Dr. Hounchell's Theory of Life and Everything: Burrito

Today's Topic? Burritos.

Burritos, what do they mean?

They are a blanket that keeps your meat warm. Basically burritos were created by the pilgrims so they wouldn't have to touch their food with their grimy hands. That way a burrito is like a plate that keeps the black plague off of your meat.

Right? I'm right? Right?

Sunday Haiku

Today: Day of rest
Rest for the day and sleep more
More in the dream world

Poetic Review of That Netflix Movie I can't Remember the Title of

There were butterflies
And music to despise
A mom's child had died
And based on her mascara, she'd cried

But seriously, the music
Louder than the movie
It made me sick

The movie itself was helluvan original
But in the end, it was just eh?
Because it end, poof final
But the main character is in denial

It doesn't solve anything
It somehow makes it worse
Was this a horror movie, eh
Perhaps if it stayed on course

It fall into an indie genre
That ends on a realization
But watch out
Because you're going to be eaten
By the Canker Man

It function a lot like the Babadook
With a little less spook
You can see all the plot coming
Like it's sitting outside and humming

 Either way the moving didn't put me to sleep
I had fun watching it, I think

With this in mind
I give this movie a 3 out of 5.

Top 10 Good Words

1. Conundrum

2. Conniption.

3. Retrospective

4. Obligatory

5. Labyrinthine

6. Ronal Regan

7. Helter-skelter

8.  Wibble-wobble

9. Catharsis

10. Banana

6 Orginial Sentences About Rhinos

1. A Rhino can hold his breath in a bucket of cherry jello for nearly as long as a zebra can pretend to be a lumberjack.

2. When two rhinos, one grey, and one a little less grey fall in love, they have to go to the council of rhinos to get their love approved by the Most Grey of All Rhinos.

3. The Most Grey of All Rhinos once ate a ham and cheese burrito that was the size of a small Costa Rican Steelworker.

4. Costa Rica is without Rhinos and thus their economy suffers from a lack of horns and other horn-based atrocities.

5. If you see a rhino at Starbucks, don't attempt to get him to by an Earl Grey tea, because he may find this offensive.

6. Once the Most Grey of All Rhinos Thought that they may have seen a unicorn, but it was clearly just a Dairy Queen wearing a wig.

Never Give Up: A Poem

Never Give up
Never lose hope
Because soon as you let go
Where is the rope

As long as you hold
Even when weak
You'll find that thing
That you always seek

Hold onto that thought
Racing through your chest
don't let it go
And you might be the best

One finger on one hand
That's all you need to stay
As long as you hold on
It'll never float away

You'll never find peace
With a missing piece of mind
So go ahead
And be one of a kind

Writing Excerrrcise: Deep Breath

This exercise is simple. Just write a story in which all of the action or the majority of it takes place while the MC is holding their breath.

Why? Because I told you to, and this is my blog.

Just kidding, well, it is though. The answer is because it shows you how to work within time constraints, while also trying to explain the discomfort of the MS holding their breath. Slow your pacing down and show the action as opposed to recapping it.

A Deal with the DEvil AA

Given that my new book contractual obligations is going to come out soon, I decided to write a AA.

The deal that was on the table was enticing. But of course it was, because she was the Devil. not a Devil or a lesser demon, but the real deal. Heck from where you were standing she looked like she could be trusted, but of course she couldn't be, because she was the Devil. Of course, was it really different than the job you already had? Certainly, your job was already killing you and draining you of your life force, so what would the difference really be?
"I'm going to have to politely reject your offer," You said. The Devil bobbed her head, mulling over exactly what you said. After 6 or 7 bobs, she stopped smiled at you and yanked her face off of her body. Below her face was yet another face, smiling with pearly white exposed.
"It was a test," she said.
"What?"
"A test. Once every thousand years we run a test to see if people already in Hell, qualify to leave. As it turns out, when tortured, some people can become better. I need not tell you about the human conditioning though, seeing how you are one. A human, not a condition." The woman continued pulling her Devilish disguise away from her body, revealing nicer softer featured that seemed to glow in the light.
"You're saying this already was Hell?"
"But of course. Why would God condemn you to such a horrible existence? Tis but the Devil's doing."She flipped the contract over and the paper shifted until it was bright white with brilliant gold letters. It was a different contract, one from God.
"What would have happened if I had taken the offer?" You said, trying to not to swallow your tongue. Everyone else in the store faded away, disappearing to their original existence.
"Things would have gotten a lot worse. You would have went on a brilliant adventure until your mind unraveled, and you started over. After things got as bad as they could." She offered you a pen that was pleasantly warm when you grabbed ahold of it.
"Thank... thank you," You stammered out.
"No need, this is your reward." You touched the pen to the paper and signed. A brilliant white light shot through the ceiling of your job and pulled you away. Surely, you were now on your way to Heaven.

