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marvin

ljidolvillian


I have met the enemy, he is a rogueish chap. Seems familiar somehow.

Because it is bitter and because it is my heart.


LJ Idol Week 16- A terrible beauty has been born
marvin
ljidolvillian
The high school week was as bland, flavorless and ultimately as free of nourishment as cardboard cooked into a gruel. Any evidence of his true self was grounds for punishment, scorn even a beating, it had happened before. Drama class was o.k. but even there the people from the other world held sway. Once he let his best friend from the other world, a lovely, seemingly kind fat kid see him as he really was, in his full Saturday face. His former friend said "Are you wearing a feminine napkin too?" and laughed it off. He knew then that his worlds could never meet.

The most popular jocks in the school hated him, he kept his true self under wraps, for the most part but apex predators sense the "other" better than the drones. Plus he had the quirkiest, prettiest, most awesome female friends, the only girls in the whole school not begging the alpha dogs to make a meal of them, that they might wear their jackets for a week.a

Friday night was for preparation, clothes and hair and shopping, getting the other thing the jocks called "scooby snacks" but his world had their own name for. He woke as late on Saturday as he would on Sunday. Not because of coming down...but because it was just too long to wait until 10 p.m. if you got up before noon.

He expertly applied his girls makeup and helped them dress just so. He then turned to his own face. Soon there would be dancing, and touching and love, and joy, which he never got any other place. He was happy, but there was some sadness that he couldn't be himself all the days of his life. But, he reasoned, there is no birth, without some accompanying pain.

LJ Idol Week 15- Chekov's Gun
marvin
ljidolvillian
Dear Anton,

You are so right, you shouldn't have a gun on stage if you have no intention of firing it. I've done a lot of plays with a lot of guns, almost all have been fired, and no one died.

Now, I tell you a little secret about why I don't own a, real, non prop, gun. Listen carefully, I think it is actually illegal to not like guns in Texas. I don't know if you do as much time as you do for not loving Jesus...but I can't risk it. I am too damned pretty to do well in prison.

I could blame my brother spilling his brains on a white pillow, but the fact is I hated the phallic shaped motherfuckers long before that.

I understand why people love them, I do. It's the modern day dragonslayer fantasy isn't it. If someone comes round to rape your queen or princess you can blow them the fuck away. Certainly if I thought I couldn't protect the ones I love any other way, I guess I would have to consider it. The thing is, the bad guys, know when the bad-juju is going down, and I have no idea. So, in order for a gun to do me any damn good...I have to have it loaded and darn near arms reach at all times. My klutzy, alcoholic, depressive ass...no thanks. If I ever fired it all all the odds are...well lets just say one brain/pillow deposit is more than enough per family.

But Fully, you say, I am not a colossal fucktard like you, I deserve to be able to protect myself and my family from the rapez and the murderz. To which I say, o.k. I have said my peace, keep your piece. The idea that we libtards want to take all your beautimus gunz is a phallac...er a fallacy anyway. Yeah some of us are dumb enough to think civilians don't need to have 100 shot drums or AP rounds or I dunno whatever other military grade crap that we currently allow cause the NRA has sold the hell out of this slippery slope idea that if you ban one kind of gun, you are coming for all the GUNZ. Likely to turn em over to the fuckface UN Oneworlders.

No, keep your damn guns. I don't give a shit. If you shoot me it's a mercy killing..and I think my mom is possibly too tough to die, same for my fiancee.

I just wish the gun lovers took a little less glee over the prospect of giving Mr. Stranger Danger a lead shower. Look I understand....it's heroic. I have a really small penis too (since I don't drive or like guns I have to augment my penis with a loud stereo system and a hitachi magic wand). Sometimes all I see on Facebook or hear in conversation is people protecting and talking about their assortment of hand cannons.

Maybe I am PTSD bait (God I hope not, next I will be needing those damned trigger warnings)...but I hear people gloating about how they wish they had been there to give this criminal or that one the Dirty Harry treatment and I get physically ill.

