Royal Rumble at the End of the World

At the Center of the Universe there is a small city where time stops. A place suspended in nowhere that exists outside the things that used to matter. There, there is a structure, made of stone and steel and giants’ bones that houses battles from the eras. Gladiators ripped from time battle for glory and honor. The warriors of Valhalla war there on weekends, always as the Away Team, but no Vikings will be there this Sunday. This Sunday is: The Royal Rumble at the End The World.

The rules are the same as a regular rumble, 30 entrants (Every former winner, and past wrestlers invited on merit.) The Winner goes on to WrestleMania Infinity, where they wrestle The Current Champion and Agamemnon in a 3-way match for The Belt.

There was a lottery drawing for spots earlier, or later, it’s kind of hard to tell at the Center of the Universe, but people’s spots are random. except for Vince McMahon who said 27 is the best number and he gets it.

The Match starts out with 50 Million in attendance. It sets a Limbodome record, so they say.

Entrants 1 and 2 are Randy Orton and Big John Studd.

The two men go at it hard, with no stalking or feeling each other out. They leap into action with Studd getting the upper hand. Randy looks to lock up and gets a face full of fist that floors him. Studd picks him up and goes to toss him outside, but loses his grip and catches a headlock backbreaker, Orton whips Big John into the ropes and follows with a close clothesline, but it doesn’t send Studd over. Studd launches Orton into a turnbuckle, then picks him up in a Bearhug. He’s crushing Orton’s guts out when Number 3 enters, Hulk Hogan. The Stadium goes insane.

Orton is nearly unconscious when The Hulkster busts a big punch on Studd to break the hold. Hulk wails on both men and tears off his shirt. He pummels both in dramatic fashion. Number 4 is Steve Austin, and the crowd loses their minds. He storms the ring and catches big punches from Hulk. Austin gets punched into a corner and hiptossed back to the middle. Austin’s moving with the speed and ferocity he had storming the ring, but he’s getting smashed through all of it. Hulk hits him with a Big Boot, and that keeps him down, but as soon as Hulk turns around from it, he catches an RKO. Number 5 is Alberto Del Rio, and he piles on the downed Hogan. He puts him an Armbar that gets broken up by an Austin marching elbow, and almost gets pushed over the top rope, but hangs on until Studd clobbers both. Studd then gets an RKO as well, from a Randy Orton who really seems to be picking his spots. Orton punts Studd’s head, and then Del Rio plants a kick there too. The big man doesn’t know where he is. Orton and Del Rio work over Austin. Number 6 is Batista, who goes after the downed Hogan. He takes a Batista Bomb that rattles the ring.

Number 7 is Ric Flair, and when he shows up, Evolution takes over the ring. They focus on Austin, but they should have focused on Hogan, because when he sits up, he does it with authority. Hogan snaps too and delivers big punches to all of Evolution. He no sells chops from The Nature Boy to a series Woooos that get interrupted by a punch that sends Natch over the ropes but Not to the floor. Ric Flair stays in The Rumble. Del Rio does not. Hogan tosses The Mexican Aristocrat over the top rope and he lands in a heap, the first competitor out of The Rumble. Orton catches a Big Boot, and Batista’s getting clubbed in the corner when Number 8, Bob Backlund enters the ring. The first non-winner contender locks onto Batista and helps The Hulkster push The Animal over the top and out of The Rumble. Batista’s livid and bangs his hands against the ring apron, until Hogan clotheslines Big John Studd on top of him. Orton goes for another RKO but Hogan catches him and reverses it, he throws Orton in a high arcing fall to the outside. Randy Orton is eliminated. Hogan’s racked up the first 4 eliminations of The Rumble. He turns around to face the ring and catches a Brutal Stunner. Number 9 is John Cena and he comes in to an eruption of applause as he lays into Austin, Flair, and Backlund. Backlund and Cena start trading wrestling holds. They match each other in such quick succession that the other three competitors stop what they’re doing to watch. It goes on until Flair interrupts by poking Cena in the eye. Cena chases Flair, who slides out of the ring under the bottom rope.

Number 10 is Yokozuna. The 500 lbs sumo crashes the ring with kicks and slaps. He hits a Banzai Drop on Austin that demolishes the man, but gets interrupted from throwing him over the top by Backlund. The NWO music hits and Hogan looks at the ramp as number 11, Kevin Nash walks down the isle. Hulk Hogan doesn’t even notice when Ric Flair sneaks into the room behind him and lifts him over the top rope. Hogan is eliminated. On his way out, Nash says something snide, and the two men trade punches. Hogan gets the upper hand, but security and referees get between them. Big Daddy Diesel seeks sanctuary in the ring, and when he steps over, he almost gets clotheslined back out by Cena, but Big Sexy makes it to the apron, and slides under to stay alive. He hits a backdrop on Cena. Number 12 is Bret “The Hitman” Hart, halfway through his walk to the ring, Lex Luger’s music cuts in. The two split a Royal Rumble Victory, and it looks like they’ll be sharing this entry number. As Luger enters the ring, Cena locks eyes with him, and delivers a Attitude Adjustment to Yokozuna. The impact of of the fall wobbles the standing wrestlers. People in the front row say their beers rippled. Austin lights into Hart. Luger and Backlund both get pushed over the top by Kevin Nash.

