Inferior Ink

The Flamboozle

2005-05-28T22:35:00.000-04:00

"The only slicer, dicer, juicer, rotisserie / convection oven you'll ever want or need!"

and now, a word from our sponsor

2005-05-23T05:22:00.000-04:00

This week's assignment will be to write a slogan for a product you'd find on a late-night infomercial. Not a lengthy assignment to be sure, but one that will no doubt be just as gutwrenching as the others. Good luck.

the depths of spelling

2005-05-22T07:49:00.000-04:00

This place is a toombe
Darque like my mistress'
Long flowing locks
My mascara runs
No one understands me
No one
A darque toombe

Need

2005-05-21T20:21:00.000-04:00

Hunger.
A fire burns within me.
I yearn.
Hot Topic has a sale.
That corset top will be mine.

Woe and Agony

2005-05-15T18:43:00.000-04:00

Get out your velvet and lace for this week's theme...

A verse from a poem as written by a goth teen

And no wise ass remarks from you, J.

Never is Always Late Enough

2005-05-15T08:18:00.000-04:00

Throngs of people rushed from the busy London Underground station, crying and screaming in agony as fire pulsed and raged from the tube's entrance, and Agent Pierce could do nothing except blame himself, his cranky bowels, and the extra helping of lox he slapped on his morning bagel.

2005-05-14T21:59:00.000-04:00

Tired.. So tired.. This'll have to do.

Sammy hurried through the streets, bouncing off people, fighting to keep her footing, and fought down the surge of panic when she thought of how little precious time she had left before The Event; so very little time, but she pushed on, kept her head down and kept moving until she saw the building up ahead and broke out into a run, bursting through the doors and sliding to a stop before the one person who could save her and crying, "Blonde, Jane! I need to be blonde! I have a date in one hour and....48 minutes!"

Yeah, it's worse than liver and onions. Deal.

this assignment will self destruct

2005-05-09T03:44:00.000-04:00

This week's assignment, if you choose to accept it, will be in the mode of super slick multi-national spy schlock a la The Bourne Identity (which fucking rocked by the way) and/or Alias. Think cosmopolitan cities, gadgets, old money conspiracy theories, super soldier syrums and fly-ass Russian operatives who'll kiss you as fast as they'll pop two bullets in the back of your head with a silenced .45.

this is the best i could come up with

2005-05-08T05:15:00.000-04:00

"Draw," Zebekiah said with a grizzled sneer to the buxom blonde standing just ten paces ahead--sure, she had the face of an angel, and bossoms like two fluffy pillows just begging for you to lay your head upon, but she had the hind quarters of a zebra, and the hooves to match, and that was enough to make any half-elven gunslinger just a bit nervous.

Bucky Done Did It

2005-05-06T16:27:00.000-04:00

After many rewrites, this is what I came up with..

Bucky-- who, on his best day, was never the brightest cowboy-- realized all too late that maybe Frank hadn't had his best interests at heart when he suggested, whilst downing his 8th whiskey, that it'd be really funny if Bucky were to brand the odd-looking man in the silly pointy hat, because odd-looking men in silly pointy hats invariably tend to be wizards that can painfully magic you into a puddle of florescent goo that can later be unceremoniously dumped into the spittoon-- unless they're Stan, the village idiot, who wore his silly pointy hat on Tuesdays but usually wore a padded helmet to keep him from hurting himself when he walked (literally) into buildings.

Then I worried it might not make sense. I forgot what I was writing it for.

When Worlds Collide..

2005-05-01T14:32:00.000-04:00

Yes, I know. This past week got all wonky. I held off one posting this week's theme in order to get things back on track. But, I hope, it's well worth the wait. This week's theme will be...

The world of fantasy smacking right into a western.

Yes, that's right. Fantasy and western all in one. Wizards battling gunslingers at high noon. Or cowboys storming the castle. Whatever you like.. As long as it contains both elements.

