The Last Key Stroke

I had never hit the period button so hard in my life. At the same time, it had never been so difficult to press it. It felt like every fan, naysayer and Internet troll had joined together underneath the period button in effort to prevent fate. Unfortunately, being the writer of the series, the God of the world of "Time Travelling Salesgirl," I felt that the future could wait no longer. It waited for one and a half decades, from the end of my last year in grad school, through my first years working freelance in the comic book industry, a two-seasoned animated series--one that watered down the comic series to fit a younger audience--all the way to the end of my brief marriage with Coretta. A result that served as the last nail in the coffin for "Time Travelling Salesgirl." I made the ending a direct reflection of my experience and aimed to make someone, everyone, feel as I bitter as I felt. 

When I first started out, I told myself I would never be the writer that is a slave to the fans or a slave to myself. I wanted to tell a story. A real story. I pretended that a story was something divine and not of this world. It flew around the universe looking for a way to enter our realm from the fictional one. Once finding the appropriate storyteller--one who was focused and passionate enough to tell it--it would enter his or her brain and host them until the story was conveyed in the perfect manner. It was a writer's job to be inspired by emotion, not dictated by them. Yet, I broke my own rule and didn't care. My life was in shambles at the time. I just hit the period button, clicked the 'Send' button and went to bed in a bitter happiness. The kind of happiness a boxer gets after he steals an illegal jab from the victor. Only the victor was the universe around me. I smiled all night. A smile with tears for comrades. I didn't think once of the future that night. I basked in the bowels of depression, self-pity, misanthropy and single-mindedness. All was enemy.

That night, I dreamed every issue I had written of "The Time Travelling Salesgirl." My favorite, and most controversial issue, was when Diana, the salesgirl, Time Traveled back to Nazi Germany, early March in 1945--close to the date the last pages of Anne Frank's diary were written--and sold Anne Frank an M-16, hours before being discovered by the Germans. The only cost Diane charged was the pen she used for her diary. Not a day after that issue had hit the stands, I was invited for an interview at CNN. I went and was grilled alive and praised high at the same time by two political commentators. Sure, I knew there would be some that were offended by the content of the issue, but I was young and radical as college students are. I dreamed about my least favorite issue that night too. It was during the early 2000s when our sales were dropping to a low we hadn't reached in years. My Editor in Chief suggested we give Diana an anti-hero love interest. It resulted in making Diana a stupid romantic. I swear we made her cry in like every other issue. My wife complained to me just about every morning about change, calling my editor a "sexist cunt" and cited the change as a reason why he was single. Eventually when we sold more comics again, I killed that bastard off in the most absurd way imaginable and make a point to rarely reference him in the issues after his death. "Fuck 'em" my wife would sarcastically say whenever he was even loosely mentioned. 

In a lot of ways, Coretta was my biggest fan and harshest critic of the series. Sometimes, I would get paranoid that she was the one sending me hatemail when I did something to a character that was unfavorable. If you were to read any issues I put out before I met Coretta and afterwards, you'd notice subtle changes in Diana's behavior. When I met and feel in love with Coretta, I begin basing Diana--the love of the first love of my life--off Coretta. Interestingly enough, that marked to significant influx in comic sales. It marked the era in which Diana's presence had left the pages of a comic and landed on the back of every backpack, laptop carrying case and college hipster T-shirt in the US. Some called it selling out, I called it a proclamation of my love for my wife. 

It wasn't until the dead of that night I realized how important the series was to me and what I had just done to my wife's legacy and the message I sent to my fans. I had just murdered Diana out of spite for my wife's loss in her war with breast cancer. Diana's death was premature. Even as I walked away from the computer that night after sending that script to the editor, I thought of dozens of plots. Great plots. A story was contacting me from the realm of fiction. It chose me to host and I said "No. You will not enter this world because I am a bitter, bitter man." Coretta was still alive in that realm, breathing into me more ways to keep her relevant but I was so blinded my emotion to see it. This is a world the fans flee to to avoid the harsher realities of death and disease. Who was I to punish them for what they were already experiencing? I bet thousands of them were going through similar things and there I was slapping them in the face saying "you won't escape it. You have to feel what I feel." Then, the greatest epiphany hit me: The series was no longer mine. It was everyone's. And I would no longer stand in the way of it. That morning, at 5:00 am, I panicked. I immediately sent an apology to my editor-in-chief for the negative piece of shit I just sent a few hours prior. After I typed the e-mail, I sat up for the remainder of the morning, drinking coffee and watching "The Time-Traveling Salesgirl" cartoon series, sobbing softly. It was the first time I had attacked reality head one. Coretta was gone, I'm alive.  Diana was on life support until I got a reply telling me to rewrite the script.

