Politics

I realize that for a long time I've withdrawn from politics other than getting myself worked up over American elections.

I read a joke once in a science fiction politics comes from poly meaning many, and ticks meaning the bloodsucking insects. I think whoever said that was a fucking inbred that was lucky to pass third grade.

As dirty as politics is perceived, it`s also how we decide resource distribution and try to get to things like human rights. Politics since the enlightenment is that government power comes from the governed as opposed to the power of god or some other mystical bullshit.

Lately in the news the government has approved an oil pipeline near some sensitive ecological areas. The Standing Rock tribe are dying and fighting over similar bullshit down in the south.

So I`m working to resist the pipeline any way I can. Because in a modern democracy, resisting is your right as a citizen. And I don`t mean resist in the fucking stupid second amendment way that American fascists like to masturbate over when they`re not shitting themselves at the sight of black people who aren`t in jail.

So get involved in government. Volunteer for a local election, vote for county dog catcher and the most meager boring post you can think of. Just don`t get involved every four fucking years and then die off like a coma victim after a car crash.

Get the fuck off your ass and show that you have a say in life and prove you`re not one of those worthless pieces of crap who bitch and moan how their lives don`t matter.

Action matters, fuck your good intentions. If you want to have a say in your future you can, but you can`t do that by being pure or being lazy.

Fuck that. 

Undercover Boss is dead

My wife has an abusive boss.

more than I care to admit I think about killing that boss of their or intimidating them Sopranos style.

We've all had a bad boss. They're somebody who has a very undemanding job and acts like their shit doesn't stink. Then when work is over they'll wine to anybody who'll listen how they don't have any friends and nobody likes them.

These people are parasites, leaches and they make the lives of everyone around them worse.

My brother studies finance and he tells me that we should be teaching elementary and high school students the difference between bonds, stocks and commodities. Just so that our future leaders and voters can be financially literate and demand real change from our leaders. Or use that knowledge to take control of their lives and not let other people rip them off financially.

He wants people to protect themselves from bad stock brokers and people who hurt others for profit.

I think the same applies to abusers .

I want kids in elementary school to learn what an abuser is and how to avoid being one.

It's not enough just to be nice to people. You have to really teach them what it looks like when they encounter a failed human being who's going to suck them dry like a giant mosquito.

And being an abuser isn't something that should be glorified. Being loud, shouting someone down, making someone feel small isn't something to be proud of. You should be fucking ashamed because you're ruining someone else's fucking life.

But it's hard to be there when someone comes from work every day drained, hurt and recovering from being bullied  and you have to try and rebuild them before they're torn out for the next day.

I just want to take my boss's wife and pull their fucking heart out. 

Cynicism and cysts

So I know a guy who sees the worst in people.

He's also a Donald Trump voter so I guess he must have a burning hatred of decency and humanity.

Looking at this guy, I realize that I myself see the worst in people and the worst in human behavior and actions.

That said, I'm not a fucking idiot and I really don't see myself as a cynic.

Originally a cynic was someone who tried to see the truth for what it really was. Today it usually means someone who pisses and moans without ever doing anything and whose only response in life to is to see how far they can shove their head up their ass.

The thing is, you can't be optimistic without knowing what the worst people can do. If you're optimistic without knowing you're not an optimist, you're a fucking imbecile.

You can't hope for the best without knowing what's wrong.

I'm optimistic because I have my head on my shoulders instead of up my ass. I can see the best in people because I also know what's their fucking worst.

You can't ever really love someone without seeing them at their shittiest. God knows my wife doesn't look anything like she does with makeup and clothes on.

so wake up, pull your head out of your ass and wipe the shit out of your eyes.

contrary to belief ignorance is not bliss and stupid people are some of the most fucking miserable sacks of crap you'll ever have the displeasure of knowing. 

Writing a book

When you're writing a book, you can't succeed unless you can recognize when you're shit.

If you have no self confidence and can't show your work to anybody then you'll never go anywhere and your fucking book will be stillborn. The best you can hope for at that point is that a friend will publish your work after you die like Franz Kafka.

No piece of work will ever be perfect. Even the finest novels and stories can be shat on, misunderstood or just found boring by a reader.

This is the age of the internet, we can see our haters in real time.

The thing is, while there's a popular joke that having an opinion on the internet will get you mobbed; the same is no less true for real life.

So back to the previous point. You can't trust the people who praise you and you can't trust the people who hate you. You've got to see for youself what works in the story, what would work in another story or what would be flat out shit in any circumstance and you better fucking feel ashamed for writing bullshit like that.

