Chunky Monkey – An example of womanly RAGE.

I think I’ve spent the past three or four days on one stupid scene that’s really not even that important. Because it involves a bunch of dialogue about convincing the Governor to send soldiers to help defend a town.

And it’s just boorrrinnngggg…..

But action scenes, that’s where it’s at.

***

Here are two examples. The first is just dialogue. Bleh. The second is dialogue… with ACTION!

Dialogue:

“Hey Jan,” Michael said with a smile as he tossed his laptop bag on the coffee table.

“Hey yourself, how was work?” She asked as she closed the refrigerator door and opened the freezer.

“It was work. I got a 1% raise today.”

“Oh that’s nice honey.” He could tell she wasn’t really paying attention as she moved the frozen tater tots and chicken nuggets aside. “Hey, where is the Chunky Monkey ice cream that was left?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep last night and I finished it off.” He reached around her with a pen and wrote ice cream in bad cursive on the grocery list notepad that was stuck on the front of the refrigerator door.

“But, it’s my favorite!” She pouted.

 

Action:

[“All Aboard the Murder Train” from How I Met Your Mother blares in the background]

Michael kicked the door open and dove inside, avoiding the fatal front as his arch nemesis blew a chunk out of the door frame. He heard her pump the shotgun as she ducked back behind the wall and into the other room.

“Look, I’m sorry!” He screamed as he simultaneously tried to press himself flat against the wall and peek around the corner at the same time. It wasn’t really working well. He couldn’t see anything but a pile of dirty laundry still in it’s basket.

“It was mine! And you took it from me!” She yelled in return.

He dunked instinctively as a basketball size hole suddenly appeared above his head, showering him with sheet rock dust and bits of insulation as she guessed where he was.

Spinning onto his back, he used his steel toed Wolverine size 15 boots to push himself backwards. As he slid away on the cold linoleum, he drew the massive Ruger Super Redhawk revolver from it’s holster across his chest and thumbed back the hammer. Grimacing at the recoil he was about to feel,  he sighted between his raised knees, and pulled the trigger.

The boom was deafening as the 400 grain .454 Casull DoubleTap bullet slammed through the sheetrock wall, snapping the 2×4 stud in half, and leaving a fist sized hole as it blasted through the house leaving a trail of destruction and onwards to never-never land. Or the neighbors house, whichever. Jim still hadn’t returned the rake he borrowed anyways.

His ears rang as he cocked the pistol again and tried to peer through the gun holes in the wall. He coughed as the dust from the destruction found its way into his lungs.

“Honey? Are you okay?”

BOOM! Cha-Chunk! BOOM!

The first slug hit the floor beside him and punched through and into his man cave downstairs as he scrambled to get behind the kitchen island. A shotgun pump later and the second shot was higher this time, blowing pictures and magnets off the refrigerator door as she wrongly assumed he had taken cover there.

“It was just Chunky Monkey ice cream! There was barely any left!”

He pushed himself to his knees and rested the butt of the pistol on top of a cutting board covered with half sliced carrots and a tomato while carefully lining up the iron sights. The round door knobs on the cabinet doors dug into his chest as he braced himself.

“You try working customer service and see how HANGRY YOU GET FOR CHUNKY MONKEY!” She screeched in a murderous rage.

Looks like take out tonight. He pulled the trigger back, watching the cylinder rotate until a fresh cartridge was under the firing pin. Slowly he began incrementally adding pressure as he focused on the front sight, until suddenly the trigger broke clean and the hammer dropped.

KA-BOOM!

The muzzle blast flung the plastic salad bowl across the room and bits of romaine lettuce and spinach rained down from the heavens around him.

“I’ll buy you more!”

“I don’t WANT MORE! I want want you ATE! I’m going to rip it out of your intestines with my BARE HANDS!”

He shuddered and carefully sized up the window above the sink, trying to gauge if he could fit through it. Because sleeping on the couch tonight suddenly didn’t feel very safe.

