Kyle Archive at THE UNLIMITED FREEDOM CASTLE

Author Archive for Kyle

To The Guy Who Low-Fived Me Today While I Was Running

Published

Kyle

on November 13, 2009

in Uncategorized

. 1 Comment

I know it might have seemed cool at the time, but I just…look…I don’t…

Okay. I’m just going to say it.

I didn’t really want to low-five you.

You know what? I’m not even sorry. I was just too rattled to not slap your hand. I feel violated, really.

I saw you coming towards me, looking super pumped to be running, wearing your muscle shirt, sunglasses and spandex shorts, and I was just going to nod my head at you. Just a good old head nod acknowledging the fact that we were both human beings running for exercise. I thought that was enough. Oh, how wrong I was. Just as I was gearing up for the head nod you come out of nowhere, lower your left hand, and put on your best “LET’S DO THIS!” face.

I freaked out. In the split second between me recognizing that you were going for the low-five and me putting my hand down to consensually hit yours I thought, “There’s no way you can’t high five this guy. He looks so pumped. It will be awkward if you don’t do it. He might stop and say something like, ‘Why didn’t you low-five me, bro?’ Um…uhhh…DO IT NOW, KYLE! THERE’S NOT MUCH TIME LEFT!”

And in that instance I was able to identify with rape victims everywhere. I even heard you whisper AWESOME as it happened. It gives me shivers just thinking about it. Shame on you. You knew that societal rules made it impossible for me not to smack hands with you; it would have been rude. Especially since we were both running for exercise.

So, Guy Who Low-Fived Me While I Was Running, I may have said “yes” by submitting to your extended, open hand, but I am telling you right now that the feeling of elation you felt as our palms met was not, by any stretch of the word, mutual.

Stumble It!

GOLD: The Series, a recommendation.

Published

Kyle

on January 26, 2009

in Uncategorized

. 1 Comment

If there’s one thing that us starving artists must do it is stick together. With that said, The Unlimited Freedom Castle would like to introduce you to GOLD, a comedic webseries.

The show is the brainchild of creator, David Nett, and has been put together with a wonderful, completely volunteer cast and crew. It’s a comedy series about Professional Role Playing Gamers. If you’re not sure what Role Playing Games are think of Dungeons and Dragons. Now pretend there is a World Championship for Dungeons and Dragons. THAT is what GOLD brings you, and it’s hilarious. 1 part sports-movie spoof, 1 part fantastic/real writing and acting, and 100 parts passion is what you get from GOLD. If that doesn’t sell you, then just know that TUFC highly recommends it. We would never lead you astray.

Start watching the Prologue and get caught up through Episode 2!

www.goldtheseries.com

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Kyle’s Favorite Post of 2008

Published

Kyle

on January 26, 2009

in reflection

. 0 Comments

It is insanely hard to pick my favorite post of 2008. Part of me wants to pick every Crooked Creek, because I think Kent takes his art to another level for that story. He practically reads parts of my mind I didn’t even know I had. I’ve loved every moment of writing it as well, but it’s almost become a separate entity to me. The more spontaneous, random posts are what The Unlimited Freedom Castle is all about! That’s why I have to say that my favorite post of the year is “The Muppets go to Prison!”

The illustration doesn’t really make any sense, but that what makes it so inspired. Why is a bad ass knight bounding over rooftops running from a Godzilla-ish Fozzy Bear? Does it matter? NO! I know, because we talked about it, that the image just appeared in Kent’s head and he knew it had to be drawn. It’s times like that when I’m jealous that he can just put on paper whatever is in that crazy thing he calls a brain.

