Untitled (part viii)

“Wake the fuck up!” Kenny yelled to Eric, still laying naked and alone in bed.

“What’s bothering you, Kenneth?” a befuddled Eric asked.

“I know mom has given you money, where is it?!”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m just your long lost cousin that has a very close relationship to your mother.”

“Obviously!” Kenny retorted. “But you ain’t my cousin. You’re just a fuck toy.”

“Alright,” Eric admitted, “yes I’ve been absolutely tearing your mom up from one end of the room to the other. But she hasn’t given me any money. It’s not like that.”

“Huh?” Kenny struggled to find the right words. “But…but you look like a guy that’s been kicked out of Chucky Cheese’s a few times while my mom is a wealthy cougar! This just doesn’t make sense!”

“You better believe it bucko,” Eric replied, “your mom and me have something special going on. I can’t explain it to you. You would never understand.”

“Oh I can understand it alright. I don’t care what you do with my mom. But don’t play stupid with me. You’re with her for her money.”

Kenny stormed out of the bedroom. Eric then climbed out of bed and put his pants on. After brushing his teeth, he went out to the living room to resume his Xbox duties. When he opened the cabinet to turn the system on, he noticed it was missing.

“That son of a bitch,” Eric uttered to himself. He looked to the front door and noticed it was cracked open. He rushed outside shirtless to tackle Kenny, who was carrying the Xbox out to his car.

“I will murder you!” Eric yelled while on top of Kenny. “Don’t ever touch my Xbox!”

Yet Kenny greatly outsized Eric and quickly overpowered him. “Listen here, fuck toy,” Kenny said, “I know you’re up to something. You AND my mom are up to something. She’s always conspired against me and I’m going to get to the bottom of this! And since you won’t let me pawn your Xbox off for drug money, no one can have this Xbox!

Kenny lifted the console over his head then slammed it on the ground. It shattered into a million pieces right in the driveway. Eric stood there in stunned silence while Kenny sped away in his 93 Honda Del Sol.

As white hot hate pumped through his veins, Eric gazed at the Del Sol as it disappeared past the horizon. He knew Kenny would be back.

TO BE CONTINUED…

whats this sh…

Look, I’m just not ready for the 90s aesthetic to make a comeback. Mostly because, stylistically, that decade sucked balls.

Know what I mean:

Grunge was overrated (no, I didn’t stutter), Reservoir Dogs isn’t as good as you remember, and that blowjob Bill Clinton got in the White House sounds worse and worse by the day. Except for gangsta rap and West Coast Hip Hop, nothing in the 90s worked.

So let’s allow Nicole Brown Simpson to Rest In Peace, and we’ll move on with our lives and forget that an entire decade happened.

While we’re at it, we’ll do the same for the 2000s. And BAM, just like that, 20 years of American history are gone 🫰

a greek trajedy

The family’s been sick all week. I was the only one that got the shits.

What’s up with that?

But the most tragic news of the week has been the firing of Jack Easterby. I’m quite surprised because I figured that Cal McNair was dumb enough to keep this charlatan on the payroll. But it’s just not everyday that you hear about one man’s Machiavellian climb to the top of an NFL franchise.

So I really hope that another Christian sports owner gives this guy a shot. Because if there’s one thing I know about Easterby, it’s that he knows his ABG’s:

Always Be Grifting.

In happier news, the 1996 Jan De Bont classic Twister is getting a sequel:

https://deadline.com/2022/10/twisters-sequel-forecast-spring-start-universal-amblin-finalize-director-1235147353/amp/

The major obstacles in this production, so far, has been the deaths of Bill Paxton and Philip Seymour Hoffman. Producer Steven Spielberg has gone on record as saying, “of course it would be fucking stupid to make sequel without Bill and Phil,” he said, “so naturally we’ll CGI them into Twister 2, just like they did to Grand Moff Tarkin in that Star Wars movie. Everyone seemed to have liked that. And besides, that’s a hell of a lot cheaper than hiring actors! Fuck that!”

While Deadline has reported that climate change will be a major focus in the film, it has also been stated that the plot will be centered on the daughter of Bill Paxton and Helen Hunt who has become a “climate change denier” that claims tornadoes are actually a “divine wrath from God” on the the state of Oklahoma.

