Bathroom Monologue: Experience of the Holy

Lo’s chest jerked erratically, like somewhere under the bed there was a man with a rope tugging on his ribs. The jerks slowed until he was still, and Puck worried the man had died on him. Not now, not when they’d contacted the big guy behind it all. He poked Lo’s shoulder, and the man’s eyes opened a sliver. Puck inclined, trying to angle himself to be visible in that narrow swath of eyelid.

“So what was he like?” he asked.

Lo put a hand over his face. “Have you ever looked at a stained glass window?”

“Really, he looked like all that white iconography? That’s almost disappointing…”

“No,” Lo cut him off. “No. Imagine looking at an eyeball.”

“An eyeball?”

“Except your eyes are stained glass windows. None of the optic nerves, cones or rods. And your beautiful stained glass windows are looking at an eyeball. Yeah.”

“That makes no sense.”

Lo removed his hand and looked up at Puck’s eyeballs. “It makes new sense. I’d never looked as a stained glass window before.”

“What the crap does that mean?”

“It may mean you have to see him yourself to talk about it. Or…”

“Or what?” Puck snapped.

“Or you can appreciate my best attempts to tell you what it was like.”

With that Lo laid back down and rolled his back to the ingrate. Next time Puck could have his own epiphany.

Fantasy Novelist’s Exam for John Wiswell's Ito, Book 1

The following is based on David J. Parker’s Fantasy Novelist’s Exam. The exam can be found here: http://www.rinkworks.com/fnovel/

My answers, based on the first novel I ever wrote, can be found below. Way more of them are honest than you think.

1. Does nothing happen in the first fifty pages?

There’s a chase scene, a banquet in the middle of the woods, an assassination plot, main character looks up a girl’s skirt, she kicks him in the face, another chase scene, he’s saved by a sea serpent, is drugged, then walks in on an execution. So: no. What?

2. Is your main character a young farmhand with mysterious parentage?

No. Why?

3. Is your main character the heir to the throne but doesn't know it?

No? What about the farmhand?

4. Is your story about a young character who comes of age, gains great power, and defeats the supreme badguy?

What is your hard-on for Luke Skywalker?

5. Is your story about a quest for a magical artifact that will save the world?

No.

6. How about one that will destroy it?

No, but that sounds cooler.

7. Does your story revolve around an ancient prophecy about "The One" who will save the world and everybody and all the forces of good?

Before the first draft it was.

8. Does your novel contain a character whose sole purpose is to show up at random plot points and dispense information?

Do I need one of those?

9. Does your novel contain a character that is really a god in disguise?

And now I want there to be one. Do you see what you’re doing?

10. Is the evil supreme badguy secretly the father of your main character?

God damn you and your Luke Skywalker crush. No!

11. Is the king of your world a kindly king duped by an evil magician?

No.

12. Does "a forgetful wizard" describe any of the characters in your novel?

Describes them as a narrator, or is that an accurate description of any of the characters? If the former: no. If the latter: no.

13. How about "a powerful but slow and kind-hearted warrior"?

No. What is this?

14. How about "a wise, mystical sage who refuses to give away plot details for his own personal, mysterious reasons"?

Actually, that might be one of the bad guys.

15. Do the female characters in your novel spend a lot of time worrying about how they look, especially when the male main character is around?

No, just all the female readers.

16. Do any of your female characters exist solely to be captured and rescued?

No, they exist to trade captures and rescues with the guys. It’s like a date night with more bondage.

17. Do any of your female characters exist solely to embody feminist ideals?

At an early age I was told that for virtue of having a penis I could not do anything that was feminist, so I’m going to say, “No.”

18. Would "a clumsy cooking wench more comfortable with a frying pan than a sword" aptly describe any of your female characters?

“Mountainous psychic politician” or “ninja she-Gandalf” would be closer.

19. Would "a fearless warrioress more comfortable with a sword than a frying pan" aptly describe any of your female characters?

Do you just want eggs? Is that it?

