Zola Story – It’s Funny, Until You REALLY Think About It

Today, while cleaning my apartment (I.e playing Madden and tweeting) I ran across a story from knowyourmeme about a woman meeting another woman while working and their wild weekend together. I’d honestly suggest you read it yourself here (just scroll down and click EXPAND STORY) than me tell you everything because, quite honestly, it’s a doozy.

Apart from the hilarity of the entire piece (Zola has an amazing voice) I found myself sitting back and thinking about what I was actually laughing about: Kidnap, prostitution,violence, murder etc. I kept thinking to myself, especially when Jerett went to commit suicide, but was miraculously saved by a blunder, “Is this hyperbole!? This can’t be real!”

But, it’s not so far-fetched.

I’ve come across people in my life, some very close to my heart, that have been caught up in “the Game.” I’ve seen people caught up and coming out a survivor, but more often than not I’ve seen it destroy lives and destroy families. Zola’s story highlights many aspects that are common in the game: trap phones, tricks, drugs, and, most important, money. Some people look at this life and wonder what in the hell makes it so appealing. Money is the answer to every question that follows. The fast money, the fast cars, the fast life.

What bothers me most about the story is the violence throughout. This is REAL! (Isn’t it?) Real people got hurt. Real relationships were destroyed. Real people died. What is so funny about that? The young woman Jess was beaten and battered and though she had someone who cared for her very much, she went with the pimp. The Stockholm Syndrome-like effects of a pimp to prostitute relationship is astonishing.

Prostitution is illegal throughout most of our country, but of course you can always find something to fix your vices. Whether that be on the backpage, as mentioned in the story, on the corner or a dating website, the options are seemingly endless. While going to school and participating in a debate class, I posed the question wondering why prostitution isn’t legal. It’s self-proclaimed “oldest job in the world” title shows that it won’t ever be going away. So, why isn’t it legalized!? Some believe that STI’s would run rampant, some believe that it’d make MANY more people flock to the profession, and others believe that it is just plain wrong, and it’d ruin marriages/relationships. The irony about all of this, is that it’d probably do way more good than bad to society.

**DISCLAIMER** GROSSLY FICTIONAL IDEALISTIC PROPOSITION COMING UP **DISCLAIMER**

Sex is already thrown into the faces of American’s EVERY day, so why would more sex be a problem? A government mandated sex house (or club, or bar, or what have you) would be taxed and health would obviously need to be regulated. Much like cannibus, there’d be required licenses and cards needed to purchase the goods, and you need to be tested and put into a database if you were to ever WANT to use the goods. The pimp, in its notorious form, would be all but eliminated. The violence and abuse would  be edged out as well. The women and men in the profession would actually be able to set up a 401K, have health benefits fr themselves and their families. The industry would be taxed and the state would make huge profits just like marijuana. And, even though it is legal, it’d only be legal in the government houses, anywhere else would be fined HEAVILY.

**DISCLAIMER** GROSSLY FICTIONAL IDEALISTIC PROPOSITION ENDED **DISCLAIMER**

Now, I did not write this to submit my position for legalizing prostitution, it kinda just fit in here, but the message is coming from the heart. If, and it’s still a big IF, this story is true it’s absolutely heartbreaking for all parties involved.

The story is told in a matter-of-factly way, and it has its charm, for sure. But, the message beneath the humor is sickening. The world provides us humor and laughter daily, but this isn’t one of those times.

Tweet me @kamikazejd or tumbl with me @thejoshuadavisexperience

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Chasing a Dream

Since graduating from Linfield College in McMinnville, Oregon a few months ago I’ve done a lot of soul searching. I’ve worked some jobs that I have absolutely loved, and some that I absolutely loathed. One trait that I’ve always been proud of having is that of perseverance. I’ve been knocked down a lot and many times I could have just given up there. Life isn’t supposed to be easy, but I also don’t believe that you’re not supposed to put yourself through too much hell, either. I have persevered through some tough challenges, but I think my biggest hurdles are still ahead. In order to continue to follow the passion of writing, I will have to put myself through a little hell in order to come out successful, but I don’t mind that.

Currently, I am working at a job that I can easily be content with. I make a decent amount of money, I am in a leadership position and it is very close to where I reside, but it isn’t fulfilling. I’ve woken up every day not only dreading going into work, but also constantly trying to figure out what makes the job worthwhile, besides the paycheck. Not only does the job stress me out, but because of the stress and the hours, I don’t find the time to write like I should. And that’s just not going to fly anymore.

