Harvey Loveless Mysteries 3: Support

I have to think that every church has one of these: a grimy room specially made for support group meetings. The Sunday parishioners get gothic ceilings, stained glass windows, and paintings of naked people flying through the clouds. We get a water heater, metal chairs and a coffee pot from when the first Bush was in office.

Not that we needed the space. We had five this week, four participants plus Father Gregor. He sat directly across from me in our little circle. He was young for a priest, probably late 20's, but I respected him more than any priest I'd ever met. I don't know if he took this job voluntarily or if he ticked off a higher up, but he always acted like he genuinely wanted to be here. Support groups were never fun, but this one was exceedingly looked down upon.

I always thought it was funny, if someone voluntarily drinks and wants to stop then they're a hero. If someone is born to become a monster and don't want to they are still labeled with the monsters.

Father Gregor started out with the serenity prayer. Our group had just whole hardheadedly ripped off the Alcoholics Anonymous protocol, including the steps, though recovery had different meanings here. Some of us will never truly recover.

After a short silence Nick was the first to speak. He was a little shorter than me but outweighed me by at least 100 pounds. All of it was pure muscle though, which he tried to hide under baggy jeans and an oversized sweater. He kept his blond hair at a close military style length, and never used product in it. I always meant to ask him why he didn't attend the survivor meetings, since he wasn't like the rest of us, but it seemed like too personal of a subject to broach.

"A woman came up to me at the gym this week," he said, never looking up from his massive hands. "She said she'd seen me around before, and wanted to say hi. I tried to act cool but at one point she touched my bicep and I cringed away. I smiled and said I was sore. She seemed weirded out but was still friendly and kept talking. I think we had a real connection."

"That's great!" said Father Gregor, real enthusiasm shining through is green eyes. "I'm glad! That's such a good step forward. Remember that God did not make women to be our enemy."

I glanced at the woman sitting directly opposite from Nick, though she didn't seem to notice the comment. She was, as usual, staring at her gloved hands as though she was looking for the answer to all of life's mysteries in the silk.

"Thanks, Father" Nick said, turning a little red. It's unusual to hear a priest praise a young man for being touched by a young woman, but in this case it was a positive step. At 18 Nick was at a party where he got drunk and went to bed with a pretty girl. Halfway through the act she shucked her skin and revealed herself to be a massive insectoid creature, trying to get his DNA. By that point Nick was past the point of no return and she got what she came for. He'd been terrified of women ever since.

The woman in our circle, Alice, looked up and said she wanted to go next. Her eyes were abnormally large and seemed to portrude in an unusual Steve Buscemi if his mother was part iguana sort of way. Her mouth was a little too wide when she spoke, and her unusually pale skin was pock marked with scabs and scars, many of which were self inflicted.

"I haven't found new scales in over a week," she said enthusiastically. "The doctor says that my showers are fine and that it's sea water that's a problem. I can even do salt water since its something in the ocean itself that triggers... episodes..." She trailed off, her enthusiasm draining away like a balloon with a hole.

"Have you been to the beach this week?" asked Father Gregor, concern in his eyes.

"No, I haven't" she said quietly, returning her odd gaze to her hands. "I've been taking extra shifts so I'm too busy to go, but I've wanted to." She wore a red gingham waitress uniform complete with apron and name tag. Her "skin condition" was listed as a medical issue so her employers let her keep her gloves though it was a mystery to everyone how she kept them so clean.

"That's good! Remember about idle hands..." said the Father, smiling at her kindly. The mention of hands made hers twitch a little. I'd never seen her without the silk gloves, but from what I'd heard about the operations on her fingers she'd been through, I don't think I wanted to. About every six months they would have to go in and remove the excess skin growing between her fingers. She always seemed much happier after the operations, and I think her next one would be coming up soon.

Alice was a result of a similar DNA collection process Nick had gone through. A race of sea beasts had been breeding with the residents of a coastal town for centuries before the city was raided and its residents quarantined. Some of the lines had moved away from the town beforehand, and some of their children still showed signs of their heritage. The most extreme would grow gills, scales and webbed digits coupled with an extreme urge to return to the sea and join the bizarre underwater race.

Attention turned to the last member of our little meeting, besides yours truly. The man was in his mid fourties, though he looked far older than he did. He was wearing stained sweat pants and a thin blazer, and rocked a beard that would be the envy of any hipster. His eyes were always darting around the room, occasionally stopping on something in the middle distance only he could see, at which point he would close his eyes and count to ten before going back to his searching.

"I... I think... I slept last night... No dreams..." he said. His voice was shaky like he just emerged from a polar bear plunge.

"Nate that's great news!" said the Father in his usual upbeat tone. "Is the medication helping?"

"I... Think so...." he said before snapping his eyes shut and counting to ten quickly. Six years ago he was a stock trader who had made the wrong investments to the wrong people and had ended up owing more than he had. In a desperate move he'd turned to magic hoping to gain the ability to see a little into the future and know what stocks to trade when. The ritual had gone wrong somehow and the creature he had dealt with for power gave him the ability to instead see the unseen world, meaning that he now saw the plethora of spirits and demons that surrounded humans on a constant basis. He lived in the church now and worked as its janitor. Apparently his wife remarried recently in another city.

Nate never looked directly at me.

"And how are you, detective?" the Father asked turning to me, his wide grin as warm and friendly as it would be meeting at a summer barbecue.

I inhaled slowly. "I cast three spells last night."

"Oh Harvey, what happened?" Asked the priest, his concern genuine on his face.

I explained the circumstances of the previous night, with the cult and the woman on the table, leaving out Detective Holms' visit this morning.

"Harvey, do you know Luke 22:42?"

"I had no idea she was my sister and she kissed me anyway?"

The priest looked confused for a minute before breaking out in laughter. The rest of the group followed nervously.

"No no, it says "Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done."

I nodded my head in agreement although I had no idea what he was talking about. To be honest I'd never read the Bible cover to cover. Not for its length or even language, I was just a little weary of religious tomes. In my experience they usually lead to trouble.

"I think that while your condition is not ordained by God, it can be used for good. And if you use it for his will, to help those in need, you can sanctify it, make it into something good that he can use."