When I had awoken from dozing off, it was mid-day. I had 11 missed calls. Each from the editor, Sam.He was one of my greatest friends in the industry and was the person that got me my job as a writer under his editorship. I didn't bother checking the messages and immediately called him back. He answered after the first ring. Before I could even speak, he told me that he had cried all morning over, what he called, "the greatest script in the industry." Before I could protest about not publishing that script, he told me repeatedly that he was sorry for my recent loss and understood its influence on the ending. Then, went into detail about what "made the script work." He told me the idea that Diana the Time Travelling Salesgirl dying of cancer would appeal to readers who grew up with the comic, since it had run for more than 15 years. He said that readers that began reading it in their teens are now well into adulthood and most likely faced such a serious issue or had cancer to. He paused and talked about how genius it was that the time travelling had caused cancerous cells. But what touched him the most is how Diana chose to deal with it. He called it "perfectly human." At first, he cited how he initially hated how emotional Diana the Salesgirl gets when she realizes she is dying and breaks the rules of set for the series by travelling past the time she exist in hopes of finding the cure in the future. He said that it made her seem too human which then he realized that its a reasonable reaction because she is a human and should be fairly held to those standards. Next, he stated that he loved that instead of trying to fight back against her fate after finding no cure, she vows to travel through time until it is her time to  pass. He told me that the script has been already sent to be penciled and colored.

After hearing all of this, I cried aloud. A big, universe shaking cry. A sight that J. Alfred Prufrock would envy. I heard Sam trying yelling over my sobbing. He asked what was wrong, he said he'd fly over if he had to. He warned me not to do anything stupid. He promised to call back the script. He threatened to call the police if I didn't calm down. He started crying too out of fear I was about to hurt myself. Finally, once I had started to calm down I told him that I can't end the series because it meant to much to me, to Coretta, to the world. I reintroduced my philosophy of realms of fiction which he had heard numerous times but was such a good friend he pretended it was brand new. The whole ordeal was the emotional release I needed to push me to the next step of moving on with my life.

A few months later, the issue had been released and I was back on CNN for the first time since grad school. It was a lot more pleasant and sympathetic since most of the world that followed the series knew what I had been going through. Of course, I received the usual death threats and hatemail but I just told myself it was Coretta, mocking and loving me from beyond the grave. Since the series had ended, I have been contacted by stories from the other realms begging to be written. I promise them life by writing scripts and sending them to the television series which has gone its own way from the comic's storyline as a way to pay my respects. I will never forget Coretta and I will always keep her alive. Long live Diana.

Stop Snitching...no matter how cute it is.

One of the worst things you could tell me when I Was a kid was "stop tattle telling." Why? Because when I was a kid and demanded justice for being wronged by someone else, it made me crazy. Now that I'm grown and deal with children all the time, it makes me crazy when 20+ kids all had an act of injustice and demand me to right the wrongs. It doesn't matter what I'm doing, what they have to say is far more important. Hell, I could be in the middle of performing a billion dollar six-hour surgery on someone really fucking important and they would barge in and shout "ooooh! Mr. Timothy! Carson punched me!" But guess what? Carson didn't punch you, did he? He touched your shoulder to taunt you and you want him to be in trouble so you exaggerate. Hyperbole senses are always tingling at the place. Never believe anything anyone says ever about anything because it never really happened or only "kinda" did but not really. But, man, is it cute.

Prime example:

"Oooooh! Mr. Timothy! Greg said 'Pysies'"

"...Okay, what does that mean?"