Dr. Hounchell's Theory of Life and Everything: Creativity

Today's topic?

Creativity? Where is it? Why is it?

Given that I've had trouble with my creativity recently, I've been wondering where it is and why it exists. Why do some people have it and others don't? I've come to the conclusion that creativity doesn't exist. At least not as it's own separate entity.

Instead like other genetic traits, it's passed down. Meaning that someone either is or isn't creativity. It can be learned, but it takes training. Just like some people can get fit even when they are predisposed to not being able to.

I still have no figured out why it is. Lol

Writing Excercise:. A Bubble

This Exercise is to see things from a different perspective. So, blow a bubble outside and watch it leave. How, write a story from the bubbles point of view. From being created to being destroyed. To being attacked by a dog to learning about wind.

Perfect invention

It's a surgical mask that smells like cinnamon.

I'm a genius.

Deal with it.

Cantrell: A piece of a short story

Cantrell wasn’t your average vampire, actually to be brutally honest he wasn’t really a vampire at all. He was the sole bloodline of his species between a demon countess and the lord of vampires. His veins ran black with pure evil, and he was the prince of darkness. Yet he couldn’t bare being heartless, and cruel without reasonable mercy.

His parents weren’t about to raise anyone, not even a prince. Like any sensible parent would do, they ditched him when he was able to walk. Luckily as an infant, he was able to wander into the purest kingdom in the land. King K, a man who had only heroes, and heroines in his bloodline, ruled the land. King or not he was a little conceited, at times he called himself a pure heir to an unforgiving dark land.

    The head guard of the castle, Anibis, found Cantrell just lying in the rain. Despite his instincts, and everyone around him Anibis raised Cantrell. The guard who was graying in his old age taught the young half-breed to be a decent man. Still Anibis was on the very edge of the cliff, and he was teetering back, and forth. King K didn’t want a dangerous being even close to the walls of his city.

    In one last effort when Cantrell turned seventeen, Anibis struck a deal with King K. Cantrell would be given the job of watering the plants in the courtyard, and he could live in the shack that harbored the supplies to the garden. If Cantrell exhibited any violence towards anyone passing through, he would be beheaded. The deal was struck, and it sealed Cantrell’s fate.

    Cantrell found solace in clipping flowers and watering flowers. It was as good a job as any. It didn’t pay in money, but it did feed him twice a day, which was pretty good treatment for anyone of his nature. The real payment was that every other day Princess Lunia would walk by caring her blue parasol. It cast a delicate black outline on her porcelain looking skin. Cantrell had a crush on her, but he knew he could never be with her.  

He was pushing his luck just by glancing at her. Every guard that wasn’t Anibis would take any excuse to kill him without hesitation with any excuse. Regardless he couldn’t look at her long. Well he could, but only if he would have liked his head floating in some random basket.

The job that he had to do wasn’t very tedious. All that had to be done, could be done in a few short hours. He would take the tin canister from the shack, run down to the creek, fill the tin, and hustle back without spilling a drop. It took only seven trips to water every flower without discrimination.

The most important of the flowers were the three bushes at the very back of the garden. There were two pure white bushes, and an impure one that stood between them. It had one black rose, a rose of incredibly raw dark power. It was said that once it was plucked it would infect its host, and turn them into the evilest creature to ever walk on Earth. That bush was only there to remind commoners how insignificant they were compared to King K.

Bar Talk: A Poem

Zen falsely made by gin

Your eyeing the fading door

Xit missing its Mr. E unlit

Varying tales of story telling

Unusual claims of the delusional

Theoretically, I taught Picasso asymmetry

Saved Genghis Khan when he was unbehaved

Reward me with admiration when I am bored

Quit sipping at your water with mint

Perhaps if you look, I'll have a psychic relapse

Orlando was founded on my libido, ya know?

No, you say why must I sink so low?

More history of my lore?

Lest we divulge to talk of this chest

Killed twice with three graves filled

I cannot find a way to die or even lie

Hung by the tip of my silver tongue

Granted by a lamp, I'm what you wanted

Forget your angelic sensibility, just let me be me

E is gone with S, now will you cross me?

Dive drunk with me into the night and live

Cool down with me in a a hazy pool

But what?

Anyway, Carpe Diem as they say.

PENTATHLON: A Poem

Pentathlon

Kiwi Trapping
Chess
Mortal Kombat
The states game
100% random trivia.

My creativity cannot leave
It's like saying my arm is gone
If my arm is attached
Then there's something else wrong

My creativity cannot be broken
Because it doesn't exist
It cannot be punched by fist
Unless that fist is spoken

My creativity is in my body
Trapped even when untapped
But to say it's gone is folly
Because my body cannot be unwrapped

Something like this cannot be diminished
Because as long as I breathe, it's unfinished
I need more sleep
And I know that reeks

I'll go to sleep earlier
And my creativity with float like a feather
Today, right now it's heavier than lead
But, at least I know it's there in my head.

