Kevin's Watch

The Gaff Into Corn:
A Dark and Hungry Dog Arises

Covenant the silver wolf, Linden the black Lab, and adorable little puppy boy Jeremiah the boxer puppy boy were having drinks with Angus Thermopyle and Milos Taverner at a sleazy bar on Billingate. Angus is a bloated toad and Milos is a fastidious kitty cat.

Milos was lighting another (cat)nip, but Angus stared yellow malice at the three dogs. "What's in it for me?" Angus asked.

"Hellfire!" howled Covenant. "Do you even know what a WGOD-CMOS chip is? White gold on diamond: there is wild magic graven in every datacore for white gold to unleash or control. I'm not talking about a new set of program parameters. I'm talking about a magical union with your cybernetic enhancements!"

"All right," rasped Angus; he was choking on a hairball (<--Think on that and be dismayed! ewwww) "Tell me about the Bill's prisoner."

He meant, What the hell are you getting me into?

"He's a corn dog," snarled Covenant. "A dog who eats nothing but corn. When he poops, his poop is shiny and yellow. We call him...

"Goldfeces."

Wow...

Whatever the contest was... I'm pretty sure Shuram wins.

It's not even my contest and I just might send him some WGDs.

deer of the dawn wrote:Whatever the contest was... I'm pretty sure Shuram wins.

It's not even my contest and I just might send him some WGDs.

I was just trying to inject some life into this place.

We're actually waiting on Vraith to give us an assignment. Maybe if I subtly clear my throat, he might notice.

*Ahem!*

Aaaahh!
First, let me just say I am sorry you got stuck with reading that book.

Secondly, this sounds great! I mean awful!
High on the list of things that make a person go *cringe*
I hope our work will be worthy of the challenge.

Vraith wrote:...Well...both those are true, nothing better to do with WGD's or Time...but get busy submitting anyway, or I'll ramble inane sh-- about you in indecipherable yet pointed ways in threads you don't read and to people you don't know...

THAT is the best.
THIS is exactly what I always want to do to people! (mostly RL people, but...)
Heartbeat of an online forum, heartbeat of the forum.

Okay, I feel motivated!
Here goes:

"This Socratic method of asking questions in order to find truth is the way I think that today we can engage-- in our zombie apocalypse of brain numbing short attention span, where we are constantly interrupted by a phone beeping every three seconds so that we are all now in the future going to have the attention span of a squirrel." from "Life to the Full: You Will See Heaven Opened,"* about 19:25

I pulled my card off the top.
"Failure to alight" it said in crisp red letters.
Why, oh, why was my life coach going after that again?
And now, because I'd signed up for full-on-internet-holistic as part of my package, this report would be going out to all those I held dear, showing up on all my social media accounts.
I'd given them full access, and if I tried to eliminate her user from any of my accounts, the contract would be terminated.
No matter how much I was willing to pay for coaching, I wouldn't be able to get it from them.

I logged on to the site to message her.
"We will be with you in just a moment." was the reply that flashed on my PC's screen.
Grrr. Have to wait. I opened a separate window and browsed amazon.
BEEP! "Hi, Michelle. How are you?"
"Well, just got your report." I typed.
"Did you read it all the way through?"
"What?' I asked.
"Did you open it up and read both sides?"
"Just a sec." I fumbled around on the desk for a few minutes.
Where did I put that thing?
"Umm, it said 'Failure to alight.' " I messaged.
"You didn't find it."
"Umm, no."
"Pretend that you can see me facepalming."
"Okay."
I looked around, and found a facepalm icon in the messaging program.
"Like this?" I said, and clicked it.
"Arrrrrgh." was all she said.
"Hehe," I replied.
"Huh?" was her rejoinder.
"What part of 'Hehe' do you not understand?" was all I could say.
"Okay. So." was the next thing she sent.
"Yeah... Where were we?" I asked.
"What part of the report did you read?"
I quickly typed, "Failure to alight."
"That's it?" she queried.
"Y" I responded.
"K. Just a sec. I have to respond to this text." she informed me.
"Okay!!" I said.
I got up.. maybe I could get a few dishes washed.
But as I walked over to the kitchen I remembered that I never texted my friend because I was so distracted by my report.
Oh! There it was under my phone... right; I had wanted to text my mom about it and see if she'd sympathized. Plus- give her a heads-up before the public, online report would go out.

