Thread: The New Bad Writing Competition...just for laughs!

A Student’s Life is Hard

Rain poured from the sky. If it didn’t stop raining soon, the fish would probably drown. When I say it poured, I mean it was a gushing river falling from the sky.
Wandering through the empty halls of the South American school, Josh made his way toward the front of the school. The corridor was dark and was only lit by a few lanterns positioned every fifty feet or so. He pulled the hood up on his black hoodie and nervously checked the time. 6:13 PM.
‘Act cool. Just hide my face and walk past,’ Josh thought as he rounded the corner and saw two of his sworn enemies. He pulled his hood up a little higher to cover more of his face and looked away.
“Well if it isn’t Flynn?” Devin sneered.
“How much did you study today? You’ll never be good as us,” Nicolas joined in.
“Leave me alone guys,” Josh replied silently. He started walking away from them, but Devin’s hand caught hold of his hoodie.
“We’re not done with you yet.” Devin remarked.
“Let me g-“ Josh yelled but was stopped when a fist impaled into his stomach. He gasped for breath. His teeth were rattled loose when Nic’s other fist slammed into his jaw. His mouth filled with blood.
Devin laughed as he pulled out a long knife, “I promise this won’t hurt a bit.”
Josh went into a wild frenzy as Devin inched closer. He could see the horror on his face as he looked at the reflection of the knife. He opened his mouth to scream but, instead, choked on his own blood.
“Time to meet your maker Flynn,” Devin snarled.
Nic pulled Josh to his feet and held him there, “Goodbye little Flynn. Hope you enjoy the rest of your short-lived life.”
Josh opened his mouth to gasp as the cold steel entered his stomach. The pain was so horrendousthat his nerves went crazy.
Devin pulled the blade from his stomach and stabbed him five more times before Josh lost consciousness. He fell like a rag doll onto the concrete. Blood seeped from his open wounds and stained the concrete red.
Devin and Nic started walking off.
“All in a day’s work,” Nic laughed.
The two gave each other high fives and walked off into the dark.
They never did get caught.
The End

George could not possibly have known what was about to happen. Because it was unexpected. And in the future.


It didn't happen yet.


So when it does, I'll let you know, 'k?


Meanwhile, another guy named George was waiting. But for something else.


One time I was talking to this kid on the bus, and he said that the guy who got off at the last stop was named George. I don't know why he told me that.


Then the George who was clueless about the future saw the other George who was waiting and said, "Hey George, what are you doing?"


But I'm getting ahead of myself... you see... My name is George. And I've been waiting to tell you... your name is George too.


It's happened.


See, I told you I'd let you know.

See, Obi, now I'm kind of enlightened in a very confused way.

"Kablammo whammo!" shouted the boy.

"Fwee fwee dapoople!" retorted the girl.

They both giggled. Because, she said "poop". Poop is funny.

They were playing a game, a game which had no rules. But I was losing, somehow, even though I was not playing.

I was on the couch, reading, in the dark, because they say reading in the dark is bad for you, but I thought, since they say all the food that tastes so really yummily good is also bad for you, maybe if I read in the dark, since it's bad for me, the reading itself would also be really yummily good, and yes, this is a huge run-on sentence, I am so, so very, completely, apologetically sorry about any inconvenience it may cause, because I know some people feel inclined to finish reading a sentence, no matter how silly it may be, just so they can know how it ends, because if they just got up and walked away and left, and never finished the sentence, then they might have trouble sleeping at night because the little voice in their head would keep saying "But what happened in the rest of the sentence? What did I miss?", and so they would end up tossing and turning, which is an expression I don't really understand because when I think of "tossing" I imagine something being thrown into the air, and so how can somebody be so restless as to throw themselves in the air while they're trying to sleep, surely that would be quite a skill indeed, a skill that you could probably make money on, if you decided to charge people admission to watch you toss and turn while you lamented over the run-on sentence that you never got to finish reading, and every time you turned people would grumble and complain, because they didn't think it was worth spending money to watch somebody turn, but then you would surprise them by tossing yourself gracefully through the air like a ballerina, or maybe, like a pizza pie, or like a ballerina eating a pizza pie, and they would all say "ooh" and "ahh" and "oh wow" and "magnificent" and "whew!" and "did somebody see a contact lens?" and "that tickles!" and "is this the line for free refills?" and the boy and girl would overhear and think that the crowd of growned-ups were playing their game which had no rules and so they would chime in to show how wonderful they themselves were at it, and they would yell "Kablammo whammo!" and "Fwee fwee dapoople!" and then giggle, because the girl said poop.