After graduation I moved from Oregon back to Vacaville, California. Vacaville is a hop and a skip away from both Sacramento and San Francisco, so there were many opportunities for work, but not for the kind of writing that I want to do. I went onto twitter one morning while bored and contacted numerous sketch and television writers about how I should kick start my career. There was a consensus on those that did reply to me and that was:

  1. Continue writing. Never stop writing.
  2. Move to Los Angeles or New York.

That stuck with me. The advice planted seeds deeply into my mind and into my gut. The seeds in my mind sprouted ideas and a curiosity that soon made the seeds in my gut erupt and burn. There were times where I’d lay awake at night and stare at my white ceiling. The muted colors from the television would dance on the darkened ceiling but I would just stare blankly.

“What if?” I’d sit and wonder. “What if I did move down there, would I be a success? Could I make something of myself?”

In July of this year, I decided to take that chance. I moved from the comfort of my home city and moved to Downey, California. I took that chance and moved and, for the moment, I thought that was enough. I got the job that I am in now and for that moment I was content. I was okay with the steps that I took. But, I sit here frustrated and stressed, because I didn’t come out here just to live, I came out here following a dream. I have years ahead of me to be content, but, today won’t be that day where I settle for anything less than what I have worked the majority of my life. I’m going to quit my job and work towards my career. I don’t mind betting on myself. In fact, I’ll take those odds any day of the week.

I don’t want to look back and wish that I hadn’t pursued something. I don’t want to look back and wish that I could have done more. I want to be able to look back and smile, and tell my story with pride.

For Play

I really liked ‘er ass, an that’s kinda whud-da met her for,

Had a smile-y on my face that was bigger than a’ albacore.

Approached with a swagger, not an amateur to prose

Had to shoot for the moon, when the chance arose.

 

She didn’t look for attention, yet I stood like a soldier

Intentions no longer concealed, abort covert

And when I caught her eye, like a sniper to his scope

She knew  inevitably  her will would be smote

 

The game I spit was was potent– a cobras venom to mice

And what escaped from my mouth, with a python-esque vice

 

A surreptitiously sweet,

soothing serenade set

to steal her soul

Against her behest

 

With the conviction of a back, I attacked her path

I Ochocinco’d this and Deion Sanders’d that

Touching down the field became my next goal

The ultimate prize–reaching the Sugar Bowl

 

She asks aloud in a heated moment how I’d convinced her to stay

I smirk and reply, “All these game be for play.”

Modern day Cowboy

The modern day cowboy doesn’t stress about the trite complications of everyday life.

He stands and watches his herd, his ability to surround his flock in seemingly an instant makes him a god among men.

He wears tattered jeans and well-worked boots, a hat worn low and a plaid shirt, colored blue.

Speckles of dirt on his face are mistaken for freckles and the creases on the edges of his eyes are marked reminders of his battles against the brightly burning future.

The modern day cowboy bypasses his technologically savvy peers by outworking them physically and delving into jobs that others shiver at.

His motto is, ‘Do it first today, then do it faster tomorrow.’

 

He wakes early and starts work, nodding to the waning moon and finishes work with a wave of acknowledgement to the same entity.

The modern day cowboy is a dying breed. He knows that. It takes a drive different from procreation to make the modern day cowboy.

It takes a different type of heart to live this life.

Quitting

I am a winner. I have been competitive in sports and video games for years and I absolutely HATE losing. I remember a while back talking to one of my teammates in college about losing. We both agreed that the reason we want to win is so we DON’T lose.

Now, let that settle in and think about it. We play to win so we DON’T lose. I practiced and set aside time so I didn’t have to face a loss. I competed and worked hard not because I wanted to win, but because the emotions I got from losing were so OVERPOWERING that I HAD to win.

I can definitely be classified as a sore loser. While I won’t show it initially, especially to my opponent, the feelings inside me get wracked up and tear me apart. While I can laugh and smile during gaming casuals and I can take a loss and not stress too bad, but when I am competing I am giving it my 100% all.

One thing that I know about losing is that you can learn more from it than winning. Failure makes one better in the long run. I know for a fact this is true. Though the juxtaposition between the emotions felt from winning and  losing is unfair, I do feel the lessons learned are greater on the losing side. I have learned more about my bad habits and tendencies from losing than I had from winning.

I told myself before the tournament if I didn’t place in the top 16 at MLG I would quit Mortal Kombat and focus on a different game. I hadn’t placed in top 8 at any major and I felt my skills with my character, Ermac, were becoming stagnant. Some matches against heavily used characters were so bad that I felt it wasn’t worth stressing and losing to keep on playing.

The first match where I truly felt like I was going to have a problem was against one of Mortal Kombat’s top Cyrax players, Krayzie. I had played against Krayzie numerous times before. Online and offline at EGP Redemption. I hadn’t taken a tournament round against Krayzie since I had played him and I knew he would have an upper hand against me because at one point he mained Ermac.