20. Is any character in your novel best described as "a dour dwarf"?

You got me. He shows up at the end. No, he really does. I should probably change his race.

21. How about "a half-elf torn between his human and elven heritage"?

No, but there is a half-orc (his other half is a bear).

22. Did you make the elves and the dwarves great friends, just to be different?

No, I made the goblin and the dwarf friends to be different. For real.

23. Does everybody under four feet tall exist solely for comic relief?

Only in real life.

24. Do you think that the only two uses for ships are fishing and piracy?

No. They also exist to be swallowed by Krakens until Captain Jack Sparrow is on one of them.

25. Do you not know when the hay baler was invented?

No. Yes. Yes, I do not know. No, I don’t know when the thing to be known was… I hate you.

26. Did you draw a map for your novel which includes places named things like "The Blasted Lands" or "The Forest of Fear" or "The Desert of Desolation" or absolutely anything "of Doom"?

…Fuck!

27. Does your novel contain a prologue that is impossible to understand until you've read the entire book, if even then?

No. Writing those is a skill I don’t have and do envy.

28. Is this the first book in a planned trilogy?

Quartet. What? Stop looking at me like that.

29. How about a quintet or a decalogue?

Hey, screw you!

30. Is your novel thicker than a New York City phone book?

It was almost that thick the one time I printed it.

31. Did absolutely nothing happen in the previous book you wrote, yet you figure you're still many sequels away from finishing your "story"?

I really feel like we covered this earlier.

32. Are you writing prequels to your as-yet-unfinished series of books?

That sounds hilarious. Are you doing that?

33. Is your name Robert Jordan and you lied like a dog to get this far?

Yes. No really, what? Do you think he’s not really dead? Because there are rumors.

34. Is your novel based on the adventures of your role-playing group?

No. You’d know if it was, because I’d have cut off my hands by now.

35. Does your novel contain characters transported from the real world to a fantasy realm?

No, from a fantasy realm to another fantasy realm. I feel like that should happen more frequently.

36. Do any of your main characters have apostrophes or dashes in their names?

…Fuck!

37. Do any of your main characters have names longer than three syllables?

You could stretch “Hung Lo” to three syllables if…

38. Do you see nothing wrong with having two characters from the same small isolated village being named "Tim Umber" and "Belthusalanthalus al'Grinsok"?

It took a while to learn that this was a problem, but now I fear it almost as much as the cold shadow of looming death.

39. Does your novel contain orcs, elves, dwarves, or halflings?

It used to and sort of still does! Thanks for the panic attack!

40. How about "orken" or "dwerrows"?

Stop doing that.

41. Do you have a race prefixed by "half-"?

“Half-breed” happens once or twice. But they’re not real. They’re disavowed on the first page.

42. At any point in your novel, do the main characters take a shortcut through ancient dwarven mines?

That’d be sweet.

43. Do you write your battle scenes by playing them out in your favorite RPG?

No, though the appeal of a turn-based novel is great.

44. Have you done up game statistics for all of your main characters in your favorite RPG?

No. I can barely fantasy-cast any of them as living actors. I’m bad at these fetishes.

45. Are you writing a work-for-hire for Wizards of the Coast?

Are they hiring?

46. Do inns in your book exist solely so your main characters can have brawls?

I am seriously considering adding inns to my world in order to accommodate this.

47. Do you think you know how feudalism worked but really don't?

Like everyone who lives in the democratic, electric, heated, wifi world, yes.

48. Do your characters spend an inordinate amount of time journeying from place to place?

At least 50% of the book. You’ll hate it.

49. Could one of your main characters tell the other characters something that would really help them in their quest but refuses to do so just so it won't break the plot?

Only if one of them told the others that there was a quest. That would be handy.

50. Do any of the magic users in your novel cast spells easily identifiable as "fireball" or "lightning bolt"?

There’s an aging ray. Does that count?

51. Do you ever use the term "mana" in your novel?

It might be moaned at some point, but that’s a slur and not the kind of magic you’re thinking.

