New Artraiture: Don Murphy

This one is a gift to Don, who has been awesome since the dawn of time, and in addition to producing movies you probably love, like Natural Born Killers, and Apt Pupil, has also helped me out immensely on my own quest through the badlands of Hollywood; alternately offering advice and kicking my ass as the situation calls for.





I met Don, (and a ton of really cool and talented people) several years ago when he opened up a forum for fans to discuss the then upcoming production for Transformers. You see, the fan response to League of Extraordinary Gentlemen had been fairly mixed, and Don wanted this time around to be able to get a pulse on what the fans were after FIRST. And that's initially what drew me to the site. Instead of just a place to talk Transformers and debate endlessly the merits or lack thereof, I ended up meeting some of the coolest people you'll ever find anywhere (not to mention talented) Don himself included. Don treats his domain like his office (albeit with a slightly anarchic bent) and for the most part gives people free leeway to "do as thou wilt" including making an ass of yourself. But Don admittedly feeds off of hatred, like a wasp on potato salad, and when his anger is roused, the retribution is... not swift, but ENDURING.

The board has been around long enough to have it's own history and mythology. As part of board's history, early on, one of the more vitriolic posters went on a hate and smear campaign, calling out Don and labeling anyone who defended him as a "stooge". Like the yankees before us, we took up the name as a badge of honor, and thus the legacy of The Don and his stooges began.

Don't f**k with The Don.

Super Cali-fricken-ornia

I'm an Oregonian. I live in California. Now, to most Oregonians, this would seem to be an oxy-moron of the highest measure. Why? Because Oregon has possibly the worst case of little brother-itis towards the golden state since Canada became America's hat.

It's not so much a jealousy issue as you might expect looking from the outside in. No, the issue is far more indemic. Mainly, Oregon is widely the number one "escape" location for disenfranchised Californians of all stripe, from rich doctors to po' white folk, all looking to get away from one thing or another. The earthquakes, the wildfires, gangs, severe geographical impairment... take your pick.

Invariably, what happens is the children of said refugees show up with a huge chip on their shoulder, both as a self defense mechanism, and out of spite for being relocated just before their tail getting prime had come to fruition. As a result, every Oregonian youth has to put up with a small but severely obnoxious group of Cali wannabes, who do nothing but whine about the lack of nightlife (even though their curfews were probably 9pm) and how much more awesome California is because it doesn't have cows (totally erroneous. Anyone that's smelled I5 anywhere north of Coalinga knows this).

Anyway, I won't belabor the point by listing all the cliche's, but suffice it to say that every Oregonian child starts out with a healthy interest in California, which slowly morphs into annoyance and eventually a raging hatred. Imagine if you had a friend who talked only about jelly donuts all day long, and how awesome they were because they used to eat jelly donuts every day, and how much you suck for not having any jelly donuts at that given moment. Maybe you were planning on getting one tomorrow. Or maybe they just aren't to your taste. It doesn't matter, because this little effer TALKS ABOUT NOTHING ELSE. The love of jelly donuts and disdain for anything non-jelly-donut-ish, is so closely tied to their personality, that's literally all there is. So, ultimately, no matter how you felt about jelly donuts before, by the time they're done, you hate them with every fiber of your being, from the hair on your pinky to the crest of your sphincter.

And not only that, you have to put up with the rest of the country mispronouncing your name, and portraying your entire state as populated only by pine trees and the intellectual inferiors of the cast of deliverance. Is it any wonder we have a slight case of Napoleon complex?

So, after all that, you might wonder, why the eff am I in California? Well, I'm not completely blinded by hatred. There are a lot of things I love about this g'damn state. Numbers one through one thousand being the weather. And weather is a BIG deal for me, since I'm a seasonal affective sufferer, so several months of clear skies can be the difference between happy dancing Tony, and that other kind of dancing Tony that looks like Peter Parker in Spiderman 3 after he starts wearing the black costume. I don't know really what kind of dancing that is, since I fell asleep before that part, but it's something other than happy.

The real reason I moved to California (which some people who followed my blog back in the myspace days already know) is because I got an incredible opportunity to pitch and produce my own animated series, and after several expensive trips realized the only way to get anywhere with it was to actually move close enough to be able to go to the meetings I needed to. Plus, my job had gotten tired of me taking time off and had started viewing me as a starstruck elitist and were making my life miserable. My boss literally said at one point that in order to keep working there, I'd have to sign a document proclaiming that I would give up any aspirations of being a writer. Yeah. Um, thanks, but eff you.

