Batman and the Profiteering of Violence

Much has already been said about the tragic and horrific events of this past weekend in Aurora Colorado. My heart goes out to those who were touched by this tragedy, and our culture has been altered irrevocably by the terror that ensued.

I’m not going to beat on that horse.

I’m also not going to proselytize about gun control (either for or against), because that’s not the point. At this point in time, I think we have the right amount of laws on the books, and no, I will not change my mind.

What bothers me the most about the incident is the fact that no matter how tragic, how senseless, how horrific an event is, there are ghouls out there that see it as an opportunity to enrich themselves. On Saturday, a Politician made the rounds on the morning talk shows claiming that the shootings were caused by a move away from God. I’m not the most religious person in the world (read: non-) but I try really hard to respect others beliefs, but this is just ludicrous. 

New York Mayor Bloomberg suggested that police go on strike until gun control laws are tightened. So, by having the police go on strike, this is going to magically reduce gun crimes?

The final nail in the coffin came today when some jackhole who was at the opening but was not injured is suing the theater, the shooter’s doctors, and Warner Brothers. This guy was not injured, yet he’s trying to profit off of the tragedy. I could understand if his arguments weren’t so outlandish. He’s suing the theater because they were “negligent for having an emergency door that was not alarmed or guarded.” He’s suing the shooter’s doctors because of “alleged mismanagement of Holmes’ still-unconfirmed medical condition” and he’s suing Warner Brothers “claiming that The Dark Knight Rises was so irresponsibly violent that it took too long for audience members to realize that the shooting wasn’t a publicity stunt”. Does this vulture have any tact? Why do I have the feeling that this guy would sue Denny’s for severe emotional trauma because his bacon didn’t come with a notice that it may have sharp edges.

First off, why the hell should a theater have an alarmed emergency door? It would totally disrupt a film, and all it would take was one jerk 16-year-old to race out the door to ruin the movie and force the theater to refund a lot of money, and to guard a theater exit? Seriously? That would bankrupt the theater even faster than an alarmed emergency exit. I’ve been to the Aurora Theater before, and it’s big. It seems like a good target to try and sue.

Second, How can this guy claim that the shooter’s doctors mismanaged treatment? Was he there for every visit, every diagnosis, every pill popped? They haven’t even definitively diagnosed if the shooter has a mental illness (I’m sure he does, but nothing has been proven – yet). Doctors, especially psychologists appear to make a lot of money, so they’re an obvious target as well.

Finally, Suing the movie studio? A classic move to make easy money. However, This is the third Batman movie. Anyone who has seen the first two movies know that this is not the Tim Burton/Joel Schumacher Batman that was “family friendly”. This is the Goddamn Batman – Influenced by Frank Miller (who has never been known for his soft and cuddly side). Of course it’s going to be fucking violent. It’s a dark, dirty, violent film that reflects the ideologies of a post 9/11 mentality. Besides, Christopher Nolan would never stoop so low as to engage in the whole 50s style chicanery to promote a movie.

This is what pisses me off the most – not the religious zealotry, not the political agendas, but the fact that people are trying to profit off of others suffering. Call me an idealist, but these slimy piles of human waste are the lowest of the low, and they really embody what is truly wrong with humanity. Unfortunately, they’re also like cockroaches – you take care of one, and two more pop up to replace them. The best thing a judge can do is throw the lawsuit out with prejudice, and hopefully this slime ball will just submerge himself back into obscurity.

A Quest of Some Sort, Involving Elves

 

So, I’m not sure how old some of you are, and I’m sure that many of you have never heard about a series that was started almost 40 years ago, but has been an indelible part of fantasy since it was first released. I’m speaking of course about the Wendy and Richard Pini series ElfQuest. If the name doesn’t sound familiar right off, I’m sure the title image will be readily recognizable.

As a kid living in Denver, Colorado, I would spend time at my grandparent’s house, which was about a mile away from a newsstand. If I was lucky, I could usually talk my folks or my uncle into taking me down to the newsstand so I could look at the comic books. At the time, most kids my age were reading Mickey Mouse comics, or Archie comics, you know, the more kid-centric, vanilla comics of the early to mid-80s.

Not me – my uncle, a musician, artist, bike mechanic, was no stranger to the Comix movement of the 60s and 70s, and had some of the books to prove it. What he didn’t know was that I knew where his comics were. So, at the ripe old age of 7, I was reading about Fritz the Cat, the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, Wonder Warthog and the like. So, the first time we took a trip to the newsstand (sadly long out of business now), I wanted to find something that was more interesting than Archie, but not something that would incite a long boring lecture about what was appropriate for me to read at that time. As I walked through the stacks of magazines and comics, looking wistfully at the covers on the upper levels: Heavy Metal, Zap! Comix, some dude named Larry Welz, whose artwork I thought I could fool my parents into thinking it was Archie, although the blonde on the cover was practically falling out of her dress. Resigned to find some lame title, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. Turning towards it, I saw this:

Time stopped for a moment. My breath caught in my throat. It wouldn’t been until years later that I felt a jolt like that, and that was when I first met the woman who would become my wife. At 7, I didn’t know what the hell had hit me, but I just knew I had to have this magazine. My heart was racing. A cold sweat broke out on my brow. Feverishly, I shoved my hand in my pocket, pulling out a handful of coins. I had to re-count the coins three times before I could ascertain that I was short by a quarter. I was crushed.

In one of those flashes of insight, I grabbed the magazine, raced over to my folks, and asked them to help me pay for it. Distracted as they were at the time (I had chosen to ask them when they were engaged in a discussion with someone), they agreed, and I handed them my sweat drenched coins and placed the issue on the counter. After it was rung up, I made a beeline to the car, jealously clutching my find to my chest. Climbing into the car, I plunked down in my chair and started reading, not knowing what I was getting myself into.

In it’s pages, I saw elves and trolls killing each other. I saw racial hatred, swordplay and blood. lots of blood. I saw decapitations and the troll king’s head on pikes. It was horrific, violent, terrifying and shocking.

I was hooked.

I read that issue a dozen times that first week, even though the first night I suffered from terrible nightmares. That magazine went everywhere with me, becoming a companion of sorts. Eventually, I took it to my cousin’s house and forgot it there – I never saw it again. In the ensuing months and years, I tried to find new issues, to no avail. At 7, I didn’t know it was being published tri-annually, all I knew was that it was never at the newsstands when I looked for it.

A few years passed, I moved across country and then back, still obsessing over finding those mythical books (in my mind, I yearned to read more – fearing I had imagined the magazine). My mom got a job at the local library, and so I spent my days in the stacks, looking for anything and everything I found interesting when I stumbled across Fire and Flight.

 

Suddenly, I felt vindicated. Something that had been missing was no longer missing. I discovered the library had all the current books (at the time), and I checked them out as soon as each one was returned. I was happy again. I started scouring the local book stores, looking for copies that I myself could purchase. As I was a poor kid who didn’t really want to work (It took me a few years to get over that), I never had a whole lot of money to splurge on such things as books. As I continued to read the graphic novels, I discovered book 7 for sale at a time I had some money, so I purchased it (it remains the only ElfQuest book I own).

As the years went on, and it became increasingly difficult to find new issues in town, my interest naturally began to wane, but I never forgot about it.

Recently, I started checking Amazon to see if I could purchase the graphic novels. I was dismayed to see that the average price for them starts around $50, as they’re all out of print. Figuring I would see what I could find online, I discovered that the Pinis have digitized every issue of their series (that they have legal rights too do so), and posted them on their web site, free of charge. While I may not be able to own the dead tree versions of this iconic series, I can at least visit Cutter, Leeta, Skywise, Pike, and the rest of the clans whenever I want.

Now, I can appreciate the nuances of the elves societies in a way that I never understood when I was 7, and completely misinterpreted when I was 13. One thing that will never change however, is the awe that I feel when I look at the artwork that has gone into this story. It is definitely timeless.

To Wendy and Richard Pini, Thank You! for all of your work over the years that you invested into your stories and artwork. Thank you for creating something that means as much to me now, almost 30 years later as it did when I was but a small, impressionable lad of 7. I too hope for the day that we finally get to see the Wolfriders, the Sun Folk, the High Ones, Gliders and Go-Backs in glorious action. But most of all, I look forward to introducing my own kids to the wonder and majesty that is ElfQuest.

 

P.s. All images are copyright Wendy & Richard Pini.

