- Joined
- Jan 27, 2014
BECAUSE NOL IS MOLAY RINGWOOD
EDIT: seriously I want to know who did that comic because I giggle like an exceptional individual every time I see it
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🍽️ حلال Connor Bible - Everyone's Favorite Molly Ringwald loving, adoption hating, aspiring writer and bellybutton fucker
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BECAUSE NOL IS MOLAY RINGWOOD
EDIT: seriously I want to know who did that comic because I giggle like an exceptional individual every time I see it
- Joined
- Jul 24, 2013
Part 3 of the absolutewrite adventures.
Connor compares himself to Philip K. Dick, while using his most best purple prose in the process.
Bow before our literary lord Connor, creator of new genres.
Smutley: (puts on Wayfarers) "Figure it out, nerds!"
The torment in my life is unbearable, the darkness the only light shimmering within the blackness of the hate-abyss of my heart *cuts*
Another classic example of Connor expecting people to come suck his cheesy dick for being soooo busy and then lashing out when people question what his motives actually are (huge picture).
So, in all this "research", I've discovered Connor recycles elements between forums. There's shit I haven't mentioned before, because while silly it wasn't any more cringe-worthy then shit any of us would have written at 16. But this has gone on for years now, so I'm just going to straight call it
Connor's advice is usually insufferable due to his ignorance, but it's doubly so here because he decides to affect an accent phonetically
In two sentances within this single post, Connor manager to either lie or be wrong at least for times.
Even more coming tomorrow in part 4!
Connor compares himself to Philip K. Dick, while using his most best purple prose in the process.
Bow before our literary lord Connor, creator of new genres.
Smutley: (puts on Wayfarers) "Figure it out, nerds!"
The torment in my life is unbearable, the darkness the only light shimmering within the blackness of the hate-abyss of my heart *cuts*
Another classic example of Connor expecting people to come suck his cheesy dick for being soooo busy and then lashing out when people question what his motives actually are (huge picture).
So, in all this "research", I've discovered Connor recycles elements between forums. There's shit I haven't mentioned before, because while silly it wasn't any more cringe-worthy then shit any of us would have written at 16. But this has gone on for years now, so I'm just going to straight call it
- To Connor, Los Angeles rains 24/7, 365. It rains more in LA than Seattle. Sin City called, it said it wants it's special effects back.
- Connor has been trying so hard for this Blade Runneresque world. The only kind of writing he can do is outright theft of things he just recently discovered. If he was 10 years older he'd be referencing Shadowrunners and Johnsons. If he was 15 years older, it would be Johnny Mnemonic and Data Traffickers.
Connor's advice is usually insufferable due to his ignorance, but it's doubly so here because he decides to affect an accent phonetically
In two sentances within this single post, Connor manager to either lie or be wrong at least for times.
Even more coming tomorrow in part 4!
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- Joined
- Sep 9, 2013
Granted I've only read about 2,000 words of RE, but I'll be damned if I can find a single element of sci-fi in them.
I'm going back, by the way. It just so happens I have better things to be doing at the moment.
Honestly Connor, stick with what the filter said. Write a comedy and learn to laugh at yourself. It will do wonders.
I'm going back, by the way. It just so happens I have better things to be doing at the moment.
Honestly Connor, stick with what the filter said. Write a comedy and learn to laugh at yourself. It will do wonders.
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- Joined
- Jan 27, 2014
Wait, so the bad writing in RE is an old first draft? First time I've heard of this. There's a "new and improved" version? Is it out there?
- Joined
- Sep 16, 2013
The first draft is the latest version.
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
Yeah, no, I think my version's more befitting than reality.
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2013
I'm so fucking happy we have that wordfilter.
- Joined
- Mar 24, 2013
Maybe you'll learn from this and stop acting like a jackass online. Aw, who'm I kiddin'? You won't.
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2014
So, if I'm understanding this, Connor wants to write a psychological noir grimdark thriller set in a Blade Runner-esqe dystopia that is obsessed with the pursuit of human perfection via genetic augmentation, starring a fragile, naive and unsatisfied female protagonist seduced into a situation that's over her head, and ending on a bittersweet note.
Too bad it's been done already. And it's a rock opera with fantastic music and Giles from Buffy as the lead antihero.
[WARNING: NSFW due to gore and sexiness]
Too bad it's been done already. And it's a rock opera with fantastic music and Giles from Buffy as the lead antihero.
[WARNING: NSFW due to gore and sexiness]
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- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
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- Joined
- Jul 24, 2013
Part 4 of the Connor Experience
Surprising no one, Connor starts a thread to discuss his failure of an "adoption story". He proves through repetition that there is no "story", but he uses this as a thinly veiled attempt to stir up shit and get in internet slap fights. Of note is people take his bait and leaving us a huge image dump
Okay, serious talk time @Connor. If you spend 99% of your time in a "writers funk', if you have no inspiration and no initiative, if outlining and planning exercises can't help you build a story, well guess what? Writing isn't for you. You obviously have no story to tell, but you are obsessed with the idea of being a writer for... undetermined reasons. Perhaps it's money? Perhaps it's fame? Who knows.
Two days later in another thread
Her mother is going on a length business trip to the Moon
I have no idea what exactly Connor is trying to say here
@The Knife and @CuriousBystander, Connor has some messages for you two
Surprising no one, Connor starts a thread to discuss his failure of an "adoption story". He proves through repetition that there is no "story", but he uses this as a thinly veiled attempt to stir up shit and get in internet slap fights. Of note is people take his bait and leaving us a huge image dump
Okay, serious talk time @Connor. If you spend 99% of your time in a "writers funk', if you have no inspiration and no initiative, if outlining and planning exercises can't help you build a story, well guess what? Writing isn't for you. You obviously have no story to tell, but you are obsessed with the idea of being a writer for... undetermined reasons. Perhaps it's money? Perhaps it's fame? Who knows.
Two days later in another thread
Her mother is going on a length business trip to the Moon
I have no idea what exactly Connor is trying to say here
@The Knife and @CuriousBystander, Connor has some messages for you two
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- Joined
- Feb 4, 2013
Good god, he is so annoying.
- Joined
- Sep 17, 2014
Perhaps it's autism?
- Joined
- Jul 22, 2013
18 days to go, I'll be paying attention.
Night of the Slayer?!?Framer posted this in the LOTD
Are you fucking kidding me?!?
2edgy4me
Are you a fucking bitch? Because you sound like a fucking bitch.
Everyone has parts of their past they don't like. You know what, we get over it. It doesn't make us literally sick.
Lemme guess, this is hindering your work isn't it?
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- Joined
- Jul 24, 2013
Part 5 of absolutewrite.com. I'm wondering how much of a useless venture it would be to reach out to the mod that repeatedly banned Connor, to see if he could dredge up the old deleted posts. I'm sure I'd get ignored, but a guy can dream.
Finally, finally, Connor straight up writes about Molly Ringwald seducing him.
This is, to me, the quintessential Connor post. It condenses everything he is and has written in to 237 words of autismic obsession. It contains:
Writers enjoy forum games too, and Connor joins in on a couple "comment on the poster above you and post something yourself" threads.
"Molly Ringwald was BASICALLY PROMISED!!!!"
Connor claims he never writes anything because he has a crippling fear of criticism. And something about Barry Bonds butt? wow. Oh! Any artsy types want to draw fanart of Connor literally fighting himself?
"It was definitely part genetic and part hard work"
This is being added after the original post because, once you've looked at everything Connor has written, this becomes amazing.
Despite saying multiple times how much he hates *verses, the Connorverse has been alive for at least a year and a half.
This would be the perfect thread for him to post all his ideas in, if I didn't know this is his idea of satire.
Let's talk about proper word choice and Connor's need to flower things up. The word "frequents" implies being a patron, and leads the reader to assume this bum has a TV in his cardboard box. What's wrong with "loiters", as in this bum loiters around the video store watching their movies for free?
This is at least the third time Connor has referred to a writing project as a "Frankenstein monster" that can be converted into Adam. He must be really proud of this literary reference.
Granma it's time to murder you now you are interrupting my writing
I can't tell which is funnier: that Connor uses Toho and their handling of science and technology in godzilla movies as inspiration on how to write, or that Connor sticks his jaw out and says "Bring your critiques I'm a big boy and can handle it"
And that's it! We've come to the end of AbsoluteWrite.com. Unfortunately for us it seems whatever outbursts he has had were scrubbed. However...
Finally, finally, Connor straight up writes about Molly Ringwald seducing him.
This is, to me, the quintessential Connor post. It condenses everything he is and has written in to 237 words of autismic obsession. It contains:
- Some weird role playing/story writing post that is ignored by the entire forum
- Molly Ringwald dressed like Eva Elliott
- A future world that is actually 1980 with vidphones and flying cars
- Using film making techniques (slow motion walking) to describe actions
- It's raining and he announces it's always raining. This is probably in LA but he forgets to say where this takes place
- Connor picks a much too old actor to play an 18 year old dressed like Klaus Kreiger
- Molly is described as "damaged goods" and is still in high school, despite his male character being the same age but being some brilliant and powerful mogul.
- There is a poorly written internal monologue about how cynical the anti-hero is and how much the entire world sucks because people are awful
- A poorly constructed attempt to drama by repeating a meaningless line ("he has plans alright.")