So I don’t know guys, this seems like another strange decision from Hollywood. Nevertheless, I am quite excited for this long awaited sequel.

“Untitled” (Part VII, i think)

Kenny’s enormous hands engulfed Eric’s as they greeted one another. “How do you know my mom?” asked Kenny.

Intimidated by such a fine male specimen, Eric began to stutter. “Uhh, uhh, I’m just here to fix the plumbing,” he replied.

“Eric is your cousin,” interrupted Patricia, “you know my sister that I haven’t spoken to in 40 years? Eric’s her son.”

“Is that so?” replied a skeptical Kenny. “Well it’s certainly nice of my mother to have taken her nephew in. She has shown you more compassion than she’s shown me these last few years.”

“Eric, will you excuse us?” asked Patricia.

“Certainly,” said Eric after sensing the awkwardness. He speedily left the room. “You have a lot of goddamn nerve,” Patricia told her son.

“I HAVE a lot of nerve?” said Kenny. “YOU’RE the drunk doctor that somehow killed a patient during a routine colonoscopy. YOU’RE the alcoholic wife that sucked and fucked the entire neighborhood. And it doesn’t appear that you’ve changed your ways either! Empty vodka bottles are everywhere and now it seems like you’re into going to GameStop and picking up younger guys!”

“Don’t give me that shit!” replied Patricia. “Your father was just as guilty as me, yet you chose to side with him!”

“You burned the goddamn house down MOM! What did you expect me to do after you tried to kill us?!”

Patricia covered her face with her hands. “You know that was an accident, Kenny,” she said. “How many times do you want me to say sorry?”

“Jesus Christ,” replied Kenny. He grabbed one of the numerous liquor bottles from the cabinet and poured a drink.

After several moments of silence, Patricia spoke up. “So what do you want from me?”

Kenny looked down at his glass. “I’ve been let go from another job,” he said. “Camila left me and now I can’t pay rent. So I’m coming home, Ma.”

***

That night, after another nasty fuck session, Patricia rolled over alone while Eric laid there in bed staring at the ceiling. Then a strange thought occurred to him: something was bothering her. Should he try to actually talk to her?

Eric tapped her on the shoulder. “Kenny seems like a pretty cool guy. Is he moving in?” he asked.

Though slightly annoyed, Patricia realized that this was Eric’s awkward attempt at conversation. She rolled over to look him in the eye. “Yes,” she said, “he’s fallen into hard times and I’m helping him out.”

“I guess you two haven’t always gotten along, huh?”

“No.”

“Do you care to talk about it?”

“No really.”

“Should I leave?”

Patricia didn’t know what it was about this stupid idiot lying in bed with her. From the outside, it would appear that they had nothing in common. But for this brief moment, this odd couple both knew there was something, however intangible, between them.

She placed her hand on Eric’s cheek to comfort him. “Just stay out of the way,” she said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

mall crawlin

I probably haven’t been to a mall since 2019. Other than grocery stores, I rarely ever do in person shopping. I’d venture to guess that malls and department stores have been on the downward trend since at least the Great Recession (but I really don’t know because I do zero research here).

Many will blame the pandemic for this trend, but honestly, the glory days of mall shopping were numbered the moment someone first purchased something online.

That’s just facts.

It’s no big deal to me. I’ve never enjoyed shopping and I hate leaving the house. Therefore online shopping works for me.

So thank you, Jeff Bezos! You might be a member of a billionaire class that puts our democracy at risk, but at least you made my life easier 🥰

Everything goes through paradigm shifts…both big and small…from the way we eat things, to technology, to the way governments work, to even ECONOMIES. So is ‘capitalism’ to blame for the decline in malls? Yes (conversely, I presume, capitalism is what brought us malls to begin with. So “the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away”). But even without capitalism, the world changes. And it’s foolish to believe that there was a time when it never changed, or that it’s even possible for such a world to exist.

NEVERTHELESS, I can empathize with those that were attached to mall culture. It ain’t easy watching something you love go to trash (believe me, I know. I’m a Star Trek fan). And that’s probably why there are countless accounts on Instagram that are documenting it’s decline.

Dead malls are everywhere. But they leave behind an interesting glimpse into the past. Memories were made there; they are architectural exhibits of a specific time and place. So malls are a part of history.