52. Do you ever use the term "plate mail" in your novel?

There’s an arming doublet.

53. Heaven help you, do you ever use the term "hit points" in your novel?

Missed opportunity!

54. Do you not realize how much gold actually weighs?

No, but given that “arming doublet” appears more frequently than “gold,” I think I’m safe.

55. Do you think horses can gallop all day long without rest?

Only the ones that carry my dreams.

56. Does anybody in your novel fight for two hours straight in full plate armor, then ride a horse for four hours, then delicately make love to a willing barmaid all in the same day?

I don’t know how many more times I can pretend something sounds like a sweet idea I missed and want to include it, but you keep coming up with these.

57. Does your main character have a magic axe, hammer, spear, or other weapon that returns to him when he throws it?

Seriously. You keep coming up with these.

58. Does anybody in your novel ever stab anybody with a scimitar?

No. One guy goes throw an intangible edge from his scimitar. It looks like a rainbow.

59. Does anybody in your novel stab anybody straight through plate armor?

The giant killer gelatin sort of does that with its spines once.

60. Do you think swords weigh ten pounds or more?

My twenty-foot stone ogre’s sword does.

61. Does your hero fall in love with an unattainable woman, whom he later attains?

Trains to do what? Why do I think it’s something with a frying pan?

62. Does a large portion of the humor in your novel consist of puns?

Much more than I assume you’d like.

63. Is your hero able to withstand multiple blows from the fantasy equivalent of a ten pound sledge but is still threatened by a small woman with a dagger?

Clearly you’ve never been in a romantic relationship.

64. Do you really think it frequently takes more than one arrow in the chest to kill a man?

I’d like empirical tests before concluding anything here.

65. Do you not realize it takes hours to make a good stew, making it a poor choice for an "on the road" meal?

So you want a McDonald’s in my fantasy realm?

66. Do you have nomadic barbarians living on the tundra and consuming barrels and barrels of mead?

No.

67. Do you think that "mead" is just a fancy name for "beer"?

Now I do.

68. Does your story involve a number of different races, each of which has exactly one country, one ruler, and one religion?

No.

69. Is the best organized and most numerous group of people in your world the thieves' guild?

There’s a thieves’ guild?

70. Does your main villain punish insignificant mistakes with death?

Maybe in Book 2.

71. Is your story about a crack team of warriors that take along a bard who is useless in a fight, though he plays a mean lute?

Maybe in Book 3.

72. Is "common" the official language of your world?

Maybe in Book 4.

73. Is the countryside in your novel littered with tombs and gravesites filled with ancient magical loot that nobody thought to steal centuries before?

No.

74. Is your book basically a rip-off of The Lord of the Rings?

Yes.

   75. Read that question again and answer truthfully.

Okay, no. Of course it isn’t. Listen: is your sense of humor a rip-off of every passive aggressive comedian who attempts to dismiss a thing by vaguely describing some of its characteristics? I appreciate the passion for literature, but you may need a nap.

Bathroom Monologue: Checkered Treasure

They came to the last trap. The guide carried a torch, while Lo carried a giant rolled up carpet. It was very brave of him to face the trials without weapons, and the guide praised him for it with the enthusiasm of a man who knows a hefty tip is in sight.

“Stupendous avoidance of the snakes, maestre! I don’t know how the rug helped you, yet you clearly knew what you were doing. We’re already at the end. The treasure is virtually in your hands. I’ve never seen a man make it so far.”

“Thanks for the crib notes.” Lo grinned. Having someone, like the guide who’d watched so many adventurers die down here, tell him how half the trials worked made life easier.

“Anything for a generous employer! Yet I must apologize, I’ve never seen this one passed.”

The guide stopped before what looked like a giant checkerboard. It stretched twenty yards in both directions, made of man-sized white and black tiles. Beyond was an archway, mounds of gold glittering in the torchlight. Lo admired the view as the guide stooped to read the inscription at the foot of the trap.

“What have we got?” Lo asked, setting the carpet down.

