StephenP2003

Damn, and they charge for an account. $10 times over 100,000 accounts. Cha-ching

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JosephB

No.

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"The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources."
-- Albert Einstein

"I am really only interested in a fiction of miracles."
-- Flannery O'Connor

lin

Take a look at Barry, PJ O'Rourke and one of my favorites, Patrick McManus and see how they handle lead-ins. They're better teachers than we are.

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ClancyBoy

I'll never forgive Patrick McManus for shooting my canoe.

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"Mother Hitton's Littul Kittons wait for you down there. Little pets they are, little little little pets. Cute little things, they say. Don't you believe it. No man ever saw them and walked away alive. You won't either. That's the final dash, flash. That's the utter clobber, cobber." --Cordwainer Smith, Norstrillia.

winner

I liked it. It was right on with my own experience and made sense to me. I liked the way you had it organized. Just one thing, I agree with other posts about the title. It isn't a good one. Try something else. Something better. But keep on with it .

ClancyBoy

As far as I'm concerned, edgy angry shock humor is just over. It started in the 70's, became popular in the 80's, was ubiquitous in the 90's, and now 10 years later it's just very very tired. I doubt there's an angry thing you can say about anyone anymore that would be considered funny. George Carlin still makes it work (sometimes) because he's self-effacing and absurd at the same time.

Newer humor is either absurdist (though that's getting old too, IMO) or the complete opposite of edgy. Knights of Prosperity is a good example, or Everybody Hates Chris, or Ugly Betty. They're still about odd people and misfits, but instead of haranguing them for being lol losers, they're very sympathetic to them.

Actually, in Ugly Betty, the edgy nasty people (Marc and Amanda) are the ones being made fun of most often, though never in an overt way.

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"Mother Hitton's Littul Kittons wait for you down there. Little pets they are, little little little pets. Cute little things, they say. Don't you believe it. No man ever saw them and walked away alive. You won't either. That's the final dash, flash. That's the utter clobber, cobber." --Cordwainer Smith, Norstrillia.

Mermaid on the breakwater

Well, it's just lightly entertaining and doesn't make me laugh. But then, I only laugh at hilarious things. And my perception of hilarious is different to most people's. I consider an old boy falling out of his chair and hitting his head hilarious. Sick isn't it?

But anyway, I am probably not the best person to judge this for that reason, but it's mildly ausing I would say. I smiled at a couple of points. The blockade bit at the end and the asshole of the mall.

Crow

I whole-heartedly agree with the poster who mentioned P.J. O'Rourke. Now there's a guy who can turn a phrase.

Honestly, the essay in question didn't grab my attention for several reasons, namely:

1.) Long intro. I've fallen victim to this many times. It's like you get so wrapped up anticipating writing the meaty section you extend far beyond what's necessary to begin the article.

2.) Your intro is filled with overly complex and nonsensical metaphors and examples:

What? Ever been to the King of Prussia mall in PA? This really doesn't make much sense. I get what your saying but it's a stretch.

Immobilize is not the right word to use here.

I agree with the several posters before me who wrote that this opening doesn't grab their attention. It's passive voice, wordy, and in effect, hard on the eyes. Take from this what you will, but I would open this article up with more subtlety and then spring the satire on your intended audience. Something perhaps like:

"Behold, the American mall. A bustling center of commerce. An enjoyable center fun for the whole family. And a place I'd rather stick a fork up my ass than visit."

It may not be the best opening, and doubtless there are better ones you could write. But this one certainly grabs your attention by its starchy shirt collar and pins its eyes to the screen.

I'm undecided about whether I like the list format that follows. It had its good points like The Sweaty Salesman, but the rest just came across a bit tired and repetitive. Lists like those with over the top characterizations were last big maybe 2003/04 at the latest (think Maddox in his heyday), but now they're quite stale.

Try something original. Make up a funny story about the characters you depict here and incorporate them into a narrative. You don't have to write it from your perspective. Make up a new character and tell the story from his POV if that makes you feel better.

As it stands now, your article is humorous, and there are no doubt a bunch of publications that would take it. But it can be improved mightily.

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winner

To Crow,

I liked your opening for the essay - 'Behold, the American mall ... a place I'd rather stick a fork up my ass than visit.' Maybe I'm little sick, but that funny.

geektarra

It didn't make me laugh, but it wasn't an overall bad read. I thought the line about the "abortion that forgot to take place" was very crude. And, I agree with Crow: the comparison about the mall being disorganized is a stretch. Malls do have an organization to them (at least the ones I've been to). The problem is, it's easy to get disoriented because everything looks the same.

I liked the mall characters list--really could relate to seeing The Blockade. Man, I hate the Blockade.

StephenP2003

So I decided to try something different with my next topic, which is about going to the grocery store. It's not done yet, but I'd like you all to read what I have so far. The humor is not as heavy-handed and obvious, but I don't want it to be dull either. Give me your thoughts on this.

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This is the story of Peter, 36, middle class, married to a woman named Jenny, and father of three. Peter spends most of his time going through the motions of life – getting up, showering, eating, going to work, and dealing with menial tasks in between. He runs errands, changes diapers and watches TV before bed. Peter is ordinary and meaningless in the eyes of literature, but the Peters of our reality have stories, too.

The last sliver of sun said its goodbyes as the streetlights flickered and the wind howled. Rain threatened to make an appearance that evening, and the indistinct shadows from the trees danced through the sheer curtains in Peter’s home. Additional imagery took place as the family prepared to eat dinner in the dining room.

“Get out of the goddamn living room!” shouted Jenny to her 13-year-old son, Jeffrey. “We’re eating as a family – hurry the hell up!”

“Jesus Mom,” Jeffrey called back. “I’ve got shit to do tonight.” Jenny shot a look at Peter, as if it was time for the patriarchal hand to make itself known.

“Don’t talk to your mother that way,” Peter grunted as he poured the packet of cheese powder into the overcooked macaroni. On the opposite side of the kitchen, Jenny compiled the ingredients for instant mashed potatoes. She backed up a couple of inches and elbowed Peter.

Nine-year-old Caitlin shuffled into the kitchen. Her eyes were glazed with the influence of unsupervised television.

“I need you to make formula for Drew,” Jenny told Caitlin.

“Why do I have to do it?” she whined.

Jenny ignored her and continued to stir the instant mashed potatoes beyond textural recognition. Caitlin sighed and opened the cabinet where the formula would normally reside.

“Empty,” Caitlin said and walked away.

“How are we out of formula?” Jenny asked.

“Huh,” Peter managed to say.

“I asked you to get baby formula two days ago, enough for the week,” Jenny nagged ferociously.

“Baby formula?” Peter turned around and looked at the dining table in disbelief. He indeed had a two-month-old boy. A translucent ooze crept its way out of baby Drew’s shiny wet mouth. The boy’s face would need to be cleaned, thought Peter. Then a wave of freshly soiled diaper met with Peter’s nostrils. The diaper would have to be changed as well.

“I’m so sorry, honey. I’ll go to the grocery store right now.” Peter grabbed his keys and hurried out the door.

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geektarra

I like your second post much better. It was more real than the first and I found myself much more interested and drawn in.

Good work; I dig it.

StephenP2003

Yeah, I figured a narrative would be refreshing for the book. I like how it's turning out, so i might do a ton more of them.

I added to it today:

The rain was coming down hard by the time he pulled up to the local mega-mart. FR SH FOOD, P ARMACY – the various lettering on the wide, concrete building illuminated the parking lot. The cars were lined up like depressed little soldiers, and Peter had no choice but to join the ranks in the back. No umbrella.

His worn-out sneakers squeaked on the freshly waxed floor. Shoppers carefully stepped over the residual beads of water guarding a safe exit. An elderly store employee pushed the “Wet Floor” sign a few more inches toward the door, which was exactly what Peter needed to see to avoid slipping.

Free from the initial danger, Peter power-walked to the baby food isle. He weaved around neglected displays, took a short cut through frozen foods and managed to grab a free sample of sausage on the way. Peter had learned the routine well. He reached for the baby formula. Victory.

Until Miles Davis’ rendition of “But Not for Me” called out from Peter’s pocket. Sadness. It was force of habit to bring his cell phone wherever he went, though he tried to make a point of leaving it at home. He always failed. Miles Davis was set for when someone called from Peter’s house, so he immediately knew exactly what to expect.

Peter had even made up a song for such an occasion. When his wife called, it was always for an errand.

Pick up some eggs and milk
Maybe some bread.
And if you get a chance, I need
More of that pore cleanser.
Oh, if you wouldn’t mind
I would like a Wendy’s Frosty.
And during a brief solo riff – Also make sure the baby has enough diapers to last through next week because I’m working late tomorrow and it was my only time to swing by the store without missing Deal or No Deal.

At that point the song started over and began to loop. Peter never wrote the lyrics down, so the song went differently in his head every time. But he was sure both Davis and Gershwin would’ve been proud.

He answered the phone. It was Jeffrey, calling on behalf of Queen Jenny. The conversation, as predicted, had put Peter into a new situation. This quick pre-dinner mission for baby formula had turned into a shopping cart trip. A shopping cart trip, obviously, was defined by the necessity of using a shopping cart to carry the products Peter had to buy. The single canister of powdered formula could’ve easily been carried by hand. And even a gallon of milk could’ve been put in the other hand; Peter could’ve carried the bag of sliced bread in the same hand as the formula. But not the cat food. Jenny had effectively added just enough items to Peter’s list to create a shopping cart trip.

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