Little Project I’ve Been Working On

 

Due to an increase in questions about what I would suggest for different ages, I threw this extremely brief guide to for parents. The links listed below will take you to a download page. I’ve made both a .docx (MS Word) and PDF (Acrobat) so you can choose your personal preference.

 

Word Version

https://docs.google.com/open?id=0BwHoX8bEa7XWZlJhV29VYnE4elU

 

PDF version

https://docs.google.com/open?id=0BwHoX8bEa7XWZS1qUXA0akdvd1E

 

If you have any questions or comments, please let me know!

The temporal matter of ongoing series

 

Bakuman, a Japanese manga from the group that did the deeply influential Death Note has finished. Now, if you’re not familiar with what I’m talking about, please refer to the notes listed below.

If you don’t know what a manga is, start at note 1.

If you don’t know what Death Note is, start at note 2.

If you don’t know what Bakuman us, start at note 3.

If you know all of the above, skip the notes.

Note 1

Manga is the Japanese term for ‘comic book’. Only in Western cultures are manga considered a genre into and of themselves. Manga are an integral part of Japanese society, much the way reality television and compromising one’s morals for money is an integral part of Western culture anymore. Manga cover just about every aspect of Japanese life: there are manga aimed at kids, young men and women, and adults. Topics cover everything – every genre is represented, and it is not uncommon to read a manga about sports, or school, or even something as mundane as going to the store. The majority of manga that is imported is translated into English, but the original format of the book is maintained (it reads from right to left, as opposed to the Western format – left to right), and it does take a little getting used to.

Note 2

Death Note was a series that was originally published in weekly  format from 2003 to 2006. Death Note told the story of a Shingami (a Japanese Death Spirit) who leaves his book of reaping (the Death Note) in the land of humans. A young man by the name of Light Yagami finds the book and discovers that by writing a name in the book and visualizing the person who is named in the book will cause them to die. Filled with a sense of purpose, Light, who contacts the media under the nickname ‘Kira’ (Japanese for ‘killer’) sets out to recreate society by killing off all of the criminal elements in the world. As the police are completely baffled by Kira’s crimes, they call in a world famous detective only known as ‘L’. As the story progresses, it is revealed that L is a young man, around Light’s age, who is intent on catching Kira, and asks Light to help apprehend the villain. What happens from there is one of the most insane games of cat and mouse I have ever personally read. It’s a fantastic series, but definitely for older audiences. Death Note has spawned two live action movies, several video games, and two novels. All twelve books (collecting individual issues) have been released in America, along with a thirteenth book that acts as a reader’s guide. Both novels have been translated into English and can often be found next to the tankōbons (collected arcs – the equivalent of a trade paper back).

Note 3

Bakuman was the second series that Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata worked on together. In it, they chose to tell the story of two kids who made it their life’s desire to become famous mangaka (comics creators). Moritaka Mashiro and fellow classmate Akito Takagi set out to do manga together. Early on, Mashiro reveals that he has a crush on another classmate, a young girl by the name of Miho Azuki. Takagi talks Mashiro into confessing his love for her, and the two agree that they will marry once he is a famous mangaka whose story has been made into an anime (television adaptation) and she is the voice of the female protagonist. The most fascinating thing I found about this series (at least early on) was the amount of focus that was placed on the technical aspect of publishing a weekly manga (and the fact that even though these guys put in close to 80 hours a week, they barely make anything). Bakuman just recently finished its final story arc. However, it has not been completely released in America yet.

 

Now that we’re up to speed, I just wanted to say that I was very thankful and relived that Bakuman ended when it did. The story line had come to it’s natural conclusion (both in the fictional story Mashiro and Takagi had written) and in the series itself – there was no last minute rush to insert a new wrinkle in the story, nor was there any need to. The story had run its course, the protagonists had faced their obstacles and come out the better for it, and everyone was happy.

Unfortunately, not all stories work that way – both in Japan and America. In Japan, two of the most popular series of all time are Naruto and One Piece. Both are action based manga with male protagonists who are constantly facing impossible odds. Both have the attitude of “I’ll become the best (insert career) the world has ever seen”, and both have a cast of supporting characters that are beloved by fans the world over. The other thing they have in common is the fact that both series are formulaic, and have been running continually for over ten years straight.

That’s right – the same basic premise running from story arc to story arc, for ten. years. Ten freakin’ years! It gets a little old after a while.

Now America is not innocent of this fact either – Superman, Batman, X-men, Captain America, all of these titles have been running for many decades (Superman started in the 40s!), and without fail for the majority of that time, it’s the same formula over and over again. Sure, Marvel and DC try to shake things up by occasionally killing off the character, or having the mantle shift to another player for a while, but in the end, it’s still the same damn story.

I understand the driving force behind it – the company has to make money. If something works, why try and fix it? New fans are always coming into the fold, and if the stories got too far-fetched, these new readers would be completely alienated. But seriously – this is why I don’t follow the monthlies anymore. In the majority of stories, the main character faces off against a bad guy, flexes his (or her) muscles, throws down, suffers a set-back of some sort, and ultimately defeats the villain. Yes, this is a gross oversimplification, and I’m well aware of Joseph Campbell’s ‘Hero’s Journey’ aspect of these stories, but far too often, it feels as though the characters are being cut and pasted from one situation to the next, while the villains are being introduced through a revolving door of issues.

Disembodied voice: “Now serving number 78, number 78.”

Villain of the week: "Oh goodie! It’s only been six issues since I last faced off against Captain Amazing Pants! Thank god my insurance covered my jaw being reconstructed!”

Perhaps I’m just cynical, maybe I’m too hung up on the 80s and 90s aspects of storytelling. I don’t know, but this is one of the main reasons I stick with self-contained graphic novels. The possibility of the same damn thing happening over and over again is kept to a minimum.

Am I wrong about recycled story lines? Has this become just a Eastern issue? Let me know in the comments.

From Aside to Soliloquy in Geek Minor

 

So tonight, I managed to freak out my children by whooping and hollering in the car while we were sitting outside the drive-up window of a local restaurant chain. I had just gotten an email stating that my paper proposal had been accepted for a literary conference this summer.

Now, several hours later, the giddiness has worn off, and in it’s place, a profound sense of  “holy shit, what the hell did I just get myself into” has managed to settle itself (rather uncomfortably, I might add) on my chest, much like the incubi of old were said to sit upon a sleeping man’s chest and steal his life away.

“But why?” You may be asking, “Why must you feel this way? Are you not versed in the literary arts?” Well, yes, for the most part, I am, but this is an entirely new situation. And as such, throws my entire sense of self into turmoil. Once again I feel as if I am trapped within the confines of High School, doubting my abilities to communicate, to fit in, to be accepted as one who belongs. I’m wracked with doubts. I fear my ability to write, much less engage in coherent behavior. Questions burble to the surface “what if my presentation falls flat?, what if I set fire to the stage?, what if I accidentally insult Scott McCloud?, what if I can’t afford to go?” And then, after working myself into a frenzied panic of hyperventilation and bad “what if…” scenarios that would put Marvel to shame, I take a few deep breaths, slap myself a few times, and realize the most important thing.

There’s no point in giving up now. I’ve always prided myself on doing things on a large scale. Either I succeed soundly, or I fail – spectacularly. So, gentle reader, I will attend this conference this summer. I will present my paper, and the cosmic forces who pull the strings will flip a coin and decide how everything will turn out.

And in the aftermath, I will sit there, in the flaming wreckage that resulted from either my success or my failure, probably drinking from an ice-cold Blue Moon, and I’ll realize that the true force in the universe is actually a DC Villain by the name of Harvey ‘Two-Face’ Dent.

 

I apologize for the theater references in the title… been reading Hamlet again. 

Limerick For Greg

 

So, in the town of Limerick, they have an annual contest for the best limerick. For five years straight, a man by the name of Seamus McMillian won.

The contest was held in the city hall, where only the contestant and the three judges were privy to the limerick itself. This way, no one would be able to figure out what the limerick was (I’m not sure why, that’s just the way the rules are).

After each contestant would recite their limerick, they would go across the street to the local pub, and when a winner was announced, everyone would celebrate and drink like crazy.

Anyways, McMillian recited his limerick and then went over to the pub to wait for the announcement that he had won for the sixth year. Several pints later, the judges came over and announced that Sister Mary McIntosh, the local nun had won the contest.