  

It wasn't really what I interpreted the passage to mean, but the rest of the group nodded in agreement so I did as well. The meeting wrapped up with a small discussion on the meaning and significance of step two, most of which was done by Father Gregor. We adjourned with another recitation of the serenity prayer and one of those freestyle prayers the priest liked to do. While everyone was standing up, stretching, shaking hands and meandering towards the coffee and doughnuts I casually said "Hay has anyone heard about a fake Necronomicon floating around?"

The room froze and all eyes fixed on me. I'm apparently not as great at acting casual as I thought I was.

Father Gregor spoke first. "Harvey, you remember the first rule: We are here to recover not gain more dark knowledge?"

"I know," I said feeling slightly sheepish. "It's for a case I'm working on. The thing's bogus anyway."

"I would still rather you didn't bring things like that up in meetings," he said, the concern in his voice turned down and the dad authority turned up.

  

The members resumed their activities and I headed for a doughnut. I knew better, I know I knew better, but it was worth a shot. As I decided between cream filled or chocolate covered Nick sidled up to me.

"I need your help," he whispered, trying to look like he was getting a doughnut but was instead shuffling them around the box.

"Well, the cream filled is out, but the chocolate is good" I said as I took a bite of my newly acquired doughnut."

"No, I mean, I need your help, with something else" he whispered nervously. Nate came up to pour a cup of coffee and Nick immediately walked away, tilting his head in a way that meant I was to follow him. I rolled my eyes and did so.

  

"Look, is there somewhere we can talk, in private?" he asked, still glancing at the others in the room.

"We are talking in private" I said while still chewing on my doughnut. The kid was young, probably early twenties, and I figured it was about time he learned how to ask for something directly.

"I mean, like your office? Can you meet me at your office in like, an hour?" He asked.

