Original Bad Prose or Stories!

Truly Scrumptious · 01-02-2012, 08:10 PM

Her lower lip quivered and her creamy bosom heaved in time with her hopes as they rose and fell while she waited delicately perched on the edge of what could be a dream but might break her heart depending on whether or not she heard the words “will you accept this rose?”

Cin · 01-02-2012, 11:02 PM

I Wanna Write Bad Things With You.

Some might say it had ended before it began. That it never had a chance. That it went sour like bad wine. You might think the bad taste in my mouth would have stopped me. But it didn’t. I could never read the writing on the wall, being illiterate and all. Maybe if I had learned to read; or maybe if I had been more interested in wine tasting lessons. If I was just a little smarter, I could have understood an end when I saw one. Maybe when you slashed my tires it should have ended. But instead I just bought more tires. Maybe when you shot my dog I could have stopped it then. But I didn’t. I cleaned up the mess and buried my pooch, my tears washing away the blood and dirt from my face. Maybe that should have been the end. Well it was for Rover. But I was always the dumber animal between the two of us. Maybe when you ran me down with your car that should have ended it. But I always hated to read things into stuff, especially since I can’t read. And after all I am prone to over analyzing. I was still trying to figure out what you were trying to tell me when you jumped off that building smashing yourself to a bloody pulp against the concrete below. Perhaps if you hadn’t ended it, I could have figured out what you were trying to say.

Truly Scrumptious · 01-03-2012, 10:04 AM

He liked to call her his little bunny, because she was small and very soft, but also called her “honey bunny” or sometimes “bunny face” because of the way her nose crinkled when she was struggling with a decision about something important like chocolate or vanilla, or sometimes “bunny wabbit” when he was feeling particularly tender and which, quite frankly, she adored. She called him Sam because that was his name and because she wanted to be the only one with cute nicknames and also because she just wasn’t that creative and couldn’t come up with anything other than “honey Sam” or “Sam face” or “Sam wabbit”, which just didn’t sound right to her.

WomenMoveMe · 01-03-2012, 10:56 AM

As he sat there, listening to her voice, screeching at him, he wondered why exactly it was he could hear her? Surely this was a voice intended only for canines! He looked around the small kitchen as she railed on and on about the new Walmart and what a blessing from heaven it truly was.

He began to daydream about the different ways he could stifle that Godawful voice. For a quick moment he thought of just doing her in with the cast iron skillet, but he was hungry and did not want to waste the perfectly good meal that lay therein. He considered sticking her head in the electric can-opener and letting that thing take a spin or two. Yeah, the can-opener! That was the way to go! Nah, while he thought it great fun to imagine, he couldn't kill her. Who would make his dinner? Who would make sure he wore clean, mended clothes? Who would feed the animals, the children, the endless procession of Jesus people that came a-prayin' most every day? Besides, he was a lazy man lacking in the motivation to brush his teeth, much less make the effort it would take to put a hurtin' on her.

He sat looking at the woman who had cared for him for 35 years, trying to tune out the shrieking instrument that was her voice. Finally it dawned on him, it was so easy he was surprised he had not thought of it long ago. Taking a brussel sprout in each hand he shoved them in to his ears. Silence!! It was glorious silence. It was then he, the man who would not deign to move were a train racing toward him, slowly rose from his chair and walked to the refrigerator. He picked up a pen and wrote at the bottom of the grocery list.....busal poots lauts uv busal poots.

*Anya* · 01-03-2012, 11:37 AM

I am sitting crying at work, trying to stifle my laughter and associated tears, for the simple reason; I am at work. I should not have even looked because here is one more masterpiece of supremely clever, bad writing! I tip my hat to you, WMM, as well as to the other writers.

Who knew we had such talent among us. To paraphrase OliverTwist..."Please...may I have more, please?"

Quote:

Originally Posted by WomenMoveMe

As he sat there, listening to her voice, screeching at him, he wondered why exactly it was he could hear her? Surely this was a voice intended only for canines! He looked around the small kitchen as she railed on and on about the new Walmart and what a blessing from heaven it truly was.