I had writer's block for about two weeks, I wrote a short paragraph about dwarves on motorcycles. Then I got stuck.

So I deleted it because while the idea was funny, it didn't fucking belong with my story and didn't serve the narrative in any way.

And this is a goddamn story where anything and everything happens, but the dwarves on motorcycles did not serve the story. They weren't funny or enlightening or even good background dressing. In another setting it might have been interesting . . . to at least me.

But I had to cut out a tumor from my precious novel. That little paragraph had to die so that the rest of the story could continue to live and be born.

My book is my baby, and I have to care for it and provide for it at every step of its gestation. I can't eve take a vacation from it, can't take a break from it.

Because even when I distract myself on this blog like a pregnant mother taking medication for morning sickness I always have that novel in the back of my mind if not the front of it.

So what do you love most?

Call of Duty: Infinite Shite

So ripping on the Call of Duty games is like shooting fish in a barrell. Everybody hates the games save for a band of racist fourteen year old's online. Other people drabble a bit in the multiplayer but don't really give a crap about it.

People who play Dark Souls laugh at COD's easy gameplay, linear levels and unmemorable enemies and storylines.

Thing is, I've been watching a playthrough of the newest COD, Infinite. Call of Duty in Space, basically.

I have no beef with that premise. It's kinda cool. And I admit to loving playing COD multiplayer with my rowing friends back in the day so what's the fucking problem.

Thing is, the game starts with an unprovoked, kinda brutal terrorist attack. Alright, fair premise.

Then we get some cardboard villain who almost comically flaunts his disregard for human life. It's a little like unintentional Sam Rami horror.

Then there's the part where I get lost by the game.

We cut to some assholes on earth who want to strike a full millitary invasion against their hated enemies but can't because their hands are explicitly tied by politicians. That's explicitly their problem. That politicians are betraying them and tying their hands and keeping them from winning.

As my migraine starts to build it gets worse. The two handsome looking characters start to lament that War has rules of engagement and that those rules are really a waste of time.

My head continues to hurt as I've heard a lot of this shit before and not in fiction.

Then these two lovingly rendered motherfuckers go on saying that and I quote, "Warriors aren't in charge until there's a war."

And then I throw something against a wall.

I know that Call of Duty is basically propaganda for the US army and that it's supposed to make you horny at the thought of killing brown people. I get that.

But this bullshit hits a little too close to Germany's Stab in the back myth, circa post WW1.

And there's also the fact that in most places that aren't military dictatorships, the army isn't in charge. In the US, in Canada, in Australia and the UK and many other places that aren't banana Republics; the military always answers to a civilian government.

Traditionally the merging of government with military command is a feature of fascist strongmen.

And this festering heap of shit disguised as a game is trying to make that seem like a good thing. Like we're supposed to be sad that there are international laws of war and we're not all waterboarding each other and killing the families of suspected terrorists (thank you President Fucking Trump) and that we should be using less diplomacy and bombing the crap out of people like good Imperialist fucking drones.

Kinda choking on my rage because I see this fucking bullshit come from right wing camps. You know them, people who say "take care of our own first" "all lives matter" and who spend their time masturbating over dead Syrian orphans.

So yeah, as someone whose grandfather was eight when the Nazis invaded his home country, I'm a little less than enamored by fascism and the need to reflexively murder strangers like the fucking Wermacht psyching its troops up to deport undesirables and build a new Arayan Empire.

Fuck ya'll fascists anywhere, any time. Fuck you all with a wire brush sideways you fucking worthless pieces of shit.

Peace out. 

Novel Sample

The Following is a sample of my upcoming novel. Enjoy it. Steal my characters and I'll cut your fucking nuts off.

========================================================================

Amanda Cho was in the environment she was most comfortable in, the morgue. The air was crisp, the meat was cold and the thick chemical smell brought home comforting thoughts of cleanliness and sterility. It was a very neutral, familiar environment.

Today the good doctor didn’t actually have a body to examine. What she had was a large bucket of gore left out by the LAPD and transported to her laboratory in Langley. Pressing a button on the tape recorder, Amanda proceeded to apply on elbow length rubber gloves and protective glasses. “The date is January the second, nineteen ninety-four. This is Doctor Amanda Cho of the FBI forensic sciences division. We are proceeding today with an autopsy.”

The older woman stepped methodically and reverently towards the bucket of gore on the autopsy table. “The subject was masticated completely, thrown into the spinning rotors of a police helicopter according to eyewitness reports.”