And poop, after all, is funny.

You devil, you! You actually made me read that whole sentence!

Sorry, Tinkerbell. I don't know what came over me. : )

As I do from time to time when I need to clear my head I was walking along the beach one morning, smelling the smell of the ocean, and hearing the waves crash, and seeing birds flying around, and feeling the sand under my bare feet. "This is Nature" I thought. I stared across the horizon and thought about life, and how asignificant it is. Truly, it's amazing. And I get so uplifted by scene of purity. But then I had to pee and I thought it'd be most natural to just pee right there on the beach but there were other people around, so I was conflicted. I should just be able to pee right there in front of them but society makes rules so we can't, so we live unnatural, apart from nature (we pee in little artificial boxes). So I compromised and peed in my pants.

Originally Posted by SubjectWhat

As I do from time to time when I need to clear my head I was walking along the beach one morning, smelling the smell of the ocean, and hearing the waves crash, and seeing birds flying around, and feeling the sand under my bare feet. "This is Nature" I thought. I stared across the horizon and thought about life, and how asignificant it is. Truly, it's amazing. And I get so uplifted by scene of purity. But then I had to pee and I thought it'd be most natural to just pee right there on the beach but there were other people around, so I was conflicted. I should just be able to pee right there in front of them but society makes rules so we can't, so we live unnatural, apart from nature (we pee in little artificial boxes). So I compromised and peed in my pants.

lol okay it was a fun read.

Glad it was enjoyed.

George tried to describe his love for the detective. Not that he was in love with the detective or anything like that: he just was trying to describe his love (his girlfriend) TO the detective, maybe I should have originally said 'to' instead of 'for'. George tried to describe his love to the detective. Yes, that's better. This way the detective would know what to look for when he was trying to find George's love.

"Let's see," began George, "she is pretty... pretty like a rock. And I don't mean an ugly rock either. She's not like this rock that I found one time wedged between the tread in my front passenger side tire, at first I thought it was a nail but luckily it was just an ugly nail-colored rock that didn't flatten my tire. But she is prettier than that rock by far."

"I see," said the detective. "Is there anything else you can tell me about her?" The detective said this because there were many women who were prettier than an ugly nail-colored rock, and so saying that she was prettier than that didn't help him one single bit.

"Yes, there is one other clue that I know about," said George. "She was wearing my University of Washington sweatshirt when she disappeared."

"No I wasn't, you nitwit!" replied Martha. "I was wearing a black t-shirt and sweatpants. You never let me wear your UW sweatshirt."

George glanced down and realized that he was still wearing his University of Washington sweatshirt. It could not possibly have been on Martha. One of the properties of matter is that a sweatshirt cannot occupy the same space at the same time. That's basic physics.

"Right," George said, "That doesn't seem to make sense." He thought for a moment. "Oh! I know, here, try this." He took off his sweatshirt and handed it to Martha who seemed surprised that he was allowing her to wear it, then she put it on. "There!" George exclaimed. "That's what she would have looked like if she had been wearing it when she disappeared. You might want to take a picture of this for reference," he said to the detective. "Say cheese, honey," George said, putting bunny ears on Martha.

The detective snapped a photograph and then stood up to leave. "There is something very suspicious going on here," he said. "I can't put my finger on it yet, but I'll go get this picture developed and we'll go from there. Don't worry George, I will find your love and have her back in no time."

