#at EVERY possible place they are cutting corners. the dinosaurs might have higher walls

[inkskinned]

i hate how commodity and capitalism has ruined so much storytelling . i hate how sequels and prequels and whatever else all ring like merch sales; i hate that i as an author have to include any social media following i have as a marketable trait; i hate that everything feels like a xerox of a copy of a dream of a memory.

i hate that my nostalgia has been turned into profit. i hate that companies fear consumer backlash so no real commentary may be made; i hate that companies care more about quantity over quality. i hate that so many artists and creators are being overworked to the point of complete collapse rather than being allowed to tell the story their way. i hate that every point of representation has to be fought for. i hate it i want us all to go back to living in a cave .

when you sit with friends over a bonfire and the night is getting long and people start telling this slow, almost hypnotic story - in this quiet voice, like they don't expect you to listen while they say the most fucked up shit you've ever heard - that is storytelling. who cares if the punchline is car hand hook door. storytelling has always been about community, about us all sitting in the dark, choosing to fill the silence while the last embers are dying. we forgot that storytelling is spellwork. hallucinating together, our breaths held, waiting for the ending we already knew was coming.

#this is specifically due to my rage and undying hatred of megacorporation #disney. #and specifically bc i think there COULD have been a really good series of new #dinosaur island t rex movies #if they had just fucking gone the distance #stopped with the fucking bad CGI #and made the whole thing about late-stage capitalism #do you wanna know what would ACTUALLY sell and work on the big screen more than a trex screaming in front of a volcano #(u absolute jerkweeds)? #so they've rebuilt the island and the park. but the narrative is 100% #that nobody wants to fucking work there and it feels AT BEST cult-like and insular. nobody is paid well for this #at EVERY possible place they are cutting corners. the dinosaurs might have higher walls #but the handlers are paid 5.34 an hour due to island laws. the corporation has RFID tags in their costumes which they are forced to wear #the employees are not allowed to drink water in 120 degree heat bc it would be upsetting to guests #u know real things i experienced working for disney #(but it was 8.90) #anyway it turns out the park CEO knew the risks and just didnt care bc bottom line BAYBEE. #it would be so much more sobering and fucking GOOD if it was like. scientists being like ''i am an environmental scientist'' #''after the epa was slashed this is literally the only job i could find. i literally HAD to take it or i couldn't feed my family.'' #''i hate what i do. i am disgusted by it. i literally CANNOT STOP because the company also charges us 400 dollars a week to live here'' #the dinosaurs escape EARLY in my movie. like minute 45. and then... 1 week later #the park reopens. #half the staff are missing. they're just fucking gone. it doesn't matter tho the company tells everyone to work 2x as hard #that those people weren't loyal enough or they are tragic heroes bc they died doing what they love #and the movie isn't like ''wow dinosaurs scary!!!'' it's... #that in a global fucking pandemic disney kept sacrificing employees. #but it'll be disguised bc the pandemic will be dinosaurs. #this my beloved is what we call an ALLEGORY but unfortunately certain companies have never heard of them #allegories require critical thinking and that doesn't test well with audiences

[magic5ball]

Nature Trail to Hell Arc II: Watt Outta Hell (14)

Chapter 14: We Get on Up (Out of Hell, that is)

The way to our escape route was… odd, putting it light.Raposa took us to a corner of the cathedral, drawing out a kitchen knife tied by the hilt to a thread of dental floss.

F-Bomb, naturally, asked the real questions:

“What the fork is that?”  

“Throximundeer, the World Reaver.” 

When neither of us dignified that with a response, she went on: “I named it when I was ten, okay! But the name’s not important. THIS, on the other hand, IS!”

Wedging her knife under the corner of a wall, Raposa… well it’s hard to say, but to me it looked like she had peeled back a corner of the wall like it was paper, exposeing an inky black void under it.

“Alright guys, here’s the deal: we’re about to enter the abyssal zone. Not exactly a place for the faint of heart, even for residents of this craphole, so I’m gonna have to ask you to close your eyes and pretend not to hear anything.”

Seeing as our peepers were shut, we had no choice but to link hands, eyes shut with Raposa as she went into the void. What followed was a walk so long it made the hikes I had to do at Camp Sham seem like a trip to the bathroom (which, based on the way my camp bunk had smelled, was pretty much EVERYWHERE to the point where it was less a loo and more an omnipresent deity). Except the whole time, I felt somethings brushing up against me, whispering in my ears. Made my skin go cold, let me tell y! F-Bomb wasn’t doing much better. Guy sweated so hard I was surprised he didn’t turn into a puddle. When the Hell Princess finally let us open our eyes, it was in front of an automatic sliding door I’d recognize anywhere. Inserting Throximundeer into a keyhole and turning, she grunted. 

“Welp, here we are, guys. Welcome to Hell’s very own Goodwill.”

