L.A. on Fire, Losers Loot the Lost, and The Nation Can Only Watch

Chicano protests and the L.A. riots of the past don't compare to the sheer catastrophic scenes unleashing on the SoCal atmosphere like the 2025 wildfires. 

A horrible start to a new year, the denizens of Los Angeles reacted with little time and preparation to abandon their homes and run for safety. One insane inferno after another, the L.A. county underwent a fiery blanket of hell within a few blinks. Charged by wind gusts and topographical inconvenience, the destructive flames bring down thousands of homes, businesses, and structures across 22,000 acres, now charred with almost no remains to come back to.

Families are losing their collective sanity and soul as the flames continue to rage a few days after the initial spark on Tuesday, January 7 of 2025. Like I said, horrible beginning for the new year, and the terror only grew from there. Palisades was the first, then the domino effect smashed the left face of Los Angeles with additional fires - Eaton, Hurst, Sunset...the list goes on.

I sit here watching CBS News 24/7 for live coverage of the apocalyptic area. Looking like a cinematic product familiar with Hollywood productions, the cameras unveil outstanding and heartbreaking moments of loss and perseverance. Reporters share captivating interviews and angles, masked to shield from black smoke and falling ash; firefighters and other local officials continuously battle the flames with water drops, fire trucks, and chemicals; residents fleeing with little to no personal goods on them, a result of the fire's increasingly rapid pace.

Save for a few ads to satisfy someone's wallet, mind you. That's the ideal time for a quick smoke and kick-in-the-step with a hip-hop playlist I'm accumulating. At the time of this writing, I've listened to Muddy Waters Too several times already. Lalala.

To be fair, it took me four different networks before comfortably landing on CBS News, who cared for the event more than others. The View gossiped about their bullshit, locals news handled nonsense, etc. Indiana news focused on an ice sculpture.

But what I noticed today (1/11/25) is that looters are taking advantage of the situation by breaking into broken homes and taking what they can with them - any remnants of a charred home, now in the hands of some fool who may now be in the hands of law enforcement. As it should be, at least in this case. Homes burning to the ground, only for some hungry assjunkie to rub their greasy palms over unrecognizable territory. "Punished to the full extent of the law," L.A. Mayor Karen Bass commented while briefing the press on the area's condition. Let's see what they do.

While half the country covers the land of the free in snow, its prized and glamoured Los Angeles corners a smoke bubble of shattered hope that just might cost America huge chunks of cash.

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My heart goes out to those affected by the Los Angeles 2025 Wildfire. Stay strong, L.A.

Photo by Levi Jones; modified by C. Anthony Rivera

Typewriter Meat: Disgruntled Employee Smashes in Manager in Broad Daylight

Mistrop, Illinois. 7/28/2025.

Solomon Canterbury, 36, faces homicide charges for alleged murder today when reports broke out regarding a mishandled argument at Cultural Blabber Inc. in downtown Mistrop.

Michelangelo Niyami, 63, served as Communications Manager and Editor at Cultural Blabber for over a decade, with Canterbury working under his leadership. A disagreement on Mistrop city finance shares led Canterbury, according to witnesses, to verbally abuse Niyami in front of co-workers and certain superiors. Niyami fired Canterbury on the spot, though the latter returned two days later with an eerie agenda.

At 10:42 AM this morning, Canterbury stormed the front doors of Cultural Blabber Inc. on Country Street and and River Avenue with a typewriter. Security didn't register his identification due to the recent termination, which prompted Canterbury to enter the main editing floor where Niyami assisted weekday writers and image specialists with no halts. 

Without a beat to acknowledge Canterbury's presence, the former employee lifted the 1888 Scotsman Jr. Typewriter II and pushed its weight onto the back of the manager's head. With one blow, blood splattered on an employee's workstation (and the employee themselves), yet Niyami remained his stance with a slight bow. Red streaks ran down his ears.

Canterbury, enraged, swung down two more bangs, with the second sending Niyami down onto the desk. Each blow registered pieces of brain matter and skull into the vibrant vicinity; three employees yelled in fear while one fainted. Another called for police.