BEEP!
I rushed back to my computer. My coach was back on the line.
"Sorry about that."
"np. I know how it is." I cheerfully responded.
"Anyway, you had a question?"
"Actually, I have some information," I typed rapidly.
I continued: "Just ripped open the card and it says..."
And then.. I just couldn't type it!
"Yes?" she asked after a huge pause.
"uhhhh. This is like, horrible. You guys aren't really going to post it online?"
"We will."
"When?"
"How long ago was your countdown supposed to begin?"
"I don't know," I rapped away on the keyboard.
"Well, check the app."
"The coaching app?" I wondered.
"Yeah. well- no, the coaching app should have connected you with the countdown app, so you know when the social media blitz will begin."
"The coaching app is sort of an app of apps," she explained.
"Oh. Okay." I said.
Then I got a Facebook notification.
"Oh, it just went off," I typed to her.
"I have to go now," I added.
"Okay - but just one thing," she said.
"What?" I asked.
"Don't doubt the method. Our shame-to-train therapy has helped our coach-ees tap into incredible resources."
"Oh, hey! Can I just leave this open in the background?" I inquired.
"Why?"
"Maybe I'll have a question."
"Sure."
"kk."

I pulled up the Facebook window one quick click.
I took a deep breath.
Now all my friends, family, co-workers, associates, and any random people who I'd friended when drunk would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was a failure.

I wanted to look away, but people were starting to respond already.
And, of course, I couldn't not look at the comments!
So I did.
Hey! There were three affirming posts already saying what jerks the reps who post from my life coaching company are.
I breathed a deep sigh of relief, clicked on the first one, and began to type out my thanks to my friends.


* How can I tell you how satisfying hearing that sentence was?
Of COURSE I want to repeat it to everyone.
Also, I think I should get bonus points for the spazziness of the process of clicking through the audio of that file and not listening to it all the way through, but jumping around to find that quote.

Oh Linna. Way too much like real life to not be "bad".

Vraith wrote:Write a piece in which the main character, at least---maybe all characters---is/are supposedly "experts" in whatever they are pursuing/espousing, but are actually very bad...and the author is EVEN WORSE. Whatever the character says is incorrect. But the author should know better but doesn't.

As someone who has read the Bible multiple times and gone to Bible College and stuff, this happens frequently in my reading experience. Clergy characters or devoutly stodgy older people in books are used to spout nonsense so that the main character can make some incisive "point" about life in contrast. Ugh. Authors really should know better. And friends of mine who I thought were intelligent should have known better than to take Dan Brown's ridiculous history as gospel. Anyway....

This should be fun!
*******************************************
Savannah stuck her thumb out yet again, hoping beyond hope that this would be her ride. She tried to look harmless, tried to look honest, tried to make eye contact with the driver of the shiny SUV coming over the hill.

The car pulled over next to her and the glass rolled down. The woman inside called out, "Going to Springfield. You need a ride?"

Nope, just airing out my thumb out here, Savannah thought; but she smiled and said, "Yes, thank you!" She heard the lock click open and climbed in to the blessed warmth of the car's interior, dragging her backpack between her knees and pulling the door to slam.

Turning back to face the driver, who would inevitably want to strike up a conversation, she almost kissed a large and friendly dog who had appeared between the seats. "That's just Seymour. He just loves people. SEYMOUR, GET DOWN!!!!" Seymour cheerfully ignored the reprimand and Savannah resigned herself to dog breath. Springfield was a good score. "I'm actually going just beyond Springfield, so this is great. I have friends who live just past the state park."

The driver was focused on getting back into the driving lane and vaguely acknowledged her statement. Then she settled back in her seat with a satisfied air. "God is so good. Have you ever tried Suzy Parker products? I'm a Suzy Parker Gold Level Representative. And it all started when I was poor, like you. I knew that God wanted something better for me than the three-bedroom house Jack and I--- Jack is my husband--- we have two kids, Fendi and Espen-- well, they're hardly kids anymore, they're almost-- how old are you anyway? Sorry, that's kind of -- my name's Angela, or Angie, whatever. So my pastor's wife, well, our former pastor, anyway, she told me about Suzy Parker Home products and I knew that was the ANSWER!!! I mean, I had prayed about it, like, several times. And here was God's will right before my eyes."

