story time v2. - Lives and Times of Johnathan Mayersworth - by Yakoob
bjack on 9/3/2016 at 23:43
Quote:
The nice day woke John.
Even shorter... But unfortunately... that shortness was short lived...
Quote:
Little did John know, but a giant blue frozen airliner turd was speeding toward his house. Kevin, who did not like John at all, saw the turd falling from the sky and quickly chuckled in evil glee. "That idiot John, the one with such an economy of words, will soon get turded upon!" However, Kevin was not aware of the tape worm in his gut. It had spawned and thus many cysts had formed in his brain.
Yakoob on 10/3/2016 at 02:42
This is why I love you guys ;p Thanks for the great advice, you will all be well recognized footnotes to the story of my success :D
Quote Posted by bjack
The nice day woke John.
Holy shit, I love the swapping of perspective. Completely revolutionizes the concept!
Quote Posted by Pyrian
ITT: Yakoob gets more feedback for a one-line "story" than he got for Karaski. :cheeky:
Ha.. ha... too true :|
bjack on 10/3/2016 at 05:19
Yakoob, thank you for the "love". The adoration of my super mundane prose is welcome. And isn't that the purpose of all entertainment now? Not not offend anyone? To make everyone feel as if they are all perfect snow flakes, joy riding on the air currents of blissful liberal farts (for those that hate liberals, just change liberal to conservative and all is well...) ???
nickie on 10/3/2016 at 07:17
Quote Posted by Chade
Honestly, I could have said "John
woke to a nice day", but if you're going to blow up the word budget by 20% for a simple misunderstanding you might as well be writing War and Peace.
I'm sorry, Chade, but how was I supposed to know the reference was to the weather. AFAIK, only Brits are preoccupied with the weather. I thought we were going to be regaled with tales of all the fun things that John did during the day that made it a nice day. (Eventually, obviously, by about page 6)
Sulphur on 10/3/2016 at 07:41
If we're going for economical shorthand, we should go all the way. 'John's nice day began.' That's a 60% reduction in wordage, but at the expense of some ornamentation like whether he woke up or not. Honestly, though, I think it's better for readers to form their own interpretation of things sometimes: it makes for a richer reading.
hopper on 11/3/2016 at 09:50
Your story sucks balls.
It's overwrought, pretentious, clichéd, full of tired, generic, unoriginal imagery, completely lacking in plot, character development, dramatic arc, or voice. The main character's name alone says it all. There is no name in the English-speaking world more bland, boring, or lacking in personality, wit, ambition, or sex appeal, than "John". Holy mother of Christ, could you even be more of a mindless, unimaginative hack?
So, what did "John" do? He "woke up [sic!]?" How many billions of people do that, again and again, every fucking day of the week, all their lives? Is this what you think readers will care about, literally the most mundane shit that ever happens to everybody? Have you, at long last, no self-respect, sir? And that's just "one day [sic!]"! Like you're too lazy to even imagine what kind of day it was, like rainy, his birthday, or last Thursday. Oh, I forgot, you did - in the worst way possible: "It was a pretty nice day [sic!]". WTF is wrong with you? "Pretty nice [sic!]" is literally the most cop-out, unintentionally vague, noncommittal string of worn-out words to use about anything at all, under any circumstance. "Pretty nice" is the Coldplay of adjective expressions. Don't EVER say that again!
Apart from that, you're showing some great potential.
Medlar on 11/3/2016 at 09:59
John woke up one day. It was a pretty nice day. He read hopper's critique and slit his throat...
Sulphur on 11/3/2016 at 10:25
That wayward ellipsis implies this unofficial sequel doesn't end there, Medlar. It's like you're purposely taking the critical metanarrative here only to subvert it, which now that I think about it, makes me feel slightly offended in a highly specific and personal manner.
Well, two can play at that. Consider the gauntlet thrown.
John dug his bootheels into the ground and proceeded to shove his hand into the gash he'd just created. Feeling past his windpipe, he pushed through the cartilage and tore deeper in, grasping at the edges of something hard and contradictory, his severed jugular spraying arterial fluid all the while, tracing crimson Jackson Pollock arabesques across the carpet. He closed his fingers in and tugged, gasping and gurgling as the bulk of the object detached from his flesh. With one final heave, it was free: in his hands, a ponderous tome, black and slick with blood, embossed gilt lettering flashing before his eyes as he fell to the ground in a heap. As he lay there dying, he knew only pain, fear, and sadness. And also, a little confusion. For, the lettering, you see, was the title of the book, and it had read: 'Of Grammatology'.
Mr.Duck on 11/3/2016 at 20:25
John woke up to reality
And saw endless possibility
A gun rested nex to him
The answer to his question
Unspoken and unknown
The cicadas sang distant.
Tocky on 12/3/2016 at 04:20
It couldn't just be a nice day could it? Noooooooo, it had to be a pretty nice one. That bastard John is always looking for something more. Never good enough for John, oh no, never just nice. Always with him there is the implication of something more that could make it better. He will die grasping at something just beyond his reach and never understanding what he had in the palm of his hand. That dick deserves to die alone.
