The BasedFather
Task Force
#ZombieDadsRock
Essential The Locker Room's Random Thoughts
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The BasedFather
Task Force
nikkas showing me mad love. I love people that love me 
LMAO! Kidz Bop goes hard. Their remakes are fire!I just listened to the KidzBop version of “Hotline Bling”
This old cac just walked up to me and got all in my space.
OC: You are a big man, you played sports didn't you?
Me: Yep.
OC: You have got to be careful out here man
.... You know what I'm saying?
Me: Yeah, It's crazy right now.
OC: Our people have had problems in the past, but we have to come together in these times.
Me: Why is that?
OC: *loud as fukk* These fukking Muslims! They want to kill us all. We have a common enemy now, we have got to be brothers now!
fukking characters mayne.
OC: You are a big man, you played sports didn't you?
Me: Yep.
OC: You have got to be careful out here man
.... You know what I'm saying?Me: Yeah, It's crazy right now.
OC: Our people have had problems in the past, but we have to come together in these times.
Me: Why is that?
OC: *loud as fukk* These fukking Muslims! They want to kill us all. We have a common enemy now, we have got to be brothers now!
fukking characters mayne.
Tenchi Ryu
Ashtray B!tch
i really need to get some rest.
@The Grendel
I wrote this today, I'm already over 2k words but I won't post those parts just yet. The story is nearly finished, there just may be a delay since I don't really know how to write mature content. Anyway, here's the intro!
In death, he hated his fiancé. Diane was only 24 when she decided to arbitrarily take her life away and that sunflower reminded him of it every moment.
Isaiah sat upright, his back stiff from another discomforting night on the leather loveseat. His long body did not fit the furniture. His legs awkwardly hung over the couch’s arm seat, curving and twisting his body at night. His bed was in perfect condition, even more comfortable now that the king size was just for one, but the 27 year old always found himself going into his small living room like a bad familiar habit. The room was hot when he woke up. From the leather trying to latch on to his skin and the wood floor feeling like a smooth surface stove top, Isaiah thought the sun was the worst. Of course it was the source for creating an oven like temperature, but even at dusk the sun had caused a heat that would never leave the small surrounding. No other room was like it. Diane had called it the Sunshine room and never put up curtains. Her favorite spot was the leather lazy boy beside the main windowsill. On the other side below the sill were her “babies”. The sunflowers she tended so carefully to. Most in the garden bed were small and not bothersome. Iliad would talk to them and pet them just as her mother did. Isaiah allowed it. But one had grown the size of an adult, it crept past the inner windowsill and loomed in the corner of the living room. That one was bothersome and Isaiah didn’t like it, but he never countered it. That sunflower, after all, was Diane’s favorite. When its face began to peek in the window, outgrowing the others, she was ecstatic. Isaiah was too, he had took part in planting them and watering them; he felt he had a natural green thumb back then. But damn it all, the garden, his thumb, Diane and that flower.
“Daddy, I’m hungry.” Iliad expressed from the window. Isaiah saw her large thick curls before he heard her voice. He didn’t question how she got outdoors. She was only five but she was a careful and crafty one. She could climb the house’s gate fence and navigate in the woods by herself. Isaiah stopped worrying about her when he couldn’t control her wandering but one thing she could not do was break into the refrigerator. Iliad had a bad habit like her mother and Isaiah put on a pad lock to prevent it.
“Moving.” He drawled out with a yawn. He peered into the corner beside the window, it was the only part of the room the sunlight refused to reach. The sunflower looked at him from there. Isaiah thought of it odd that its stem had slightly bent almost intentionally into the darkest place when the plant was prone to sunlight. Sometimes he couldn’t see it, and that was ok, because whenever he did see it he always saw the flash of blood sprayed across the yellow petals.
“Daddy, now?” Iliad said with attitude this time. Isaiah snapped his eyes back to his daughter and apologized.
“Yeah, moving.”
In death, he hated his fiancé. Diane was only 24 when she decided to arbitrarily take her life away and that sunflower reminded him of it every moment.
Isaiah sat upright, his back stiff from another discomforting night on the leather loveseat. His long body did not fit the furniture. His legs awkwardly hung over the couch’s arm seat, curving and twisting his body at night. His bed was in perfect condition, even more comfortable now that the king size was just for one, but the 27 year old always found himself going into his small living room like a bad familiar habit. The room was hot when he woke up. From the leather trying to latch on to his skin and the wood floor feeling like a smooth surface stove top, Isaiah thought the sun was the worst. Of course it was the source for creating an oven like temperature, but even at dusk the sun had caused a heat that would never leave the small surrounding. No other room was like it. Diane had called it the Sunshine room and never put up curtains. Her favorite spot was the leather lazy boy beside the main windowsill. On the other side below the sill were her “babies”. The sunflowers she tended so carefully to. Most in the garden bed were small and not bothersome. Iliad would talk to them and pet them just as her mother did. Isaiah allowed it. But one had grown the size of an adult, it crept past the inner windowsill and loomed in the corner of the living room. That one was bothersome and Isaiah didn’t like it, but he never countered it. That sunflower, after all, was Diane’s favorite. When its face began to peek in the window, outgrowing the others, she was ecstatic. Isaiah was too, he had took part in planting them and watering them; he felt he had a natural green thumb back then. But damn it all, the garden, his thumb, Diane and that flower.
