Blackadder
Smash Master
Ahahaa!! Zook, you can stay the hell away from my mother. I did it. It took a while, but I did it! I pleased, dig?
Anyways, I'm not sure if I should explain this or not, but I really think it'd be easy to miss the point of this story. See, when I started it originally, I couldn't get any of it to seem… right? It was awkward in a sort of stylized way, and the plot kept getting sidetracked under loads of pointless talking. Everything was just incompetent.
I was still in my current “creative rut”. So… hey, why not sort of parody/relish/dig at myself by writing a deliberately “Writer’s Block” story?
-- There's loads of unnecessary dialogue. Kinda like a Tarenteno film, a fair bit of the talking is unneeded and about nothing in general. Kinda like in real life.
-- Any opportunity for plot is discarded as soon as it's introduced, again trying to make things seem messy and like 'nothing much is happening'.
-- The Other Guy is sort of my representative of those characters that don't do much in stories. You know; that guy who's always just there, and often vanishes as soon as the writers notice this.
-- I also wanted to blur the lines with the style as well as reality. I was hoping to make people question what really IS just clumsy writing, and what is deliberately ill at ease.
I'm not even sure if I succeeded in creating a stylized bad story about nothing much happening. If you can fail at that. I’m at least happy I managed to write again, though.
Rip it apart, by all means.
“Fffuck!”
Everyone’s heads turned over to the corner. “Heyy, is uh… is Jack jacking off over there?”
Disgruntled, Jack replied “No. Fuck no! I can’t get this fucking worm to stand the hell up! It’s like strangling a dead snake!” he began to pump his hands furiously, his long dark jacket flailing about.
Simon began to feel uncomfortable sitting against the cold wall. He kicked his legs out, and began to slowly push himself into an awkward leaning/standing position.
As awkwardly as he’d pushed himself up he fell down, landing on his arse hard. “Damnit! Ahh… I can’t even feel my legs. Screw it… Simon, you got another pi-“
“You’re Simon,” said the other guy in the room.
“Oh.” Simon replied, with a tinge of disappointment in his voice.
A silence came over the room; the only sound audible was Jack’s nightmarish grunts and groans. Simon became annoyed at them.
“Jack, for Christ’s sake, give it up.”
“No one told me this shit made you impotent, Simon!”
“How many people take whatever-the-hell-mix we just took and then jerk off, man? Try again when you’re less high.” Simon said.
Jack’s eyes began to bulge slightly, making his already blood shot pupils look even less charming. He spewed into his corner.
Simon observed this with his half-closed view. “No wonder you have no girlfriend. You’re a charmer, man.”
Jack simply snorted at this comment, wiped his mouth down with his black jacket, and subsequently fell down onto the floor.
He peered up. “… So, what’s you’re name then, friend?”
“I just call him ‘The Other Guy’” Simon said.
“So, THAT’S why your child was named Mercedes. Fuck, and you say you’re part of the ‘Creative World’” Jack said, some more vomit leaking from his nose.
“Shut up! Why do you always bring her up on these nights?” Simon had begun to tear.
Jack sighed. He sneezed, letting the vomit in his nasal fly out to the wall. “Heh, I’m proud of that” he muttered to himself. His head rest on the dirty floor for a few seconds before speaking again.
“Alright, I’m sorry. I’m hardly thinking straight, you know that.” He said, putting on his best ‘apology’ voice.
Simon’s face scrunched up. “I miss her.”
Jack was tired of this conversation. He managed to sigh out a “Who?”
“Jasmine.” Simon said, trying to seem blunt and stern.
“Hmm.” Jack braced himself for the tear-fest he was about to be drowned in.
Simon could see the bother on Jack’s face. “I’m not going to rant on about her, you know. I have other things I’d much rather be doing anyway. Besides, you can show more with fewer words than you can with… crap, I can’t remember.”
“Everyone can see that, Simon.” Jack replied.
Another silence came over the room. Simon began to hum a theme from The Simpsons to himself. Jack stared down at his open fly, questioning if he should try and tease his prick any further.
The young man in the back corner of the room spoke up suddenly. “Jack.”
Jack groaned. “For Christ’s… what?”
The man stared blankly at him. “Jack.”
Jack was becoming more frustrated as the seconds went by. One more “Jack” and he was ready to smash this idiot.