The first match started off where we tested the waters against each other. The waters were found to be treacherous when I got caught in a net and proceeded to lose terribly. The anxiety began to mount as he took the second round as easily as the first. I was happy to be dealing with the MLG first to 3 game format, but still felt like his Cyrax would be a monster to overcome. After losing my second match, and being flawlessed one round no less, I felt like it was all but over. He had my number. For most of the matches I was stuck in unbreakable combos and his ability to finish the combos and not drop them made me extremely pensive.

Though I finally picked up on what he was doing to me and put up more of a fight the last match I was bested. I shook his hands and congratulated him and walked away. I walked out of the venue and cursed at my shitty play. I separated myself from everyone and sat alone. I listened to music to calm my nerves.

At this point the back was against the wall, and though I wasn’t super upset about losing to a top player like Krayzie, I knew that I had to come out fighting or I would be going home, empty handed. My next match was against a player I had never heard of. He chose Kenshi and Raiden. He took the set 3-2 and it sent me packing.

I immediately wanted to leave. I wanted to curse and bitch and moan about things that couldn’t be changed. I watched other people lose, I saw different faces and emotions as people got up and left. Some left with smiles, genuine smiles, and walked away. Some cursed and left without a handshake. And others, much like myself, begrudgingly smiled, shook hands and left to take on the brunt of the loss, alone.

After losing only 2 games away from top 16 I said ‘F, it. I’m done.’ I walked outside the arena and sat by a few of my other competitors. One in particular, who actually beat me and put me in the losers bracket, looked as disappointed as I felt. Our friends were trying to pick him up and make him feel better, but I understood exactly how he felt. It’s an emptiness that seemingly sucks the life out of you.

I pondered quitting because I put so much work into practice and this game. I felt all my work had been for nothing.

It took two days and the realization, maybe even a false realization, that I hadn’t done EVERYTHING possible to be the best. I came up with a plan for myself and the guys that I play Mortal Kombat with locally to have us become successful.

If this doesn’t work though, I might just take what I learned from the losses and move on.

First Draft of Miniseries! No title yet

I loved the way she said ‘balloon’. She said it as if she were blowing bubbles. Her ecstatic ‘baugh’ sound perfectly matched with the ‘loon’ that would come out lazily. She was my star child. My link to the Heaven’s above. My essence in this void of nothingness, my shining light, my everything; and it was my task to find her.

 

Twenty-eight hours earlier, our humble home was ransacked by the Kami’s. The Church of Kami is a weird fucked-up religious cult that had determined that my daughter of seven years was somehow the third Messiah. I had been asleep, only for a second, I swear I only closed my eyes for a second! But that was all the time they needed. I had felt, for some time now, that we were being watched, but I figured that unintelligible paranoia was what came with the territory of being a father.

 

As I fell into my slumber they snuck in and threw restraints and a blindfold on me. They pushed me from my chair and I laid helplessly on my chest. I couldn’t tell how many infiltrated, but I knew immediately they weren’t coming in peace. I struggled to free myself from the cold, metallic, body-cuff, but was unable to. I screamed out to my daughter, Angelica, to hide, but I knew it was too late. I couldn’t hear her. Only the muffled shuffle of feet across my carpet as the goons moved around my house.

 

Suddenly everything stopped. No sounds, no breathing, no moving. Nothing. I perked my head up slightly, trying to sense something, anything. My blindfold came off and crouching down, only inches in front of my face, was Him. Black, beady, soulless eyes which sit in a ghostly pale face with equally pale hair stare back into mine. His hair falls right above his eyebrows in a fashionable bowl-cut style. His face is abnormally skinny and sucked up unnaturalistically from years of fasting and usage of the previously outlawed ‘Cure’ drug. His thin chapped lips crackle into a smile as he sees in my eyes that he is recognized, either that or he believed I recognized this situation was going to be fucked up very quickly.

 

“It is not nice,” He begins. His rancid breath strikes my nose and makes me grimace. An air of superiority soups from his mouth as he enunciates every syllable, seemingly letting his tongue touch every letter. His slow, monotonously high-pitched voice would be comical in any other situation though. “To hang onto and hide things that do not belong to you. You are filthy. You are the type of pestilence that panicked the Herd astray and made the Forsaken appear.”

 

The face of the Kami cult, Dulche-Dulche, stood to his feet and stepped back. The seemingly ageless man in a violet velour one-piece bodysuit sighed and stared at me. The eccentric man flaunts a style of clothing he claims to have worn back in the “Before Time”. His attire is always wildly colorful and attention grabbing. From leggings that turn into boots and shirts that fall down past his ankles. Most of his clothing wouldn’t fit through a normal sized door because of the angles and other protuberances his clothing often has.