"I don't know, but he said it!"


That kind of snitching happens more than 10 times a day. Like, hold the fuck up! That kid is doing something I've never seen before. I'm telling Timothy right now at max volume while tugging his shirt, jeans and maybe poking his ass to get this man's attention. Naw, naw, naw! This here is important Mr. Timothy. If you don't fix this shit right now or I might be confused for like a whole minute.

Oh, and let a kid say the word "booty." I swear to good they will stampede like the first snitch gets a prize from Mr. Timothy. The worst part about it is that they all wanna snitch first and say it and the same time. What sucks is that some kids run and talk faster than others and at various volumes. So what sounds like "Hey, Mr. Timothy, he said 'booty' to me" to them, sounds like

" ooooh BOOTY! Mr. Timothy......Bootty. booooooooooooootyy HE SAid....Booty Boottyyyyyy Mr. Timothy
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooBootttttttttttyyyyMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmr. Tiiiiiiiiimothboootyy oooooooooooooooooooooAnd then he said boooty. ....Mr. Timothy

Mr. Timothy...Booty!                He said...... Ooooohhh Mr. Booty!! He said booty Mr. Timothy
                                        BOOTY ooooH! MR. BOOTY SAID 'TIMOTHY"


Oh my God. Do you know how scary that shit can be? You turn around, 7 kids are shouting booty and running towards yours! Then, when you finally get a full understanding of what's going on, you go "Guys, really? Is it that big o' deal?" But it is. It is a big deal because they're kids and you're an adult. Your biggest deal is car troubles, phone bills, unemployment, etc. Their big deals are Pokemon cards, How to draw Sonic the Hedgehog the right way and bad words. Finally, I broke

"Hey! New Rules: No more tattle telling! No more Snitching!"

Its official. I'm grown.

Villainy.

A week in review: Kids

This week will be remembered for its wide variation of emotions. Having been only two weeks after I graduated college, I landed a job--a very unboring one. I work at an elementary school in an after school program called Child Care. From 2 til 6 I supervise about 20 kids between the ages of 5-12. This job has very little to do with my major which is not a surprise because my major was English Literature. However, the job has given me a lot of interesting experiences and created a lot of stories. Also, I have learned to respond to "Hey, Mr. Timothy!" Thank God they don't say "Mr. Anderson" because that inspires that joke. You know the one....the one.

Unfortunately, that was the only positive experience I had this past week. Most of the  negativity of this week are things that I can't really go into on this blog due to privacy. So, I'll allow you to make something up. If you are not feeling creative or imaginative, I will provide a clip that will serve as a kind of "interpretative dance" to for you to decode the meaning.



Did ya catch it? Good.

The job never has a dull moment which is both a good thing and a bad thing. If you are not paying attention for a second, a child could do something dangerous. It sounds a bit extreme but its totally true. And if you don't believe me, you should take the 10 hours of online training we were all taking that showed us real security camera footage of kids who wondered off somewhere and got crushed by various large objects they thought it would be totally awesome to climb. If that doesn't terrify you, you're better than I. That shit made me wanna quit before I started. By the end of the 10 hour modules, one thing is understood: All kids will be raped, drowned, beaten and killed if you do not pay attention for only a split hair of a second.

On my first day, I tried my hardest to leave a good impression. Oddly enough it was easy. They loved me instantly. The only problem was...the feeling was kinda not mutual. Don't get me wrong, I have a soft spot for kids. I do. It's covered in barbwire but its there. I promise. My problem is that my soft spot for kids is not affected by their cuteness factor or any other adorable qualities, its more motivated by trying to keep them safe, alive and molding their morality. I really, really don't want anything bad to happen to this kids more than I care if they have fun or not... I know that sounds bad, but you try prioritizing "fun" with a bunch of kids varying in socio-economic backgrounds for just one day and see what happens. On the first day, I had already put 3 in time out and called a parent. It was amazing. I was all over that shit. I have absolutely no problem with the kids hating me as long as they are alive, safe and learning, I'm good. But, again, no matter how mean or strict I am, they still like me--which is another issue.