Now McMillian was completely floored by this – he was sure he had a clinch on the contest. As he was already full of Guinness and bravado, he marched over to the judges and demanded to know why he lost.

The judges looked at him and reiterated the rules. Protesting, he demanded to know what the winning limerick was. The Judges told him that they couldn’t reveal that. Finally, McMillan demanded to know where Sister Mary was. Against their better judgment, they directed him to the convent down the road.

McMillian stormed down to the convent, fully intent on discovering what the winning limerick was. Shoving open the door, McMillan yelled out for Sister Mary McIntosh. A few moments later, Sister Mary appeared.

“Yes my child. What is troubling you?” Sister Mary asked the inebriated man.

“Sister, I won the limerick contest five years in a row. I’ve always had the best limerick, no one’s been able to beat me. I’ve got to know what your limerick was.” McMillian demanded.

Sister Mary smiled and said “but my son, is that not against the rules?” McMillian nodded, but replied “Sister, I’ve got to know.”

After several minutes of browbeating and haranguing, McMillian broke Sister Mary down. “Alright my son, I’ll tell you my limerick, but we must go outside, as some of the language is not appropriate for this location.”

Walking outside, Sister Mary continued “we must cross the street, before I can tell you my limerick.” McMillian charged across the street, waiting for the nun to catch up.

Once she reached the other side of the street, McMillian started in on her, “Sister, we’ve crossed the street – what’s the limerick?”

Sister Mary held up a hand. “Now, my son, this limerick has some dirty words in it, so I must substitute the word ‘duh-duh’ for the foul language.”

Nodding his head impatiently, McMillian spun his hands, signaling her to get on with it.

Clearing her throat, Sister Mary recited her limerick:

“duh-duh duh-duh duh-duh,

duh-diddy duh-diddy duh-duh,

duh-duh duh-duh, duh-duh duh-duh,

as they fucked in a pile of shite.” 

Writing exercise results

So I went with @genrelibrarian to a writer’s workshop tonight at the local library. The workshop was being run by the extremely talented Laura Resau (Her website here), who discussed character and setting. It was a great night, and I had a lot of fun.

One of the things that Laura discussed was a part that she excised from her book What the Moon Saw, about slug sex (don’t ask – it’ll take more time to explain than required, and by then, you’ll be fed up with it and not want anything else to do with it). Anyways, It stuck with me for some reason, and when we got to the writing exercise for the night, we had to write a scene where we described a scene using all the senses.

Now, before you guys go getting all up in arms – this is not about slug sex. I promise! As for it being tasteful, well, I never said it was going to be good, just no slug sex.

With that out of the way, I present my writing exercise.

 

Returning to the apartment, I unlocked the door, and put my shoulder to it. The oppressive mugginess had swelled the door, and it required me to throw my bulk against it twice. The wood squeaked and squealed in protest, before popping open with a damp thock!

Stepping inside, the heat was worse. All the curtains were pulled, dimming the room substantially, making it almost impossible to see. My foot collided with a mess of empty aluminum while I swung the door shut. Wedging itself at the edge of the jamb, I sighed and trudged down the trash strewn hall, the odor of stale beer and week-old pizza assaulting my nose.

As I stepped into the living room, I was mildly shocked to see the debris had only multiplied marginally. The stench, however, seemed to fill the room, much like a fat man in an elevator after a chili cook-off. My eyes drifted over the carnage of the room to settle on the source of such olfactory offense.

Kyle was sprawled along the length of the couch, reading something. His feet wiggled obscenely, flashing grotesque bits of dirt and fungus, While his shorts, once a nice pair of bermudas I had loaned him, were crumpled and stained, wadding up near his crotch. His gut lolled out from under his grey-ish shirt like molasses waiting for the signal to drip lazily onto the floor.

I had hoped to slip past him, but a pizza box caught my foot halfway across the room.

Tipping the magazine slightly, his gaze met mine. I felt a slight tickle of fear in the back of my throat. A small smile played threateningly at the edges of his food crusted mouth. I knew if I looked at the title of whatever he was reading, I would be treated to a verbal recounting of his literature.

I couldn’t help myself.

To my horror, I saw The Best Arthropod Erotica of the Year, Vol. 6.

Looking back up, Kyle opened his mouth.

“Oi! Listen ta dis!” He was off and running. “Slowly, we slid across each other, the slime trail I had laid across her back glistening wetly in the moonlight. She was a magnificent specimen, and I could feel the pressure building in my abdomen. Before I knew it, I-“

“WHOA! ENOUGH!” I shouted him down. I was feeling nauseated, and not just from his reading. A subtle crosswind had managed to blow the air from his mouth in my direction and the stench of apparent raw sewage was killing my resolve to stay in the room. Stomping off to my room, I could feel his greasy smile boring into my back.

‘If I could just get him off the lease’ I thought to myself as I slammed the door to my room.

Alright, I apologize. I guess some slug sex managed to sneak in. However, this scene actually started out with the magazine itself. For some reason, I thought of the title of the magazine, and started thinking backwards. Namely, who the hell would read something like this in the first place? What sort of demeanor would this person have? Is there really enough arthropod erotica to justify a book, much less six volumes? After laying that out, I just had to figure out who would be interacting with this type of character.

Am I going to follow up on this? turn it into a story?

Probably not.

But, you never know.

A Teaser...

So, in light of Melissa's discovery, I thought I would post some of the articles we had worked up for subsequent articles of The Devil's Advocate. Keep in mind these were rough drafts, and the political climate was much different at the time (not to mention we were a bunch of rabid, anti-republican college kids).

Soooooo..... without further ado.... some articles from the now defunct Devil's Advocate



New Virus Causing Havoc
By: Ed "Eddie" Tor

HAWAII - A new virus has apparently surfaced here of the coast of the big island. Security officials at the Hawaiian Outer-islands Anti-viral eXamination center, have discovered a new virus that they have tentatively named "E.626".

"It is actually a very strange type of viral infection". Stated Dr. L. ilo Wakawakawaka. "From what we have seen, upon infection, is that the virus releases the first part of its payload, destroying file structures, attacking the boot sector, melting wiring structures in the CPU unit itself, and stealing everyone's left shoe." Dr. Wakawakawaka pointed to her bare left foot at this time.

"Within several hours of infection, the virus managed to spread to other computers on the closed network we had set up to test for propagation. The results were just as devastating on those networks also. The virus seemed to be impervious to everything we threw at it. It literally broke our state of the art virus program in half. Our secretary had to go home early due to the fact that she had lost the left shoe of her new pair of Guiccis that she had spent two paychecks on."

Dr. Wakawakawaka pointed to another computer, sitting alone. "Now this was rather interesting. We installed the program on this computer, which is not connected to any other computer in any way. The E.626 virus actually rebult the folders and has optimized the entire system."

Dr. Wakawakawaka later stated that the virus E.626 has also been know to be bundled with several other computer compromisers, the two most common files being the J.U.M.ba trojan horse, and/or the pL.eak.L.y worm.

Apparently several researchers at the center have affectionately nicknames the virus "Stitch".

Something different tonight

Alright guys,

Normally, I'll just spew something out and let you all look at it to your heart's content, but tonight, I come to you hat in hand, to ask you a question.

I have in my possession, a story that I have written. Not that this is anything strange, I normally have stuff I have written, but I have never felt that anything is worth trying to sell. This has changed, and I would like some input from my readers (all five of ya!).

I went through and started looking at submission guidelines for several "pro" markets, and since none of them do not allow simultaneous submissions, I need to figure out which one to submit to first. Let me know what you think:

Analog
- 6 to 8¢ per word
- Response time: ~5 weeks
- Esubs only
- counts towards membership with SFWA

Asimov's
- 6¢ per word
- Response time: ~5 weeks
- Esubs only
- counts towards membership with SFWA

Clarkesworld
- 10¢ per word (up to 4000), then 5¢ per word after
- Response time: ~2 days
- Esubs only
- counts towards membership with SFWA

Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction
- 6 to 9¢ per word
- Response time: ~8 weeks
- Must snailmail manuscript (no esubs)

Orson Scott Card's InterGalactic Medicine Show
- 6¢ per word
- Cannot republish for one year after acceptance
- Response time: ~3 months
- Esubs only
- counts towards membership with SFWA

Lightspeed
- 5¢ per word
- Response time: ~2 days for rejection, ~2 weeks for acceptance
- Esubs only

Strange Horizons
- 7¢ per word
- Response time: 70 days
- Closed to subs until early June
- Esubs only
- counts towards membership with SFWA

Tor Online
- 25¢ per first 5000 words, 15¢ next 5000, 10¢ after that
- Response time: slow (nothing more specific)
- looking for "Highly Professional Level[s]" of work
- counts towards membership with SFWA

look it over, let me know what you think.