Unfortunately, probably because of their size alone, many malls are being demolished to make room for the next great innovation in capitalism. And the next innovation will be beloved by the next generation, but this innovation will face the same fate as all the other innovations before.

And so it goes.

I would share some of the photos from these various Insta accounts I follow, but people get a little touchy when you share something that doesn’t belong to you. So here’s a small list:

@deadmallcrawl

@rayoutthere

@mallchitecture

@ruralretail

These are the four that I could look at for hours and hours. There’s just something hauntingly beautiful about decaying public spaces. 🤷‍♂️

****

And speaking of death, it’s Halloween time!

So STOP reading my blog, and stop on over at Dead Star Press and save 31% off your next purchase!

“Untitled” (Part VI)

“You don’t have to wear a condom, Eric,” Patricia said after getting rammed into next Tuesday. “I’m 60 years old. I’ve had a hysterectomy. I won’t be getting pregnant anytime soon.”

“I know that,” replied Eric (actually he had never heard the word hysterectomy), “I only wear one to to numb the feeling a bit. Because of that spinal injury, a slight change in weather makes me bust my pants. Besides, it’s still good protection from STDs”

“Yeah, with you, I’m DEFINITELY not worried about that,” Patricia said.

After their romantic pillow talk, Patricia sat up nude in bed and pulled out a pint of vodka. “Care for some?” she asked Eric.

“No thanks, that stuff dulls the senses,” he replied. “I have to be in tip top shape when I go live for Fortnite.”

“You know that shit’s for babies, right?”

“I ain’t a baby! I’m 33!”

“Whatever dude,” Patricia said as she pounded the pint, “do you even have a job?”

“What’s the point?!” screamed Eric. “The government’s just gonna tax half my check anyway! Besides, are you ever SOBER?”

“How fucking dare you!”

Passion was instantly reignited in the pair as they flung their naked bodies at one another in a frenzied, sexual fury. “You’re a sick, pathetic, loser!” Patricia orgasmically screamed. “And you’re a drunken spinster!” replied an equally euphoric Eric. Finally this inexplicable fervor came to an explosive climax and the two laid in bed, covered from head to toe in each other’s bodily fluids.

It was a disgusting sight.

“What just happened?” Patricia asked as she tried to catch her breath.

Eric had no answer.

Then, after several moments, a still befuddled Eric sat up. “I gotta get to the Xbox,” he said, then climbed out of bed.

Patricia just laid there in her own sweat, unable to make sense of anything. Then, while lost in her thoughts, there was a knock on the front door. She threw on her robe and took a quick glance in the mirror before rushing down stairs.

“What does this jackass want?” Patricia thought to herself. Then her jaw dropped when she opened the door.

“Hello Mom,” the visitor said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

“Untitled” (part v)

Patricia put down her cocktail and slammed her hands on the table. “Goddamnit!” she yelled, “Who the hell is knocking on my door?!”

She swung the front door open to find Eric just standing around with his mouth agape like a fool. “Oh it’s you,” Patricia said, “I just woke up! What kind of jackass knocks on my door at this hour?!”

Eric looked at his watch. “It’s 2:30 pm,” he replied.

“You’re goddamn right it is! What the hell do you want?”

“Mom kicked me out of the house. I’m just gonna crash here.”

“Huh? What?!” exclaimed Patricia. She then leaned forward and barfed all over potted plants on the front porch.

“If this is a bad time, I can come back later,” said Eric.

“No no,” Patricia replied while wiping vomit from her mouth, “come inside, we’ll work this out.”

She was afraid Eric was going to return after he informed her of his feelings. Despite being 30 years old, he seemed to innocent in the ways of the world; she didn’t want him reading too much into their sexual encounter.

“Look,” she explained, “it was a mistake to give you that handjob. As a trained doctor, that was unprofessional of me. But I had to determine if your spinal injuries would cause you to have unprovoked ejaculation!”

“Oh god, I think you were right,” Eric squealed as he busted in his pants. “This has been happening all week!”

Patricia shook her head. “I’m sorry if you feel like you were taken advantage of,” she said.

