The various writings of Gary Hainsworth.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Evil Plastic Santa: Dividing Forces by Gary H.

Imagine a world where the dividing forces imposed a strict curfew and tarriff just because they felt like it. Who are the dividing forces? Well, they're kind of like the 'x' in an equation. They can represent any value that you wish them to - and if the 'x' variable you had in mind is already a dividing force that already imposes strict curfews and stingent tarrif's -- than not only will you have a doubled, tripled or quadrapled pain in the bugger but you will always be severely scrutinized for a complete and total lack of originality and creativity.
And now before the rant becomes unsalavageble let me explain: The dividing force could be anything, The Easter Bunny, Free Unlimited Checking, anything. If you choice a dividing force that is already a dividing force, to substitute the metaphorical 'x' variable in life instead of something original - you are someone who is guilty of stuck-in-the-box thinking and there is no help for your kind at all. There is no help for 'in the box' thinkers who imagine dividing forces that already impose prohibitive tarrif's and curfews. Alas and goodbye as this blog loses energy and disintegrates to nothingess, returning back to the sub-atomic particles it came from.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Evil Plastic Santa: The Salamander with a Goatee by Gary H.

There was a salamander who had a goatee. He shaved it off, joined the army, was shipped off to Greenland, left the army, met a girl named Allysa, and they eventually had a family, they paid their taxes and lead an otherwise ordinary life where he sold various products starting with the letters: 'G' and 'D'. End of story. Disappointed. You should be. It's a very lame story. If you found the story interesting you should give yourself a good flogging. If you didn't, give yourself a pat on the back...or a flogging if you're into that sort of thing. If you believe any word of this story, a flogging just won't suffice. You will need something a little more poetic. I hear maces are good, especially as a christmas decor that screams good taste, Assuming you're not on the recieving end of this fashionable medieval weaponry (of course). If, however, you want more of the Salamander Chronciles, well then there is one story you might find interesting. One night, many years ago, while the Salamander's wife was pregnant with, who would be their second son child Justin. The Salamander was awoken by a spectral image of a white clothed man, and next to him was another Salamander. A Salamander that looked just like our Salamander but a much older Salamander. He could have been the guy's grandfather. Our friend the Saladamander demands an explaination: Who are you people? and the spectral figure cries out: "I am a ghost from an alternate future come to show you, yourself from the future, I mean show the future you, this version of you. What would happen if you shaved the beard off and joined the army?" The Salamander in the "past" say's: "So, what does he think?" and the old, alternate future Salamander say's: "I should keep the goatee!"

End of Story. End of Blog.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Evil Plastic Santa: The Big "L" at the Friar's Roast by Gary H.

“Commercialism for commercialism’s sake is just plain wrong (just say no). Keep it real or not at all. That’s what I like about Attila the Hun. He keeps it real” said Satan at an extravagant toast to his friar’s club (no pun intended) in hell: “To Wisconsin, a state with a lot of heart…filled with deadly amounts of cholesterol.” No one laughed at first until they realized that if someone didn’t fake laugh and start a “wave of laughter” soon then there would be hell to pay (no pun intended). The Hell Friars roast was doing a lampoon of Attila the Hun. Attila the Hun wrote a screenplay once. Nobody liked it. He pitched it has a buddy comedy between a roman emperor and a slave/jester that are forced to go on the run (for some reason). He pitched it as a “Tango & Cash” meets “Midnight Run”. It was awful. Terribly written; hackney written and stilted. Attila was a good general (most people agreed), but not a good screenwriter (though no one ever told him otherwise). But to his credit there was one funny scene involving the Jester and the Emperor in the brothel but other than that it was bad to worse. He wanted his buddy Sam Peckinpah to direct it and he wanted Satan to produce it. Satan doesn’t like producing. He produced a buddy comedy with Bette Midler once, from a screenplay that his wife wrote and ever since he prefers distributing movies more than making them. “Attila the Hun, more like: Attila the no-fun”, Satan cracked a joke and he laughed, everyone else fake laughed along. It was rather pathetic. Even Attila wanted to say something but he knew better. The rest of Satan’s portion of this roast was even worse. But nobody told him anything other than: “This was the greatest roast ever”.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Evil Plastic Santa: Life, Scripted

Life’s always easier when it’s scripted, so let’s try and script every moment of our life from here on in until the end of time and hope we don’t forget our carefully prepared lines or miss our own prepared queues. Let’s also not forget one important truth about a script, or anything scripted: There has to be conflict. There has to be drama. A scripted life is always better when there’s drama, real or imagined. You’ll need a villain of course: an abusive boyfriend, an annoying girlfriend, an asshole boss, a pain in the ass parent (if that’s what you’ve got or want). A good guy is only as good as the bad guy he conquers. So, we better have the best of villains, the worst…I mean a great situation to overcome or else we’ll be writing ourselves as really boring characters and the story will go nowhere fast. So, we’ll need good villains or else we can never be a truly great protagonist and without a great protagonist the story will always fall flat. For the story to be good though. We’ll need a major flaw.