Thanks folks.

A little light writing

So, I apparently got an excellent review on an entry I posted over at writing.com for the "It's So Bad, It's Good" contest, where the object was to write the most overwrought, one-dimensional, stereotypical, obnoxious story possible. Here's my entry.


One-eyed Bart swaggered into the bar, his hips swiveling like a diseased prostitute with an ill-fitting peg-leg three inches too short for her body, which was rather funny, as his peg-leg was three inches too short for his body.
Wobbling his way to the bar, there was much speculation about why he was called ‘One-Eyed Bart’ since he had two perfectly functioning eyes. Actually wasn’t all that fair to say he had two ‘perfect’ eyes, as one was a bit lazy. When the left eye looked straight ahead, the right was often examining the nuances to the bridge of his nose – not that it was something he always wanted to stare at, but given the circumstances, it was probably better than staring at the inside of his skull.
Bellying up to the bar, he waved the bartender over. The bartender, a grizzled old one dimensional type schlepped over, wiping out a glass with a towel that would have been considered clean five to seven years previous.
“Well, what’ll it be?” He asked, spitting into the glass and then wiping the inside some more.
“Vermouth... leave the bottle” Bart replied. He knew that when you bellied up to a bar, you always ordered whiskey. Bart wasn’t a whiskey drinker, but he felt that he needed to present a strong, dangerous veneer. He shuddered to think that anyone might discover his deep, dark secret. A secret he was willing to kill for. Not that he had, but he was pretty sure he would to kill to make sure nobody knew what it was.
As the bartender shuffled back over, he sized Bart up. “You look like a man who has a deep, dark secret that you would probably be willing to kill for.” Bart’s eyebrows transported themselves from their usual place above his eyes to somewhere in his hairline. Shocked by this relocation, Bart grunted an affirmative to the bartender’s question. Realizing he just revealed that he had a deep, dark secret, Bart fumed.
“Listen, I’ll let you fume in silence. I have to fade into the background like a poorly conceived character that the author threw in just to move the story along.” Bart watched the bartender blend into the background, taking on a sort of muted quality like the backgrounds of those old Looney Tunes cartoons.
Blowing the dust off the bottle, Bart drank deeply. He could tell it was old vermouth – the taste of stale spices mixed with the vinegar flavor of super old wine, because that’s what vermouth basically is – mulled wine. From what I’ve read, vermouth is great – when it’s fresh, which this stuff most definitely was not.
Gagging on the nasty liquor, Bart turned around to survey the bar. Across the way was a piano player with a pencil thin mustache that would have put Salvador Dali’s to shame, had Dali the foresight to wander into an authentic Hollywood rendering of an authentic western bar. On the stage, several painted women, who bore a passing resemblance to the now dead ex-wife of a disgraced preacher who was famous for defrauding his flock and boinking his secretary, who in turn did a tasty spread in Playboy that did nothing to keep pubescent boys focused on what they were supposed to be doing.
Looking annoyed at the narrator, Bart continued his examination of the bar, noticing several other groups that missed his gaze the first time he studied the room, even though the room only measured fifteen feet on a side. At one table was the local doctor, passed out and snoring loudly into the tabletop. Bart wasn’t totally sure he was the doctor, but judging from previous experience, if someone was passed out at a table, more than likely, the minute a doctor was needed, not only would he be a first class doctor, but a surgeon of the first class with hands of steel who could remove a bullet two centimeters from the human heart.
Another table had a group of rough customers, all playing poker. Each card player was uglier, meaner, and more dangerous than the last. Bart found it rather amazing as they were all sitting in a circle. As he watched, he saw one of the card players accuse another player of cheating, which was rather funny, as they were all cheating. Bart distinctly saw aces sticking out of jacket sleeves, hat brims, boots, and waistbands. The brawl quickly spread across the room, as people squared off against each other. One of the dancing floozies broke a bottle over top of an anonymous brawler that had apparently appeared solely for the purpose of the battle.
Shaking his head, Bart ducked, allowing a thrown combatant to sail over the top of the bar, only to crash into the mirror, shattering it into a million little pieces. Bart reveled at the fact that each sliver, each facet glittered and shone like the stars in a distant galaxy, only to slowly descend downward in a slivery rain of imminent injury and possible death. Bart had seen a man’s carotid artery get sliced once that way. The alcoholic doc was too slow to save the man, but the image of a bright crimson stream fountaining up and over the bar had stuck with him ever since.
Deciding that he had seen enough, Bart hobbled back out of the drinking/brawlhouse establishment. In the street, he turned to examine the sign overhead – “The Double Duce” he read out loud to himself, sounding like Sam Neil in Roadhouse. Slapping himself on the forehead, he realized that not only was he was at the wrong bar, but it was actually Sam Elliot that was in Roadhouse. Looking over, he saw the one he was supposed to be at.
Setting out, he trudge/hobbled his way next door to “The Cantina”, passing a sign stating “Welcome to Mos Eisley, a nice port town.” As he continued on, he passed a couple of deputies muttering “Those aren’t the Floyd boys we’re looking for.”

A work in progress

So, on another site, I'm in the process of submitting for a contest - I have a list of ten words, and I have to use at least 3 of them. Either a poem or short story: Poems have to be at least 25 lines, short stories need to be at least 500 words, but less than 1,000. Below is the list of words I have to use, and a early first draft of either a poem or I'll tie it into a short story.

Frugal, penchant, idyllic, comely, calamity, blasphemy, egregious, sublime, surreptitious, consolidate

So, without further ado, here's my (horribly rough) first draft:

A comely calamity of egregious blasphemy,
an angry amputee seeking sublime amnesty.
surreptitious consolidation,
a penchant for frustration.
a frugal apogee, idyllic bankruptcy,
the fall of a tyrant, the shame of a nation.

I like how it starts out, in fact, it was the "comely calamity" that jumped out at me, and the rest fell together (with some help from a rhyming dictionary). The last line was really forced, and I'm not really feeling it. As it continues to come together, I'll post updates.

Some Movie Reviews

So, with my better half out of town, I've had a chance to watch a bunch of movies that have caught my interest.
That being said, I'll be reviewing five movies, and three television shows - The movies are Dead Alive, Game Box 1.o, Ararat, Star Warp'd & Pandorum. The television shows are all (conveniently enough) anime: Bleach, Hikaru No Go & Naruto.
Well, without further ado... We'll start off with Dead Alive.

Dead Alive

Peter Jackson's last "minor league" movie before he started doing big budget flicks for Hollywood. The description is listed as A young man's mother is bitten by a Sumatran rat-monkey. She gets sick and dies, at which time she comes back to life, killing and eating dogs, nurses, friends, and neighbors. A review of the film is listed gleefully as "...the goriest fright film of all time."
To say that it lives up to that phrase is a bit of an understatement. If you're familiar with Jackson's early works (Bad Taste or Meet the Feebles) you'll be in familiar territory. If not, well... be prepared for some corny special effects, non-logical logic, and the biggest salsa making festival of all time.
As the story progresses, we're introduced to an over-bearing, ball-busting mother; a 50's style greaser; a kung-fu practicing priest; a nurse whose only purpose apparently is to get it on with the priest (post zombification); a zombie baby; killer intestines, gratuitous use of a lawnmower, and some very Freudian overtones during the climax of the movie. Like Jackson's other early works, the tongue is firmly planted in the check through the entire movie, but the gore effects get a little tedious and the movie could have probably stood to lose 10 - 15 minutes of running time.
All in all, if zombies, sick humor, or a Pete Jackson fetish are your thing, check it out - if not, I won't fault you for giving it a pass.