***

See? Action = Cool.

Dialogue = Only cool in action.

Otherwise it’s lame-o.

 

(EDIT – Dick Casull, who invented the .454 Casull round died two weeks ago. So I figured I would use that round just for kicks and giggles.)

Teachers and Guns

No one is saying Teachers should be FORCED to carry a gun, that’s foolish. What we are saying is that they should be given the OPTION of carrying. I heard one poor lady on the news today talking about how if she’s sitting cross legged on the mat with a bunch of little kids and a gunman breaks in, she didn’t think she could draw and shoot fast enough.

Okay, fair enough. But what about when you hear gunfire and screams as a shooter is kicking open doors and moving unopposed down the hallway? Do you have time to react then?

When your kids are huddled in the corner, desks piled around them, cowering in fear and absolute terror – would you like the OPTION of being able to point a pistol at the door in case he comes in?

Some would. Some wouldn’t. Either is fine, personal choice. But I’d prefer my kids had the “Would Carry Teacher”.

Teacher Pay sucks for the most part. But most Conceal Carry Instructors either give discounts or FREE classes to Teachers. And I wouldn’t doubt for a second that gun makers won’t jump up and offer Teacher Discounts.

Heck, as an added bonus – Maybe we’ll stop seeing all these ridiculous videos of students body slamming teachers and start seeing some respect come back into the classroom. That’s not a ‘point a snub nose .38 in the kids face for respect’ suggestion, although if he’s threatening violence, by all means. Point away. But an armed society is a polite society.

And look – if you don’t trust your kids teacher being ARMED around your kid, then you probably shouldn’t trust them educating your kid.

Maybe the Teachers Union’s should start pushing for Hazard/Combat Pay in schools that don’t allow conceal carry. If you’re going to risk being nothing but a meat shield, you might as well get paid a little extra for it.

Utah has been doing this for ten years or more with no issues. Israel has been doing it for 40 plus years and terrorist attacks on schools have stopped because it’s not a ‘soft target’ anymore. They also practice school shooting drills.

You know how long it’s been since we had a kid die in a school fire after we implemented Fire Drills? Zero. In sixty years. At some point you gotta cut the crap and look for what works even if it makes you uncomfortable.

Once upon a time people freaked out at the idea of Sky Marshall’s and Pilots carrying guns on planes – Still haven’t seen a bullet puncture a window and half a plane get torn off and send it spiraling down into a van full of nuns headed out to feed the homeless. Killing everyone… worst case scenarios and irrational fears and whatnot. But gee, we don’t see many Hijacking’s anymore. The 80’s was full of them though! It was weekly it seems.

I dunno. Look. No one is saying Teachers should go hunt a school shooter down. We are just saying that our kids, oh yeah.. by the way. Us evil NRA people, we got kids too. And we want them to live too. So they can grow up and vote against your kids.

But yeah, we ALL want kids to live and grow up to be troublesome teenagers and eventual responsible adults. And I want teachers, who are willing, to learn how to handle firearms and carry if they wish and protect them.

Because when that door gets kicked open, and some madman comes stomping in with his trench coat billowing and guns a’ blazing, I’d really appreciate if you would shoot back instead of letting my kids get slaughtered under a desk as they curl into a ball.

And if this latest shooting teaches us anything, it should be that you can not rely on anyone else for help. FOUR DEPUTIES were outside the school when the shooting was happening. They did nothing. In the moment of violence, there is only YOU and them. There is no waiting for backup, or help. Either you take the mantle of possible victim or you refuse to be one who goes quietly into the blood soaked night.

Fact of the matter is, American ain’t safe anymore. Society is getting sicker and more demented with every passing year. Banning guns is a mathematical impossibility. And not just because you can’t have mine, ever. But the underlying root of it all, an evil rotten immoral sick twisted mentality that we’ve allowed to fester amongst our kids and society – it ain’t going away.