So, through a convoluted series of events, I ended up finding employment down here, moving my family and subsequently getting laid off, and am currently stuck in Lancaster. Also known as purgatory. Close enough to technically be part of LA (county), but too far away to make a difference.

But this blog isn't about what's great about California, nor is it about the long strange journey that's brought me here. It's about what I hate about California. And I have the microphone, so you WILL LISTEN TO EVERY DAMN WORD I HAVE TO SAY (or just click somewhere else. It's your choice).

So, in the grand tradition of blog cliche's, here is my following list:

1) The Lakers -
California hatred begins and ends with the Lakers. Go back and reread the first few paragraphs if you're unsure why. Other than pretending to be white crips from Compton, the number one favorite topic of the aforementioned exiles, was loud proclamations of how awesome the Lakers were, and how lame the Blazers were, even in years where we absolutely owned them (and the best record). So of course, there was no greater yearning for a Blazer fan than to be vindicated in their long suffering when their team (again, with the best record) trounces everyone (especially the Lakers) en route to the title. Right? Sure. Except that that very year, the Lakers (still somehow favorites) managed to pull off the upset in the Western Conference finals, and BARELY scrape by the Blazers in game 6, getting a one point lead with .9 seconds left on the clock, after the ball rolled improbably all the way across the court after a play, and out of bounds. The next year, the Blazers ran into the earthbound god known as Michael of the Jordan, who was just peaking in his phenomenal powers, Clyde Drexler demanded a trade, and then the next half decade was a series of sweeps, by, you guessed it, the Lakers.

That kind of unsatisfied lust for justice is a salt in the wound tends to leave both a nasty scar and a nastier disposition, topped off by the absolute mockery that is the 4th quarter of game 7, complete with comments by Shaq, Kobe and Phil Jackson that, you guessed it, were taken straight out of the Cali-to-Oregon-prepubexile play book.

My hatred will burn until several things happen. One, Kobe Bryant's ego inflates to such proportions, his head actually lofts his body into the frozen depths of space. Two, Phil Jackson crosses the field at Silvercreek, bends over and kisses his own arse after apologizing for centuries of rape, murder and atrocity, and Three, the Blazers eliminate the heavily favored Lakers from the playoffs in spectacular fashion. No use speculating, those are the terms. Moving on...

2) The Center of the Universe -
A lot gets said about the people of California (mostly by writers who have never lived anywhere else, so tend to think their experiences are the universal alpha and omega of American life). I actually love the people down here. They're laid back, fun, and for the most part, awesome. That is the people I know personally. The others are a bunch of dicks.;) Okay, not really. The one thing that really bugs me is how utterly unaware people are of the rest of the nation, and the universe at large. Upon discovering I was from Oregon, most people acted as if I'd flown half way around the world to worship at their feet. Look people, I understand if you don't know which state has Raleigh as it's capitol (North Carolina, by the way) or what the state bird of Washington is (it's the slug. Durr) even if in the age of google, it's kind of mind boggling when it's so easy to look up, but for the love of Shiva, it's RIGHT NEXT TO YOU ON THE MAP! It's not even just on the same coast, it's RIGHT ABOVE YOU! RIGHT THERE! IF YOU LOOK OUTSIDE YOU CAN WAVE TO BROOKINGS! Ahem. Look, you've got it easy California. You've only got four choices. If it's not the Pacific freaking ocean, or Mexico, it's either Nevada or Oregon.* That's all you have to freaking remember. Take the time and memorize them. It's no wonder people make fun of the educational system down here. Which leads me to...

3) The Educational System Down Here -
Okay, so, I am a product of the Oregon education system, which is definitely nothing to write home about. I never realized what people were really complaining about until I got down here and saw it first hand. Not only has the school day been shortened to three hours, but after double dipping on the taxes (we'll get to that in a second) they have the nerve to not only cut the education to the bone (while complaining about lack of funds) but also invite parents to the cafeteria where they (I'm not even kidding) lock the doors, and beg for handouts. Not just cash, but to the point where they'll take even a box of kleenex. That's just sad. And this in a city that's supposedly lauded as one of the best school districts in the country (by the same writers mentioned earlier no doubt).

