🍽️ حلال Connor Bible - Everyone's Favorite Molly Ringwald loving, adoption hating, aspiring writer and bellybutton fucker

[José Mourinho]

Okay, so I wrote for forty minutes. Still, I do have 507 words. I think I have something here.


For about a minute, Josh Peters couldn’t believe his eyes. Across the street, through the blinds, he could see Shane Miller actually coming out into the sunlight.

Ever since he moved to the neighborhood when he started college, Josh got the impression that Shane was… well, off. Seeing him in the summer rays was almost an oxymoron. Regularly, Shane looked frail, almost anemic, and wasn’t really a sucker for conversation. A groundhog staying in its hole, in a sense.

What really caught Josh’s eye was the fact that Shane was smiling to himself as he pushed his pushed his lawnmower. From inside, Josh could hear the local kids giggling, playing, farting around.

It wasn’t just Shane. The whole neighborhood was like something straight out of The Twilight Zone. The thought was in the back of Josh’s mind, ever since he left the nest at twenty and got a job at Fulci’s Italian Restaurant. The job, surprisingly, paid well. Mr. Fulci was unusually generous.

Josh sipped on a can of Mountain Dew, and burped. He let go of the blind, and walked back to the living room recliner. The HDTV was set to the local news. In the past few months he’d been here, he was surprised at the incredibly low crime rate. In Savannah, his old hometown, there were multiple shootings every night, either for really trivial reasons or for no reason at all.

At the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about being shot at random. Everyone in the vicinity of his house were too chipper for that.

Now, Shane Miller became one of those people. Damn Pollyannas, he thought.

Josh considered himself a realist and pragmatist. He had no real expectations, or higher ambitions. He never wanted to make a difference; he merely wanted to be average, and survive. Whatever worked best for him was the option that worked. He believed in the bottom line, with no frills.

Wondering what was on, he changed the channel. Genocyber was on. He remembered it from his days at the video store in his youth, renting anime every weekend to make himself look cool. He kicked that habit; it actually made him look like a total dork.

On screen, human entrails dangle from the ceiling of a dark hospital corridor, intercut with a nurse’s head falling off and rolling on the floor. Josh remembered watching this alone one night, when his parents were asleep. He didn’t sleep until morning.

There was a knocking on his door. Not wanting to disgust whoever it was with sounds of abject suffering and violence, he changed it back to the news.

Josh opened the door, and saw that it was Mrs. Moss. “Hello there, Josh!” Her voice was positively beaming.

“Oh, hi,” Josh replied.

“You look zoned out. Did you just wake up?”

Josh hesitated, and felt his messy scalp. “Uh, yeah, not too long ago. I was just watching TV,” he said. He looked over Mrs. Moss’s right shoulder, and he could see that Shane was still mowing. Still smiling.

At least you actually wrote something.

 

[MasterDisaster]

Okay, so I wrote for forty minutes. Still, I do have 507 words. I think I have something here.


For about a minute, Josh Peters couldn’t believe his eyes. Across the street, through the blinds, he could see Shane Miller actually coming out into the sunlight.

Ever since he moved to the neighborhood when he started college, Josh got the impression that Shane was… well, off. Seeing him in the summer rays was almost an oxymoron. Regularly, Shane looked frail, almost anemic, and wasn’t really a sucker for conversation. A groundhog staying in its hole, in a sense.

What really caught Josh’s eye was the fact that Shane was smiling to himself as he pushed his pushed his lawnmower. From inside, Josh could hear the local kids giggling, playing, farting around.

It wasn’t just Shane. The whole neighborhood was like something straight out of The Twilight Zone. The thought was in the back of Josh’s mind, ever since he left the nest at twenty and got a job at Fulci’s Italian Restaurant. The job, surprisingly, paid well. Mr. Fulci was unusually generous.

Josh sipped on a can of Mountain Dew, and burped. He let go of the blind, and walked back to the living room recliner. The HDTV was set to the local news. In the past few months he’d been here, he was surprised at the incredibly low crime rate. In Savannah, his old hometown, there were multiple shootings every night, either for really trivial reasons or for no reason at all.

At the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about being shot at random. Everyone in the vicinity of his house were too chipper for that.

Now, Shane Miller became one of those people. Damn Pollyannas, he thought.

Josh considered himself a realist and pragmatist. He had no real expectations, or higher ambitions. He never wanted to make a difference; he merely wanted to be average, and survive. Whatever worked best for him was the option that worked. He believed in the bottom line, with no frills.

Wondering what was on, he changed the channel. Genocyber was on. He remembered it from his days at the video store in his youth, renting anime every weekend to make himself look cool. He kicked that habit; it actually made him look like a total dork.

On screen, human entrails dangle from the ceiling of a dark hospital corridor, intercut with a nurse’s head falling off and rolling on the floor. Josh remembered watching this alone one night, when his parents were asleep. He didn’t sleep until morning.

There was a knocking on his door. Not wanting to disgust whoever it was with sounds of abject suffering and violence, he changed it back to the news.

Josh opened the door, and saw that it was Mrs. Moss. “Hello there, Josh!” Her voice was positively beaming.

“Oh, hi,” Josh replied.

“You look zoned out. Did you just wake up?”

Josh hesitated, and felt his messy scalp. “Uh, yeah, not too long ago. I was just watching TV,” he said. He looked over Mrs. Moss’s right shoulder, and he could see that Shane was still mowing. Still smiling.

Congrats, now do that a million times more and you got a book.

 

[GS 281]

Okay, so I wrote for forty minutes. Still, I do have 507 words. I think I have something here.


For about a minute, Josh Peters couldn’t believe his eyes. Across the street, through the blinds, he could see Shane Miller actually coming out into the sunlight.

Ever since he moved to the neighborhood when he started college, Josh got the impression that Shane was… well, off. Seeing him in the summer rays was almost an oxymoron. Regularly, Shane looked frail, almost anemic, and wasn’t really a sucker for conversation. A groundhog staying in its hole, in a sense.

What really caught Josh’s eye was the fact that Shane was smiling to himself as he pushed his pushed his lawnmower. From inside, Josh could hear the local kids giggling, playing, farting around.

It wasn’t just Shane. The whole neighborhood was like something straight out of The Twilight Zone. The thought was in the back of Josh’s mind, ever since he left the nest at twenty and got a job at Fulci’s Italian Restaurant. The job, surprisingly, paid well. Mr. Fulci was unusually generous.

Josh sipped on a can of Mountain Dew, and burped. He let go of the blind, and walked back to the living room recliner. The HDTV was set to the local news. In the past few months he’d been here, he was surprised at the incredibly low crime rate. In Savannah, his old hometown, there were multiple shootings every night, either for really trivial reasons or for no reason at all.

At the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about being shot at random. Everyone in the vicinity of his house were too chipper for that.

Now, Shane Miller became one of those people. Damn Pollyannas, he thought.

Josh considered himself a realist and pragmatist. He had no real expectations, or higher ambitions. He never wanted to make a difference; he merely wanted to be average, and survive. Whatever worked best for him was the option that worked. He believed in the bottom line, with no frills.

Wondering what was on, he changed the channel. Genocyber was on. He remembered it from his days at the video store in his youth, renting anime every weekend to make himself look cool. He kicked that habit; it actually made him look like a total dork.

On screen, human entrails dangle from the ceiling of a dark hospital corridor, intercut with a nurse’s head falling off and rolling on the floor. Josh remembered watching this alone one night, when his parents were asleep. He didn’t sleep until morning.

There was a knocking on his door. Not wanting to disgust whoever it was with sounds of abject suffering and violence, he changed it back to the news.

Josh opened the door, and saw that it was Mrs. Moss. “Hello there, Josh!” Her voice was positively beaming.

“Oh, hi,” Josh replied.

“You look zoned out. Did you just wake up?”