I rolled my eyes again and fished a card out of my coat pocket and put it in his beefy hands. "In one hour." I said and headed for the door.

~~~

The best part about my office was that there was a door in the back of it that, when cleverly opened with the cunning use of a doorknob, lead to my apartment. Waiting for Nick was far less of an inconvenience than I wanted him to believe, simply because people who knew me and what I did tended to think that I would do odd detective jobs for them for free. When he got here I was going to tell him that if it wasn't group related I'd be charging him for his time, though I can't imagine what it would be if it was. Did he want me to be his sponsor? In his case he wasn't really trying to recover from using magic, nor was he fighting off the urge to do solo reenactments of "The Little Mermaid" every night, he was just afraid of women. What would he want me to do, get him girls? Did he think I was a pimp?

It was nearly ten, near the time we were supposed to meet and I sat with my feet propped up on my desk and my laptop on my legs going over the case notes from the last few months. Seven cults. I hadn't really thought that much of it honestly. A busy season, yes, but I'd rather deal with kids in Halloween costumes than the real thing any day of the week.

A knock came at my door. I want to say that it sounded nervous, but that was probably just projection. Plus not many people knock on a detective's door at 10:00 at night and are excited. The two groups just don't seem to meet.

"Come in" I yelled, putting my computer down on my desk and adapting a more professional posture. I only had my desk light on, less for effect and more because I preferred not to waste electricity.

Nick stood in my doorway, his huge form taking up most of the space he occupied. He came in nervously and stood at the other end of my desk, his hands clasped tight in front of him.

"Have a seat," I said, "Take a load off."

As he sat down I heard my poor guest chair groan in protest once again. If I kept getting larger gentlemen in my office I'd have to upgrade sooner rather than later.

He kept staring down at his hands in the poor light. He'd yet to say a word. "Can I help you?"

"I... I...." he said "I think I have a problem."

  

"Yes," I said, starting to lose patience. "We've established this, hence why you're here."

"The black spot, how did you get it?"

I was taken aback by the question. The group knew I did magic but I had only told Father Gregor why and how.

"How do you know about...."

"I think I have one" he blurted out.

I was again taken aback. I swore I could feel the black tendrils on my chest twitch at that point, as impossible as it was.

"Um... Okay..." I said not sure what to say. It's not a feeling I have often and not one I'd like to have again.

"I noticed it a few weeks ago. I talked to Father Gregory and he said you had a similar problem. I wanted to bring it up but I didn't know how and then when you brought up the fake book..."

I perked up at that. "Wait, what? You know about the book?"

"Yeah," he said. "Someone in my dorm had a copy and I thought it might have some answers so I took it. And now I think I've been tainted".

"Okay" I said, putting my fingers on my head to preemptively nurse the headache I could feel coming on. "You can't get tainted from a fake Necronmoicon. It doesn't have any power. It's just-"

"But I was!" he yelled then collected himself. I was surprised, this was the most emotional I'd ever seen him get.

I had an idea. "Nick, why don't you show me the taint and I can tell you weather or not it is what you think it is."

Nick looked nervous. "Don't you need more lights?"

I shrugged and clapped my hands twice. The room lit up in an instant. He jumped and I had to stifle a laugh. When I'd first moved in here the voice had whispered that I could use my powers to turn on and off the light to the point where I thought that alone would drive me insane, so I installed a Clapper. Problem solved.

"Okay," said Nick as he stood up. I figured it had to be an errant mole or a rash, something stupid that I could tell him was fine and at worst send him to a dermatologist. At the very least I expected it on his arm or chest, so I was a bit surprised when he started undoing his belt and unzipping his pants.

"Woh Woh!" I said, throwing my hands up. "I said show me THE taint not YOUR taint."

He didn't stop as he pulled down his pants, revealing form fitting UnderArmour underwear. I wasn't sure when he dropped them what I was more surprised by: The fact that there was a man bare from the waist down standing in my office, or the fact that starting at his genitals and tendrilling across his hips and up near his naval was the same black coloring that I had coming from my chest.

"I um..." I said. "I'd like to see this fake Necronomicon and talk to the friend who had it. Also I'll take the case"

Harvey Loveless Mysteries 2: The Counterfeit Cult

My head pounded as I stared at the bottle of Asprin in my hand.

Do it. One more spell. 

I ignored the voice and swallowed the pills with the water on my desk. I'd cast three spells the previous night, three spells I probably shouldn't have cast. 

I put my hands on the back of my head and tried to massage the headache away. My entire body hurt, like I'd spent the entirety of the previous night at the gym, at least it felt how I assumed spending at an entire night at a gym would feel like. Admittedly, I'd never done it but it seemed right. 

Anyway, the human body is not built to channel the dark powers of the Eldrich through them, especially for what I did. Most practicing wizards and whatnot, without the aid of a Necronomicon or other dark entities fueling their magic, usually can only manifest things like curses and at best mild telekenesis on their own, at least to the mortal world. I had super heated a dagger and turned a solid to a liquid and back. That was some serious power. 

And now I was paying for it. 

One more spell. Just a quick one to make the pain go away. 

I jerked my head up and opened my laptop. The template for a police report I had started the previous night was there. A few more details and it would be ready to send in. I focused on getting the details of Mrs. Jensen's bonds right. Someone in the little group had known how to tie people down, and that was not good news. 

I think that's what pissed me off the most about the previous evening. It was the seventh "cult" I'd busted up in a month, but this one was the most threatening to a person's life. The worst the others had done was noise obstruction, scaring the neighbors and that one mutilated cat I'd had to deal with (That kid's going to jail). This is the first one that had tried a human sacrifice, and that had set me off. 

A knock came at my door. It was well past my time to open shop so I shouted "Come in" to the figure on the other side of the semi-transparent glass. Detective Holmes (Seriously that's his name) walked, or rather, waddled in and took a seat on the other side of my desk. 

Detective Holmes (Don't make jokes about it he hates that) looked a lot like how I would imagine Scruff the Crime Dog would look in human form, and if the owner fed him table scraps. He had massive jowls connected by a bushy blond mustache flaked with white. His hair, nearly gone, had been a striking blond when he had started. The man looked more like Wilford Brimley than he did Sherlock Holmes, or even a cop for that matter. The chair creaked as he adjusted himself to get comfortable and I half expected it to collapse beneath his weight. 

"Heard you had some fun last night," he said by way of greeting. 

"Yeah, fun. Just what I need at 9:00 at night, a scared husband ranting about how his wife has been abducted by a cult." 

"Yeah well thank God it wasn't a real one!" he said throwing a newspaper on my desk. 

My first thought was wondering why on earth Holmes bought a newspaper, then I saw the headline:

"CULT ACTIVITY ON THE RISE, POLICE BAFFLED" 

"Baffled? Is that still even a word?" I said sliding the paper back. 

"It is when your industry is dying, you want to sell headlines" he said back with a laugh in his throat. 

"Thing is though, we do have a puzzle with the new cults"

"Tom, these are hardly cults. They're mostly just kids trying to have some fun. I mean, yeah, we've seen a lot more lately and last nights got kinda intense but it's a phase"

"Got kinda intense? Harvey, they had to saw that kid out from the floor last night. What did that cost you?" 

I winced at that. The only reason the Department of Extra Dimensional Activities (DEDA) let me do what I do was under the condition that I kept my magic under control. Half the cops in the department wanted to disassociate with me, the other half wanted me locked up in Arkham. Tom Holmes was the only man to give me the time of day. 