Not only this, but is it really a surprise that the products of said educational facility grew up to build a school that LOCKS OFF IT'S PARKING LOT during pick up times, and releases ALL STUDENTS at the same freaking minute. With the only option of picking them up, a busy street that's right across the street from a busy suburb. It's an effing disaster.

Now you might say to yourself, "Hey, stupid goat roper, this is California, and there's no room!" Eff that, this is the freaking desert. Lancaster is the most sprawled city I've ever seen. It's number one export is vacant sand lots. There's plenty of room. Everywhere. All of this ties into...

4) The Gubamint -
Never in my life have I seen a more sadly organized or executed system. Again, Oregon is nothing to brag about, but the DMV and all the other local and state systems moved and were at least navigatible. Not so, California. And believe me, it's pretty sad when the state you think is populated by cave dwellers far and away embarrasses your efforts at online availability. You want to know what the Employment Department's online claim site tells you, in a nutshell? You have to call the one (1) phone line that services the entire state. Yes, THAT entire state. So, what you get is first a long winded message that tells you to go to the website (which in turn tells you to call the phone line) followed by a message that there's too many people calling. Then it hangs up. After calling for weeks (that's not days; weeks) you might finally get through to the call waiting service, which puts you through a half hour of options before (you guess it) hanging up on you.

When I finally got to talk to a live human being after several weeks of attempts, I was abused, maligned, and accused of everything from fraud to double dipping. Attention, idiot callcenter lifer; I paid unemployment insurance for my entire life for a reason. Cashing in on it in a time of need does not make me beneath your disdain, and keeps you in an effing dead end job, and if I could just walk down to the nearest Macdonalds and get hired like that, I would, you no talent assclown.

You want to know what double dipping is? Double dipping is charging people both sales tax AND income tax. For those who have never ventured outside of the golden walls, Oregon has perhaps the highest income tax in the country (or one of) but no sales tax to speak of. Washington (where I've also lived) is the opposite. Sales tax, but no income tax, which is awesome (imagine getting your actual wage as advertised, to spend as you please). Somewhat ironically, I'm not sure how the rest of the nation deals with this, but to me, this is usury. And makes it even more incomprehensible that the state claims to be bankrupt. How can you have that many people paying that much tax, and have nothing left over? Maybe hire an out of stater to go through the books next time, thanks.

5) The Lakers -
WCF 2000 game 7. Never forget. (I told you it starts and ends with them).

Okay, so now that I've cathartically word vomited all over my own blog (feeling much better now, thanks. No, you don't need to hold my hair back. Unless it's my back hair) I'd like to list some things that are much maligned about this state, but that don't bother me.

- The People - As I said, mostly awesome. Get over yourself, LA writers.
- Earthquakes and Wildfires - Sure, I haven't lived through "The big one" yet, but so far, it's not so bad that I fear for my life, which is a plus
- Smog - I think this might be one of the most overblown things about California. I'm from a fresh air state, the air doesn't bother me, and if my memory holds, the smog in downtown LA has improved GREATLY over just the last decade. It's no longer a thick brown muselage you have to swim through, but more of a mild yellow gruel.
- Traffic - LA is nowhere near as bad as they'd have you believe on this level. Look, I've been all across the country and driven everywhere from Seattle to Boston (Seattle is by far the worst, if you're wondering) and LA doesn't compare. It's not GOOD traffic, by any means, but calling it the worst in the nation is like the Jonas Bros. comparing themselves to the Beatles.

At the end of the day, childhood scars and disdain for stupidity aside, surprisingly enough, I love this state. Call me crazy (or overly influenced by the weather) but I enjoy everything this state does have to offer, from it's wealth of opportunities to its not-freeze-your-dick-off coastal waters. I'm just another dude, no more important in opinion or stature than anyone else. I may complain, just as you might still after all is said and done roll your eyes and make a joke about hippies and loggers, but when all is said and done, I stand before you as a fellow Californian.

Ich Bin Ein Berliner.

*Shut up Arizona, no one gives a f**ck about you. ;)**
**Yes, this comment was meant in the spirit of self deprecating irony

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Unleash your inner beauty and your inner beast with a digital makeover.