Jack somehow spat out a reply. “What?”
The man took in a breath. “My name is Jack.”
“Oh.” Said Simon, “I think I’m gonna get confused. Can we still call him The Other Guy?”
Jack nodded, squeezing his temples with his thumbs.
The Other Guy didn’t seem to react much to this. He seemed much too tired and apathetic about things at the moment.
Suddenly a slow wooden creaking sound started up. Jack became tense. He hawk eyed the whole room, corner to corner. He couldn’t see what was making the faint sound.
“What’s that sound?” Simon inquired.
“Shhh!” Jack hissed.
Simon popped another tablet down. He wasn’t in any mood to read too much into any creaking noises. “Probably just the wind, man.”
“Fuckinging wind my dick. Do you work in ANYTHING but clichés, man!?”
“Hey, fuck you!” Simon lifted his middle finger up faster than his own mind could allow him so.
“No, fuck you! What if it’s the cops, man?! What if they’re bustin’ down on this house, RIGHT now, huh!?” As Jack was screaming, a wet patch formed on his open fly.
“You won’t get a death sentence for having a night out, friend.” The Other Guy had piped up.
“Don’t call me friend, I don’t fuckin’ know you,” Jack snarled, “And like hell we ain’t goin’ down. Go check—“
“Don’t go there, Jack.” Simon cut in.
Jack grabbed another few pills and swallowed them all.
“Sorry. I’ll calm down.” He began to tear up.
Yet another silence came over the entire room. Simon coughed. He reached into his left pocket. A grin formed over his entire face.
“…Hey, Jack.”
“Fuck. Off.”
“You’re too stressed out, this is meant to be fun,” Simon had flickers of happiness in him. It was a rare thing to see this, and it made Jack feel like they were in old times again, so he perked his head up. Simon continued, “I have a phone. Come on, let’s prank call Peter!”
Jack giggled on the floor. “Ha! Bastard needs a reminder of that Indian girl his that tied him to that bed and robbed him of his virginity-“
“—As well as everything else!” Simon joined in, the two smiling over the memory. Simon began to dial the number, but stopped after 5 presses.
“Is it a 6? A 7?” he asked.
“None, it’s an 8 next.” Jack stated.
Simon continued dialing. He put the phone to his ear, and waited. Jack listened in with interest.
“Heyy… No. It’s me. Yeah, I hate you too. … So, that— he hung up.”
Jack’s grin had already gone. “...Fuck him then.“
Simon nearly threw the phone at the wall in frustration. “Nothing’s happening!”
Jack was too tired to put up with a fit of rage. His mind buzzed with thoughts of who else they could call. Another grin formed on his face.
“Prank Jasmine!” he squealed.
Suddenly Simon’s phone came flying into Jack’s face.
“Shut up, you cunt!” Simon had tears flowing from his eyes like a river. “Why do you take EVERY opportunity to bring up that!?”
Jack was getting sick of this already. He started to slam his head as hard as he could onto the floor. He yelled with each slam of the ground.
“WHY!” he slammed his head down.
“DO!” another slam.
“YOU!” with another slam, blood began to leak from his forehead.
ALWAYS!” he took another powerful slam to the ground.
“BITCH!” he now lay on the ground, his face pooled in his blood.
Simon’s tears continued to flow. He had crawled himself up onto a ball, and had his head buried in his hoody. “I didn’t mean to do it.” He squeaked out.
No one wanted to talk anymore. Another silence came over the room, this time with no one wanting to break it.
Simon peered through his watery eyes. “… Where’s that Other Guy gone?” he sniffled as he spoke.
Jack’s head shot up. “Fffuck! What if he was a cop!? ****! We have to bail, quick!” Jack’s eyes were pure blood read now.
“But what about--?” Simon screamed
“Fuck, leave her!” Jack said, while he crawled out of the window.
Simon sat alone in the dark room, and listened to Jack’s stumbling footsteps as he ran away. He looked at the scrawled mess around him, shed another tear, and peered at the freezer in the kitchen. He blew a clumsy kiss in its direction, and forced himself up. He could hear sirens, but could no longer tell if he was making things up or if they were real anymore. He blinked twice, and took some steps towards the window. He took a final glance at the kitchen, the room, Jack’s blood and vomit, and at himself.