He began to daydream about the different ways he could stifle that Godawful voice. For a quick moment he thought of just doing her in with the cast iron skillet, but he was hungry and did not want to waste the perfectly good meal that lay therein. He considered sticking her head in the electric can-opener and letting that thing take a spin or two. Yeah, the can-opener! That was the way to go! Nah, while he thought it great fun to imagine, he couldn't kill her. Who would make his dinner? Who would make sure he wore clean, mended clothes? Who would feed the animals, the children, the endless procession of Jesus people that came a-prayin' most every day? Besides, he was a lazy man lacking in the motivation to brush his teeth, much less make the effort it would take to put a hurtin' on her.

He sat looking at the woman who had cared for him for 35 years, trying to tune out the shrieking instrument that was her voice. Finally it dawned on him, it was so easy he was surprised he had not thought of it long ago. Taking a brussel sprout in each hand he shoved them in to his ears. Silence!! It was glorious silence. It was then he, the man who would not deign to move were a train racing toward him, slowly rose from his chair and walked to the refrigerator. He picked up a pen and wrote at the bottom of the grocery list.....busal poots lauts uv busal poots.

WomenMoveMe · 01-03-2012, 01:19 PM

Thank you Anya!! Although...I am debating as to whether I am happy about my ability to write badly!

Thinking....................................

Okay...I am happy!

SoNotHer · 01-03-2012, 03:45 PM

Ask, Anya, and you shall receive (and you can't send it back to the kitchen - oh no!)

__________________________________________________ _______________

Meanwhile back at the ranch, Mindy Sue Ellen Bob was fixing something that wasn’t exactly stew and wasn’t exactly meatloaf. It jiggled like a squishy meatloaf lump but at about the point of tinely penetration it collapsed like an overloaded baby diaper. Of course no one was looking for a textural experience with Mindy Sue Ellen Bob’s cooking. Most folks were looking to eat whatever she spooned or timorously forked over with just one hope - to disengage all senses and ingest the amorphous amoeba-like mass in a kind-of-out-body gastric osmotic trance.

For the cowpokes and dudes of Ranch Dressing Ranch, pulling this off wasn’t always a smooth ride in the kiddy rodeo.

01-02-2012, 11:02 PM	#2
Cin Senior Member How Do You Identify?: Butch Preferred Pronoun?: she Relationship Status: Truly Madly Deeply Join Date: Aug 2011 Location: In My Head Posts: 2,814 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 6,333 Thanked 10,436 Times in 2,476 Posts Rep Power: 21474851	I Wanna Write Bad Things With You. Some might say it had ended before it began. That it never had a chance. That it went sour like bad wine. You might think the bad taste in my mouth would have stopped me. But it didn’t. I could never read the writing on the wall, being illiterate and all. Maybe if I had learned to read; or maybe if I had been more interested in wine tasting lessons. If I was just a little smarter, I could have understood an end when I saw one. Maybe when you slashed my tires it should have ended. But instead I just bought more tires. Maybe when you shot my dog I could have stopped it then. But I didn’t. I cleaned up the mess and buried my pooch, my tears washing away the blood and dirt from my face. Maybe that should have been the end. Well it was for Rover. But I was always the dumber animal between the two of us. Maybe when you ran me down with your car that should have ended it. But I always hated to read things into stuff, especially since I can’t read. And after all I am prone to over analyzing. I was still trying to figure out what you were trying to tell me when you jumped off that building smashing yourself to a bloody pulp against the concrete below. Perhaps if you hadn’t ended it, I could have figured out what you were trying to say. __________________ The reason facts don’t change most people’s opinions is because most people don’t use facts to form their opinions. They use their opinions to form their “facts.” Neil Strauss

01-03-2012, 10:04 AM	#3
Truly Scrumptious Member How Do You Identify?: Femme Relationship Status: She's my mirror twin, my next of kin Join Date: Sep 2011 Location: Entre Lajeunesse et la sagesse Posts: 667 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 2,047 Thanked 1,780 Times in 557 Posts Rep Power: 21474849	Somebunny and Sam He liked to call her his little bunny, because she was small and very soft, but also called her “honey bunny” or sometimes “bunny face” because of the way her nose crinkled when she was struggling with a decision about something important like chocolate or vanilla, or sometimes “bunny wabbit” when he was feeling particularly tender and which, quite frankly, she adored. She called him Sam because that was his name and because she wanted to be the only one with cute nicknames and also because she just wasn’t that creative and couldn’t come up with anything other than “honey Sam” or “Sam face” or “Sam wabbit”, which just didn’t sound right to her.