Game Box 1.0

Following in the footsteps of low-budget films, I caught this movie the other night. Netflix had it listed as Horror, but IMDB listed it as sci-fi. Needless to say, I'm going with IMDB on this one.
For what it's worth, I actually enjoyed this movie, one I got used to the special effects. The premise of the movie is a game device that puts you into the game itself. Once inside, you cannot quit the game - you either win the game, or you die in real life. While it's been done before, there was a certain kitsch to this movie that made it, if not memorable, at least enjoyable.
As I said, the story revolves around a game tester who is still agonizing over the death of his girlfriend/fiancée. As he withdraws into his world of video games, he gets a strange package in the mail that he uses. Inside the game, he has a choice of several different worlds; a Grand Theft Auto rip-off, a generic zombie rip-off, and a third world that for some reason escapes my mind at the moment.
Anyways, long story short, the bad guy is the cop that shot the fiancée, the love interest is a digitized version of the murdered fiancée, and the special effects look as though they had been processed through the Sega Genesis x32 system. One of the best parts of the movie is when the hero shoots one of the bad guys, they fall to the ground with a poorly digitized, off-center hole in their chest three times the size of the caliber of weapon used to kill them.
In the end, if you've got nothing better to do, check it out. Otherwise, go out and live your life, unlike these neck-beard mouth breathers that infest this movie.

Ararat

So my buddy Robert was hosting an event for Holocaust Remembrance Week, and the movie we watched and then discussed was the movie Ararat; about the Armenian Holocaust between World War I and World War II. A major part of the controversy behind the Armenian genocide is that Turkey continues to refuse that the event ever happened.
Described as "Interrogated by a customs officer, a young man recounts how his life was changed during the making of a film about the Armenian genocide claims." What they don't say is that this is the overall context of the movie, but it is broken up between five or six sub-plots that give little warning as to shifts. One sub-plot is the relationship between the customs interrogator and his son, the relationship between the interrogator and the young man in question, the relationship between the young man and his lover (who also happens to be his half sister), The relationship between the young man and his mother, the relationship between the mother and the step sister, the story of an Armenian painter who was (allegedly) witness to the genocide, and the making of a movie about the painter and the genocide.
To say the storyline is convoluted is being nice. The shifts in theme often leave the viewer spending approximately five minutes trying to figure out if we're watching the movie being made, the young man recounting his adventures, or the adventures actually happening. I'm not going to bother getting into depth with logical inconsistencies throughout the movie, but I will say that I was extremely unhappy with the end of the movie.
*CAUTION! POLITICALLY INFLAMMATORY DISCUSSION AHEAD!*
There is very little dispute about whether or not the Armenian Genocide happened. While it is frustrating that Turkey refuses to acknowledge the fact that it happened, and even more aggravating that the United States refuses to take a stance on the event, the simple fact of the matter is that this movie, at its core, is propaganda. As we come to the end of the movie, we're shown scenes from the "movie" that has been shot, depicting the degradation and abuse of Armenian women and children by Ottoman Turks. As the scenes progress, it gets more graphic and blatant, further vilifying the perpetrators. The movie then ends with a statement that the Armenian Genocide did occur, based off of documents from the time period, and that to this day, Turkey refuses to admit that it happened. As the movie finished, I found myself sitting there, processing the movie, and all I could think of was "Jesus Christ, we get it. The Armenians were slaughtered. The Ottoman Turks engaged in a concerted effort to eradicate a certain group of people. Stop beating us over the head with it."
In the end, I almost felt sorry for the Turks. I will not make excuses for them, nor will I exonerate what happened. It was a dark period in the history of man, that was then used as an argument to fuel the Final Solution in World War II, but if you're going to make a movie with a strong slant to it, please let the viewer know there is some sort of bias to it - that way they can expect it, instead of having it shoved down our throats.

Star Warp'd

Worst. Parody. Ever. It would be in your best interests to die before viewing this, and even then, I would give it a pass.

Pandorum

Starts out really spooky, has Dennis Quaid in it (which in and of itself should be spooky enough), tries to hook the whole Ridley Scott Alien vibe. Fails miserably. I would give it a pass, just because you'll be wanting your almost two hours back afterwards.

Bleach

Interesting story of a fifteen year old kid who acts way older than scripted. Has been able to see spirits of deceased people since he was little. One night, he runs into a shingami (soul reaper) whose job it is to send good souls to the Soul Society, and battle Hollows (evil souls who have become monsters). Main reason I started watching this is because my eldest used to have a subscription to Shonen Jump, where it was serialized. Starts out slow, but picks up speed after the fifteenth or so episode. Definitely check out the books if you're going to watch the show.

Hikaru No Go

Another show that my eldest got me kind of hooked on. Story of a young kid (11, 12?) who breaks into his grandfather's house to steal something so he can turn around and sell it for money. Kid finds an old Go board (kind of like oriental chess). As he's examining the board, he discovers that the spirit of on ancient Go Master inhabits it, and wants the kid to help him play "The Divine Move" apparently a Go move that proves just how bad ass you really are, and will allow the spirit (whose name is Sai) to finally shed the bounds of earth and move on.
The only problem Sai runs into? The kid (Hikaru) has never played Go in his entire life, and has no plans of learning, until he figures out he can make money off of it. Who said kids aren't enterprising? He sure would give the Donald a run for his money in terms of ruthless dealings.

Naruto

Finally, Netflix got Naruto - The best thing to come from Japan since the invention of home gaming systems (allegedly). Naruto is the story of a twelve year old kid who is a total pariah in his village of the Hidden Leaf. All Naruto wants to do is pass his Ninja graduation exams, train up, and become the best Hokage (Village Protector/Elder) the city has ever seen. The only problem is that he's a troublemaker due to the fact that everyone hates him.
A damn entertaining series, later episodes really go for broke in terms of battle sequences, and the story, while excessively long, is entertaining all the way through, and definitely worth a look.
Just make sure if you're not a fan of subtitles, you get actual discs; don't stream it from Netflix. Subtitles like they're going out of style.

So anyways, that's what I've got. You agree? Disagree? want to kill me over something? let me know.

Facebook Rebuttal

During a "conversation" on Facebook, I made a crack about the Democrats loosing the House while the GOP got the Tea Party, poking fun at the fact that I felt the GOP got screwed more than the Dems. The following rebuttal occurred.
(Names have been removed. If you know who is involved, good for you, go get a cookie)

***

>Them< You say "they got the Tea Party" like it is a bad thing?!? What do you actually know about the Tea Party that you haven't been told by a liberal??

***

>Me< When it comes to the Tea Party, I haven't been told much. I'm going off of what I have seen and read myself. I know we've never met, and I'm willing to bet, we never will. However, I have the feeling that neither of us will lose any sleep over it. But, since the subject has been brought up, I might as well point out that, yes, I do consider myself a liberal. We could go into the nuances of that, but we would be wandering waaaaaaaay off the topic we're discussing here.

***

>Them< Honestly, most people that are against the Tea Party, and what we are accomplishing have little real knowledge about what it stands for, and have usually formed their opinions on based on the lies of a biased media. What specifically, do you think the Tea Party stands for and why do you oppose it???

***

>me< I have to admit that I had to research what the basic fundamentals of the Tea Party were, since it has been overshadowed by the lunatic fringe. What I found was an article written by Deborah K. Mulholand on the Daytona Daily News website. She stated that

"Tea Party patriots are normal, everyday, working people who are fed up with having to balance their family budgets while Congress and the lawyers in Washington, D.C., cook up ways to “tax the living daylights out of us” and then hire thousands of IRS hooligans to come to our homes and hit us over the head with their tax-and-spend billy clubs.

We also believe in American sovereignty — not being ruled by the United Nations. We’re not convinced that globalism is great; we want our military airplanes made here in the USA.

Lastly, we believe the Constitution is a finite document created by our Founding Fathers to limit the scope, control and power of government, not give it a blank check to drain the lifeblood out of the heartland of our great nation."^[1]

Indeed it is a noble and honorable thing to challenge what you feel is not right. There are instances of it happening all through out history from both liberal and conservative sides. What I do take exception to is the statement

based on the lies of a biased media.

Of course media is going to be biased... this is the Information Age! Compound that with the fact that we are a capitalist society (which is neither good nor bad for the sake of this argument), those that report the news are fighting for market share. Truths are going to be stretched, lies are going to be told, people are going to be smeared - the ultimate purpose is not to tell it like it is, the purpose is to get eyes on what you are saying. The more sensational the story, the more people are going to read it, the more money that is generated for the company. However, "Biased Media" is generally seen as a liberal skewing - it happens in all quarters, not just from the liberal side.

*edit* I failed to properly redress why I am against the Tea Party. My personal feelings are the the Constitution is a living document, requiring interpretation through current social issues. Ultimately, what I feel is being presented as the Tea Party is addressed below.
I apologize for the oversight.