Number 13 is Roman Reigns. Ric Flair clearly mouths “who the %@#! is this guy?” and the censors don’t catch it. Reigns enters the ring and trades punches with Cena, he knocks down Austin and Superman Punches Yokozuna. He spears Bret Hart so hard it almost kills him. Nash can’t push out Flair. Number 14 is Rey Mysterio. He hits the ring with Hurricanranas for everybody. A 619 takes the fight out of Reigns who was running the ring. Austin comes to with punches and is mounting some offense when Number 15, Hacksaw Jim Duggan, upends him with a clothesline. We’re halfway through the Rumble.

Hacksaw gets caught with a Cena shoulderblock, and Cena gets caught by a Spear. Reigns gets caught with an inverted atomic drop from Bret Hart and Nash follows it up with a sideslam. Nash picks Reigns up for Snake Eyes, and Flair catches him off guard. Cena and Reigns trade punches to Boos and Yeas, then trades punches with Austin for Boos and Whats. Mysterio breaks up a Figure Four on Nash with a Senton Splash. Shawn Michaels enters at Number 16. He gets mauled by Hart and Hacksaw but Nash breaks it up. Hacksaw, Reigns, and Flair all get pushed to the apron in a clutter. Reigns drops both boots to Flair on the outside, and it sends The Nature Boy sprawling, but he clumsily rolls to the steps and not the floor. Stone Cold Steve Austin runs by and delivers a knee lift that knocks Roman Reigns to the ground. Austin turns around and Yokozuna demolishes him with a body avalanche. He tosses Austin in a suplex before Cena runs in and clotheslines the sumo in the back of the neck. Hart and Flair sweep under the big mans legs and lift him up. Hacksaw grabs him from outside the ring and pulls. Michaels and Cena grab and push too, but the Sumo is still too heavy and fights them off. Nash stays in the corner and watches until Number 17, Shaemus runs to the ring. The two men help to lift Yokozuna. Mysterio leaps up over the pile and wraps his legs around Yokozuna’s head and pulls the mammoth man out. He falls gracelessly to the floor. Sheamus flexes and lets out a scream before Michaels hits him with a Sweet Chin Music and sends him over the ropes to the ground. Sheamus is outraged and in a fit. He pulls Hacksaw, who hasn’t re-entered, to the floor, eliminating him. He then hits the staggering Yokozuna with a Brogue Kick, before turning around and having Hacksaw charges through him from a 3-point stance, right as Number 18, Edge, comes through the crowd.

Bret has Cena in the Sharpshooter when Edge Spears him from the front. It wrenches Cena’s back violently. He Spears Austin. He goes to spear Flair, but gets caught by Mysterio with a kick to the head. Nash gets a hold of Michaels twice and throws him over the ropes, only to have him skin-the-cat both times, before Nash gets sick of trying, kicks Michaels in the stomach, Jackknife Powerbombs him in the middle of the ring, and leaves him there. John Cena clotheslines Bret Hart to the ground. He’s out. Number 19, Macho Man Randy Savage runs in and locks up with Stone Cold, who was stomping a mud hole into Edge. Number 20 is announced, and The Undertaker starts to the ring. Macho Man finds Austin in the middle of a rally, and whips him into the ropes just to get a Thesz Press and a bunch of punches. Nash Powerbombs Flair and Michaels kicks Diesel to the apron. The Heart Break Kid thinks he got him, but Nash steps over the ropes right as Edge Spears Michaels to the outside. Michaels hangs on to the ropes, and might have pulled himself back in, but Nash tosses Edge out on top of him, and they hit the floor together. Undertaker steps in the ring and levels everybody. He clotheslines Nash to the outside. Nash’s eliminated. The Undertaker picks up Mysterio and goes to toss him out, but is hit with a low blow by Flair. Flair’s bloody and not making sense. Austin takes an AA. Brock Lesnar comes in at Number 21. He suplexes most of the ring, and F-5s Ric Flair all the way to the arena floor. 16 people have been eliminated.

Number 22 is Triple H, he runs in and obliterates Macho Man with a Spinebuster, and nearly pushes Cena out. Number 23 is CM Punk. The crowd explodes. “It’s Clobbering Time!” he bellows and charges in. Triple H drops Mysterio with kneesmash, before CM Punk grabs him and throws him into an Undertaker chokeslam. Austin Stuns Triple H and Cena picks him up for his finisher. HHH slides off and delivers a Pedigree. He tosses Cena over the ropes but Cena holds on. Macho Man hits HHH with an axe handle. Number 24 is RVD who runs into the ruckus with a chair in hand. He tosses the chair to Macho Man and drives it into his face with a drop kick. He falls backwards and almost over the ropes.

Number 25 is Chris Jericho. Who doesn’t walk into the fight, instead, he sits with the announce team of Bobby “The Brain” Heenan, Newsman Jon Stewart, and founding father Benjamin “Boss Dog” Franklin. They talk about how great Chris Jericho is, and Ben Franklin alludes that he and Jericho have slept with a few of the same women. Bobby Heenan says they should both go to a doctor. The crowd loses its mind as Number 26, The Ultimate Warrior sprints down the runway. He is three steps away from the ring when The Undertaker Powerbombs Rey Mysterio into The Ultimate Warrior. Warrior, waylaid, is out cold at ringside, but Mysterio’s feet have not touched the floor. He stands awkwardly on The Warrior, and jumps back to the ring. He steps under the ropes and is drilled by Macho Man, who has recovered from the chair shot and is wielding the chair liberally, at everybody. Mysterio’s out. Jericho and Ultimate Warrior both enter the ring. Warrior clotheslines Savage to end the rampage. Warrior and Lesnar run into each other in a colossal chest bump. They brawl fantastically as Macho and Punk battle on the top of a turnbuckle and Austin and Cena double team Undertaker. Number 27 is the only one everybody knew.