"Thanks, detective," said George.

George and Martha were arm in arm as they watched the detective walk back to his car. "I have a good feeling about him." George sighed.

Like a loud fart through delicate lace something was amiss. A Miss Jenny Newlove to be precise and she'd obviously had eggs for breakfast. I gathered my thoughts as the last of my lunch hurried out of the open window and merged with the curried streets below.

"Will you marry me?" I spluttered., sending flecks of stomach lining to mingle with the chintz.

This at least got her attention, her chubby countenance rose to face mine, infused with a virulent apathy, eyes like a metallurgist's leavings. "Bugger O..."

Her enthusiastic reply was cut off by the phone ringing. She pounced on it like a demented leprechaun on the world's last pint of Guinness, but her face soon regained it's familiar patina of surliness as she passed me the cordless handset.

"For you" she intoned, or should I say monotoned as she turned her limited attention back to her magazine. God this girl was dull, I just had to marry her. She couldn't even be bothered to fake an orgasm, it was fabulous. Breaking my reverie I pressed the grubby reciever to my foetid earhole,

"Yes?"

A husky voice insinuated itself into my consciousness.

"The cat is out of the bag!"

It was headquarters. My mind filtered a range of benign ambiguities as I searched for the correct prearranged response.

"The top has come off the mountain?" I hazarded.

"The bus conductor has taken one in the double-entendre," the message continued.

"Erm, has he? Er right, okay then."

Management's new code system was bloody awkward and I was going to have to look that one up. I fondled my discarded trousers and was rewarded with the small red book we had all been instructed to learn by heart. I flipped to the B section.

"B, B, B, er, B, U, ah, here it is bus conduc.....Oh No!"

The bizarre linguistic missive to which I had just been made privy had, it turned out, a single word translation - Duck!

I let go of the receiver, making a valiant attempt to race it to the floor and just as my nose impacted the cheap cord weave, sending rivulets of sickening pain up through my forehead, I heard the window smash and several bullets sprayed the room. Covering my head with my hands I concentrated almost one hundred percent successfully on not soiling myself until silence fell. Looking up to assess the damage I realized I was going to have to rethink my future romantic aspirations. Most of the bullets had impaled themselves harmlessly into the nicotine yellow wood-chip, but one of them had taken a detour directly through the endearingly dull Miss Newlove's skull. As if she wasn't empty headed enough, what brains she had were now making pretty Rorschach patterns on the wall, so much for marriage!

I waited a few minutes before getting up to be sure I wasn't going to get shot at again, and whilst changing my underwear I came to the decision that it was time to find a new job. This door-to-door vacuum sales gig was just too cut-throat!

So quick intro/explanation. This is a short story I wrote for one of my college writing workshops years ago where the assignment was exactly what this challenge is about: write a bad short story. So I took it upon myself to not only write a bad story, but also utilise some grammar and POV badly as well. I pretty much wanted to write a story that a reader would, at the end (if they made it that far), throw up their hands in frustration and annoyance, but to also find it somewhat humorous in how stupid it is. Enjoy?

It was a dark and stormy night, and Jet could not get the plastic off the slice of cheese.

“By golly, this sure not is the opposite of being not very very very easy,” he said to himself. He hated when this happened. Or did he like it? He would get all excited over the slice of cheese, and then he couldn’t convince his fingernails, which looked like wood shavings from an ice cream cone, to get under the bad plastic flap, which was the means through which the process of opening the plastic went.

He got frustrated and set the cheese on the counter and glared at it. It looked like an orange rectangle that somebody drew with a pencil and paper, and it smelt like blueberries, and it fell down whenever he dropped it, and when he thought of it, it really wasn’t like cheese at all, and even his mother’s sister thought so, but then again, her dog did, well, the last time he checked anyway, which just happened to be three Sundays ago. He remembered the conversation he had with the dog:

“It is just like cheese, isn’t it?” he asked the dog. The dog just sat there. Stupid dog, Jet thought. The dog looked like a cocker spaniel who had earlier that year jumped up on the Thanksgiving dinner table and had overturned the gravy boat. That did make a mess. The gravy stained the tablecloth in such a way that it looked exactly like someone had spilled gravy on the tablecloth.