New Artraiture: Carrie Welch

The word new in itself usually implies that there is something which by nature of context is also rendered old. Which is true in this case, it's just that I haven't mentioned Artraiture yet specifically in this blog, and since I just finished putting together the website, now is probably a good time to do so.

I've been doing portraits for a while. Probably since I was a Freshman in Highschool, truth be told. But recently, I got blindsided by a muse or three* and found myself painting a portrait a night for over a month. Not only one, but for most of them I'd even take the initial glamour painting and start adding on warpaint, or extrapolating an alter-ego based on wherever whim would take my stylus. The paintings started gaining popularity amongst the fairer sex in particular, and after some much appreciated prodding, the artraiture concept was born. You can see most of the rest of what was born of said inspiration by following this banner:


Yesterday I received my very first commission from the website, from the lovely Carrie Welch, and in honor of this event, starting today I will post new artwork to the blog, along with some explanation about the process.




When I first saw Carrie's picture, I immediately thought vampire. The full source pic was taken in a bar, and Carrie is posed quite languidly with a cup of red liquid about which we might speculate, in one hand. Combined with the ever so slight bite of the lip, it practically screamed "arrogant bloodsucker". Somewhere along the line after finishing up the glamour shot, I decided to try a more classic widow's peak look with the hair, to go with the more modern alabaster skin and golden eyes popularized by pop culture phenoms such as Twilight. The result is pretty striking, with an almost cartoonish 50's feel to it, and a strong feline quality.

Be sure to check out the rest of the portraits at http://www.sunstormsaga.com/portraits and keep an eye on this space for new additions.

Today Is a Holy Day

Lo indeed, for on this day, a day that will live in the hearts of the faithful until time indefinite, the beloved* Portland Trailblazers, avatars of all that is good and right in this world, given basketball form, take on the be-loathed** Los Angeles Lakers, symbols of all that is twisted, evil and wrong in this world. I mean, their name says it all. A grand promotion of lies and iniquity as a land devoid of lakes entirely (or even drinkable water) has glorified their champions with such a deceitful moniker.

I bear no ill will towards those of you who offer your worship to the team of darkness, wrapping yourselves in swathes of lilac and urine to express your adoration. For they are the deceivers, and we all can be led astray. You may question why a seemingly well adjusted*** person such as myself would level such angst and vitriol at such a wonderful collection of basketbally chaps, featuring such stalwarts as the great Ko-me Cryant, the lovably damp Pole Gashole, and the intellectual giant Lame-are O-dumb. As with most epic conflicts, the origins are lost to the annals of history****, yet the battle rages on unabated. But, as has happened seven times prior, let these demons of the hardwood, and their wanton ways be slain, crushed, embarrassed and laid low for all to see. Amen.

*by me.
**also by me.
***If that's what you think, there's your problem right there.
****Or more likely, I just don't feel like exploring the painful canyons of my misspent (basketball fandom based) youth.

Get the bitch back!

This is reposted from a myspace blog entry, but I feel very strongly about this issue, and believe it's something that needs to be brought to light.

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For those of you that read the title of this blog and clicked the link under the misguided view that you would be getting some dirt, some mudslinging, or perhaps creamed corn wrestling, turn back now. This is not the blog for you. These are not the bitches you are looking for.

Friends, there comes a time in a man's life when he realizes that in order to emerge from the effluvium of apathy that so often permeates our society, he (or she, if that man is in fact a woman. No chauvanism in THIS blog) must champion a cause. And indeed, I have found my cause.

For far too long, women have suffered the indignity of this singularly offensive term. No, I'm not talking about slag. Or stewardess. Or jug toter.* No, the word that reduces a woman's strength to a negative act is bitch. Too long my strong black (and miscellaneous) sisters have suffered at the hands of this word! Too long I say!

History shows us though that the best way to take the sting from a word is to change its meaning. Gay once meant happy. Now it means gay. I propose, my sisters, that we take back bitch. Yes, let's get the bitch back!

Now, the first order of business is to come up with an alternate meaning that's so catchy and prevalent it will supercede the current nasty intentions entirely. Some of you might be thinking, "Well bitch does already have a proper and inoffensive meaning," but those bitches aren't good enough. No, we need better bitches. Bitches that will roll off the tongue. Bitches that will stick.

For this reason, I suggest we make bitch into a unit of measure. No one will remember that bitch was an insult when they're thirsty for a bitch of soda. Out of eggs? Honey, can you go to the store and pick up a bitchload? Hey bitch, get me a bitch of beer!