We’ll need major flaws for our “life script”. Flaws that could lead to our own undoing. We will need a kryptonite of sorts. Sex, Booze, Drugs, shyness, indecisiveness, a need for love and acceptance; the inability to get it for whatever reason or having too much of it: Caring to much, giving it your all - but its not enough. It’ll never be enough. We also need the major flaw to get in the way of a most desired outcome. We need to get the girl at the end, but first we need to have a “No girl” problem before that can be resolved. We must be able to conquer the person who is preventing us from getting our problem resolved. The big dumb jock whose dating the girl we like, who bullied us since grade o’four. I call him “The Chet”. He drinks beer, loves football and thinks date rape is a woman’s idea for a good time. Some call him “the Stifler” but I liked Stifler. He was the only one of the guys in those movies that wasn’t completely full of shit. He knew who he was and didn’t apologize (they tried in the third pie film but didn’t succeed). Jim and Oz – they were full of shit, but not Stifler. He loved pussy and wanted as much of it as he could get. Oz wanted "commitment" and there was a reason he didn't get a third slice of pie (he was a boring character, completely unused in the second film). In real life the Stifler’s do get laid because even thought they might be jerks they are honest about there jerkiness. The "Nice Guys" want to get laid, but are too much of a wuss or nice guy to admit it to others and most importantly...themselves. However in the word of our fictional lives the Chet’s and Stifler’s will always be seen for what they really are before it's way too late: before misery, before infedility and divorce. For the story to work you have to be the opposite of "the Chet" and Chet has to be the opposite of you. He has to be the villain. Someone has to be...why not him?

Real life however is no place for the fictionalization of reality. You, yourself can never be this character. He's the bad guy, you're the good guy. Chet must be the villain, the most horrible definition of humanity concieveable. The kind of scumbag that gets the universal consensus of scumbaggery, and be punished accordingly). Stifler has to drink beer in cum, get pissed on, eat some dog shit, and fuck someone’s grandma. No matter how “cool” he might appear to be, he’s not. You can like the villain but in the end the villain has to get there just desserts. Their uppings must come or there will be hell to pay. Chet gets dumped and humiliated in public and revealed to be the real jerk that he is. Have you ever noticed that in movies it’s always in public somehow? At a wedding, airport, graduation, town hall meeting? The Chet’s have to humiliated in public somehow, exposed for the entire world to see (perhaps there something very primal about being or enjoy someone being ostracized). The main character gets to make his stand and tell the girl of his dreams how he feels about her and she always swoons over him in a way that infers that she’s always felt the some way about him. TRUE LOVE. This is how the script will go.

Enjoy the life scripted you’ve created. The more villains the better, the more resolutions the better. It’s your life script. Make it the best script possible because if you tell a lie long enough and get enough people to believe it than it does become true, or “true” enough. Without contradictory evidence this “truth” becomes THE ONLY TRUTH, or the only truth most people will accept. So lie on because it isn’t considered lying until you get caught. Enjoy your script.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Evil Plastic Santa: Letter to the Editor # 2 - Love and Razorblades: An EMO Letter and Response by Gary H.

Dear “Letter to the Editor”,

This Letter, to you the editor, will definitely be the highlight of my otherwise unmeaningful day and existence of Goth and EMO related hijinks and humbuggery. It’s all down hill from here…I can assure you. But don’t worry; I did bring a golden parachute of “emotional love” and if I wish hard enough and visit my cave of self healing power just hard enough, while freefalling down the sky diving of love, I might have just enough well wishing to open the chute. If not I hope the epitaph my friend will write me will be very funny. Why have just another boring tombstone when it can be funny. I’d hate for my tombstone to be just another boring piece of marble, conveying one of Twenty-five old drawn out tired Cliques that really annoy me. The epitaph has to be funny as hell to really stomp the perceptions of the non conformists, which I’m not one.

Love and Razor Blades,

The EMO: Doug Reinfield.