“STOP RIGHT NOW, STOP THIS THIS VERY MINUTE.” Vince McMahon screams from the ramp. “IF YOU DON’T STOP THIS RIGHT NOW, YOU’RE ALL FIRED.” The competitors gradually stop as the boss screams. Austin sits down in the corner laughing. “I have nothing to gain from this,” Vince states, he explains that he’s not going to participate in the Rumble, and will instead have a replacement. He says it needs to be a man of his stature, and the only suitable replacement is Andre The Giant. The crowd erupts. McMahon interrupts, he says he’s not just a man of great stature, but also a man of tenacity and virility, and thinks he needs two more surrogate to represent his “grapefruits.” He introduces Mankind and Kurt Angle. They come out and run to the ring. Austin somehow grabs a mic and asks Vince if those are supposed to be his grapefruits, why aren’t they all wrapped up in a purse trying to get his wife elected to office. Vince loses it and says whoever eliminates Austin gets a boat. Andre throws out Austin. He chases McMahon to the back. Later in the night there’s footage of Austin kicking the crap out of McMahon in a marina.

Andre The Giant cleans house. He crushes Macho Man and CM Punk, and tosses The Ultimate Warrior across the ring, He smashes HHH with chops and throws him outside. Number 28 is John Morrison, he flies into the ring and is immediately met with an Angle Slam. Jericho hits a CodeBreaker on Macho Man. Lesnar and Undertaker have been trying to push each other out for a while, but now focus on Andre. The two men suplex The Giant, and it’s his first time off his feet. When Mankind entered the ring, he drug two chairs out from beneath the ring, and is using them to destroy CM Punk. Ultimate Warrior goes for the Gorilla Press on Andre, but can’t. He collapses. Andre gets up and backhands Jericho over the top as he’s going for a Lionsault. Angle hits a serious series of suplexes on Lesnar and CM Punk starts stomping The Warrior. Warrior rallies and mounts some offense, but Punk reverses a shoulder block into a perfect Go To Sleep. Mankind, RVD and Macho Man have been exchanging chairshots for 90 seconds straight. Number 29 is Chris Benoit. He runs to the ring, doesn’t do much, and is thrown out by Andre The Giant. Stone Cold Steve Austin is brutalizing Morison. He throws him out alongside of the ring. Morison lands, catlike, and runs across the barrier guard. He jumps from the barrier towards the stairs only to be intercepted by a spiraling Rob Van Dam. Andre had thrown RVD over, and the two collide outside in a wreck of arms and legs. Number 30 is Kane. He walks to the ring amid fire and brimstone. None of the combatants seem impressed. Macho Man hits his Elbow Drop on CM Punk. When Kane enters the Ring, he and his brother collide and trade punches that echo in the arena. Macho Man and Kurt Angle interrupt only to each receive a Chokeslam. Cena clotheslines The Brothers of Destruction outside. Andre The Giant grabs Cena only to be put up on his shoulders and dropped in a tremendous Attitude Adjustment. He runs against the ropes and drops his Five-Knuckle Shuffle, before The Ultimate Warrior and CM Punk double clothesline him to the outside.

The Rock’s music hits. The stadium nearly explodes. “I thought there were only 30 competitors in the Royal Rumble,” says Jon Stewart. “It Doesn’t Matter What You Think!” explains The Rock. He points at the announce team and starts to jaw at them, when The Big Show attacks Rocky from behind. “This is my spot,” he keeps yelling, “my spot.” He hits a Knock Out Punch on The Rock, and Chokeslams him through the announce table. Benjamin Franklin is pissed. Big Show walks into the Ring.

The two giants stare each other down. The wrestlers left stop for a moment and watch as the two goliaths grab each other and trade punches. Big Show lands a brutal punch that brings Andre to a knee, but the big man grabs Show’s feet and pulls his legs up from underneath him. The two stand and push against one another. Lesnar leaps on both and starts throwing punches. Macho Man, Kurt Angle, and CM Punk stomp Big Show while Lesnar delivers an F-5 to Andre The Giant that Bobby Heenan says is the best thing he’s ever seen. Mankind goes for The Mandible Claw on The Ulitmate Warrior. The Rock slides into the ring and starts taking the boots to Big Show. All four superstars try and push Big Show out, but cannot. He hits Savage with the WMD and wrestles free from the others, only to be picked up and Bodyslammed over the top rope by the recovering and angry Andre. The Giant raises one massive, beefy arm over his head and it’s snatched up in an Anaconda Vice by CM Punk. The big man screams in pain as he bashes The Straight Edge Superstar into a turnbuckle. He bulls him into the corners, but can’t break free. Mankind bends a chair around the head of The 8th Wonder of The World. Macho charges in and Lesnar does too. The Rock grabs a leg, as does Warrior. Kurt Angle comes behind and pulls off a modified Angle Slam that sends Andre over the top and out of the Rumble. He pulls Macho Man with him. The men stand up exhausted and The Ultimate Warrior throws Rock over the top rope. The Rock skins-the-cat back into the ring and goes after The Warrior.

