New Years Goals 2019

***NEW YEARS GOALS 2019***

I’m fully aware of how useless New Years resolutions can be. You make one promise and break it a day later. It’s almost a universal certainty that fucking up a New Years resolution will be paramount to 2019 and every year for the rest of our lives. But just for the sake of being in the holiday spirit, I’m going to make my own personal list of New Years goals for 2019. I have no idea how I’m going to tackle them or how long it’ll be before I eventually get sidetracked. All I know is that I have goals and they’ll be on display for all of my readers to see. Starting with…

***LOSING ONE HUNDRED POUNDS***

No, I’m not talking about British money, I’m talking about the units of fat weighing me down and keeping me from achieving full cardio potential. Truth is, I have no idea how much I weigh and I’m not eager to find out. Looking at the numbers on a weight scale has always been intimidating for me. I think I’m doing great and suddenly the scale says I’m three hundred fucking pounds. Not very encouraging. So in order to shed some of those pounds, I’m going on longer outdoor walks and I’m going to increase my distance once my current distance gets too easy to do, which won’t be for a while I assume. I might also have to stop eating at the restaurants in the Fred Meyer plaza even though it’s technically lunch hour by the time I get to where I’m going. Little Caesar’s, Quizno’s, a Mexican restaurant I can’t remember the name of, and the Fred Meyer deli are all very tempting during my calorie burning walks. Maybe I can just get a drink from Fred Meyer and eat something nutritious at home. Maybe…

***PUBLISH BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

Even though I have an entire year to rewrite and edit this novel again and again, something tells me that I’ll need more than a year. I don’t want Beautiful Monster to become a flop like Occupy Wrestling is turning out to be. I want Beautiful Monster to be the novel that recharges my career. I want it to be something that can be loved by a wider audience, trigger warnings aside. I want Book Tubers to discuss it at length and not accuse me of having flat characters or too-fast of a pace or whatnot. Thankfully, I have the services of Hollow Hills Books by my side. I’ll pay them whatever they want to help me iron the kinks out of it. I’ll gladly put in the work if it means this novel will save my career. Does it even need saving? I’m not sure.

***FIND A GIRLFRIEND***

…Yeah…um…about that…how do I…I mean…yeah, I’ve got nothing. No solutions, no tactics, no nothing. Maybe if I watch enough flirty Psych 2 Go videos, a girlfriend will magically appear. But if not…well, there’s always next year…and the year after that…and the year after that.

***CURE MY CHRONIC TIREDNESS***

This is another tough one, but I have more to say about it. Truth is, there’s no one cause that’s making my sleepy almost all of the time. It’s a bunch of different factors congregating together at once. Being overweight, being schizophrenic, being autistic, quite possibly being depressed, not having enough of a social life, not getting enough good nutrition, I could go on forever. I currently use a CPAP machine to help me breathe at night and it has done wonders for my constant sleepiness, but it’s not an end-all solution. There’s a lot I could be doing for myself, but even then there’s no guarantee that I’ll be the 24/7 or 48/14 workhorse that I was in college and high school. If I told my professors that I was too tired to do homework, they wouldn’t sympathize with me; they’d give me an F. Not that I’d want to go back to school for any reason, but you get what I’m saying. If sleepiness is unacceptable in my early 20’s, it’s unacceptable in my early 30’s.

***SEE TARJA TURUNEN IN CONCERT***

There are a lot of bands I like that I haven’t seen perform live yet and Tarja Turunen is at the top of my list. She’s been my college crush from 2007 to 2009 and making a trip to see her in concert would be like a religious pilgrimage to Mecca. I know she doesn’t come to the US very often, let alone anywhere in Washington State, but if she played in a foreign country and I had a plane ticket to see her, I’ll gladly take that. I know nobody asked and it wouldn’t be wise to anyways, but no, I have no plans to flirt with Tarja if she does a fan meet-and-greet. She’s a happily married woman with a beautiful little daughter. Besides, I don’t flirt with anybody these days no matter who they are. It’s creepy if you’re like me and you have no idea what you’re doing.