“Taken advantage of?” he replied. “No woman has ever touched me that way. That was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Patricia was puzzled. “You mean…”

“Oh sure, sure. I’ve DEFINITELY had sex before,” Eric explained, “but a visit to the truck stop glory hole in Rockford, IL just ain’t the same thing, ya know?” Eric put down the Xbox he was hauling around and ran his fingers through his hair. “Patricia, I’ve always been an angry man,” he said as he struggled to find the right words, “but something inside me has changed. I don’t know if it was you crashing into me with your car, or holding me captive for two weeks while I recovered, your attempt at bribery, or the aforementioned handjob. But I feel like I’ve become a better person since meeting you.”

Patricia exhaled as she considered her response. Eric was handsome in his own slobbish way, she thought. She didn’t know if it was the combination of Xanax, Ambien, and alcohol flowing through her, but she was slightly moved by his little speech. Yet the truth was, just as Eric was deprived sexually, she was deprived of any emotional connection.

Plus, there was lingering guilt from the car crash.

“Alright,” Patricia said, “you can stay here. Just…”

“…anything Patricia! I’ll do anything!” happily cried Eric.

“…just stay away from my booze.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

“Rethinking the Dates of the New Testament” by Jonathan Bernier

New Testament scholarship has plenty of quacks. Not only from Christian apologists who argue that everything in the Bible is literal and true, but also from atheists who argue that Paul pulled the entirety of Christianity and Jesus out of his ass. Some argue that there’s no harm in arguing for such outrageous claims (which usually rely on mere conjecture) but that’s simply bad scholarship.

And bad scholarship is just that: bad scholarship. (And honestly, atheists, of which I consider myself, should know better)

Unfortunately there’s just too many holes in New Testament history, and given the nature of its study, it’s understandable that people are going to have some strong opinions. Moreover, new evidence is few and far in between, so scholars sometimes let their imaginations run wild with what scant data there is.

Nevertheless, MOST academics, ranging from the secular to the devoutly fundamental, can agree on a few things: 1st Thessalonians is probably the first Pauline epistle (likely written in 52AD) and the Gospel of Mark is the oldest gospel (likely written just after the destruction of Jerusalem in 70AD). In fact, I’d argue, from the perspective of academia, these dates could almost be deemed ironclad.

Few, if any, from the hardline atheist side (especially the “mythicist” school) would move these dates forward, largely to put as much distance between the (“alleged”) death of Jesus and the first written accounts. In fact, from this perspective, only the most ardent apologist would attempt to do so.

Then there’s Jonathon Bernier’s Rethinking the Dates of the New Testament.

The book was released this year, so I don’t know what it’s academic reception is. But a few armchair scholars are already labeling it a work of apologetics. And that’s a bit too harsh, in my opinion.

Nevertheless, when one pushes the dates of the gospels up by nearly 30 years, it should raise a few eyebrows. Much of this argument hinges on the dates of Luke (and by extension, the Book of Acts), which is largely agreed to be the last synoptic gospel written. I agree with Bernier that the “we” passages in Acts have been a difficult thing for scholars to explain, especially if we want to date Luke/Acts post 90AD. Additionally, Bernier makes a compelling (although not fully convincing) argument that the ending to Acts wouldn’t quite make sense to readers had it been completed sometime after Paul’s death.

Yes, Bernier is a professor at a theology school attached to the University of Toronto (but honestly, those are the only places you can find a job teaching about history of early Christianity and the New Testament). But he certainly doesn’t rely on “apologetics” to make his arguments. You may not find it compelling, but I think the importance of Bernier’s work is to highlight that an earlier dating for the New Testament is not entirely unfounded.

This book may not be a “paradigm shift” in New Testament studies, but the author does ask important questions and the knee jerk reaction shouldn’t be to label it apologetics.

Besides, doubt in god and Christianity shouldn’t hinge on Jesus’s existence or the dating of the New Testament. That’s a weird argument to make. So atheists, particularly ones like myself who can appreciate the New Testament for its historical and (at times) artistic value (as opposed to misusing it by believing it to be some holy document), should be open to reading Jonathon Bernier’s work.

All good things…

When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. -Paul of Tarsus

In all sincerity, in his review of Picard Season 2, Mike Stoklasa nearly moved me to tears when he discussed his realization that Star Trek really was dead, comparing his journey to the that of the boys in Stand By Me (which coincidentally starred Wil Wheaton). His journey of grief led him to face the realities of life, put away childish things, and blossom into a man (who subjects his friends to shitty movies and laughs at old people for a living).