When I first saw it I had no idea what to do. That’s nothing new for me, but I felt like I had to do this piece justice. I sat staring at my computer screen, like so many other times, and then it hit me: Fozzy as a disgusting felon is something I want to see. I’ve only written a few things on the site in screenplay format (the alignment is off, but that’s what I was going for) but when I saw it in my head it had to be cinematic. Everything after the first scene came pretty fluidly, but I had to do a little research to remember Fozzy as the lame jokester that he is. In the end I feel like the piece was a fully realized sequence from an unearthed noir Muppets screenplay. Hopefully it lived up to its inspiring illustration…

- Kyle

Fozzy

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The Bicycle Fiend

Published

Kyle

on December 16, 2008

in Comedy and Short Story

. 4 Comments

Well, dear Unlimited Freedom Castle readers, once again we are working at half strength. Kent is in Orlando (Florida) until Thursday, so I’m going to give you a solo piece. The holiday season is here, and I shall not leave the castle undecorated. This one is called “The Bicycle Fiend”, and it is based on true events. I hope you enjoy it.

Love,
Kyle
——

I can’t go outside. I can’t go outside because there is a teenaged Russian boy riding his bike in the streets. He is pedaling up and down the street, pausing at passersby and striking up unwanted conversation every time I come home to visit my parents. It’s enough to make you want to scream! Or hide. I do both.

My stomach tightens into a crushed plastic bag when I see him, and most times even when I think about seeing him. I pace behind my front door, wondering if he is going to yell, “Yo!” at me this time, and thinking that maybe I should wear oversized headphones or fake a phone call. When I open the garage he is circling where the manhole cover would be. I stand there for a second, like an old west gunslinger, but I can’t do anything. I press the button to close the door, and watch the spokes of his wheels spinning victoriously. Yes, I am a coward. I can only assume he is taking a swig of vodka as I try to find another way to get to my car without making eye contact. I feel like I’m under house arrest.

Should I hop the back fence and run through my neighbors’ field? Maybe I can time how long it takes for him to make a lap and scoot out the front door? Or I could just go out there like normal and hope he doesn’t see me? No, too risky. They’re all too risky.

It snowed yesterday, which rarely happens in Gresham, but nothing stops him. I thought for sure he would take a day off, but when I spied out my window, careful to keep hidden, I saw him. There he was, emotionless, skidding over the icy pavement in an endless circle around our street. He continued to ride that bike all damn day, but when he did take the occasional break, well, you should have seen him. Really, it was just how I expected. Like a loathsome cinematic villain, he was posted up in his own driveway, leaning against the garage door and smoking. Smoking. Christ, how Russian of him. It’s the cold war all over again in my front yard.

I decided to go to the store today, and there he was again. It was 10 o’clock in the morning, and he was coming up 27th street, churning those wheel, and wearing his fluorescent purple, pink and white jacket. I wonder if he sleeps? I thought teenage boys, especially on snow days, slept in until at least 11:00. I would have been inside watching Sportscenter if I was 16. Actually, I would have done that today, too, if I hadn’t already watched it last night. Twice.

So, the garage door opens and there he is. I probably don’t need to keep repeating that, but I think it’s important to get you as close to what it feels like. When I press the button for the garage the world goes to slow motion. The door rises toward the ceiling, inch by inch, and the snow-whitened street begins to show. Absent any two-wheeled transportation devices, it keeps rising and I see the trees and a metal street sign, the house across the street, and it looks like the coast is clear. I might be able to make a run for it, and then I see him, in the distance, riding towards me as if signaled by the same frequency that the garage door answers to. He even speeds up! I almost make it, but I’m cornered.

Oh god, what does he want this time? It’s always something different, something that only an adopted Russian child would ask for. The questions are endless, and I, for the life of me, cannot look this kid in the eye. I feel like a terrible person. The guilt is almost as bad as the fear, but I simply can’t bring myself to giving him more than curt answers with a hint of gruff. His blink and stutter are too much to bear.

“Do you have a DVD player I can have?” He sure is forward.

“No, I don’t. I don’t even really live here”.