Lesner flattens Punk and delivers a string of Powerbombs. He drops Punk and looks to lock on his Kimura but he is blindsided by Angle who sinks in the Ankle Lock. Lesnar is screaming in pain as CM Punk simultaneously locks on the Anaconda Vice. Lesnar is helpless in the ring and taps out frantically and fruitlessly. Mankind drops an elbow on both men, and tries to throw Angle over the top. Angle Angle Slams Foley, but a CM Punk dropkick sends Angle to the floor. The Rock grabs Mankind and tosses him over but Foley hangs on. The Rock Rock Bottoms Punk in the Middle of the ring. He kicks Punk’s arms in and prepares to deliver The People’s Elbow. He throws his elbow pad into the audience and bounces off the rope for the most electrifying move in sports entertainment, but Mankind pulls the rope down and The Rock falls over the top.

Four Men are left in the Royal Rumble: CM Punk, Brock Lesnar, Mankind, and The Ultimate Warrior. Warrior rushes at Mankind, and Mankind shoulders him in the belly and gets back in the Ring. Warrior Gorilla Presses the Hardcore legend and drops him to the mat. Lesnar delivers a forearm that sends Warrior to the outside. Mankind leaps on Lesnars back and locks in the Mandible Claw. CM Punk charges to push both men over. He has them up and over the rope, but Lesnar locks Punk in a headscissors and pulls him out with him and Mankind still locked around him in an ugly Hurricanrana tangle. CM Punk’s feet hit the ground while Lesnar hangs from one arm while Mankind continues to apply his nerve hold. Rock, furious, crushes a chair against the Hardcore Legend, and he breaks his grip, and falls to the floor. Lesnar pulls himself inside and is victorious. He falls into the corner exhausted, grinning his crooked smile.

*Unless Mick Foley’s really reading this. If that’s the case, then The Rock’s chairshot misses, and folds the chair over Lesnar’s face. The big man tries to scream and Mankind sinks his Mandible Claw in deeper. Lesnar is fading and starts to go limp, his impossibly strong hand still holds the two men from the top rope. He lets go as the last lights of consciousness leave his eyes. Mankind reaches out with his naked hand and grasps the bottom rope. Mr. Socko hangs loosely, dripping blood, and spit, and the muffled swears of Brock Lesnar. Mankind looks into the camera as it swings around to show his worn and weather beaten face. “Have a Nice Day,” he screams, “Have a Nice Day.” McMahon appears at the ramp and yells, “I’ll be damned if a ragtag mutt like you gets to claim victory in MY Ring!” “You’re here because I let you be here. You’re my number Mick, and truth is, you’re not fit to serve as my Grapefruit.” McMahon calls out his new muscle. It’s Hollywood Hulk Hogan! The surprise entrant charges the ring to Jimi Hendrix, and the two lock up. They put on a match that breaks people’s hearts. Bobby Heenan says McMahon’s right, and a Ham-and-egger like Foley Doesn’t deserve to win. But he does. They fight back and forth for twenty minutes. He endures 3 Atomic Legdrops, and a Big Boot that takes his mask off his face, but Mankind locks in a Mandible Claw and walks Hogan to the ropes. Hogan starts to Hulk Up with the sock jammed in his gullet, but to no avail, Mankind upends Hogan and sends him to the arena floor. It is a beautiful day.

Your Winner Is: Brock Lesnar.

People wonder who he’ll face at WrestleMania.

Champion: Brock Lesnar

Match Time: 1 hour 23 minutes 45 seconds

Order of Appearance:
1. Randy Orton
2. Big John Studd
3. Hulk Hogan
4. Stone Cold Steve Austin
5. Alberto Del Rio
6. Batista
7. Ric Flair
8. Bob Backlund
9. John Cena
10. Yokozuna
11. Kevin Nash
12. Bret Hart/Lex Luger
13. Roman Reigns
14. Rey Mysterio Jr.
15. Hacksaw Jim Duggan
16. Shawn Michaels
17. Sheamus
18. Edge
19. Macho Man Randy Savage
20. The Undertaker
21. Brock Lesnar
22. Triple H
23. CM Punk
24. Rob Van Dam
25. Chris Jericho
26. The Ultimate Warrior
27. Andre The Giant
-Kurt Angle
-Mankind
28. John Morrison
29. Chris Benoit
30. Kane
31. The Rock/The Big Show

Order of Elimination

1. Alberto Del Rio
2. Batista
3. Big John Studd
4. Randy Orton
5. Hulk Hogan
6. Lex Luger
7. Bob Backlund
8. Roman Reigns
9. Yokozuna
10. Sheamus
11. Hacksaw Jim Duggan
12. Bret Hart
13. Shawn Michaels
14. Edge
15. Kevin Nash
16. Ric Flair
17. Rey Mysterio Jr.
18. Stone Cold Steve Austin
19. Triple H
20. Chris Jericho
21. Chris Benoit
22. John Morrison
23. Rob Van Dam
24. The Undertaker
25. Kane
26. John Cena
27. The Big Show
28. Andre The Giant
29. Macho Man Randy Savage
30. Kurt Angle
31. The Rock
32. The Ultimate Warrior
33. CM Punk Punk
34. Mankind

Art

The hardest thing about writing for 40 days in a row has been realizing just how little I have to say. In comedy, and probably in other arts, people always talk about “finding your voice,” discovering who it is you want to be and how to connect that to the audience. It’s a high accomplishment, discovering you voice. It takes a lot of work and commitment that most people will not do. I’ve spent the last 9 years professionally, and last 34 years privately, trying to find my voice, and I think I’ve made headway, but I’ve recently realized I’ve done nothing to discover my message.