Placing a surgeon’s cap over her hair, she adjusted the bands until almost uncomfortably tight. “Mass recovered from the side of the police helicopter accounts for roughly thirty five pounds of mass. On initial visual inspection there seem to be undamaged teeth in the slurry; at point we cannot rule out the possibility of dental identification.

She grabbed something on the table that looked like an ice cream scoop.

Squealch!

Amanda took a thick wad of human matte rout of the bucket and began to spread it on a large metal tray. The wad had about the same thickness and consistency as soft serve ice-cream; it stayed lumped together and resisted being spread around without being too solid. Even the average size of the bone and teeth fragments was roughly the size of pecans in pecan-caramel ice-cream. “Removing first hundred ounces of the sample reveals human teeth in varying states of fragmentation; possibly dental identification may be ruled out. Bone fragments are consistent throughout the mixture.”

The doctor took another scoop of meat-cream. With great precision and gentleness she spread out that scoop, documented the contents and moved on. It was around the fourth and fifth scoops of human goo that she began to find things of interest. “At 14:57 an artifact is discovered distinct from human viscera and refuse.” She put down her scoop and stuck her hands into the small pile of shredded meat and shit, “A wedding band the subject likely wore has been discovered. Ring appears to be ten karat gold or less, with two stones; a diamond and a blue sapphire facing in opposite directions. The ring has no brand name on the underside; it will be tagged and cleaned for more in depth investigation.”

Just like that, the ring was washed off in a distilled water solution, bagged, tagged and the autopsy went on.

The next find was something a little bit larger. “One of the subject’s shoes is largely intact; though it has suffered some lacerations from the rotors it is still recognizable for what it is.” She held up the shoe in the light, ignoring the human hamburger slowly leaking out of it. “Shoe seems leather with a brass buckle; appears on closer inspection to be hand made.”

Amanda continued to scoop out of the bucket and onto the tray until there was no more room. With that, the tray was placed in a specialized refrigeration unit and another tray bottomed with wax paper was produced. This slow, uneventful dance went on almost until she’s reached the bottom of the bucket when a patch of cloth grew larger and larger.

“I’ve uncovered an article of clothing” reaching in with her bloodied hands, she grabbed the stinking, gore soaked rag which had time to marinate in the dead subjects digestive juices and brain fluid. For once Amanda was a bit stunned by the revelation of what it was. It prompted her to take it over to a mobile magnification screen. “Object appears to be a bicorn hat with a gold trip and velvet surface. The hat has avoided mutilation by the rotors and other than blood stains seems to be in fairly intact condition. Interior of hat has stencilled initials, NB in gold filigree.”

She was about to bag and tag the hat when someone distracted her by invading the sanctity of the morgue. “Who are you?” there was a hardness to her voice on top of her characteristic coldness.

A middle aged Hong Kong woman in stained overalls pushed a mop and bucket forward. “I was here to clean up the floor. The front desk said you were done.”

Cho’s eyes narrowed behind her face mask and visor. “I am almost done; but there is a universe of difference between almost done and completely done. As it stands I have at least three more hours of work to get done. Your presence here could corrupt the evidence. Did you know that at this moment you are releasing hair into the environment which could render this evidence inadmissible for court?”

The janitor woman shrugged, running a hand subconsciously through her greasy hair. “I don’t know, I never went to school.”

She licked her lips from behind her surgeon’s mask, frustrated with the janitor. “I would advise you to leave now unless you wish to be terminated from your employment.

“You want me to leave,” said the janitor lady, chewing on a toothpick and leaning on her mop.

A migraine caused Amanda to wince from the stress. “I’m going to take a pair of forceps and bury them in your eye unless you depart post haste.”  

“Alright, I’m going, bitch.” The janitor barely started pushing her mop and rolling bucket when a rubber wrapped hand coated in blood took hold of her throat and slammed her against the wall. Her head rang and her vision went dark from the impact.

When her eyesight came back, she was greeted to the sight of Dr. Cho behind a mountain of surgical protective gear with rage burning in her eyes. “Disrespect my place of business or insult me personally again and I will end you. Do you understand?”

The janitor nodded, struggling to breathe.

Dr. Cho turned around, taking deep breaths to calm herself. “You should get showered. I inadvertently contaminated you.”

The janitor didn’t stay to snark, she just left with her bucket and Amanda was left to her blessed work and blessed silence.

Silence did not last. Amanda put away the hat, tagged and bagged it for forensics. It would have been washed in a saline free solution to strain the DNA covering it and then analyzed by other talented forensic scientists.

