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I'm happy to see you actually having written something Benny. It is truthfully a trainwreck, but sure as hell your next one will be better. Provided there is a next one. Keep up with it man. You gotta.
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Feb 10, 2014 00:44
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Benny... Explain something to me. I know you're hoping Thunderdome will critique your writing and you'll improve with the criticism, but why in the hell would you submit something so poorly written? Why didn't you submit your best and then grow from there? You knowingly submitted a crappy piece of work. You didn't even bother to proofread it. The other people who submitted stories that they cared to work on diligently should be offended. I honestly feel that you don't give a poo poo about anything. You don't give a poo poo about seriously looking for work. You don't give a poo poo about writing anything good. You just don't care. That's what I'm getting from you and it's really sad. I almost wish this thread would close for the simple fact that Benny will never truly take anyone's advice, and nothing will ever change. You'll never find long-term employment, or move out of your mom's home, or write anything decent. You'll ignore any bit of good advice someone gives you. Posting here is purely for the entertainment of other people now. It's been a year and outside of getting some mental issues diagnosed and treated (and thank God for that), you have made zero change.
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Feb 10, 2014 01:40
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CravingSolace posted:Why didn't you submit your best He did.
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Feb 10, 2014 02:10
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If Benny was a dog, he'd have been Old Yella'd by now. As he's a human, I think everyone is so vested in him succeeding at SOMETHING because then if Benny the Snake can, ANYONE can.
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Feb 10, 2014 02:59
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CrazyTolradi posted:As he's a human, I think everyone is so vested in him succeeding at SOMETHING because then if Benny the Snake can, ANYONE can. Honestly, for me it's more the matter of that if a severely mentally disabled person can learn to put my meat in one bag and my vegetables in another, then there's no reason that Benny here can't at the least get a job doing the most menial task there is. That he's managed to gently caress up even the sort of job that they delegate almost solely to the handicapped is really just awe inspiring.
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Feb 10, 2014 03:09
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That drat Satyr posted:Honestly, for me it's more the matter of that if a severely mentally disabled person can learn to put my meat in one bag and my vegetables in another, then there's no reason that Benny here can't at the least get a job doing the most menial task there is. That he's managed to gently caress up even the sort of job that they delegate almost solely to the handicapped is really just awe inspiring. Benny is really acting out the life of Wily E Coyote. His Road Runner is just a job, and he'll manage to drop an anvil on himself in the process of chasing one.
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Feb 10, 2014 03:11
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Dex posted:He did. I''l just be over here in the corner clawing my own eyes out.
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Feb 10, 2014 03:32
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CrazyTolradi posted:If Benny was a dog, he'd have been Old Yella'd by now. Where the Red Fern Grows was way better if you're gonna bring up sad dog stories.
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Feb 10, 2014 04:00
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Let's start a group fanfiction. Benny the Snake was sixteen when they took him to see the Oracle.
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Feb 10, 2014 04:37
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To really appreciate high standard of writing put forward by everyone else in the Thunderdome read the beautiful story that sits directly below Benny's. I guarantee you'll tear up, but in a good way. Not the way you teared up when reading Benny's.
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Feb 10, 2014 05:54
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Seven Hundred Bee posted:Let's start a group fanfiction. his parents thumb pricked it only needed one, oracle wiped on her head and said "wow Benny"
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Feb 10, 2014 05:55
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Advertiser posted:To really appreciate high standard of writing put forward by everyone else in the Thunderdome read the beautiful story that sits directly below Benny's. Opie. 
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Feb 10, 2014 06:00
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I'm a little disturbed that the narrator went home (at some point) to kill his family, for a total of three murders.
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Feb 10, 2014 06:56
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Well for life to imitate art he'd have to leave first and that ain't never gonna happen.
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Feb 10, 2014 07:06
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 You have to be loving kidding me, Benny. Really? When I was about 17 I was convinced that I had a wonderful novel in me (as the cliché goes). I started writing it. It was awful. The difference between you and me is that I quickly realised that and did something else instead. It was still better crafted than this poo poo (and don't doubt for a moment that my writings were utter poo poo). You are in your mid/late 20s, still convinced that your piss-poor writing will one day set the world on fire. I was firmly in the "ROOTING FOR BENNY" camp for a while, but, honestly, gently caress you for not listening to most of the suggestions that people have given you here in good faith. Stop fannying around in goddamn thunderdome like that's a good goal to be working towards - if you think that is anything other than avoiding what you should be doing then you are lying to yourself. Shovel poo poo, Benny. Surely you can manage that? Oh who am I loving kidding. You'll be here, February 2015, pissing on about how you are really, really, REALLY, SUPERREALLY following up on this one great lead you have (definition: doing gently caress all). There are people who have had pubic hair for a shorter time than this thread has been running that have a nice little Saturday job for pocket money where they don't ram carts into cars. Think about that.
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Feb 10, 2014 07:28
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So why did he kill his whole family? Were they trying to throw out his comic book collection?
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Feb 10, 2014 07:50
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The pacing in Benny's story seemed the slightest bit off. Come to think of it, the dialogue and prose were a little stilted too. It's probably just me.
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Feb 10, 2014 08:18
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Okay, going to try to do some constructive criticism. I am going to ignore the grammar problems and focus on style and content. This is by no means comprehensive.Benny the Snake posted:The Oracle (silver, 590 words) Okay. This might work as an opening but it never goes anywhere. Benny the Snake posted:Where I come form, those born with eyes of silver are blessed with the gift of prophecy. When they become of age, they are taken to the temple to serve as oracles. I once had my future told by an oracle. To this day I still remember what she told me. "my future told" is awful. Sounds like cheap fortunetelling. The last sentence does not work. Of course you remember it. We need a hint of the impact on the narrator. Benny the Snake posted:I spent my days back then toiling over the blacksmith forge as an apprentice for only a few copper pieces a day. One day, I had saved enough to where I decided to have my fate revealed to me by the oracle at the temple. I climbed up the steps and reached the outside where giant columns supported the roof and the archway was guarded by a monk. “I wish to see the oracle,” I told him. Okay, by this point we should care a little about the narrator. We do not. This reads like a mediocre fantasy RPG description. In other words barely palatable when you are interacting with it and unacceptable when just reading it. We get a dry description of the outside with nothing about the impact on the narrator. Did he live near the temple? Was this his first time inside? How did he fell about throwing so much money away? Hesitant? Bold? Desperate? The gatekeeper is also dry. Was he intimidating? Bored? Haughty? Helpful? Kind? You probably would have been better off starting the story at the entrance to the temple and filling in the backstory in the narrator's thoughts as he encounters the temple and the impact it has on him leads him to think back to what brought him here. Benny the Snake posted:Inside the temple was a statue of the God of prophecy: a one-eyed man holding a star in his hand with the words “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king” written on the base. The oracle herself was a young woman wearing silk robes who had eyes of silver so polished I could see my reflection in them. Incense was burning inside, filling the air with a sweet scent that made me drowsy. I immediately bowed in front of her. “Oh great oracle, I have come to seek my destiny.” Again, nothing but description. The whole "show, not tell" thing applies here. It is generally bad form to use a cliche in a setting like this. It might work in a Pratchett-like novel where you are mocking the archetype but here you want it to be taken seriously. We get a description of the oracle but no mention of the impact. Disappointment? Awe? Trepidation? We need something here. Benny the Snake posted:She looked into my eyes. Her gaze was so intimidating that I looked away. “Tell me,” she said, “What do you think about fate?” Here is where I stopped caring completely what the oracle says. She talks in platitudes and cliches. A stereotypical fortune-teller that couldn't con carnival attendees. Even if I do not believe in oracles I need to believe the narrator believes and that the oracle believes. I don't. We need a sense of the mystic kings and queens of old stories. Think Galadriel, a being both relatable but with an otherworldly aura and wisdom about them. This reads likes a middle school Wicca devotee desperately trying to sound deep. This might be okay if the oracle is supposed to be a charlatan but that does not appear to be the case. Benny the Snake posted:“Well my fate matters to me.” Why does his fate matter? Why is he so worried about it? At least we know he is scared at the end there but why? Was he expecting bad news? Benny the Snake posted:“I see you at your home with blood on your hands.” Okay, the dramatic revelation doesn't work. We know nothing about the dead people, nothing about the killer, and nothing about the person making the prophecy. It does not work. I don't care that the narrator is going to kill these people. I am still not sure why the narrator is even in this temple talking to this oracle. Benny the Snake posted:“No, this cannot be,” I said as fear overtook every fiber of my body. The cliche is "every fiber of my being" and it does not work. Fear is a many-flavored emotion and we need to know what kind he is feeling. Panic? Numbed? Horror? Realization of why he is going to do this? Then he runs away wondering why he would do it? Again, no feeling, just dull recitation of what he thinks. Benny the Snake posted:A year later I slaughtered my whole family in cold blood. "in cold blood"? Okay, that is meaningless in this context. It means without emotion or not hot-tempered. He is supposed to go mad and kill them rationally without emotion. Madness is rarely tepid. So was he mad or did he kill them before he went mad? Does the author even know? I guess it is supposed to be a mystery ending but it comes across as laziness. It is okay if you have a good story to leave the reader with questions but the reader does not even know what questions to ask. The plot holes are too big. More importantly, if I am any indication, the reader does not care to know. I have no reason to care about any of your characters. The only time I get a glimpse of the inside of the narrator's head at all is when the oracle is telling him his fate but the description is so bland that I see a caricature instead of a character. A good writer can keep my attention with characters I love, hate, pity, am angry at, despise, sympathize with, and so on but your character is too insipid. He is a cardboard cut-out fulfilling a role.
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Feb 10, 2014 08:53
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So the story is about Benny's latent desire to kill his family? Wow.
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Feb 10, 2014 09:20
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Benny, if you kill your family, you won't have anyone to provide you with an internet connection, working electricity, running water, food, or shelter. This would really gently caress up your routine of sitting on your fat rear end all day reading comics and writing awful high school level fiction in your pursuit of becoming a bestselling author. You're what, 25? Your mom is your primary caregiver, you should be a little nicer! Don't stop posting, though. Can you go back to detailing what you do daily? Like, hour by hour? Thanks.
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Feb 10, 2014 09:36
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gently caress da Mods posted:Dude, it's time to cash in and ride your celebrity for all it's worth. Benny I live in Irvine, so I'm about an hour away. I will pay you $100 for an 8 hour session where I get to watch you apply to jobs all day and you have to answer any questions and put up with any verbal guidance/abuse I fling your way. Let's pencil in something for the weekend after next?
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Feb 10, 2014 10:07
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Sigma-X posted:Benny I live in Irvine, so I'm about an hour away. I will pay you $100 for an 8 hour session where I get to watch you apply to jobs all day and you have to answer any questions and put up with any verbal guidance/abuse I fling your way. Let's pencil in something for the weekend after next? This isn't the kink megathread, dude.
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Feb 10, 2014 10:21
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franco posted:
Anything else would be too terrifying a truth to bear.
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Feb 10, 2014 12:34
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That was amazing. I mean, I was convinced for the longest time that Benny couldn't be a troll because he was fairly consistent between all his posting across the forums, but now...I just don't know anymore man. Also, the Thunderdome story about Bitcoin was probably the best short sci-fi story I've read in a long time.
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Feb 10, 2014 13:14
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Christ, the fact that there are homeless war vets dying on the streets but Benny the loving human being has a home and gets fawned over for over a year depresses the hell out of me. Where's the karmic balance to all this?
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Feb 10, 2014 13:27
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Seven Hundred Bee posted:Let's start a group fanfiction. How about we start our own Bennydome? Only requirement is that the story start with your sentence above. What's that you say? You want me to go first? Okay, here's my entry. And just for kicks, it has the exact number of words as the year I was born. =========== Benny the Snake was sixteen when they took him to see the Oracle. Everyone in the village went to see the Oracle on their sixteenth birthday. It was a tradition as old as time. On the day of the “Blessed Event” (as it was called), friends and family would wake the “Appointed One” at sunrise to the pungent smell of burning clove. The Appointed One was then clothed in richly woven robes of orange silk and sandals of sturdy leather, and thusly dressed, was led to the village hall of feasts. Here, all would spend the morning in celebration and repast. At midday, when the sun rose high in the sky and burned brightest, when the yoked beasts toiling the land shied from the unrelenting heat under thick branches, when the stooped field hands rested against gnarled tree trunks and shielded their sweaty brows with large straw hats, then, then the Appointed One was led from the village towards the winding dusty trail to the Oracle’s hut high upon the mountainside. In such a manner did Benny the Snake set off to see the Oracle, wearing his bright orange robe and sturdy sandals, flanked by his proud and beaming parents. A few friends and villagers skipped joyously behind, tossing flower petals in the air in celebration. As Benny neared the mountain trail, the entourage slowed to a halt, still skipping and waving and tossing petals, but advancing no further. And when Benny set foot on the mountain path itself, his parents stopped as well. The climb to the Oracle was a journey for the Appointed One alone. With one final clap on the back by his father, Benny was sent on his way. It took Benny three hours to reach the Oracle’s hut. When at last he stood before the heavy oaken door, sweating and heaving from the arduous climb, he drew himself up as best he could and knocked with as much authority as he could muster. A thin, hollow rap sounded, and as he waited he looked down at the village, toylike in the distance, and thought of what he might say to the Oracle, or more importantly, what the Oracle might say to him. After a time he realized that no one had answered, and so instead of tapping again with his knuckles, he pounded with his fist. This produced a louder thud, clearly audible from within the hut, but still no one came. Benny walked around the small dwelling, peering into the curtained windows, rattling the dirt streaked glass panes, kicking at the back door. But no sound came from within, and Benny noticed for the first time that no smoke came from the chimney either. The hut appeared empty. Benny flapped his arms several times against his sides, and, head down, shuffled back to the hut’s front door. The sun was low in the sky now, the day almost past. Was this how it was supposed to be? Had the Oracle not been prepared for his arrival? Benny didn't know what to do. His feet hurt from the stiff new sandals, and his calves burned from unaccustomed use, the day’s walk finally catching up to his sore muscles. He was anxious and hungry. He wanted to go home. But dare he? His lips quivered and tears formed in his eyes. His Blessed Event was turning into a nightmare. He slumped against the hut’s earthen wall and drew his knees to his chest. In this position he sat until the sun dipped behind the mountain, the dimming orb casting red and gold rays across the darkening landscape, the wind issuing forth a clarion call as dusk announced its imminent arrival. With a ragged sigh Benny rose from the dirt, gave one final look at the Oracle’s hut, and started back down the path towards the village. Benny had taken but a single step onto the mountain trail when the hut door creaked open and a firm voice stopped him in his tracks with a single command: “Come.” Benny turned slowly and stared at the shrouded figure in the hut’s doorway. It was a woman. Of that there was no doubt. But how old she was Benny could not tell. It was as if his eyes couldn't focus on her features. Was she twenty? Fifty? Eighty? He tried to concentrate on her skin, looking for age spots or wrinkles, or the lack thereof. He tried to determine the color of her hair, looking for strands of gray or gold or brown or black. But despite the fact that his eyes took in the person before him, his brain refused to cooperate. The more he tried to register the details of her form, the harder it became to do so. Her voice as well betrayed no hint of age, and she repeated her command: “Come, Benny. Come inside.” Still staring, Benny obeyed and shuffled his way into the hut. The door closed behind him. The Oracle motioned to a rough-hewn wooden chair, and Benny sat. In front of him was a crude table, and behind that a chair similar to his own. On one side of the table was a long rectangular box holding a stick of burning cedar incense. On the other stood a flickering candle in a deep brass holder. Against the far wall of the hut was a large stone statue of the Oracle God himself, an eye carved in the palm of one raised hand, three stalks of wheat held in the other. The Oracle God was smiling, but it was not a happy smile. As Benny took in his surroundings, the Oracle snapped him from his reverie. “Tell me Benny, what do you know about fate?” This she asked with a smile. A smile just like the one on the statue. Benny gripped the sides of his chair, swung his feet, and cast his gaze about. He found that staring at the Oracle gave him a headache, and so he looked everywhere but. “What do I know about fate? Only What we were taught in school: that on your sixteenth birthday you go to the Oracle to experience your Blessed Event, which is when you get told what your fate is. Then you are considered ’appointed’, which means you’re ready to go out into the world to meet your fate.” The Oracle raised an eyebrow. “MEET your fate, Benny? What if you don't meet it? What happens then?” Benny’s heart pounded. Words failed to form. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to speak. The Oracle’s smile remained fixed, her body relaxed and still. In time Benny spoke again, haltingly. “I...don’t know? Isn't your fate preordained?...How can you not meet your fate?” The Oracle shook her head. “Time, Benny. Time isn’t as simple as you think. As you march forward in time, turning to your left as you go, your fate marches back in time, turning to your right. Fate is not only a question of when, Benny, but of where. Come outside with me.” The Oracle rose and gestured for Benny to do so as well. He did, and then walked over to the door, opened it, and stepped outside. What he saw made no sense. Instead of night, it was day. In the distance, where there had been a village, there was now but a dusty expanse of dry, caked desert. Desert for as far as Benny could see. A dead, sere landscape devoid of flora and fauna, indeed of any life at all. And the sun. What had happened to the bright, beautiful sun and its warm yellow rays? In the sky instead was some sort of shriveled blob, like a rotted piece of fruit, emitting a sickly brown glow. Benny stood staring, unmoving, until the Oracle gently guided him back into the hut and to his chair. He slumped down, a puzzled look on his face, and managed a croak. “I don't understand. How long have we been sitting here? Where's the village, and the fields, and the cows and...what happened to the sun?” The Oracle raised her hands and smiled the statue smile again. “How long, you ask? How long? Who knows. How long forward, how long back. Maybe the real question is which way, Benny. Which way. You towards your fate, your fate towards you. This way? Or that? Did you miss each other, Benny? Did fate pass you by?” The Oracle’s eyes flashed coal. A burning red and black. Her smile twisted into an evil grin and her voiced roared like an angry fire. “What if the right when took you to the wrong where? Or what if the other way around? How many whens and wheres are there, Benny? How many rights and wrongs? Yes, Benny! What if it all passed you by? Or what if it never was? Is there a fate to be had if there was never any time to have it? Or any place for the time to be?” The Oracle barked a harsh laugh, and was suddenly still. The fire left her eyes, and the leer left her face. She was silent again, calm and peaceful. Benny shook and moaned and gulped in air with heaving breaths. “I...um...so what do I do? What’s my fate to be?” The Oracle rose. This time when she spoke her voice was soft, but firm. Comforting, but final. “I don’t know, Benny. That is for you to discover. That is to be your life's journey. But I can tell you one thing. One thing that you must know. Your place is not here. There is nothing here for you.” Benny furrowed his brow. He had caught his breath and was calming down, almost able to think clearly again. “There's...what? Nothing here for me?” The Oracle nodded in assent, and suddenly Benny could see her. She was middle-aged, pretty, with shoulder length ash blonde hair. She looked nice. Friendly. Almost maternal. “That’s right, Benny there’s nothing here for you...” At that, Benny’s vision blurred and the Oracle now seemed very far away, as if she were wrapped in -and speaking through- gauze. The words rang over and over in his ears. Nothing here for you... Nothing here for you... Nothing here for you... Nothing here for you... Benny rubbed his eyes. He was dizzy, disoriented. He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at the Oracle’s table and tried to focus on the candlestick. But it wasn't a candlestick. It was a cup with a single pen sticking up from within. And the incense holder was hardly an incense holder at all, but rather a wooden stand holding a brass nameplate on which was engraved Carole Seer Director, Human Resources Benny swallowed hard and slowly raised his eyes. Against the far wall of the office was no Oracle God, but a coat rack. And then Benny at last looked at the woman seated before him, already knowing what he would see. Pretty, blonde, middle-aged. Shoulder length ash blonde hair. As if in a dream he saw her rise, and heard her soft but firm voice. “As I said, Benny, thank you for coming by, but at this time we have no openings for someone with your skills. There’s nothing here for you.” Benny stood as well. He nodded, dazed. Somehow he managed to stumble out of the office, down the hall, and into the bright midday sun. The interview had lasted a mere fifteen minutes, far shorter than he had anticipated. It would be another hour yet before his mother came to pick him up. Benny sighed, and with nothing else to do he sat down on the curb, drew his knees to his chest, and waited for his ride.