***


>Them< The Tea Party is defiantly not what I would consider an asset to the old school GOP. They are more akin to a conscience on a corporate CEO.. The Tea Party keeps the GOP honest, it makes them vote on conservative principals, not politics. Will it cost them elections?? Hell yes!! It has already for sure!! Look @ NV Reed vs. Angle for proof of that!!

Sometimes, it has to be about more than just winning, it has to be about what is right for this country, and what is wrong for this country. That is something the DNC and Obama seem to have forgotten....

***

>Me< Ahhhh.... now we get to the crux of the problem. However, before we delve into that, I want to say that I agree completely with the statement about what the Tea Party is supposed to do; namely, keep the Principles of the GOP in line, making sure that it does what it feels is best for America, not for personal gain. And again, I tend to agree that I feel the President and the DNC have lost sight of what their mission was.
However, getting back to that pesky crux issue - which was

"Sometimes, it has to be about more than just winning, it has to be about what is right for this country, and what is wrong for this country."

Who is the final arbiter of what is right, and what is wrong for this country? We all are. We try to operate off of the concept of 'simple majority'. Namely, if a decision has to be made, we vote on it, the side that gets 51% or more causes their decision to be acted upon. At least, that's my understanding of it. Please, someone correct me if I'm wrong.
The problem with politics these days is that people are taking it personally. I cannot count how many times I've had regular discussions breakdown into name calling, mud-slinging, or physical altercations, simply due to the way I vote. I'm not going to say that I am completely innocent in any of this, as I've given probably as much as I have taken. It's a weakness of character, so I ignore it as much as possible.
But, getting back to the whole "Tea Party is a Bad Thing" bit; it's not. Hate to be a buzz kill, but I think the Tea Party is a needed part of the GOP. I hope that the DNC will eventually get their own version to help slap those chuckle heads back into shape. The only way the Tea Party is going to fix their image is to get rid of the wing-nuts who claim they speak for the Party as a whole. They overshadow what good is coming out of the Tea Party Movement, cheapening the experience. It is because of these talking heads that I take a long, saddened look at the Tea Party, shake my head, and say "It could have been magnificent. It could have redirected the entire nation. It could have fixed a broken bi-partisan system. It could have brought respect back to politics, but instead, it's allowing itself to fall down the exact same rabbit hole it tried to steer us away from."

^[1] http://www.daytondailynews.com/opinion/what-does-the-tea-party-stand-for--727723.html

Gobble Gobble Motherf***ker!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Hope your turkey day was spent with friends and family, and you had a great time, as well as a great meal. Melissa and I just finished watching the first Thanksgiving themed horror movie we've ever heard of, and I just relish the thought of telling you about it.

Anyways, as you can see from the picture, it's called Thankskilling. If the title wasn't enough of a give away, it tells the age old tale of a group of college kids (who just happen to be in their late twenties to early thirties), who are on their way back to their home town for the Thanksgiving holiday. Along the way, their car breaks down, and they hear the story of an ancient indian curse that causes a demon turkey to rise up every 505 years to kill white men. Apparently at the first Thanksgiving feast, one of the main character's ancestors royally pissed off an indian shaman (what exactly the original offense was is never stated, but I imagine it has something to do with the pilgrim banging the girl the indian was in to). This indian shaman was supposedly the most awesome badass spell caster around, soooo he summoned a demon turkey to exact revenge.
Now, I don't know about you, but a demon turkey just isn't that scary - at least the thought of a demon turkey doesn't frighten me. It might scare the shit out of PETA activists, but I think that would be more on general principle than anything else.
Anyways, We started the movie, and the first thing you see are tits. Fuly exposed, older tits that are wobbling and swaying and bouncing around while this older woman (who does 'mature' porn - I swear her IMDB listing reads like a menu from an adult book store) is running through the woods, trying to pull off the impossible task of emoting fear. Finally, she stumbles and falls, only to turn herself over, and see what ever is chasing her. The camera cuts to a rediculous looking turkey (that looks like a standby for Triumph the Insult Comic Dog).
The turkey then says "Nice tits, bitch!" and then hacks her with an axe. We then cut to the opening credits.
I'll spare you the gory details of the movie (which allegedly cost $3500 to make - and it shows), but to make it worth your while, here's some of the highlights from this movie.

- A hillbilly character who looks like a cross between Sean Astin (Samwise Gamgee) and Bulk from the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers.
- Sparkling Dialog:
- I'm gonna drink your blood like cranberry sauce, you meanie!
- Johnny, I'm sorry for the things I said last night. I guess I'm a little beaked- er, freaked out.
- We've got to find a way to kill this cock-blockin' turkey!
- Wow! That took forever! Uh, guys, it was only five minutes.
- Gobble, Gobble, motherfucker! (my personal favorite)
- (after the turkey kills one of the kids) Now that's what I call fowl play!
- Recycled punch lines (seriously - word for word)
- And who can forget raunchy turkey sex, complete with extra small gravy flavored condoms?

Is this a good movie? By any definition of the word, absolutely, without a doubt, NO. This is a festering pile of turkey shit, but the actors go at it with such aplomb and no illusions as to the overall quality of the movie, so it does score quite a few points in the 'tongue in cheek kitsch' department.
Is it worth watching? Hell yeah. At least once, but only on Thanksgiving.

A Musing on Breasts (NSFW - language & content)

So, Melissa was on one of her websites today, and the question was asked "Why do men like breasts so much?" She asked me to answer the question for her (which is surprising, due to the fact that the website is for women only).
I replied by saying:

"Men like breasts for many reasons. It's something that men don't normally have (unless we're morbidly obese) and that engages our curiosity. Breasts also break up the straight line of the chest, it gives us something to look at. Many men are acutely aware that the manipulation of the breasts also creates pleasure in women, and that in turn gives us pleasure. Now I'm not saying that men engage in breast manipulation strictly for altruistic purposes, some of it is due to the fact that we hope for some form of reciprocation.
Ultimately however, I think that men like breasts simply because we are taught from an early age that it is something we are not supposed to look at. It's the whole sense of breaking a societal taboo that excites us. Seeing clothed breasts excites our imagination, while bare breasts invoke that feeling of taboo - it brings out the pubescent boy in us again."

As there is a character limit when replying to a post, I figured I would flesh this idea out some more.

1. Breasts are something that men don't normally have.
- Unless we are morbidly obese, or going through major surgery, we do not have breasts. While this may infuriate some men, most are intrigued by this difference between the sexes. By the time boys have become men, we have figured out our own bodies. We know how our arms and legs work, many of us know how to take a punch to the stomach, the vast majority have figured out the more comedic parts of our pelvis, not to mention the act of self-gratification.
However, women have breasts, lumpy, squishy sacks of skin filled with fat and lactation sacs that when infused with hormones can produce milk. As disgusting as that may sound, they still draw the attention of males everywhere (and some females as well, but that's beside the point).
The simple fact of the matter is that much like a mountain, or a new land, the female breast is unexplored territory. We as men feel it is our duty to conquer this new territory; to explore its peaks and valley(s), to explore the nooks and crannies, the overhangs and points. As with any new discovery however, we always know there is more to find, which is why we are always examining anew breasts of all shapes and sizes. Even if we know our wives or girlfriend's breasts better than our own bodies, we still examine others - simply because we are curious. We know instinctively that it is new territory - unexplored regions of the earth that may remain mysteries (especially if we know what's good for us).

2. Breasts break up the straight line of the chest, it gives us something to look at.
- Go out and look at people in profile sometime, especially men. A lot of men (especially older gents) tend to develop a 'b' sort of upper body type. Not very attractive. Honestly, would you want some guy to come up to you in a bar and start rubbing his gut on your arm? >shudders< me neither.
However, women are often shaped like a 'P' which is much more aesthetically pleasing. Blame the inherent artist in men. Many of us have artistic ancestors and although it may have been diluted out severely over the generations, we still have a basic idea of a pleasing aesthetic. If you don't believe me, look at a guy naked and then a girl naked.
Let me rephrase that. porn does not count as looking at naked men and women. porn engages in improbable physical body types and unusual fetishes. Therefore, you cannot get a good idea of what a real naked person looks like.
Get a book on physiology or human anatomy, or even a book on the human body as an art reference. Look at the way the female body is designed. Now compare it to how a man is designed. The female form is rounded, curved, supple. The male form is angular, pointed, utilitarian. In short, looking at the female form is like walking through the Louvre. Looking at a man is like touring a construction site.