"You're an Editor, right? So, edit!" Canterbury shouted while driving the fourth and final contact onto Niyami's exposed head. Blood appeared on Canterbury's face when the authorities arrived, who reported that Canterbury walked without resistance.

"I don't understand, maybe he was just done with the guy and had to send a message. Sadly, this message is a one-and-done deal. [expletive] shame, it's a shame," an officer commented.

An eyewitness account touches on the cruel event. "Mon's always had a temper, we all knew that. But Canterbury was tough, too, you know? He'd send Mon a sheet of notes and expect fixes within a day. Maybe the pay was getting to him? Sure, but, I don't know. I never saw a typewriter bend before," she claimed. The witnesses wishes to remain anonymous.

As for Canterbury, he's seeing a judge next week for his actions. Stay tuned for more information.

- Marco Jimenez, Contributor

Bicker @marcojemenvc

VOCAL CONCERNS, ISSUE 710

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Image Credit: Annie Spratt (@anniespratt)

Self-Driving Madness: Independent Cab Kills Man in Robbery Attempt

 Mistrop, Illinois. 5/22/2025.

When Socrates Taxi Services announced that self-driving cabs would start roaming the streets, the metals in my fingertips began to tingle, startled once again at the sight of self-controlled vehicles let loose to the public. It's as if folks begin to disassociate themselves a week after a crime is committed, only to breathe some new air like a zen master ignoring the bleak corners of life.

But did everyone believe that Socrates Taxi Services (STS for short; not officially but because I don't want to type it out every single time) would present itself as a "safe and reliable service for the people and the future" for whatever it's worth? The answer doesn't matter much to me, time is short on my hands, but I will say that Jack character had it coming.

50, divorced, and desperate for some extra cash, Jack "Macca" Bechtel approached a Socrates cab on Roland Ave. with a loaded pistol in his left pocket. He stomped toward the driver seat, tapped the glass, and spoke aloud, "Shut down! Shut down now, you hunk of junk!" Witnesses watched as Bechtel tapped on the driver's window a few times before he pulled out the weapon. With no door handles to pull the Socrates vehicle open, Bechtel knocked on the window with the pistol's butt.

"Sir/Madam/They, please step away from the vehicle," the cab said aloud, according to witness. Look, I wasn't there, so I pulled all eyewitness claims to formulate this. Sadly, those preppy Maters and O'Briens over at PMH were quick to arrive on scene to report this all. So, yeah, I'm a little late to the party, but I digress, because the Socrates Taxi shifted its door handle into a pistol and fired three rounds into Jack's head.

He fell to the ground. Surrounding bystanders either fled or stared in awe, though screams uttered and terror filled the air. A blood puddle began to form, catching the attention of PMH, and some cheeky cop who gasped like a schoolboy who said "assface" for the first time.

"We apologize for any inconvenience," the Taxi said, withholding the weapon.

The Toys of Richman Gomez

As I'm reminded of today's idiocracies with an overindulgence of ads, cheap marketing techniques by influencers, and videos of a hippo and a cherub kissing one another (Baldur's Gate 3?), the memory of a CTA ride comes flooding back.

At one point within the last year or so, I steadily and carefully avoided taking the CTA buses to prevent any futile encounters (public transit is filled with them). A day arrived when I was forced to take it due to some weather conditions. For whatever reason that compelled me, I hopped on a public vehicle and sat in the back. I surpassed quiet folks, with only a few minding their own business in the same section. All seemed well for the time being as I distracted myself with some reading, until a particular man approaches the final row of seats, the same section where I am at.

Enter Richman Gomez, an amateur crackhead failing in his late 20s-early 30s. The image (above) was taken in secret, with Gomez lighting up a small crack pipe while shielding himself from public view. The young man takes a few hits while occasionally looking over his seat for any witnesses. It's a shame that this embarrassment failed to take note of his hidden photographer, sitting just a seat away from him.

