animal
How exactly does an ancient weapon like a blunderbuss take down something magnificent like a rhino or a cheetah? For Joseph Stone, a few creative modifications such as a pump handle and an automatic firing chamber would have been the answer to that question. He tested the weapon out on a family of small rabbits to great success. He dined on their corpses afterwards and was hungry for bigger and better meals. The only place he could find such a gigantic meal was out in the Cracker Box Plains. Rhinos, antelope, buffalo, cheetahs, mmm-mmm-mmm!
Joseph Stone wasn’t the most athletic guy in the world with his belly protruding underneath his flak vest and over the top of his khaki shorts. Then again, he didn’t need to be since his hunting methods were so foolproof he never once had to run away from an animal. Even if he had the body of a Greek god, running away from one of these dangerous animals was damned near impossible.
And speaking of which, as soon as pudgy-buns Joseph spotted his next kill, he ducked down into the tall grass and cranked his modified blunderbuss. After making himself inconspicuous, he looked through the scope on his weapon and could only ask himself, “What the hell?”
It was an anthropomorphic rhino wearing spiked metal armor while carrying a nasty-looking battleaxe with a bone handle and a stone blade. To his animal peers, he was known as Stinger Crushwar, badass barbarian and all around disgusting creature. To Joseph Stone, Stinger was a potential dinner that made his chubby jowls water. He didn’t want to take the shot unless he was sure it would kill the son of a bitch right away.
Stinger stripped off his heavy metal armor and cannon-balled into a pool of silvery, pristine water. Well, the water wasn’t so pristine anymore after that. The dirt and grime on Stinger’s body mixed in with this usually delicious water and turned it into murky sewage. The rhino warrior also let out a monstrous fart that created a bigger splash than the cannonball. “This is the life!” he said to himself.
“You moron! Look what you did to my reflecting pool!” The nails-on-a-chalkboard voice that caught Stinger’s attention was that of an anthropomorphic antelope dressed in blue wizard robes named Rosie Moonbender. She stood there with her hands on her hips and an angry expression that was more wrinkly than a raisin. She went on to say, “I use this pool to mix potions and create spells! And now look what you’ve done! You turned it into your own personal shit hole!”
Stinger let out another rancid blast from his ass and the bubble splashed a little bit of water on Rosie’s robe. The antelope wizard held her clothing with disgust and shock, but not nearly as much as when she saw a gigantic brown turd floating near the top. Stinger smiled at his female rival and said nonchalantly, “You were saying?”
Rosie’s hooves dropped to her sides and clinched tightly as purple electric energy was swirling around her. Whatever spell she was going to cast had almost apocalyptic implications with the nearby tress being blown over and the grass turning the ashes. Stinger didn’t give a second shit how powerful this wizard was and armed himself with his battleaxe. He held the blade to her face while still wading in the sacred pool and said, “Don’t you try nothing funny, bitch! I hunt and skin your kind just for fun!”
A white beam of energy descended upon the rhino barbarian and the antelope wizard and blinded them temporarily until the source of the magic appeared right next to them in black knight’s armor and a red cloak. It was a buffalo paladin named Magnus Hoarfrost and his holier than thou stance led Stinger and Rosie to believe he would play the role of lawman in these wild plains.
“Clearly, a peaceful solution can be accomplished. The two of you are just too stressed out to see it right before your very eyes,” said Magnus in a deceptively calm deep voice. Stinger and Rosie looked at each other in confusion before letting the buffalo knight to continue this oratory. “The good lord has his eyes on everyone here in these holy plains. If you want to make a good impression, you can’t behave like sinful children. All you have to do is believe in the divine light that surrounds you all.”
The mighty religious rhetoric made Stinger yell, “Ha!” before the rhino warrior picked up his nasty turd and tossed it at Magnus, who looked down at the mess on his armor and shook his head before languidly wiping it off. Stinger, being a natural born animalistic migraine, laughed at the paladin with a hoarse and boisterous voice. Despite having her reflecting pool violated, Rosie Moonbender joined in the obnoxious laughter as well.
“Alright, you wild animals!” screamed Magnus Hoarfrost, who was now armed with two maces with spiked metal shells at the end of them. “If you want to act like disgusting sinners, then I shall treat you as such! The bowels of hell are hungry for new souls! You two will do just fine!”
The three-way battle was underway when Magnus threw a bolt of holy lightning down upon Rosie, who countered that spell with relentless glacial spikes. Magnus rained down holy fire upon the antelope wizard, but was met with a tidal wave of black magic. For the longest time, these two magic-slingers exchanged gigantic volleys of energy whether it was fire, ice, lightning, or shadow. They both had a counter for each other and even more surrounding trees were being knocked to the ground or shredded to pieces.
The one thing the two energy-slingers didn’t count on was them each getting a face full of murky water compliments of Stinger Crushwar, who was now out of the pool, fully dressed in his spiky metal armor, carrying his primitive battleaxe, and laughing at them like the sickening man-child he was. He even fell ass-first into the burned grass and didn’t feel a thing.