So buckle up, buy guns, get training, and don’t be afraid to spank your kids until they behave. Respect for self and others begins at home.

#PraiseJesusAndPewPew

Praise Jesus and Pew Pew!

The hypocrisy of the left always hits it’s highest peak after a school shooting.

Sorry, but you don’t get to defend, flaunt, and celebrate the murderous dissection of 600,000 plus unborn babies a year (in the name of women’s rights) only to suddenly care about the lives of children after the horrendous acts of a few mentally ill mad men by calling for the legal disarmament of millions of peaceful Americans.

Your supposed political high ground is, in reality, a filthy cesspool at the bottom of a deep pit of immorality and depravity that gorges itself on bashing the morals and teachings of the Christian faith, and mocking Conservatives for their family values, and believing in honor, dignity, and personal responsibility.

You are on the wrong side of a spiritual war between the forces of good and evil. You’ve allowed yourselves to become pawns for the great deceiver. And the future has already been written. Satan loses, and unless you come to Jesus, you will lose with him.

#PraiseJesusAndPewPew

Government Shutdown – An Eyewitness Report of Anarchy and Mayhem.

It’s the 3rd day of Government Shutdown.

The animals at Central Park have been released for lack of food and water and health insurance. They quickly turn the suburbs into a jungle where few dare treads.

Office workers, forgotten and chained to their desks, scream in desperation as they begin chewing their own arms off to free themselves.

Tens of thousands of Women “Marching for Rights They Already Have” in pink hats walk down the empty streets while bits of unsigned legislation blow by like tumbleweeds. They fall silent as no one listens or cares. Feminism dies a silent and long overdue death as their homemade signs fall by the wayside.

Politicians stand in line at the Capitol, empty Starbucks mugs trembling in thin, shaking hands as they beg for spare change, while awaiting their meager ration of watery gruel.

Makeshift Farmer Markets spring up in intersections. Office Workers quickly create massive lines to trade staplers and sticky notes for food. It quickly dissolves into chaos as there are no farmers in DC.

Accountants and Lawyers choose sides according to their profession. They begin hunting each other with makeshift bows and spears.

Two bums begin fighting over a half-eaten Big Mac. The fight ends violently when Donald Trump strangles Chuck Schumer to death with his own tie. Bloodied but victorious, Trump holds the burger aloft as he screams in joy, only to be overcome by the screeching bureaucrats who pour out from the nearby sewer drains and smother him with red tape.

The Postal Service begins looting local police departments. They mount weapons, spikes, armor, and Barbie Doll heads on their vehicles and drive down sidewalks. But as fuel runs out, they soon turn on each other.

World War Two vets, refusing to allow the sacred ground that holds their memorials to be blocked off with barricades and orange cones again, set up fighting positions and a steady stream of aimed fire from M1 Garands surrounds them with a no man’s land 500 yards deep.

More Vets, bearded and grizzled, ride their iron steeds of Harley-Davidson through the yellow tape surrounding the Vietnam Memorial and begin covering their faces and arms with camo paint. Dozens of men in Biker Vests slip into the concrete jungle to begin taking ears.

The city turns in upon itself.

Bits of ash from burned regulations rain from the sky. The steady stream of screams grow faint as the mounds of unburied dead grow. Only the mournful wails of the living and the screams of freed zoo predators can be heard at night.

A torn and tattered American Flag waves silently in the breeze above the Capital Building as it burns.

The Lincoln Memorial weeps a single manly tear.

15 minutes in the life of a Snowflake. (A Short Story of Lunacy)

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It was just another beautiful day of impending doom and gloom.