Now, I know you're excited and just raring to go out and spread these bitches around, but before you unleash the bitch, I think it prudent that we establish what exactly constitutes a bitch. Otherwise you may as well be using kelvin, microns, or liters, or something dumb that no one knows what it means.

Therefore, for the greatest possible saturation, I suggest we use the most basic measure of liquid. The 32 ouncer. From this day on, this is our bitch.**

This I cannot reclaim this bitch alone my friends. It will take all of us together to spread this new bitch, until the old bitch finally dies. Go on, make me proud, bitches.

*But these are also good ones.
**A bitchload, in case you were wondering should be about a half rack.

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Want your image immortalized for posterity? Need something special to let your lover know exactly what you're thinking right now, without words? Want to see your hidden alter ego given form? Just like the words above and want to ensure there are more of them gathered together in harmony thusly in the future? Turn your blurry cellphone pic into a work of beauty. Commission a portrait today, by contacting Tony Wallace for a quote. Beauty shots, alter egos and boudoir paintings available. Extremely low rates and fast turnover.

What's My Motivation?

Every so often I'll come up with a subject to blog about that really strikes me, but that I continuously shove to the wayside due to the fact that deep down I think either it requires some sort of definitive existential answer that I don't have, or touches a profundity that is probably beyond my full comprehension. Or both. In either case, it tends to cause me to post in run-on sentences. And anytime you see me doing that, you can be assured I'm probably gearing up for something poignant, or at very least, entertaining as you watch my words squirm in their seats like a teenager watching a nude scene with his girlfriend's parents in the room.

This is one of those times, if you hadn't guessed. And the subject at hand is as simple as motivation, and as profound as good and evil. In short, what truly motivates us to do good things, and is it possible to commit a COMPLETELY selfless act? I'm talking, not even the joy of a good deed done, selfless.

The question first made itself known to me some years ago, on the pages of the venerable Penny Arcade. Generally speaking, Gabe and Tycho, the creators of Penny Arcade, need no introduction in this medium, but just in case, Penny Arcade is one of the most popular, and earliest successful webcomics, known best for their biting satire of the video game industry, done deftly with vivid charicatures and top shelf turn of phrase. If words were liquor, Tycho Brahe would be a three tier fountain of Stolichnaya, from which his readers slake their thirsts lustily, thrice weekly.

In any case, each Christmas the lads at PA have gone to great lengths to organize a toy/game drive called Child's Play to help get toys and games into the hands of underprivileged kids. The first year they did this, the gaming industry was still mired in the Jack Thompson, Columbine witch hunt days, and for two die hard gamers to raise not a small chunk of change, but thousands, for kids was huge, not only for the children in question, but as a counter to the negative and unwarranted perceptions that this corner of the entertainment industry had amassed, as its youngest sibling (like movies before it, and even radio before that. Gotta have something to blame, after all, right?).

So, it was with great curiosity that one of the first responses I saw to this charitable act was not praise, but bitterness. Something to the tune of, "Big deal. Don't pretend this is a selfless act, you did it to get off on the idea of doing something good, and because of the publicity. It's meaningless." I'm paraphrasing of course, out of laziness mostly. But the spirit of the message is intact, I assure you. And since that day, I've seen this very same argument crop up more and more in response to people's acts of charity.

There is this odd perception in our society that a good deed is not truly good unless it is somehow completely devoid of ulterior motive. Ulterior in this case meaning anything other than the deed itself. Meaning, helping an old woman across the street is right out if you were needing to cross the street yourself. I find this concept both concerning and fascinating from a social perspective. Usually such sentiments are reserved for big companies (erroneously so, in my opinion, but more on that later) but we've really devolved to the level of self righteous insecurity that we can't even allow a person a sense of accomplishment for doing something good in this world? It's essentially the diametric opposite of Machiavellianism. It is the means justifying the ends. How could anyone be embittered towards that?

The answer, after much meditating, fasting and ashen covered hand wringing, I've decided comes down to very human programming. At our core, we are motivated by two things: pursuit of pleasure, and avoidance of pain. But on a socio-genetic level, you could express our motivations as A) Survival and B) Legacy.

I believe firmly that these two concepts influence our every social decision, from making fun of someone who derives joy from something we don't understand (like LARPing, or The Hills) to simply saying hello to a stranger.