Rosie and Magnus nodded to each other and then powered up for what was surely to be cosmic chaos. Stinger got his bearings about him and got up into his defensive stance. He angrily charged across the burned grass and swung his axe with caveman passion as the magic users threw their fireballs and ice sickles at him. He smashed the energy shots away like he was playing the world’s most vicious and violent game of baseball.
One of the ice sickles bounced off of Stinger’s axe and impaled Rosie through her stomach. She gagged and coughed as blood was pouring out of her wound and her mouth at a rapid pace. The mystical diva dropped to her knees and plopped over onto her face as she took her final blood-covered breaths.
Magnus looked on at his “partner’s” death with Shakespearean shock when his mouth dropped open in dramatic fashion. He reached both maces to the sky and shouted, “Why?! Why, my dear lord?! Why would you take this fine young girl away from this earth?! She could have been saved! She could have listened to your divine word! She could have…”
The excessively dramatic speech was cut short when Stinger sneaked up behind Magnus and chopped his head off with one swing of his blade. The buffalo’s head rolled while the body shot blood out of its neck and fell to the ground with a loud thud. Stinger looked around at what he just did and raised his own fists to the skies to give out a barbaric war cry. “Hell yeah! That’s what I’m talking about! Now let’s see about getting back in that pool!”
After Stinger let out two casual laughs, his head exploded from his shoulders and his body dropped to the ground with blood leaking into the shit-infested reflecting pool. The whole time they were bickering, neither one of these three could pay any notice to the one person who could spell doom for these entire plains: Joseph Stone.
The hunter stood proudly over all three meaty animal corpses and nodded viciously before saying, “Yep! I’m going to be eating well tonight! Mmm-mmm-mmm!” He then started singing meaningless “doos” and “duns” to himself as he gathered pieces of the knocked over trees to build a bonfire. The blunderbuss he used to blow off Stinger’s head also had another creative feature attached to it: a flamethrower for barbecuing the meat that he loved so much.
Cooking the three corpses and eating them all took anywhere between three to four hours total. Joseph Stone’s appetite was that big. He sat on his ass with his flak vest open and his sauce-stained gut hanging down. He had dipping sauce, blood, and little shreds of meat hanging all around him for what was indeed a satisfying meal.
What wasn’t so satisfying was the fact that Joseph had a hard time sitting up. He could roll over and push himself off all he wanted to, but he was so glutinous that he was stuck on the ground. His heart rate began to accelerate and his skin was getting sweaty and cold. He crawled aimlessly with his sausage fingers over his boobed chest until he could crawl no more. That was when he accidentally plunged himself into the diarrhea pool and drowned while having a heart attack at the same time. To say that there were no winners in this battle for nothing was putting it mildly.
Joseph Stone wasn’t the most athletic guy in the world with his belly protruding underneath his flak vest and over the top of his khaki shorts. Then again, he didn’t need to be since his hunting methods were so foolproof he never once had to run away from an animal. Even if he had the body of a Greek god, running away from one of these dangerous animals was damned near impossible.
And speaking of which, as soon as pudgy-buns Joseph spotted his next kill, he ducked down into the tall grass and cranked his modified blunderbuss. After making himself inconspicuous, he looked through the scope on his weapon and could only ask himself, “What the hell?”
It was an anthropomorphic rhino wearing spiked metal armor while carrying a nasty-looking battleaxe with a bone handle and a stone blade. To his animal peers, he was known as Stinger Crushwar, badass barbarian and all around disgusting creature. To Joseph Stone, Stinger was a potential dinner that made his chubby jowls water. He didn’t want to take the shot unless he was sure it would kill the son of a bitch right away.
Stinger stripped off his heavy metal armor and cannon-balled into a pool of silvery, pristine water. Well, the water wasn’t so pristine anymore after that. The dirt and grime on Stinger’s body mixed in with this usually delicious water and turned it into murky sewage. The rhino warrior also let out a monstrous fart that created a bigger splash than the cannonball. “This is the life!” he said to himself.
“You moron! Look what you did to my reflecting pool!” The nails-on-a-chalkboard voice that caught Stinger’s attention was that of an anthropomorphic antelope dressed in blue wizard robes named Rosie Moonbender. She stood there with her hands on her hips and an angry expression that was more wrinkly than a raisin. She went on to say, “I use this pool to mix potions and create spells! And now look what you’ve done! You turned it into your own personal shit hole!”
Stinger let out another rancid blast from his ass and the bubble splashed a little bit of water on Rosie’s robe. The antelope wizard held her clothing with disgust and shock, but not nearly as much as when she saw a gigantic brown turd floating near the top. Stinger smiled at his female rival and said nonchalantly, “You were saying?”
Rosie’s hooves dropped to her sides and clinched tightly as purple electric energy was swirling around her. Whatever spell she was going to cast had almost apocalyptic implications with the nearby tress being blown over and the grass turning the ashes. Stinger didn’t give a second shit how powerful this wizard was and armed himself with his battleaxe. He held the blade to her face while still wading in the sacred pool and said, “Don’t you try nothing funny, bitch! I hunt and skin your kind just for fun!”
