A Humbug to a Humbug

"A Christmas Carol" is a book I've often described as my favorite Charles Dickens story, but upon reflecting today, I've decided to reconsider that.

Scrooge's becoming a miser, recluse, and misanthrope was the work of many years of bad decisions, regret, and heartache; his becoming a gleeful and charitable soul was the work of one night's fever dream. Most people with far fewer personality flaws than Scrooge don't EVER get rid of them -- even after years of therapy and concerted effort, and even if you tell them they'll die because of how badly they're screwing up. Further, none of these people are forgiven in a single day, even if it's Christmas, just for doing some nice gestures and saying they'll change their ways. Am I really to expect, Mr. Dickens, that all it takes is one night of panic, a morning of giving away some money and food and presents, and then I'll be a joyful individual who is well-liked by all who know me? Realistically, in his day and age, Scrooge would've been locked up as a madman for such a rapid personality shift, even if he left OUT the part of his night that included hallucinating these ghostly voices of conscience.

Just because he changed his ways doesn't mean the rest of the world would have to. First, give the sensible and rightfully resentful people of the neighborhood ONE good reason to lock up a man they ALREADY hate. Then watch all the money he's accumulated over the years suddenly disappear into the coffers of those not only who DIDN'T have a panic attack the night before, but those who were seriously tired of taking Scrooge's bullshit and decided this facetious and self-interested campaign of holiday cheer was the last goddamn straw. You didn't have friends yesterday, Scrooge, and the greatest present your town will have ever gotten will be 1) the joyful sight of your ass getting thrown in the twinkiemobile to get shipped off to the loony bin, and 2) the chance to raid your home and counting-house for all the dough you've squirreled away after years of exploiting them.

Screw you, Dickens. You haven't taught me a damn thing.

And Against Thou Shall It Rise

It is when the darkness falls that I feel it.

Deep within me, it stirs. A shadow. A poison. A savage and invisible mass of murderous horror that wants nothing more than to be set free and to destroy. There are days that I try to fight it, even though it claws at my insides and howls.

That’s the worst of it -- when its rages become so loud that, even when my resolve is strong and I lock the beast away, it still can be heard through the walls of its meager prison. Today was such a day -- but. The rumblings of its abominable, guttural croak. Its unremitting, unflagging pounding against the barricades I’ve placed around it. The pain -- oh, god, the pain it wreaks upon me -- not only the dread of knowing its ascension is inevitable, but the knowledge that its torturous wringing of my insides is but a fraction of the suffering it was cause me AND you. Yes. This thing within me -- it is not satisfied to destroy me. It will arise to blight you, as well. When it arises, you would beg to have back your worst day.

And I do say “when”. I won’t fight this wretched force of evil any longer. I have given into it -- and if I must suffer, then by the devil who sired me, I will wreak upon you and the rest of your world tenfold the suffering that has been inflicted on me. The evil within me will burst forth and consume you, and on this day shall we both know of each other equal anguish and hatred.

So don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Now pull my finger.



 (This elaborate fart joke brought to you by whatever the hell they were serving in the cafeteria today.)

And Soon This Poison Will Reach Your Brain

it is the spider and it is the spider's venom
it is the food that sates its own savage hunger
it is fire, stealing breath or sealing wounds
it's the claws of the vise clamped on the brain
as it is the hand that turns the screw

it's a slow and creeping poison
injected straight to the heart
it might be its own cure
but the cure is slow

the antidote
is so much
slower
still

Dave Pereyra
25 November 2012

Some Spoken Words to Pop Culture

I'm really just a boy, and a boy is like a wonder, but it's no wonder the Boy Wonder's nothing like Wonder Woman;
but Wonder Woman like Xena, Xena fought with Ares, and Ares fought with Hercules
And Hercules was hairy.
And hairy Hercules met the oracle, but never met a metaphorical, metafictional, or metaphysical Mephistophiles.
You know; Mephisto, the brother of Diablo, and Diablo was the brother of Baal,
and I killed Baal with a claymore while Namor saved the whales.
(Leaving Aquaman quite pale.)

Pale like me! Like shark bait, like fish-belly white. White like what?
Like the white light of the White Lantern Corps, the White Fang of the White Tiger, and Perry White. Superman's boss! Never gave Superman a raise, and he never raised a toast,
He only raised his voice to say "Great Caesar's Ghost!"

I can please 'er like Caesar, I'm not a dummkopf like Totenkopf
I'm a smartacus like Spartacus! (But only when I'm hardicus)
And if you're parting us when I'm hardicus it's called coitus interruptus.

So don't interrupt us, me and my girl, my girl interrupted. Was that Angelina Jolie?
Holy Moly, Miss Jolie. Jolie was a Tomb Raider, I played 'er in my teenage nadir, my face all full of craters, and I'm afraid 'er place in my life made me a chronic masturbator.
Masturbator? Master Vader. Darth Vader.
You know that "vader" is the German word for the Latin word for "pater"?