3. Many men are acutely aware that the manipulation of the breasts also creates pleasure in women, and that in turn gives us pleasure.
- As I also stated above, it's not necessarily for altruistic reasons. Quite often, men are hoping (or even expecting) some form of reciprocation in exchange for inciting pleasure in the woman. On the other hand, The ability to bring pleasure to a woman through the manipulation of the breasts feeds into the need for men to accomplish something. By bringing pleasure to a woman, men fill the need to say "I have pleasured this woman, see how studly and virile I am. By supplying some form of sexual gratification to this woman, I have transcended the status of mere man and entered the realm of god-hood."
Don't believe me? Women, next time your husband or boyfriend is finished fooling around with you, watch him strut. (No, I'm not immune to this either, just ask Melissa)

4. It's the whole sense of breaking a societal taboo that excites us.
- Blame the puritans for this one. For the longest time, we have been told that nudity is wrong, that to expose yourself to anyone is offensive. However, we're born without clothes. Society has been so ingrained with the thought that the naked body is somehow wrong, that society as a whole has developed a sort of psychosis about being seen naked.
At the same time, we are driven by an intense desire to break the rules, to test the boundaries of 'proper' society. By looking at a woman's clothed breasts, men are forced to engage their imaginations to visualize what they would look like naked; and imagined breasts tend to excite as much, if not more, than the real thing.
Barring such easy options as strip clubs, nudie magazines and the Internet Porn Machine, seeing bared breasts is such a thrill that words have difficulty expressing. Be it a quick flip up of the shirt at a rock concert, Mardi Gras, or Spring Break, a "wardrobe malfunction" (a totally bullshit term if I ever heard one), or a surprise move by a wife or girlfriend when she's feeling frisky - the taboo of public nudity sends chills down the spine of most red-blooded men. We feel as if we are seeing something we're not supposed to. much like peeping through the knothole of the fence around the nudist colony, Seeing bare breasts gives us the thrill of breaking that taboo.
In a small way, we regress back to our childhood, when we got our first glimpse of a naked breast, and we finally got it. In one shining moment of clarity, we discovered why girls were different from us, and suddenly, we had to know what exactly those things were.
At that point, we realize that there is a whole fresh new world of possibilities out there, ready to be explored. As we mature, we discover that this amazing new world can be even less fun and interesting than the world we lived in as kids, but by the simple flash of a breast, we can travel back to that point where we were naive and the possibilities are endless, even for a moment.

Now others may dispute these facts, but as far as I'm concerned, I think what I've said here can stand for most guys.

Untitled Story - Part Four

Minutes later, Bill and War stood outside the apartment complex. The sun had descended down past the other massive buildings that surrounded the two.
"So if you lose all of your powers when your horse is destroyed, is it possible to get the horse back?" Bill asked, looking down the street.
War shrugged. "Yeah, it's possible, but it requires a massive expendeture of energy to reform the horse, and the energy has to be in the form of the horse's power."
Bill whipped around to look at War. "In the form of the horse's power? So you mean that if you lost your horse..."
"There would have to be a massive war upon the world to recreate my horse, yes."
"So, in order to get Death's horse back, millions of people have to die?" Fear crept back into Bill's voice.
"That is correct." War replied.
"Has this ever happened before?" Bill asked, fearful of the answer.
War nodded. "Both Death and I lost our horses a while back, but we managed to get them back fairly quick."
"When was that?"
"I managed to get mine back in 1942. Death didn't get her's back until 1945." War shrugged.
"Wait a minute, 1945... that was when Hiroshima and Nagasaki were bombed, right?" Bill's stomach began to sink.
"Yes, and out of the cloud of Nagasaki rode Death's horse, alive and well again."
"But, those two explosions killed almost a million people!" Bill exclaimed.
"That was actually the final part, Death's horse had been reforming for some time. The war itself with all of it's active and passive casualties had done a lot to rebuild Death's horse." War continued.
Bill paled and sat down quickly. "Most reports state that over 60 million people died over the course of the war. Are you meaning to tell me that in order to get Death's horse back, we have to cause the death of 60 million people?"
War looked at him incredulously. "No. We don't have to do anything. We can just let people die but not rest. They're not going to be zombies, but they're not going to be stationary. After a while, as more people cease their life functions, there will be no living things left, and the end will finally be here."
Bill goggled. "So we can either kill 60 million people, or just let everyone reach some state of living death?"
"60 million is a bit excessive, I admit. It really only takes 5 million people to bring Death's horse back." War's tone was a little bored.
Bill slapped his forehead. "Of course! We just have to nuke New York and everything will be right with the world again. That's great!" Bill laughed maniacally for a moment "DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU'RE SAYING!?" He screamed at War.
War lazily glanced at Bill. "Yeah." the tone coming off like a bored valley girl from the eighties.
"I'm not going to nuke New York!" Bill screamed at War. A passerby sped up looking worried.
"Fine" War shrugged. "Then we just let everyone die but not rest."
Bill put his head in his hands.
***

Untitled Story - Part Three

Shaking the fuzz from his head, Bill struggled back to his feet, rubbing his neck. "Wait a minute, what do you mean a Horseman will lose their powers if they lose their horse? I thought you guys were divine beings, drawn forth to herald the Rapture."
Glaring again, War fumed. "WE ARE-" "Damn it, would you stop with the head crushing voice?" Bill cut in, annoyance tinging his voice.
Fire blazed in War's eyes and Bill suddenly had the image of being skewered on a big sword from bottom to top flash through his head. However, when War spoke again, his voice was quiet again. "We are Horsemen without our horses, we're basically mortal. We have no control or say over our powers. Sometimes, they will randomly manifest, but for the most part, they don't work. Period."
A cold, numbing realization settled in the pit of Bill's stomach. Opening his mouth say something, he let it hang open as the full implications of what War explained settled in. A slow, high pitched whine filled the air, growing in volume and pitch until War appeared in front of Bill, slapping him across the face.
"Sorry. That damn noise was getting on my nerves." War apologized. He looked stricken. "Damnation. It's already starting." War muttered to himself. Seeing the confused look on Bill's face, War continued. "If once of us loses our horse, not only does that Horseman lose their powers, but the other's powers begin to wane - not to mention we begin to shift to the opposite of our personalities. In a way, we can tell immediately if one of us is in trouble."
"So, let me get this straight - because Bucky blew up Death's horse, she has lost her powers. Without her powers, people are not going to die. Right?" War nodded mutely. "In addition to that, the other Horsemen are going through personality shifts that make them polar opposites of their traditional personalities?" Bill pressed on. "So, instead of being an overbearing pain in the ass, you're now going to be meek and polite?"
War nodded morosely.
"Well, crap." Bill put set chin in his hand to think. "Well, we had better figure out how to fix this before Pestilence takes over Orkin or Terminex and Famine starts feeding the masses." Glancing over at War, Bill did a double take. On the floor next to his unconscious brother, War was in the fetal position.
Bill walked over to the now childlike Horseman and did something he never would have considered possible. He hauled War to his feet and slapped the mythical being across his rugged, scarred jaw. Twice.
The change was immediate. War's eyes blazed hotly. He threw back his arms, looked at the ceiling and bellowed "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" The walls shook in fear of the re-energized deity. A picture fell off the wall, terrified of what was to come. As War leveled his gaze at Bill, the sound of a foot stomping the floor above them broke the new silence.
"Dammit, Bill! Keep the volume down or I'm going to call the super!" A voice floated through the popcorn texture of the ceiling. "Sorry!" Bill yelled back up. "Mrs. Meyers." He explained to War, acting as if that was all the explanation that was needed.
***