Have fun!

seuss intervention

2005-04-28T01:42:00.000-04:00

Fushle sees blurry
and trips over his feet
stumbling and stomping
like a five-legged sheep

Fushle isn't walking
as straight as he thinks
but Fushle stops thinking
after five or six drinks

Dr. "Feelgood" Seuss

2005-04-20T17:04:00.000-04:00

As a little R, my favoritest book ever was One Fish, Two Fish. I'd memorized it after forcing my poor mother to read it ad nauseum. Here is my homage to my favorite book..

One pill,
Two pill,
Red pill,
Blue pill,
Too many pills can make you ill,
How many pills can you swill?

At least I didn't do Hop on Crack..

floozles, bloozles and cantampler bamboozles

2005-04-20T05:24:00.000-04:00

The first book I remember really reading as a kid was Dr. Suess' Sleep Book. I loved that thing so much, I think I read it every night. Years later, I had to order a copy on Amazon just to sate my hunger for nostalgia. To tarnish this lovely memory of my youth, this week's task will be to write the opening line of a rejected children's book in the voice of the goodly Dr. Suess.

hardboiled munchies

2005-04-20T05:18:00.000-04:00

She was like the hamburger in a fast food restaurant commercial--all steaming hot with crisp lettuce and tomato, beaded with dew droplets and slapped between the two halves of a firm sesame seed bun--but I knew if I let her get too close, I'd wind up with nothing but heartburn and a bad case of the shits; she sat down and said her husband had fallen in with the wrong crowd, some grade A scum, and I reached into the top draw of my desk to grab my Saturday night special and my near-empty bottle of Tums.

Slimy Seamus

2005-04-14T16:43:00.000-04:00

I have to admit that this was not a genre I was all too familiar with. I prefer less grit and more poision. I grew up on Agatha Christie, stop looking at me like that!

The last time I'd seen Seamus McGillicutty-- alive, that is-- he was hanging all over some red-headed dame-- a cheap, little floozy down at the speakeasy-- like a hungry dog on a gnarled up bone, reeking of gin, mothballs, and cigars and laughing like a hiccuping hyena and even then he looked a sight better-- smelled a bit better, too-- than he did now as I identified what little was left of his body after he'd been partially shoved through a wood chipper.

Hard-Boiled Sam

2005-04-10T20:21:00.000-04:00

This week's theme, should you choose to accept it-- not that you actually have a choice in the matter-- is..... Dun dun DUUUUUUUN!

The opening line to a mystery.

But not just any kind of mystery! Dun dun DUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!! No! A hard-boiled detective mystery ala Sam Spade. Or the like. Have fun with it!

Dun dun DUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!!

death of destiny

2005-04-10T07:05:00.000-04:00

J, age 28, died one year younger than R. He was a quiet man, a boring man, but in the most basic sense of the word--in so much as he breathed, ate and shat--he lived.

Though liver failure, tripping over a curb in a drunken stupor or some sudden venereal disease all would have been likely culprits in his demise, J, instead, was ushered into the next life via a giant funnel cloud that touched down near his home. He was, however, drunk at the time, and thankfully free of STDs.

J is survived by his PlayStation2 (Stella), a swanky widescreen HDTV and accompanying six-disc DVD player/5.1 surround sound system and upwards of $70K in debt, most of which resulting from his three years of "soul searching" at a private university in Staten Island, New York.

His liver, Sparky, could not be reached for comment.

Services will be held at the local watering hole, where Guinness will be on special for $3 a pint. Granted, this is not a result of his demise. Such specials can be found at the tavern every Thursday night.

Death of a Drama Queen

2005-04-09T10:02:00.000-04:00

R, age 29, Suburbia, NJ- She was known to most as Erratic Prophet and proudly proclaimed herself to be a geek, snob and bad writer. After being asked one too many inane questions, R fell into an apoplectic fit, resulting in not only a stroke, but a heart attack as well.

She is survived by her children, The Boy and The Girl, who will miss her chocolate chip cookies and lipglosses respectively; her cat, Buttons (a.k.a., Boo, Boo-Boo, Boobah, Boo Kitty, Boo Bear, Monsieur Boo-Boo), who was peeved about not being consulted about death prior to the event and took to destroying the furniture in retaliation; her mother, another R, who was heard to have said, "This was a bit overdramatic, even for her.."; and her father who is quite sure that R's death was done just to annoy him.