Du ist mein vader, pater familia, pater patter of padded panther paws,
Peter Parker picked a peck of pickled peppers.
Peter Parker was a Marvel, Parker Posey was a DC,
A posey is a flower, and flowers go in pots, and Potts is for Pepper, and Pepper Potts is for Iron Man who's awfully salty.
Salty like the sea and that rhymes with P and that stands for POOL!
[sung] Oh we got trouble, right here in River City, with a capital T and that rhymes with C and that stands for COOL!
Cool what? Cool Runnings. The Running Man. Man on Fire. Fire in the Hole! There's a hole in your mind! Mind over matter, and size matters not! [Yoda voice]

[Kermit the Frog] But only if you're green. It's not easy being green. It's not easy being small and it's harder being big.
They call me chubby, cuz I've gained a lot of bulk. But I've gained a lot of women so I never stop and sulk.
They come in legion numbers! They say they think I'm funny! They say they have an army!
And I say, "I have a Hulk."

Sure I'm big, but I wouldn't say I'm jacked. But I'm bigger than Monterey Jack. I'm fighter but I'm no Samurai Jack,[Jack Sparrow voice] I'm a drunkard but I'm no Jack Sparrow, [Jack nicholson voice] I'm a little creepy but I'm no Jack Nicholson when he played Jack Napier or Jack Torrence. I don't work, but I don't get play, so I'm not sure if Jack's a dull boy, or Jack the grown-up boy, or if I am Jack's complete lack of surprise. I'm not a carjack so I wouldn't Wheeljack, but Wheeljack built Grimlock and Grimlock put John Locke and Sherlock in a headlock. How'd Sherlock unlock Grimlock's John Locke headlock? No shit, sheer luck.

And that sheer luck was a sheer lock, because I'm time locked like a Time Lord
I'm stuck in the time slot right over Doctor Who on BBC One and BBC Two.
[Dalek voice] But I still find time to SPERMINATE! And I germinate.
[Arnold voice] I'm not German, but I Terminate. If it's American action on British TV, I still take my Tea-One-Thousand times, and catch a couple Fireflies and then it's time for Babylon Five.

Then it's Robocop, and cops and robbers, [Vito Corleone voice] then it's a CSI of all three Godfathers!
[Stallone voice] Then I am the Law! ...and Order SVU with Judge Dredd, Judge Judy, Judge Reinhold, and Judge Fudge!
[Judge Fudge voice] I got no time to make a rhyme, I'm too busy being judicious
And if judging's inauspicious, a little vicodin's delicious
And that brings us to my House. House is a doctor, and the doctor's hair is Gray, and Gray has the  Anatomy of a Scandal. A scandal's like a vandal, a Vandal's like a Savage, a savage can be noble, and a gas can be noble, so if a savage is hurting 'em, a gas is healing 'em.  SCIENCE! Science like chaos theory. The theory of chaos and fearing of entropy and the conservation of energy and the conversation of enemies. Chaos theory, Chaos Emperor, Chaos Emeralds! Sonic snatched the golden rings, but missed the one to rule them all. He'd collect 'em and inspect 'em, sort 'em out according to freshness and only keep one and call it "My preciousssssss."

I don't have hobbit's ears, but I like hoppy beer. I'm not in anime club, but I like the Irish pub. It makes me feel lucky. And that's just it. I'm lucky. My locks are lucky, and full of ginger. Source of Samson's power! ...or whoever rode on Cringer. He-Man? Was it He-Man? No way, it's just me, man, me and the bee-man and his ay caramba, and the Black Mamba, the Black Widow, Black Lightning and the Black Panther, the Black Pearl, and My Name is Earl, and the girl with the power (what power?) the power of voodoo! (Who do?) YOU DO! (Do what?) Remind me of the boy! (What boy?) The boy who lived!

Harry Potter! Bother bother bother! What wouldn't you give to be the boy who lived? To wave a wand and soar over the pond on a broomstick, shouting THIS IS MY BOOMSTICK! A broomstick or a boomstick or another brick in the wall that needs busting down, so who you gonna call? [wait] I'll call Egon and the others! But as Dan Aykroyd references go, I've forgotten the Blues Brothers. They're on a mission from God. So KNEEL BEFORE ZOD! Take a knee, Harry, and bring all your magic little friends. Bring Ronnie and Hermione, and the legendary Seeker and Bunsen and Beaker, Gandalf and the seven sages, Doctor Strange and the techno-mages. I'll call all my old friends, the ones with all the magic! And maybe teach you a little something about the magic of friendship.

The friend ship... is it a fast ship? Well it's faster than the rest a' ya. Now if you'll all excuse me: [feminine voice] Dear Princess Celestia.