Josh hesitated, and felt his messy scalp. “Uh, yeah, not too long ago. I was just watching TV,” he said. He looked over Mrs. Moss’s right shoulder, and he could see that Shane was still mowing. Still smiling.

This is so homoerotic.

 

[Squealer]

Okay, so I wrote for forty minutes. Still, I do have 507 words. I think I have something here.


For about a minute, Josh Peters couldn’t believe his eyes. Across the street, through the blinds, he could see Shane Miller actually coming out into the sunlight.

Ever since he moved to the neighborhood when he started college, Josh got the impression that Shane was… well, off. Seeing him in the summer rays was almost an oxymoron. Regularly, Shane looked frail, almost anemic, and wasn’t really a sucker for conversation. A groundhog staying in its hole, in a sense.

What really caught Josh’s eye was the fact that Shane was smiling to himself as he pushed his pushed his lawnmower. From inside, Josh could hear the local kids giggling, playing, farting around.

It wasn’t just Shane. The whole neighborhood was like something straight out of The Twilight Zone. The thought was in the back of Josh’s mind, ever since he left the nest at twenty and got a job at Fulci’s Italian Restaurant. The job, surprisingly, paid well. Mr. Fulci was unusually generous.

Josh sipped on a can of Mountain Dew, and burped. He let go of the blind, and walked back to the living room recliner. The HDTV was set to the local news. In the past few months he’d been here, he was surprised at the incredibly low crime rate. In Savannah, his old hometown, there were multiple shootings every night, either for really trivial reasons or for no reason at all.

At the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about being shot at random. Everyone in the vicinity of his house were too chipper for that.

Now, Shane Miller became one of those people. Damn Pollyannas, he thought.

Josh considered himself a realist and pragmatist. He had no real expectations, or higher ambitions. He never wanted to make a difference; he merely wanted to be average, and survive. Whatever worked best for him was the option that worked. He believed in the bottom line, with no frills.

Wondering what was on, he changed the channel. Genocyber was on. He remembered it from his days at the video store in his youth, renting anime every weekend to make himself look cool. He kicked that habit; it actually made him look like a total dork.

On screen, human entrails dangle from the ceiling of a dark hospital corridor, intercut with a nurse’s head falling off and rolling on the floor. Josh remembered watching this alone one night, when his parents were asleep. He didn’t sleep until morning.

There was a knocking on his door. Not wanting to disgust whoever it was with sounds of abject suffering and violence, he changed it back to the news.

Josh opened the door, and saw that it was Mrs. Moss. “Hello there, Josh!” Her voice was positively beaming.

“Oh, hi,” Josh replied.

“You look zoned out. Did you just wake up?”

Josh hesitated, and felt his messy scalp. “Uh, yeah, not too long ago. I was just watching TV,” he said. He looked over Mrs. Moss’s right shoulder, and he could see that Shane was still mowing. Still smiling.

Why do you even keep coming here? This site isn't going to help you in any way, if it's for attention you have tons of better places. Like Wrongplanet, or molly ringwald fanclub
This is one of the reasons I follow idiots like you.

 

[Connor Bible]

Quality wasn't the point of this little exercise. It was to see how far I could go. One of my friends told me to ""write when I'm cold" until I overheat.

 

[Bugaboo]

Connor you don't just shit out a masterpiece with no revisions. First you write a bunch of shit, then you stop and read it again to yourself, then you think about it, then you take the shit you write and rearrange paragraphs, edit them, delete shit entirely and then you keep going until you have a cohesive story and you keep doing the same process with it
Also why are you trying to write your magnum opus on your first try?

 

[CatParty]

Okay, so I wrote for forty minutes. Still, I do have 507 words. I think I have something here.


For about a minute, Josh Peters couldn’t believe his eyes. Across the street, through the blinds, he could see Shane Miller actually coming out into the sunlight.