"I'm fine" I lied, trying to sound nonchalant. 

One quick spell and he'll believe every word you say

"Harvey," Detective Holmes said as he pulled something from his coat. "Have you ever seen this?" 

On top of the paper he flopped a giant three ringed binder covered in hand drawn pentagrams in red ink. I must've really been out of it to not have noticed him carry this thing in. I stood up and flipped the binder open to read "The Necronomicon" typed out on the page. I flipped through the book finding pictures and diagrams all neatly compiled into the binder, like someone's elaborate homework assignment. 

"I... Tom, what is this?" I asked as I stopped on a page where a man with a goat's head was dancing in a circle with three women. 

"That's what we're hoping you can tell us" he answered. "Harv, do you think it's..." 

"No," I said firmly. "No it's not real. The spells, the images... No, this is not a real Necronomicon."

"We figured as much," Tom said, letting loose a breath he'd apparently been holding. "We cross referenced parts of it with the sanitized version we have, but I wanted you to look at it for sure." 

"Yeah, Tom. This isn't it." I said sitting back down. I'd only seen a real Necronomicon a handful of times, and only studied it once. The thought made me want to reach for my chest where the black tendrils sprung from. I sipped my water instead. "Where did you get this?" I asked. 

"In the floor kid's house" he said. "As soon as he was booked we went to his house on a standard sweep for any dangerous contraband and found this thing. His mom said she thought it was for one of his classes. If you look on the back page, you can see where each member of his little club signed it in what looks like blood." 

I didn't want to see it. Of course they had though, it was only the most cliche'd thing to do when in a satanic cult next to the pentagrams and someone calling themselves Lucifer. 

"Did he tell you what website he got it on?" I asked. For over 30 years knowledge of the Eldrich had been public knowledge, but with the advent of the internet misinformation had spread faster than mono in a freshman dorm. 

"That's the really weird part. Harvey look again at the front page," he said as he opened the book back up and pointed to the title. "See how the wording is kinda fuzzy? He photocopied this. He photocopied the whole damn book!" 

I raised an eyebrow. The binder held what had to be at least 300 pages. That would be a pain to photocopy. Plus why do that instead of just finding it online? 

"So you think this thing is getting passed around? Like a Playboy some kid finds in his dad's study?" I asked. 

"Apparently. We're going through the names of the other members of both his and the other cults we've messed with lately and see if any of them know about this book." 

"And the floor kid?" 

"He clammed up about it. Won't answer any questions about it, won't even look at it when we brought it in. Now mind you, he talked from the time we find him all the way till then, saying how lord this and lord that was going to curse us and how dare we get his mugshot and bla bla bla..." Tom made talking gestures with his hands. I chuckled at it. 

"I can ask around, see what I can dig up on this book." I said, looking at it again. "Don't know what I'll find, most of the people who are serious about this stuff don't need counterfeit books, and would for sure not use a photocopier to obtain said books" 

Tom picked up the binder and newspaper as he stood. I suspected my guest chair was breathing a sigh of relief to be freed from Tom's round shape. When I first met him, I had to suppress my impulse to make Sherlock Holmes jokes, but now I had to try not to look at him and say "I'm Wilford Brimley and I have diabetes". 

"Let me know what you find, Harvey" he said and extended his hand. I took it and we shook. I noticed as we did the tattoo on his wrist glowed faintly, informing him that he was touching a person with magic. Tom of course didn't need the reminder, but I still thought it was a neat little trick. 

As he walked out of the room I sat down again at my desk, my headache starting to dissipate and my limbs beginning to loosen up. The first rule of being a private detective was to ask a lot of questions and several immediately came to mind: Who would want to make a fake Necronomicon? Why would they pass it freely to college kids? What's to gain from it? 

Cast a spell to find out. Scry into the origins of the book.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Another side effect from using magic was the temptation to use it again, especially the type I could do. In general magic came in three forms: inherited, meaning that someone along your family tree had encountered an Eldrich creature or had got ahold of a real copy of the Necronomicon. Then there was learned, which meant YOU had a copy of the Necronomicon or one of the less powerful spell books that shifted around the black market and was teaching yourself magic. Then last but not least directly from the source itself. You'd made a bargain with something beyond time and space to get power and they had granted it to you, which was the boat I was currently in. Most people did magic immediately after they got it, very quickly either killing themselves or driving themselves mad. 

I was a.... special case... 

The fact was though, the temptation was strong today. Plus I had questions I needed to answer. 

Looks like tonight was a good time to hit up my support group. 

Harvey Loveless Mysteries 1: On the altar

The woman was still screaming when I burst through the door. Of course she was, what else could you do when tied to an altar and surrounded by fanatics in red robes, the leader of which was holding a knife above his head?

There were eight of them, all chanting and holding various Satanic looking objects, one had a skull, another a candle, a third a book with a pentagram drawn on it in white paint. The effect was pretty good if you didn't know that the skull was probably someone's Halloween decoration and the candle required batteries.

I walked in, leaving the door swinging behind me. It had been unlocked, but kicking it open was more dramatic and since that's what these idiots wanted I  figured I'd give it to them. The woman was still screaming despite the fact that the leader was now looking at me with a puzzled expression on his pimply face.

"Okay boys, the street lights are on so you have to go home" I said as I put my hands into my black trench coat. I really wasn't in the mood to deal with these guys tonight. When the captive woman's husband burst into my office a few hours before I told him that if it was a bunch of college frat boys playing cultists I'd charge him double. I'd been right of course, and the prick would pay, but that didn't mean I wasn't annoyed at missing The Tonight Show thanks to these wannabes.

"How dare you disrupt this unholy ritual heathen!" the leader said, still holding the knife.

"Heathen? Really?" I said cocking one eyebrow. "You're the ones who ruined perfectly good bathrobes and hoodies for your little outfits there."

"Seize him!" he commanded pointing to me.

I stood there trying to maintain a blank look on my face despite the urge to double over laughing. Seize him? God this guy has read too many comics.

As I expected, the followers looked at each other awkwardly wondering what to do. The woman kept screaming, oblivious to her absolute lack of danger. I really wished this wasn't the first idiot housewife looking for adventure I'd had to untie from one of these supposed "Death cults", but it was far from it and probably far from the last.

But whatever at least the commission would pay for my new tires.

"Okay, put down the dagger and untie Mrs. Jensen and you can all go home and get back to jerking off to American Horror Story." I said to the group.

"Our great work will not be undone!" the leader screamed again, as he raised the knife to stab into his victim.

"Shit" I said and pulled my hands from my pockets. I lifted a hand towards the leader as he plunged and shouted "Heat!"

The cheap dagger, probably bought at some strip mall for around $30 and never sharpened, heated up and fell to the floor as its owner screamed in pain. The rest of the assembly scrambled for the door, dropping books, skulls and candles on their way.

 I flicked the switch next to the wall better illuminating the room. The scene lost a lot of its atmosphere when the lights illuminated the dated food pyramid posters on the wall. Mrs. Jensen was tied to a large wooden table, the customary plastic chairs around it scooted away haphazardly throughout the home economics classroom. I frankly didn't want to know why the "cult" chose the high school home ec class for its ritual, though I'd guess it was to get back at some teacher who gave them an F on baking cookies.