“Many men have come. Many men have died.” He chortled, “This was etched back when the trials were installed. Very cocky of them to guess many would die.”

“The whole trapped-temple design kind of belies cockiness. Tomorrow, hopefully we’ll be rich enough to be that cocky. But is there anything practical on there?”

“Well. For every white tile you touch, you must walk three tiles left. For every black tile you touch, you must walk one tile forward. If you deviate you will fall into the Pit of Dragons.” The guide reached out and knocked on the nearest tile. It echoed hollow and deep below. “I don’t know if there any dragons under here, or if they are still alive, but metaphorical or literal, the fall will probably be bad.”

“It’s a diabolical temple,” Lo nodded matter-of-factly. “I’m pretty sure I’d die somehow. But does it say if going the one forward necessitates going three left again? And if the two black ones I touch going left count necessitate going two forward?”

“No, maestre.”

“It doesn’t say what I have to do when I reach the left wall either?”

“No, maestre.”

“And it’s not so old a dialect that it’s a vague translation problem?”

“Positively not, maestre. My mother still speaks this dialect when she wants to swear. It’s quite familiar to me.”

Lo laughed, hanging his head. “The book I read said it was a dialect problem. Should have known.”

“You know of this?”

“Oh yeah, there’s a poem. Three great conquerors try to cross.” Lo pointed. “They start from the right side. One conqueror goes three left, one diagonal, and falls in. One conqueror goes three left, two diagonals, and falls in. The third writes a book about leaving to take over their lands with them dead. It’s great.”

“So you had help for every trap in advance?” The guide clapped his hands in the way of a man who still sees hope for that tip. “Such a wise man. What is your plan?”

Lo nudged him aside and kicked the carpet. It unfurled across the board, a frumpy red weave flapping over marble and obsidian. It finished rolling with only four tiles to go.

“Four.” Lo grumbled. “I knew I should have bought the long one.”

The guide stared at it. It was quite likely the ugliest thing that had ever been in this temple.

“You think that will work?”

Lo stretched his legs.

“Well, if I jump at the end.”

Bathroom Monologue: Hung Lo’s Chinese Takeout

Back before it was a four-novel story, the premise was Hung Lo’s Chinese Takeout. Lo would work there, as a very lazy waiter who took frequent breaks to go assassinate demons. You see, the restaurant was a front for his demon-hunting business. Get it? “Takeout?” “Chinese?” Oh, double puntendre. The Maitre d’ would be Emma, his girlfriend who was capable of moving through shadows. She’d essentially field all the calls, show people to their tables, and hop through the shadow world to advise him on an easier way to kill the werewolf that was chewing on his tibia. Their chef would be the borderline neurotic Puck. Every so often a demon would make its way back to the restaurant, wreck the place and leave him a babbling mess. It’s still beyond me how this turned into a four-novel story with no restaurant.

Bathroom Monologue: 200 Vs. 40 + 2

“What’s your favorite battle, Lo? You say you’ve served so many.”

“Oh, I have. My favorite would have to be this one on the coast. Joy and I built up a mean reputation on the coastline. Captains had nightmares about us. So when this standoff happened we traveled down together. One side had over two hundred troops, while the other barely had forty. We signed on with the forty.”

“How many made it? How bloody did it get?”

“It was bloodless. They gave up as soon as they heard both of us were on the side of the forty. We won without one head rolling. Innocents were saved.”

“And that’s your favorite memory of battle?”

“Oh yeah. I got paid in advance.”

Bathroom Monologue: A Good War

The Owls didn’t see many good parts of the war, but they were there. Pietro and Ilyana attended one of these brightspots, a hotly contested zone of rocky hills and dense trees that no cavalry could successfully charge through, in either direction. Hundreds were dispatched to units on both the Ogrish and the Rin sides. They had entire depots of archers, more than in any other conflict of the war. It was all they trained, and any aspiring archers went to that front because in a giant woods they weren’t in much demand and took work where available.