“What about that one?” he says, pointing to the out-of-commission 5-disc Panasonic player that is sitting on the weight bench which was used for a brief period in, I think, 1999 and then resigned to the garage for use as a poor man’s shelf (which, if it were actually a shelf would have been an expensive unit, so that doesn’t quite make sense).

He’s got me there. I cannot deny that there is one sitting there. “It’s broken,” I tell him. I’m pretty sure it is; that’s not a lie.

“I can fix it”. Dear God! This kid is relentless. I suspect that he does not understand the intricate subtleties of my speech, which I had hoped would give him the message, “I am not giving you a DVD player, even if no one in my family is using it, the thing is still ours. They might share in commie country, but my family worked hard for our broken DVD player AND the other three we have inside!”

He’s hovering, feet on the ground, pedal rotating a bit, midway up our slanted driveway. I can’t give him the upper hand. Regaining my composure, I reply, “Look, it’s not even mine, it’s my parents’. I can’t just give their stuff away”.

That will get him to leave, right? That’s logical, isn’t it? I can’t just give away things that I don’t own. I would be an accomplice to stealing, I think. Does this kid want to make me a felon? I’ve had enough.

“Well, can you ask them when they get home?” he suggests, coming even further up our driveway, deadly close to being inside my circle of comfort. My insides squirm about at the notion; my father openly despises the child. The night before my girlfriend flew to California we were all in the kitchen, discussing the bicycle fiend, and he says, “I just ignore him. I just pretend he isn’t there”. HA! There is no way in hell my father will ever give anything to this kid.

I am not my father, so I reply, “Sure, I will ask them,” even though that is a lie. It doesn’t matter, I have yet to actually look at the Russian; it’s a lot easier to lie without eye contact.

“Please, ask them. Will you ask them?” He is incredulous. There is a even tinge of emotion in his voice, and I have to say he is good at faking it. He won’t fool me, though. I nod slightly (the perfect vague answer!) and get inside my car, making sure to lock the doors. Sanctuary. I see him in the rear view mirror, riding down the driveway in defeat…but wait. One of my neighbors is at her mailbox and I can see his trajectory leading her way. Stay strong, my fellow American! The cycle begins again…

Stumble It!

Back…Back Again.

Published

Kyle

on September 19, 2008

in misc

. 0 Comments

Well, folks, I’m back. It has surely been awhile since I’ve crept onto our site here, but it feels good to be back.

I recently made a move from Southern California to Eugene, Oregon; many reasons involved, but I’ll just say that I’m happy. It turned out to be an epic sort of adventure, but after an all-over-the-place period I’m settled in to a cozy home. With a new computer, and ready typing-fingers, it should be an exciting next few months for The Unlimited Freedom Castle.

Kent and I are toying around with different ideas for the website, including a new layout, and ways to interact with you, the audience. I know we both love using this site as a creative outlet, and with that said, we plan on keeping the content flowing often. The last few months have been crazy, but we’re about to get back on track. Mark my words.

Thanks for visiting, and stop by again soon!

- Kyle

CROOKED CREEK VOL. 5 IS UP NEXT!

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Charles, the Lion Tamer

Published

Kyle

on June 9, 2008

in Charles Manson, Drama and Scene

. 3 Comments

The other day I read that when Charles Manson was a young boy, his mother sold him to a waitress for a free pitcher of beer. I thought that was sad and funny, so I decided to write a scene about it. It definitely turned out more sad than funny, but because there is an extreme lack of Kent (and therefore lack of posts) I wanted to post it anyway.

Also, on a related note: KENT IS NOW MARRIED! Details to follow…

——————————

The setting is an almost deserted restaurant/bar on the outskirts of somewhereville. Date: unknown. It is night, and the establishment is dimly lit. Smoke hangs in the air, and has yellowed the walls. A few regulars wear denim jackets and smell of booze and sweat. There is one waitress and the coffee is always on; she doubles as the cook.