Survival is of course not wanting to die at any given moment during the day. Legacy is the need to ensure that something of our essence carries on either genetically through mating, or (more recently, milennia wise) through ideas, concepts or history. Sometimes these two things are at odds, as sticking our neck out and saying "I exist!" isn't always conducive to survival when there's a universal lawnmower buzzing around and we're all blades of grass. But we're pushed by both concepts nonetheless.

Survival is pretty obvious. Stay alive. But the legacy motivations tend to be boiled down to something nearly as simple. Be better than those around you. And people will seek any and every means to do so, whether it be in vanity (working out, body enhancement) intellect, charisma, or any other measure of merit, regardless of whether or not these measures are external or completely kept to ourselves. Some do this through competitive needs, driven to outstrip their opponents (the rest of humanity). Some simply engage in a campaign of constant self improvement, figuring the chips will fall where they may. Some try to drag everyone around them down to their level, and step on their heads. Those that subscribe to the third technique are the same people that find a reason for outrage at charity.

When it comes right down to it, who really cares what other motivations a person, organization, or mysterious all knowing entity has for doing a good deed, so long as the weight of that deed outweighs any potential negative effect of the ulterior. What harm is there in positive pride, or publicity, when lives are saved or improved? We're not talking saving orphans as a cover for a drug ring here. Just simple, universal relish in a job well done. And yeah, deep down we're tugging that string that makes us feel just a little better than those around us, even if we won't admit it freely. But what does that have to do with you? Does it make YOU feel not as good? Really, those feelings are just that: feelings. Intangible. Ethereal. Noncorporeal. It's the act itself that holds the real weight.

At the end of the day, these faceless corporations that so many of us rail against, whether "selfless" or not, are a force for good. They have the money, the power and the influence to make a positive difference in this world. But they are at their core, a machine, that is incapable of action unless it is connected to profit, which in turn provides capitol that keeps people employed and the machine in motion. It is the survival entwined with the legacy once more. And in the end, isn't it a better world where corporations and people do good deeds intertwined with selfish motives, than a world in which no good deeds are done at all?

If your answer is no, you might need to reevaluate your own level of selflessness before condemning it in others.

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Want your image immortalized for posterity? Need something special to let your lover know exactly what you're thinking right now, without words? Want to see your hidden alter ego given form? Just like the words above and want to ensure there are more of them gathered together in harmony thusly in the future? Turn your blurry cellphone pic into a work of beauty. Commission a portrait today, by contacting Tony Wallace for a quote. Beauty shots, alter egos and boudoir paintings available. Extremely low rates and fast turnover.

Not For Medicinal Purposes

Welcome all, to the inaugural (inblogural?) post of the newly minted tonywallaceworks.com. Before we get in to the actual blogtastic festivities, let me take a moment to clarify some things by explaining first of all what tonywallaceworks is NOT, but of which you may have become confused due to the nature of the title itself.

Tonywallaceworks is not a declaration that Tony Wallace is working. No one needs to know that, or cares, and if those that do ever found out it would only antagonize them into mobilizing their forces against me. I hate when people mobilize. So that's not it.

It's also not a declaration that I am in fact functional. Philsophers have debated this point for centuries and the best we can come up with is that the functionality of Tony Wallace is in itself unknowable. The best we can say is that he's doing SOMETHING, we just aren't sure what exactly, and no one wants to get close enough with a stick to poke it and find out.

Tonywallaceworks is also not a delicious sandwich in which all posted ingredients have been tossed together in a heartburn inducing melange of pain and yumminess as a thinly veiled scheme to get rid of extra food at the end of the day. But at least we're getting closer.

No, what tonywallaceworks IS, is a composite of various works and projects created by myself, that others have shown interest in. A repository* for artwork, short stories, animations, scripts, portraits, illustrations, and whatever else I deem I have to pass through my creative uterus into the blinkingly harsh light of day, because I don't believe in creative abortion.

In the future, as this blog develops under the loving guidance of my handlers and their many, many behavior adjustment techniques, hopefully the beatings will subside to a dull roar, and this will turn into a hub for all my creative endeavours.

*Not to be confused with a SUpository. Inserting this blog into you anus will not reduce swelling or inflammation of any kind, and only hurts both of us in the long run.