After the disaster that was Season 1 of Picard, I figured that the powers that be…the writers, producers, Paramount+…would have corrected course and made a proper send off for the legendary cast of Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Then the trailer above dropped.

And I’ll admit: my heart absolutely sank to my feet. Patrick Stewart will no longer be alone in his debasement for the upcoming season. Now the entire cast of TNG will be along for this pitiful, disgusting ride.

I could go on ripping this trailer to shreds, but I won’t. You know why? Because someone…a LOT of someones…LOVE this show. When the Star Wars prequels arrived, they were derided by the entire fan base. But they made a FUCK TON of money. So I knew in my heart, despite me hating the SHIT out of the prequels, there’s gonna be a whole generation that will love them.

And honestly, good for them. It’s the next generation of fans that these long-established franchises are aiming at. I could spend the rest of my life being angry at what these new producers have done to my beloved Star Trek. But I’ve been on the ride long enough.

It’s not the way I would have liked to have seen my favorite character go out, but he was a hero of my childhood. And it’s time to put childish things away.

Farewell TNG

***

But you know what I WON’T put away…or even put DOWN:

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“Untitled” (part iv)

“I fucking hate you,” Eric’s mom informed him. “You disappear for two weeks without letting me know where you were! How disrespectful of you, you piece of shit!”

“Mom, put down the booze and listen!” Eric replied. “Like I said, I got drunk at a bar, walked home, got HIT by a drunk driver, she nursed me back to health, and now we’re in love. Are you fucking stupid?”

“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“There’s nothing crazy about it at all. It happens everyday!”

Eric’s mom shook her head. “Your father would be disappointed in you if he were still alive.”

“He is still alive. He just lives in Indiana!”

“Get out!” she screamed. “You’re not welcome back in this house. You’ve been nothing but a burden to me. You sleep all day, you do nothing but clog the toilet and play Xbox. And I’ve even caught you wearing my underwear! You’re a disgusting pervert!”

“Ma, I’m a man goddamnit! A MAN!“ Eric shouted. “And as the man of this household, I will not be addressed in that tone! I’m a proud libertarian and I believe in working for everything I’ve got! You’re not kicking me out! I’m unplugging my Xbox and LEAVING!”

Eric yanked the plug out of the wall, kicked the door open, and stomped his way over to Don Lemon’s house a block away. He pounded on the door until Don’s pregnant wife, Stacy, answered.

“Don’s not here, sweetheart,” she said to him.

“Oh that’s okay, I’m just gonna play Xbox and crash in your basement for awhile. Don will be cool with it.”

“Uhh, I don’t think so,” she replied as she tried to block him from entering. “Don and I have to discuss this first.”

“Darling,” Eric said, “with all due respect, Don is the man of the house and I’ve known him longer than you. So please, step aside and let a grown ass man play some goddamn Minecraft!”

Right then, Don Lemon pulled up in his 4-cylinder Honda CR-V. “Don, can you believe this shit?” Eric said to him, “your wife won’t let me through the door. Who does she think she is?”

A puzzled Don looked over to Stacy. “What’s going on here?” he asked her.

“Eric wants to….”

“Let me explain, Don,” Eric interrupted, “Ma was being a bitch, so I told her to fuck off. I came over here to crash for awhile until I can talk my girlfriend into letting me move in with her. It’s not a big deal!”

“Your girlfriend? Move in? I don’t understand…”

“Yeah, my girlfriend dude, I told you! She’s like 60 years old, but still pretty hot, you know what I’m saying? Plus she’s rich. Anyways, I’m trying not to make things weird because we’ve only known each other for two weeks, so it’s probably too early to move in together. So I’m just gonna stay in your basement until enough time passes and I can move in with her. It’s quite simple.”

“I don’t think so, Eric,” Don replied, “Stacy’s due at any moment and we’ve got enough going on in this household…”

“I see, I see…,” Eric nodded, “so I guess our friendship means nothing to you. I should have known. Stacy’s totally domesticated you. You’ll never be Enkidu to my Gilgamesh, Robin to my Batman, or Spock to my Kirk. Oh well! A real man must forge his own path anyway.”

Eric straightened himself up, ran fingers through his hair, and with the Xbox in hand, he started marching proudly down the street. Then he stopped in his tracks. “Can you drive me to my girlfriends?” he asked Don.

TO BE CONTINUED…