"You son of a-" the leader sputtered

"Ah ah ah.... Not in front of the lady..." I said, staring at him across the room.

He wasn't that far away. If I put my foot on the door frame and stretched my fingers out I might be able to touch the end of the table, but my 6'6 height probably helped. This guy was short, 5'4 maybe and built like he spent too many nights in front of the TV when he should've been running.

Yeah yeah, glass houses, but I have an excuse.

Mrs. Jensen seemed to look confused at the addition of lights. She was in her late 40's, and from the looks of it was also not one to go on a late night jog. They had her in her bra and panties, neither of which matched, which confirmed my suspicion that she didn't come here looking to be tonight's sacrifice. I have to say I was impressed with the way she was tied. Both her hands and feet were tied together with a single rope that wrapped under the table, meaning that the more she wiggled one set of appendages the tighter the other set would be. What can I say, I appreciate good workmanship, even in late night ritualistic murder.

"He has come, your time is at hand" the idiot said while he cradled his burned hand.

This guy actually believed it. Shit. "Yeah, yeah." I said, approaching him and reaching for a set of handcuffs on my belt. "He came 30 years ago, so what else is new?"

"The time of reckoning will be at hand!" he said circling the table to get away from me.

"Oh come on buddy," I said, switching directions so he couldn't run out the door. "Just come quietly and your mom can bail you out in the morning!"

He changed directions again and we started into a stupid Marx Brother skit with the table between us. Mrs. Jensen kept craning her neck to see what was going on.

"You are gifted with his power, you know of his might!" he said as he feigned back and fourth trying to throw me off. All he was really doing was pissing me off though.

"Look kid, I'm not in the mood for this." I said standing straight up. The problem with these fake cultists was that they didn't know how real power worked. They played at calling on the power of the Eldrich without knowing what it actually means, or what it can do.

I'm always up for a quick lesson though

"Sink" I said pointing at the floor. The cultist immediately looked down as the area of floor directly around him turned into something sticky and viscus. He immediately began to sink down like quick sand. He tried grabbing for the edges but couldn't find any purchase on the solid linoleum.

"Solid" I said once he got to waist deep and the floor immediately solidified around him. He was now stuck in the floor with his gut hanging over the lip. I pulled the table away from him with Mrs. Jensen still attached to it, not an easy feat mind you, and strolled over to the flailing cult leader.

"Look buddy, you made this difficult. I don't care if you and your friends want to get together and chat Latin and pretend that you're calling on the big bads. I don't even care if you wanna strip down and tie each other up, do whatever weird kinky shit you're into. I do draw the line though at trying to sacrifice people for your stupid beliefs. And I especially don't like it when it requires me to drive a half hour to some podunk school in the boonies to bust it up."

The kid started crying and mumbling something in gibberish. I figured he couldn't be more than a college freshman, probably the first time he'd had the resources and freedom to do something like this, but I was also getting the feeling he actually believed in what he was doing.

I crouched down next to him and pulled up my shirt. I pointed to the black veins that spread from the middle of my chest and nearly reached my navel.

"You see this, kid? This is what real messing with this crap gets you. One day this is going to creep all over my body and then I join up with one of those assholes forever. You still think it's glamorous?"

The kid looked at my black lines with envy. "It is the beautiful gift of Cthluhu.:

I slapped the kid across the face."It's Azathoth, asshole. Get it right" and stood up turning to the victim. A couple quick swipes with my actual functional dagger and she was freed, just in time to see the cops swarm in. I raised my hand producing the badge I kept in my sleeve (Really why keep your badge in your pockets when the cops will just assume you're reaching for a gun?). It stated that I was a special liaison to the police force and that it was okay for me to be here. They gave Mrs. Jensen a blanket and escorted her out then puzzled as to how to get the little prick out of the floor as I headed back for my car.

A quick glance at my watch told me it was almost midnight. Not bad for a night's work, now to go back to the office, get my payment, pop some popcorn and see what's on TV.

The Anxiety Challenge

I'm going to get a little honest here so everyone hold your socks:

I have a problem with anxiety.

It's not the kind of anxiety that you get because there's a big test coming up, or the kind of anxiety from wondering for a minute if you forgot to lock your door.

It's illogical.

It's irrational

It's crippling.

It's bad enough I should probably be medicated.

But while I'm deciding weather or not to bring it up with a physician, I have found this neat little quote on one of my favorite websites: Pintrest

While I'm not really sure if my condition is psychological or physiological, I do know for sure that it's a problem. What I do know though is that I have a pretty awesome imagination, and that one of my favorite ways of expressing it is through blogging, weather it be here or over at Mormon Geeks. So here's my challenge to myself: While my anxiety keeps riding high this week I'm going to blog. I'll either be here or at MG, but either way I'm going to talk. I'm going to be creative.
Let's see if it helps.
-JOE

The RM

A friend of mine's kid came home from his mission recently, and I had the opportunity to spend an afternoon with him while we painted his dad's kitchen. It occurred to me, as he insisted on listening to MoTab and praying over the $.99 Wendy's burgers, that I could never go back to being a missionary.

Let me back up: I came home after 10 months serving in the Oklahoma Tulsa Mission for health reasons, meaning I suffered a nervous breakdown. I came home and had to go into therapy for the things I ha
d experienced. Despite that, the window was always open to return and finish serving my mission. It's weird that it didn't occur to me until about six years and a marriage later that the window could ever be closed, and due to the residual effects my breakdown has had on my psyche even to this day I've never been tempted to go back, but now that the window is officially closed to serve as an Elder with a little name badge in a crummy apartment with another Elder, it makes me wonder what might've been. It also makes me question my motives into why I went in the first place, as well as why I left.

I don't regret serving. Not in the slightest. I met some dear friends there, including my adopted grandmother Sam, and my once roommate now dear friend and fellow Game of Thrones enthusiast Nate, and I can't not mention my buddies who I rarely see Elder Abraham and Elder Bracken. My first question is who else would I have met? Would I have found other families in need of a geeky Mormon kid to show up? Maybe I would've met some companion and formed some sort of eternal bond of brotherly love Scrubs style. Of course there's a flip side to the coin. I may've met more companions with whom I would want to wring their scrawny necks, or more families that made me want to run to the nearest clinic to get tested because I was foolish enough to sit on their couch. So I guess that's just a moot point.

I guess the biggest question I can ask is: Who would I have become? After I got home from my mission I met several people who have made some major impacts to my life, and taken other relationships to whole new levels of intimacy, including with my wife Katie. From going to college after my mission I met Neil and Tyler, who helped make my wedding actually work, and help me to this day with the trials in my life. Would I have them if I had stayed or gone back? Would they have become friends with that Joe? In the here and now I can't imagine my life without them, or without Spencer, or TJ, or Stephen, or Stu, or Bryan. or Sholom or a hundred other people I consider dear to me.