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01-02-2012, 08:10 PM	#1
Truly Scrumptious Member How Do You Identify?: Femme Relationship Status: She's my mirror twin, my next of kin Join Date: Sep 2011 Location: Entre Lajeunesse et la sagesse Posts: 667 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 2,047 Thanked 1,780 Times in 557 Posts Rep Power: 21474849	Her lower lip quivered and her creamy bosom heaved in time with her hopes as they rose and fell while she waited delicately perched on the edge of what could be a dream but might break her heart depending on whether or not she heard the words “will you accept this rose?”

01-03-2012, 10:56 AM	#4
WomenMoveMe Member How Do You Identify?: I just wander about and be! Relationship Status: Caution: Dead End Join Date: Oct 2011 Location: Kentucky Posts: 561 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 1,473 Thanked 2,100 Times in 417 Posts Rep Power: 21474850	As he sat there, listening to her voice, screeching at him, he wondered why exactly it was he could hear her? Surely this was a voice intended only for canines! He looked around the small kitchen as she railed on and on about the new Walmart and what a blessing from heaven it truly was. He began to daydream about the different ways he could stifle that Godawful voice. For a quick moment he thought of just doing her in with the cast iron skillet, but he was hungry and did not want to waste the perfectly good meal that lay therein. He considered sticking her head in the electric can-opener and letting that thing take a spin or two. Yeah, the can-opener! That was the way to go! Nah, while he thought it great fun to imagine, he couldn't kill her. Who would make his dinner? Who would make sure he wore clean, mended clothes? Who would feed the animals, the children, the endless procession of Jesus people that came a-prayin' most every day? Besides, he was a lazy man lacking in the motivation to brush his teeth, much less make the effort it would take to put a hurtin' on her. He sat looking at the woman who had cared for him for 35 years, trying to tune out the shrieking instrument that was her voice. Finally it dawned on him, it was so easy he was surprised he had not thought of it long ago. Taking a brussel sprout in each hand he shoved them in to his ears. Silence!! It was glorious silence. It was then he, the man who would not deign to move were a train racing toward him, slowly rose from his chair and walked to the refrigerator. He picked up a pen and wrote at the bottom of the grocery list.....busal poots lauts uv busal poots.

01-03-2012, 01:19 PM	#6
WomenMoveMe Member How Do You Identify?: I just wander about and be! Relationship Status: Caution: Dead End Join Date: Oct 2011 Location: Kentucky Posts: 561 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 1,473 Thanked 2,100 Times in 417 Posts Rep Power: 21474850	Thank you Anya!! Although...I am debating as to whether I am happy about my ability to write badly! Thinking.................................... Okay...I am happy!

01-03-2012, 03:45 PM	#7
SoNotHer Senior Member How Do You Identify?: Professional Sandbagger and Jenga Zumba Instructor Join Date: Sep 2011 Location: In the master control room of my world domination dreams Posts: 2,811 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 6,587 Thanked 4,736 Times in 1,409 Posts Rep Power: 21474851	Ask, Anya, and you shall receive (and you can't send it back to the kitchen - oh no!) __________________________________________________ _______________ Meanwhile back at the ranch, Mindy Sue Ellen Bob was fixing something that wasn’t exactly stew and wasn’t exactly meatloaf. It jiggled like a squishy meatloaf lump but at about the point of tinely penetration it collapsed like an overloaded baby diaper. Of course no one was looking for a textural experience with Mindy Sue Ellen Bob’s cooking. Most folks were looking to eat whatever she spooned or timorously forked over with just one hope - to disengage all senses and ingest the amorphous amoeba-like mass in a kind-of-out-body gastric osmotic trance. For the cowpokes and dudes of Ranch Dressing Ranch, pulling this off wasn’t always a smooth ride in the kiddy rodeo.