He sighed heavily. “Everyday life…”
Anyways, I'm not sure if I should explain this or not, but I really think it'd be easy to miss the point of this story. See, when I started it originally, I couldn't get any of it to seem… right? It was awkward in a sort of stylized way, and the plot kept getting sidetracked under loads of pointless talking. Everything was just incompetent.
I was still in my current “creative rut”. So… hey, why not sort of parody/relish/dig at myself by writing a deliberately “Writer’s Block” story?
-- There's loads of unnecessary dialogue. Kinda like a Tarenteno film, a fair bit of the talking is unneeded and about nothing in general. Kinda like in real life.
-- Any opportunity for plot is discarded as soon as it's introduced, again trying to make things seem messy and like 'nothing much is happening'.
-- The Other Guy is sort of my representative of those characters that don't do much in stories. You know; that guy who's always just there, and often vanishes as soon as the writers notice this.
-- I also wanted to blur the lines with the style as well as reality. I was hoping to make people question what really IS just clumsy writing, and what is deliberately ill at ease.
I'm not even sure if I succeeded in creating a stylized bad story about nothing much happening. If you can fail at that. I’m at least happy I managed to write again, though.
Rip it apart, by all means.
“Fffuck!”
Everyone’s heads turned over to the corner. “Heyy, is uh… is Jack jacking off over there?”
Disgruntled, Jack replied “No. Fuck no! I can’t get this fucking worm to stand the hell up! It’s like strangling a dead snake!” he began to pump his hands furiously, his long dark jacket flailing about.
Simon began to feel uncomfortable sitting against the cold wall. He kicked his legs out, and began to slowly push himself into an awkward leaning/standing position.
As awkwardly as he’d pushed himself up he fell down, landing on his arse hard. “Damnit! Ahh… I can’t even feel my legs. Screw it… Simon, you got another pi-“
“You’re Simon,” said the other guy in the room.
“Oh.” Simon replied, with a tinge of disappointment in his voice.
A silence came over the room; the only sound audible was Jack’s nightmarish grunts and groans. Simon became annoyed at them.
“Jack, for Christ’s sake, give it up.”
“No one told me this shit made you impotent, Simon!”
“How many people take whatever-the-hell-mix we just took and then jerk off, man? Try again when you’re less high.” Simon said.
Jack’s eyes began to bulge slightly, making his already blood shot pupils look even less charming. He spewed into his corner.
Simon observed this with his half-closed view. “No wonder you have no girlfriend. You’re a charmer, man.”
Jack simply snorted at this comment, wiped his mouth down with his black jacket, and subsequently fell down onto the floor.
He peered up. “… So, what’s you’re name then, friend?”
“I just call him ‘The Other Guy’” Simon said.
“So, THAT’S why your child was named Mercedes. Fuck, and you say you’re part of the ‘Creative World’” Jack said, some more vomit leaking from his nose.
“Shut up! Why do you always bring her up on these nights?” Simon had begun to tear.
Jack sighed. He sneezed, letting the vomit in his nasal fly out to the wall. “Heh, I’m proud of that” he muttered to himself. His head rest on the dirty floor for a few seconds before speaking again.
“Alright, I’m sorry. I’m hardly thinking straight, you know that.” He said, putting on his best ‘apology’ voice.
Simon’s face scrunched up. “I miss her.”
Jack was tired of this conversation. He managed to sigh out a “Who?”
“Jasmine.” Simon said, trying to seem blunt and stern.
“Hmm.” Jack braced himself for the tear-fest he was about to be drowned in.
Simon could see the bother on Jack’s face. “I’m not going to rant on about her, you know. I have other things I’d much rather be doing anyway. Besides, you can show more with fewer words than you can with… crap, I can’t remember.”
“Everyone can see that, Simon.” Jack replied.
Another silence came over the room. Simon began to hum a theme from The Simpsons to himself. Jack stared down at his open fly, questioning if he should try and tease his prick any further.
The young man in the back corner of the room spoke up suddenly. “Jack.”
Jack groaned. “For Christ’s… what?”
The man stared blankly at him. “Jack.”
Jack was becoming more frustrated as the seconds went by. One more “Jack” and he was ready to smash this idiot.
Jack somehow spat out a reply. “What?”