In a booth sits a 4-years old Charles Manson and his mother, Kathleen. Charles has a set of four crayons (red, blue, green, and black) with which he is coloring a children’s menu. With a beer in her hand, and one on a coaster, Kathleen reads a menu and pays no attention to her young son.

Over at the main counter our waitress, Billie Jean, is cleaning up spilled coffee as the regulars stare down the front of her shirt. She doesn’t even notice, or care, anymore. In her head she is dreaming of a child that she will never have. Toast pops out of the toaster behind her, but she lingers over the coffee for a second more – giving the people what they want. She likes to fill her day with small favors, its something that she can smile about when she tucks herself in to bed.

KATHLEEN: What are you colorin’, boy?

CHARLES: I draw’d a picture of me next to the lion. The circus made me the lion tamer.

Putting his red crayon down, Charles attempts to show his mother the drawing. Her eyes do not leave the menu as she takes a long swig of her beer. The glass empty she pounds it on the table, causing Charles to shift in his seat. He goes back to drawing.

KATHLEEN (to the room; boisterous): Can we get some help over here?

One of the regulars turns to her and shakes his head. Billie Jean perks up, slightly annoyed, and makes her way to the table. She has a pad of paper and a pen in her hand, like a waitress should. Without looking up, she blows her bangs out of her eyes.

BILLIE JEAN (groggy): What can I get fer ya?

KATHLEEN: ‘Nother draft, that’s fer sure. …And, this jalapeno burger I see here. Hot, is it?

BILLIE JEAN (still looking down): That’s what the jalapeno’s is for; never had one myself, so I can’t vouch fer it.

KATHLEEN: Yeah, I’ll take that. Put some Lawry’s on them fries – lots.

BILLIE JEAN: Sure.

Billie turns to go back to the counter, but Charles lets out a muffled peep calling for attention. She stops and does an about face to see Charles sticking his neck out so that he is as tall as possible in the booth. He fidgets with the crayons. Her eyes light up and she beams at him.

BILLIE JEAN (with delight): Well, I’m sorry, Little Mister. What’ll you be havin’?

CHARLES: The circus told me I should have the hot dog.

BILLIE JEAN: Oohh, the Hot Dog. A good choice.

KATHLEEN: The only choice.

BILLIE JEAN: What’s your name, Little Mister?

CHARLES: Charles, but also the Lion Tamer.

BILLIE JEAN: Charles, huh? That’s a lovely name.

CHARLES: Bah, its not good enough for me.

BILLIE JEAN: Oh, really?

KATHLEEN: You shut your mouth, Charles. You’ll take the name that your mother gave to you, and you’ll like it.

Charles recedes into the booth, and looks at his shoes.

CHARLES: Sorry, mom.

Silence.

BILLIE JEAN: I wish I had a boy named Charles.

CHARLES: Really?

BILLIE JEAN: Yes. Yes, I do. I can’t have a baby. God made me incapable. It’s not my lot in life.

KATHLEEN (getting surly): Well, boo hoo. You can have Charles if you want.

Billie Jean and Charles both turn to Kathleen. They seem confused.

BILLIE JEAN: What?

KATHLEEN: You heard me. You can have him if you want. It’ll cost ya, though.

BILLIE JEAN: Ma’am, what are you tryin’ to say? That Charles, here, is for sale?

KATHLEEN: A pitcher. A pitcher is all it’ll cost ya. Take ‘im. Fucker’s a runt anyways. Eats too many hot dogs, and wets the bed.

Charles squirms and hides under his menu. The regulars shake their heads in unison at the bar. And even though she knows she shouldn’t, Billie Jean smiles. She has always wanted a child, and although she never pictured buying one in exchange for a pitcher of beer, she feels like she can’t let this opportunity go by. Her head swirls with bright blue skies, but Charles begins to cry.

KATHLEEN: It’s true. He don’t know the difference between the pisser and a pillow.