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Feb 10, 2014 14:09
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It's just like that time I tried to read Harry Potter and my brain kept trying to translate sentences. The voice in my head sounded like a 3rd grader learning to read. Then when I saw the story below Benny's it was as though someone flipped the speed switch back to "normal." Honestly Benny, have you been tested for dyslexia? Benny The Snake posted:Where I come form, those born with eyes of silver are blessed with the gift of prophecy. "Where I come from, those born with silver colored eyes are blessed with the gift of prophecy." Wait, no... Benny the Snake posted:Her gaze was so intimidating that I looked away. "Her gaze so intimidating, I looked away" Wait, no... "Benny The Snake posted:“What?” I asked as a lump started to form in my throat. "What?" I asked, as a lump formed in my throat. ------------ It's not even on a proof read level. It's as though the voice in Benny's head can't even talk right. How many times can someone repeat words in the same sentence? "The boy rode the red bike, with the silver handlebars, to the general store, to get the newspaper his father wanted." I'm not even kidding. Could this be dyslexia? I have no idea, but there's gotta be something. cname fucked around with this message at 16:40 on Feb 10, 2014 |
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Feb 10, 2014 16:29
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Wait, guys; you just don't understand. This is just some silly litle flash-fiction rolling content on an Internet forum; it's not something that people would bother to do any editing or proofreading or anything for, right? Besides, you can't be expecting a college-educated young man to be able to rattle off grammatically (or even lexically) correct sentences without months of preparation, can you?
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Feb 10, 2014 18:21
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they say less is more so Benny wrote about 600 words to submit in thunderdome where all the other posters' submissions topped 1000 words easily and this is the result lol
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Feb 10, 2014 18:37
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Advertiser posted:To really appreciate high standard of writing put forward by everyone else in the Thunderdome read the beautiful story that sits directly below Benny's. I've been thinking of y old dog, max the past few days and how I held him and pet him and kisses him when it was time to go. I miss you, boy
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Feb 10, 2014 18:46
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Benny the Snake was sixteen when they took him to see the Oracle. He unbuckled his seatbelt and liberated himself from the sweaty back seat of his parents’ Suburban while his dad was still coasting through the parking lot, hunting for a space. Today was the day, and he felt dangerous. Scuffed shoes be damned. He hit the ground jogging. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he yelled to his mom through the open passenger side window. She waved her hand at him ambivalently, taking another drag from her cigarette. In the back, his brother’s eyes stayed locked on his video game. The fools didn’t even know. Today, Benny would be revealed his fate. The curtain of the universe would be drawn back for him and he would gaze upon the true nature of reality, of all that is, was, and is yet to come. Armed with this mystic knowledge, he would be able to take life by the cojones, squeezing with both hands until the swollen purple spheres of destiny cried out for mercy and bowed down to him. “Corn dogs! Get your corn dogs here!” The carnival beckoned him with its siren song of fried food and sparkly lights, but Benny could not be enticed away from his mission. He wended his way past cotton candy and the guess your weight booth, dodging a gaggle of sticky children and a particularly prodigious pool of vomit. His palms sweated in the California heat. Or was that the thrill of anticipation he felt? Sighing nervously, he wiped his hands on his jean shorts. “Be a man, Benny,” he whispered to himself. “Be a man.” It seemed he wandered the fairgrounds for hours, doggedly questing after his goal. The carnival whirled around him, trying to tempt him off his noble path. But Benny could not be swayed by its hollow glamor. Stopping only thrice for the refreshment of a large Dr. Pepper, he pressed on. Finally, behind the bouncy castle he was certain he’d passed at least twice before, he saw it—a purple tent, emblazoned with the blessed words he had searched for: “Madame Arnaud.” His pulse quickened. He heaved one last nervous sigh, closed his eyes, and ducked inside. When he opened them, he was blind. Oh dear God! He was blind! Slowly, though, he began to make out a glimmer here and there. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the tent, he became aware of an intoxicating aroma filling the air. He spotted a figure shrouded in smoke. Dropping to his knees before it, Benny bowed his head. “O great Oracle, I have come to seek my fate! Reveal to me my destiny, if you would have it be so!” “Get up off ground, boy,” a gravelly voice beseeched him, thick with the sounds of what Benny assumed must be the exotic intonations of one blessed with the gift of prophecy. He stood. “If I may be so bold as to ask, is that the incense of prophecy filling the air, mighty Oracle?” “Is Yankee Candle,” the woman responded, snuffing out her cigarette. He could make her out more clearly now. The lines of great wisdom creased her pale face. She wore a dress lavishly embroidered with flowers, a silken scarf wrapping her head. On her eyelids, a thick coat of silver glinted in the low light. Benny fancied that he could see himself in their reflection when she blinked, but he wasn’t sure if that was the incense of prophecy playing tricks on his mind. “Sit down, sit down, you stand around like lost sheep,” the Oracle said to him irritably. He finagled his way into the folding chair opposite her, not wanting to incur her wrath. “Give hand, I read palm. Fifteen bucks. You have cash?” Benny nodded and shifted his weight to retrieve his wallet, then plunked down his offering. The Oracle grunted and folded the bills into her cleavage. She took his hand from across the table. She squinted. She shifted it here and there, catching the light on the lines of his palm, pressing his flesh with her fingers. “What do you see, O great one?” Benny finally asked timidly. The Oracle frowned, then lit another cigarette. “How you feel about—“ she began, then broke down into a coughing fit, her frail body racked with hacking spasms. He thought he made out her words, though. “Fate? How do I feel about fate? Well I—“ She waved her hand impatiently, shaking her head. She cleared her throat and continued. “No, no. Super 8. How you feel about Super 8? You live at Super 8, you clean toilets, you fish dead rats out of pool. Is not bad life, considering.” Benny left the Oracle’s tent that day with a spring in his step, secure in the knowledge that one day, he would be gainfully employed, with his own room at a one-star motel and his own considerable responsibilities. One day, he would be a man.
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Feb 10, 2014 18:48
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I feel sorry for the people about to be hit in the face with dead rats.
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Feb 10, 2014 19:11
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Kingdom of Sin posted:Benny story That was beautiful! Welcome to the Bennydome. My swollen purple spheres of destiny salute thee!
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Feb 10, 2014 19:22
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Benny posted:“Yes, I see blood on your hands and the bodies of three people at your feet,” she told me. “I see a bloodstained dagger and madness in your eyes.” Reminder: This guy thinks he should be an English professor.
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Feb 10, 2014 19:25
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Arch Stanton posted:Reminder: This guy thinks he should be an English professor.  At least this thread has contributed something positive to my life by linking me to the Obie story. drat that was good.
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Feb 10, 2014 20:05
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Xenocides posted:Okay, going to try to do some constructive criticism. I am going to ignore the grammar problems and focus on style and content. This is by no means comprehensive. You know, I was about to chime and say I thought you were being too harsh with the story, as I felt it was obviously just withholding information for dramatic effect, to be revealed later on in the story... and then I realized the story really does just end there. It's like a "Poochie died on his way to his home planet"-level ending.
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Feb 10, 2014 20:13
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Eh, he tried. Your story is pretty awful OP, but it does take some courage to even stick yourself out there. Also, all the parodies are the best. Keep them coming.
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Feb 10, 2014 20:20
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Pfirti86 posted:Your story is pretty awful OP, but it does take some courage to even stick yourself out there. Yes, it takes courage to stick yourself out there on an internet forum. Nice effort, Benny! 
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Feb 10, 2014 20:39
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cname posted:Yes, it takes courage to stick yourself out there on an internet forum. Nice effort, Benny! On one hand I'm mildly interested in making a joke piece but my writing is atrocious aside from occasionally dropping a big word like a thesaurus, so I can appreciate what this guy's saying. On the other hand, I have no desire to write or teach English.
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Feb 10, 2014 21:50
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| # ? Jun 4, 2024 04:12 |
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So is Benny the Snake a joke account or what because it's been a whole loving year and absolutely nothing has changed. And that story.. Jesus christ that story. Are you 12? I've seen erotic fanfiction written better than that.
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Feb 10, 2014 22:21
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