“Daddy, I’m hungry.” Iliad expressed from the window. Isaiah saw her large thick curls before he heard her voice. He didn’t question how she got outdoors. She was only five but she was a careful and crafty one. She could climb the house’s gate fence and navigate in the woods by herself. Isaiah stopped worrying about her when he couldn’t control her wandering but one thing she could not do was break into the refrigerator. Iliad had a bad habit like her mother and Isaiah put on a pad lock to prevent it.
“Moving.” He drawled out with a yawn. He peered into the corner beside the window, it was the only part of the room the sunlight refused to reach. The sunflower looked at him from there. Isaiah thought of it odd that its stem had slightly bent almost intentionally into the darkest place when the plant was prone to sunlight. Sometimes he couldn’t see it, and that was ok, because whenever he did see it he always saw the flash of blood sprayed across the yellow petals.
“Daddy, now?” Iliad said with attitude this time. Isaiah snapped his eyes back to his daughter and apologized.
“Yeah, moving.”
Will.read in a few@The Grendel
I wrote this today, I'm already over 2k words but I won't post those parts just yet. The story is nearly finished, there just may be a delay since I don't really know how to write mature content. Anyway, here's the intro!
In death, he hated his fiancé. Diane was only 24 when she decided to arbitrarily take her life away and that sunflower reminded him of it every moment.
Isaiah sat upright, his back stiff from another discomforting night on the leather loveseat. His long body did not fit the furniture. His legs awkwardly hung over the couch’s arm seat, curving and twisting his body at night. His bed was in perfect condition, even more comfortable now that the king size was just for one, but the 27 year old always found himself going into his small living room like a bad familiar habit. The room was hot when he woke up. From the leather trying to latch on to his skin and the wood floor feeling like a smooth surface stove top, Isaiah thought the sun was the worst. Of course it was the source for creating an oven like temperature, but even at dusk the sun had caused a heat that would never leave the small surrounding. No other room was like it. Diane had called it the Sunshine room and never put up curtains. Her favorite spot was the leather lazy boy beside the main windowsill. On the other side below the sill were her “babies”. The sunflowers she tended so carefully to. Most in the garden bed were small and not bothersome. Iliad would talk to them and pet them just as her mother did. Isaiah allowed it. But one had grown the size of an adult, it crept past the inner windowsill and loomed in the corner of the living room. That one was bothersome and Isaiah didn’t like it, but he never countered it. That sunflower, after all, was Diane’s favorite. When its face began to peek in the window, outgrowing the others, she was ecstatic. Isaiah was too, he had took part in planting them and watering them; he felt he had a natural green thumb back then. But damn it all, the garden, his thumb, Diane and that flower.
“Daddy, I’m hungry.” Iliad expressed from the window. Isaiah saw her large thick curls before he heard her voice. He didn’t question how she got outdoors. She was only five but she was a careful and crafty one. She could climb the house’s gate fence and navigate in the woods by herself. Isaiah stopped worrying about her when he couldn’t control her wandering but one thing she could not do was break into the refrigerator. Iliad had a bad habit like her mother and Isaiah put on a pad lock to prevent it.
“Moving.” He drawled out with a yawn. He peered into the corner beside the window, it was the only part of the room the sunlight refused to reach. The sunflower looked at him from there. Isaiah thought of it odd that its stem had slightly bent almost intentionally into the darkest place when the plant was prone to sunlight. Sometimes he couldn’t see it, and that was ok, because whenever he did see it he always saw the flash of blood sprayed across the yellow petals.
“Daddy, now?” Iliad said with attitude this time. Isaiah snapped his eyes back to his daughter and apologized.
“Yeah, moving.”
Looks good so far.@The Grendel
I wrote this today, I'm already over 2k words but I won't post those parts just yet. The story is nearly finished, there just may be a delay since I don't really know how to write mature content. Anyway, here's the intro!
In death, he hated his fiancé. Diane was only 24 when she decided to arbitrarily take her life away and that sunflower reminded him of it every moment.