Ever since he moved to the neighborhood when he started college, Josh got the impression that Shane was… well, off. Seeing him in the summer rays was almost an oxymoron. Regularly, Shane looked frail, almost anemic, and wasn’t really a sucker for conversation. A groundhog staying in its hole, in a sense.

What really caught Josh’s eye was the fact that Shane was smiling to himself as he pushed his pushed his lawnmower. From inside, Josh could hear the local kids giggling, playing, farting around.

It wasn’t just Shane. The whole neighborhood was like something straight out of The Twilight Zone. The thought was in the back of Josh’s mind, ever since he left the nest at twenty and got a job at Fulci’s Italian Restaurant. The job, surprisingly, paid well. Mr. Fulci was unusually generous.

Josh sipped on a can of Mountain Dew, and burped. He let go of the blind, and walked back to the living room recliner. The HDTV was set to the local news. In the past few months he’d been here, he was surprised at the incredibly low crime rate. In Savannah, his old hometown, there were multiple shootings every night, either for really trivial reasons or for no reason at all.

At the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about being shot at random. Everyone in the vicinity of his house were too chipper for that.

Now, Shane Miller became one of those people. Damn Pollyannas, he thought.

Josh considered himself a realist and pragmatist. He had no real expectations, or higher ambitions. He never wanted to make a difference; he merely wanted to be average, and survive. Whatever worked best for him was the option that worked. He believed in the bottom line, with no frills.

Wondering what was on, he changed the channel. Genocyber was on. He remembered it from his days at the video store in his youth, renting anime every weekend to make himself look cool. He kicked that habit; it actually made him look like a total dork.

On screen, human entrails dangle from the ceiling of a dark hospital corridor, intercut with a nurse’s head falling off and rolling on the floor. Josh remembered watching this alone one night, when his parents were asleep. He didn’t sleep until morning.

There was a knocking on his door. Not wanting to disgust whoever it was with sounds of abject suffering and violence, he changed it back to the news.

Josh opened the door, and saw that it was Mrs. Moss. “Hello there, Josh!” Her voice was positively beaming.

“Oh, hi,” Josh replied.

“You look zoned out. Did you just wake up?”

Josh hesitated, and felt his messy scalp. “Uh, yeah, not too long ago. I was just watching TV,” he said. He looked over Mrs. Moss’s right shoulder, and he could see that Shane was still mowing. Still smiling.

Tl;dr

 

[TM Ambrose]

Quality wasn't the point of this little exercise. It was to see how far I could go. One of my friends told me to ""write when I'm cold" until I overheat.

At least you're doing something. I'm just sitting here looking at the shit you did.... and plants.

 

[GS 281]

Quality wasn't the point of this little exercise. It was to see how far I could go. One of my friends told me to ""write when I'm cold" until I overheat.

Writing about guys mowing the lawn and otherguys watching them through window blinds heats you up, eh Connor?

 

[Squealer]

Someone should help me publish Connor's work. I'll be bankrupt in no time

 

[Ruin]

congratulations @Connor Bible for giving me my third ever irl facepalm.

 

[Connor Bible]

Writing about guys mowing the lawn and otherguys watching them through window blinds heats you up, eh Connor?

Okay, I got to admit, that was a funny comeback.

 

[MasterDisaster]

Why do you even keep coming here? This site isn't going to help you in any way, if it's for attention you have tons of better places. Like Wrongplanet, or molly ringwald fanclub
This is one of the reasons I follow idiots like you.

C'mon now, he needs positive reinforcement here; this was incredibly shitty and you should feel bad, but please, try again!

 

[Ruin]

It's like Lawnmower Man but infested with fail and aids.

 

[Squealer]

C'mon now, he needs positive reinforcement here; this was incredibly shitty and you should feel bad, but please, try again!

I'm the one who blackmailed him to stay off here

 

[CatParty]

Okay, I got to admit, that was a funny comeback.