 

Dulche-Dulche is a slender man with a mask on for God. He calls himself, and those that follow him, ‘Soldiers of the Herd.’ The ‘Herd’ being the last of humanity left after the atrocities that occurred after the second coming of the Messiah. The government disintegrated and a movement of religious ‘enlightenment’ gave birth to the Second Crusade. The wave of massacre and genocide that swept across the globe crippled the already declining population. Our world was blown to pieces. Nuclear fallout poisoned the oceans and sullied the land. Earth, now, is nothing more than a poisoned desert surrounded by an even more toxic mass of water.

 

Dulche-Dulche looked toward one of his men and motioned toward me. The man lifted me effortlessly and sat me back in the chair. The cold restraints tightened and dug even deeper into my skin. I winced slightly, but stared at Dulche-Dulche.

“A child with wings, the one who fell from the Bastion of Heaven,” he stepped toward me and lifted his slender leg and put his pointed heel boots on my chest. He nudged me back slightly and the chair lifted so that only the back legs are on the floor. “This child will lead us to the Third Coming of our Messiah.”

He nudged me back further and chuckled. His right hand slowly reached up to the left side of his mouth and he rubbed at his lips with his wrist, as if removing drool.

 

“You should thank me for not letting my Angels rip you apart. Goodbye.” Dulche-Dulche kicked me back and I fell to the floor hard. I rolled out of the chair and caught a glimpse of the men leaving.

“NO!” I screamed out to the assailants. The restraints, aptly named the ‘Python’ by its distributors, squeezed even further into my body. Breathing became difficult as I tried to exhale. I didn’t care though, I didn’t know how, but I had to get her back. I had to get my daughter.

 

Knowing the failsafe for the device I began to hold my breath. Because this device was made for peace-keeping and not being lethal, all one has to do is cease movement for 60 seconds and it will detach itself. Of course, complete lack of movement for a minute is much harder when your captors move you around to reset the timer.

 

As I sat and waited for the Python to release I began to think of a way to get my Amgelica back. I knew for a fact that Dolche-Dolche was taking her back to Heaven, but getting to Heaven, especially the journey past Heaven’s Bastion, was much easier said than done. Hell, I didn’t even know if I actually could get into Heaven. I’d heard stories from back in the days when merchants and even Hunters of Forsaken would speak of being invited to Heaven’s Bastion and seeing the entrance of Heaven. Though each account was somewhat different they all saw a heavily guarded door with “Heaven” written plainly across the door frame. Never have I heard of what goes on past those doors though.

 

Getting to Heaven’s Bastion would be an immense task itself. The heavily guarded military base is a mass of land lifted five miles above sea level and held there by anti-gravity technology. The Church of Kami would lead one to believe, especially the children, that it was the miraculous grace of God that lifted the land mass that ‘slowly’ rises to Heaven. When in actuality the military moved the mass of earth upwards for two reasons. With most of the Earth in ruin, the Bastion would be a military regulated Mecca in which all things must past through it to be certified as ‘pure’. Anything un-‘pure’ is illegal. This leads to the next reason in why the mass was moved upwards. The crater left behind is used as a water purifying area and pure water is heavily sought after. 98% of the water is shipped directly to the Bastion, while the rest is given out to the highest bidder in the outskirts. It’s funny, even when hell befalls Earth and its people, money still reigns supreme in man’s mind.

 

Though I didn’t understand the exact technology used in keeping the land afloat I knew that seven bases around the mass kept the generators for the anti-gravity machines running. The only way to reach the Bastion is by a flight machine from the Before time. These relics from the past are only flown to The Bastion and back to the Earth. The only people with the knowledge to fly the ancient machines are the elite military force named the Angels.

 

The Angels are funded by the Church of Kami and jointly governed by the military, though the Church really holds all of the power. The men and women of the Angels are imbued with the purest form of the adrenaline pumping drug, Cure, and have been trained to die protecting the Will of God. The Angels are faster, stronger, more reactive and almost animalistic in their approach to a fight. The first prototype Angels were used in the Second Crusade to obliterate the last standing ‘Earth government’ and turned the tide of the war in the Church’s favor.

 

Click.

The restraint finally unlocks and I am able to free myself. I quickly try to gather myself and move to the edge of my living room.

3 Short Poems

Kamikaze-

Divine Wind.

Bruising through recklessly.

Accept my careless nature.

Youth.

 

 

My brush-

Myriad of bristles.

Soft,

Palm Friendly.

A dominator of wild follicles.

Calms the savage head beast.

Like a boat captain, it navigates through my waves fearlessly.

Another day looking great.

 

 

Playstation Controller-

Black.

Symmetrical.

Hand comforting

Like the hand of God.

To call it just a controller is a stark understatement.

It is a force that is stronger than a tornado, yet as calm as a pond on a mild day.

Without you, I am useless. Just a spectator to watch.