slicer's masterstroke

[deathcurse]

I had no idea you were a middle eastern woman.

So you ask me a question and when I answer it honestly, you get mad at me for not being a middle eastern woman.

[JDV]

I had no idea you were a middle eastern woman. So you know how a culture of amputation would affect you when you see a hero of yours amputated SLOWLY. .

Are the women in your story Middle Eastern?

One prisoner sat on the ground where he had his arms and legs sliced off in six inch sections. When only his head and torso remained he strangely and calmly looked around at the audience. He’s still alive! the people realized in shock and awe, and then his head was cut off. Women screamed with grief!

You didn't tell the readers this was a slow amputation. It's happening so fast in your story, it's impossible to tell. Again, you don't detail enough. And you assume the reader is going to know what you mean. That's Shitty Writing 101.

You put the "women screamed in grief" after his head being cut off, not after the amputations. That's telling the emotion after a swift action. Scatterbrain.

And people are giving you shit over "grief", but "people realized in shock and awe" is fucking ridiculous.

[deathcurse]

If this was an actual novel written by someone who knows what they're doing, each of those paragraphs would be its own chapter. Chapter 1: Main character is introduced. Chapter 2: Intense vision. Chapter 3: Intense vision continued: Shock and awe! Good grief! Chapter 4: Protagonist considers this evil. EVIL IS DESCRIBED IN VIVID DETAIL. Chapter 5: Author shakes vision, attempts cleanliness.

All of that was crammed into LESS THAN TWO PAGES, maybe even just one page. What the fuck? Are all 200 pages like that?

[deathcurse]

Also, the more questions we ask about this, the more an actual story starts to surface.

If these people were "amputated slowly," why wouldn't you describe that??? Why wouldn't you even mention it? We got your fat ass buying chips and changing your shit-stained sheets but you skip something that would intrigue the reader.

slicer, people don't have questions because this scenario is impossible. YOU'RE A SHITTY STORYTELLER! You'll sit there and argue over whether or not a person can scream with grief (in spite of no one saying otherwise) but really it all comes down to you sucking shit at the written word.

[kriptyc]

you fuckers do realize it was an EXCERPT, right?

[MotleyMaiden]

If this was an actual novel written by someone who knows what they're doing, each of those paragraphs would be its own chapter. Chapter 1: Main character is introduced. Chapter 2: Intense vision. Chapter 3: Intense vision continued: Shock and awe! Good grief! Chapter 4: Protagonist considers this evil. EVIL IS DESCRIBED IN VIVID DETAIL. Chapter 5: Author shakes vision, attempts cleanliness.

All of that was crammed into LESS THAN TWO PAGES, maybe even just one page. What the fuck? Are all 200 pages like that?

Exactly. That one little paragraph above should be at least a couple of pages and full of detail and color to describe the scene, what is happening, the emotions of the characters, everything. Not just 3-4 incoherent little sentences that don't even flow together. I did a better job for my 4th grade novel that we had to write.

[deathcurse]

you fuckers do realize it was an EXCERPT, right?

Right, and if the rest of the book is ANYTHING like that excerpt, your book is 200 pages of absolute drivel.

[JDV]

you fuckers do realize it was an EXCERPT, right?

And you do realize an excerpt is a marketing tool used to sell the book, right?

[kriptyc]

You need to say something like. " The women screamed. Their faces bore the pain of grief-stricken wives."

You need more details than that, but maybe you'll get the picture. I doubt it though. You seem like you have blinders on.

wow, that's repulsive. If I wrote like that I would kill myself.

[kriptyc]

you fuckers do realize it was an EXCERPT, right?

And you do realize an excerpt is a marketing tool used to sell the book, right?

actually, it was an excerpt of an excerpt of a vision.

[kriptyc]

Also, the more questions we ask about this, the more an actual story starts to surface.

