1001 Ways To Be A Better Author

Role Stooging

|Role Stooging| 

Let this be a reminder that this story is made up of what not to write.

     Black People: Apparently, some black people talk white. I don't know where to begin on what's wrong with that sentence but let's move on, shall we? Just because they're black it doesn't mean; they wear a weave, they have braids (Nick Cannon 1992 much?), or they automatically tlk lyk dis homie nig i smokes da guud stuff u no wut i'm s'yin. They don't live the "thug life." What the hell is that supposed to even mean? My dad's white and he accidentally stole a scarf from someone (long story) but he doesn't live the "thug life." No one does.  And no one lives in the "hood" either.  My father had the only white family on his street and he said, "It's not the hood, it's normal life when you grow up around it." And there you have it, there is no hood, thug life, or hairstyles from 1988. 

      White People: White people don't just tan, live in giant castles/mansions and go to the salon to get their hair and nails done or go out to get botox injections or breast implants or dye their hair 5,738,946 different colours every month.  People in New Jersey do not turn into leather sofa's when they go tanning.  We don't say "New Joy-see" if you ever, ever, ever say "New Joi-see" to me, I will ring your neck out like a wet cloth because no one around here talks like that.  We live like normal people.  And dude (or dudette) what the hell is up with the whole thing with the red lips, tight ass and nice boobs? Everyone's the same. White or Black, you're human, you act the same, you dress the same. (Occasionally there are those special cupcakes who are a bit insane in the membrane but you get what I'm saying). 

        Gay Guys: Just because you meet a gay guy, doesn't mean you're going to be best friends with them, you can get comfortable and get naked in front of them, change your clothes, go on shopping sprees, get your nails done, and go bra shopping with a gay man.  If you seriously think every gay person is like that, you need some fucking closure.  That's not how it works.  That's called a drag-queen not someone who's gay.  Get your facts straight.  Gay/lesbian/bisexual people are no different than the rest of us.  I don't know why anyone's labeled as gay/straight/bi/lesbian anyway.  We're all equal.  We're all human.  Boys are boys.  Girls are girls.  We all show the same affection no matter who it's for.

        Names: Dude, why the hell do black people in stories have names like Robisha or M.C. Swag or Lil Marinara?  One of those is a sauce for breaded cheesesticks. Or white people have names like Jacob.  Yeah, that's pretty much it.  Every damn white guy in these stories has the name Jacob or some other stupid name that is relative to a dark side.

        Tiffany's Journal: *Picks up flawless, crystal white journal resembling a delicate snowflake as she takes a beautiful light pink ink pen into her left hand, opening up the two hardcover pages and flipping through her journal to the next empty page where she begins to write down her thoughts in angelic handwriting* 

               Dear Diary, 

                               So Kevin asked me out today but I told him I was going to the cinema with Joe but I told Joe that Stacy and I are going out for pizza but I told Jennifer C. that I was going to go bowling with Chris (f.y.i- everyone knows that bowling is ga-ross. eww. you have to wear those disturbing shoes that have been on other people's feet and you don't know where they've been. my floors at home are 100% bacteria resistant and my 5,000€ designer slippers keep my feet manicured and sqeaky clean like a rubber ducky. As if I would ever put any of my body parts into clothes that cheap and tacky and they're not even pink!) but when Chris asked if we were still on for tonight, I told him that I had to go with my bigger brother to go see his football game.  Jill keeps pressuring me to go with her to the salon but everyone hates Jill so me and Samantha decided to go out with Amber and Abbey to get a manipedi without her.  Sometimes she's just sooo clingy. OMG the doorbell just rang!  I bet my Daddy got me that pink mercedes I've been wanting! Did I mention it's my birthday?! xx

         *Crawls into a cannon, puts on protective helmet, wraps arms around self and burns the fuel, launching into outerspace and landing on the moon whilst flopping around like a fish before finding myself in the blubber of a dead whalrus b/c those are real.*

        I feel like I'm forgetting something that I actually probably don't want to remember. I was going to continue on with this but honestly I'm not sure what else to write as it is very late and I have not written in around 10 months which is weird like, when did I get a life. Ha, never did! Got ya. Okay, I'm gonna end this. 

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Author's Note:

I don't know if anyone noticed but I haven't updated in a long time. there's no time for good grammar/puntuation either so let's just cut to the chase.

if anyone still reads this, well i know people still read it, but, leave a comment, do leave a comment, tell me your thoughts and tell me what you would like me to discuss next. give this chapter a star/vote if you will but i really only worry about the comments.  i can't update until i know what pisses you off so i can talk about it. 

i think i wrote enough, and i am so sorry because i forgot to mention all of who helped me put this together with the ideas i've been given. i noticed in the last chapter some people were offended. this is a fucking book based on other books like reader discretion was and always is advised don't get your knickers in a twist sweetie. 

i write based on what other people want me to talk about.