Response:

Dear Loser, I mean…Sir (or emasculated man that should be referred to as Ma’am),

That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Than again I must have not heard that many things before. Cause, in my mind, if that’s the saddest thing I’ve heard, than that onto itself, is even sadder. Oh, Gothy McGothstein - that’s entertainment. You are one of twenty-five cliques – but I’m sure you already knew that. Just a question epitaph, boy? Do you want my heart too? Don’t worry if you don’t think there will enough room for it. I think I have some space on the bottom of my shoe. Of all the things to ‘talk’ about this certainly doesn’t make the list. Stop wasting my time with this dribble. Normally I don’t respond to the letters, I just throw them into my fireplace and say: “Burn, baby, burn”, as I drink fine wine and eat exotic cheeses, but for some reason you’re letter just wouldn’t burn. It’s as you put some kind of EMO curse on this letter forever preventing it from burning. So, acknowledging futility and having an overwhelming desire to eat fine wines and delicious cheeses with the letter burning has a way of creating a psuedo-sensual mood of paper burnering, I have decided to respond to your letter and demand that you undo your EMO curse, so that I may burn it and immerse myself in the wonderful aroma of burning EMO ink and paper. Can you do that for me, Doug? Can you undo your dumb curse, please? Or do I have to karate chop your face? It's your choice, Doug. It's your choice.

With Great Antipathy,
Julian Malarky
"Letter to the Editor"

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Evil Plastic Santa: Type, Scribble and Presto by Gary H.

Type! Type! Type! Push down the button and now a word has formed. Type! Type! Type! Couple a few letters together and now you formed a word. Type! Type! Type! Now we’ve got a paragraph! Type! Type! Type! Now we’ve got a sentence. Type! Type! Type! Now we’ve got a fully written document. Scribe, scribble enough and something coherent shall form. Scribble, scribble, scribble until something interesting comes. Remember old sage advice: "If someone throws enough stuff at the wall eventually something will stick". Any Monkey will be able to tell you that - every monkey can tell you that because its basic monkey physics.

Type, scribble and presto you’ve got something. It might not be the best. It might not even be that good, but you still got something - and that’s all that matters.

Now the words have formed and what do they read:

“The good thing about apathy is that you don’t care what other people think about you. The worst thing about apathy is that you don't care that you don't care.”

The words are formed. It thus the lesson. Class is adjourned. Now go home we must.

Monday, October 16, 2006

Evil Plastic Santa: Letter to the Editor # 1 by Gary H.

Dear "Letter to the Editor",
It is I, again: Constable Pennyworth, writing yet again. I would like to tell you about a stupendous idea I stumbled upon one fort knight ago. Whilst waiting for a train I came upon a stupor which I stumbled upon during a passing fancy. A thought occurred to me right there and then, causing me to miss my train in a most embarrassing fashion. To chew the time, until I my next train arrived at the station, I decided to write a letter to my favorite inverted groupie: The Earth.

Dear Mother Nature,

You’re not only our mother – but our best friend. And even though we do and say really bad and mean things to you (and lately it seems like we’re DOING a lot more than we’re SAYING) we still want you to know that we love you. That we will always love you and that you’re the only planet we got (until we colonize Mars and other planets in this universe, the rest of the known universe and worlds on yet-to-be discovered universes) – So, we’re stuck with you and we both know it. We also know that deep down if you really wanted to; no levy or damn could stop you. Sure, water might not be the right way to go -- but if water doesn’t work out for you, you always have fire, wind and good old fashioned dirt to play with. What I'm trying to say is: You have options and apparently all we have is hair spray. So, always remember and keep in mind that we need you a lot more than you need us. That is until we colonize mars than it would be a good idea for you to reform your ways. But until then - Ta Ta For Now, as the Tigger might say. Ta, ta...indeed.

Sincerely
Constable Pennyworth

Response:

Dear "Constable Pennyworth(?)",

Wow. I'm...wow...! I don't know what to say. So, I won't.

Sincerely
Julian Malarky
"Letter to the Editor"

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Evil Plastic Santa Discount Waffle Emporium: Announcement and Commencement

Welcome to Evil Plastic Santa blog spot and discount waffle emporium. Well there's no waffles and there certainly at no discount, if I had any to sell, but you get the idea. Sorry for being the biggest tease, but tease on I shall until I get super satisfaction (which is 147% groovier than regular, or: vanilla satisfaction).

The format of the Evil Plastic Santa blog spot is simple. I write in a psuedo newsletter fashion. Some of what I write will be short stories, some of them will be a kind of "Letter to the Editor", some will be stream of consciousness', others will be articles and essays, transcripts from conversations and blogs from my mySpace page.

I claim no coolness nor desire to be edgy or be on the cusp of forming some great new philosophy. The internet(s) is full of weirdos. It does not need one more "prophet" (that's the last thing this world needs, these days). The Evil Plastic Blog Spot makes no promises nor does it claim to have a mission statements or personal philosophy that it will contradict within a years time. I make no promises so that I can tell no lies. All I will do is write and write and write and let the dice decide.

Gary H.
Evil Plastic Santa