Writers enjoy forum games too, and Connor joins in on a couple "comment on the poster above you and post something yourself" threads.
"Molly Ringwald was BASICALLY PROMISED!!!!"
Connor claims he never writes anything because he has a crippling fear of criticism. And something about Barry Bonds butt? wow. Oh! Any artsy types want to draw fanart of Connor literally fighting himself?
"It was definitely part genetic and part hard work"
This is being added after the original post because, once you've looked at everything Connor has written, this becomes amazing.
Despite saying multiple times how much he hates *verses, the Connorverse has been alive for at least a year and a half.
This would be the perfect thread for him to post all his ideas in, if I didn't know this is his idea of satire.
Let's talk about proper word choice and Connor's need to flower things up. The word "frequents" implies being a patron, and leads the reader to assume this bum has a TV in his cardboard box. What's wrong with "loiters", as in this bum loiters around the video store watching their movies for free?
This is at least the third time Connor has referred to a writing project as a "Frankenstein monster" that can be converted into Adam. He must be really proud of this literary reference.
Granma it's time to murder you now you are interrupting my writing
I can't tell which is funnier: that Connor uses Toho and their handling of science and technology in godzilla movies as inspiration on how to write, or that Connor sticks his jaw out and says "Bring your critiques I'm a big boy and can handle it"
And that's it! We've come to the end of AbsoluteWrite.com. Unfortunately for us it seems whatever outbursts he has had were scrubbed. However...
Don't get excited unless you happen to like the same three repetitive topics Connor is always sperging
about.
about.
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- Joined
- Sep 9, 2013
Yes Connor, passive voice does need to die. Please make sure it does. Hell, I struggle with passive voice too, but that doesn't mean I pretend it doesn't matter.
As far as themes go, while you shouldn't beat your audience over the head you should give them a guide. It may sound strange for me to use video games as examples of great writing but Half-Life 2 and the the first Bioshock are fantastic examples of how storytellers should treat their audience. The player learns by exploring the world.
Gordon or Jack never stop to explain the meaning of what they discover, but it's all laid out for them. The "Pick up that can" scene in Half-Life 2 pretty much explains everything we need to know about the premise while Dr. Breen's announcements and ever present face take care of the rest. Simply by exploring Rapture, taking in the scenery, we understand the themes. The audio journals fill in the personal details but they aren't necessary to understand the message. No one ever walks up to the player and says, "Hey, these events sure remind me of a novel I read in Philosophy 101." The audience LEARNS through their JOURNEY. Novels should be written in the same way. We EXPERIENCE the world, we aren't TOLD about it.
That's your problem, Connor. You aren't telling OR showing us the Connorverse. I know I'm only 2,000 words into RE, but that's three chapters. You chose to divide them up this way and I should expect to know something about your world by chapter fucking three.
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
Let's keep the train rolling.
PART THE SIXTH: HE’S BIGGER, FASTER, AND STRONGER TOO
“Klaus is what we in the business call a fucking spastic.” Jonathan Jordache, executive member of THE TEAM, explained to Eva. Everything about J. Jonathan Jordache rubbed Eva the wrong way. Wealthy, heteronormative, cisgendered, cisspecied, singlet male scum if she ever saw it.
“What makes you say that, Mr. Shitlord?” Eva asked.
J. Jon Jordache flaunted his privilege by responding. “He’s been pretending to be Hannibal Lecter on and off for the past seven years. Also he wears a fucking eyepatch. Only a fucking spastic would wear an eyepatch.”
“He claims to be a multiple system like you," Holden elaborated. "When he’s not Hannibal Lecter, he’s a god, or sometimes a fox if he’s feeling frisky. One time he got so triggered he set his hair on fire and put it out by giving himself a swirly.”
Eva liked the sound of this Klaus guy. He was clearly misunderstood and misrepresented by the mainstream media. She considered the possibility that Klaus Krieger was a skeleton, but knew that her father would laugh if she asked directly.
“Didn’t he kill like ten people? Why’s he still allowed to coach for THE BIG GAME?” She hoped with every fibre of her being that the answer would be that skeletons aren’t bound by the laws of mortals.
“Remember, dear? Gypsies don’t count as people.” Holden reminded Eva, crushing her skeleton-related dreams like so many brittle calcium-deficient bones.
“So when are we going to…” Eva paused to think of an alternative for 'meet.' The word sounded too similar to 'meat,' something skeletons didn’t have and might be triggered by. “…acquaint ourselves with Klaus?”
