YOUR SHITTY WRITING

[Anonymous No.5214775]

Well, I'm sure it's not shitty. But let's see some cringey excerpts from your earliest attempts at writing.

>Moore's eyes were similar to Tyler, but his hair was brown. It circled in a ring around his entire face, and was accented with a upside-down \_/ mustache. He wore a normal beige hat.

[Anonymous No.5214789]

>>5214775
Why say their eyes were similar and then bring up hair? There is no context in this.

What circled in a ring around his entire face? His hair? And, circled, really? Makes no sense as a description. Upside-down what? A normal beige hat.. A normal beige hat. Gee.

I'm not even a writer - never have written a short story in my life and that was abysmal. The journalists I work with can write much better than that and they're fucking journalists.

[Anonymous No.5214802]

"Shit! SHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTT!" screamed Jack Welsh as his hangglider spiraled towards the futanari nudist colony.

The wind tore at his face and adrenaline coursed through his veins like liquor, making his every move as he tried to pull out of it a near futile gesture in the face of ultimate face. But he had to pull out of it, because he knew that if he landed down there, the inhabitants would certainly not pull out of him.

[Anonymous No.5214816]

>>5214789
>criticizing the writing of a 12-year-old in a thread about bad writing

[Anonymous No.5214824]

You gulp as your tail twitches again. You want her so bad but the thought of being missing makes you change your mind. With much difficulty you turn away and begin to walk out of the hut. "I'm going to go find the Wizard on my own, and you can't stop me," you tell her as you make your way out.

"Says you!" she yells and grabs you by the tail. "You want to try the 50/50? Here's the pill right her!" as she drags you over to the table towards the edge of the room. You try frantically to escape and claw at the ground, she's twice your size though so you're easily out matched in that regard. She has you. "You want to try it? Guess I should go ahead and tell you that the 50/50 doesn't work the way I explained. If I manage to get you pregnant you stay a female squirrel for the rest of your life, and since I'm gonna be keeping my race I'd say I'll have a pretty clear shot to your womb," She proclaims with a lustful grin. You continue to try and get away as she opens up a drawer and pulls out two pills, one blue and one pink. She downs the blue one and looks at you. "I'll never eat it!" you yell as she finished swallowing the blue pill. "Good thing it can also be a suppository then huh?" she asks mockingly.

You try to pull away again but the grabs farther up the base of your fluffy tail and pulls it up to reveal your anus. You cry out in panic as she does this. "NO NO NO NO!" you keep screaming to yourself but nothing can save you now. She grabs the pink pill and begins to pull you closer smiling all the way. "I can feel myself changing, it should go even faster for you with this," s(he) tells you in an ironically loving tone. "Bottoms up!" she says as she hoists you almost completely off your hind legs to get a closer view of your anus. Slowly s(he) slides the pill in, making sure you feel every bit of it as the magic spreads through your body and causes your body to alter into that of a female gray squirrel. "Nooo!" you scream as you're inards shift. You frantically paw at your manhood, hoping that it will remain but you can feel it slipping, eventually it absorbs into your body causing you to moan as you feel your sensual new sex form and travel near your rear.

"I'm a male now my little squirrely lover, and soon you'll be the perfect match for me."

[Anonymous No.5214827]

>>5214802
Either your writing is English or Japanese.

[Anonymous No.5214828]

>>5214802
>in the face of ultimate face
Nigga what

[Anonymous No.5214830]

>>5214828
Supposed to be "fate"

[Anonymous No.5214833]

I fucking hate writing.
I hate myself.
This is the only genuine thing I’ve wrote.
Why?
I fucking hate words.
Jumbled letters.
Fuck.
I hate you.
I hate YOU.
They won’t come to me.
The pitfall of all writing -
- finding someone who gives a shit.
Why is everyone so cruel?
Why is everyone such a pussy?
Why do I hate my life so much?
Why do all my friends hate me?
What happened to loyalty?
What happened to principles?
Even Hitler had principles.
Everyone is such shit.
Edgy or not.
It’s true.
Creativity is a virtue.
And I hate virtuosos.
What with their praise.
And optimism.
Fuck you.
Fuck YOU.
You, the optimist.
You, the idealist.
Oh, how I envy thee.
Who has talent.
Who has friends.
Who enjoys life.
Who needs not themselves.
To enjoy themselves.
Fuck YOU.
Fuck ME.
Oh my god, /lit/.

[Anonymous No.5214838]

>>5214824
Try again.

[Anonymous No.5214840]

>>5214833
Very Tyler The Creator-esque.
Plebian prose.

[Anonymous No.5214847]

>>5214838

I probably should, but...
>implying I ever edit my porn
>implying I'm not literally masturbating while writing instead of figuratively like most writers

Your mind is conflicted. After a few moments of thought she jabs at you again with her penis. The shock finally pushes you overboard and allows your female side reign over your body. "I want to be with you, let me present myself properly so we may do this in a more comfortable way."

"I knew you'd come around. Don't worry about it, I'm an excellent male." She says as she gets off you. The moment of truth. You walk forward a bit, shaking off the foliage that got on your underbelly while lying on the grass with a very large very male fox-squirrel on top. You turn your head, mimicking what she did in the den. You lower your front downward, locking your back legs firmly on the ground. You raise your tail, still twitching nervously every now and then high in the air so that your mate may see her conquest to be with ease. You can tell he is aroused by this very much and you can hear the panting as he stares at your new folds.

He approaches with an animal grace and guides himself in place with ease. Your mate once again lowers her head down to you to whisper in your ear,"I won't hold you down this time my love," he says sensually as he once again nibbles on your ear. Slowly his rod once again pecks at your now aching sex. You WANT him in you so much that words cannot describe it. He seems to telepathically oblige and begins by thrusting deep. A shock wave of pleasure unlike anything before shoots through your female form. You can't help but moan loudly. Your mate begins to thrust in and out of you. Filling you beyond full as you begin to feel a slight pain accenting the pleasure but it is hardly enough to cause you any distress. Your newly feminine mind is ecstatically joyful of your current actions and the pleasure you are feeling is evidence of that. Your lover thrusts deeper and deeper into you. Your bodies are entwined almost rhythmically as the song builds and builds higher and higher. You begin to push back on your mates thrusts. Wanting, needing, loving. The noises you make stretch to all corners of the forest. This is the rest of your life and you're perfectly happy with that. Your mate begins to increase her speed and soon begins to strain herself. She definitely didn't just want this for herself. She wanted you to be happy to. The climax continues to build, your furry bodies rubbing one another faster and faster. She speeds up even more, grunts start to come from your mate and you brace for what is sure to come soon. An eruption of pleasure and sperm comes forth from your mates tool, the two of you let out one final cry of joy as she gets pulls out of you as your sex fills to the brim with her semen. You don't let her go that easily and press back against the tool to take up the rest to ensure conception. "I...hoped...I hoped you'd enjoy it," she says between breaths.

[Anonymous No.5214848]

>>5214840
I was 14 years old desperately trying to emulate Bukowski.
Just a recipe for disaster.

[Anonymous No.5214849]

>>5214824
I just can't make it past the first sentence

[Anonymous No.5214864]

>>5214849

Hah, that's probably for the best.

[Anonymous No.5215189]

Come on. I want to read more of that bad lit, /lit/ !

[Anonymous No.5215207]

It's titled Self Realization without Gratification.


I beat myself with judgement

Tear my self esteem apart

Spiral down the stairs of my lousy apartment

Into the gutter were i belong

Nothing smirks as hard as life

Misery is lifelong


9th grade angst is nothing to joke about.

[Anonymous No.5215243]

Allomare, known around the world as THe Island of Wonders, was a great nation. It's golden oceans and beautiful green sky illuminated the otherwise dark hearts of its visitors. But where did it come from? How could a land such as itself appear overnight. It seems as if the people of the world simply accepted it, almost like they thought it had been here all along.

[Anonymous No.5215270]

This thread needs more ruthless criticism.

[Anonymous No.5215282]

>>5215270
It's probably all terrible. That's the entire point of this thread. If you want something critiqued, go to the critique thread.

[Anonymous No.5215314]

>>5214824
>>5214847

Here's something a bit less old.
"Ok, look. You're not going to like this at first. Heck I hated the whole thing until this morning when I...Well lets just say I got used to the idea when I heard of the perks."

Brian's left hand was gone, replaced with the end of a cockroach's leg albeit quite a bit larger. Slowly but surely the chitin spread further up his arm. Brian clawed at his changing arm hoping to slow it down. "*clickclick*!" Brian tried in vain to shout. Hairlike tendrils began to grow from his now changed arm. Giving up the fight for his arm he decided it was time for a change of plans. Brian closed his eyes and stroked his forehead with his regular hand. An audible thump could be heard throughout the apartment as Brian fell to the ground.

"Ouch" Adam thought out loud. "You really need to calm down, if you keep this up you'll manage to kill yourself before we get more acquainted."

"*click*...*clickclick*!" Brian exclaimed as he opened his eyes to the sight of two grotesque tendril covered chitinous arms. "This couldn't be real, how is this happening? HELP!" Brian desperately wanted to scream but all that came out was at most a series of chirping noises and clicks. The thoughts of cockroaches mating began to fill his mind, but Brian knew now that the thoughts were not his own. He shot a glare at Adam the cockroach as he used his new arms to awkwardly pull himself up.

The cockroach seemed to cock its head to the side," Wow, the changes have just started and you already smell amazing."

[Anonymous No.5216299]

Two different excerpts

"I love you" she said
"And I love you" he said
The room was white just as he had remembered it being. He kissed her pressing his lips against hers with a feeling of lust and intimacy. It was so real, she was real and she was alive he thought he wished that this would never end. She backed away and looked into his eyes, and smiled.
"I've missed you" he said
"Silly, you were only gone for a day" she sang
"Its felt like an eternity" he said "its like you've been gone..."

and
When Damien awoke he was in his cell, his head was pounding and his body was sore . how did he know how could he hear me? Were there cameras? As Damien thought he scoured across his room looking for anything that could support this theory but came up with nothing.
“Got any pancakes, man?” a voice said from the other side of the wall .
Damien walked to the wall and put his ear against it.
“Hello? who are you? why do you want pancakes?”
“Are you the pancake man? Do you have pancakes?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well i smell pancakes, and i taste syrup it tastes of iron and so red but so good.”
Damien slowly backed from the wall appalled from what the man had said.
“Don't you leave me you filthy slut i’ll cut you, i’ll fucking cut your throat again.”
Oh god, I’m the only the sane man here. All these fuckers are crazy he thought as he began back farther away from the wall. The man continued to ramble nonsense and this roused the other patients. They began to yell incoherently but suddenly became silent. Loud footsteps could be heard approaching.
“Snell! he’s back” the patients yelled.
Damien knew that Snell was not coming for him, but he felt an uncanny fear as Snell walked through the hallway. He stopped and with this the screams of the other patients had subsided?(right word?) Damien could hear the door slowly and rushed to put his ear to the wall.
“Ar-are you the Pancake man?”
“I’m sorry Charlie, but no.”
“Whe-where are my Pancakes?”
“Grab him.”
The orderlies rushed in swooping charlie off of his feet. Charlie began to scream and resist. Dr. Snell calmly walked up to him.
“Today is not your day, pancakes.”

[Anonymous No.5216330]

>>5215314
i'm almost certain this exact text was referenced in the producers.

[Anonymous No.5216409]

>>5216299
That first excerpt. Oh my god. I don't have the balls to post something that cringy.

[rêve No.5216434]

>>5216409
but you're anon

i wish i had something bad to contribute but i went from not writing ever to being a queen so unfortunately i do not.

[Anonymous No.5216442]

>>5214775
I am dirt, not the dirt of gardens, but the dirt of Chernobyl – encrusted underneath the fingernails of thousands of hapless evacuees moving in long dark lines across a horizon never sure of its permanence, fluctuating – a dirt that can never grow or create; no not Chernobyl, even the dedicated efforts of the rawest energy could not scrub the life clean – for even the salted hills of Carthage sprang forth with life long after Scipio’s parabola moved Beyond the Zero. The Zero is a place I have long sought, alas it forever remains an asymptote to my cowardly graph .