***CONCLUSION***

I have a bunch of smaller goals too such as reading certain books and owning a T-shirt that says “Ego Kills Talent”, but why delve into those when I don’t have much to say about them? I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I know that you’re hiding things, using gentle words to shelter me. Your words were like a dream, but dreams could never fool me, not that easily. I acted so distant then. Didn’t say goodbye before you left. But I was listening. You’ll fight your battles far from me, far too easily. “Save your tears, ‘cause I’ll come back,” I could hear that you whispered as you walked through that door. But still I swore to hide the pain when I turn back the pages. Shouting might’ve been the answer. What if I cried my eyes out and begged you not to depart? But now I’m not afraid to say what’s in my heart. Though a thousand words have never been spoken. They’ll fly to you even though you can’t see. I know they’re reaching you, suspended on silver wings. Oh, a thousand words, one thousand embraces will cradle you, making all of your weary days seem far away. They’ll hold you forever.”

-“1,000 Words” from Final Fantasy X-2-

Cry If I Want To

VERSE 1

Whoever said that men shouldn’t cry

Doesn’t know what it’s like to die inside

Macho madness trumps endless sadness

Tough talk trumps worldwide badness

I never bought that and I never will

These emotions were never mine to kill

Here comes the flood of biblical proportions

You can have my tears, it’s your extortion

CHORUS

It’s my country and I’ll cry if I want to

Cry if I want to

Cry if I want to

If you’re free to wish death upon me

I’m free to let my emotions be

VERSE 2

A romance gone sour can drain one’s power

And then Valentine’s Day will never be okay

A favorite song can tear me apart for so long

Who knew these emotions could be so strong?

Watching death unfold before my own eyes

Is more than enough reason for a good cry

Here comes the river that’ll make me shiver

Here come the tears that’ll make me quiver

CHORUS

It’s my country and I’ll cry if I want to

Cry if I want to

Cry if I want to

If you’re free to wish death upon me

I’m free to let my emotions be

VERSE 3

They can call me a baby, but it’s a lie

Since when did it become illegal to cry?

Am I under arrest or is this a torture test?

Is the orange uniform the way I’ll dress?

Fuck that! This was never a stupid game

Life itself will never ever be the same

Here comes the ocean of raw emotion

Another day of going through the motions

EXTENDED CHORUS

It’s my country and I’ll cry if I want to

Cry if I want to

Cry if I want to

If you’re free to wish death upon me

I’m free to let my emotions be

I’m an American and I’ll cry if I want to

Cry if I want to

Cry if I want to

If you’re free to be my judge

I’m free to seek out my strongest love

One-Legged Death Kick

VERSE 1

Did you hear the one about us getting criticized?

Did you hear the one about us with tears in our eyes?

Did you hear the one about us kissing up to the troops?

Shooting our machineguns from on top of the roofs?

Did you hear the one about us drinking all of the beers?

Did you hear the one about us being better than our peers?

I’ve been wrong about a lot of shit, but this I know is true

We also like to suck up to the cops who wear blue

CHORUS

We went from playing in rundown bars

To being bigger than Hollywood stars

We’re the One-Legged Death Kick

If you don’t like it, you can suck my…

VERSE 2

We only like compliments, not constructive critiques

But we insist that our critics are the only ones who’re weak

The only trickle down you’re going to get

Is boots and blood right in the back of your head

We also have enough guns to supply a small militia

If you try to take them from us, we’ll go ballistic

We wave our flags like they’re meaningful symbols

If you don’t like them, we’ll help you move to a shithole

CHORUS

We went from playing in rundown bars

To being bigger than Hollywood stars

We’re the One-Legged Death Kick

If you don’t like it, you can suck my…

BRIDGE

You’re a disease, too hard to please

We’re the patriots, so full of cheese

Left, two, three, four, hoo-fucking-rah

Everybody else can go get a fucking job

CHORUS

We went from playing in rundown bars

To being bigger than Hollywood stars

We’re the One-Legged Death Kick

If you don’t like it, you can suck my…

FINAL LINES

I pledge allegiance to the flag

Of the Confederate States of America

And to the republicans who blindly follow

With jowls big enough for bullshit to swallow

Amen!