It's almost time to end the rhyme. I was caught up in the moment, and now the moment is upon me. So get gone, thee, get gone thee to a nunnery, et in Arcadia ego. But before we go, take my ego and stroke it. And if you're not gonna stroke it, just roll it up and toke it, smoke 'em if you got 'em, poke it if you wanna, let's choke up the engine and get in strangers' cars, we'll talk about Al Roker and Bram Stoker, [Heath Joker voice] and the Joker and how he got those scars.  It only makes you stranger.

Finding man in stranger places on an ever stranger day. Escape from Butcher Bay aboard the Numue, orbiting Gallifrey or a galaxy far, far away, to do some cosplay, or swordplay, have free play Friday after the end of the workday.  But if all the wordplay's left you in a cold way and wasting time on Coldplay, then I've got just one more thing to say, four little words, one plus tray:

Ive-lay ong-lay and-yay osper-pray. Live long and prosper, and the Force be with you always!

Monologue written and delivered for Geek Chic Night, 12 October 2012 at Akbar, Los Angeles, CA
(c) David M. Pereyra

The Essence of Manliness

Just as I was about to pop into the shower, I was suddenly startled upon looking in the mirror.

I proclaimed aloud, "Sweet Mother of Moses! Who are you, you remarkably sexy creature just exploding with marvelous masses of masculinity, and why are you in my bathroom?!"

The man in the mirror replied, "I was trying to break into your home unnoticed, and when I heard you coming I hid behind what I assumed to be a mirror made of one-way glass. Turns out it's more of a window, actually. I will be going now. Please accept this door-frame grease as a gesture of my apologies. It is designed for widely-built fellows like yourself to fit through narrow openings."

I quirked a brow at him, quizzically. "For a moment, my friend," I ventured, "I thought you might be my reflection, for not only am I clad in naught but a towel, but also you seem to exude a similar sort of manliness as I, myself, am wont to do. So I must now ask: why, sir, if you are breaking into my home, are you, yourself, dressed in naught but a towel? Wielding a jar of grease meant for slipping large things through small openings, no less?"

Climbing gingerly out from behind my ersatz mirror, a hand over the front fold of his towel to preserve his dignity, the man replied, "I am not rightly sure."

My confusion giving way to anger, I grabbed the jar from him and bellowed, "Well, I should say you will leave NOW, or I will find myself inclined to use this unusually specific product in ways not sanctioned by its manufacturers! Have at you!"

And he left in a flash... but as I attempted to give chase, I realized what a great boon he had handed to me; had I but used his gift in the spirit he had given it to me, I might have fit through the door to follow him. Chagrined but safe, I proceeded to shower, lamenting that soon I would nevertheless have traces of door-frame grease all over my person for the remainder of the day once attempting to leave the bathroom.

To She Whom I Miss

10 November 2012

My Estranged Lover,

You didn’t come to bed last night. You’ve done this before, but last night felt different somehow. Perhaps it’s the colder weather we’ve been having; I don’t know. All I know is that I laid awake waiting for you, saying to myself, “She’ll be along eventually.”

You weren’t along. Eventually. Ever.

Minutes turned to hours, each long span of shivering loneliness punctuated by a small needle to my heart. Each needle, a doubt. A nagging voice telling me to wonder who you’re with. A subtle taunt telling me I already knew.

You might not know that I was talking to several friends last night. Each in turn bade me sweet dreams as they reported -- no, BOASTED -- that you were soon to swaddle them in your bosomy warmth. That in moments you would press against them, all my friends -- perhaps you’d tackle this one lovingly, throwing your arms around his neck and thrusting him with playful, romantic aggression into bed so that you could work your charms on him. Or her, who said she meant to “catch” some of you -- perhaps you’d invite her to bed, crawling up her body slowly, like some tempting serpent bent on smothering her with the love you were denying me. Or the other, who claimed to be too tired for anything at all -- he must have been an easy mark, no? Just take him by the hand and lead him to bed where he’d fall right down for the pleasures you’d give so freely to anyone but me. So quickly they all fall to you. You must be laughing at me.

Have I done something to you? Have I not expressed my gratitude every morning when we part ways? Have I not stretched and yawned and, despite rueing the day ahead, found a little light in the darkness knowing that you were with me all night? What dreams would I have without you? What peace of mind would I be denied if you left me? Have I not, again and again, told anyone who’d listen how I need you, how I love you, how a few scant hours with you is never enough?

I can be enough, dearest. Please -- come back to me tonight and let me show you that I can be enough for you, my darling.

I miss you, my dear mistress Sleep.

Ever and restlessly yours,
Dave.

"My Own Grain of Sand", a little poem by Dave Pereyra

I?
I am
as an ant
glaring petulantly at the
heavens bellowing in its tiny
insectoid voice a defiant cry of

HEAR ME! I AM IMPORTANT! I MATTER!

and waving all six of its
micrometer-long legs in an
intimidating show of its
futile might in
the face
of

the infinite cosmos

with its numberless stars

and endless gulfs of nothing
and everything

and I am as
an ant with
my tiny
voice

by
which I
mean to say
I'm off to vote.

6 November, Los Angeles