Archive for the ‘awful writing’ Category:

Truly Awful Stories #3

Here we continue our series and allow writer Chandler Cook to have a crack at plumbing the depths of awfulness. This one has shades of Peter Shaffer… 

Horse Horse Heaven

By Chandler Cook

        There once was a boy named Ted. Ted liked horses. Ted liked horses so much he loved horses. Ted loved horses.

        The horses were Ted’s god.

        “Who’s there?”

        “It’s me horses, I love you.”

        “We love you too Ted, kiss us.”

        Ted kissed the horses. He braided their hair and put flowers in them. Ted’s head was filled with horses, he thought about them all day long in his brain and he never wanted to be away from his horses, especially the pretty brown one Ted called Queen Horse because she was royalty of Horse Land and she liked to be called that so Ted called her that and Ted was happy because the horses were happy and so was his best friend Mabel who was a cloud shaped like a horse.

        But Mabel wasn’t really happy she was actually a bear who just looked like a horse cloud. Mabel was angry because Ted never told her jokes anymore.

        “Tell me a joke” Mabel said.

        “No,” Ted said, “I’m worshipping the horses,” he said, “especially the pretty brown one called Queen Horse because she likes it.”

        “You’re a horse now Ted.”

        And Ted was a horse. Ted galloped to the horses and told them he was a horse then they said he was a horse and he was a horse so he was a horse.

        Ted was a god now. Ted was an angry horse god because Mabel didn’t believe in horses and neither did his mother who he hadn’t seen since he became a horse.

        Ted killed everyone because he was mad at Mabel. Mabel was a bear so she ate Ted and then Ted was dead.

        The End.

        P.S. Ted came back to live with Mabel and they had babies.

Truly Awful Stories #2

Here is the second in our series–in which we see more of the awfulness a writer can achieve if she truly applies herself.

Night of Endless Sadness
by Sapphire Hotlips (also known as Marie Guenette)

      How could he betray me like this? Oh sorrow, great sorrow! My heart is broken, I feel empty, like a hollow object. That isn’t filled with stuff. The tears fall from my eyes in an endless stream like a waterfall.
            My boyfriend cheated on me. At a party. With another girl. Has anyone ever suffered as much as I am suffering now? I think not. I’ll never love again! I walk out of the room I caught him in, mascara all over my face like a river.
            Then I walk quickly and with alacrity over to the red, big, glass, and massive punch bowl. Then, I see this guy. He smells so heavenly, I can smell his scent better than all the other scents in the room. He looks like one of those guys on the cover of romance novels, with giant, rippling, totally awesome muscles and a white smile. I look at my reflection in the mirror. I see the same girl I always have, big blue eyes, straight blond hair, and perfect teeth. I wonder what I did to deserve being hurt so. Then I think about the guy again. Who is he? I have to know. With his totally rocking bod, it could totally be love at first sight. Then, I think about maybe going to talk to him. Then, I bite my lip and sigh. Then , I think about him some more. Then, I think about how totally awful Tammy King looks in that dress. Then, somebody taps my shoulder, breaking me out of my reverie. Then, I turn.
            Then I see him. It’s the guy. You know, the one that smells good. He smells so good, like some awesome, spicy, woodsy, addicting, amazing cologne. It’s not like any other cologne I’ve smelt before. It’s so overpoweringly amazing that I can’t think of anything else. Scent, scent, scent. Scent.
            “Hi” he then says, his voice, deep, low, and growly, like some snarling, raging, panting, jungle beast. He still smells delicious. And has totally awesome arms.
            Then, we totally talk for a whole five minutes. I totally think we’re in love. I can’t even remember why I was so sad anymore. Ohmigod, he smells so good and he is so hot! Scent!

Truly Awful Stories #1

Beginning with the idea that good writing comes from bad writing, my students in Teenage Novelist were challenged to write the worst story ever. I’ll be posting the results, beginning today.
The Story of How I Single-Handedly Fended Off A Zombie Attack
by Ban L., a.k.a Stormy D. L. B. M. M. Graves (also known as Isabelle Liu)
My name is Stormy Dragoness Lightning Blackie Midnight Mermaid Graves. I am 17 years old and I go to a school. I’m also like the most popular girl in school. But the one thing that they don’t know is that I’m a vampire that goes to school. Not like the school-attending Twilight vampires. I don’t sparkle. Instead, I glow in the dark.
“Zombie attack!” Someone says. People are running around like big bunch of dragons are chasing them. I’m also part dragon, too. I’m part dragoness, so I can fly and have impenetrable skin. I don’t breathe fire. Instead, I can snap my fingers and fire will appear in my hand. I can also control the weather. My favorite kind of weather is the stormy kind, so when someone ticks me off, I can call down a lightning bolt to fry them. I’m powerful like that.
A zombie comes walking toward me on the sidewalk. “Oogh,” he murmurs.
“Hi, Panther Quietus Darkness Nephilim.” I murmur. I know his name because I can read minds. I smile sweetly at him and use my gorgeous, beautiful, stunning, elegant purple wings to rise a few inches above the sidewalk. I flap them a couple times to make the zombie take the full force of my strawberry-scented armpit perfume. No one has ever been able to resist the heavenly scent of my strawberry-scented armpit perfume before.
The zombie smiles. “I like your strawberry-scented armpit perfume, Stormy,” he murmurs.
“I know, Panther,” I murmur back. I take him to a graveyard and bury him.
“Wait, Stormy!” The zombie murmurs breathily.
“Yes, Panther?” I murmur and flutter my long, glittery eyelashes gracefully.
“Let’s watch the stars and talk about love and life for a while, before you bury me, Stormy,” the zombie suggests, murmuring.
I murmur eagerly. So we lie on the lush green grass of the graveyard and talk about deep stuff like love and life.
Finally, I see the sun rising in the distance. “Panther Quietus Darkness Nephilim?” I murmur. (That’s the zombie’s name.)
“Yes, Stormy?” he murmurs.
“Kiss me, Panther,” I whisper in a murmur. And we kiss. Later, I bury him and cry and murmur over his grave.