There will be no services held because R hated large parties as she thought that groups of moping people milling about a vase containing ashes-- cremated to better acquaint self to the climate in Hell-- idiotic and would do a half-gainer in her grave had she had one.

In conclusion: R dead, missed? unsure, very likely in Hell, no funeral, currently feeling sooty.

writing through the valley of the shadow of death

2005-04-05T17:15:00.000-04:00

Yea, Death is always upon us. The Reaper will get us some day, that's for sure, but what isn't certain is how we'll be remembered. This week's assignment, if you choose to accept it, is to write your own obituary.

why i shouldn't own a portable mp3 player

2005-04-02T16:05:00.000-05:00

walking home from bars
listening to gigantic
singing like an ass

Has Spring Sprung?

2005-03-30T14:16:00.000-05:00

They say that you should write about what you know..

A warm, gentle breeze,
Could Spring finally be here?
It's about damn time!

Watch it snow next week.

Bad Haiku

2005-03-27T21:23:00.000-05:00

This week's theme, if you couldn't already guess, is...

Bad Haiku

What about? Anything. It just has to be bad and it has to be a haiku. That means following the 5/7/5 structure. Good luck and bad writing!

How Romantic!

2005-03-27T16:11:00.000-05:00

We have a winner, folks! The best-- never mind that it was the only-- submission this week was from the one and only Corgan Dane!

Mary really liked love, and basically she wanted some. 'Cause, well, she didn't get any. She hoped someday maybe a tall, dark stranger with lots of money and an arse like two scoops of butter-pecan ice cream would come along. Of course, the new gardener was pretty cute, and he had that charming accent. Nothing said "lovin'" like getting smacked on the rump and called Susie!

Indeed, Corgan, nothin' says lovin' like getting smacked on the rump and called Susie.

Why don't y'all stop by Corgy's webcomic (Many Tidings Grim) and marvel at the Daisy-fearing alien, Klik?

Sigh...

2005-03-26T14:30:00.000-05:00

She stood on the cliff's edge, the breeze blowing through her shiny tresses, the taste of sea salt dancing on her pink scruffy tongue, the single warm tear trolling down her cheek and she thought, "Roderigo, Roderigo, why didn't you tell me about the other women, the other men, the half-full bottle of laundry detergent; why, if I were to step off this precipice right now, would you care, would you cry at my funeral, or would you shack up with Lisbeth, Flora, Humberto and Downy All Temperature Delicates and forget you'd ever heard the name Carlotta?"

The Bodice Ripper

2005-03-22T13:48:00.000-05:00

Ye gods, but it's been ages since I've read a romance novel...

"Well, damn and damn again," Vivenka muttered testily as branch snagged and ripped part of her bodice as she wandered, hopelessly lost in the woods, searching for her beloved horse who threw her after being frightened by what appeared to be a snake but upon further inspection only turned out to be a bit of rubber tubing which she'd thrown down with disgust before stomping off hot-headedly, as was her way, and wound up as she was now, bedragged, muddied, and desperately hoping to avoid her impending loveless arranged marriage with the most ruthlessly cold Count D'Orazio who held her family's company, and their livelihood, in the palm of his long, elegant, yet very masculine, hand.

...they're always good for a laugh.

ah...l'amour

2005-03-20T21:21:00.000-05:00

To hell with the both of them.

It's spring time, the birds and the bees, the wind through the trees, flowers and candy and all that good stuff. Of course, bee stings can kill you, pollen can make you sick and if those damn birds would just shut the fuck up, maybe you could get an extra half-hour's sleep. Face it, spring sucks, love sucks, and what better way to celebrate that which makes us the most miserable than with more miserable prose? This week's theme is the opening line of a romance novel.

Once upon a time...

2005-03-19T13:54:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, in a land much like this one--except for the, you know, beasties and critters and such; and the vague smell of bubble gum in the air; and the tiny folk flying on gossamer wings, who'd set up shopping malls made out of feathers and dandelions; and Ted, the incontinent dragon... ...maybe it wasn't much like this one at all, but it was a land, once upon a time.