If these people were "amputated slowly," why wouldn't you describe that??? Why wouldn't you even mention it? We got your fat ass buying chips and changing your shit-stained sheets but you skip something that would intrigue the reader.

slicer, people don't have questions because this scenario is impossible. YOU'RE A SHITTY STORYTELLER! You'll sit there and argue over whether or not a person can scream with grief (in spite of no one saying otherwise) but really it all comes down to you sucking shit at the written word.

I didn't write it for retards; you should know that reducing the amputations to six inch sections would be a long and painful process. Even if they cut quickly, which is how you slice through bone, it would be about twenty cuts or so. In a vision you deal in images that are often very quick and sometimes disjointed. The one sentence you need to realized is that he was still alive and looked around slowly...that's what triggered the grief, obviously.

[MasterOfMeatPuppets]

Also, the more questions we ask about this, the more an actual story starts to surface.

If these people were "amputated slowly," why wouldn't you describe that??? Why wouldn't you even mention it? We got your fat ass buying chips and changing your shit-stained sheets but you skip something that would intrigue the reader.

slicer, people don't have questions because this scenario is impossible. YOU'RE A SHITTY STORYTELLER! You'll sit there and argue over whether or not a person can scream with grief (in spite of no one saying otherwise) but really it all comes down to you sucking shit at the written word.

I didn't write it for retards; you should know that reducing the amputations to six inch sections would be a long and painful process. Even if they cut quickly, which is how you slice through bone, it would be about twenty cuts or so. In a vision you deal in images that are often very quick and sometimes disjointed. The one sentence you need to realized is that he was still alive and looked around slowly...that's what triggered the grief, obviously.

No one is saying you wrote it for retards. They are saying it was written by a retard. I bet somewhere in your masterpiece of crap,' his eyes slowly crawled down her dress'.

[kriptyc]

I am reminded of what is wrong with this site: you can't understand. I could have posted any paragraph at all and there would have been no comprehension here. No, it is not like some game to frustrate me; you really can't understand, at all. For example: I could have posted: SEE SPOT RUN. And deathcurse would have had a real problem with the fact that he could not see Spot, and the rest of you would have agreed with him that Spot is probably invisible...douchebags; you are shamed by the consciousness of first graders who can actually see Spot run without further assistance.

Or if you read the excerpt I posted, there is no way you could miss the fact that it deals with PRISONERS if you had any sort of reading comprehension. And then to watch DC painfully try and fail to compare that to an attack or a car crash illustrates perfectly the willful unconscious ignorance here.

I would need to set up a 21 stage/year masonic-type initiation procedure to walk you imbeciles through the parts of The Devil's Canyon just to prevent your miniscule minds from popping as knowledge tried and failed to worm its way into your dense skulls.

So you are really hopeless, here in your wallowing website, as you battle for ignorance and the right to remain stupid.

But then you wont grasp any of that, will you? Not a chance in hell; just go back on auto pilot until you hit the wall ignorance within your own minds. And keep doing that until you die; you don't have a choice.

[CrouchingStonerHiddenBong]

No, you're just an ignorant untalented piece of shit.

Seriously.

[THC3po]

That's the cream you use to lube up a dog's butthole.

Sir -

The odds of Slicer besting a jar of dog butt cream in a writing contest are approximately 750,000 : 1.

[MitziDupree]

You need to say something like. " The women screamed. Their faces bore the pain of grief-stricken wives."

You need more details than that, but maybe you'll get the picture. I doubt it though. You seem like you have blinders on.

wow, that's repulsive. If I wrote like that I would kill myself.

You might be dead, but at least your book would sell.



Promise to do it in six inch sections?

[deathcurse]

slicer, I don't care about your book. I'm not making suggestions to help you. I'm winding you up so you'll say stupid shit and demonstrate how little you know about writing.