Jet all of a sudden snapped himself out of his train of thought, which had apparently jumped track because of boredom.
Then all of a sudden, Jet remembered something. But wait, oh, he lost it. Wait! There it was again! Some glimpse of a memory. Oh wait! There it was again! It was . . . a memory, yes, but about what? Then Jet remembered: it was a memory about having a memory. Unfortunately he forgot what the memory was about. Well, at least he had one. Jet sighed in relief, or maybe despair, he just didn’t know these days.

Well, there was that darn piece of cheese sitting there on the counter. It reminded him of an orange that had been pulled through some pasta rollers, or run over by a steamroller, or been put out on the railroad tracks by some bored kids, or been placed on the road on the highway, or was sat on by a sumo wrestler, or was sat on by himself, he was kinda on the plump side. He bet himself a nickel that he could flatten an orange by sitting on it. \

He always made these silent bets with himself, and sadly, he lost most of the time. Last time he checked, and he checked rarely, he owned himself five thousand six hundred forty dollars and five hundred and two cents. He was scared all the time that he was going to send a hit man after himself. But the scariest thing was, no matter how many locks he put on the door, no matter how many guard dogs he owned, no matter how many restraining orders he had on himself, he always managed to find himself. This made him feel very vulnerable. For all he knew, he was poisoning the food that he ate, which was why he was trying to eat this stupid piece of cheese that was surrounded by a plastic wrapper. There was no way he could have poisoned this piece of cheese, which was evident by the fact that he couldn’t even open it. Ah, there’s the rub, he thought. The only security he could have was the security he couldn’t reach. He was willing to bet himself a whole dollar on that.

A whole dollar it is! He thought excitedly as he scrambled for his wallet. He loved it when he made a bet with himself. The intensity of it, the exhilaration of it, the awesomeness of it, the goodness of it, the smoothness of it, the scent of it, the score it achieved on the Richter Scale of it, and to top it all off, it always reminded him of cooking bacon over a bonfire.

Aha! There it is! He grabs his wallet and opens it. But he finds that it holds no money because he had just used it to buy the dumb slice of cheese. He tears at his wallet in frustration. Or maybe happiness. There’s only one thing to do, he decides, and with that he marches out of his door in despair. Or triumph.

“I must go to the supermarket and return the cheese so I have the money to bet with,” I reaffirmed to myself as I drove to the store. It was rather windy today, I hated that. Or perhaps I liked it. It always reminded me of lighting a bonfire using a slab of bacon.

The narrator explains to the reader that Jet returned the cheese, got his precious money back, but when he tried to return back home he got captured by terrorists and was involved in a huge twisting and creative plot, and Jet ends up saving the day. But it doesn’t matter because, as the narrator explains, Jet arrives back home with his money.

You walk in the door and sit down in triumph. Not only did you have a fantastic adventure, but you got to do something or other with some sort of terrorist plot thingamajig. You then prepare yourself to make the ultimate bet with yourself. A whole dollar! So a whole dollar says that the only security you can reach is the only security you can have. That sounds about right. The way the words stumble off your tongue reminds you of cooking bacon under a bonfire.

Jet all of a sudden realized that he had an epiphany two years ago. It had to do with realizing something or other. The word revelation came to his mind. That’s it! Jet suddenly realized that two years ago he had an epiphany about having a revelation! Jet thought about flashbacking, but even backpacking wore him out, and decided against it. Or maybe for it.