So keep your guns, you were going to anyway, but as a society can we agree that if NOBODY had them the world would be a better place. "Handguns are made for killin', ain't no good for nothin' else". If Lynard Skynard had a more morally correct idea about handcannons than we have in 2014, 40 years ago....Glock Help Us.

LJ Idol Week 13- Open Topic- The Death of Lane
marvin
ljidolvillian
So, it appears Mad Dog has gone up a dollar and a dime since the last time I bought it. That is necessary, I guess.

I knew what I had to write about the second Gary's wheel of whatever landed on "Open Topic" this week, damn it.

I knew it had to be non-fiction, without a lot of artifice, maybe almost clinical. And I knew I had to be very, very drunk to write it.

(A Rare Cookie from me to the Trigger Warning set). This is a story about suicide, real bloody suicide, senseless and awful. If you want to skip reading I don't mind. I would run away from it if I could, and maybe I am. I am just not sure I know any good place to run, and if I am fast enough.


[Break 15-20 Minutes]

So I had BIG PLANS, IMPORTANT PLANS for December 22nd. These plans did not involve the "Family" Christmas party in Riverside Texas. My brother Lane and I almost never attend these things, Lane works a lot and I....I...Well my "extended family" is as nice to me as the prevailing culture insists on, but I am not missed at such functions. To be fair, I don;t miss anyone over the age of 9 who attends these things, so my staying home is "no harm, no foul".

No, I was competing, with a former co-worker in a Fantasy Football CHAMPIONSHIP. That's right, my entire day was to be spent drinking heavily and rooting for MY football players to out perform the other guys. If they did it meant 300 extra dollars and some bragging rights to me. Epic stuff amirite? Cosmically important? You guys never knew I was a champion level player right? So Texas has the poor taste to only allow beer sales noon on Sunday (WRITE MY SENATOR). So I was fine tuning my all important "lineup" waiting to vision quest to the corner store.

When my cell phone rang.

(Break of indeterminate length Does Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Special Style Dancing to Feel Good Inc. segues into Molly Hatchets "Flirtin With Disaster" alphabetically on my music machine)

So it was Eric, who I have known since I was in 5th grade on the line. He works with my brother, and Lane had not come in or called and he was scheduled to work. Now if this had been me, people would have tried to get a hold of me, but mostly to save my job, if possible. People would have assumed I overslept (possibly with chemical assistance) I am not always the most reliable human being. But Baby-Brother defines reliable...he is the one that covers shifts when others don't come in. (He once finished a shift as a security guard after an accident knocked out his two front teeth.)

Well I am a non driver and the family car was in Riverside besides. So I started walking toward Lane's apartment. I was sort of hoping that baby brother had finally overslept his alarm for once and I could laugh that even the golden child isn't perfect....but I guess deep down I knew something was wrong. Lane doesn't ditch work...

My place to Lane's apartment is a 30 minute walk...and my head was still conjuring alternate fantasy lineups. I used to live in these apartments....and as I walked up I saw his car, parked where it usually was when he was home. So much for the fender-bender-cell-phone out of juice idea.

I snuck in through an open gate as I had done 100 times...I pounded on his door, hard. I did the "family" code knock...

I called Eric back...and Eric who, like Lane, is a part of the court system told me a deputy could be sent out to do a welfare check. First one, then two...then three Harris County constables drove by....and I began to feel a slow burn in my gut....a fear that surpasseth understanding.

(TBC- Contingent on my survival, natch)

LJ Idol Week 12- Barrel of Monkeys
marvin
ljidolvillian
i am the pinnacle of evolution
you can tell by my opposable thumb dumb
even if I do mostly use it to clutch my beer
or my remote control
i am not strong as a silverback
but i'll do til one comes along bong
it's important to me
my monkey brain
that I be strong
though everyone knows that
strong enough to pull the trigger is all that's needed
to keep you on top flop
my brain is big
my penis small
and I don't care if you are in heat at all
i write letters
and eat my betters
and my race created pong donkey kong
the beat(ings) go on
don't be square
tienanmen square
i live where freedumb reigns
just ask the nsa
or nasa
or whateversolucky is in charge this week
even though I am in charge
i still have full access to the tiniest
most instinctual
reptile brain
if you don't believe me
bring me a plate of ribs
or a juicy fat girl
or a little "a" cup theater kid
half my age
watch me impress
prim and primitive

i am a barrel of monkeys
fun, isn't usually the word I associate
terrifying sounds more apt
but what do I know blow
i'm just the trash that hasn't been taken out yet
the dolphins say "we got next"
so we dump our trash bash in their wawa to help em out