Pentathlon.

WAR
POP DOWN
GLOOM
REPEAT LYRICS
WHATS THIS!

Possible titles of my auto-biography.

It All Ends in Hell
Write or Die
Two Million Therapy Sessions and Crazy
The Unstoppable and Immovable Man.

Another Poem

Invisibility

Marked by the rains visibility

That ghost in the rain

Screeched the chalkboard in my brain

How it got there, I could not explain

Moving slow like the wind

Causing the rain drops to bend

Running as fast

As I could from the past

The ghost was neither here nor there

It was made from my fear

Of the darkness and the shade

Of the drawing the child made

Hanging on my fridge

A simple metaphysical bridge

The thing in the rain

Was nothing but me from a different plane

Wish I knew what it thought

What it was here for

Why it sought

Instead it stood

Dead as it could

Waiting for me to look

To trap me in its book

ABC: A Poem

As you can see now

Based Entirely on notion

Controlled by my drive

Drive to continue

Exist along my purpose

Flowing like lava

Granted I have tried

Humanly as I can be

I shall not be Lore

Just kinda Random

King of all poetry

Lest I be no one

May the stars shine bright

Not just for me but for all

Others will gain too

Put faith in my pen

Quill, or whatever I use

Raining down black ink

Stop and look up once

To see the spots of the sky

Understand they're yours

Vary in lightness

Weather will change this as well

X-ed into your mind

You have always been so kind

Zen shall be restored that night.

Obligatory Blog Post

I created a blog post that I have to post to all day, and now I am sleepy. Tired from everything. But I don't want to stop.

This is symbolic of growing up and dealing with working 58 hours a week, and never sleeping. I'm growing up and gaining age, hut I want to keep going, but I don't know where the gasoline is.

Best Idea Ever!!! GB

My best idea of all time is probably some one off for cancer. Which is probably like mustard and vodka. It isn't good, don't do it.

However, the best idea I've had that had to do with writing was an idea for a play. The play you ask? What's it about you say?

Well, it's about a guy whose entire family was killed by pirates!!! Anyway, he comes back home to find a drawing made by his daughter, covered in glitter. It's of his family.

He holds the drawing close and the glitter gets into his beard after he swears vengeance on pirates. He becomes the most ruthless pirate int eh universe, Glitter Beard!

Stress: A Poem

Stress is not the best
I say this from a point of rest
I can feel my heart flutter
And my demon's mutter
I cannot deal with this
And also rightfully exist
I need to slow down and chew my food
Try not to be rude

I can do this
Breath relax
Chillax and ease
Rest assured
I cannot die
My cursing and my sighs
Com from a certain cry
A battle cry
I say

And I'll scream FUCK to the sky
But it will not take me down
I'll turn my frown upside-down
And I'll fight on
And no one will defeat me
You best believe.

Ahhhhg

This is a bajillion dollar idea!!!

Know how the are phone chargers?

And phones???

And phone chargers that charge Wirelessly????

What if there was a glove you could wear that charged your phone?

I just solved everything!

75%: A Poem

They said seventy-five percent
Per person
Seems like a lot
Or so I thought
Seemed like to much I'd say
I'd try to do it anyway

That's three quarters of silliness
But I'll try my best
That's the part of the Earth made of water
That's the part I'm made of water
But I'll try
Fail, maybe die
But I'll try for sure
Until sleepiness I incur

The point
The rhyme the reason
It just isn't the season
If it's cold and there are no ducks
Then why should any one give a
100 percent
Per person
Per cent


I don't understand corporations
In this nation
What do they want
And why?
You want money?
But don't want to change
Surprise people are more likely to give money
If you're willing to

Haiku

The tapping of glass 

My fingers are numb to touch 

Twitter strain is real

Poetic Review of Ash VS Evil Dead

Want some deadite lore?
As long as you're okay with Gore
Then Ash VS Evil Dead is for you
For you to watch and to view
It fills in some extra story losing no charm
While doing quite a bit of extra harm
The characters are authentic
The references specific.
A boom stick
You want forget
A chainsaw covered in blood
And a bright red flood
The show has an evil book
And a particular look
Game of Thornes
Resurrected from bones
No one is safe
They can all die
With this in mind
The action is the best
So I give it a three out if five

Dr. Hounchell's Theory of Life and Everything: Tears

Today's topic is tears.

Honestly, why do people cry to expressing emotion at all? If tears can represent an array of emotions, why? Tears are used to remove debris from eyes and to stop the eyes from burning. So they only answer is that sad causes dry eyes or eyes burning. But why?

