I’m in love with his butt and in hate with his personality and face.
now is the time for psychiatric help
I’m in love with his butt and in hate with his personality and face.
now is the time for psychiatric help
Hey, so, yo, I wrote something and this is it but I’m gonna warn you because it totally sucks really hard and doesn’t make any sense at all but I haven’t written in a while so I thought that I should because I need to let you know that I still love you okay here.
So, Gummo. That’s … a pretty weird movie, huh. Seriously. I honestly had a fun time figuring out how exactly to do this because it’s like… There’s, what, three boys that were somewhat usuable? And then… weren’t, I guess. I’ll put it this way:
Bunny Boy: What. No.. What.
Tummler: Is it awkward that I think he and Solomon are adorable together?
Solomon: No, seriously, I honestly like the idea of them two together and I just dON’T UNDERSTAND IT
And then you got a whole buttload of other dudes, but all of them are too old/have kids— and the one that’s not too old or anything like that… is gay (remember that guy that drunkenly confessed everything to that black midget? Yeah, that one).
Then there’s those two bald guys who punched each other in the kitchen for some reason. But, I dunno, they just don’t feel … good enough, y’know?
Gosh, I… really hope this doesn’t come off like the story about that girl and her dad (if you’ve seen the movie you’ll under- y’know what, if you haven’t seen this movie, go watch it right now). I hate when people think my writing is depraved! UGH.
Although, I must say … those two kids that pretended to shoot Bunny Boy? Fucking adorable. (Can you tell I’m just writing this intro as I re-watch this freaking thing? … I think the best part is that a lot of the stuff I just wrote would sound really fucked up to someone who hasn’t watched this thing yet.)
Man… that girl Dot is .. tall as fuck. She’s pretty, though. And then you got Eddie… but, again, he doesn’t feel right, y’know? He’s got… some pretty weird hair. Gosh I’m picky.
…seriously. If that dude wasn’t gay I wouldn’t be having this problem. … That sounded mean, I’m sorry. Let’s counter-act that: I like girls, too. Wait… is that a homophobes stereotype? Y’know, that homosexuality and pedophilia are the exact same. Because … I like women… but also girls… Dammit, what the fuck is wrong with me.
By the way, that little gay boy that kills cats is… pretty adorable. I’m not sure why, but I like him a lot.
And now I’m at that part with the shirtless dude with the itchy nipple that pimps out his sister… God, he’s such a penis. I think he just might be the pinacle of non-usable-ness. Even though he’s probably young enough and doesn’t have kids. Ayup. Jesus christ his nipple. His sister is pretty, though.
…christ look at that poor cat.
So… I guess that one dude with the curly hair that … beat up a chair? Oho, that rhymes. Uhm, not the fat-ish one; the tan one. How old is that guy, anyway? …Either way, he’s super cheery and I’m totally gonna write him OOC if I can’t find anyone else. Although, I do have to name him if I do. Because Wikipedia just says, “chair wrestler”. The dude he’s played by is named Max Gonzalez, though. So… some sort of Spanish name, I guess. Wait. Max Gonzalez? FUCK.
I meant Mark Gonzales! Jesus christ! Anyway, logic (and by that I mean my calculator) tells me that the dude was only 29, so.. Should be good, if there isn’t anyone else (to some extent.. I hope there is). He’s got a kinda weird voice, though. Also, he wrestles chairs. So… what.
By the way. Those masks. WHAT THE FUCK IS.
Anyway.. Isn’t Solomon a little old for his mother to be washing his hair? I thought he was, like, 14. Oh no, his crunch bar fell into his bathw- oh, no, it’s fine, he doesn’t care. Alrighty, then. Man, having dinner in the bath seems kinda … not fun. I dunno, I hate being wet when doing other stuff. That… sounded pretty dirty.
Oh, would you look at that, Bunny Boy is making out with two girls… Good for him.
Lovely ending. “…for the Bible tells me soAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
…fuck this was supposed to be an intro, not a movie explanation, what the hell. Y’know, for the actual story (about that curly haired chair wrestler):
The thing that happens when you put me, Logan, and a shitty mic in a room together.
Add this picture:
So, the smartest anon ever just wrote a kind review on that awkward story, Broken. In his or her exact words:
Sooo… he’s raping six-year-olds. He killed her ‘cause she unrealistically showed no fear of him, a being she wouldn’t understand. Then he rapes her because he wanted a struggle. Hmm. Sound reasoning.
It’s not possible for six-year-olds to have orgasms, you know; let alone four at a time. B
Her being able to manipulate him was a really poor touch, almost cliche, no child has the mental and emotional wall of a rock. I had a terrible time reading this, but encountering another badfic on fanfiction isn’t surprising.
I’m not impressed.
Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey, anon. Hey. Hey. HEY. HEY. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey, anon. Hey. HEY.
It ain’t called fiction for nothing, bro-face.
But, no, seriously, where’s there imagination?
To see absolutely nothing more on the subject: just move along, there.
To see something totally NOT FUNNY and even SLIGHTLY LOGICAL (or not):
Y’know. So that me and Princess can dance in the street.
I was just banned permanently from DeviantFart because of my writing.
I should be pissed.
But I just can’t stop laughing.
Because it’s like.
dA. dA noooo. dA how am I supposed to live without you?
It’s not like there’s a whole thousand other websites to share my shitty art/writing.
And even if there were those type of sites, I know they probably have art thieves and trolls and a shitty community or anything like that.
And I’m sure those websites only care about money.
So, hey. Guess where I’m not? Lake. Because goat.
Anyway, I wrote another something. It’s sad. Why? I dunno. OKAY.
So, here ya’ll go. It. That- that’s the name of the movie. It, by Stephen King. The story’s about Henry. So, there you go. Also, I tried to read the book before I wrote this. And that made me realize something. I’ve tried to read three Stephen King books: It, Dreamcatcher, and Under the Dome. And I’ve come to realize that after all the good, interesting characters die, I cannot read the rest of the damn book.
With Dreamcatcher, after Beaver and Pete died, I couldn’t finish it. In It, after they all grew up and became old and boring, I couldn’t finish it. And Under the Dome didn’t give me anything to start with, so there’s that.
Anyway, the girl’s name is Jack and she’s … 7, I guess. She isn’t actually introduced in the story because quickness. Basically she’s this girl that is super-duper tsundere-if-I-dare-use-the-word towards him. Except she’s not tsundere in the, “sh-shut up, I-I hate you! *blush*” way. She’s more the “shut up I will fucking murder you *stone cold expression*” type.
Always, the italliscidedeadf conversation is between her and Pennywise. And if you don’t know who Pennywise is, look him up because he is the most perfect thing ever.
"You. You’re the thing that’s been killing all of the kids."
"Fuck." Jack presses her thumb into her mouth, runs her tongue across the small cut she’d absentmindedly placed on herself. She thinks on her language for a moment, frowns because she’s been trying to clean it up. Her mind has been elsewhere for so very long, every so often drifting back to that day. As opposed to her strange interaction with a man in a clown suit, she found herself thinking more and more about the occurence of hours before. ‘Do you love me’, he’d said, and she’d found herself trying to restore the silence.
He’d left shortly afterwards, taking her silence as a ‘no’.
The sliding glass door runs on it’s tracks with an unusually loud groaning, meeting the end with a bang. She doesn’t think to turn around, because she knows who it is. The silence that they are bestowed with is reminicent of the silence she had kept after that question. She says nothing when his hands grip at her hips, but for a moment her mind flashes back to that day. He’d done something akin to this; she’d stabbed in the leg with a fork for his assertivness.
This time she keeps still, can feel the difference in the way he’s holding her.
"Look, I don’t care if you kill those random little kids, but listen here. Henry Bowers is off limits."
He’s frantic, he almost seems scared. The way his lips brush against her neck, the way his voice sounds so strained when he says it, “Please.” She’s never heard him like this, and it’s scary. He always tried to act like he was so strong, never before has he let down that front to show what he’s really feeling.
She doesn’t actually say anything, just nods.
"Why? You don’t even love him."
He doesn’t bother with the short trip to her bedroom, nor does he waste time stripping either of their of clothes. She finds herself up against the wall, pants around one ankle and with him his hands under her butt, holding her body up. Most of her weight was carried by his hips, which pressed hard into her own.
His face was buried into her neck.
"You’re wrong. I do love him."
They’ve never really had sex like this. Never so frantic, but at the same time sensual. It was always so slow and hard and heated, passionate and hot. This time, it was quick and cold, something needed, not particularly wanted. It wasn’t really that neither wanted it, it was that neither wanted it to be like this. Ordinarily, it was full of emotion just like them. It was fueled by something like hate.
This time, it was emotionless.
"He doesn’t think so."
Instead of the usual noises or words, there was silence between them. The loudest noise in the room was his breath, which sounded ragged. She couldn’t managed to lose herself in the feeling like before, thoughts drifting, wondering what was wrong. This Henry was scary. He wasn’t this type of person. If he was scared or flustered or nervous, he’d show it with anger, not this.
He was not this type of person.
"I know. He’s not ready for it. All of his life, he’s been hated and uncared for. One of these days, he’ll snap. He’ll snap, and he’ll kill that horrible man of a father."