LJ Idol Week 11: Regency Bias
marvin
ljidolvillian
The pastor was middle aged and his hairline and muscle tone were proof of it. Reverend Claude was never a handsome man, but a certain type of woman always found his easy charisma more than made up for what he lacked in raw, animal appeal. Just a curiosity, of course, the Reverend married young, perhaps rashly, that he might bed his beautiful helpmeet.

It was a long and prosperous union and the lord had blessed them with two children, now grown and ensconced in families of their own. If his wife no longer saw the need to regularly perform what she had always thought of as "her wifely duty" what of it, it had done it's work and their children, rock solid as their parents, were the proof of it.

For the Reverend Claude's part, pleasure was Kierkegaard, St. Augustine and Tillich. His Parishioners would be shocked to learn that for a decade he permitted himself three Guinness beers with his TCU Horned Frog football on Saturdays.

His wife was out shopping for tasteful presents for some event or another, the yard work was complete and Reverend Claude drove somewhat nervously the short distance from the parsonage to the church. He was meeting a beautiful young girl, plump with life, to counsel her in her marriage. A thing he had done with dozens of girls, some less beautiful, others even more over the years. Just a comfortable pattern that repeats yearly, the Reverend was proud that most of those marriages persist. The eversmiling girl, last week had looked almost as though she wanted to kiss Reverend Claude, that too happened on occasion. It was natural, though more common in his relative youth, a churchy girl, anxious for approval, seeking it in the smile of her harmless, much loved pastor. Reverend Claude would no more act on this simulacrum of Godly love than he would eat a handful of spiders.

Except, if his wife were home, she would have noticed the Reverend was wearing cologne and his nicest casual outfit. If Officer Sam had stopped the Reverend to pass the time of day, he would have smelled the aftermath of not 3 but 7 Guinness Stouts.

If this mostly innocent girl, were to flirt mostly innocently with the Reverend today it might lead to shame, censure and disgrace, or it might almost make his life liveable. For once in his 51 years, the Reverend did not know what outcome to pray for.

LJ Idol Week 10- If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time
marvin
ljidolvillian
I hope that she will cough, or fart, or snore, or something, so that I don’t have to have the scary moment of checking her pulse. Her face changes expression, fucking angelic, of course. In the harshest of harsh light she looks her real age of 30, but almost always she looks 25 and vulnerable. Despite this, she has, more often than not, been the grown-up when we see each other. When she was awake, she told you in plain words, what you should do. She looked frustrated with you as she often does, thinking she was going to have to draw you a diagram or put on a 10 minute sock puppet show. It is frustrating when someone who looks this good is smarter than you are, course the powers that be made her pay a high price. I guess I have another six months where I can say all Gods are sourbritches, even in Texas and not be howled down in this, the year of the gun. I’d be a fool not to take advantage of it.

You can’t keep a girl like this as a dirty little secret, the other girl, the one who wears your ring was born on a Wednesday, but not last Wednesday. Even the words “make love” made her a little angry. You want to laugh with this girl all night long, she said you could make that choice and you both graciously pretended I lost the message in the chemical haze.

There are probably worlds where you don’t have to choose. Maybe that is what is meant by heaven. This isn’t one of those worlds, I tasted heaven and it frightened me. Still, I can always keep her picture in my head, is a betrayal that you don’t choose really a betrayal at all. I am not smart enough to know, and even I am not a bastard enough to ask either of them.

