Critique thread? All types of literature is welcome.
Do not critique something just because you want yours to be critiqued, critique it if you genuinely have something constructive to add.
Here is my short story.
http://pastebin.com/gds3CyKB
About a school.
http://pastebin.com/28TgF2T4
First Wil and Testicle
1/2
I'm lying down on my synthetic, cat skin, sofa, smoking type O positive laced ketamine, and listening to an audio recording of domesticated penguins having sex.
And I'm writing my masterpiece. My first Wil and testicle. Or, “My First Wil and Testicle”. It's a cop buddy screenplay about a testicle, who after being amputated from an aspiring castrato, leaves his fellow testicle to become a cop. His partner? Former child star, Wil Wheaton.
But all of this writing is giving me jaundice, so I throw the manuscript into the air, demanding it stays there, floating, until I have need of it later. I stab myself in the upper back with my pen, and twist it in until it's about halfway in, and secure, then throw the ketamine pipe on top of my tombstone. Rest in peace, pipe.
Food. I need energy after sucking down horse tranquilizer all day, and breakfast is the most important meal of the day. And night. And day. And all of the night. Chinese baby pizza. No, you sick fucks, it's not made out of Chinese babies. What kind of monster do you think I am? It's made by Chinese babies. To help pay off debts, some farmers in China sell their excess babies into pizzeria slavery. The ethics are a little sketchy, but damn, these pizzas are incredible. Honey bee crust. Delicious.
When I was older, I couldn't find the ingredients to make even the most basic of pizzas. Pepperoni had been gone for years, hunted to extinction by radical vegan extremists. We thought it an isolated series of incidents, the pepperonis didn't disappear overnight, but one morning we woke from our beds, turned on the television, and the president told us that the very last pepperoni in the world had been destroyed. If the death of pepperoni had been a long drawn out whimpering fart, the death of cheese was a sudden and completely unanticipated diarrhea shit storm violent explosion of a fart. Fuck all that noise, I had decided to revert to my younger self. In a world of pizza.
I'm running late for work. I go to my bathroom and induce vomiting to get rid of the pizza. I need room in my stomach for work, plus I plan to transition to a life of shirtlessness soon, and don't need to build up any excess fat. Brush my teeth, dry them off with an old pair of underwear, and then rub superglue over them. This helps fight the acidity of vomit that attacks the enamel. I look in the mirror and recite my reverse Gatsby opener affirmation before the glue seals my lips to my teeth.
“In my older and less vulnerable days my mother sold me some advice that I tend to forget every day. Whenever you feel like praising any one, just forget that some of the people in this world have had every advantage that you never did.”
I put on two thirds of a shirt (Small incremental steps are best when transitioning to a shirtless lifestyle) and crawl out of my window, ready for work.
>>8216953
2/2 (start of next scene)
Nine in the morning like three bowling pins knocked down by a thunderous God leaving the remaining nine for the great unwashed to aim for to pick up the spare to pick up the toasted french pastries that papa and I prepare every morning spared a morning of empty bellies as they go about their business in businesses or with business partners on their busy days of byzantine barbiturate fueled mock battles while papa has been here since last night painting today's specials on both the glass windows and floors and I have been prepping for that same amount of time drenching bread in time stream harvested pterodactyl egg yolk while speaking french incantations from a long forgotten grimoire recovered from the tomb of Maximilien François Marie Isidore de Robespierre but the missing piece of this triumvirate of breakfast fast but not cheap food lords is missing and without that missing piece there will be no one to man the cash register and we will be ruined for the morning rush and we may die. Corncob tortilla. Papa will we die?
>>8216961
>>8216953
u are a very sexy man
The alarm rings at 8:08 and I'm rolling out of the bunk, hit the stained concrete with the callused balls of my feet, shuffle, hands on the cold tin sink, rub my thumbs with my gums in the mirror, then outside past the shitty 1985 commie Yugo (fuck that car) when a large sexy man with a pronounced v taper and stark serratus anteriors approaches and lures me with tales of the sea, talks of the white whale attracted by animal instinct to the sound of silver, the vast quantities weighing the holds seemingly attracting the whale not by the moment of inertia in the ocean swell but rather by the minds of the seamen themselves and as they imagine the untold riches just under the waterline the animal is suddenly aware of their presence, blood surging through its manhole-sized arteries as it changes course and they sit in solemn silence on the dull dark dock awaiting a sensation of a short sharp shock from a cheap and chippy chopper on a huge black cock. Do you know how coke is manufactured? It's made by babies for the immature.