BILLIE JEAN: Well, I don’t mind. I’m sure all little boys have trouble with that, Charles. It’s okay.

KATHLEEN: So, you really want him? ‘Cause if you do, fill up the pitcher. His birth certificate’s in the glove box.

Instead of replying, Billie Jean skips her way to the bar, fills a pitcher, and is back at the table in an instant.

KATHLEEN: Slap me twice and call me Martha! I didn’t think you’d take me up on it.

Kathleen downs her half-full pint, and slams it on the table like she did with the first. She is full of alcohol and satisfaction. Charles is still quietly crying in the booth when she slaps the menu out of his hands, and puts him on the table.

KATHLEEN: He’s all yours, lady.

Billie Jean puts her hand for Charles to hold.

BILLIE JEAN: Come on, Charles-y. Let’s go get you a grilled cheese sandwich.

Reluctantly, Charles grabs her hand, jumps down from the table, and follows her behind the counter and into the kitchen.

Stumble It!

Making Your Life Simple

Published

Kyle

on May 28, 2008

in Help, Instructions and RSS

. 0 Comments

This is something I wrote a while back so keeping up with blogs (HINT HINT) is easier for everyone. You may have already read it if you were a Why I Will Never Be A Famous Writer blog-reader.

Since I am a super, extremely nice person, I am going to make it SUPER convenient for you wonderful people (all 4 of you) to read my blog. Now, I’m not talking about having it downloaded into your brain, or me printing it out and reading to you – NO, I’m talking about an RSS Reader. (If you are already viewing this blog through an RSS feed, then I apologize: this post is old news to you)

An RSS (Really Simple Syndication) Reader is basically a tool that can compile blogs, news headlines, or any internet page that gets updated (and chooses to have an RSS Feed). Instead of going to the actual page of the blog, the entry is simply fed into your own little RSS “homepage” so you can read all your favorite (ie ME) blogs in one place.

The first step in doing this is to get a Google Account. There are others, but this is the one I use and personally endorse. If Google was a person you would hate him/her because it is everything you want to be, but have no chance in hell of ever being. I would say sign up for G-Mail, if you haven’t already. I know you have an e-mail address already, but G-Mail is the future so get with the cool kids.

Okay, so now that you’ve signed up for a G-Mail account, you have the option of using Google’s other wonderful features. I can go more into those later, but all we care about right now is the RSS Reader.

Now, since you’re reading this at my site (and using Firefox)(which is WAY better than Internet Explorer) you should see a little picture of an orange square on the RIGHT side of the address bar. This is a button that signifies the page has an RSS feed. Simply CLICK that Orange RSS Button, and you are brought to a page which allows you to choose between “Add to Google Homepage” or “Add to Google Reader”. Add it toGoogle Reader (which is my preferred usage) and BAM you are SET.

It’s THAT simple. So when you decide to check your G-Mail, use the link at the top of the page that says “More” and then click “Reader” which takes you to your RSS page, and find out if I posted a new blog (I probably didn’t, but hey, you never know!). You can also just as easily go to www.google.com/reader if you don’t feel like checking your G-Mail.

The Google RSS Reader is my gift to you (I’m re-gifting it from Google) on this day, February 20, 2008. You are welcome.

Reason Number 9 Why I Will Never Be A Famous Writer:
Google will probably take over the world and banish me to Antarctica. I will end up writing for Penguin Monthly, but the salary will be too low, and I won’t be able to afford the proper warm clothing. I will freeze to death.

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Kent’s Big Day Out

Published

Kyle

on May 28, 2008

in Comedy, Funny and Lists

. 1 Comment

The Unlimited Freedom Castle has been on a minimal posting schedule as of late, and the main reason for that is laziness. Well, laziness and the fact that Kent (the artiste) is getting married this weekend (May 31). Apparently it’s a busy time, and when a day job is also involved it leaves little time to do anything. For the next few weeks he will be out of commission, but I (Kyle) will do my best to get some posts up here. I’m not sure if they will just be writing posts, or if they will feature art. It’s possible that I will do some of my own drawings that lack any sense of artistic talent, or I may find a guest artist to contribute.