But the ring was missing.

Amanda saw that the ring, her first major find was missing. Her eyes froze on the empty spot on the operating table.

The ring was gone. 

Kylo and Ikol: Rip and Tear Prologue

Author's note: The Following is part of a story I did as a birthday gift for a friend. She wanted me to write a story about Rylo Ren of Star Wars and her original character. I don't own the character of Ikol but I'm rather proud of how this first chapter turned out. 

[This is an interesting story in that it's a way to explore the demons of codependency that tormented my romantic life for so long and also do something along the gory and fantastic. A huge amount of inspiration came from the following music video.

this is the first part and the rest will be released as I deem fit.

As a final note this story will contain violence, sexuality, abusive relationships as well as harsh language. Viewer discretion is advised. ]

I woke up stark naked on a stone tablet with manacles on my wrists and legs. My titties heaved as I breathed the sulfurous, ashen air of Hell. Boob sweat was at red-alert levels.

Scanning around I saw the chamber filled with bodies of corpses, heaps of shit left by the lower demons and mutated zombie creatures ambling around aimlessly.

As soon as I saw the hell beasts come at me open mouthed and drooling, I felt the pull of the dark side; and boy was it fucking good. Juices flooded my pussy and adrenaline turned my blood into poison. I took strength from the darkness and pulled with my arm at the iron manacles strong enough to hold a Wookie.

The zombie abominations got close, close enough for me to see the chunks of flesh in their teeth and the fact that they had penises for eyes; I’d add them to my collection.

Snap!

The chain around my wrist snapped and I lunged at the nearest Hell-bitch. My fist caved in the front of its face like a rotting gourd and the smell of blood made me cum a little. The stupid, blind, dick eyed thing howled and gnashed its yellow and black teeth.

With a predator’s grin I grabbed the twin dicks growing from its eye socked and pulled; the motley, moldy, stinking creature’s head crashed into the stone tabled and exploded into pulp. That shut that cunt up.

Flexing my arm and legs the chains fell off. The dick zombies were nearly on me, their eye erections turgid and stained with dick-cheese. I’d be happy to put them out of their misery.

They were stupid, slow and worst of all male and I ripped and tore like only a Night Sister can. My long red nails were sharp and their spongy bones stood no chance.

When I was done, the walls of the cave were splattered with guts, blood and scrotums. Moisture ran down my legs as the aftershocks of killing men or male creatures made me feel so whole and alive.

My clothing and effects were in a pile at the base of the sacrificial slab. As much fun as it was to splash blood on myself naked I felt I was a bit more terrifying in full Night Sister gear; black robes, high heels impossible for a non-force sensitive to wear and necklace made of dried penises and shrunken heads. My makeup was fucked but my lipstick went so well with the demon dick blood.

Briefly, I adjusted my hair in the reflection on a polished iron door and ripped the door off its hinges with a force push.

Showtime. 

Welcome to the Bunghole

Hello,

My name is George.

I'm an aspiring novelist and full time security guard. I'm here on this blog because my father suggested getting my writing out into the wider world.

Frankly I have no expectation that this blog will ever be read or that I'll make a single penny off of it.

As I work on my novel, this blog will probably become a repository of short pieces that I write in order to recover from the strain of writing a grand and frankly convoluted story arc.

Just as a heads up, if you're expecting an inspiration blog full of sunshine and inane sports stories then you ought to click the back button and get the fuck out of here.

This is probably the place I'm going to go when the world gets to me and I feel like shit. Any short original stories I put up here will likely be morbid, feature graphic violence, strong language and provocative themes.

Consider this first blog post a sort of mature advice warning. Like in old TV movies, this blog is intended for mature audiences, viewer discretion is advised.

Because I just got myself a LinkedIn account and I'm flooded with fucking stupid "inspirational" stories that are anything but, business screeds by child molesting mother fuckers who think that Donald Trump might be a good president or that Donald Trump is a human being and posts by ignorant sacks of shit who are promoting their own private business on the side.

It's a depressing, fucking ugly place full of false cheer and Orwellian catch phrases used to lure in the stupidly optimistic and the weak minded.

To some I probably sound edgy, pretentious and pathetically shallow. Well fuck it, you're right. I am shallow and pretentious. I am an asshole.

This is a kind of place to be the angriest, angstiest parts of myself. Kind of discover my shadow self if you want to use Jungian Parlance.

So read if you like, laugh at me. Enjoy yourself, I honestly mean that.