[Anonymous No.5216545]

>>5214833
>using the word edgy
>using the word thee

[Anonymous No.5216556]

>This is ten years old.

H.W. Rocker was a very important man. He was the chief executive of a multinational and very influential conglomerate. Every day he would sit in his office, and make important decisions that would steer the future of the world.

Today was just like any other for Rocker. He had just finished a day of making millions of dollars, and was now returning to his helicopter pad, from where he could return home.

Rocker entered his car, knowing that it was much to far to the helicopter to walk. His upscale German sedan roared to life, and its premium sound system began producing the most beautiful music. Rocker loved his sound system. He had just recently had it custom built and was still in the honeymoon stage of owning it. One might say it was his latest kick.

As Rocker pulled away however, he noticed something strange. A tiny man had walked out of the cd player. He was no taller than a cd laying flat. Though he was small, he was distinctly a man. Rocker could make out that the man wore a white shirt and tie, with black pants. Rocker stared in amazement, at first but then began to wonder about it.

What was it?
Where had it come from?

In all of Rocker’s wondering, he did not notice that he was approaching and intersection. When he did realize it, he stopped very quickly, sending the little man falling to the car floor. He landed on Rocker’s expensive briefcase with a tiny thud. Rocker looked at the man. The white shirt was now red, and the man’s head was malformed. He knew at once that the little man was dead.

Suddenly more, tiny people crawled out of the cd player. Rocker was so shocked he didn’t know what to do. The tiny people, all dressed similar to the first man, began to start talking. It was very faint, and Rocker couldn’t quite hear the words, but he did hear voices.

The little people were now moving. It seemed to Rocker, that they had seen the dead man, and were going to investigate. They did not head for the dead man, but instead walked towards Rocker.
Rocker lifted his hands, and the mob of little people began to run at him. Before Rocker could react, they swarmed him. They climbed and crawled everywhere. Some crawled in his ears.

He could hear them now. Their tiny voices were distinct.
“We work for you to make music, but you never thank us!”
“You never give, but always take!”
A heavy horrible sense of doom fell upon Rocker when he heard the next voice
“You killed one of us, now we must kill you!”

Rocker could feel them crawling into his nose and down his throat. They were all over his body. He was slowly choking on the little people. It began to get darker around Rocker. Either the mass was swarming at his eyes, or he was blacking out.
In a last ditch effort to alert some one to his crisis Rocker stamped on the gas, and sent himself right into a fuel truck, going to gas up his helicopter.

[Anonymous No.5216659]

I wrote this at 13 and I still cringe

Misplaced Unease About Search Engine Optimization

Oh what's gone off with society?
When I greet my love with parentheses
And our mouths are Os and our tongues are Ps
And the caps that mark our enemies
Wear colon shades and less than spades
Our hearts rest in our thumbs
This silicon love

What's gone off with society?
When our fingers hide our sobriety
And our pixelated eyes deceive
Cause our smiles never hold their teeth
On sheets of glass and punctuation
My thirty keys will send my lungs
To breathe in the silicon love

When the hands run the hearts of all creation
We're just slaves to the punctuation
Or maybe I'm the problem
Maybe I'm just stiff

[Anonymous No.5216714]

“There is no joy in taking lives, son” Smith responded, billowing smoke wafting from his lips as he spoke, shrouding his face in a brume, “You may see me differently, reasonably so, but I am no monster, but an advocate. I stand for the people, because they are either too frail or unwilling to stand for themselves. They shake their fists, hoping to start a hurricane but merely tire their arms. So they live with prejudice, and like the fox with his grapes, they convince themselves that the world they have is the world they want.”
With each inhale, there was a fleeting glimpse of his face in the burning tar. I memorized all that I could. He was older, certainly, perhaps early 60s. Bad teeth and overall stench proved him weak to vices of smoke and drink, just like his friend [narrator]. A passing silhouette of his face showed either bald or slicked back hair, perhaps even in a braid of some sort. No scars, no marks, and the world’s most anonymous beard. There wasn’t a fucking thing I could use.
Smug son of a bitch knew it, too.
“I am not motivated by conflicts of ideology, or something so fleeting as revenge. My vendetta is not a personal one, but universal. The world is objectively improved without their blight. We all pay for our sins, Donovan. Even you. Even I. It is a necessary evil, one that shelters from another like scum on a cesspool. If we allow these miscreants life, we take on their demons. And we will not survive. So I decided to use mine while I still can. Today is not my last. But for him, it is a countdown.”
“And you think you have that authority? You think you can determine whether a man lives or dies?”
“Yes,” was all he said in response.

[Anonymous No.5216944]

>>5216659
This isn't too bad actually

[rêve No.5216954]

>>5216659
*was actually written last night and crosses fingers for compliments*

[Anonymous No.5216955]

Crawlin in my skin
these wounds they will not heal

[Anonymous No.5216959]

>>5216954
No kidding.

[Anonymous No.5216961]

>>5216954
You can actually search /mu/ archives for when I posted this in lyric threads years ago

[Anonymous No.5216983]

>>5216961
You mean when the person you stole it from posted it years ago.

[Not that guy No.5216991]

>>5216983
Go away newfag

[Anonymous No.5217002]

>>5216961
Why is it so hard to believe that I wrote that when I was younger? It's heavy-handed and moralistic and contrived and reads like a college humor writer tried to start a punk band.

[Anonymous No.5217009]

>>5216991
Hey, I've been here since the late 80s on the 4chan usenet. Who are you calling a newfag?

Honestly, I just have trouble believing a 13 year old would know what "search engine optimization" is.

[Anonymous No.5217016]

>>5217009
Back before they got bought out by Demand Media, I wrote for eHow to make videogame money and I used my mom's paypal. SEO is all I did.

[Anonymous No.5217034]

>>5217016
Damn kids and their Internet experience. Ok. If you say so. Well, not bad, Jr.

[Anonymous No.5217294]

It was a luxurious urban oasis, set inside a ring of mountains. It was in this ring that Haya found herself, binoculars pressed to her eyes. An electric dawn bubbled from inside the city, cut through the fading light of the crisp evening air, and cast a gentle light over her body. She could clearly see the tall spires and skyscrapers stretching as far as human ingenuity would allow, and then a little bit further. Some were topped with onion domes, sitting there like gilded dollops of decadence gifted to the people by some hedonist god.

Her grimace turned into a grin. She threw the binocs over the edge and walked back to the glider. It was made of a durable metal, heavier than cloth but light enough to get her into town. She grabbed the bar with both hands and hoisted the bird-like contraption over her head. Then she ran back to the edge. Five steps and she flicked two switches. The wings of the glider extended ever further out. Three steps and her grip tightened on the metal. One step and she could see the golden light, then the ground was gone beneath her.

>tfw your writing isn't even serviceable

[Jude !SX.Jipgvhc No.5217312]

THAT praises are without reason lavished on the dead, and that the honours due only to excellence are paid to antiquity, is a complaint likely to be always continued by those, who, being able to add nothing to truth, hope for eminence from the heresies of paradox; or those, who, being forced by disappointment upon consolatory expedients, are willing to hope from posterity what the present age refuses, and flatter themselves that the regard which is yet denied by envy, will be at last bestowed by time. 1
Antiquity, like every other quality that attracts the notice of mankind, has undoubtedly votaries that reverence it, not from reason, but from prejudice. Some seem to admire indiscriminately whatever has been long preserved, without considering that time has sometimes co-operated with chance; all perhaps are more willing to honour past than present excellence; and the mind contemplates genius through the shades of age, as the eye surveys the sun through artificial opacity. The great contention of criticism is to find the faults of the moderns, and the beauties of the ancients. While an author is yet living we estimate his powers by his worst performance, and when he is dead, we rate them by his best.

*
I have no idea what I was thinking, lmao

[Anonymous No.5217369]

>>5216545

[Anonymous No.5217940]

>You will never write anything this dreadful

Two suncycles on and still he blamed her, loathed her.

Bastard, you weren’t the only one to lose someone that day.

Her thoughts broke back to the present as she struggled to remember the way out of the maze of backstreets. She slowed to a halt, hearing no sound of her pursuers, trying to picture the alleys winding routes in her mind.

Making her way slowly and carefully to the next turning she smiled at her success at evading capture. She was a Locke after all, she thought, fingering the inscribed pendant that hung proudly about her neck. And what’s a swindling Kelroache to an honest Locke?

“What you smilin’ at little gel?”

Oh curses.

One of Sydneys Martyr’s stood, hand on hips, blocking the turning. He was smiling a toothless foul grin and had a smooth, hairless head that looked as if it had been dipped in polish. His muscles, which were on arrogant display, seemed to bulge in anticipation. Her conscience was screaming. Run.

Obliging, she ran at him, head down, fists clenched. Ploughing towards the goon at an unlikely speed, she barrelled into him and away. She heard him utter a gormless breath as he clenched his groin in agony.

She had only just rounded the corner when she was forced to skid to a halt. The Kelroache boy’s other bodyguard was heading towards her, strutting, a sword hung at his side, eagerly on show. Noting his slicked back hair, tucked into a ponytail, and immaculate beard she observed that his swagger wasn’t his only arrogant trait. Elena swore again; seeing her chances of escape fleeing, along with her courage.

“Going somewhere... Locke?” Came a voice from above; the intentional derision clear from the way her family name was spat out.

Looking up in surprise her stomach sank; The Kelroache scum. He was lounging against an old brewers sign atop the flat roof of an ancient tavern, his arms crossed, his face a picture of loathing. Leaping elegantly to the cobbled floor, cloak floating up behind him majestically, her enemy stood before her all cool and confident.

[Anonymous No.5217962]

From 2009, either in junior or senior year of high school:

1/3

The van parted the darkness in front of it with wide swaths of light, illuminating the road where fallen leaves were crushed flat undertire from days before. The ones not soaked with rain rattled across the pavement as the van passed. The others lay in little wet mosaics, their spindly dead venations interlacing and enfolding each other.
More joined them with every gust of wind as the trees swayed and shook loose their autumnal tribute.
It began to rain again.

He refolded his pale knuckles across the wheel and clenched it tighter and trained his eyes on the darkness ahead of the lights. He only removed his stolid leer to watch the streetlights pass by. They marked every adjoining road and he would glance down them, past the streetlights amber halation, where the asphalt ran off into vested darkness.
Beside him, a woman's figure was splayed sideways across the upholstery. She sat leaning, her hands drawn up to her face, resting her forehead against the glass. She watched the windows obfuscate with her every exhalation. A misty cataract, not unlike the steam that rose off the pavement they traveled in vaporous curtains of white.

[Anonymous No.5217968]

2/3

Every time one of them would be moved to speak, they could do nothing but grope blindly for meaning in what they were about to say. Finding none, they made no attempts to commune with each other. Soon they were struck dumb with the bleak aphasia that manifests itself when all thoughts turn inward and nothing is said. This was all in the wake of an insignificant altercation where they exchanged impetuous barbs that they could never take back and never makeup for. This is how they were together, when stripped bare of all the trappings distance could afford them.
So they contented themselves with listening to the van drive through the night.
He accelerated around a corner that drew up a hill and cranked the wheel slowly so that he could make a wide turn, and give himself proper berth between him and the trees. The lights fell upon a figure in the road, and although he brought his foot down hard on the brakes he couldn’t prevent the van from landing a sideways blow on the figure, snuffing out a headlight and jolting the woman upright.

[Anonymous No.5217969]

3/3 (I guess I could have done it in two posts though)

The impacted figure now stumbled past their remaining headlight. They saw the shine of little black spinels set deep in a face of ochre hide.
It was a deer.
Now it staggered out of view, limping with mangled steps, dragging cloven hooves and creating an unsteady rhythm that clacked out on the road. It shambled past the car
Their silence remained intact, donned a new aura.

[Anonymous No.5217985]

>>5214775
My dog is funy he liks to run arund and sumtims he danses wif me and I luff.

[Anonymous No.5218007]

"William, your father has something he wishes to tell you."

William raised his gaze from his plate to his fathers face. The brows were knotted in a way that told Will it was damn serious.