So far we've determined:

- Everything in your book is based on fact
- Lebanese women are the best grievers in the world
- There isn't a single word in your book that can be changed
- You refuse to take suggestions
- Chopping someone into pieces with a sword is a slow process
- You honestly believe you're smart and everyone else is stupid
- When you leave things out of your story, it's up to the reader to guess correctly how the story should go
- When one's choice of words is challenged, go directly to Xena

[kriptyc]

slicer, I don't care about your book. I'm not making suggestions to help you. I'm winding you up so you'll say stupid shit and demonstrate how little you know about writing.

Liar, you are dumber than I ever imagined, as evidenced within this one particular thread. That's all it took: one more slicer thread to cut DC down. Too easy. Read it and weep, deathcurse; it is the last of its kind.

[deathcurse]

What are you even talking about? You're mentally retarded. That's why people talk to you. Not because you're blowing minds or anything.

Blowing dogs, maybe.

[JDV]

Ernest You'reWritingtheWay,

Here is your excerpt rewritten in the way a writer would try to connect with the audience and not alienate them from his story.

--------


The words danced through his mind faster than his fingers could type. Tim's writer's block broke like a fever that had dangled him over the throes of death. He felt reborn, a second coming of sorts. Whatever it was that prevented him from documenting the nightmares was gone. He was free of restraints. Possessed by the need to tell the story, Tim hunkered down and wrote. He didn't want to stop now that the words flowed with ease, but the gnawing in his belly wouldn't let up. He needed food and the only thing left to eat was a few crumbs at the bottom of a bag of chips. The way to appease his unruly gut was a trip to the store. But, he knew once he stepped outside, the visions would come, begging for his attention just as a homeless man pleads for change. Tim's stomach gurgled. He wasn't sure if it was from hunger pangs or nerves.

He took a deep breath and opened the front door. Rays of light smacked the flesh of Tim's pale face leaving a stinging sensation. It took a moment, but he adjusted. Weeks had passed since he had left the house. The world around him was bright, a sharp contrast to the darkness in his mind. He wasted no time exchanging pleasantries with the summer afternoon. His mission was junk food, and enough of it to last through the coming winter.

The Quick-N-Plenty was a few blocks from Tim's house. The dingy convenience store had everything needed to refuel – Twinkies, Coke, cheese doodles, and those little chocolate donuts he used to gorge on while playing Myst.

Tim walked to the store, head down. He made eye contact with no one. The behavior wasn't a social hang-up. At one point Tim would walk up to strangers and wish them a good day. But now, he couldn't tell the difference from a living, breathing person and a demon influencing his thoughts.

Laughter was all around, but Tim never looked up. He didn't understand why the world was cheery with the end so near. It's my fault, he thought. It's my job to spread the word of the impending evil. And here I am worrying about fucking Twinkies. Tim couldn't help but laugh as he walked into the store.

He ignored the cashier's greeting and headed for the cookie aisle. Reaching for the last pack of donuts, Tim bumped the arm of someone. A man turned around, his face bore the scars of torture. The man wore an army-green prison uniform that hung from his frail body like a cheap suit on a wire hanger. His wrists and ankles were shackled with rusted metal rings. His bare feet bled on the beige linoleum floor. Over the man's shoulder was a sign on the door that read, “No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service.”

It's happening again, Tim thought.

The man looked at Tim, opened his mouth to scream, but produced no sound. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim saw a dark blur hit the man, who crumpled from the force. He backed up as the man collapsed to his knees. Standing over him was another man, dressed in a white military uniform, swinging a black bat. He must be some sort of prisoner of war , Tim thought, watching the bat hit the man in the back. The guard barked orders, but Tim couldn't hear them.

The guard looked at Tim. His eyes were dead – black, showing no signs of life. Tim felt a piercing burn in the palms of his hand and the soles of his feet. What the fuck? This is the first time I've felt something. His thoughts were interrupted by stabbing pain in his right side. He pictured Jesus being crucified.

The guard turned his attention back to the prisoner and Tim's pain subsided. He grabbed the prisoner's twig-like arm and brought him to his feet. The guard pointed toward the chips aisle, which was now a chain-linked fence, lined with a row of men dressed in army-green and shackled. With head bowed, the prisoner got in line.