All Dog Punchers Go to Hell

Mary McCray glossed over her roll call sheet one more time and shook her pudgy head at some of the names on her list. At least two or three of them were cops. Four of them were multi-level sex offenders. Others were attending sensitivity classes for the very first time. But one name on this list made her chuckle in disgust: Darren Stars, a rock icon with more privilege than any of his cop classmates. “Who in the hell calls himself Darren Stars?” Mary asked herself.

Steeling her nerves for the worst, she sighed and reached high to twist the doorknob to the classroom. Some of the “students” snickered at their obvious height advantage over Mary. They also had a sizable youth advantage since Miss McCray’s wrinkly skin and wavy gray hair gave away her age. She wore a green dress with a white apron over it, like she was about to bake cookies instead of teach a sensitivity class. In order to meet her students’ gazes, she had to crawl up on the teacher’s desk and sit on the edge, swinging her oversized feet as she did so.

These degenerates smiled with the kind of juvenility one would expect from a high school classroom, which was where this special training session took place. Mary checked the roll call sheet to make sure everyone was accounted for, but used it as an excuse to hide her face from these humiliating stares. Some of these men looked like they just did time in the pokey, all muscled, tattooed, and dressed in T-shirts, jeans, and sometimes tank tops.

It was Darren Stars who caught her eye (and her ire) the most. “Feet off the desk, Mr. Stars,” ordered Mary, to which the long-haired, leather jacket wearing rock star reluctantly complied.

Crossing her arms upon her lap, she was finally ready to greet these students with a stern gaze and a gruff voice. “My name is Mary McCray. I am a sensitivity counselor. You are all hardened criminals, which is why you’re here today. My job is to provide you all with the tools to do better deeds in this world. How you handle those tools is completely up to you. Some of you will succeed, most of you will end up back in prison.”

Mary pulled her thick rimmed glasses off and cleaned the lenses with her apron. “But for a small minority of you, prison was never a clear and present danger. Whether it’s because of your wealth, your celebrity status, or just the fact that you wield any kind of authority at all, your massive privilege has kept you out of trouble. But if you think your money is any good here, you’re sadly mistaken. I’m here to straighten you all out and nobody gets a free pass. Any questions?”

Darren Stars stood up and said, “Yeah, I’ve got one. How come your parents aren’t supervising you?” That earned a collective horse laugh from the rest of the classmates.

“Well, clearly your parents are even more irresponsible if they give you a goofy ass name like Darren Stars!” That earned an “ooohhh” from the crowd and the arrogant rock star sat down slowly in shame. “Actually, I’m glad you made yourself obvious, Mr. Stars, because our lesson for the day has a lot to do with why you’re here specifically. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you get busted at one of your shows for punching a traumatized fan’s guide dog?”

“Guide dog, my ass! That motherfucker was howling his head off while I was trying to sing a song. He was ruining a fun night of music for everyone.”

“Yes, because punching a defenseless animal is the only number one hit you can produce these days,” said Mary with a cross-armed glare. Another collective “ooo” reverberated off the classroom walls, not unlike Darren’s guitar during a show. “Personally, I would have locked you up right then and there. But since you’re such a big celebrity who needs coddling and swaddling, you ended up here instead. Well, I have just the curriculum for you and your socially elite friends.”

Mary leapt off the desk and pulled a TV remote that looked like a magic wand from her apron. With one click, a white projector screen lowered in front of the chalkboard. With another click, the lights went out. “Gentlemen…and Mr. Stars, I want you to have a look at something.”

Another click of the button projected a montage of animal cruelty onto the screen. Elephants in India were being punched repeatedly in order to get them to paint. Monkeys laid in wooden crates with shackles around their necks and ankles. A cat was being thrown into oncoming traffic down below from a highway pass. Teenagers were shooting BB guns at helpless ducks, injuring their wings and snapping their legs in half.