But instead of white shelves and the scent of day old deodorant, instead the inside held a canyon so vast it made my Dad’s buttcrack look like the Mariana Trench. . The whole time, we had to stay on this narrow path on one side of the canyon where one wrong step could potentially send us falling to… actually, I don’t know how far down we would fall. It was too deep to see the bottom. But what was most baffling of all was that, despite being so deep underground, there was a giant sun in the crimson red ‘sky’. When I asked Raposa about this, she let out a teenagery sigh.

“It’s my Moms. They always, always, always leaves that stupid light on! I try to tell them we don’t need it, Mom. We could always just use torches Mom! It’s much scarier anyways, Mom! But noooooooo! They always gotta say things like ‘No good running around in the dark like that! Wouldn’t want you to stub your toe, sweetie!’ Bad for my eyesight, she says. Sweet Porcelain God, it’s like they think I’m 15 or something!”

“Moms?”

“Nine to be exact. They’re a handful, but I love ‘em!”

F-Bomb and I gripped hands in a way that was ball-blowingly manly, trying not to lose balance. To distract myself from my newfound fear of heights, I looked at the giant red rock face opposite us. There, embedded in the sediments, were the preserved remains of forgotten treasures”

The Lighthouse Alexandria.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

Shrinky-Dinks.

Greek Fire.

And the further down we went, the more ancient the hand-me-downs got, until...

“Dinosaurs!”

If it weren’t for F-Bomb grabbing my arm, I might have jumped off the cliff from sheer joy then and there. There they were, the greatest scenes from the Mesozoic, preserved in rock, just out of reach. There was even a vintage copy of ‘Dinosaur!’ (And believe me, F-Bomb really had to reel me in from that one!)

“You know kid, they weren’t all wiped out.” Corrected Raposa “Some were turned into birds.”

“Sellouts.” Muttered F-Bomb.

After that, we walked along in silence, deeper and deeper into the canyon until at last we reached the bottom, right next to a fossilized Chicago Cubs player holding a world series trophy.

“Welp.” Said Raposa “We’re here.”

And there, in the deepest, darkest part of the canyon, where the sky seemed nothing more than a sliver cracking through the midnight gloom around us, something emerged from the shadows, something…

Soft and fluffy.

Now it was F-Bomb’s turn to go nuts. “Sailor Moon!” he cried.

And it wasn’t just her, either. Lying next to her was none other than my trusty machine gun!

“SweetPorecelainGodareyouokay?!” he dashed over to her, inspecting for any torn fabric or other possible injuries.

While he had his happy little reunion, I took my gun back. Thanks to my little black hole, it fit perfectly in my pocket. All well and good, but…

“So where’s the Sex Masheen?” I asked.

Raposa pointed to a dimly lit area behind F-Bomb. A giant wall, about as high as the roof to my school’s gymnasium stood in our way. There was no door, but the thing was covered in disorganized, multi-colored squares. I couldn’t believe it.

“A wall of Rubik’s Cubes? A WALL OF STINKING RUBIK”S CUBES?! WE RISKED OUR LIVES FOR THIS?!” Though most of my irking stemmed from my past. Because for every Christmas for as long back as I could remember, I’ve always gotten one of those stupid cubes, no matter how hard I tried to be good. It was like Santa’s way of saying I’d been a bad boy instead of just giving me that baby dinosaur already! Turned out even in the darkest pits of the Underworld, those dumb toys were inescapable.

           Raposa craned a pointed index finger upward. When I followed, my jaw darn near hit the ground (I should get insurance, seeing how often that happens.) Towering above us, higher than a thousand school gymnasiums was what could only be described as some sort of snake, except it didn’t have any head and was covered in a buncha arms and legs constantly grasping for something. The only thing protecting us from this abomination was some kind of enormous red bubble the thing was constantly scratching at, kinda like those play tubes guinea pigs play with. Except it was the size of freakin’ Empire State Building and could potentially raze an entire city just by walking. (Seriously though, why can’t the pets back home ever be that awesome? Take notes, Petco!) One thing was certain: It didn’t look like a masheen at all. So while that may not have been a worst case scenario, I still kinda felt ripped off.

Raposa coughed to get our attention. “So, uh, yeah. This is Sex Masheen. Funny story about this guy. So we were hosting our annual First Circle of Hell Rabies Awareness Fun Run-“

“So can it take us to the surface or what?” Interrupted F-Bomb. “Looking at that dang thing is making Sailor Moon nervous.”

“Yeah, and why’s it called a ‘Sex Masheen if it doesn’t have anything to do with sex?”

(Granted, this was back in the days when I thought ‘sex’ was kissing a girl on the lips, but even then, I had Ben Franklin slippers back at home sexier than that... thing!)

“To answer the first question: yes, it can take you to the surface. The second: the name Sex Masheen just sounded really cool at the time, okay?! So anyways, Sexy over here hasn’t left because it’s been trapped in a bubble. But not just any bubble- a F*CKING Bubble, which has the strength of, like, a billion regular bubbles.”

“And I guess you made that, too?”

“Excellent deduction, my dear F-Bomb! And right here-“

She pulled out the longest, thinnest needle I’d ever seen from a pocket on the leg of her denim jeans. “-is the only needle in the entire universe pointy enough to pierce it. When I do, you’ll have maybe five seconds to grab on before the big guy penetrates its’ way to the surface.”

