I've been in a fic-writing mood, lately. I'mma toss some Boondock Saints fanfiction atcha in the near future. I HOPE Y'ALL LIKE IT.
This was written by a guy, it’s pretty damn smart.
Girls, allow yourself to have a sense of humor.
I never quite figured out why the sexual urge of men and women differ so much. And I never have figured out the whole Venus and Mars thing. I have never figured out why men think with their head and women with their heart.
One evening last week, my girlfriend and I were getting into bed. Well, the passion starts to heat up, and she eventually says, “I don’t feel like it, I just want you to hold me.”
I said, “What? What was that?”
So she says the words that every boyfriend on the planet dreads to hear.
“You’re just not in touch with my emotional needs as a woman enough for me to satisfty your physical needs as a man.”
She responded to my puzzled look by saying, “Can’t you just love me for who I am and not what I do for you in the bedroom?”
Realizing that nothing was going to happen that night, I went to sleep.
The very next day I opted to take the day off of work to spend time with her. We went out to a nice lunch and then went shopping at a big unnamed department store. I walked around with her while she tried on several different very expensive outfits. She couldn’t decide which one to take, so I told her we’d just buy them all. She wanted new shoes to compliment her new clothes, so I said, “Let’s get a pair for each outfit.”
We went on to the jewelry department where she picked out a pair of diamond earrings. Let me tell you, she was so excited. She must have thought I was one wave short of a shipwreck. I started to think she was testing me because she asked for a tennis bracelet when she doesn’t even know how to play tennis.
I think I threw her for a loop when I said, “That’s fine, honey.” She was almost nearing sexual satisfaction from all of the excitement. Smiling with excited anticipation, she finally said, “I think this is all, dear, let’s go to the cashier.”
I could hardly contain myself when I blurted out, “No honey, I don’t feel like it.”
Her face just went completely blank as her jaw dropped with a baffled, “What?”
I then said, “Honey, I just want you to hold this stuff for a while. You’re just not in touch with my financial needs as a man enough for me to satisfy your shopping needs as a woman.”
And just when she has this look like she was going to kill me, I added, “Why can’t you just love me for who I am and not for the things I buy you?”
Apparently I’m not having sex tonight either but at least that bitch knows I’m smarter than her.
See, there this kid in my Broadcasting class. Let's just call him Bob. I've had millions of classes with Bob since we're in the same major. Whenever I missed a class, he'd fill me in and vice versa. Bob has always been nice to me, but Bob is the absolute biggest dick in the world to damn near everyone else. He's one of those, "roll out the red carpet because I'm here." While he's always been pretty reliable for school work and a good person to rant to, Bob was someone I'd never hang out with outside of school.
Bob is going to another country for school.
Bob...FMFL, Bob has all of a sudden been coming onto me. He texted me at like 3:00am a few nights ago telling me how lonely he was and how rejected he was feeling. I never sleep at an appropriate time anyway since I've become a bit of an insomniac thanks to a certain late night host. So, I entertained the conversation a little bit. All of a sudden, he starts asking me questions like what's the "wildest" thing I've ever done with a dude and if I'd ever consider....some other nasty shit.
Lemme tell you, I'm no saint. Been there, done that. I'm twenty years old, and I'm in college. Yeah, I'm going to live it up just a tad. But, who the fuck does this kid think he is? Oh, because he's leaving he thinks he can coax me into a sympathy fuck (he asked if I'd ever hook up with him. UHM, NO)? I chose not to answer him by that point. WTF, this isn't the first time this has happened to me. Do I have "GET IN MY PANTS!!!" stamped on my forehead? GTFO with that shit. I will beat a motherfucker, s'not like I haven't before.
In the words of 50 Cent: "I DON'T KNOW WHATCHA HEARD 'BOUT ME, BUT A BITCH CAN'T GET A DOLLA OUTTA ME."
irrelevant, but I'm listening to my "soundtrack" rn.
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they'd be happy for a while.
But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn't take one more step.
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.
So bye-bye, miss American pie.
Drove my Chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin', "this'll be the day that I die.
"this'll be the day that I die."
-- Miss American Pie, Don McLean
Recently, I read in a story in class which garnered a few seconds of silence before my professor blurted out, "Where did you come from?"
I kind of sank in my seat a little bit before he told me that I managed to do so much with dialogue which is something he's hasn't seen many accomplished writes -much less a student- pull off. I kind of had nothing to respond with, at that point I didn't know what to say.
At some point during the lecture, he tells me he wants to see me in his office. I panic. My inner-fourteen year old still freaks when I get called into the "office." Only at twenty, my mother isn't there to bail me out so I borderline hyperventilate. He hands me this pamphlet for this Writer's Institute in upstate New York and tells me I should consider this program. It's up in Skidmore college and it lasts about a month and professional writers go and teach. They offer constructive criticism as well as tips and tricks in terms of writing and publishing. My professor tells me that he's nominated students for the full scholarship before, but that none of them had the talent that I do and he thinks I could really succeed.
Two weeks later, I have yet to submit an application and the sample piece. Why? Because I have no inspiration. I hate my life.