Savannah looked at Angela, or Angie. Her mouth would have been hanging open at the revelation, but for the proximity of Seymour's tongue, which continually awaited an opportunity to connect with her own. He had already succeeded once, it wasn't going to happen again. Her left hand gripped his collar and her right pushed his damp, stringy hair away so she could see Angie's face better.

"God's will?" The words were hope and light to Savannah's benighted soul. "But I'm so poor. I have to hitchhike to see my friends because I don't have a choice. Poverty has forced me to be a victim, and made me vulnerable. Do you think God has a will for me?"

"Oh, honey! God wants everyone to have the best!! Do you want to be saved, and have a better life? Just pray, and God is going to come in to your life and solve ALL your troubles! I just know by looking at you that you will clean up nice and make a super Suzy Parker Home Representative. Reach back there in the bin behind my seat, there are starter packs for new representatives right there. We are going to get you OUT of poverty, by the grace of God!!! Your friends are never going to believe what God is going to do for you!"

Savannah wrestled with 50 pounds of Seymour to get to the blue plastic bin and fished out a glossy, thick folder full of brochures and forms. Suzy Parker's smiling, prosperous face reassured her from the front of a magazine, with a Bible verse in scrolly, unreadable font across the bottom.

Savannah knew she had found the answer to fix her desperate poverty.

Wow Deer that was a seriously fun read - no bad writing to be had there.

HAHAHAHAHA ... Shuram!! Awesome!

Skyweir wrote:Wow Deer that was a seriously fun read - no bad writing to be had there.

HAHAHAHAHA ... Shuram!! Awesome!

If there is one thing I hate, in books or media, it's the easy-fix 30 minute solution to all your problems. I was going for a spoof of that. We should all know better by now. Hope that's not too soapboxy.

Yes I gleefully picked up on that .. haha

Those are very GOOD entries! If I can come up with something BAD, I bet I could win! But, sadly, the muse refuses to sing any awful songs to me....Although, as I type, I am coming up with something about Beowulf and Holm-Stock syndrome.... hmmm


EDIT: The more I write about Beowulf and Sherlock Holmes-Stock, the more it becomes about dogs and poop. I mean, it didn't take long for me to turn Beowulf into a wolf, come on now, it's me.

Ha hahahahahaha

Well, I wrote something. I wonder if I shouldn't post it, but I wrote it, so I'll share it. It's actually a window into my heart, or summat such as that. It's probably not much fun, but I did go ahead and tack a punchline on the end.

I feel like I should preface it (more than I actually am), but I think maybe I'll let you go into it raw.

Special Psychiatrist:
The Life and Times of Special Psychiatrist Mary Elizabeth Psiechologuiste

Mary Elizabeth looked down her nose at the sad-bag patient in the chair across from her. She was not going to enjoy this special session, but she was prepared to go through with it anyway.

"So how have you been?" she asked the sad-bag patient, using her most artificially pleasant voice.

"I've been very sad lately."

Mary Elizabeth stifled a snort of disgust. Instead, she asked in her most artificially gentle voice, "Why is that?"

"I just feel like such a loser. Everything in my life feels so hopeless."

You are a loser, she thought. But you don't see me going around sighing and moping about just because I'm a psychiatrist!

"Did something happen recently to make you feel this way?" Mary Elizabeth asked.

"Well," said the sad-bag patient, "I went on a date with a woman from work. She has seemed interested for a while, but I was scared to ask her out. You, know, because I'm such a loser. I would feel guilty for trying to trick her into thinking I'm something I'm not. Now, I know you told me to change those thought processes, to sort of pretend that I'm not a loser, and I've been trying really hard to do that. And it must be working, because I guess I have this outwardly positive attitude now that I guess may be somewhat attractive to those around me. Because she actually asked me out. The date went pretty well for most of the night. We laughed and really connected. We learned a lot about each other, but when we got to talking about our families, she asked me why I grew up with my aunt....She asked about my parents."

"And what did you tell her?" asked Mary Elizabeth, suppressing a grin. Here we go, she thought. Time for the sad little "poor me" story from the sad little loser.

"Well, first I told her that I never knew who my dad was, and that my mom died when I was ten."

"How did your date respond to that?" asked Mary Elizabeth, stifling a sigh of boredom.