“And you know this because-“

“Look you little prick. You want to go topside or not?!”

Let me tell you, F-Bomb shut up right quick after that.

“Alright, alright!” She pointed the needle at the giant bubble “Like I said, once this thing pops, you’ve got maybe five seconds, ten tops, to hop on this thing and ride out of here! You ready?”

F-Bomb and I looked at each other, ready to go where no lost soul had gone before. We nodded.

“Righteous! Sex Masheen going live in one, a two, a one, two, three, four!”

What followed was a pop loud enough to break the sound barrier. The ground rumbled. F-Bomb and I knew we had to act fast. Bursting through the wall of cubes, we found ourselves briefly intimidated by the barrier of arms and legs just twitching around in the air in front of us. Didn’t last long, though, because one of the arms got the idea to nab Sailor Moon, and before you could say Moon Prism Power, they were all vying for a piece of the Moon pie.

“Hands off the waifu, ya creeps!” shreiked F-Bomb, holding Sailor Moon hard as he could. Naturally, I followed suit.

Have you ever been on the outside of a plane as it took off? Well, neither have I, but what I felt after Sex Masheen took off must have been pretty similar. A few seconds into flight and I worried the skin was gonna get peeled right off my body. As the abomination rose into the air, I took one last look at the pit of the Underworld below us. Looking back at me was Raposa. All well and good, until I noticed the rocket launcher in her arms. Where she got it so quick, I’ve got no idea, but the important thing was she had it pointed right at us.

“Nobody’s allowed to leave the Underworld…” she chuckled, clicking the trigger.

A speedy projectile shot right at us. F-Bomb and I tried to move, only to find Sailor Moon locked tight in the Masheen’s grasp. Even if it would make F-Bomb mad, I wanted to slam my head multiple times against the pillow. Why didn’t I see this coming!? Of course a Princess of the Underworld wouldn’t just let us waltz right out of her turf!

My griping was cut short by something hitting me in the face. Something that smelled of fresh cotton and lavender. With a free hand I unfolded it: a white t-shirt (made with 100% organic cotton, if the tag was to be believed). Printed on the front, in bold black letters, was the phrase

I ESCAPED FROM HELL AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT

“…without getting a souvenir t-shirt first!”

           I would have fainted from the craziness of it all, if the Sex Masheen hadn’t chosen that moment to pierce the surface and send twenty pounds of muscovite schist into my open mouth. Below, Hell became nothing more than an Arkansas sized hole in the ground, then a New Jersey sized hole in the ground, then a little dot in the distance. All well and good, until I realized sooner or later we had to get off this thing, especially after the thin air started making my head woozy. F-Bomb and I tugged at Sailor Moon, trying to get off before we became the first dinosaurs in space (not all it’s cracked up to be. If you’ve tried  those astronaut ice cream bars, you know space travel is overrated). It wasn’t until I started beating the hands back with the butt of my machine gun they finally let go.

           A wave of relief swept over us as we escaped a future of freeze-dried crap and no internet connection, only to be replaced with the realization we were now freefalling from a height where we could see California. You ever talk into a fan? You know, the old ones that chopped up your voice? Well, that’s what freefall felt like, except so strong you’d think the wind was trying to dismember you. As for me, I did what any ten year old would do in this situation: spread me limbs out and SCREAM!

“THIIISSSSS IISSSSS AAAWWWEEESSSOOOOMMMEEE!”

And that is how I got over my short lived fear of heights. Fortunately, F-Bomb had done some quick thinking and converted Sailor Moon into an air surfboard, otherwise we might have plummeted right through the planet and wound up on the other side in Fiji. (Wouldn’t have been so bad, now that I think about it). Anyways, we air surfed at 500 miles an hour to the ground, F-Bomb steering, me looking for a landing space. And wouldn’t you know it, right below us was a white trampoline! That could break a fall (I hoped). I had F-Bomb steer us around in circles, spread weight, anything to slow our descent. But just as we were about to land, F-Bomb noticed something.

“Hate ta break it to ya, Turd, but did you know trampolines aren’t covered in tiles?”

I didn’t even have time to answer before we crashed through the roof to wherever we were. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was the Sex Machine, now just a twinkle in the distance, still charging into space.

Now, at this point, you’re probably thinking this story isn’t true. That I made all this up to get an extra hundred words on my ‘How I Spent My Summer Vacation’ report. And you’re (sorta) right, but I will say this: if you ever go to a public pool in New Jersey, you might come across a kiddie pool that smells suspiciously of fire and brimstone (well, more than usual, at least). Amazing what folks will do with giant holes they find in the ground.

And that was the last I heard of the Sex Masheen. Last I heard it was chugging along to Uranus to do Lord knows what. But that’s its’ story, not mine.

As for F-Bomb and I? Well, let’s just say our troubles were only beginning…

                          Nature Trail to Hell Part II: Watt Outta Hell: End

#My writing #Nature Trail To Hell #hell #velociraptor #dinosaur #goodwill #sailor moon