Well, I have a thought. Emotions must has a specific heat. For example, know how your face gets hot when your angry? Notice how your eyes water when you touch pepper to them?

Notices how when you feel sada, you're feeling blue? Your lips are cold. And if it's cold outside, your eyes water then too?

Perhaps, this is the true answer. Emotions have temperature that causes tears.

Ahhhhhhh

If it were not for my friends.

I wouldn't have this grin

This isnt really a poem

Probably, you'd know if you knew them

They drink my wine

And I dine

But I love them so

I hope they never go

COLD JACKET!! An invention!

Want to make a cabajillbadion badollars?

This idea might actually be the one. It's a jacket made of a heavy material. It is filled with the gel that is typically inside of gel-based ice packs. As a sort of lining.

Then you put it inside of a freezer! Then you wear it when you go outside and you get to be cool and frosty!

Am I a genius? Of course.

The Firt Page of s

Beca$ue I am crazy, I decided to write a tale mi$$ing one letter $pecifically. I've gone a$ far a$ removing the key that letter I$ on from my keyboard. I don't think it will ever be great, and it will always$ be clunky, but it I$ fun.

 

Every year around
mid-December people begin telling me how I'm throwing my life away being a
Holiday Mall Character. I know they’re wrong, but they bring up a good point.
One year in particular, I gained a promotion to the head mall character, the
Man in the Red Coat. The MRC and the Maniac in the Blue Jacket, were the top of
the food chain. Regarded like king and queen in the food court, but they played
more like judge and executioner.

Legend had foretold that
there had once been a real Man in the Red Coat, who brought children anything
he had to offer them. No one had encountered him in millennia, but the legend
continued on either way.

That being noted, the
Maniac in the Blue Jacket had once been real too. He did a polarized routine to
the MRC. The MBJ ran about bringing mayhem and darkened hope to the children of
the world. No one really knew why he went about doing vile evil. If he wanted
anything other than that, it had yet to be figured out.

While in the red coat,
my main adjective would be to keep the legend alive, if I could. Which, I
could. No rookie would be given THE job of the century. What if I rumpled the
dream of a kid, hoping to become the next Bill Job? That man had more money
than anyone could ever do with, but he did good with it. It had been hard for
me to wrap my head around how much money he had until the day I wander into a
private vault with a replica of the fortune.

“Are you going to do
your job or watch the ceiling forever?” Michael, the manager growled. I had
been glazed off from the real world for few, but I popped back with a quick
head nod.

“I apologize. I don’t
know where I went,” I told him. Where had I gone? It felt like I had been
placed in another body, complete with a red coat and beard. It didn’t feel like
it had been done by an alien or an evil being, but rather a force beyond what I
could perceive.

“You know you’re job,
right?”

“Take an idea from every
kid, and be nice. I have to remain 100% nice for the duration of my job.”

“Correct.” Mike left me
in my comfy chair to indulge in a different on in the office. Now, I had to
wait for children to appear and give me their own idea.

“Nice. Nice. Nice.
Nice,” I cooed, but only to me. Perched upon my chair, I heard a faint echo of
thunder from beyond the mall door. There were no children to give me their one
idea and I figure I would check out the ground zero of the echo. I left my
chair unattended, careful to look for the MBJ, but he didn’t appear to be
around.

My exit into the cold
forced my breath to become baited and fiery. I couldn’t breathe the ice forming
in my right lung or even the left. Ahead of me, I thought there might be a
writhing body, lying in a pile of white watery powder. I approached with
caution. There lying on the ground, writhing in pain and agony, I found a man
with a beard. I flipped him over, and I noticed he had on a red coat.

“Are you okay?” I noted
with futility, fore the main did not retort. “Can I get you a medic or water?”
I’d admit how frozen I felt in that moment, if I were interrogated by it, but I
didn’t get interrogated.

“You…” The voice faded,
but came back in exploding volume. “Are the new Man in the Red Coat. Do right
by the coat, and it will do you no wrong.” With that he faded away, leaving
only the coat. What now?

  

Poetic Movie Review of A Christmas Horror Story

A Christmas Horror Story
Is s tory just the same
It plays like a movie
With the logic of a game
It's an anthology
With a core
Revolving around Psychology
And holiday lore
No aspect of the plot
Is similar to the next
Though you would have thought
There wouldn't be stories left
Some take place on the day
Some have to do with Krampus some way
All in all, it's not scary
But it is fun to watch
I wish it were written better
But what more do I expect
From a movie with a budget
That I can count on my hand
Though I can say this
There's something about a twist
One that I love
And this movie has one
Oh, and if you love Shatner
He's in this
Though in a room
Where he merely exists
He interacts with no one else
So there's that
With this in mind
3 out of five

A Haiku

It's a new year, right?

That's why my body is sore?

I'll just sleep it off