With that I have to wonder about the reason why I came home: My then deteriorating mental state. I had the option of staying but decided to go home and get treatment there, but if I had stayed, would I have been able to recover or would it have become worse? It's taken years to reach the level of stability I'm at now, which some days admittedly isn't much. I wonder if the stress of still being there would've been too much, and how far things would have progressed. Did I save my own life or did I ruin it?

Unfortunately without a Flux Capacitor, or as my more up-to-date friends would say, a TARDIS, these questions will never be answered until the next life when all truth will be freed. Despite it's flaws I love my life now. My wife and I are very happy to come to our oddly shaped home to the smell of the Crock Pot making Swedish Meatballs, sitting in our spots and watching Criminal Minds. I'm just curious what could've happened.

-JOE

ADHD and No Laptop Makes Joe something something...

Two weeks into my latest semester at the U and I seem to be running into a bit of a problem: Only two of my classes are actually in classrooms and neither of them will let me use my computer.

I know this is petty but let me explain:

I suffer from a condition called ADHD-Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder. It's basically ADD on steroids. Short of it is that it's hard for me to pay attention to one thing at a time for a long period of time. It drove me nuts when I worked at Toys R Us and nobody was in the store. I would pace the aisles until I wore down the linoleum.

It's only a total of 7 hours a week, but that can be a lot to ask sometimes. My Media Effects class especially. Three hours completely unplugged has me crawling up the walls. I don't even go that long at church!

Is this a sign of the times? I was diagnosed when

This was last week's attempt to stave off boredom...

I was pretty young but back then I didn't have the wonders of the internet to keep my focus prisimed like I do now. I have to wonder: Does my constant connection to the internet help my condition or does it make it worse?

A few weeks ago I spent a week camping out of state. For most of it my cell service was spotty at best and what I could get I used to text my wife, but honestly I didn't miss it at all. I spent the entire time surrounded by my buddies laughing, talking and enjoying each other's company.

The classes of course are different. The classes are interesting enough, but just sitting still and listening to the lecture is a lot less entertaining than playing in the woods. I know people have told me to just pay really close attention but that doesn't work for me. I live in a world where if I get too bored I start losing focus in everything, and regaining focus becomes almost impossible.

I know it's popular to say that we need to eliminate distractions from the classroom, but for me it's a necessary tool to function. As much as I love complaining about my problems on the internet, I have too much pride to talk to the teachers about this particular need. It's hard for me to go to a professor and say "Hay, you're class isn't stimulating enough so I need permission to cruse Facebook while you're talking so I don't zone out and fall asleep. Is that cool?"

Nobody would buy it.

I write this not just to vent but to draw attention to a problem that doesn't get a lot of attention, or if it does negatively. I have ADHD, a condition which makes it hard for me to focus. This has made working a job an agonizing process and classes without my computer brutal that borderlines on impossible. This isn't a pity party for me, just a part of my story I wanted to tell.

-JOE

The Naked Truth

You wanna know a secret?

Come here get close.

I like getting naked.

TMI? Well how about this-

I like getting naked with my buddies.

And no, it's not gay.

It started a few years ago when I found myself with a Gold's Gym membership and no idea how to exercise in the gym. My friend, who for confidentiality sake we'll call Michelangelo, also had a membership so off we went. The first time was beyond awkward, especially after years of high school locker rooms where the other boys never got past their underwear. Luckily Michelangelo didn't have my same high school experience, he being a practiced runner, so off came our shorts.

Piece I did in my art class a few years ago

The first time was awkward. I'd never been that comfortable with my body, believing that I'm built like Gollum from that old Hobbit cartoon. But standing there in that smelly locker room (bleach and sweat, yay?) I felt something. I felt seen but not judged, and I felt like I was seeing a part of Michelangelo I had never seen before (not just THAT), he was being physically vulnerable with me, and I with him. This experience increased our relationship exponentially, creating a new level of emotional intimacy.

I've since had several opportunities to take my clothes off with other guy friends, many of which were set up by me. Each time I feel the facade I set up every day, the "me" I try to project to the world falls away and my authentic self can show through, and I find that I can authentically be with the people around me.

Naked time hasn't just been confined to moments in the locker room. After taking an intriguing life drawing class my artist friend, whom I shall call Scooby, and I will hold drawing sessions with our friends in which our subjects will disrobe for the sake of art. This allowed me to reach a different level of connection since now I had to actively STARE at my friend's naked body while I try to draw it. The first time I did this with friends was with Michelangelo again, then later Scooby and I arranged one. I found myself enthralled with the human body, it's subtle shapes and lines, how light plays off of human skin...

Sorry that was getting a bit artsy. Back to the matter at hand...

My overall point is that hanging out naked with my buddies is fantastic. I create a safe place of authenticity where I can be myself in every sense of the word, and they can be themselves in turn. It's fun, it's manly, and an overall good time and I would recommend it to anyone who can set up the same.

-JOE

When friends move away

I was spending time with a friend this week (For confidentiality purposes we'll call him Philbert), when he told me about a friend he made at church a few months ago. The man started out attending Philbert's Sunday school class, and moved into bike rides and family get togethers, and  bromance flourished. A couple weeks ago though, Philbert's friend had to move away. He was still in the state but over two hours away, and for a husband and father their friendship sadly had to end. Last week Philbert's friend send him a letter telling hom how much he appreciated the time they had spent together. I read the letter and was touched both by the kindness of the letter and the sadness Philbert had over losing his friend.

After hearing Philbert's story, I couldn't help but think: When I was a child nothing ended a friendship faster than if someone had to move away. I always thought that when I became an adult this would change, but in honesty it still happens.

So in an age where communication can be instantaneous across the world, why is moving still the death of friendship?

While I was getting ready to be married, my friend (For confidentiality purposes we'll call him Megatron) fell in love and got engaged. His fiance had just taken a job in California so Megatron would have to move out there once they were married, but since we live in the digital age and I often frequent Disneyland I figured it wouldn't be that big of a problem.

I was wrong.

Let me back up: Megatron and I met through mutual friends a few years ago. Megatron is the type of guy I've always admired. He's been all around the world, conquering mountains and rivers and exotic places I've always dreamed about. The first time I hitched a ride home with him he found out he was going down the Grand Canyon for the second time. He squeed like a newbie at Comic Con.

Right then and there I bro-fell in love with him.

We spent time together, seeing movies, camping, game nights and getting late night IHOP to discuss life's greatest mysteries. We were close friends and only lived about ten minutes from each other. Life was great.

I remember the night he told me he was going to purpose to the girl in California. I've rarely been so conflicted, as I was both overjoyed that my dear friend had found someone to love forever as I had, but a deep sense of sadness knowing that our friendship would have to change.

Looking back on it now, I know I started to distance myself from Megatron before he moved. Weather it was because I was weeks from my wedding or because I knew he would be going, I'm not sure, but the night we had a going away party for him I couldn't help but cry.