LJ Idol Week 9- Keep Calm and End This Meme
marvin
ljidolvillian
Hi, my name is Ljidolvillian, you probably know me from the holiday gay pornography classic "Santa's Cumming", but today I am here to talk to you about a very serious problem, once beloved memes that have fallen on hard times.

Everyone loves a meme when it is new and fresh, but the internet does not recon time the way the rest of the world does. A meme can go from "trending" to "vague smiles of recognition" to " yesterday's news" in as little as 3 weeks. Sadly, many times, the people or creatures featured in a meme profit very little if at all from it's 15 minutes of popularity.

This is why the Ceiling Cat Home for Retired Memes exists, to provide new homes for these once beloved memes. When we found the Zero Wing pilot of "All Your Base Are Belong To Us" fame, he was homeless and forced to perform fellatio on random strangers for crack cocaine, while existing mostly on stolen ketchup packet tomato soup. We were able to get him treatment, clean him up, and now he hosts a nostalgia videogame show on one of the more obscure satelite radio channels, it doesn't pay much, but it is a step up from sucking dick.

The Bukkit Walrus was in sad shape when we found him, doing tricks for some dumpster grade raw fish and yes, prostituting himself. We were able to get him psychological care for his bukkit obsession, and thanks to the generousity of one of our wealthier contributors (Facepalm Picard) he now has a new bukkit, which he just enjoys in moderation instead of as an all consuming obsession.

Please be generous and remember that for every success story like Cheezburger Cat (millions in endorsements from Burger King) there is a You're the Man Now, Dog! (Found muttering incomprehensably in a West Hollywood gutter.)

Please give all you can spare, these memes brought you litterally seconds of enjoyment, remember One Does Not Simply forget our fallen memes.

LJ Idol Week 8- Yes and
marvin
ljidolvillian
was gonna write a nice pleasant little entry about my experiences with “unintentional improv”...when someone misses an entrance and you have to B.S for a while, to keep the play going. Or when everyone onstage is blanking on their lines so you talk around to try to give the ol synapses time to get it back together.

My dog died today so I am getting drunk on cheap ass malt liquor, meanwhile enjoy this half assed interview style entry, taking Yes, and absolutely literally.


So, is being the LJ Idol villain/villian everything you hoped it would be.
Yes and no, I haven't yet had much opportunity for villainy, I was gonna put some Ben Gay in joeymichaels boxer briefs, but he isn't even playing this year.

Do you have a favorite writer competing?
Yes and Nemesis is probably one of the best writers I am fortunate enough to know personally. But there are a full dozen I look forward to reading. (Shout out to porn_this_way on her b-day, yo.)

Have you backed off from your stance that Java_Fiend was ghosting Pixiebelle's entries?
Yes, and I would apologize if I thought they would care. She improved a lot over the course of the year, I guess I put on my tin foil conspiracy hat.

You are engaged to be married after 43 years of bachelorhood, was there something in particular that made you deign to tie the knot?
Yes and it is mostly because Lorie is awesome, some credit goes to halfshellvenus being already taken and Karmasoup living so darn far away...But the awesome is what we are focusing on here.

Is it true that your masculine virility is unmatched in the southern United states?
Yes and my metachlorian count is higher than Anakin and Yoda's put together! Oorah!

Do you think that this entry will keep you around to next week?
Yes, and I will tell you why, I will get the “sympathy vote” plus the people I name checked vote, plus the all important, I didn't read any entries this week but I know this guy vote.

LJ Idol Week 7- No True Scotsman
marvin
ljidolvillian
Lets start with a brief story, an amusing little anecdote (your mileage may vary) to set the tone. Names have been changed to protect the guilty. I once was sitting in a living room with a woman named Princess Gracielda (if you are gonna make up a name from whole cloth, why not go all the way). The Princess was on the phone with a phone sales representative for Neiman Marcus. Neiman's, if you don't know, is a Dallas based, very high end, retailer. Anyway, the Princess was ordering a 100 dollar Christmas Ornament (at least it would be safe, the Princess hasn't put up a tree in a decade). She was boring the sand out of the operator, clucking approvingly about “the sort of person who shops at Neiman Marcus” while this (endless) conversation was taking place I heard a sound outside. The repo man was taking her (very modest) car out of the driveway. The Princess, so desperately wanted to be the sort of person who shops at Neiman's...but most of those people don't have to worry about the Repo Man, and their servants don't either.