The inherent narcissism of thinking I’m special has been overshadowed by the applied narcissism of trying to prove it.

There’s enough art. There are more books than I will ever read. There are more movies than I will watch. There are more types of dance, let alone actual dances, than I even want to learn. Still, I feel it is important that all the other monkeys hear my scream, and like it best. Not because it is best, but because it’s mine.

Now that I live somewhere where monkeys are screaming in a chorus I understand, and even like, I find myself reevaluating why it is I’m screaming. I used to scream in dissonance: I hate the god damn game. I hate my friend’s second marriages and rush to become boring, I hate the lazy acceptance that you are right and good and noble because you are you and you’re terrific. I hate it that you can be so dumb, and think you have it figured out.

Now I’m happy, in a bitter rotten way that want-to-be artists experience happiness. Looking at it from the outside and wondering how it will affect my purity and worth. Doing things I want to do has prompted a rage in me to become someone I want to be. I am not important, and I probably won’t be, but I can try and be better.

There are not enough books. There are not enough movies. There are nowhere near enough dances. Because, if there were, there wouldn’t be evil.

I’ve read Christian philosophers who say that evil doesn’t exist, that it is only the absence of good. That’s simplistic, but functionally useful. If I can make something good, if I can be something good, perhaps I can fight evil too. I think that’s a message that is worth saying even in the most sarcastic of voices.

I’m reevaluating my message. I would like to say better things, because I’d like to make things that make people think and encourage folks to understand. I want to make things that are funny and true. I also read that all evil needs to triumph is for good men to do nothing. Again, simplistic, but I can apply it usefully, because I’m going to make stuff.

Chariots are fine, but cars make more sense

My roommate’s dog wont grab his bone if it’s next to his water dish. He just stares at it helplessly like a little idiot and whines. He’s a Boston Terrier so he already looks sort of pathetic with his big dumb eyes that couldn’t convey understanding even if his McNugget sized brain could achieve it. He’ll shake his head back and forth and drive his face into the carpet. He’ll try to roll over and offer up his tummy, trying to coax the bone away from the water dish. He’ll paw frantically near the bone, but he won’t just grab it with his mouth and move it. Something about the bone being in immediate proximity to his water dish wrecks his understanding of the universe. The reason for this is simple. He’s really stupid.

That’s not accurate at all, I just can’t miss an opportunity to call a terrier stupid.

He’s as smart as is average for a terrier, but this isn’t a case of smarts. This is something wrong in his head. The wiring’s wrong. His program that handles his understanding of: food, water, toys, drowning, play, smells, what you can eat, what can’t you eat, and where warm spots are has a glitch in it when his toy and his water bowl overlap. It doesn’t reboot the whole program, but it works really slow. Exactly like some levels in old Nintendo games where your guy could go to one corner of the screen and all the pixels would go wonky. An electrical impulse misses or something else like that. I’m not smart enough to know exactly, but I like my understanding of it. And I wish the guys who wrote The Bible had it, so there book would make more sense.

Our understanding of the world is shaped by the understandings of people ahead of us. It’s how we know so much. I don’t think I’m smarter than Leonardo Di Vinci, but my understanding of the natural world’s better, and he helped. When “we” (and this is a collective “we,” the biggest “we” we’ve got, all of us) learn things, it influences everything we already know, and everything we will know in the future, so long as we’re sharing information, and not intentionally misleading others. Discovering the wheel didn’t just lead to carts, it also led to Lazy Susans, and the idea that a body in motion likes to stay that way. Realizing mass can’t move at light speed fundamentally changes our view of the universe. It’s not just that we know it can’t, it’s that because of that, we know travel and life and time are imperfect measures to apply to the whole universe. The discovery of code is the biggest challenge to religion, faith, and basic understanding since the acceptance of a heliocentric universe. I hope fewer Italians get excommunicated for it.

It always used to bothered me that images of Revelations peaked out with bronze era technology. The old men and bad preachers I grew up with would speculate that “scorpions” were probably helicopters and the chariots mentioned in the end times were almost certainly tanks. I kind of grew up waiting for Armageddon. I sort of still am. The antiquity of the visions always threw me off. It’s not the fault of the writers.

They just hadn’t learned enough stuff. If David grew up with an rudimentary understanding of DOS, I think we’d all be much better prepared for the next world. If he was early or we were late is up for discussion, but we’re certainly here now, and I like it.

That little idiot dog not being able to grab his bone when it’s near his water, helps me understand god in a way I’m pretty comfortable with.

He’s a big math equation, maybe every math equation. He’s a big program, and it can be perfect without its parts being perfect. Or perhaps perfection’s all relative, and all that really matters is, it is.

That dog’s inability to understand that the bone is fine regardless of is position next to the water makes no sense, and it shouldn’t. His head makes too much sense as it is. He’s a pile of cells loosely arranged to best stay alive. It does a ton of work, it can screw up something like that.