Admittedly, some panic was ravaging through my body as I took this shot. The man was in to smoke and out within a couple of stops, eventually getting off around the Portage Park area. A million possibilities started to fly by regarding his next steps, but then I halted the thinking process.

Perhaps it was because it would lead to a dead road, a journey with no reward, from the start through the middle and until the end. With how Chicago treats its broken and lost souls, hope is not on the table. In truth, I don't believe it ever was.

I recall once when someone mistakenly said, "The Shitty of Chicago," in the middle of an improv show. Despite the setting, the idiom fits, especially with how the city's current mayor is handling the migrant crisis, crime rates, racism claims, and other political fiascos. It's hard to refer to Chicago as a city now without reminding myself of the hilarious mistake that happened long before the mayor's obligatory inauguration.

Verily, I cannot give a solid reason as to why I called this individual Richman Gomez. I once ran into someone who shared some similarities, though the connection is incredibly hallow. There's some reliability behind his toys as we can see in the image, and that dependency can only go so far until he's inhaling a different kind of dirt.

P.S. Reminder to bring Febreze onto the CTA for future rides.

Note: Photo has been edited for obvious reasons, though it does appear to be rather suggestive after looking at it from a different angle. Therefore, the original copy belongs only to me. Smiley face.

Apologies to My Blog

06/29/21

A lot has shifted in the past few months, that I tend to forget that I have this blog. It's a shameful thing to think, too. For so long I used this blog to stretch my skills and build a portfolio. Back then I didn't have any credentials, and almost no freelancing gig is going to provide a position to a kid who just writes here and there. So, I kept writing short stories and applying like mad hell until I landed something.

It wouldn't be until just last year when I applied for The Nerd Stash. I had enough SEO experience to feel confident about this one, and it was a worthwhile effort. Within a week, I had published a few articles as a test run before Jeremy, the editor-in-chief, decided to officially bring me on board.

Before I knew it, I was reviewing games and composing news articles that would get published on the same day that I submitted them. Now I almost do it daily, with an additional position at Guide Fall to keep myself busy. I write everyday about video games, and that certainly does put a smile on my face.

I somehow managed to blend my hobbies with my growing career - I never thought that'd be possible. I always wanted to design video games, but I don't possess the artistic sleight of hand to make a creature spring to life. Once, I dreamt of becoming an astronaut, but the idea of being in the vast vacuum of space is a terrifying concept to me; I see myself shitting my suit...and you only get one suit while you float amid planet Earth. Of course, when I was young, I really wanted to be a Jedi. It is possible, but I'll save myself the embarrassment. At least lightsabers are becoming a reality.

As aforesaid, I do write everyday, and it's almost always pertaining to video gaming. They're news pieces, listicles, guides, reviews, anything you can think of when it comes to the industry.

09/02/2022

More than a year after I updated this post, a lot has developed. I won't get into too many details but essentially: I still write for TNS and GF - so I'm technically a full-time writer during the week; couple of hospital visits conflict with my nonsense (as I currently type with an itchy splint); starting to collect some vinyl records, etc. 

However, that being said, I miss committing my time to just composing onto this blog. I've encountered so many intriguing folks that I'm proud to have had made into characters who walk along Desolation Row. I'll never forget about the moment I wanted to start this blog like it was yesterday...some guy on the Blue Line looks to me while I'm listening to music via ear buds, tells me to take them off, then says:

"I gotta lay this on someone, and I can’t keep this bottled up. I’m headed to the casino right now to do something illegal, but it kind of isn’t really illegal; I’ve done it before and nothing has happened. I just needed to tell someone that, because I’m gonna kill myself if I don’t tell anyone. Okay? Thank you. Don’t tell anyone. Thank you.”

Of course, I proceeded to return to my buds after he went back to his psychopathic world. But little did I know, that interaction would inspire me to write about people, but just change their name while rearranging their faces. 

I think I'm ready to publish this post now. I honestly don't know why I neglected the first half of this writing. I know writing elsewhere has something to do with it, but even now I still type, and I'm still having a blast experimenting with my wordplay.

Be excellent to each other.

-C.