Since the kids like you no matter what, they quote you no matter what. They tell their parents about you no matter what. So, if I mumble "fuck these little assholes" under my breath...

I'll give you a real life example. During Quiet Time a kid thought it would be hilarious if he parodied  C & C Music Factory's "Gonna Make You Sweat," by changing the widely recognized lyrics "Everybody Dance Now!" to "Everybody Fart Now." Before I lost the children to fart-crazed chaos, I interrupted the laughter with "No, Nobody farts now." And man, did that back fire. They thought it was even more funny than the initial fart joke. From that point on, they repeated that for the rest of the day

"No, Nobody farts now."

"No, Nobody farts now."

Another funny incident includes someone I like to call "Michael Jackson Kid." When I first met him he introduced himself, grabbed his crotch and made a sound that resembled Michael Jackson. It was "he-hee!"  I held my gut in laughter because I thought he was some kind of genius. I mean, if I would have thought of that as a kid--to introduce myself, grab my junk, point vaguely to some direction and say "he-heee"--I would have been proud. However, what I learned about this kid is that he did it ALL the time. He did it when it made that absolute least amount of sense--not that there is a time in which it ever makes sense. MJ Kid did not know what the weather was like so he asked me and then did the crotch grabbing thing with the noise and the point. It had lost its charm. I made him quit.


All in all, it was a damn good week.

Childish Villainy.

The Inspirational Urine Specialist

After my graduation last week, I returned to Knoxville to find a job. You know, those things that are really tricky to find, especially with a vague degree such as English Literature--I have no regrets. I found one pretty quickly--an interesting one to say the least. The interview went fantastically and I am very excited about the position. However, my boss gave me a vast amount of paper work to fill out. The kind of paper work the requires me to run a billion Zelda-like errands to achieve very little. Like, "Hey, Tim. In order for me to validate these references, I'll need a new pen because this one has run out of ink. But I need a special kind of ink. The blood of a dragon should do fine. There is a dragon about 4000 years into the past. You can use this time machine to get there, but in order to slay the dragon, you'll need to get the Dragon-Slaying Sword which is in a whale's mouth at the bottom of the Pacific ocean. You'll need a submarine. Contact the military! They'll have one, but first you'll need to earn their trust by signing up and doing at least 5 years of service..."

I trust you get the idea...

The first errand I had to run was on the other side of Knoxville to a place called "Going Postal," which is where I would get my fingerprints. It was a 45 minute drive in 90 degree weather in faulty AC (which is the poorman's way of saying "hot air blowing air conditioning."). The post office was located obscurely off the side of a road and was an eye sore.  After I got the prints, I drove to my next destination which was about 25 more minutes of speeding up and promptly slowing down. When I finally found the drug testing center, I was 5 degrees hotter than I had been 25 minutes earlier. When I found the joint, it too was oddly located. Its like these places are not meant to be found. It was down a long back-road, filled with apartment complexes and small businesses. I parked and dashed into the air conditioned--I always assume any places is cooler than my car.

When my name was called to piss in the cup, I went down the hall and met the most inspirational pee doctor that has ever existed. This man was passionate about his interactions with is pissers.

"Why, hello, Timothy. Could you please stand to my right and place all of your things in the drawer. You may keep your wallet. Thanks you for understanding."

"oh, uh. Sure."

After I placed all of my things in the drawer he handed me a cup to piss into. He asked gracefully:

"If you don't mind Tim, I need you to fill it at least to the line. If you could do that, I would really appreciate it. And please, don't flush the toilet. Thanks again, Timothy.

"No problem sir"

When I was in the bathroom and not right in front of him, I pissed into the cup and filled it all the way up. It had a cap on it so I didn't have to walk like I had just gotten a cup of hot coffee filled to the rim and had to balance it without spilling it as I would make my way to my seat. No sir. None of that. However, I was paranoid that someone would accidentally bump me while running around the corner, causing me to drop it and look pretty stupid. But that didn't happen at all. I was worried that I peed too much into the cup since it was well past the line marked on it.

"Hey, I pissed Urinated into the cup but well over the line, I hope that doesn't complicate things," I said nicely. In hindsight, I don't know why I was worried about that. What could he have done I don't know what he would have done if it did complicate things? Splashed it in my eyes? Made me drink it? Rub my face in it? I digress.

"Oh, Timothy. It's perfectly fine. I am just glad you did what you thought was right. There are no problems here and is not a big deal at all. Now, if you could, would you wait here for just a few minutes while I test your sample and let you upon your way?"

I held back my chuckle at this man's infinite kindness and responded:

"Sure thing, sir. Thanks."

Once it was done, it was sent to the county and my quest of employment was over.

What a nice pee doctor.

10 Things you are not clever for noticing

Oh the thrill of knowing stuff about things. The moment we know, we grow...our egos that is. There is something oh so alluring about knowing more than another. Moreover, knowing something that no one else has noticed gives us that clever edge. We are all guilty of it! We all wanna be interesting, witty and funny (oh you know I'm all about wanting to be funny). However, quipness is like health care (until, perhaps, recently): only some people can have it and others just die trying to get it. Here is my list of things we all think we are clever for noticing but aren't.

1. Season 1's Yellow and Black Rangers

Yes. The black ranger was an African American and the Yellow Ranger was Asian American. Now when you get around your hipster friends that have the eternal boner for the 90s because, well, they have only been around for about 20 years and have nothing else to nostalgia-come over, just remember: EVERYBODY KNOWS

2. Bush and Dick

It's true. Dick Cheney's name has a massive, pulsating "dick" in it...Do you see it? Also, George W. Bush has "bush" in his name. You don't get it yet? Well, yeah, bush could be shrubbery but it could also be pubic hair! hahahahahahaahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahhahahahhahahahahahahahhahahhhaahhahahhahahhahahhahahhahahahhahahhaaha!

God, that's hilarious! The country was ran by a dick and bush for 8 years and only I, me, myself, alone has noticed that. Even with the whole world hating the shit outta these assholes--making pretzel and Halliburton jokes--I was the only one that caught that one. HA!---but seriously folks, that joke is as old as balls and too easy to make. Try harder.

3. Frank Ocean 

I was on Twitter and got into an exchange with G-unit sub member "Johnny Fastlane." He's not really famous or anything. Nor was it a long exchange. It was about Frank Ocean's debut album, "Channel Orange." A few weeks ago, Frank came out of the closet. Then, his first REAL, nonmixtape album came out--no pun intended. So, of course, the internet--especially Johnny Fastlane--got "clever." Johnny Fastlane tweeted: "Ever since Frank Ocean came out, he's been getting more airplay on the radio." The problem is...THIS WAS HIS FIRST ALBUM! HIS OTHER ONES WERE NOT CLEARED BY HIS LABEL SO THEY RECEIVED NO NON-INTERNET AIRPLAY! So, I responded with "Ever since Frank Ocean's album came out, he's been getting more airplay." So, yeah. Y'know: you're not original and whatnot. Oh, and on that note...

4. Adam and Steve

Yes, you are right. The bible does not mention "steve" and you are a skilled rhymer. People live by the ol' "its a saying; therefore, it must be true" philosophy. Oh and if it rhymes, you've got yourself a life-long creed! People love "sayings" because it takes the whole thinking portion out of an argument or retort, simplifying a larger issue down into a depthless nursery rhyme. Say it and just add water and you walk away from an argument champion of...nothing. I have sat in classrooms in which this line was thrown around oh-so smuggly and proudly as if they were the first. But rest assured, there is a clever response: " which means we should kill ever person not named Adam or Eve" and then promptly kill yourself, mentally scarring everyone in the classroom. 

5.Final Fantasy

" Man, its called Final Fantasy but they keep on making games." If you have said this, you have just joined the rest of the population that has said this...which is a lot of fuckin' people. Its got to stop. 

6. Black People and Obama

It would be a lie for me to say that there were not any black people that did not vote for Obama just because he was black. However, it would just as false and prejudice for me to say that most (or even half) of the Black people voted for Obama just because he was black. Here's why its false: Historically speaking, African-American votes tend to be Democratic 88% of the time. And if you are going to continue to ignore the facts, you should also think about Michael Steele--Black republican who awkwardly drops hip-hop references the leave all jaws ajar in embarrassment. If his ol' corny ass ran for president, he would most likely get a very low black vote percentage. Don't even get me started on Herman Cain. But, Why is it prejudice? Think about what you're saying: a whole race of people are so simple that they cannot make a strategic  political decision and thus, resort to voting based on browness. You thought you noticed something groundbreaking: "this color voted for this color and its all so simple!" But all you really did was say something some other uninformed person proudly and spitefully stated when an entire generation celebrated slight, ever-so-very slight progress in 2008.

7. Jesus was Jewish

I have heard so many people shout this at someone in a religious debate and act as if they have just awoken someone from the Matrix. The worst part about it is everyone has access to that info and for the most part knows that information. Usually, when I hear this trivia thrown about, it is used at the wrong time. Sometimes even when the debate is not the ethnicity of Jesus. I fantasize about shouting it myself during a random event. Perhaps the NBA finals. Like, when Miami wins the game I would shout, "Yeah, but Jesus was a Jew! BOOM! Neither of you win! I win the game! Give me my trophy, Bitch!" No, seriously, expect to hear that from me. I will never lose any kind of anything ever again forever. As long as I throw out that tidbit of info, I am forever a champion: Jesus was in fact, a Jew.

8. History and Herstory

Just a small amount of feminism can make any conservative man or woman shake with fear. Immediately, they feel powers shifting. A mention of women's rights and all of the sudden "But what about MEN's right! Women have all the power now!" and then...here it comes... "We aren't even learning about History anymore. Now it's HERstory." And then comes the little giggles and high-fives. Those that heard it, spread it to others and then we all pretend like we have never heard it before. Well, NO MORE, I say. From now on, I am going to be completely ignorant about it. I am going to ask them to explain it. Then spell it. Then say "but what is herstory?" Then, be a dick: "who's story? Where is she now." Then be a cunt about it: "Is there really more herstory than history? If so, give me herstorical names, dates and events. Then I will give you a long list of reasons why you are single--which has no dates or events." Lastly, I'll become my own hypeman and shout "OOOOH SNAP!" and then moonwalk away.

9. Chris Brown Jokes

I hate that I have to put this one up because I absolutely love Chris Brown jokes, because I absolutely hate Chris Brown. Not because he beat Rhianna. I've hated him since high school when had to "start by saying yoooooo!" But since I live by the philosophy "Nobody's safe," I must call myself out and say that sometimes I think I am the only one that notices that Chris Brown has a lot of hit records. Some major heavy hitters. He is constantly beating up the charts with his smash hits. I must say,  that man is talented, but I just can't resist making fun of him and his many big hits. I'm sorry. Its a bad habit.

... 

...

...

...

he beats women.

lol, okay. I'm done. Its not clever. I know. 

10.Grammar corrections in non-scholarly scenarios.

I am guilty of this, but I really don't like it. Correcting someone's grammar is not a bad thing. Correcting and then feeling wiser for doing so is a bad thing. Why do we feel intellectual and more intelligent  for enforcing a rule of language that has been enforced for centuries? To me, those who get creative with slang, idioms, metaphors and structure are the clever ones. I mean, of course it's important to know how English works. But most people that speak Southern American English, African-American Vernacular English etc. know the rules of the language and choose to speak it their own way. To "school" someone who is talking to you at a bar or cafeteria for using a "double negative" or creating some sort of lexical gap that no one has ever heard of but could start hearing just seems a bit douchey. See? "douchey" had to start from somewhere and is a wonderful word which could have never happened due to some discouraging anglophone. Stephen Fry argues it best. You really aren't being more witty than anyone else by telling someone something everyone already knows. In fact, its kinda dumb.

Quip Villainy

I should have just said, "Naw dude, Naw!"