The evil Capitalist Industrial Complex pumped out trillions of pounds of carbon into the air, drilled mercilessly into the earth mothers crust to exploit her black blood of the earth and precious minerals. Meanwhile numerous cute, defenseless, furry, woodland creatures were slaughtered by backwoods, uneducated, rednecks without teeth and family genealogy problems. Earth was dying, and we were the cause. The beautiful summer flowers would soon wilt away and die. If Global Warming didn’t freeze them first, the acid rain from industrial pollution, or the rapidly depleting ozone layer from aerosol cans would eventually get them. Or the loss of the pink butt bullfrog’s natural habitat would destroy the fragile ecosystem that has remained unchanged for millions of years and kill us all. If only Al Gore had been elected back in 2000 instead of that dumb cowboy!

But instead of worrying about Earth and future generations, all the extreme right-wingers could think about was their precious jobs and tax cuts and border wall and stock market records. Fools. They elected Trump, and everyone knows the stock market is going to crash because of him. It’s just taking a little longer than CNN said it would.

But it’s too late now.

It was all stupid America’s fault, if only we hadn’t backed out of the Paris Accords. Then we could have reduced earths global warming by 0.00001 degrees per year. But instead America was pushing its imperialist will over everyone else and bullying them with undeserved might. Why couldn’t we be more like Europe or Canada? Prime Minister Trudeau was such a great man, at least he knew we could rehabilitate jihadists to be an extraordinarily powerful voice for the Muslim community. He was the beacon of hope that we no longer had.

Stepping past a large silver pickup, I intentionally dragged my keys down the side of it. Gas guzzlers were the bane of vehicular existence. Probably a stupid Trumpkin anyways. I huffed. He wasn’t my President. What a bozo. Obama was like, a gazillion times greater. He was a man of the people. He cared, he resonated, he even cried about things that he was passionate about.

I felt like we were very similar. I was passionate, and I cried a lot also. All the time.

Usually I wept for our future, where transgenders weren’t welcome in the military, where racist bigoted celebrities could be President, where Health Care wasn’t treated as a basic human right, where entire families of immigrants were deported behind an iron wall of hatred, where Radical Islam was considered the biggest threat instead of Russian Collusion or a Republican controlled Congress. Or where we couldn’t get rid of unwanted fetuses. They were just clumps of cells. Like removing a tumor or something. And if conservatives weren’t going to pay for them to be taken care of after they are born, who are they to act so high and mighty about killing them? They just wanted them to starve or not be able to read good or learn how to do other stuff really good too. Besides, they believe in corporal punishment. And everyone knows you should ask a child’s consent before you punish them, hold them, or hug them. Bunch of hypocritical child abusers is what they are.

There was always something to cry or be passionate about.

I kicked the trucks bumper for good measure, but my Birkenstocks didn’t do any damage. They just made my exposed toes hurt as I stubbed them.

I straightened my safety pin on my fashionable $40 Che Guevara T-shirt and reminded myself that I am a refuge of safety and dignity. There is strength in me, and I won’t be silenced or intimidated. The world was full of injustice, and I was a social justice warrior.

Then I saw it.

Someone had tried to peel it away, but I could still make out the large H and the “I’m With” lettering on the arrow that pointed to the side. The sticker was faded and torn, and Hillary’s name was almost unrecognizable. Yet, like her, it persisted.

Just like I also persisted.

I felt my lower chin begin to tremble, and my eyes start to water.

I forced myself to blink back the tears instead of giving in to them. I couldn’t break down now, I had to get to class. My Gender Studies in the Homosexual Community was my favorite class, my teacher inspired me. I copied her look with short purple hair, bright make-up, torn fish net stockings, and facial rings. I made sure I projected a strong feminist presence. I only wish I wasn’t a white male. I was the very thing that I hated so much. The archetype of racist and masculine evil. No wonder my parents didn’t understand me. They were white, heterosexual, and Christian. They were the absolute worst!