Another friend made and lost a fortune in the Stock Market, he was on the streets for a couple of weeks because he would rather look for a “backer” than do a 9-5 and potentially be something other than a stock trader.

Before you think I am tearing down people like the Princess, I admit I do it too. If you ask me what I do for a living, I probably will at least mention sub-teaching, but I will couch it by saying I am a graduate student (nuh-uh....I flunked out, two semesters ago...it was a stressful time but that's another entry). I also might mention I am an actor and a writer. I don't delude myself that I am a professional level talent at either of these things. None of my 150 pairs of socks (I am the Imelda Marcos of socks) were purchased from the proceeds of my acting and writing. But I have put in the hours, and I think I am (at least hazily) qualified to wear the monicker.

Lots of the people I do community theater with think they are “Broadway ready”, most are pretty good, but I would be damned sad to pay 150 bucks to see them act instead of 20. Some of the people in this contest think they are “Professional Writers” maybe they are, some even have books out to prove it. Couple of those books are well loved mainstays of my bookshelf. Still, I bet their day job selling time shares puts a lot more bacon on their table.

Again you might think I am making fun of these people and I am really not. I hear people howling because people on welfare have cell phones, and I know it is just because they are working hard and struggling and want, damn it, for somebody to be way worse off than them. They want to be “the middle class” and who wants to be “the working poor” it sounds way too much like “the walking dead”.

No, I want everyone to keep all their identifications, especially the ones they have worked hard for. But keep some for where you are, as well as where you want to be. I've been happier since I stopped fighting against the “bad labels” that go with me. Drunk? Sure. Fat? You bet. Underachiever? I define the word. That doesn't mean I have consigned myself to those things always being true.

I am aware that with stuff like “writer” and “actor” you really have to say it, before you can be it and self-esteem is important. But a basic grounding in reality, while definitely medicinal tasting, is usually a good thing. As long as we keep space for the words we dare to dream.

LJ Idol Week 5- Building a better mousetrap
marvin
ljidolvillian
We start by feeding you. We feed you daycare, pre-kindergarten, kindergarten, grade school, 6th grade campus, middle school, 9th grade campus, senior high, junior college and university. Line up for lunch, raise your hand if you need to pee, don't walk the loop more than once, if your class is in the “C” hallway, stay in the “C” hallway, there are consequences. No hugging, no touching, remember what you consider horseplay, we consider reckless behavior and in some cases assault.

We feed you the standardized test skills to help you pass the standardized tests from which we make our money to get more resources to help you pass standardized tests. We feed you institutional food, with lots of carbohydrates to keep you going. We will medicate you in order to make your head busier or less busy to improve your performance on standardized tests. It's the least we can do.

We feed you a diploma, we can feed you 4 of them, as many as you want to break your back with debt to hold. We feed you images of new cars, new houses, new bodies, faster, richer, thinner, better. We feed you the smell of sex and make you think you are smelling promise, not desperation.

Then we bleed you, we bleed you with bars and drugs, casinos and mega-churches, it cars, I-Phones, a better neighborhood for your kids. We bleed you with politicians, shills for their corporate masters, now in new colors and genders for varieties sake. We bleed you with diets, elective surgery, whiter teeth, fresher breath. A thousand cuts worth of progress.

We have to bleed you, because you can't get ahead of the game. People who get ahead of the game, ask too many questions, stir up too much trouble, step off the merry go round.

We will stop that. If you are a parent we will judge you a bad one. Co-workers will chide you for lack of ambition, everyone gets tired of picking up your check.

We make damn sure that the only way to safely exit the merry go round is to get the brass ring and forfeit your soul.

We start by feeding you.