It's getting much worse, Tim thought, noticing an audience of women and children watching, crying, and screaming. But again, there was no sound. It's their families. He's making them watch.

A group of soldiers marched in, all dressed in white just like the bat-wielding guard. Each one carrying a sword. There was a symbol on the left pocket of their uniforms. The color was blood-red, the symbol was a circle dissected by eight points. A skull rested in the middle. Tim knew the insignia from playing Warhammer. It was the sign of Chaos.

Barry Bonds must be the leader, Tim thought, watching the guard with the bat point to the prisoners. The soldiers moved in line, directly in front of the shackled men. The Leader raised the bat to the heavens. His army raised the swords above their heads. In a blur, the Leader brought the bat straight down, hitting the floor. Still no sound. The soldiers swung the swords in a swooping motion, lopping off the prisoners' heads.

Tim's muscles tensed, he made a fist, crushing the donuts.

“Hey, you're gonna pay for those. Don't put 'em back on the shelf,” the cashier said.

His voice broke the silence.

The soldiers started to disappear. Their limbs stretched in wavy lines.

“You hear me? You're going to pay for those damn donuts. It's bad enough that I'm being robbed blind. I don't need people like you tearing shit up just for the hell of it.”

The soldiers were gone. All that remained was a small white light bouncing down the chips aisle.

“You better not be one of those loonies. I got a gun back here and I ain't afraid to use it.”

Tim turned to assure the cashier that he would pay for the donuts. But the cashier wasn't there. It was the leader of the army in white. His eyes still black holes. He smiled. His teeth weren't teeth at all. They were tiny arms outstretched and flailing. The hands were open wide as if to be reaching out for help.

Tim heard the cries of the faceless. The high-pitched screams shattered the windows of the convenience store. He ducked to avoid the flying shards of glass. When he tucked his head underneath his arms, everything went silent.

A low-pitch hum started. Tim looked up to see the Leader still standing behind the counter.

“We're coming,” the Leader said. His voice so deep, the earth shook under Tim's feet.

[kriptyc]

What are you even talking about? You're mentally retarded. That's why people talk to you. Not because you're blowing minds or anything.

Blowing dogs, maybe.

see, that's about all you can say after you give up on logic and truth, and maybe throw in a deathcurse fucks chickens or whatever.

[deathcurse]

slicer has no response to JDV greatly improving upon his work.

Yes. He has been owned.

[kriptyc]

What do you look like these days? Are you still fat?

no.


okay, I got to get back to the mountain climbing now--takes total concentration--so try not to bore yourselves to death while I'm gone.

[kriptyc]

slicer has no response to JDV greatly improving upon his work.

Yes. He has been owned.

you were owned and thrown back.


I'm not reading JVD crap.

[CrouchingStonerHiddenBong]

Because you can't.

[deathcurse]

What do you look like these days? Are you still fat?

no.

Don't fuck with me, Mark. Don't make a fuck out of me.

[MitziDupree]

Nice work, Johnny D.


With all the truly talented, professional writers around here, it amuses me that Slicer thought his remedial pap would be lauded.


However, his technique of rappelling down the mountainside to call everyone who didn't praise his efforts "retarded dumbshits" is a refreshing, literary improvement for this board.

[MitziDupree]

So you are really hopeless, here in your wallowing website, as you battle for ignorance and the right to remain stupid.

(I forgot about this rant.)

I'm pretty sure a website can't wallow.

I'm pretty sure we posters could wallow in a website.

But I'm pretty sure a website can't wallow.


Enjoy the hopeless wallow in your website, ignorantly battling for the right to remain stupid. Hey! That was kinda fun....

[FearsOfGun]

Wow. What a work of genius. Can't believe that slicer had to go through a vanity press to publish it. Knopf should have been beating down his door.

*cough*

[MitziDupree]

Wow. What a work of genius. Knopf should have been beating down his door.

You're such a tease. You know what Knopf's logo is.