You do realize all content posted here becomes intellectual property of null and he can publish this material for his own profit

 

[MasterDisaster]

You do realize all content posted here becomes intellectual property of null and he can publish this material for his own profit

Hell with all the pseudo-intellectual shit floating around here he could publish a series of self-help books.

 

[Phil Ken Sebben]

Okay, so I wrote for forty minutes. Still, I do have 507 words. I think I have something here.


For about a minute, Josh Peters couldn’t believe his eyes. Across the street, through the blinds, he could see Shane Miller actually coming out into the sunlight.

Ever since he moved to the neighborhood when he started college, Josh got the impression that Shane was… well, off. Seeing him in the summer rays was almost an oxymoron. Regularly, Shane looked frail, almost anemic, and wasn’t really a sucker for conversation. A groundhog staying in its hole, in a sense.

What really caught Josh’s eye was the fact that Shane was smiling to himself as he pushed his pushed his lawnmower. From inside, Josh could hear the local kids giggling, playing, farting around.

It wasn’t just Shane. The whole neighborhood was like something straight out of The Twilight Zone. The thought was in the back of Josh’s mind, ever since he left the nest at twenty and got a job at Fulci’s Italian Restaurant. The job, surprisingly, paid well. Mr. Fulci was unusually generous.

Josh sipped on a can of Mountain Dew, and burped. He let go of the blind, and walked back to the living room recliner. The HDTV was set to the local news. In the past few months he’d been here, he was surprised at the incredibly low crime rate. In Savannah, his old hometown, there were multiple shootings every night, either for really trivial reasons or for no reason at all.

At the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about being shot at random. Everyone in the vicinity of his house were too chipper for that.

Now, Shane Miller became one of those people. Damn Pollyannas, he thought.

Josh considered himself a realist and pragmatist. He had no real expectations, or higher ambitions. He never wanted to make a difference; he merely wanted to be average, and survive. Whatever worked best for him was the option that worked. He believed in the bottom line, with no frills.

Wondering what was on, he changed the channel. Genocyber was on. He remembered it from his days at the video store in his youth, renting anime every weekend to make himself look cool. He kicked that habit; it actually made him look like a total dork.

On screen, human entrails dangle from the ceiling of a dark hospital corridor, intercut with a nurse’s head falling off and rolling on the floor. Josh remembered watching this alone one night, when his parents were asleep. He didn’t sleep until morning.

There was a knocking on his door. Not wanting to disgust whoever it was with sounds of abject suffering and violence, he changed it back to the news.

Josh opened the door, and saw that it was Mrs. Moss. “Hello there, Josh!” Her voice was positively beaming.

“Oh, hi,” Josh replied.

“You look zoned out. Did you just wake up?”

Josh hesitated, and felt his messy scalp. “Uh, yeah, not too long ago. I was just watching TV,” he said. He looked over Mrs. Moss’s right shoulder, and he could see that Shane was still mowing. Still smiling.

It took 40 minutes to write that crap? Damn. I'd hate to see what you come up with when you're actually trying to write something worthwhile.

Oh, and there's really nothing there of any interest. Obviously it's going to be some creepy doings a happening at some point and the author avatar in the form of Josh is going to get stuck in the middle of whatever is going on. Possibly playing the role of the only sane man in an otherwise insane world. But if you're trying to set up that something is kinda creepy about this place you really need to work on it because so far it's just lame.

 

[Connor Bible]

It took 40 minutes to write that crap? Damn. I'd hate to see what you come up with when you're actually trying to write something worthwhile.

Oh, and there's really nothing there of any interest. Obviously it's going to be some creepy doings a happening at some point and the author avatar in the form of Josh is going to get stuck in the middle of whatever is going on. Possibly playing the role of the only sane man in an otherwise insane world. But if you're trying to set up that something is kinda creepy about this place you really need to work on it because so far it's just lame.

Quality wasn't the point of this. I just want to see how long I could keep my fingers on the keyboard. Forty minutes is a new record for me.

 

[VLAD]

Forty minutes is a new record for me.

Then you're not cut out to be a writer at all, kid.