Hansel and Gretel Unplugged

2005-03-16T18:05:00.000-05:00

I know, I know. I didn't do Alice in Wonderland. Rather shocking, isn't it? But this is something I'd always felt needed to be addressed. It was either this or put Gretel on a low carb diet.

Gretel wondered if her brother, Hansel, had been dropped on the head one too many times after he suggested leaving a trail of bread crumbs and not only wasting the only food they had, but leaving a very edible trail for any voracious creature of the forest to find them and, in all likelyhood, eat them.

Not that many voracious animals follow bread crumbs, but really.. Bread crumbs? Not the best idea.

A Grimm and Grisly Tale

2005-03-13T12:29:00.000-05:00

And so it comes, the "theme" for this week's exercise in truly bad writing. You've waited all week for this, haven't you? You wondered "What else can these people possibly butcher? How much lower can they go?" Wonder no longer. This week, we will be massacring.....

Children's Fairy Tales

I know, I know. We're soulless heathens. We like it and I'm quite sure you do, too. Stay tuned, kiddies, it's going to be a bumpy ride this week.

A Submission!

2005-03-13T12:24:00.000-05:00

I'm happily surprised! We got a submission! And since it was the only one, it's the best one.

Corgan Dane wrote:

Jeremy felt a bit scared when he saw the slimy, slithering thing waddling toward his legs. He wasn't sure if it reminded him of his aunt Wanda, but he was sure, that it reminded him of her squid and lentil soup...and that was terrifying. With a bit of a whimpering, moan-ish thing, he started to run, but fell down, because the thing was yanking like a hurdy-gurdy on his right ankle, which was bad, due to an old water polo injury.

So everyone go visit good ol' Stinky at his webcomic-- since he's never at his blog. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll marvel at the smoking, talking skull.

something wicked

2005-03-12T11:34:00.000-05:00

It lurked in places goodly men were nary to walk, among discarded tissues, coated in sick and snot, long forgotten in crevices littered with dirty socks and wasted dreams; it waited there now, slobbering, waiting.

Poor Roberta

2005-03-08T15:54:00.000-05:00

I told you I wouldn't be able to resist...

As she stood, Roberta felt something cold and clammy wrap itself around her ankle and was reminded of her day trip to the beach earlier that day in which, as she waded in the water with the sun beating down on her shoulders, a rather long strand of seaweed had managed to wind itself around her ankle disturbing the almost zen-like peace that the warmth of the sun and the soothing sounds of the ocean had induced, only this was far more disturbing than a piece of seaweed since it was a hand reaching out to her from underneath her bed and wouldn't be as easily removed.

Bask in my awfulness and feel free to add your own.

Oh, the horror!

2005-03-06T19:10:00.000-05:00

This week's theme was selected by J. I'm posting on his behalf because he's trapped at work. On a Sunday. Doesn't that suck? Poor J. Let us have a moment of silence for him.

Ok, that's enough of that. This week's theme for our bad writing exercise is..... Horror/Suspense.

Oooh.. Ahh.. Exciting, isn't it? Now we don't want this to be just for the two of us. Nooo.. We want you-- yes, you!-- to join us in our little game or whatever it is. To do so, you can either submit your little bit of badness in the comments below here or you can send it via email. There's a link at the right there. No, your other right. Yes, there. If you do submit via email, please let us know who you are and where your blog is (if you have one). J and I will each pick our favorite out of those submitted. Sorry, no prizes. Just the wonderful feeling of a job well-- or badly, in this case-- done. You'll get a link back in our post just for bragging rights. (Aren't we just full of ourselves?)

The deadline to submit is Saturday. We'll post some time during the week. I'll probably post early because I'm like an over-excited chihuahua with a bladder control problem. I can't hold it in, people. And I hope you can't either!

Once upon a time...

2005-03-03T23:21:00.000-05:00

There was a girl with a dream. A dream to write awesomely bad, cringe-worthy and-- hopefully-- funny (in the laughing at, not with sense) mini-stories. Or paragraphs. Or maybe a sentence here and there. It's all rather vague as of yet, but should shape up into something truly awful.

Keeping fingers crossed.