It’s okay that some people are allergic to peanuts, or are color blind. Our currently limited understanding of programs is a revolution in thought that won’t be able to be appreciated until we’re off this rock, but it’ll be treated like fire or language or at least the scientific method, and I’m thankful for it.

I like this notion, because it meshes with my worldview, and it’s up to date with how I understand the universe. In a world where the sun goes around the earth, and where we’ve been here since the stories started, it’s easy to believe in an observant lord. It isn’t wrong, but it’s outmoded. I like to imagine fundamentalist polytheistic Romans arguing that god’s didn’t have wheels or swords. I hope people freaked at the idea of Vulcan getting an updated anvil. I hope it broke people’s hearts and old men walked out flustered when young men talked about it. I hope we’ll all laugh about it when the world ends.

And There’s Reason To Believe

2014 was good and hard and ugly. I did things I wanted to, and things I didn’t. I lost and gained more than I think I realize. Mostly, I got older. My teeth hurt and my hair’s thinning; I’m weaker every day. Sometimes my chest aches for no reason. My vision is sometimes blurry. I cannot run a mile.

I read a lot of books. I did 30,000 push-ups, not in a row. I was on the radio a few times, and I met an incredible girl. She left me, but she knew me, and I even think she liked me. I wrote two or three jokes I’m really really proud of, and I’ve written for 35 days in a row.

I signed up for a contest I didn’t get into, so I signed up for another one.

I quit smoking, and I quit a city I’m pretty sure would have killed me. I moved to one that I hope will. Someday.

I thought my sister was going to die and she didn’t. That’s probably what this year should be about, but it doesn’t focus on me so I’ll ignore it. This might be the year I learned to love my sister.

This is the year my dad got his knees done, and maybe got his needs met. It’s the year I learned how to fight with him, and decided I don’t want to.

My car caught fire, I was questioned as a domestic terrorist, and I talked to the Columbus Free Press. They thought I was cool.

My best friends both had babies. My nephew had one too. They’re all going to be neat people. I sort of got on TV. I sort of will again. My niece got married and a friend got fat. I learned how to put text on pictures.

A buddy moved to the West Coast, we’re thinking of starting an alliance. I lived through the coldest winter I’ve seen. I slept in my car a lot. I grew a ponytail.

This year was one of the hardest of my life. I’m going to fucking crush you 2015.

Mostly About That Treble

I don’t like big asses. Growing up a big ass was gross. Lisa Simpson got made fun of for having a big butt. We’re about the same age. I blame the ethnics. I’m not mad, it’s not like my needs aren’t being met, I just feel underrepresented in America. I don’t want to speak too loudly, because I’m afraid Bill O’Reilly will hear me, and it’ll become a talking point for him, and then I’ll be guilty by association.

I didn’t think I was overtly affected by my tiny ass prejudice until 5 years ago. I watch watching wrestling with friends, and, as is often the case, the conversation during the Ladies matches was “who would you most want to sleep with.” I play the same game with my gay friends, which is hilariously uncomfortable. Also, we can all agree that Randy Orton is beautiful. I said the girls I liked in order, and my buddy pointed out I like flat asses. I guess I do. Also, I listen to very little hiphop.

I don’t hate it, I just never picked it up. I spent my middle school years trying really hard to like metal or classic rock. Turns out I like wuss jams, but that’s irrelevant. My cultural bias has led me to one of the saddest separations I’ve ever had from the main stream. The whole world seems caught up with asses, I’m still firmly a skinny chicks with huge cans man. I don’t want to pretend it’s ever influenced who I like, or that I’m so inundated with ladies that I’ve ever had a choice. But, If I did, asses would not play into it. I’m one of like 300 guys who liked Jesse Spanno more than Kelly Kapowski. We’ve got to be wrong, if we’re looking for consensus.

What I’m saying is. I’m without struggle.

3 people most ignored on the show.

I talk a lot about Game of Thrones with a lot of people. It’s been a terrific exercise watching and reading something simultaneously. Both mediums are doing beautiful jobs at telling the story, and it’s been a weird experience feeling both influence my experience with the other. The giant asymmetric throne in the books will always look like the one I see on the show even though I know it’s wrong. There are of course big glaring differences, but it’s the and minor subtleties that are the harder things to explain to friends who don’t read. They are things that aren’t important, but make reading fun. My favorite characters in the book are minor pieces in the story, people who drift in and out and connect the narratives of main folks. When you’re slogging through 40 pages of Jon, a little Dolorous Edd makes your day. It sounds ridiculous to explain to someone that the guy on the wall who set off the big ice scythe is my “favorite” in the book, but he is. He’s funny, and smart, and has silver hair even though he’s youngish. He’s not important. But he is to me. I hope he makes it. It’s the world that drives the books, and the characters that drive the TV show. Here are three that have been shafted/slighted:

1)Dolorous Edd – cracks me up. Pragmatic and clever, Edd’s a delightful foil to the ever dour Jon Snow. His friendship and appreciation for Edd makes Jon a much more sympathetic character. Jon’s a surprisingly hard protagonist, and he has to deal with some serious decisions. Having someone there to reasonably bitch, and still do the job makes their tasks seem less heroic, and more human, which is why this story works.