Jet all of a sudden got up and danced a jig on his carpet. His carpet was the kind of carpet that you usually found in such a situation. Not only was this carpet found in this situation, but it was often found in other situations as well. Lots of people think that carpet is carpet, and they would be right. For after all, is not carpet a universal truth or something like that? But most importantly, you can not cook carpet over a bonfire and believe for five minutes thirty five seconds that it was like bacon baking over a bonfire. Even though that some people’s bacon tasted like carpet, Jet’s never did. Well, except for that one time he mistook a roll of carpet for a pig. But that’s another story, well, not really.

But beautifully before Jet, the biggest bet in the bestest bowling ball balloon battle of the Betelgeusean Bonnet Brigade of Babies for Bottles, was being born on the bare bamboo bottom of the basket. In more complex terms, Jet was ready to make the bet. Or was he? He went to his buff bookie and bet his bet. His bookie’s name was Bob, which was not by coincidence, as three people might think. But in the end, Jet lost the bet, and now he owed himself one dollar more than he did before. Jet frowned. Or maybe smiled. Pretty soon he would have to send a hit man after himself if he didn’t pay up. He smiled. Or maybe frowned. This situation always reminded him of burning bacon beside a bonfire. But then something happened.

The End.
　

A man possessing a blue coat who must be in want of something better, far far better than he has ever wanted in a far far better place to want something, must be in want of a tuba. To be or not to be certainly wasn't a question anyone asked of him. So victor fallamaloo, (of Bristol origin), decided to spend the evening playing the said tuba. Shame he couldn't play it though, so he made a racket. Or is it 'racquet' who knows.......

In the smoky coffeeshop. Supercop Blaze Winchester sat at the shaky, garbagy, piece of garbage they called a table. He stuffed chocolate donuts in his mouth and watched the breathtaking sunrise go down and wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked at the table next to him and put the napkin back down and brushed his perfect hair back and looked back at the donuts again and ate them. Winchester’s six-pack drew constant attention from ladies nearby, he stood up and flexed it fro them so they could watch. Flies flew carelessly above the messy, chocolatly pile of delicious donuts that still sat on the table behind them, Winchester stomped his sexy feet, killing all da flies, and making the ladies gasp in awe. He was the handsomest, smartest, and most nicest man around, and protected the helpless city of New York!!!!!
“Oh Officer Winchester!!!!! Your so handsome and good-looking and nice and wonderful!” One of the ladies said. “May I come close to you?”
“Go ahead, just because I’m so wonderful doesn’t mean that I’m not a person too.” Winchester replied. The coffeeeeehous aplausded.
The lady sat with him at his garbagy table. She told him how sexy and smart he was and he told her that he was thankful to her for saying it and they talked some more about his time on the police force and all the awesome things he had done for the city of New York!!!!!!!!!! Just then, his assistant supercop, Peeta Mellark, busted through the swinging doors with wonderful news.
“Officer Winchester, Edward is on the loose again, and he robbed the bank and took your girlfriend hostage!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Peeta screamed as he jumped up and down and his shodow bounced up and down against the walls as the sunrise went down.

“Don’t worry Peeta, I will find Edward and I will kill him and take my sister back!!!!!!!!!!!” Winchester said.
They headed out the doors, blinded by the falling sunrise. Edward met them in the parking lot, holding a nife to katniss everdeen’s throat.
“I’ve got you now Winchester!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Surrender or I will drink of your Katniss’veins!!!” Edward screamed as he jumped up and down. Winchester could’nt see him because the moon was in his eyes.
“No Edward!!!!!!!!!! You SURRENDER!!!!!!!” Winchester grabbed Edward by the throat, choking him to death.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!” Edward screamed as he jumped up and down. Katniss fell into Winchester’s arms, and began to make out with him passionately. Peeta began crying.
“I thought you were MY girlfriend Katniss!!!!!!” He sobbed as he jumped up and down.
“I’m sorry Peeta. But officer Winchester is so handsome and nise!!!!!” Katniss said. They kept making out.
“Guess you have a point there Katniss, he’s so handosme!!!! How could you resist!!!!” Peeta said…………………AS HE JUMPED UP AND DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!