"Look, William, your mother and I are increasingly concerned about you. It's been three years since you dropped out of college, and you spend every day cooped up in that bedroom--"

God, it's this speech again, William mused to himself. Five minutes and it will be over and I can return to my sanctuary; my warm bed nest to bask in the glow of my laptop screen.

"--and when we do see you," Father continued," you just rave about objective morality, feminists, and the work of Max Stirner."

Max Stirner? That was new. The speech usually used the term 'Spooks'.. He couldn't have read.. No, it's impossible. Dad's a pleb.

"Tell him, Stanley," Mother urged.

Father removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"William. I'm not sure quite how it happened, but the family computer was left on displaying that Chinese cartoon website you frequent--"

Oh, Shit. They know. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"--it seems that as you submit posts on your laptop, the family computer will display any posts related to yours with '(you)'. I think it's something to do with the IP address thingy. The point is.. err"

"The point is," Mother roared, "is that you have been saying the most revolting hurtful things I have ever seen. All that stuff about atheists and Jews; not to mention your disgusting views on women."

"Now, Sandra," began Father.

"No, Stanley, it's time this was out in the open. Look, William, it's obvious you have some neurological problems. Your views on sexuality, social issues, gender issues; hell, your views on everything is utterly vile. Last night you spent two hours posting about hats, then declared that you wanted to sodomize that girl from the Disney channel with barbed wire.

"William," Father interrupted, "We have printed off the worst of what you have been saying, and your mother and I think it's time to visit Dr. Goldstein again."

Reaching into the ikea cabinet behind him, Father removed a large dossier.

[Anonymous No.5218276]

>>5218007
10/10

[Anonymous No.5219224]

>>5218007
The greatest crime is that you are not continuing this story

[Anonymous No.5219248]

>>5218007
Top. Fucking. Class.

[Anonymous No.5219260]

The back of her head bobbed back and forth like she was bobbing for apples, leaving her hair in a fit of dance about my tickled balls. Anyway I came and that was that. When she wiped my cum from her face, she looked up at me with a devilish grin and started clawing up towards me like she wanted to get closer to the face she worked so hard to please, in turn making me very displeased. About eight milliseconds before her semen drenched lips, can you believe it, met mine, I made like a dog and jumped up mumbling something about how I had to go do something. I honestly don't remember, but the next thing I knew I was back at home telling my retarded little sister to stop picking up our cat by the hind legs. She screamed back "no!" and I gripped her by the wrist and mirrored her retort back to her sternly and seriously. Someone has to be the man around the house.

[Anonymous No.5219273]

The front door swallows me, gluttonous, revealing gurgling innards that course with flashes of left-handed drinks and chattering vocal chords. The hardly austere decor complements the mosaic of generally attractive faces that remain cloaked by anonymity; namelessness rings it's name out like a wet towel in a silent movie. Shapely tits and a surplus of lascivious lips; lucky lawyer bastard's house could not be better stocked, boozy and floozy wise. I slice through the simmering crowd at a slight slant to the left towards the kitchen so to help myself to a little beer, hopefully Shiner. About a dozen babes, banging broads, salacious Cinderellas, and/or (if you'd like to satiate hunger of respect) lovely ladies stand in my purview, which is happily limited to the lively and open living room lightly pulsating to the rhythm of a suspected seventies soul song whose name I can't recall, if I've known it at all. I offer a few "excuse me's" to find that--cool--Jerry does have Shiner--buck goes the bock on a rock--but fuck, I can't find the bottle opener. I see an evidently Hispanic guy sporting a Parliament between his shaved head and left ear gesticulating at a tight, inviting redhead with a cartilage piercing and the air of expensive sour candy around her; I ask him for a lighter.