The man took in a breath. “My name is Jack.”
“Oh.” Said Simon, “I think I’m gonna get confused. Can we still call him The Other Guy?”
Jack nodded, squeezing his temples with his thumbs.
The Other Guy didn’t seem to react much to this. He seemed much too tired and apathetic about things at the moment.
Suddenly a slow wooden creaking sound started up. Jack became tense. He hawk eyed the whole room, corner to corner. He couldn’t see what was making the faint sound.
“What’s that sound?” Simon inquired.
“Shhh!” Jack hissed.
Simon popped another tablet down. He wasn’t in any mood to read too much into any creaking noises. “Probably just the wind, man.”
“Fuckinging wind my dick. Do you work in ANYTHING but clichés, man!?”
“Hey, fuck you!” Simon lifted his middle finger up faster than his own mind could allow him so.
“No, fuck you! What if it’s the cops, man?! What if they’re bustin’ down on this house, RIGHT now, huh!?” As Jack was screaming, a wet patch formed on his open fly.
“You won’t get a death sentence for having a night out, friend.” The Other Guy had piped up.
“Don’t call me friend, I don’t fuckin’ know you,” Jack snarled, “And like hell we ain’t goin’ down. Go check—“
“Don’t go there, Jack.” Simon cut in.
Jack grabbed another few pills and swallowed them all.
“Sorry. I’ll calm down.” He began to tear up.
Yet another silence came over the entire room. Simon coughed. He reached into his left pocket. A grin formed over his entire face.
“…Hey, Jack.”
“Fuck. Off.”
“You’re too stressed out, this is meant to be fun,” Simon had flickers of happiness in him. It was a rare thing to see this, and it made Jack feel like they were in old times again, so he perked his head up. Simon continued, “I have a phone. Come on, let’s prank call Peter!”
Jack giggled on the floor. “Ha! Bastard needs a reminder of that Indian girl his that tied him to that bed and robbed him of his virginity-“
“—As well as everything else!” Simon joined in, the two smiling over the memory. Simon began to dial the number, but stopped after 5 presses.
“Is it a 6? A 7?” he asked.
“None, it’s an 8 next.” Jack stated.
Simon continued dialing. He put the phone to his ear, and waited. Jack listened in with interest.
“Heyy… No. It’s me. Yeah, I hate you too. … So, that— he hung up.”
Jack’s grin had already gone. “...Fuck him then.“
Simon nearly threw the phone at the wall in frustration. “Nothing’s happening!”
Jack was too tired to put up with a fit of rage. His mind buzzed with thoughts of who else they could call. Another grin formed on his face.
“Prank Jasmine!” he squealed.
Suddenly Simon’s phone came flying into Jack’s face.
“Shut up, you cunt!” Simon had tears flowing from his eyes like a river. “Why do you take EVERY opportunity to bring up that!?”
Jack was getting sick of this already. He started to slam his head as hard as he could onto the floor. He yelled with each slam of the ground.
“WHY!” he slammed his head down.
“DO!” another slam.
“YOU!” with another slam, blood began to leak from his forehead.
ALWAYS!” he took another powerful slam to the ground.
“BITCH!” he now lay on the ground, his face pooled in his blood.
Simon’s tears continued to flow. He had crawled himself up onto a ball, and had his head buried in his hoody. “I didn’t mean to do it.” He squeaked out.
No one wanted to talk anymore. Another silence came over the room, this time with no one wanting to break it.
Simon peered through his watery eyes. “… Where’s that Other Guy gone?” he sniffled as he spoke.
Jack’s head shot up. “Fffuck! What if he was a cop!? ****! We have to bail, quick!” Jack’s eyes were pure blood read now.
“But what about--?” Simon screamed
“Fuck, leave her!” Jack said, while he crawled out of the window.
Simon sat alone in the dark room, and listened to Jack’s stumbling footsteps as he ran away. He looked at the scrawled mess around him, shed another tear, and peered at the freezer in the kitchen. He blew a clumsy kiss in its direction, and forced himself up. He could hear sirens, but could no longer tell if he was making things up or if they were real anymore. He blinked twice, and took some steps towards the window. He took a final glance at the kitchen, the room, Jack’s blood and vomit, and at himself.
He sighed heavily. “Everyday life…”