"She asked how my mom died, and I told her the story."

"How did you tell it?" Mary Elizabeth asked with feigned interest but nearly genuine curiosity.

"I told her how my Mom was a bad alcoholic and also a diabetic, and that she had trouble taking care of herself because of all the drinking. And how that led to me and my brothers and my sister getting taken away from her and put in foster care. How she tried really hard to get her shit together, and, after a couple of years, us kids almost got to go back home, but after another set-back, it never happened. I told about how getting so close and trying so hard but never making it made my Mom really depressed. And so she killed herself....And after that, I had to go live with my aunt."

"How did your date respond to the story of your mom?" Mary Elizabeth asked with her most careful, artificially sympathetic voice.


"Well," sighed the sad-bag, "she said to me, 'Wow. That's a really tough childhood.'"

"Was she being sarcastic?" asked Mary Elizabeth lightly.

"Uh, well, uh, I didn't think so at the time....Do you think she was?" The sad-bag had been caught off guard by that question.

"I can't say," replied Mary Elizabeth with a hiss of irritation. "Do you think it was a tough childhood?"

"It's the only childhood I know, so I'm not sure. But I guess it proves that I am a loser."

Definitely, thought Mary Elizabeth. Then she assumed her artificially friendly voice, and asked, "In what way does it prove you're a loser?"

"Well, I lost my Mom. Because I am a loser. Losers lose."

Yes, they certainly do, thought Mary Elizabeth. But she assumed an artificially gentle voice and chided the sad-bag with, "That's very harsh logic, don't you think?"

"I don't know. But I know it's true."

You got that right! But instead of harassing him further, she asked again about his date. "How did the date go after that?"

"Well, she got really quiet. I kept trying to talk to her, but she was distant, cold. I hugged her goodnight, and she said she would text me, but she didn't. I've tried talking to her at work, but she doesn't seem to want to talk to me anymore."

That's because women don't like losers, stupid! But Mary Elizabeth resisted the temptation to be so blunt with him. "Sometimes first dates just don't work out. You realize you don't have enough in common, or that there is no chemistry, and it's time to move on. Do you think you can move on?"

"I guess so. I mean, she obviously isn't interested anymore, so I've stopped trying to talk to her."

"And are you going to try to go out with someone new? Is there anyone else you are interested in?"

"Even if I was, I wouldn't act on it. It all seems so hopeless."

In your case, it is. "Sounds to me like you're being lazy," Mary Elizabeth said piously. She suppressed a smirk when she saw the sad-bag patient's hurt look. "You can't blame your mother, or your aunt, or something bad from your childhood on your current behaviour. You are the only one who is responsible for how you act. You have no one to blame but yourself for your loneliness."

"I guess I see where you're coming from," said the sad-bag patient with an empty, glassy look to his eyes. Then his voice got all soft, as if he was talking to himself, as he continued, "It's all about acceptance, isn't it? I can't expect people to accept me when I don't deserve it. I have to accept my loneliness for what it is. I can't be upset over how the woman from work reacted when she learned about my past. Of course she was upset. I've been a loser since I was a kid. I can't change that. I've got nothing to share, so why would anyone want to share anything with me? I'm so stupid. It's all my fault. You're right. I'm the only one to blame."

Mary Elizabeth nodded with satisfaction. She really felt like she was finally getting somewhere with this lost-cause, sad-bag patient. It can be so hard to get some people to understand such simple concepts, especially the mentally ill. But getting through, really getting through, it always made the hours she put in seem worthwhile.

Mary Elizabeth sat proudly at her desk and decided it was time to wrap things up. "How's everything else? Are you sleeping okay?"

The sad-bag nodded and replied, "I'm sleeping just fine, but I keep having the strangest dreams."

"What kind of dreams?" asked Mary Elizabeth with artificial interest.

"Well, like, last night, I had this dream about the King of Canines. He was named Beowulf, just like from the poem. He kidnapped Sherlock Holmes and forced him to be his man-pet. Eventually Sherlock Holmes came to love Beowulf, King of the Canines."


The End


P.S.
I'm afraid people will think I'm poking fun at the mentally ill, but I'm not. The patient in the story is me, and the story he tells is true. Even the mean psychiatrist is true, in a way. I always fear that psych people, doctors or counselors, sort of pander to me while actually thinking about how dumb I am.