Mary grinned mischievously at her students as most of them shed tears over the graphic footage, but wouldn’t go into a full-on crying spell. “So…a lot of you ARE capable of having empathy for others. That’s a good sign. Channel that sadness into our lesson for the day. But first…here’s a little something for the edgy man-children in the back.”

Another click of her wand and this time footage of pit bull abuse flashed across the screen. Upper snouts were being dislodged with crowbars. Dogs fought each other and spread their guts all over a dirt floor. One precious pup was being strung up on a rope and made to exercise on a treadmill while pulling a ten pound dumbbell. Even more tears poured from the students’ eyes while some of them tried to look away from the footage.

Upon catching Darren yawning with an uncovered mouth, Mary paused the video, illuminated the room, and asked, “Am I boring you, Mr. Stars? Is this not extreme enough for your tastes?”

“Now that I think about it, Nickelback is more metal than this garbage. Fuck it, I’m out of here.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stars, but leaving is not an option!” barked Mary as her eyes and the eyes of her glaring students shined bright red. Every fiery eyeball locked upon Darren in an attempt to make the egomaniac feel somewhat smaller.

Instead he smirked and waved it all off. “I’ve had mushroom highs that were trippier than this. You ain’t fooling anybody, old lady.”

“I assure you, Mr. Stars, this is not a drug hallucination. Everything you see before you is as real as it gets. I repeat…everything you see before you!” Mary flashed an evil smile as she clicked her wand and neon-eyed warrior pit bulls leapt from the screen and growled at Darren. “Go ahead. Punch them. I dare you. If you do have the balls to do it, they’ll be quickly ripped from your pencil legs along with your thumb tack penis!”

No matter how violently the dogs barked, Darren wouldn’t budge. He laughed at them and said, “I really should get off the heroin.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Stars. Get him, my pretties. Have lunch!” bellowed Mary as the pit bulls rushed towards Darren and chewed on his flesh.

What happened to the rock star was not a trippy dream, but a waking nightmare. Mary folded her arms and grinned while the monstrous dogs chewed and clawed pieces of flesh and blood from Darren’s body. He screamed while gagging on his own life juices. He tried to throw punches and kicks to the rabid animals, but they just chewed harder and harder, as if it was their last meal before being starved to death in the dog fighting circuit. “If they send me more losers like this guy, I won’t have to ever go to PetSmart again,” Mary joked while being splashed with blood.

“Hey! What’s going on here?!” snapped an authoritative voice, prompting the magic to come to a grinding halt. The dogs disappeared in a puff of smoke, the brainwashed students had normal eyes again, but Darren was still bleeding from asshole to appetite. The voice belonged to a cop bursting into the room, a cop flanked by his uniformed partner and a chubby music executive in a fancy suit.

While the two cops held Mary at bay with their weapons, the executive rushed up to the bloody and battered Darren and said, “Oh my god…this is…I’m just…this is beautiful!”

“What?!” screeched Darren. “How is this beautiful? I’m bleeding to death because of that fucking bitch and her stupid dogs!”

“Hear me out, hear me out,” said the executive. “Rock music these days is all about blood and guts, right? Well, you’ve got the perfect imagery going on here. We can print promotional material for days, months, maybe even years. You are the quintessential badass of rock and roll with this bloody look. Let’s go back to the studio and get pictures of you. You’ll look like a million bucks on any CD cover!”

“Hold on a goddamn minute!” shouted Mary. “He’s not going anywhere until he finishes sensitivity training! He ain’t anywhere near a passing grade. I told him that celebrity privilege bullshit wasn’t going to fly here! Mr. Stars, sit back down and don’t leave the classroom until I say you can! Officers, back me up here! Tell him he’s no different from the rest!”

“…Yeah…about that…” The lead officer opened fire on the sorceress teacher and put several slugs in her head, bringing her sensitivity class and her life to a brutal end. If anybody asked, the cop could just lie his ass off and delete the contradictions in his story from his file. Mary McCray had all the magic in the world, but none of it could summon the power she needed to take on a corrupt system. Everybody had a price and everything was paid for, including a new tombstone for the dwarven teacher.