2)Strong Belwas – You guys are missing out. The story of Barriston Selmy is different in book. He joins Dani disguised as a squire to Belwas, who has come to serve as her bodyguard. The ruse is interesting, but maybe unnecessary for the quick paced show. Also, the audience Hates knowing stuff the characters don’t, and recognizing him on screen would confuse dummies. He’s an ex-slave eunuch who’s as big as a house and a killing machine. He thinks it’s fun, and he’s good at it. When Daenerys and her camp are holding siege to the city and there’s a challenge offered her, in the show her lame-ass new boyfriend answers, in the book it’s Belwas, who wins, then takes a dump at the city who’d insulted his Lady. I didn’t know you could take a dump “at” somebody, but he did, and it was hilarious. His roughness adds some levity to the boring procedures of Dani’s “court,” and his comical/frightening appearance makes all of her adventures more intriguing. The Giant Non-sexual tough guy is an archetype I usually find drab, but Strong Belwas most certainly is not.

3)Cold Hands – There’s a giant story line in the books not addressed on the show involving Lady Stoneheart, and it’s probably more important than Cold Hands, but it’s not as cool. Cold Hands is an undead creature, maybe a Wyght, or something like it, that rides a giant elk and helps Sam & Bran and all the people those two travel with. He can’t pass the wall because the magic of it prevents him from doing so. When he describes it as, “not just a pile of stones and wood, but also spells,” it was some of the best simple description in fantasy. He exists as a good evil thing, and those are my favorite. He has a quality like Tom Bombadil, kind of existing outside the primary narrative. Some people think he may be Benjen Stark, but I hope not, I hope he’s older. I hope he’s been there awhile. I hope he sticks around too.

So those are three of my favorite characters that aren’t or are barely on the show… I’ll be so sad when they die.

15 Stupid Things I’m Stupid Thankful For (Stupid 5 or Stupid 5)

1. Sugar – I love everything she’s been in: Cakes, Cotton Candy, poured over Def Leopard, she’s even good in Corn Syrup. I was talking to nerds about Game of Thrones and somebody asked where I’d want to live. The answer is nowhere. I live in the wealthiest kingdom in Westeros, no king, or septa, or poorly portrayed wizard under a tree which was total bullshit and nowhere near as cool as it was in the book, has ever had Ben & Jerry’s ice cream on top of a pop-tart. Which I’ve done. A lot. Suck it Ned.

2. Hulu and Netflix not having music play on their load screens – This seems specific, but 15’s a Lot of stuff to like when you’re a grouch ass, and Hulu and Netflix just fucking crushed that. There’s no reason to think they wouldn’t have little loop or song or place to sell ads bullshit, but they don’t, they just have a polite quite screen showing off what it can do. It’s perfect like a turtle shell. A few thousand years from now the sentient robots the run the world will look at Hulu as a mark of intelligent design. Stupid fundamentalist future robot overlords.

3. Mankind’s inherent love and beauty and all that jazz.

Round 1… FIGHT

I wanted to edit my story from the last two days today, but it’s my birthday, and I’m not working that hard today; but, in sticking to my writing for 40 days, I’m still going to make a post. These are the Best fights I can think of.

1. The Baddest Assed Bad Ass fight.

Wolverine vs. Hellboy – Wolverine is probably the reason I, and everybody, love comics. The loner tough guy with an unstoppable power is quintessential to the progression of comicbooks. I’d argue Wolverine carried comics to the forefront of pop culture, not Spider-Man, Superman, or other Golden Age heroes. Hellboy is an adaptation of the loner archetype and modernized for darkening, more literary comicbook world. A misunderstood bastard son of Hell pulled to our world by the Nazis and turned into a weapon for truth and protection of our world. A perfect and beautiful reluctant hero. While Wolverine embodies so much mistrust and anger prevalent in the 80’s and 90’s, Hellboy presents a mirror image of that. He’s a kind soul pushed into a world of nothing but sharp teeth and hot fires. Hellboy’s stronger, and smarter, and maybe even tougher, but Wolverine is meaner. If they’d fought in 1999, Wolverine would have won, but 2 or 3 shitty movies, and that guy from Les Mis have turned him into a vague idea of a toughguy. I’m going with the Lord of Hell.

2. Battle of the Gods

Superman vs. Doctor Manhattan – Arguably the two most powerful characters in comicbooks. Superman can do anything you could think of in 1933. Dr. Manhattan represents everything we thought about science and power in 1986. This fight is difficult to call, because Dr. Manhattan’s powers are vague and undefined. He can blink folks out of existence, teleport and grow to enormous sizes. He can point and make people blow up. If Dr. Manhattan is as powerful as he appears, he can point at Superman and make him not there… but I don’t know if he’s as powerful as we think he is. The godlike Dr. Manhattan has never met another superpowered being. It is possible a well placed super punch on the beezer makes him explode again, or maybe he’s just got a glass jaw. We just don’t know. Superman’s fought cosmic threats, and he’s like 5,000 and 1… so it’s hard to cast him as an underdog.

People argue Superman’s fight is a more noble and personal fight, and because of that he’ll win. That Superman is essentially the “better” man, and will win because his cause is pure. But I fundamentally disagree. Superman’s a very Western Notion of a savior. His rocket ship to earth is a Moses analogue, and his disguise as a member of a human family is an apparent analogue to Christ. His ethics and values convey the Western ideal, and unwavering character is beyond reproach. The Zen-like Dr. Manhattan is above that. A very Eastern take on power and the role of a deity, aloof and sometimes harsh; it easy to not see Dr. Manhattan for what he is, an immortal beyond the notions of evil, a creature for whom balance and life are important, but not worth fighting for, because fighting is apart from his ideal.