I would miss my friend.

He attended my wedding, and I attended his, but beyond that we haven't talked much. I have his phone number, his Facebook info, email, and we're friends on Steam. I bet with some asking I could get his Skype, Twitter and home address. So why have we only talked once?

I remember this article I read about the different types of friends men have. They're was the "activity" friend, where they share in an activity or hobby together but nothing else, the "convenience" friend, who are friends because they show up at the same place at the same time, like neighbors or coworkers. None of these really fit what Philbert and his friend had or what Megatron and I had, which I would consider bromances, but if they weren't superficial why were they so easy to end?

I think for me the wonders of the digital age just can't replace being in the same physical place at the same time. An IM chat just can't be as deep as looking into a friend's eyes over a meal, and even Skype can only somewhat artificially create it as you're not really looking into someone's eyes, you're looking into a camera.

No matter how advanced it is, it just can't be the same.

In the end, I'm still friends with Megatron as Philbert is still friends with his buddy, but it just isn't the same and I think that's what we want. Men have some sort of social block when it comes to friendship, weather it's part of our culture or just how men are built, either way our close friends are not made easily and they're not made often. So when we have to say goodbye it hurts us.

It hurts just as bad as a nine year old watching their best friend's moving truck pull away.

-JOE

The Great Facebook Outage

Friday I spotted an odd news report as I scrolled through my Facebook: Apparently Facebook had been out for about half an hour (I was busy working and watching Dirty Dancing with Patrick Swayze and didn't notice) and people had called 911 to report it.

I was stunned.

Admittedly I'm a Facebook addict. I love the stupid thing and even wrote a post on my other blog just a couple weeks ago about how it could be used in the future for genealogy as a source of life experiences, but like I said I hadn't even noticed the supposed outage. The thought that someone would be so distraught that they would call 911 over something so pithy was incredible to me, and I had to get to the bottom of it.

And by that I mean, I had to find someone who had called 911 and watch the monkey show play out on the internet for my amusement.

I'm a simple man...

I hunted all day, through news outlets and media sites for someone who was hearing the story and was defending their actions. Surely if someone was bold (or stupid) enough to call 911 over Facebook they would've posted something about how it's "the only way they have to share their cat" or "the only thing that keeps them connected to their high school crush 20 years later", but what I found was even more surprising:

Nothing.

Not one 911 call of someone trying to get help with Facebook.

Not one post of someone saying how horrible it was.

I started looking at the story from a different angle at this point. All I had really seen reported was a tweet sent out of a California police station from an Officer Brink, telling people to stop calling 911 about Facebook being down, and the rest was just people making fun of people for calling 911. So here's my thought: What if it didn't happen?

Yeah, Facebook went down, but what if instead of droves of people calling 911 complaining it was only like one or two, and maybe it was something quasi-legitimate. I have no idea what that would be, but a benefit of the doubt for a second that someone of reasonable intelligence called 911 and it was related to Facebook being down, and this officer got annoyed and posted a tweet, which then spiraled out of control.

A lot of people asked in their reaction to the story what this meant for society, and my question is, what does this story spiraling out of control and everyone, including yours truly, jumping on the bandwagon to call these people idiots mean for society? Has this digital age turned us all into wolves, eagerly waiting for any sign of weakness to exploit? Are we all just waiting with our JPEGs of Captain Picard and Riker facepalming themselves, watching for the perfect time to post them on a story of someone making a mistake for a laugh?

I'll admit, if by the time this post comes out they release 911 tapes or tweets or posts from people saying how panicked they were over Facebook going down, I'll probably grab a bowl of popcorn and watch the show, but what does this mean about us? Is our believed intellectual superiority really grounds to belittle others?

I don't know the answer to these questions, but it did give me something to think about.
-JOE

Licences, tickets ans fireworks

This has been one of the most interesting weeks I've had since long before my wedding.

It started out on Tuesday when I got something I haven't had since I was 15: A learner's permit. When I was a young Joey I ended up not getting my license due to some financial difficulties, and for the last 13 years have been bumming rides and riding busses all over the world. It has it's ups and downs. I've become a connoisseur of passenger seats and I can copilot the Enterprise at this point. But at the request of my beloved wife I spent several hours over two days waiting in lines at the DMV before finally passing the written exam and getting my learner's permit.



Before you make the joke everyone's already been warned to stay off the road, or the sidewalk, or out of the sky or wherever the car may end up. Of course it becomes less funny when I say that the first time I drove in years I accidentally put my bosses front headlight into some guy's trailer hitch. Besides some plastic and a very sorry personal assistant, no harm was done. The headlight even still works. But I've decided it's a good thing to get out of your system, like the chicken pox or getting arrested for streaking.

It happens to everyone.

Wednesday morning I received an email from the Salt Lake Comic Con press desk telling me that my other blog Mormon Geeks has been approved for press passes. I had to call my buddy and co-writer Stephen and screamed for five minutes straight on the phone. My little blog got to be press at Fantasy Con earlier this month and that gave both the blog and my writers and I a boost. Writing about arts and entertainment is my dream job. Fantasy Con was me feeling in my power and fabulous, and the chance to do it all again gets my tiny shriveled heart pumping.

Wrapping up my week was a party I held for my friends and family celebrating Pioneer day. Last year Katie and I had pooled our money plus anyone who was around's money into getting fireworks to light off, unfortunately we did this the day of and only ended up with $30. Throwing matches into the street would've been a better show than what we had, so this year I decided to do it right. We started asking for donations about a month ahead and ended up with over $100. I took the money to Black Cat fireworks, the best fireworks in the state, and went all out on a show worthy of Brigham Young.

We ended up with something new this year: Aerial fireworks. They've only been legal in Utah for a few years, and for good reason. The state in the summer is a tinderbox of weeds and dried plant life. We figured a bucket of water and a handy hose ought to be enough to protect us.

We were almost wrong.

The show was going well, everyone was entertained and fed, and then we let off one of the big ones. The box was huge, not the biggest we had but a bit smaller. I did what anyone with a healthy survival instinct would do: Lit the fuse and ran. The firework went off beautifully at first, going into the sky in a fantastic display of color, then the box tipped over and shot directly into the yard across the street. We had just enough time to gasp before another shot came straight at us. After shooting the neighbor the thing must've been flipped over towards us, and then the screaming began. Sparks were everywhere as everyone looked for cover. When the smoke cleared nobody was hurt and no damage, but we moved the rest of the fireworks away from the sidewalk.

So overall this week I've had a monumental career opportunity, ran into a parked car, and nearly lit my friends and loved ones on fire.

Productive overall.

-JOE

My top ten most embarrassing interests

     Everyone has them. Those movies, TV shows, and just... Things... They like that admitting in public will cause extreme amounts of blushing, or explaining, or just saying "Shut up" a lot.