Walk in the Rain

The nighttime rainfall tapped against Cassandra Bride’s office window while she sipped her peppermint tea. Christmas lights strewn above her ceiling illuminated an otherwise dark atmosphere. She smiled while relaxing into her favorite office chair. Such a peaceful time of night. She should have been in bed with a Lilian Jackson Braun novel and a kitty. Deep inside, she knew this conversation had to take place and it couldn’t wait until a brighter morning.

She took one last sip of tea before there was a knock on her door. “Come in,” she said. Slogging through the office in a soaking wet hooded jacket was Jarrod Crews, a young man with short black hair and a Seether T-shirt underneath his rainwear. He removed his coat and hung it up on the rack in the corner, not even bothering to dry it off. His social skills were always a mess, so at least a drippy coat was forgivable.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Jarrod while taking a seat across from his acting teacher.

Cassandra laid her cup of tea on the desk and waved as if it was no big deal. “It’s not your fault, Jarrod. It’s wet out there. If I would have known you didn’t have a car, I would have dispatched another student to give you a ride. Any moment now we should start getting thunder storms.”

Jarrod’s eyes darted from side to side while he fidgeted with hangnails on his thumb. “So…do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

“Of course, of course I do. But first I want to thank you for agreeing to see me tonight in my office. I’m sorry you had to walk through a rainstorm, but this actually is a pretty important topic.” Cassandra cleared her throat and straightened the straps on her black dress before leaning forward with her hands supporting her chin.

“Am…am I in trouble?” asked Jarrod with a jittery voice, either from the cold weather outside or his own nervousness.

Cassandra breathed a deep sigh and hesitated before starting the necessary conversation. “Jarrod…is has come to my attention that you have some ulterior motives for signing up for my acting class. Like the rest of your classmates, you probably saw me in the made-for-TV movie My Gift to You, where I played a demonic seductress. The only difference is, you took your fandom a little too far. You can deny it all you want, but Mr. Crews…I believe the only reason you signed up for my class was so you could be close to me. You have no other classes in your schedule. This is your first quarter at Kelly University. The pieces are all there. You got caught…by me.”

Jarrod nearly jumped out of his skin when the first lightning bolt flashed outside. His breathing was labored, but for a far different reason than the combination electromancy and aeromancy going on. “Who told you all of this?”

“Your own mother, Jarrod. She called here the other day to have a chat with me about your…extracurricular activities. She read me passages from your diary. She logged onto your computer and found pictures that have no earthly business being there. Jarrod, this is not okay. I don’t feel safe around you anymore. You know where this is leading, right?” Tiny droplets welled up in the student’s eyes. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Jarrod slapped his legs and gave a short, sorrowful laugh through his tears. “I mean…you’re not wrong. You caught me red-handed. So, that’s that, right? I should just go back to my dorm and pack my suitcase?”

Just as Jarrod stood up, Cassandra motioned with her hand for him to sit back down. “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah. Not just yet. There’s a lot more to discuss than just a simple expulsion.”

The student slowly sat back down and chewed on his fingertips while smiling sadly and shaking his head. “What else is there to discuss? You have everything you need. My own mother basically ratted me out to you.” Jarrod held his face in his hand and sobbed a little bit. “You’re getting way too much pleasure out of this, Mrs. Bride.”

“You’re wrong, Jarrod. There’s absolutely no joy in this for me. For all intents and purposes, you were a hardworking student who gave A+ performances when you needed to. This hurts me just as much as it hurts you.”

The crumbling student man-spread his legs and tucked his head down as he tried to find the resolve to continue this conversation. The wetness in his face, the redness in his cheeks, he was easy pickings for Cassandra Bride. She had to admit that he put on a hell of a performance, yet again.

“I’m not talking about you expelling me from school. That part I get,” blubbered Jarrod through heavy breaths. “But why did you have to go behind my back like that? You got my own mother to throw me under the bus. For what?”