I’m going with the big blue wiener.

3. The Fight for Greatest American.

Abraham Lincoln vs. Dalton (from Roadhouse) – One was a visionary and leader of our Nation through its most difficult era. A determined and rangy man with a spirit that conveyed dedication, conviction and strength of character, the other’s a kickboxing moterfucker who’s as tough as he is beautiful. Lincoln was a wrestler with a legendary toughness. A tall man with reach and a ground game will present a terrific challenge for the primarily striking bassed Dalton. While Dalton is most likely a more complete fighter, and certainly the better man for watching the door at The Double Deuce, the ground assault of Lincoln would wear out the “Best in the Business.” The man who makes everybody want to be an American will lose to the man who makes everybody proud to be an American. Dalton dances, but can’t put down Honest Abe. Their Debates are legendary. (They totally just focus on States Rights, Dalton’s super for black people, even though none go to his bar.)

4. Revenge vs Chaos

Charles Bronson vs. The Weasels from Who Framed Roger Rabbit – This is the only handicap match up and requires a little scene building. The Weasels have either kidnapped, or gang-raped Bronson’s daughter depending on if this is an R or PG release. The film is exactly the same except for that, and how gruesomely the Weasels die in the fight scenes. Regardless, Charles Bronson comes out on top and there’s a musical number at the end.

5. The Battle for Harmony in the Universe.

Paper vs. Rock – Rock wins, hands down, always. The Law of Rock rules the land. Everything makes sense.

The NFL

I got to not watch the game today. I LOVE not watching the game. When I’m back home, I start watching the game, it’s everywhere. I even trick myself into sort of liking it. Then I get away from it, and I realize. I do not.

Not watching football is more rewarding than not smoking. I feel better about it. I dream easier, I breath fresher air, even food’s better.

Today my Facebook feed was all about Johnny Football. All about it! It made me miss police choking people to death.

Escaping football is like dropping a class I don’t want to take.

It’s the organization of fun I hate. The sanctioned debauchery. The perpetual fun machine that burps out merriment.

It’s not about the game of football. It’s about touchdown passes and popular players. I the flags. I hate roughing the passer. I hate it that “fantasy football” doesn’t acknowledge the 5 players on offense who determine how your quarterback throws. I love not having to apologize for not watching it. I miss home a lot. I do not miss the game.

I hope your team won.

I don’t want to be a part of any club I can’t swing at your head.

I grew up in a really religious house. Not the good kind. I’m not sure there is a good kind.

My folks weren’t, and aren’t, hateful people. Religion was never a tool my folks used to think of themselves as better than other people. I think aside from the guilt maybe laid on their kids, my folks didn’t use religion for much, other than a means to keep themselves well behaved, and maybe provide some structure to their, and their kids’ lives.

It might have worked. None of us are serial killers or child rapists or anything really heinous. I think I’m the only one with much affinity for drugs and trouble. (A middle sister went through a shit-kicking, beer guzzling, hillbilly, mid-life crises, and one of my olders liked pills and “medicine” an awful lot, but neither are robbing pizza delivery boys or fucking dudes for crank.)

My dad turned to religion as some form of ego-check. As a main essentially devoid of conscience, it’s probably a good thing. (My dad will attempt to address the angel and devil on his shoulder, but once he realizes they’re tiny versions of him, they all just start bragging about women they slept with and how good they were at high school baseball.) Dad leans on too much now. I think he’s just learned that few people will really argue with an old man talking religion, and his learned to use it as a means to get his way, but it’s never hateful.

I got lucky. I think there was a lot of hateful in my church. Folks mad at change, life, death, anything. For people all about love, they sure seemed to delight in the idea of Fornicators and Taxmen burning in hell forever, and their tongue-talkings sure had a lot vitriol at the world once it was deciphered by that creepy old woman up in the front.

I do my best to not get mad at church. It is an okay institution. It’s helped a lot of people, and when used right, can save lives. I will not dismiss a group of folks as big as “Christians,” because that’s an enormous group, and I know enough of them to know that most of them are just fine. And they’re less fun to talk about. I love the angry, “better than you,” hypocrite Christians as much as anybody, and, as with most groups, the ones who self-identify are always the worst examples.

Quick, who’s your least favorite American? Is he wearing a flag somewhere on his body? Is he telling you about America?

Quick, think of an obnoxious Texan. We’re all thinking of the same person. You can do it with any group of more than 10. I dislike soldiers who talk about soldiering, I dislike fratboys who talk about frats, and I dislike Christians who talk about Christianity. (we could extrapolate on this into some dark territory, like thuggish blackness or swooshy gays, but I think you get my point.) In short, groups that like the stereotype for the group they’re identifying with, lose themselves for it, they become a facade because they know how that face is supposed to react and behave, and that’s a little easier than really wrestling with the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing. The uptight proper Christian sure doesn’t appeal to me… but it might beat chaos. I don’t know.

Today two Mormon youth were talking to an old black man about faith near me. They refer to themselves as Elders, which is funny to me, but, they looked just like Mormons: trim, clean and friendly. Really Nice. I hope they do nice things. I wish it was easier to be nicer on your own.

This started as just a preface to a funny little piece I’m writing, but has turned into this. I hope it was worth reading.