General critique thread. Post what you are writing and please comment on the writings of others
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.
>>8183169
also, I did this also, would maybe add it to the previous writing in a book
1/2
It's our 20th High School reunion, and we are all close to 50 years old, on account of
our entire class being kidnapped our junior year by rogue marketers.
As far as kidnapping, and slavery goes, it could have been worse. There was no sex, or
overt torture involved. Between us students, sure, but the marketing men just wanted to film
us painting butter on raw turkeys. For ten years. It was an odd ten years, but what it did help
us with was with our goals.
We were all close to 30 years old by the time we got back to school and graduated.
The clock was ticking. No time for slacking. No backpacking through Europe, spending a year
playing video games through a haze of weed smoke, no fucking around with mediocre jobs
while waiting for our true calling.
This was a blessing in some ways, but also would come around to bite us in the ass.
Many of us, like Steve Glades, became wildly successful. He's the guy who started implanting
into the stumps of amputee victims. You know, horses with horns coming out of their heads,
with the rainbow hair? He went from sketching that stuff in notebooks, to becoming a master
at genetic engineering, and now all those people you see walking around with, or in the case
of foot amputees, on, real live miniature unicorns.
Others of us became rocket psychologists, corn generals, clown sweaters, and all
around captains of imagination. We did well. But so did the weird kid. Billy Eyedis. He
conquered the world. And true to his word, or the words really, it was quite the verbal
manifesto of super villain hate, he was here to make us all pay. While we were busy with our
own goals and plans, Billy became a world wrestler. He literally wrestled worlds. After
defeating some planets in other star systems, to ply his trade, build his chops, he had come
back here and wrestled Earth into submission.
"Hey guys. I'm back. And you are all going to pay."
I guess someone should ask, so I do. "Billy, not to stoke this hate or anything, and
don't take this the wrong way, but why had you wanted to make us all pay? I remember you
went on that long drawn out tirade back when we were painting turkeys with butter, but, well.
No one really paid attention to you much. No offense"
"Fool! Ignore this!", Billy says, as he pulls a burglar from his bookbag.
The burglar promptly starts robbing us, one by one. But unlike a standard robber, he
takes very specific amounts from us. He takes $47 from Gladys Turrington, having to actually
make change from his own pocket. Others are a few dollars short, and are forced at gunpoint
to sign IOUs, notarized by the burglar's accountant, who he had kept in his own bookbag.
He even had one of those credit card swipey machine things, so he could rob those of us who
shunned carrying cash.
>>8183175
2/2
Billy smiled. "All those years. You ignored me! Thought you were better than me! But I
kept a record of every wrong. And I wrote down those wrongs, and fixed a price. I knew you
would all pay one day for your transgressions. And now ", and he said a bunch of other stuff.
Not sure really, he was kind of droning on. We all politely waited for him to finish, and then
grabbed our paintbrushes and flew home.
We would paint turkeys one more time.
>>8183167
I'm playing Bloodborne
Hitler was my first born
I dont have time to watch porn
You need some nutrients, have some corn
But I'm just playing
I aint even look like michael cera
me and ellen paige aint dating
my dick is so dry I call it the sahara
I like to fantasize about my death
I'll shine bright and they'll hold their breath
Then everyone dies like the end of macbeth
That's the elliot rodger type shit
aint fucking around with normie pipe shit
gonna show the world I'm some hype shit
but I aint writing a manifesto and type shit
For my new mixtape. What you think senpai?
>>8184691
i think you're going to have to work on another new mixtape
Atchut, atchut! - the sound of my tongue and my teeth. Ackra, ackra! The sound of birds in my dream. This is a big-ass baseball field, and I'm going to play baseball in it. With my sword - a baseball bat. But for now the field is empty... the battle I'd someday fight still someday... the rush of that moment... just a figment.
Let me tell you about baseball here. It's not like you're thinking. How'd I know that? Because you're somewhere else. I'm writing this to whoever might hear it, you know? I believe that there's all these other places, other worlds, that words and thoughts seep into somehow, some way. Maybe my frustrated thoughts are guiding some dope's hand somewhere. Or not. But if you're reading this, it worked.
Anyway, every half century, the Gran Counsel (a person, not a council) destroys one half of our city. My city. That side's the loser of a big-ass game of baseball. Everyone there dies. Leave beforehand, that's death for you. So everything's staked on the game, for one thing. And for another, the rules aren't the same. You can imagine maybe what the two sides think of each other. The fervor and hate. Well, imagine a bit of it. It's worse I bet than what you're thinking.
So... ah, sorry, sorry. But I've got to go. Prior engagement.
(Might continue if there's interest.)
>>8184715
Cause you can't get enough of it, right?