On one of the many nights when I keep myself up by thinking of regrets, mistakes, funny shit and your mother, I remembered a funny freshmen memory. A kind of memory that you fantasize that you acted differently in the way you actually behaved. Kind of like not dropping that game winning pass in a high school football game, or not breaking up with someone that was well worth your time. Only this kind of memory was one that I let someone get away with not being safe.

Those who know what I mean by safe should skip ahead: Safeness is the state of imperfection. When one is not safe it means that one is liable to being insulted or teased. For example, Susie had to pass gas, so she thought she would lean to make sure no one hear it. However, unbeknownst to Susie, Michael saw and realized what she was doing. Michael then exclaimed, "Susie! I saw that shit! You ain't safe! Tryna lean fart and stuff!" Susie was ashamed. 

It was my first upper division English professor. The course was an introduction to Victorian Literature. The professor's name will be changed for the sake of privacy (and the fact that my friends have Googled my name and it has turned up on the bottom of the first page of Google images. The worlds getting smaller!) 

Dr. Blaine was teaching the class about the different forms of criticism that we would have to choose from when writing about Dracula. I remember wanting to complain about analyzing boringness that is Dracula for the second time within the same 3 semester, but I was trying to get my grown man on and resisted being a childish dick. Dr. Blaine gave us a quick example of each form of criticism. He started with Marxist criticism, which was looking at the novel from a economic perspective. He discussed Historical criticism, which was, I shit you not, viewing the book from a historical point of view. He went over Feminist criticism, but told us that it wasn't an option. Sad face. Then he said Freudian criticism and boy oh boy from that point on, he became very very unsafe.

First of all, he explained it for about 20 minutes longer than he should have. Now, I have done some research on Freud (and by "research," I mean I had some psychology major friends and asked them about him). Apparently, Freud's studies, although beneficial, were very flawed. And yes, I knew that the Dr. Blaine was not talking about Freudian criticism as a complete representation of his studies, but he was just talking about how looking at characters from a sexual perspective. However, instead of being sexual, he got horny.

Or dare I say....Thirsty

For those who know what I mean by Thirst, skip ahead.  Thirst is another word for horny but a more desperate  form of horniness. It means that you desire sexy so much that you are thirsty for it. Some people even say "Thirsting" or "Thirstin.'" If you see someone on Facebook that has a habit of commenting on the same people's photos, perhaps the photo has someone dressed scantly clad, then you would use some variation of thirst. For example, your best friend keeps writing "Damn, you fine" on the same chicks picture, it would be your responsibility as a friend (or a douchebag) to inform him and all Facebook users that he is indeed thirsty. Maybe by saying "Man, the thirst," or " The thirst is real out here today." If you want to get really clever you'd say something like "There's a drought in this comment section."

Dr. Blaine than began the thirsties, sexual observation of Dracula, nuns and even Jesus Christ. He informed us on the butt sex analogies in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the Oedipus complexes in Dracula and even the sexualization of Jesus Christ. This, this is the moment where things just went off sanity graph.

Dr. Blaine started to explain how much of a sexual symbol Jesus is.. Sidenote: I am not at all religious. In fact, I am all about some Jesus jokes but Dr. Blaine was totally serious. And just not safe. He stated:

"Well, sex is all we think about. Just think about religion. Religion is very sexual. Jesus is always depicted on" the cross sexually. Look at his abs. He has a six pack. Jesus is never depicted fat or even slightly anything beyond skinny."

I thought that one was interesting, but kind of silly. I think its interesting that he is always depicted skinny (and I'll go a step further and say he usually is only one race.). I think it may be shallowness, but sexy? Moans and growns followed suit. Nevertheless he continued:

"And nuns! They are very sexual. They are 'the brides of Jesus' they don't have sex because they are saving themselves for Jesus. And, let's be honest. Nuns are sexy. I mean, when I see a nun, I gotta say, it kinda turns me on. You know?"

Oh shit! I know he didn't! Everyone had a light chuckle after that. Then, he moved on to Oedipus complexes. This is when it reaches the maximum level of unsafeness. He states:

"The Oedipus complex is a very realistic phenomenon. I mean, we've all had those dreams about our mothers. You know?"