Shuram Gudatetris wrote:Well, I wrote something. I wonder if I shouldn't post it, but I wrote it, so I'll share it. It's actually a window into my heart, or summat such as that. It's probably not much fun, but I did go ahead and tack a punchline on the end.

I feel like I should preface it (more than I actually am), but I think maybe I'll let you go into it raw.

Special Psychiatrist:
The Life and Times of Special Psychiatrist Mary Elizabeth Psiechologuiste

Mary Elizabeth looked down her nose at the sad-bag patient in the chair across from her. She was not going to enjoy this special session, but she was prepared to go through with it anyway.

"So how have you been?" she asked the sad-bag patient, using her most artificially pleasant voice.

"I've been very sad lately."

Mary Elizabeth stifled a snort of disgust. Instead, she asked in her most artificially gentle voice, "Why is that?"

"I just feel like such a loser. Everything in my life feels so hopeless."

You are a loser, she thought. But you don't see me going around sighing and moping about just because I'm a psychiatrist!

"Did something happen recently to make you feel this way?" Mary Elizabeth asked.

"Well," said the sad-bag patient, "I went on a date with a woman from work. She has seemed interested for a while, but I was scared to ask her out. You, know, because I'm such a loser. I would feel guilty for trying to trick her into thinking I'm something I'm not. Now, I know you told me to change those thought processes, to sort of pretend that I'm not a loser, and I've been trying really hard to do that. And it must be working, because I guess I have this outwardly positive attitude now that I guess may be somewhat attractive to those around me. Because she actually asked me out. The date went pretty well for most of the night. We laughed and really connected. We learned a lot about each other, but when we got to talking about our families, she asked me why I grew up with my aunt....She asked about my parents."

"And what did you tell her?" asked Mary Elizabeth, suppressing a grin. Here we go, she thought. Time for the sad little "poor me" story from the sad little loser.

"Well, first I told her that I never knew who my dad was, and that my mom died when I was ten."

"How did your date respond to that?" asked Mary Elizabeth, stifling a sigh of boredom.

"She asked how my mom died, and I told her the story."

"How did you tell it?" Mary Elizabeth asked with feigned interest but nearly genuine curiosity.

"I told her how my Mom was a bad alcoholic and also a diabetic, and that she had trouble taking care of herself because of all the drinking. And how that led to me and my brothers and my sister getting taken away from her and put in foster care. How she tried really hard to get her shit together, and, after a couple of years, us kids almost got to go back home, but after another set-back, it never happened. I told about how getting so close and trying so hard but never making it made my Mom really depressed. And so she killed herself....And after that, I had to go live with my aunt."

"How did your date respond to the story of your mom?" Mary Elizabeth asked with her most careful, artificially sympathetic voice.


"Well," sighed the sad-bag, "she said to me, 'Wow. That's a really tough childhood.'"

"Was she being sarcastic?" asked Mary Elizabeth lightly.

"Uh, well, uh, I didn't think so at the time....Do you think she was?" The sad-bag had been caught off guard by that question.

"I can't say," replied Mary Elizabeth with a hiss of irritation. "Do you think it was a tough childhood?"

"It's the only childhood I know, so I'm not sure. But I guess it proves that I am a loser."

Definitely, thought Mary Elizabeth. Then she assumed her artificially friendly voice, and asked, "In what way does it prove you're a loser?"

"Well, I lost my Mom. Because I am a loser. Losers lose."

Yes, they certainly do, thought Mary Elizabeth. But she assumed an artificially gentle voice and chided the sad-bag with, "That's very harsh logic, don't you think?"

"I don't know. But I know it's true."

You got that right! But instead of harassing him further, she asked again about his date. "How did the date go after that?"

"Well, she got really quiet. I kept trying to talk to her, but she was distant, cold. I hugged her goodnight, and she said she would text me, but she didn't. I've tried talking to her at work, but she doesn't seem to want to talk to me anymore."

That's because women don't like losers, stupid! But Mary Elizabeth resisted the temptation to be so blunt with him. "Sometimes first dates just don't work out. You realize you don't have enough in common, or that there is no chemistry, and it's time to move on. Do you think you can move on?"

"I guess so. I mean, she obviously isn't interested anymore, so I've stopped trying to talk to her."