“She didn’t throw you under the bus, Jarrod. She called me that day because she’s worried about you. Like I said, this isn’t just an open and shut case that can be solved with expulsion. Aside from your sexual obsession with me, there’s more than she told me about you.”

“Oh god,” stammered Jarrod as he chewed on his fingertips some more.

Taking a sip of hot tea, Cassandra said, “Your mother tells me that you have a hard time making new friends. She says you’re depressed and isolated all the time, so instead of forming real relationships, you hover around me and feed your fantasies that way. She tells me that it’s been a while since you’ve seen your therapist.”

“Okay, enough! Enough!” snapped Jarrod while holding his hands up defensively. Another lightning strike flashed in the sky, but he refused to be deterred. “I get it! I’m an emotional train wreck! And yes, I do have a hard time meeting new people. You know why? Because every time I think I have something, my mom and dad take it away from me when they move to a new place. And then what do I do? Start over? Take another chance? Bullshit!”

“You know, Jarrod, you can do something about that. You’re old enough to make your own decisions. If you don’t want to move around to different cities all the time, then you can just…”

“I can just what? Find my own place? Have you seen how much an apartment costs these days? Have you seen the job market lately? There’s nothing out there for me, unless you consider sleeping at a bus station and begging for handouts to be good living.”

Cassandra set her tea down again and wheeled her office chair towards a crumbling Jarrod Crews. She placed her hand on his shoulder and elicited an, “Oh god!” response from him.

“Listen,” she said. “I know it’s tough out there. When I left my acting career and became a teacher, I didn’t know anybody here at Kelly University. I was scared just as you are now. But ultimately, you have two choices. You can move back in with your parents and have financial security and love for as long as you need it…or you can swallow your pride and find potential roommates with the friends you make here. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Jarrod. Either choice is a valid one, but when you make that decision, you need to reap all of the benefits that come with it. I get it. You need love. We all do.”

Jarrod wiped the tears from his eyes with his shirt sleeve and said, “I know you told me that we have a lot to discuss…but this is getting really fucking awkward, Mrs. Bride. I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m not even sure expulsion would be a bad thing for me. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just grab my coat and fuck off forever.”

Just as Jarrod stood up to grab his coat, Cassandra offered, “Are you sure you don’t want a ride back to your dorm? Trust me, you don’t want to walk in the rain a second time tonight.”

The lonely student looked down at his shoes and sighed. “You know what? I think I prefer getting hit by lightning over having another awkward conversation with you, Mrs. Bride.”

An even louder thunderbolt shook the skies as well as Jarrod’s foundations as he jumped skittishly yet again. Cassandra asked, “Are you sure about that, Jarrod?”

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled sadly. “Well, you know what they say: you’re more likely to be killed by a terrorist than you are to be struck by lightning.”

Cassandra smiled amusedly. “No, no, no, Jarrod, you’ve got that bass ackwards. You’re more likely to be hit by lightning than you are to be killed by a terrorist.”

“…Really?....Oh…Well…What if it’s an incel terrorist?”

“Then your chances slightly increase, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is, I’d rather you allow me to give you a ride back to your dorm instead of getting rained on again.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one who said you didn’t feel comfortable being around me?” asked Jarrod.

Cassandra sighed and tucked her head while her now ex-student put his jacket on and ventured outside in the pouring rain. “Was I too hard on him?” she asked herself. Not even the delicious flavor of her peppermint tea could relax her on this one. Everything that could have gone wrong in this “important conversation” did go wrong. She lost a great student, Jarrod lost an opportunity to open up, and everything got incredibly awkward. But Murphy’s Law didn’t stop there…

Another bolt of lightning tore up the sky, but this time the sounds of Jarrod wiggling and screaming echoed throughout the rainy weather. “Oh my god!” gasped Cassandra as she dropped her now shattered teacup on the floor. Even wearing high heels, she managed to bolt out of her office and lend her help to a now jittering Jarrod Crews.