Averting my eyes from the peeling bumper sticker, I hurried. Holding the strap to my environmentally friendly hemp backpack tighter, I skirted around the homeless baby-murdering vet sleeping in a cardboard box as I made my way down the street. He was curled in a ball, sleeping, with an American Flag folded neatly beside a small donation can. I kicked it out of spite and it skittered into a puddle. I sniffed in righteous indignation, it served him right, he fought for oil. That meant he was just another one of George Bush’s peaceful Muslim murdering savages. Weapons of Mass Destruction, I harrumphed, G. Dumb. Bush was a weapon of mass destruction to the Iraqi People. He should be executed for War Crimes against Human Decency.

A man was walking the other way, swaying with toxic masculinity while texting on his phone. He was dressed casually, in jeans and black t-shirt. His hair was cut and slicked back, with slight stubble covering his chin. He was looking down at his phone when our shoulders grazed slightly as I tried to dodge out of the way. I squealed, and he muttered an apology before glancing up at me. We locked eyes for a moment. His mouth dropped open slightly before he squinted in confusion and quickly turned to walk away. It must be my exposed man breast and nipple pasty, of course he wouldn’t get it. He looked like the typical cis-gendered male, all arrogance and cockiness. I was gender fluid, so today I chose to show solidarity with feminists. I was especially proud of my eye liner, I watched a dozen YouTube videos on how to apply it perfectly.

I sneered after him before pulling out my brand new Iphone-X. It was the latest model and cost me over a thousand dollars. I used my Student Loans to pay for it. That’s what they are for anyways, to cover necessities. It was such a shame these weren’t free from the Government, stupid greedy Capitalists. Cell Phones were a basic human right.

I pulled up the app and quickly sent out a tweet:

Men are such pigs. #metoo #Oprah4POTUS #CheetoPrez

That would get plenty of attention. I couldn’t wait to see how many of my online friends liked it. I hoped it would go viral. Maybe Ellen DeGeneres would interview me, and I could talk about how I was nearly assaulted and disrespected on the street in the broad daylight. I started day dreaming about how I would make it sound more confrontational when I told the story and what I would have said to put that creep in his place and draw attention to our cause. I needed to practice my dance moves tonight just in case. She always danced on her show.

Then my phone pinged, and I saw I had an email from one of my professors.

It was an invitation to protest the latest conservative speaker on campus. Anyone who signed the attendance sheet being passed around would get extra credit! I don’t know why they kept trying to speak, no one wanted to hear what they had to say. They just came here to cause trouble. Bunch of ignorant mouth breathers. Last time I made sure that I stood at the front of the protest, so everyone could see me. I even hit a police officer with a dildo. That showed him. But then I got a rubber bullet to the groin, and while I considered myself a female that day, it still hurt. I threw up on my pink vagina hat. It still smelled bad. But I would be there, because I persisted!

As I passed one of the dorms, I inadvertently saw the poster through the window and it hit me like an emotional pile of bricks.

The familiar red, white, and blue poster with HOPE in bold words at the bottom. Obama, gazing towards the future with his strong and fearless gaze. I thought of the clown in office, his orange skin and clownish hair swept back, and his foul mouth and disrespectful attitude towards my African-American, Transgendered, Homosexual, Mexican-Islamic family. The internment camps he was probably having built right now, to round them up and deport them. His law enforcement thugs preparing lists of innocent children to deport. His cronies stacking their gold like Scrooge McDuck while I made $7.25 an hour flipping burgers. How was I supposed to survive on that? How dare they not pay me $15, or even $20 an hour! A wage you can live on is another basic human right! I have $40,000 in student loans I must pay back! Bernie Sanders would have forgiven them!

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I started running for the nearest Safe Space. But it was so far away! Why weren’t they everywhere?

The unfairness of it all overwhelmed me and dropping to my knees, I bawled. The hot, salty tears rolled down my face and I could feel my mascara running into my mustache.

But I felt no shame, I was a refuge of strength and dignity against the injustice of America. My safety pin protest proved that. Expressing emotion just meant I was more ‘woke’ than everyone else.

Turning my face upwards, I clenched my fists and screamed my social justice warrior rage at the sky.