But when those aspiring archers reached the front they found an unorthodox battle playing out at each skirmish. The Rin would line up on their ledges, and the Ogres would peak from behind the thickest trees. They would unleash three volleys arrows in each other’s direction.

Not at each other, no. The Ogres pelted the bottomsides of the cliffs, and the Rin released not just over the heads of the Ogres, but over their trees entirely. Then they went to supper.

They were missing on purpose, en mass, at every skirmish. At some time two squads had apparently realized they were missing badly and decided to keep doing it, and the deathless game spread to the whole front. Many times one side would shoot the arrows that had been launched at them the previous skirmish.

This lasted for two tours of duty, until a third Owl, Erik, arrived and reported his side. The Rin sent a new field commander, a real fascist whose first commands were to charge.

It had been a good war until then.

Thought in the Public Domain

Aegis scoffed at the human. "Philosophy is illegal in my homeland. All freethinking does is get in the way of progress. A thousand generations ago they set the rules for inquiry, worship and government, and we have ruled the world for 997 generations since. We know what's right and don't pretend anything else like some other cultures."

"What? My world is full of freethinkers!"

"Lies. The people let you think what they feel like, but there's no such thing as free thought. I'll even give you the test: do you have insane people where you come from?"

"Mad folk? Yes."

“Is insanity a legal term?”

He stammered, “I guess.”

"And what do you do with insane people?"

"We send them to asylums for treatment. We get them help."

"So if someone thinks too differently you lock him up until he thinks like you want him to? Such a society of freethinkers!"

"They're a danger to themselves, and to others..."

"Yes, that is always how it begins."

Bathroom Monologue: Alternative Publishing

"Never go for the kill immediately. Parry. Avoid. Entice. Tire him out. When he tires, take advantage of his mistakes. If he cannot be tired, then make him bored and hasty. When he is frustrated, take advantage of his mistakes. If he cannot be tired or bored, he probably cannot be killed. Run away and write about it. You'll probably make good money."

Bathroom Monologue: Laws of Ash

Weclij Erengeld was a stateman of the Dwarfish Contingency in Ash Gardens, and a vocal policy maker. From his days in the academy he espoused faith in the government and support Ash Gardens’ stand that philosophy be illegal. To him, as to the ancients, free thought only meant distraction from the engines of progress. He was one of four signers to a law permitting the execution of those who espoused anything but the state lines on morality.

He was executed under the first provision of that bill for giving his son an axe. Written in spiraling text around the handle, underneath the cloth wrapping, was written:

“You should never take without thanking. If you hesitate to thank because bringing attention will make them stop you from taking, you should not take. Gratitude is a virtue that will save families and culture itself.”

It was a lesson he apparently considered vital to his son. In public life he had always been gracious, but never espoused gratitude as a virtue, nor did he challenge that it should be among the Five Chief Virtues, those the only ones recognized in Ash Gardens. We do not know why the dwarf risked his life to express such a lesson. We do know that his son has his seat in Parliament, and is fast working on anti-propaganda laws that would make him forfeit the axe for destruction. Currently the weapon rests on his mantle, its handle firmly wrapped.

Bathroom Monologue: bathroom monoLOgue

“In just five minutes, one hundred thousand orcs will come smashing through this barricade. They will stop at nothing to kill us all and destroy this country. We are the only ones who can stop them. To those of you who stay, you will have my respect, and I will fight to the last drop of my blood at your side. To those who stay, there will be heroism, and the violent knowledge that you have defended a way of life. To those who flee, they will find you if we fail here. To those who leave, if you are not tracked down by orcs then we will have succeeded here, and I'll find you someday, and I'm going to be unbearably annoying. You are so going to owe me.” -Hung Lo