Isaiah sat upright, his back stiff from another discomforting night on the leather loveseat. His long body did not fit the furniture. His legs awkwardly hung over the couch’s arm seat, curving and twisting his body at night. His bed was in perfect condition, even more comfortable now that the king size was just for one, but the 27 year old always found himself going into his small living room like a bad familiar habit. The room was hot when he woke up. From the leather trying to latch on to his skin and the wood floor feeling like a smooth surface stove top, Isaiah thought the sun was the worst. Of course it was the source for creating an oven like temperature, but even at dusk the sun had caused a heat that would never leave the small surrounding. No other room was like it. Diane had called it the Sunshine room and never put up curtains. Her favorite spot was the leather lazy boy beside the main windowsill. On the other side below the sill were her “babies”. The sunflowers she tended so carefully to. Most in the garden bed were small and not bothersome. Iliad would talk to them and pet them just as her mother did. Isaiah allowed it. But one had grown the size of an adult, it crept past the inner windowsill and loomed in the corner of the living room. That one was bothersome and Isaiah didn’t like it, but he never countered it. That sunflower, after all, was Diane’s favorite. When its face began to peek in the window, outgrowing the others, she was ecstatic. Isaiah was too, he had took part in planting them and watering them; he felt he had a natural green thumb back then. But damn it all, the garden, his thumb, Diane and that flower.
“Daddy, I’m hungry.” Iliad expressed from the window. Isaiah saw her large thick curls before he heard her voice. He didn’t question how she got outdoors. She was only five but she was a careful and crafty one. She could climb the house’s gate fence and navigate in the woods by herself. Isaiah stopped worrying about her when he couldn’t control her wandering but one thing she could not do was break into the refrigerator. Iliad had a bad habit like her mother and Isaiah put on a pad lock to prevent it.
“Moving.” He drawled out with a yawn. He peered into the corner beside the window, it was the only part of the room the sunlight refused to reach. The sunflower looked at him from there. Isaiah thought of it odd that its stem had slightly bent almost intentionally into the darkest place when the plant was prone to sunlight. Sometimes he couldn’t see it, and that was ok, because whenever he did see it he always saw the flash of blood sprayed across the yellow petals.
“Daddy, now?” Iliad said with attitude this time. Isaiah snapped his eyes back to his daughter and apologized.
“Yeah, moving.”
dikk on that fukking gun love it when they runThere were errands to get done anyway. Isaiah was having guest later that night. Anya Pierre, an executive producer for movies Isaiah never heard of, but that wasn’t the point. She was a beautiful tall Haitian woman and Diane had been well out of the picture for more than a year now. He hadn’t considered himself a vain man, but Diane’s death planted a selfish disposition that Isaiah couldn’t possibly deny. Even regarding Iliad there were days when he thought about sending her to live with his parents to avoid the plight of the single father lifestyle, but he had a sense of panic whenever he was close to going through with it. Something urged him that he could not live in that house alone, even with the absence of a child. There was something unsettling stirring within him during the days Iliad attended daycare. Isaiah had always worked at home although he hadn’t wrote a single thing since the suicide. Like usual, he would draw himself into the living room and sit on the couch. The sunflower would watch him as he sat thinking-- wondering how he could have stopped Diane from plunging those garden scissors in her neck.
His phone hummed in his jeans and he read Anya’s text with a dull expression.
I can’t wait for dinner tonight.
I’m a tougher critic on food than I am on screenplays~
He felt out of his element. He didn’t know he was going to get back into the dating scene and deal with the eagerness of women getting the time of day from a famous author. Before he was with Diane he was a bestseller then, but Diane had been different from the rest. She hadn’t latched onto him so strongly like an opportunist Isaiah was tiredly used to encountering. She was attracted to him sexually, she had so boldly admitted, and she loved his horror novels. Those two aspects in itself were enough for Isaiah to start dating her and almost put a ring on it. Anya was an exception because she wasn’t after his money. She wanted to exploit his books for money but he couldn’t knock her for trying to do business, even if it meant trying to sleep with him for it.
Iliad had asked him a silly question when he told her about Anya. She asked, “Daddy, are you going to sell your soul?” At first he thought she was joking, but the bold seriousness on her face said otherwise. Isaiah had to clarify with his daughter to understand what she meant because he was beginning to worry she was exemplifying too many of Diane’s traits.
“This woman wants your books, right? You have to sell them so she can turn them into movies, right? Your books are your soul, you said!”
“Oh, right.” He felt dumb and relieved. Iliad was clever but she wasn’t like Diane.
“I’ll only sell her one of our least favorite books,” Isaiah assured politely, “She can’t get any of the good ones.”
“Sell out.” She said unsatisfied. The words stung him and oddly enough he felt guilty. They were words of warning by Diane while she was still alive and she had insisted Isaiah protect his writing and books from people like Anya. He always did her proud by rejecting multiple offers, he never wanted to disappoint the woman that treasured his work more than he did. All of a sudden Iliad’s statement had reminded him of that and made him feel like he committed an act of betrayal. But who was the one that betrayed who?
fukk Diane.