A white beam of energy descended upon the rhino barbarian and the antelope wizard and blinded them temporarily until the source of the magic appeared right next to them in black knight’s armor and a red cloak. It was a buffalo paladin named Magnus Hoarfrost and his holier than thou stance led Stinger and Rosie to believe he would play the role of lawman in these wild plains.
“Clearly, a peaceful solution can be accomplished. The two of you are just too stressed out to see it right before your very eyes,” said Magnus in a deceptively calm deep voice. Stinger and Rosie looked at each other in confusion before letting the buffalo knight to continue this oratory. “The good lord has his eyes on everyone here in these holy plains. If you want to make a good impression, you can’t behave like sinful children. All you have to do is believe in the divine light that surrounds you all.”
The mighty religious rhetoric made Stinger yell, “Ha!” before the rhino warrior picked up his nasty turd and tossed it at Magnus, who looked down at the mess on his armor and shook his head before languidly wiping it off. Stinger, being a natural born animalistic migraine, laughed at the paladin with a hoarse and boisterous voice. Despite having her reflecting pool violated, Rosie Moonbender joined in the obnoxious laughter as well.
“Alright, you wild animals!” screamed Magnus Hoarfrost, who was now armed with two maces with spiked metal shells at the end of them. “If you want to act like disgusting sinners, then I shall treat you as such! The bowels of hell are hungry for new souls! You two will do just fine!”
The three-way battle was underway when Magnus threw a bolt of holy lightning down upon Rosie, who countered that spell with relentless glacial spikes. Magnus rained down holy fire upon the antelope wizard, but was met with a tidal wave of black magic. For the longest time, these two magic-slingers exchanged gigantic volleys of energy whether it was fire, ice, lightning, or shadow. They both had a counter for each other and even more surrounding trees were being knocked to the ground or shredded to pieces.
The one thing the two energy-slingers didn’t count on was them each getting a face full of murky water compliments of Stinger Crushwar, who was now out of the pool, fully dressed in his spiky metal armor, carrying his primitive battleaxe, and laughing at them like the sickening man-child he was. He even fell ass-first into the burned grass and didn’t feel a thing.
Rosie and Magnus nodded to each other and then powered up for what was surely to be cosmic chaos. Stinger got his bearings about him and got up into his defensive stance. He angrily charged across the burned grass and swung his axe with caveman passion as the magic users threw their fireballs and ice sickles at him. He smashed the energy shots away like he was playing the world’s most vicious and violent game of baseball.
One of the ice sickles bounced off of Stinger’s axe and impaled Rosie through her stomach. She gagged and coughed as blood was pouring out of her wound and her mouth at a rapid pace. The mystical diva dropped to her knees and plopped over onto her face as she took her final blood-covered breaths.
Magnus looked on at his “partner’s” death with Shakespearean shock when his mouth dropped open in dramatic fashion. He reached both maces to the sky and shouted, “Why?! Why, my dear lord?! Why would you take this fine young girl away from this earth?! She could have been saved! She could have listened to your divine word! She could have…”
The excessively dramatic speech was cut short when Stinger sneaked up behind Magnus and chopped his head off with one swing of his blade. The buffalo’s head rolled while the body shot blood out of its neck and fell to the ground with a loud thud. Stinger looked around at what he just did and raised his own fists to the skies to give out a barbaric war cry. “Hell yeah! That’s what I’m talking about! Now let’s see about getting back in that pool!”
After Stinger let out two casual laughs, his head exploded from his shoulders and his body dropped to the ground with blood leaking into the shit-infested reflecting pool. The whole time they were bickering, neither one of these three could pay any notice to the one person who could spell doom for these entire plains: Joseph Stone.
The hunter stood proudly over all three meaty animal corpses and nodded viciously before saying, “Yep! I’m going to be eating well tonight! Mmm-mmm-mmm!” He then started singing meaningless “doos” and “duns” to himself as he gathered pieces of the knocked over trees to build a bonfire. The blunderbuss he used to blow off Stinger’s head also had another creative feature attached to it: a flamethrower for barbecuing the meat that he loved so much.
Cooking the three corpses and eating them all took anywhere between three to four hours total. Joseph Stone’s appetite was that big. He sat on his ass with his flak vest open and his sauce-stained gut hanging down. He had dipping sauce, blood, and little shreds of meat hanging all around him for what was indeed a satisfying meal.
What wasn’t so satisfying was the fact that Joseph had a hard time sitting up. He could roll over and push himself off all he wanted to, but he was so glutinous that he was stuck on the ground. His heart rate began to accelerate and his skin was getting sweaty and cold. He crawled aimlessly with his sausage fingers over his boobed chest until he could crawl no more. That was when he accidentally plunged himself into the diarrhea pool and drowned while having a heart attack at the same time. To say that there were no winners in this battle for nothing was putting it mildly.
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