At this point I'm trying to be openminded. I am like, 'well, perhaps thats normal. I have never had sexual dreams about my mother, but maybe everyone else has." So, I looked around the room to see some hands a' rising. To my surprise, everyone else was doing the exact thing. They thought " Shit, homie, he ain't talkin' 'bout me!" So, we all reached the conclusion that it was only him who was having silly dreams about nailing his mother.

And so, as I fall asleep I think, "I should have just said 'naw dude, naw. You the only one nailin' ya momz in deep sleep homie. YOU AIN'T SAFE! You thirsty as hell, fam!'"

And that is how you spell Villainy, folks.

G'night.

"Man, Ya'll some of the most nicest mo' fuckaz I've met"

There are moments in life that occur only for the sake of being a good story to tell later. Some of the most fascinatingly awkward situations I have had eventually become friend-unifying stories. With knowing that terrible experiences have the potential of becoming high quality entertainment, comes a bizarre form of optimism that encourages me to get into questionable situations (within reason). No, I am not sucking dicks for crack cocaine or assisting criminals in bank robbery's but I am a little less hesitant to do something boring or time consuming if it means I can make me the center of attention later.

Last night, I went to a friend's house with the purpose of minding my own god damn business with pals. But fate had other plans. As I sat with 3 other friends of mine in an Otaku-swagged apartment living room (an awesome one), there was a knock on the apartment door. Realizing that it was 1 am, the host approached the door with extreme caution. We stood not too far behind him. But we were definitely behind him. When we got close to the door we heard:

"Hey man, it's your neighbor."

When the door opened the room filled with the aroma of alcohol and...well...ass. The kind of ass smell you smell when someone has whipped there ass one time less than they should have and then proceeded to jog in shorts. THEN, tried to cover it with Axe but didn't have enough so he became depressed and drank. That is what it smelled like. I'm serious.

It wasn't a neighbor at all. It was a guy that stank and was sweating. Before the host could ask "Um...what do ya need," the stranger(who was not a neighbor at all) interrupted with

"Hey man, don't be scared because I'm black, man. I'm in desperate need of a ride. They took my car and, man, I got the sheet right here man. My car got towed man. I need a ride man. Please, I'm begging, man. I don't have any weapons man."

The room was uncomfortably silent. Then I volunteered to drive him, under the condition that someone comes with me (because I was actually kind of scared). I put on my shoes and then, as if he forgot I agreed to drive him, he began to sell us his story again, adding more plot--which no one asked for.

"Hey man. Don't be scared because I'm black, man. I don't got weapons man. I just got my ass whooped by some white boys man. Then this [other] white dude gave me his bicycle to ride because he felt bad for me man. I appreciate ya'll mo' fuckaz, man. Ya'll mo' fuckaz really came through for me."

I replied, " Dude, you don't have to do that. I'm gonna drive you. No worries."

As we walked to my car, he told me to take him to University Gables, an apartment not to far from where I was at that time. I began driving towards our destination and the man began talking even more and more circular than before.

"Man, my dad's gonna whoop my ass man. Them white boys kicked my ass man. But that white dude gave me his bike man. Ya'll mo' fuckaz really came through, man. I'm not from around here man. I'm from Clarksville."

Something was  odd about this young man besides his endlessly outrageous storytelling style. His stories were becoming more and more paradoxical. For example, he said he wasn't from around this area, but gave me extremely accurate directions to two different places I could drop him off at--all in the dead of night. Also, the white dudes and daddy's that were all conspiring together to whoop his ass was a pretty big pill to swallow too. However, the strangest part of the whole ordeal was his continuous referral to us (my friends and I) as mother fuckers.

When were almost to Gables, he began praising us in the most absurd way possible:

"Man, thank ya'll mo' fuckaz. Man, Ya'll mo' fuckaz really came through man. Thank you so much. Man, Ya'll mo' fuckaz are some good people."

When he left the car, he took his smell of sweaty, alcohol covered ass-farts with him. I got a story and did a good deed, despite my mockery of the man nullifying my good deed.

Whatever,
Villainy.