Bathroom Monologue: Ropp On, Goblin Boy

“I think it’s you guys that are taking this too seriously. It’s just life. Life itself is so implausible that it probably isn’t even real. All matter was in a big ball and then banged, expanding into an infinite void and just so happened to congeal into fiery spheroids, destructively dense spheroids and planets, and the planets all just so happened to fall into orbit around the fiery and destructive spheroids instead of getting sucked straight in, and on those planets the surface matter just so happened to align into chemicals, meaning the little balls that were atoms formed little globs of chemicals, and all those globs just so happened to rub against each other and form stable proteins chains that could survive and reproduce, and all of those little chains of littler globs of still littler balls just so happened to keep reproducing and banging off the walls of probability on planets whose environments flipped horizontally and vertically, heat-wise and air-wise, magnetically and tectonically, and managed to come through that not only covering the surface of that planet, but some of life was actually developed enough to be aware of the nonsense that was going on. If someone designed it, He’s nuts. If nothing designed it, then it’s even more nuts. Don’t tell me I’m not taking things seriously enough. You guys are crazy to go through this with a straight face.”

And with that, Ropp returned to playing his tuba for the canaries.

Bathroom Monologue: What it Means to be a Winner

Lo stood alone on the hilltop as the thunderheads rolled in. It went from sunny to cloudy to pouring buckets in less than a minute. His clothes stuck to his body and his hair was plastered to his face.

He grinned his wicked fool’s grin.

“Well played, Mother Nature. But I prepared for this.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pink cocktail umbrella. The wind almost ripped it in half as soon as he opened it, and the rain soaked the paper. Undaunted, he held the ornament over his head.

It did nothing. He was still constantly drenched. The wind shifted repeatedly, so that he was alternately swatted in the face and backside with veritable sheets of water.

The paper umbrella didn’t break, and he kept it overhead. Always grinning.

“I win.”

Bathroom Monologue: Ogre-Brained, Or, “And chances are that your kids are not getting enough art —in or out of school.” –Americans for the Arts ad

They didn’t know where the ogre came from. Some of the village children said they saw him walk out of a forest from east of the hills, but when the adults went to look, there was no forest to see. What they did see was a fifteen-foote ogre with shale for skin and shite for brains. He could only remember one word at a time, and for the first few weeks all he said was, “Moose.” The village people had no idea why. They had practical ideas, though. Since he was such a docile monster, they put a harness on him, dangled a turnip in front of his face from a fishing line, directed him through the fields. After dozens of man-hours of labor he captured his turnip and one of the village children replaced it with a drawing a moose. It tripled his productivity. He really wanted that drawing. The drawing saved him from being classified as livestock, for one day while chasing it and dragging the plough he changed his favorite word changed from “Moose” to “Paper.”

Bathroom Monologue: Sometimes life is like...

Always the sewer! Always the frickin' sewer! "Lo, there are mutant alligators in the sewer." "Lo, there are werewolves in the sewer. Better take your expensive silver weapons down there." "Lo, there's a Satanic cult plotting to overthrow the government. They're at that country club you like so much. Stop them and you’ll get free lunch." "Really?" "No, sewer." Why do I always have to fight things in the sewer? Why are they all down there? There's nothing there! It's the same thing; they go down there, I go down there, they die, I fall in a vat of unmentionables, and I spend the next week chewing antibacterial soap to get the taste out of my mouth. Well not this time! This time Hung Lo thought ahead! I wired the sewage treatment plant with enough TNT that if anything survives the blast, it deserves to overthrow humanity. It's the devil hunter equivalent of flushing a cherry bomb. It’ll knock out every pipe and support beam under the city. In a half hour, this city will be under water. Brown water. Let's see how you like having to shower in Listerine!

Bathroom Monologue: Loving Pennies

“I find that the mingled scents of flesh, sweat and copper form a smell similar to the taste of blood. I do not like the taste of blood (well done, please), but I do like that smell. It helps me relax after long days. But so does the smell of oranges while they are peeled. I generally go with the oranges, to save people the disturbance of the explanation.” –Hung Lo

Bathroom Monologue: Chilling

Lo: This abandoned prison is the perfect hideout. The villagers think it's haunted and won't go near it.
Puck: But it's not really haunted?
Lo: No, it is. But I pay the ghosts reasonable rent, and I can play the stereo as loud as I like until 9:00.