There he laid convulsing violently with wide eyes and a foaming mouth. Now it was Cassandra Bride’s turn to lose a few tears as she held her hand to her mouth in shock. She knelt beside him and cradled his head in her lap. “I’m so sorry, Jarrod! I’m sorry!”

Even with a shivering body, Jarrod managed to form a complete and coherent sentence with a smile on his face. “So this is what it’s like to be held by somebody…I never knew that before…” Cold, miserable, and electrocuted, Jarrod’s head flopped over and his eyes rolled back in his head. Cassandra placed two fingers on his neck vein and felt no pulse surging through him, just electricity. He died taking a little piece of heaven with him before he went.

Cassandra teared up some more as she hugged Jarrod Crews’s lifeless skull. During her moment of apologetic cuddling, she noticed two wire prongs attached to his chest that led to a stun gun lying on the ground next to him. Scratched onto the weapon was a message as clear as the day that would come: “Incel Pride Worldwide”.

The actress’s sorrow turned into jaw-quivering fear at the revelation that her student was murdered. She could hear footsteps running away on the concrete sidewalk, but it was too dark to make out who they belonged to. By the time the perp was illuminated by the streetlamp, he had already turned a corner and hightailed it out of there.

What if there were more of them? Who else signed up for Cassandra Bride’s class under false pretenses? Was Jarrod Crews the only intended victim? What if…she was next? These thoughts raced violently through her head, which was now cradled in her own hands in a lame attempt to contain her fear. “I’ve got to get the hell out of here…I can’t stay anymore…”

Solving My Problems With Violence

VERSE 1

It’s the gift that keeps on giving

It’s the hell that keeps on living

A smack for refusing to listen

To the orders you have been given

I’m not asking you to commit murder

To turn dead bodies into hamburgers

It’s a simple task, not too much to ask

Yet you choose to be a pain in the ass

CHORUS

Solving my problems with violence

Is better than pacifistic silence

Is better than being a pushover

To someone who should act older

VERSE 2

Keep your ears open, your mouth shut

For your excuses, I give zero fucks

Your angry stare means nothing to me

It’s the final warning for you to heed

CHORUS

Solving my problems with violence

Is better than pacifistic silence

Is better than being a pushover

To someone who should act older

BRIDGE

Pushing me to the edge

I’m going out of my head

Smack, smack, smack, smack

I’m going on the final attack

VERSE 3

I’m the teacher, you’re the student

Quit pretending like you are stupid

Quit resisting every word I say

I didn’t come here to fucking play

EXTENDED CHORUS

Solving my problems with violence

Is better than pacifistic silence

Is better than being a pushover

To someone who should act older

Solving my problems with rage

It gets much worse with old age

It may get me locked in a cage

At least I can call myself a sage

Romantic Obligations

***ROMANTIC OBLIGATIONS***

It seems as though every movie you watch or every book you read is required to have at least one romantic subplot. The story can do fine without one, but it’s shoehorned in there anyways because…reasons? Unfortunately, this obligation has reflected in my own writing as well. In Occupy Wrestling, Mitch McLeod HAD to have Debra Winter as his fiancé. In Beautiful Monster, Windham Xavier HAD to have Tarja Rikkinen as his lover (that’ll change soon enough, trust me). In Silent Warrior, Scott George HAD to have Adrienne Simpson has his underage girlfriend (disturbing, I know). And finally, Incelbordination HAD to have a plot where Oswald Crow was pining for a girlfriend (this one actually makes sense since Incel culture is all about the lack of romantic sex).

I don’t want my readers to think that this is me putting the romantic genre on blast. When executed correctly, romances can leave a lasting impression and make the consumer hunger for more. The biggest knock on some of these romances is that they happen too soon or without enough building up. Me? I’ve only had two relationships in my whole life, yet I somehow feel obligated to write romantic subplots in my stories because that’s what the majority wants. I know how ironic that sounds coming from a guy who preaches individuality in his poetry all the fucking time.