Untitled Story - Part Two

Scrabbling to get the key back out from its hiding place was proving to be a maddening undertaking. It was bad enough that Bill had to scrabble around to get the key without anyone seeing, but he also had a bona-fide Horseman of the Apocalypse practically breathing down his neck.
"ARE YOU TRYING TO PISS ME OFF?" Bill winced again as he felt his head attempt to explode from War's voice. Looking back over his shoulder, Bill glared at War. "Listen, I would be able to get the key much quicker if you would back up a little" He paled quickly as War glared at him. "Please?" he squeaked, visions of death and dismemberment racing through his head. Cringing, Bill waited for the blow that would split him from stem to stern. After several moments passed, Bill slowly opened his eyes to see War down the hallway, glaring at him, Bucky still tucked unevenly under one arm.
Steeling his resolve, Bill reached back into the gap and retrieved the key. Before he could second think himself, Bill unlocked the door and motioned War to go in. Sweeping past him, War hauled his little brother into the apartment. Bill followed behind, closing the door. Once inside, War moved to the living room and unceremoniously heaved Bucky onto the couch.
"So, uh, what, uh, what h-happened?" Bill's voice betrayed his overwhelming fear of not only the biblical figure before him, but also the situation as it stood. Bucky may be a menace to everyone around him, but it took a lot to injure him, much less lay him out cold.
War sat down heavily in an armchair by the couch. In this setting, the heavily scarred, bearded man did not seem so powerful and awe inspiring. In fact, if Bill didn't know any better, he would have sworn that War looked like a down on his luck veteran who was taking a break from begging for change on the streets. Looking at his hands, War heaved a heavy sigh.
Bracing himself for another head-splitting vocalization from War, Bill prepared for the explanation. War began to talk "Bucky was attacked by Death" his voice barely filled the room, much less crowding out Bill brain with its intensity. Shock registered on Bill's face.
"What, you think I always talk like I've got a megaphone attached to my face?" War stared at him, fire burning in his eyes.
Swallowing loudly, Bill found his voice "w-well... yeah. I mean you're a Horseman of the Apocalypse. A Harbinger of End Times - the destroyer of civilizations. I just couldn't imagine you having any sort of what my kindergarten teacher would call an "indoor voice"."
"FOOLISH MORTAL. DO YOU DARE MOCK ME?" War sprang to his feet, Fire blazing from his eyes, hand on the hilt of his sword.
Bill slammed back against the door, terror gripping his soul. Dimly, he was aware of a warm trickle pouring down his leg. He found it hard to breathe, yet he was consumed with a desire to go next door and conquer the Hendersons.
"Look, that's not why I'm here. I just barely managed to get Bucky out of there before Death got really pissed off. I'm just glad we didn't run into Famine on the way out. He's not nearly as understanding as Death is." War seemed to deflate and sat back down on the chair. He looked back at Bill. "Listen, before we continue this conversation, you need to go change. While you're at it, take a shower... you smell like fear and urine. If you're going to help me figure this out, I can't be getting distracted by two of my favorite scents."
*** Bill stood under the scalding hot shower head as he tried to process everything that had just happened in the past ten minutes. He had started out the night looking to go and wander, and now, he had War, the second Horseman of the Apocalypse sitting in his living room. Not only that, but this mythical figure was asking for his help. If he wasn't experiencing it himself, he wouldn't have believed it either.
Several minutes later, Bill was dressed in clean clothes and sitting in the living room across from War. The Harbinger had managed to collect himself and was staring steadily at Bill.
Clearing his throat, Bill broke the ice. "So, what did Bucky do that caused Death to beat the crap out of him, and why would Famine be wanting to really injure him as well?"
War stared at Bill for a minute. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled loudly. "For some reason, he was really upset that Death's horse didn't have much color. Don't ask me why, but sometimes, Bucky just gets a wild hair up his ass and does something ridiculously stupid. In this case, he somehow managed to get Death's horse out of the stable without alerting her, and took the damn beast to a tanning salon."
Bill goggled. "He did what?"
"I said, he took Death's horse to a tanning salon; said the beast looked so pale that he thought the damn thing needed a tan." War looked like he wanted to punch something.
"and?" Bill repressed an urge to giggle.
"Well, he managed to find a tanning salon that would allow a horse in the first place, and then when he put it in the machine, all hell broke loose." War's face clouded up with rage.
Bill was beginning to lose the fight for a straight face. "What happened?" A snicker slipped out.
War glared at him until Bill subsided. "It exploded."
Bill lost all control and guffawed loudly... until War grabbed him around the neck and started choking him.
"DO YOU REALIZE THAT A HORSEMAN WITHOUT THEIR HORSE LOOSES THEIR POWERS?" War bellowed in Bill's face. Severely deafened, bill could only squirm weakly in the powerful grip. Suddenly loosening his grip, War dropped Bill to the floor and stomped back over to the chair and sat down heavily.
***

Untitled Story - Part One

Bill locked the door to his apartment and carefully hid the key behind the loose bit of moulding outside his door. Looking around nervously, he began his trek down the three floors to the street below.
Silently, he passed the broken elevator that has been out of service since his first week in the building. As he began his descent down the narrow steps, he thought about his roommate, if he could even be called that. Honestly - the guy was hardly ever there, and when he was, it was just a series of disasters. Bill shuddered as he thought about the latest incident where Bucky ended up setting the bathtub on fire. In and of itself, quite possible, but when it's full of water, not only is it an impressive, yet dangerous feat, but the steam did some major damage to the drywall.
It took all of his courage to face the super and try and talk Mr. Schultzen out of not only evicting them, but charging them to repair the entire third floor, as well as The Polkeist's apartment below them. Seriously, it wasn't Bill's fault the bathtub fell through the floor and killed their schnauzer Tinkles.
Stopping for a moment on the second floor to catch his breath, he shook his head, amazed that the two of them were still alive. After every accident that almost killed them, they managed to skit around any major trouble. The only problem was that they were the most reviled tenants in the building; no one ever invited them to hang out on the roof, they were never asked to join the monthly BBQ in the back lot.
Hearing a door slam, Bill looked over at apartment number 9. the number arced back and forth, slowed by friction as it rubbed on the door. Bill rolled his eyes. That wasn't number 9, that was apartment 6. Apartment 6; Loony Lucy's apartment. She of the fishnet garters and tutus to run to the store. Apparently, she was mad at Bill again. For what this time, he could only guess... but judging by the sign on her door - it was because he was now a space alien sent to Earth to make alien babies with her.
Sighing again, Bill started down the stairs. Her crazy pick-up lines used to bother him, but after a few months he had learned to blow it off. 'If she wasn't such a basket case, I would probably see about dating her' Bill thought as he descended the steps, his thoughts coming back around to Bucky again.
What Bill still couldn't get was the fact that Bucky was the honest to God fifth horseman of the apocalypse. In all truth, Bucky was the former fifth horseman of the apocalypse. The younger brother of War, apparently Bucky had caused a lot of strife and misery when he was with the group. Misery was his real name, but when he got booted from the group, he was no longer allowed to use his real name, instead he was forced to settle on the first name he came across. Apparently, he found a beaver mascot somewhere, and got his name.
Bill had just made it to the foyer when a big guy with a red sword strapped to his hip burst into the building. he had one arm thrown around a much smaller person, and was half-walking, half-dragging the smaller figure in. Immediately, Bill's heart sank.
Looking around, the big man spotted Bill. His face broke into a jagged grin as the scars across his face wiggled and moved, suggesting battle. "Bill!" he called out jovially.
The sound erupted through the room, the large man's voice filling the entire area aggressively, seeking out every nook and cranny, forcing it's way into Bill's head, laying waste to everything in it's path. Bill smiled weakly as he felt his eardrums threaten to burst.
"Hi War" he replied weakly, raising his hand half-heartedly and flexing his fingers in a sad attempt at a greeting.
"Listen, Buck and I had a spot of trouble with the others, and he really needs to rest. could you help me get him back to your place?" Bits of plaster began to rain down from the sonic assault. Bill's interior organs rattled and shook. Nodding weakly, he began the trek back up the stairs, the large man close behind.
***

Musings on becoming an Author

As you may or may not know, I have spent the last two years writing my first book. While it is not going to be hitting the New York Times Best Seller list, it is my first real, honest-to-god hard copy book.
While I've been talking about writing a book over these past two years, it never really hit me that I was going to be published until tonight, when I stumbled across the Amazon.com entry for my forthcoming book - completely unsolicited, I was looking at other books in the same sort of niche as mine, and I saw an entry for a reading guide to graphic novels for kids. Thinking to myself, "Wow... that's wild. Someone else is writing a book just like mine."
So I clicked the link, and this is what I saw.



Then it hit me. That was my name under the author listing.

The world fell away, and I was left floating on a cloud of euphoria, terror, and the crushing, overwhelming realization that I am going to be published, and all that keeps running through my head is "Oh shit, I'm an author."

I think I'm going to be sick, from fear or excitement remains to be seen.

To my family, friends, and others who have prodded, poked, cajoled, threatened, begged and bargained with me to finish...

I want to thank you all for believing in me - especially when I felt the odds were insurmountable.

I raise my glass to you all, and wish you the best in all your endeavors.