Bathroom Monologue: Our Contradictions, as Viewed by a Dwarf

“Humans. They want it warm when it’s cold, and they want it cold when it’s warm. They build devices to give them light when it’s dark, and they’re always turning them off. They don’t want to go to sleep, and then they don’t want to get up. They never get to somewhere without wanting to go back an hour later. And they have the nerve to bitch about paradoxes. I don’t even bother thinking about half the things these humans want to get done and undo again before supper.” –Aegis Erengeld

While Pan-Frying Beef Monologue

Lo's first weapon was a jintachi, a sword with a long blade and curved handle designed for horseback fighting. He was a slave, so of course he didn't fight mounted, but the revolutionaries only had a few horses and made use of whatever weapons they had. It was severely dishonorable to use a mounted weapon on foot, but again, he was a slave. The jintachi gave him two things: a preference for swords in combat, and a disregard for personal dignity.

Long after he was freed he bypassed the expensive practice of buying master-make weapons and just picking up whatever was available: a broken claymore, a fallen branch, a bow no one in Ulysses' house could string but that still really stung if he smacked you in the eye with it. He dueled one master of the katana by dual-wielding a salad fork and a really big rock.

His favorite weapon was a giant's speartip. It was five or six foote long, very thick and hard, a dwarf-make thing. It was flat and triangular, with a jagged point and a blade on either edge. About a foote thick, he could hide behind it when he was showered with arrows, doubling as a shield. He held it by the butt, the tab of metal below the spearhead where a giant would insert a shaft. Being human-sized, he never bought a shaft. He wielded it like a big, ornery horsekiller, though he applied it in less orthodox fashion, too, such as riding it like a sled down a hill into the enemy cavalry.

He only graduated to using fine, honorable weapons when his friends started to be embarrassed by his antics, and got him one for his birthday. Being a former slave, he didn't have a birthday, but they made one up as an excuse to make him throw that damned thing away.

Bathroom Monologue: Things weren't supposed to be this way

Puck: There is a way that things are supposed to be, and then there is the way that things usually are. I expect that you sometimes create an idea of the way things are supposed to be from the way that things usually are, which is a terrible idea. Watch a hundred movies, and the first ninety-nine all either have the guy getting the girl at the end, or the girl dying, or the guy dying, or some mixture. Then the hundredth is different. The girl wasn't there at the end, and the guy didn't die. Other relationships explored in the movie are abruptly severed -- and because I've seen ninety-nine movies lately that all ended with the guy dying or the guy getting the girl (or the girl dying), I can't even appreciate what the end or suspension of those relationships meant. It's different, and the good parts of my brain have rusted over, oxidized by the redundancy of old stories, so I start off any thoughts with a dislike for this movie's difference. That ain't right. That's a collective consciousness gone wrong, a collective close-mindedness, a self-enforcing stupidity. So now I try to think differently, because once I watched a hundred movies, and now I'm afraid that I've neglected the one or ones that were different in good ways. Now I'm careful to check if I'm disliking something because it's not the way it's supposed to be, or if it's just not the way things usually are.

Lo: Oh, our story is way better than that. Even if you don't like the way things develop, we get fightscenes for every couple of plot points. That makes up for any literary faults.

Puck: Oh yeah, this, this, this is great! I was talking about, you know... other stories. Of course.

Lo: Of course. And what's a movie?

Bathroom Monologue: "Rules? There are no rules!" -Opponent

“No, that makes no sense. If there are no rules, there is no match. You want to just fight until we get tired and go home? I’m not doing that. Do I pin your shoulders to a mat? Push you out of a ring? Race you to a finish line? No rules means I can’t be disqualified either. I could pull out a gun and blow your head off right now, and because there are no rules, I’d just win. Except I wouldn’t win, because there are no rules! I’d just sit here during our eternal match, next to my decomposing opponent.” -Hung Lo