That was Isaiah’s mantra to get through the day. That exchanged had almost caught Iliad a one way trip to her grandmother’s. Remembering it made Isaiah call out to his daughter. He wanted to bear hug her and mess up her curls.
“Iliad where are you?” He found himself calling her more than he should. He had just seen her go past his bedroom when he was sorting through different long sleeves to wear for the evening. “Iliad?” Did he lock the refrigerator back up?
shyt. He bolted down the stairs and slid into the kitchen. The fridge was a tall white wooden icebox, old fashioned like the house itself. It was easy to keep it locked but Iliad was sneaky. Her back was facing Isaiah when he found her. She was digging through the bottom draw which caused a sigh of relief. There were only strawberries, Iliad’s favorite fruit.
“What am I going to do with you, child?” He teased and kneeled closely beside her. Her gnawing came to a slow halt when she noticed her father’s gaze once he realized it was more than strawberries she was eating. Blood lined the corners of her mouth and stained her chin from the raw meat. She had eaten the strawberries as well.
He didn’t even raise his voice. At that point she had downed all of the packaged grounded meat and he already learned that it didn’t make her sick, it just made him uncomfortable. Diane used to do the same thing.
“This was going to be tonight’s dinner, ya know?” He told her annoyed. Iliad apologized and averted her eyes. Isaiah wiped her mouth with a warm rag and cleaned up her mess when she ran off to play outdoors. There was no stopping that girl.
His phone hummed in his jeans and he read Anya’s text with a dull expression.
I can’t wait for dinner tonight.
I’m a tougher critic on food than I am on screenplays~
He felt out of his element. He didn’t know he was going to get back into the dating scene and deal with the eagerness of women getting the time of day from a famous author. Before he was with Diane he was a bestseller then, but Diane had been different from the rest. She hadn’t latched onto him so strongly like an opportunist Isaiah was tiredly used to encountering. She was attracted to him sexually, she had so boldly admitted, and she loved his horror novels. Those two aspects in itself were enough for Isaiah to start dating her and almost put a ring on it. Anya was an exception because she wasn’t after his money. She wanted to exploit his books for money but he couldn’t knock her for trying to do business, even if it meant trying to sleep with him for it.
Iliad had asked him a silly question when he told her about Anya. She asked, “Daddy, are you going to sell your soul?” At first he thought she was joking, but the bold seriousness on her face said otherwise. Isaiah had to clarify with his daughter to understand what she meant because he was beginning to worry she was exemplifying too many of Diane’s traits.
“This woman wants your books, right? You have to sell them so she can turn them into movies, right? Your books are your soul, you said!”
“Oh, right.” He felt dumb and relieved. Iliad was clever but she wasn’t like Diane.
“I’ll only sell her one of our least favorite books,” Isaiah assured politely, “She can’t get any of the good ones.”
“Sell out.” She said unsatisfied. The words stung him and oddly enough he felt guilty. They were words of warning by Diane while she was still alive and she had insisted Isaiah protect his writing and books from people like Anya. He always did her proud by rejecting multiple offers, he never wanted to disappoint the woman that treasured his work more than he did. All of a sudden Iliad’s statement had reminded him of that and made him feel like he committed an act of betrayal. But who was the one that betrayed who?
fukk Diane.
That was Isaiah’s mantra to get through the day. That exchanged had almost caught Iliad a one way trip to her grandmother’s. Remembering it made Isaiah call out to his daughter. He wanted to bear hug her and mess up her curls.
“Iliad where are you?” He found himself calling her more than he should. He had just seen her go past his bedroom when he was sorting through different long sleeves to wear for the evening. “Iliad?” Did he lock the refrigerator back up?
shyt. He bolted down the stairs and slid into the kitchen. The fridge was a tall white wooden icebox, old fashioned like the house itself. It was easy to keep it locked but Iliad was sneaky. Her back was facing Isaiah when he found her. She was digging through the bottom draw which caused a sigh of relief. There were only strawberries, Iliad’s favorite fruit.
“What am I going to do with you, child?” He teased and kneeled closely beside her. Her gnawing came to a slow halt when she noticed her father’s gaze once he realized it was more than strawberries she was eating. Blood lined the corners of her mouth and stained her chin from the raw meat. She had eaten the strawberries as well.
He didn’t even raise his voice. At that point she had downed all of the packaged grounded meat and he already learned that it didn’t make her sick, it just made him uncomfortable. Diane used to do the same thing.
“This was going to be tonight’s dinner, ya know?” He told her annoyed. Iliad apologized and averted her eyes. Isaiah wiped her mouth with a warm rag and cleaned up her mess when she ran off to play outdoors. There was no stopping that girl.