[Anonymous No.5219296]

>>5218007
/pol/, not everyone is as pathetic as you.

gtfo

[Anonymous No.5219313]

The world shook and burned, and the last day's men stood about their respective, crumbling roof tops with the sight of a thousand horizons upon their now purified spirits-moonshine of course. A gentle breeze picked up along a stream of ashes and the brazenly red Sun beat on into the night with the fluttering fervor of an epileptic butterfly while tongues continued to singe and hearts beat. A building nearby felt its last stretch of life and let gravity raze it to the ground in a dramatically thunderous motion that might've startled some sometime ago. And as reclined seats saw a flock of birds swim by overhead and the last wisps of daylight flow upon sweaty brows, soft voices spoke and the acknowledgement of sleep sounded out, leaving the night sky wanting of a more appreciative audience, who were now condemned to the safety of the underground, out of the reach of the hollering screams.

[Anonymous No.5219325]

>>5219296
>doesn't have a sense of humour

[Anonymous No.5219326]

>>5217962
>>5217968
>>5217969

>they could do nothing but grope blindly for meaning in what they were about to say. Finding none

Focus less on the colors you use to paint the picture and more on the composition of the picture.

[Anonymous No.5219334]

>>5219325
knowing that the situation described above is all too common among the ranks of /pol/....is not funny. It's pathetic. It's depressing.

[Anonymous No.5219337]

>>5215243

>illuminated the otherwise dark

Sorry but this is a horrible phrase. Get rid of otherwise and it might be half-bad. Anyway, I have a sneaking suspicion that you haven't dedicated much time to this 'work.'

[Anonymous No.5219341]

>>5219334

If you're depressed by this then it probably says much more about you than it does about the writer of the story. Resonance much?

[Anonymous No.5219347]

>>5219337
>YOUR SHITTY WRITING

[Anonymous No.5220436]

>>5218007

>and your mother and I think it's time to visit Dr. Goldstein again.

kek

[Anonymous No.5220457]

An Original Fiction:

At dawn, Sheila was nude. Her clothes lay strewn on an empty beach, her body proud, full.

"I am Queen," she announced to herself, "I am Might." She dipped one toe into the frigid waters before her and then brought her entire foot down. It was cold, yes, but she fought the pain and brought her next foot parallel. The wind licked at her skin, her nipples erect, buttocks clenched.

[Anonymous No.5220468]

Guys this isn't a critique thread. It's a shitty writing thread. We know it's shit because we wrote it in our early teens.

[Anonymous No.5220475]

What is beautiful writing?
But exercise is crucial, for mental health.
Mental decay, debil. Tis a joke though.
Rusty I am, rust and amkylosé.
When pool built, swim but long gone by then.
Holy taken seriously,
Whatajoke, tis a laugh.
Doesn't mean it's worth nothing.
Joke is joke, not worthless.

[Anonymous No.5220505]

>>5220468
>early teens
speak for yourself ; ;

[Anonymous No.5220507]

I swallowed vellum, I do not intend to turn into men charms, because the dirty dandy is not compatible with a petty charm.

[Anonymous No.5220546]

It follows that billions and billions can't all be.
It follows that I need chalk for my palms.
It follows that the rope isn't just for me.
It follows that there's no surplus of alms.
It follows that the paint doesn't end here.
It follows that we'll be digging tonight.
It follows that I've had enough beer.
It follows that going left feels so right.
It follows that I'm in need of an ignition.
It follows that I'm in need of permission.
It follows that the pursuit isn't one-way.
It follows that the coop's missing hay.
It follows that it follows me home.
It follows that it follows alone.

[Anonymous No.5220590]

I tarnished her with wreaths of gold and watched her grotesque pirouette of pleasure. This was wrong. It had all gone wrong. There was no way to touch this beast without chilling the embers of passion. All desire lay in the yearning. There was nothing beyond.

There had to be a way to douse that twinkle of acknowledgment in her eyes, to stop her habitual touching of my arm. I needed to return to the distant corner and watch from anonymous shadows. I needed to observe unacknowledged as she swept the doorstep, her carelessly tied her slipping over her shoulders. That was the woman I had loved.

I thought of tall those cartoons in which a swift blow from a mallet would induce total amnesia, and smiled grimly. No. There was no solution. I had received what I felt I wanted, and it meant the death of my former life. It was time to move on.

[Anonymous No.5220598]

>>5220546
Heh. It's funny how excessive repetition can seem so effective when you first try it, despite it beng so utterly boring to read in reality.