Now, on the subject of weddings – with Kent’s coming up I started thinking – who would I invited to MY wedding? You know, besides the family, friends, and random people that you have to invite, but aren’t quite sure why.

So, I started coming up with a list of people that I would invite to my wedding. It’s by no means definitive, or complete.

1. Cal Ripken, Jr.: He played in 2,632 straight baseball games; a model of consistency. I would have him there as an example of someone who weathered the good and the bad, changed with the times, and ended up in the Hall of Fame. His presence would be an obvious symbol to my wife that I was going to bring Ripkenesque passion and dependency to our marriage.
2. Jack Nicholson: I would sit him in the front row, just like the Oscars or a Lakers game. Seeing him, with trademark sunglasses and crazed smile, would give me an extra boost of confidence at the altar. Plus, just having him in the same room would enhance my libido through osmosis – a little something extra for the honeymoon.
3. Paul McCartney: Instead of playing “Here Comes the Bride” I would just have him play all of “Hey, Jude” at the start of the ceremony, with the part where he freaks out and everything. Also, I would have him play “Live and Let Die” at the reception. The obvious reason is that he is a beast on that song, and the other is that I would want my friend, Mike (the biggest Beatles fan I have ever seen), to get really drunk and sing it on stage with him. I’m not sure if Mike’s head would explode or if he would just throw up all over the only meaningful living Beatle, but whatever happened would be awesome.
4. Alex Trebek and Pat Sajak: This could end up being the best part of the whole day. My plan would be to have Sajak think that he is presiding over the wedding – hosting the show as it were – and then, right when the wedding is about to start, Trebek comes in through a side door and grabs the microphone out of his hands. Sajak would look at me and I would just shrug as if to say “the man does what he wants”. With Trebek helming the ceremony we would play a round of Jeopardy in place of the vows, and if we scored high enough we would get an all-expenses paid, 6 days 7 nights trip to a tropical island for our honeymoon. Meanwhile, Sajak would have to get pay for his own cab to the airport. That oughta knock him down a peg.
5. George Lucas: I would invite him, and then when he showed up I would tell him NO, you can’t come in. It would be the first time he had heard the word “no” in well over 25 years. Evidence: The Star Wars prequels, and Indiana Jones 4.

So, that’s the list so far. Who would you invite to your wedding?

Stumble It!

All I Can Think of are Dancing Chimney Sweeps!

Published

Kyle

on May 11, 2008

in Random

. 0 Comments

With the shake shake shake you’d think that there was an earthquake. Bongos give the beat, and bounce along with a butterfly procession. Even the trees seem to bob and twirl to the up-and-down. This is a dream of a hot summer city, taken apart and reformed in a radical way. This is where you want to be.

It’s perfect – you think there’s no way this can be real. There is no way it can be real. Its polish is too polished; its sidewalks are too smooth; its people are too kind. They actually smile at you. The homeless guy near your stoop whistles. You’re jealous. So you become a kind of perfection-hound – monitoring its movements; watching it waiver; looking for it to somehow lose its composure. After a while the lines begin to show. It begins to break under the pressure. Your little city, invigorated, reincarnated with a joyous spirit, isn’t all that was advertised. Its streets need sweeping. The grass needs to be cut. The homeless people need to find homes. You frown. Ah, you just aren’t good enough for me.

So you leave.

And a few months down the road you’re in your new city, and it sucks. There aren’t any bongos here. There was an acoustic guitar one day – but it played the same song over and over and over. The streets sweep themselves, but it’s like, who cares? You’d pay for someone to smile at you, or even whistle. It could be the worst song in the world, it doesn’t matter, just somebody please whistle!

Chimney Sweeps