While romance is popular among most consumers, I feel like I can finally be free enough to say that it’s not a requirement. No author should be pressured into putting romance in a story that doesn’t need it. Best friends? Maybe. Casual acquaintances? Perhaps. If I had allowed myself such freedom earlier in my career, I could have saved myself a lot of heartache when it came to ratings and judgment from my audience. While I don’t have a definitive consensus on how Demon Axe turned out, I can safely say that the budding romance between Daniel Mercer and Raven Triscloud was one hundred percent unnecessary. They didn’t spend enough time around each other. They criticized each other a lot. How exactly did they deserve a romantic subplot?

My current WIP is the rewriting of Beautiful Monster, which if you remember the first draft had a romance that DEFINITELY had no business being there. Windham Xavier endured a week of rape and he’s expected to jump into a relationship with Tarja Rikkinen? Bullshit, man! What the fuck was I thinking? If that wasn’t bad enough, they had Porn Hub-esque sex early on in the story. Again, what the fuck was I thinking?! So in this new version of Beautiful Monster, Windham and Tarja’s relationship will be mostly platonic. I say mostly because…well…no spoilers! Only Khlav Khalash! Seriously though, Windham and Tarja’s chemistry will be slower than an old lady crossing the street with a pair of bad knees. I should know how slow that is, because my mom had knee surgery two years ago and is still hurting like a motherfucker. Sigh…

After I rewrite Beautiful Monster and try to dub it as the novel that will save my career, I plan on sending all of my first draft novels to Hollow Hills and rewriting those as well. Will they have romantic subplots? I don’t know and I don’t care either way. I’m free from the shackles of other people’s expectations. If they want to fuck, they’ll fuck. If not, then they’ll watch The Price Is Right. I’ll take Rivers and Lakes for $200, Alex. Wait a minute…

If you don’t want romantic subplots for your stories either, that’s cool with me. I’ll read them anyways and enjoy them just the same. Romance can be fun to read about, but it shouldn’t be a necessity for EVERY…SINGLE…STORY! Hollywood does this a lot and their romances suffer because they’ve been executed too soon with little to no true chemistry. In the words of Eminem’s high-pitched voice, “Let’s just be friends!” I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER PROGRESS***

As of today, I have one prologue and three chapters written. Windham is safe and snug in the shackled confines of Shelly Atwood’s bed. Shelly and Torger had an argument about him being there, which resulted in Shelly grabbing Torger’s groin and squeezing his testicles as hard as she could. Ouch! Chapter four will be told through the point of view of Tarja Rikkinen as she tries to convince Orpheus Rinehart to allow her to retrieve Windham. But first…she has to get through the drooling zombie rednecks known as the Savage Brothers, Christian and Kody. If those aren’t some serious douchey white guy names, I don’t know what else to say.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I was blue and lonely. I couldn’t sleep a wink. I could only get unconscious if I’d had too much to drink. There was somehow something wrong somewhere. Each day seemed gray and dead. The seeds of desperation were growing in my head. I needed inspiration. A brand new start in life. Somewhere to place affection. But I didn’t want a wife. And then by lucky chance I saw in a special magazine an ad that was unusual, the like I’d never seen. “Experience something different with our new imported toy. She’s loving, warm, inflatable, and a guarantee of joy.” She came all wrapped in cardboard, all pink and shriveled down. A breath of air was all she needed to help her lose that frown. I took her to the bedroom and pumped her with some life. And later in a moment, that girl became my wife. And so I sit her in the corner and sometimes stroke her hair. And when I’m feeling naughty, I blow her up with air. She’s cuddly and she’s bouncy. She’s like a rubber ball. I bounce her in the kitchen and I bounce her in the hall. And now my life is different since Sally came my way. I wake up in the morning and have her on a tray. She’s everything they said she was. I wear a permanent grin. And I only have to worry in case my girl wears thin.”

-The Police reciting poetry from “Be My Girl, Sally”-

***POST-SCRIPT**

Maybe if Windham is getting over his trauma and still feels frisky, he can order his own Sally in the mail and bypass Tarja and Shelly altogether! Come to think of it, I should order a Sally doll too! Hehe!