So this is my list. They are ranked in how embarrassed I am to say that I like these properties.

     

Go ahead and make fun of me in the comments.

       

10. COPS

   Bad boys bad boys... Growing up every Saturday night the TV would be on Fox to watch this proto-reality series. When I visit my mom's and get control of the cable I immediately go to one of those super white trash channels that usually has a marathon of this show running and I will literally sit for hours watching people get arrested for doing stupid stuff and still want more. The reason it's on this list is because I hate admitting to liking anything white trash, the reason it's so low is because it's easy to justify why it's fun.

     

Don't taze me man!

   

9. Moulon Rogue

  I know a lot of people like this movie, but most of the people I know who like this movie are women so it's kind of weird as a man to admit to liking it, but the bombastic colors, the hooker with a heart of gold cheesy love plot, and especially the music makes this one of my favorite films to watch or listen to. In fact a friend of mine moved over the weekend and "Lady Marmalade" and "Tango Des Los Roxanne" was playing in my ear as I wrestled boxes into a car.

   

8. Anita Blake Vampire Hunter series

My mom got me into this one. I just want to say in my hipstery voice that I was way into vampire/werewolf/human love triangles WAY before Twilight, and this book series to me does it right. How? Because the main character Anita actually has a personality! Imagine that! And her love interests are not "Hunky boy #1" or "Hunky boy #2", she has a reason to be in conflict. If you like pulpy adventures with an expertly written female protagonist check out this series, then come back and explain to me why this thing doesn't have a TV series.

  

7. Animal Crossing: New Leaf

For those who don't know, Animal Crossing: New Leaf is a game that came out for Nintendo's 3DS last year to rave reviews from children and teenage girls alike, and while I was suspicious when I first bought it I have now logged in almost as many hours as I have on my Skyrim game. This thing is digital crack. All it is though is that you are the mayor of a small town of animal people and you run around catching up on gossip, fishing, fossil hunting, and building your little house. It is the cutesiest game I own and so help me I know I lose man points for playing it... but I can't wait to play again tomorrow when I can turn my little basement into a sauna with fireplace.

  

6. Kid Histories/Kid Snippets

 These Utah based guys have made a bundle telling their kids stories from their lives, then asking the kids to repeat the stories, then acting out the versions of the stories the kids tell, complete with random ramblings and incorrect facts. It is so highly entertaining and funny though that it's a wonder nobody has yet to copy these guys. I spotted one of the guys at Fantasy Con and almost went to say hi but was embarrassed to admit that I have spent hours listening to his kids tell stories.

5. Sex and the City

Whatever man points I had left just slipped right out of my account, but I don't care. I actually own three seasons and one movie of this franchise. I have agonized as Carey, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte have fallen in and out of love. I have seen nearly every episode, I know all the stupid romances, and I just love that Carey and I are both writers (Although every internet quiz I take tells me I'm Samantha. Go figure). I even to this day, much to my wife's annoyance, yelled at the screen because I still think Carey should go with Aiden and not that giant loser Mr. Big. UGGGH!

   

4. Muppets

I know what you're going to say: "Who doesn't love the Muppets?"

No, you don't understand.

I  have like a dozen Muppet songs floating around my iPod with my Moulin Rogue stuff and Sex and the City songs. Muppet's Christmas Carol is my favorite Christmas movie. Used to be at the drop of a hat I could sing the entire, ENTIRE, soundtrack to Muppets Take Manhattan. Disneyland has a Muppet Theater that we had to go to three times, because it had real Muppets. Somewhere in my junk I own a Tin Weirdo, which is a Gonzo version of the Tin Man from Muppet's Wizard of Oz.

It's a little sick.

   

   3. Showgirls

Note: I could not find an appropriate picture for Showgirls so

for your viewing pleasure here is a cute cow.

 I love this movie, but not for why you think. For the uninitiated, Showgirls is one of the biggest financial flops of all time. Starring Jessie from Saved By the Bell as she struggles up the seedy and wicked Las Vegas exploitative adult entertainment industry, from stripper to topless performer to better paid topless performer to star. The film is NC17 for some extremely racy nude scenes, but that's not why I like it. I like it because the film is so beyond stupid as a student of film it's just entertaining to watch something fail so hard. It spins all the way back to why I like watching people get taken down on COPS. Even the NC17 parts are done so badly that they don't come off as sexy but as one woman, no, one film's desperate struggle for attention and love. The film is literally throwing naked women at the audience in an effort to be likable and is failing so hard it comes back around and somehow becomes likable again. The embarrassment comes from knowing full well that I shouldn't watch this, for not only the sake of taste but for the sake of just being LDS, but holy Hera is it entertaining!

 

2. IM5 and other boy bands

Why on Earth are we seeing a resurgance of boy bands? That's like seeing a resurgence of traveling minstrels, though with what the internet has given us with regards to social commentary and music... But I digress. Even at their peak they're were one or two songs I liked from boy bands. I'm still fond of "Backstreet's Back" by you know who, and the LDS Sons of Provo back in the day had a few good ones, but hearing some of the newest stuff, mainly from working at Toys R Us, I have to say that some of these guys aren't half bad. "Best Song Ever" is fun and light hearted without being too cheesy, but the top of my list is this band that's starting to pick up some momentum called IM5. Honestly the stuff they themselves make is hit-or-miss for me, but it's when they work with Tordick Hall on his website that I get excited. These boys will occasionally drop the thug life stuff and call themselves the Disney Dudez and do cover/remixes of Disney songs. These boys are not afraid to look like fools for the sake of having fun, including dressing up not only as Disney princes, but as their corresponding princesses. You have to check them out.

   

Before I get to #1 a couple honorable mentions:

   

Rocky Horror Picture Show: Come on, it's Rocky, what can I say?

Zero Punctuation: A foul mouthed British/Austrailian video game critic who makes weekly cartoons insulting everyone on Earth? I'm in. Favorite quote: "It's like watching someone beat their hands against a wall then run to the hospital to get bandaged up before doing it some more. And they used my medical insurance. and it's my wall!"

   

  The Sims: I have played and owned nearly every incarnation of the Sims at one time. Not Sim City. Not sim games. The Sims. The game where you manipulate people's lives like some sick being with a God complex. I love love LOVE this game, and probably always will.

 

1: Monster High

 In my Mormon Geek's blog I posted a video showing support to a kid who was teased for being a Brony by showing off my doll collection.

My Monster High doll collection.

My Monster High doll collection that features over two dozen dolls.

Due to lack of space and the fact that they scare my wife, my Monster High dolls

   are sadly in a box in my closet, sleeping. Now for the record, the only things I follow are the dolls and the web series, I'm not into the movies or any weird little girl dress up thing. I think the series plays out like a modern Bugs Bunny with gags for kids but plenty of subtle tributes for adults, and I think the overall design of the characters and dolls is interesting, and since they're based on Universal Monsters (Unofficially) and I'm a huge Universal Monsters fan (Officially), it was a natural fit to get into these. The reason that despite making a web videoshowing off my dolls I"m still embarrassed is because unlike Bronies they're isn't a strong male demographic into Monster High, at least none that I've found at time of writing, so it's still a huge taboo, especially since these things are based mostly on the fashions of teenage monster girls.

Do you share any of my guilty pleasures? Wanna make fun of me? You know what to do...

-JOE