"And are you going to try to go out with someone new? Is there anyone else you are interested in?"

"Even if I was, I wouldn't act on it. It all seems so hopeless."

In your case, it is. "Sounds to me like you're being lazy," Mary Elizabeth said piously. She suppressed a smirk when she saw the sad-bag patient's hurt look. "You can't blame your mother, or your aunt, or something bad from your childhood on your current behaviour. You are the only one who is responsible for how you act. You have no one to blame but yourself for your loneliness."

"I guess I see where you're coming from," said the sad-bag patient with an empty, glassy look to his eyes. Then his voice got all soft, as if he was talking to himself, as he continued, "It's all about acceptance, isn't it? I can't expect people to accept me when I don't deserve it. I have to accept my loneliness for what it is. I can't be upset over how the woman from work reacted when she learned about my past. Of course she was upset. I've been a loser since I was a kid. I can't change that. I've got nothing to share, so why would anyone want to share anything with me? I'm so stupid. It's all my fault. You're right. I'm the only one to blame."

Mary Elizabeth nodded with satisfaction. She really felt like she was finally getting somewhere with this lost-cause, sad-bag patient. It can be so hard to get some people to understand such simple concepts, especially the mentally ill. But getting through, really getting through, it always made the hours she put in seem worthwhile.

Mary Elizabeth sat proudly at her desk and decided it was time to wrap things up. "How's everything else? Are you sleeping okay?"

The sad-bag nodded and replied, "I'm sleeping just fine, but I keep having the strangest dreams."

"What kind of dreams?" asked Mary Elizabeth with artificial interest.

"Well, like, last night, I had this dream about the King of Canines. He was named Beowulf, just like from the poem. He kidnapped Sherlock Holmes and forced him to be his man-pet. Eventually Sherlock Holmes came to love Beowulf, King of the Canines."


The End


P.S.
I'm afraid people will think I'm poking fun at the mentally ill, but I'm not. The patient in the story is me, and the story he tells is true. Even the mean psychiatrist is true, in a way. I always fear that psych people, doctors or counselors, sort of pander to me while actually thinking about how dumb I am.

I didn't read it like you were poking fun at the mentally ill, maybe psychs :LOL: but that's what satire is all about. That was really good and I stifled a few of my own LOLs

Actually made me angry tbh .. that the psychiatrist was so awful .. such a bitch! geesh! Grow some humanity already!

I want to scream at the dumb woman - its not their fault! They aren't a loser - good god - what a childhood, that doesn't make them a loser! Ok ok .. getting a little carried away.

You better not be this character .. if you are prepare for a tirade of pms!

*bows respectfully .. and slowly backs away*

Skyweir wrote: You better not be this character .. if you are prepare for a tirade of pms!

I never talked about this particular date with a counselor or psychiatrist, but the story the character tells is mine: childhood, date experience, personal response, etc.

The seed of the idea, trying to think of an expert who is really bad at what they do, came to me in the form of a really bad psychiatrist who thought he or she was really good, and ends up giving disturbing advice. Which could have been really funny.

Instead, it turned into a sort of introspection. Me thinking little of myself, which I do, and me being mean back to myself, which I do. It's actually quite disturbing. The psychiatrist turned into a projection of myself, almost an anima. Well, I guess that's *exactly* what it is. It's how I think of myself and treat myself. Whoah, weird, I conjured up a Jungian nightmare! I didn't necessarily start out with any intention of putting myself in the story, it just sort of came out of me that way.

I guess I misspoke when I said window into my heart, it's actually a window into my mind. I knew it was personal and icky, I just couldn't define how until now. Weird. At least it got a couple of chuckles, thankfully It *was* supposed to be humorous, starting off, I just never felt like I got there. Actually, I dunno, thinking back on it, just now, I LOL'd at the "sarcastic?" line. Wow, what a bitch!

Personally, for my own brand of humor, I was quite proud of her last name in the title. I don't necessarily understand my own humor, but I am still laughing at that. I keep going back and forth on the idea of the first "s" in 'Psiechologuiste' being silent. <--Think on that, and be dismayed!

Ive initiated the tirade lol

Well mate youre a superhero here

You can be and do whatever you want and are comfortable with
You cant affect others but you can see yourself as a kid that survived a horrendous childhood and personal loss

This makes you a winner not a loser