She could tell his silence was intentional. When he finished, instead of making a noise, he tightened his grip on her with one hand and slammed the other against the wall next to her head. She’d perfer to look at his face, but the fact that it was in her neck hindered her from doing this. Instead, she glanced to the side, watching his hand run down the wall, watching a faint blood trail follow.
A smile, a realization.
"Perhaps soon, right?"
She reaches a hand forward, fingers nearly touch his hand before his own are in her hair. She doesn’t have time to react, instead is pinned against the wall easily. There’s a click, and a sharp pain.
A smile, a pain.
"Yes. When that day comes, that’s when I’ll tell him."
"You fucking asshole. I love you."
And she’s dead.
Ohman, quick 4 AM shit writing.
Don’t even both asking me where he stabbed her because I dunno. I don’t exactly know these things, geez. I wasted 45+ minutes trying to find an aduquate answer, but I just couldn’t. UIGH.
In other news, I think there’s something seriously wrong with me. Like, sometimes I’ll see a dude—like a real dude, not a character in a movie/show, a real fucking dude—and I’ll have a normal reaction like, “oh, he’s kinda handsome, good for him”. Then, later on that night after I go to sleep, I’ll start dreaming and—not even fucking kidding you—I’ll seriously /have a dream about that random dude being a lolicon/ while I’m just watching shit go down from a corner with a Dr. Pepper. I swear, none of it’s on purpose, but it just keeps freaking happening! And, of course, I wake up and I’m just like, “oh cheezits, [insert name here], I’m so sorry!”. Of course then I think on it for a second and then I’m like: “…but you really were awesome at being a lolicon”.
What’s that smell? Is it the smell of…? Oh, I think it is! It’s the smell of a new story!
So, here you go. A not-really-know movie called Wake Wood. So, I watched this movie last weekend with that deer ol’ uncle of mine, but because I had stayed up all night from Friday to Saturday morning, I was super tired, and ended up falling asleep half way through it. So, today I decided, “MAN, I need to write, but I seriously don’t wanna write about Broken because repetitive.” And then I watched Wake Wood, and now here I am, presenting this pile of … STUFF to you.
I’ll be an explanatory Ketsu later.
The body was taken down, the blood mopped up. There was an ache is his chest at the sight of her, akin to the same ache he’d had seeing his father cut open and used. A horrible anger swelled up in his stomach, anger at the fact that the reason his father’s body was used was the thing that murdered his mother. He wasn’t certain who to be angry with.
Perhaps Patrick or Louise, for their selfishness. Perhaps mother for allowing such a thing to happen. Perhaps father for his stupidity. Perhaps that stupid bull. None of them should shoulder the blame, the idea of forcing anyone to made him feel horrible.
He was not a typically angry man. That was—more likely than not—the reason he found no solace in blaming anyone. He was passive, and understanding, though not reasonable as he might believe. The offers of help that he was presented by both Arthur and Aedan were both turned down. Arthur had found nothing wrong with allowing him to do the cleaning on his own. Aedan insisted on helping with the dead bodies of both the sheep and the horse, let him tend to his mother on his own. He found himself wishing that he had not let her help him with the animals, when she only managed to keep down her breakfast for the sheep, doubling over behind the barn after attempting the horse.
As the night rose, he couldn’t manage to stay in the house before having to make his way to Aedan’s home, where he was invited in with welcome arms. Kind words were tossed about by her father, who they heard leave in the dead of night but didn’t really care. They were too busy wrapped up in the sheets, where here he gently unloaded the stress of the day, managing to forget all the problems in this town, for at least a moment.
That moment lasting from when his lips first touched her skin, to when they had both finished and he lay breathing heavily on her small chest, a single tear touching her skin before she was holding him tighter than before. He found such comfort in the very slight raise of her underdeveloped breast, as well as the feeling of her small hands traveling under the hat and through his red locks; the way she whispered his name, pressed her lips against his just as he climaxed, the feeling of love he could never feel from any other.
She’d accept the fact that they were here together forever, alone in Wake Wood.
“Are you going to do it? Bring her back?”
“No, I don’t think I will.”
“There’s someone else who needs her. Besides, I have you.”
“And if I die?”
“And if you find someone else? A lovely woman your age stumbles into Wake Wood?”
“You’re a dreamer.”
“I’m in love.”
“I am, too.”
So… If you’ve seen the movie: This was about Martin, that one guy who had a beard and wore a hat a lot.
And if you haven’t (so many spoilers I can’t even believe it):
Iiiii’m going to see Princess in the very near future, ohman. We’re heading off to the lake for the annual one-week-long-lake-troll-fest. And that means four things!
Sooo, UGH. Also, probably a nice video of myself dressed up as Trolldad runnin’ around shaking hands with everyone in… fucking Walmart.
That’s not even a joke, by the way. I already have the … costume: