Original Bad Prose or Stories!

[SoNotHer]

Thank you all!

[Hollylane]

She wasn’t really very angry, though her scrunched face and pursed lips resembling something akin to a dried prune, or possibly a saladito in their constant dryness from lack of moisture, may have said otherwise to the passing stranger with the whites of their eyes showing in amazement at the fact that with this strained look that she had not yet imploded on the spot or simply had a bowel movement on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse.

[*Anya*]

**Bumping*** because surely, we must still have some very, very, bad, it is SO good, writing waiting to come out, don't we?

That sentence was pretty bad...

I just gave you a little push.

[Kätzchen]

After years of being the healthy individual she had always been, Maggie suddenly found herself staring at the endless bottles of prescription medication on her kitchen table.

Maggie had just been released from the hospital the night before, after having an attack of the shits. In Maggie's mind, Maggie kept cursing the doctor who kept putting her on medication after medication, to get to the bottom of the continual problem of having to visit the toilet more than she ever did in her life, before the Wheel of Medication turned her life upside down.

Remembering her latest fiasco of having accidentally shit her panties at the doctors office and how the stool lab came back with an less than normal outcome, Maggie complained to her doctor that he was going to find himself in a shit load of trouble if he couldn't get her on the right medication to prevent having to take a shit every hour on the hour.

Unfortunately, much to Maggie's chagrin, the doctor said, "Oh, Maggie, you're just full of Shit!"

Staring at the doctor, Maggie replied: "You're too late, I'm not full of shit!"


................. ............. .............

(This story is based upon an real life experience. The names of both parties are kept anonymous for the sake of anonymity)

( )

[Kätzchen]

I couldn't find the Bad Haiku thread, so I thought I'd post my bad haiku ditty here, today. It's about my dumb 'smart' phone and the litany of typos I see, after its too late to correct my typos.

Ode to my Dumb "Smart" Phone

Every time my fingers type (7)
Correct words to say (5)
I see typos way too late (7)

[Cin]

Originally Posted by SoNotHer

Thank you all!

That was hilarious. I couldn't help cracking up and then I felt mean. Just like those guys. The woman anchor did not find it amusing at all.

[Hollylane]

She licked the sour sweet taste of lime from her slack lips and frowned in consternation that she had not remembered to drink the tequila and only performed the first part and last part of the process of lick it, slam it, suck it. Perhaps this type of forgetfulness was also the reason her lover’s face had looked so confused when she forgot to remove her jeans and ended up wide eyed and floundering with her tongue stuck in the zipper.

With this as food for her few and fleeting thoughts, she lightly fingered the ripped up part of her tongue that ached from the bitter experience of metal teeth and that now stung from the lime and salt combo, minus the pain killing properties of the tequila that still sat on the bar in silent mourning for the part of her brain that seemed to be missing, and for the sad loss of the last remaining brain cell that used to sing out daily in a forlorn voice "I can see for miles and miles".

[SoNotHer]

Inventing and selling the clap on/clap off cock wasn’t all the knee-jerk-slapping, panty-twisting good time people thought it was. Since the failure of his “Dirty Dick Tricks” sex magic set, Ott wanted to make sure he thought long and hard in the excogitation phase of his new, convenient love missile. And he knew that the marketing deployment of this phallic phenomenon had to be equal to the promise of this easy, pleasy cock rocket’s red glare. No, this time, QVC and “As seen on TV” ads wouldn’t due. In fact, nothing less than a helicopter drop of flying pamphelted plastic penises would.

[Truly Scrumptious]

If she’d been paying more attention, she might have noticed the ginger tabby before she backed up over him flattening him into what looked like burnt toast covered in marmalade (and when it turned out that his name had indeed been Marmalade, she’d remark on the irony, smiling at the word irony because it made her think of ironing which of course made her think of flat, unwrinkled things and Marmalade was indeed flat though not unwrinkled) but instead she’d been thinking about what a great day it had been, which was a huge relief because she was wearing her new boots that she loved but that she was almost convinced were bad luck on account of something bad happening each of the three previous times she’d worn them and while she didn’t want to give them up, she knew that sometimes one just had to let go and believe in fate which thankfully she knew was now smiling upon her right up until she got distracted by the old lady running out of the house screaming “Marmalade, oh Marmalade”, and she took her foot off the brake, backed up inadvertently, and heard a giant splat.

[Cin]

The first sentence of the book written about the female serial killer who came to be known as The KupKake Killer:

Snot ran down and blended with the dirt already encrusted on her fat face as she tried to sneak out of the classroom without being seen as the other kids, the charming, sweet and sweet smelling, well and cleanly dressed, towheaded blue eyed darlings, screamed and yelled their good-byes and happy holidays to teacher on their way out the door as Christmas vacation was starting today, but she knew nobody especially, well especially anybody, wanted a happy holiday hug from her smelly fat self, so she took her cupcake from the party and headed for the door when the most annoying, most beautiful, most well liked, most popular, meanest, cruelest, most hurtful girl in the school dropped her cupcake right in front of her, her personal tormentor’s gooey goody was right there in her path; she picked up her foot and brought it down on the cupcake smashing it to sticky smithereens, immediately she felt a hard slap across her face and the tight angry words from teacher “I saw what you did”, reverberated in her ears, “now you give Emily your cupcake right now” the words you certainly don’t need it you horrid fat cow left unsaid, but all the more louder for that, and meekly she handed her cupcake to the crying Emily whose mouth turned up into a sneer that stabbed home the truth of it all, the sneer brought clarity and explained sensibly, I hope you get this, I hope you remember this lesson, you can’t beat me, you can’t win against me, I am beautiful and popular, the world smiles when I smile and no one will ever choose your side you ugly dirty fat loser.

[WomenMoveMe]

Trixie Muldoon was madder than a three-legged pufferfish at a bingo hall. Ever since she had applied for lead pole-dancer at “Poonanny’s” and told to hit the bricks, she was obsessed with what had gone wrong.

So what if her wrinkled face looked like a map to a vacation spot where no one wanted to go. So what if her once perky 44DD’s were now 68 Longs. So what if she had slid down the pole eight inches before her lagging labia joined the rest of her. No, she didn’t think that was what did her in. She racked her brain. She thought she had prepared so well. She had worn her favorite leopard skin thigh high boots, her tiger stripe daisy dukes, and a gold lame` poncho. Her three-tone hair, that transitioned from a sorta mandarin orange at the ends to a kinda tangerinish-salmon in the middle to a blondish-gray at the crown, had never been closer to God as it was that day. She knew she had indeed been a vision. And even being a three pack-a-day smoker for more than 35 years, she was proud to have danced for a whole fifteen seconds before crashing to the floor in a wheezing heap that would have been rivaled only by a grand mal seizure. At least she didn't wet herself this time. No, it was none of those things that had caused her failure. She knew she had looked good and been supremely prepared. She just didn’t get it. It couldn’t be that she was 73 years old could it? Yep...that was it…damn ageists!

[*Anya*]

Originally Posted by SoNotHer

Inventing and selling the clap on/clap off cock wasn’t all the knee-jerk-slapping, panty-twisting good time people thought it was. Since the failure of his “Dirty Dick Tricks” sex magic set, Ott wanted to make sure he thought long and hard in the excogitation phase of his new, convenient love missile. And he knew that the marketing deployment of this phallic phenomenon had to be equal to the promise of this easy, pleasy cock rocket’s red glare. No, this time, QVC and “As seen on TV” ads wouldn’t due. In fact, nothing less than a helicopter drop of flying pamphelted plastic penises would.

Hey! I want a clap on/clap off cock!

Oh, never mind, I would probably get carpal tunnel syndrome from repetitive clapping!

Great idea, btw

Another gem, SNH!

[Cin]

Her name was Mary, but everyone in the small town she lived in called her Big Mamie. It wasn’t cause she was a big woman, although she was that, and it wasn’t cause she had big bazookas, although hers were easily triple D, and it wasn’t cause she had a big brain cause unfortunately Mary would be lucky to find her ass with both hands, but said ass, by the way, was the reason she was called Big Mamie. Her boyfriend since high school, Ricky Roy Taylor, had named her behind the Big Mamie. And he wasn’t shy about telling how he loved to fuck the Big Mamie until she howled and honked like a goose in heat. She hated how he talked about her bottom like it was a separate entity but she loved the attention he paid to the Big Mamie. Still she was getting older now and wanted more respect. She deserved to be treated better. If Ricky Roy expected her to marry him he needed to stop calling her ass the Big Mamie. But when she let him know how much it bothered her, he would just laugh and grab her big bottom and say he loved the Big Mamie as much as he loved god and country and all he ever felt for that beautiful bottom was love and respect. And if Mary doubted it for even a minute she could just see how much he loved and respected the Big Mamie by how his pecker jumped straight up and saluted every time she moved her bottom in his direction. Now Mary had an idea that she wasn’t going to get anywhere just asking, she needed to use psychology on Ricky Roy. She had to come at him from an equal position. She needed a bargaining chip that would make it in Ricky Roy’s best interest to stop with the Big Mamie crap. Not stop with Big Mamie, just stop with calling it that in public. So the very next time the opportunity presented itself, which turned out to be the very next day, when Ricky Roy was rubbing up and down on the Big Mamie, Mary turned around and grabbed Ricky Roy’s pecker and gave it a healthy tug. “Why I just love your beautiful penis, Ricky Roy, it is the most special pecker ever. I love it more than god or country and from now on I’m going to call it Little Dick.” That was the last we ever heard of the Big Mamie around town and it wasn’t long before she was just plain Mary.

[Hollylane]

He really didn’t know what had gone wrong, though something was amiss, like finding the last tortilla chip loaded with cheese and it has a long gray hair from your granny stuck in it that you discover only as it is hanging out of your mouth and pulling on your lip when you start to crunch with what you thought would be triumph.

Yes, it was true, no denying it now, his relationship was just starting to crumple, not unlike the way his mother’s face looked when she pulled into the driveway to find Dad smiling while waving cheerily as he grabbed his new gal’s ass for the whole damn trailer park to see. He remembered that day clearly, because his mother told the story often, but only when she had a cigarette hanging from her lips, bourbon in one hand, and the other between her legs scratching and looking for all the world like the elderly version of Peg Bundy with her hot pink pants and bright orange lipstick. Returning from his psychedelic trip down memory lane, after deciding that his birth must have been a miracle, or for Dad, some kind of waking nightmare, he decided that he’d better call his pal, Jerry Springer, for more relationship advice.