“We’ll be seeing him shortly. He’s downstairs with the talking gorilla. Seriously, we have a fucking talking gorilla. Why the fuck do we have a talking gorilla? I genuinely can’t get over the concept of having a talking gorilla just chilling in the basement.”
Following J. Jonah Jordache’s mild existential crisis, the Elliots stepped into the elevator.
#fuckhead #he #goingdown
The elevator started down, deep beneath the earth’s surface where the mole people lived, but not quite as deep as the symbolism in the first chapter. At the bottom, it ground to a halt. Before the door opened, a voice spoke from the intercom.
“This is security speaking. Why is that heaping mound of raw ground beef wearing bifocals?” The voice sounded puzzled. “Are you sure you can bring that in the elevator?”
“It says I can on that sign over there.” Holden gestured toward a poster on the elevator’s wall. As it turned out, today was Bring Your Fat Kid to Work Day. Eva didn’t quite believe she was fat. As a skelekin, she knew that this flesh was all an illusion. She preferred the term big-boned to describe her tendency to occupy large volumes.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Elliot, I didn’t know that was your daughter. It amazes me that a human being can survive with so many extra chromosomes.”
The voice burst into laughter just as the intercom cut out and the door opened. In terms of appearance, the basement was to the Xavier School for Young Urban Gangstas as Eva was to most people: dim and poorly maintained.
“See those puddles? Don’t step in them unless you like fungal infections,” J. Jonah Jordson warned as he guided the Elliots along. The basement was like a second home to Holden. He knew it as well as the unwilling sex slaves he kept here knew every contour of his schlong. The steel security door at the far end of the hall opened and a wooden barrel rolled straight at them as gorilla noises echoed throughout the basement.
“Jump!” J. Jonah Jameson and Holden exclaimed in unison.
Eva leapt into the air with all of the grace of a bag of flour and flopped face first into the oncoming barrel, splashing the puddle and cracking her bifocals in the process. Gravity was the most oppressive force in the universe, aside from the patriarchy.
Holden sighed and shook his head. “Shoulda listened, ya fuckin’ spastic.”
Eva and her newfound fungus friends stumbled to their feet. At the end of the hall, a gorilla in a red tie was laughing his ass off at her. Ms. Pickens would have been proud of the gorilla's grasp of schadenfreude.
“Can we just go see Klaus now?” Eva mumbled, feeling her delicate womyn existence being marginalized by both males and higher primates.
J. Jonah Jameson barely contained his laughter. “You two go on ahead. I’ve got a gorilla to train in the art of go-karting.” He pointed to one of the doors. “His cell’s right through there. You know the rules: do not touch or approach the glass. Pass him nothing but soft paper, no pens or pencils. Most importantly, make sure to tag his triggers and respect his pronouns. We don't want him bitching about you on his Tumblr like the last problematic individual."
Eva adjusted her bifocals and Holden put on his “Kiss me, I’m Irish” tee-shirt. Having successfully reminded each other of their bifocals and Irishness, the Elliots stepped through the door into the Haus of Klaus.
Author’s note: I love Connor for including a gorilla in this story. It made my day.
PART THE SEVENTH: ONE IS AN IDIOT AND THE OTHER IS INSANE
Using her bifocals to adjust the incoming light, Eva’s eyes and nervous system worked together to process the visual stimulus presented before her. Klaus had a pretty big haus for a guy locked up in the basement of a government building. Perhaps he needed the extra space to store Japanese comic books about underage boys fucking each other. If only the skeletons under Area 51 could live in such luxury.
“Tero is currently fronting. Bun prefers bun/buns/bunself pronouns but xe/xir/xirself are also acceptable. CAMAB brakefluid demimoore hemizygous. Our major triggers include lobsters, belly buttons, Hustine Fiber, Pepsiman, kiwis, blue arms, and bifocals. Our complete list of triggers can be found on our tumblr.” Klaus’s voice was that of a morbidly obese man in his fifties pretending to be a young woman with an unconvincing falsetto. "And you must be Evangeline."
Without missing a beat, Eva removed her bifocals and responded. “Molly Ringwald is currently fronting, she/her/herself pronouns. Magi-girl demisexual. My triggers are skeleton disrespect, my own reflection, thin privilege and matchbox cars.”
Klaus spun around in his chair. Even without her bifocals, Eva had no trouble seeing this because Molly Ringwald was perfect in every aspect, especially vision. He looked like the world’s fattest potato had put on a loose-fitting hoodie with a cat-ear headband to distract onlookers from his ever-thinning hairline which was receding. Both his eyes were covered by eyepatches for reasons unknowable by human minds. His lack of pants was equally inexplicable.
“I'm acquainted with your complete list of triggers,” Eva said. "I read your whole blog last night."
“Annnnnd…?” Klaus inquired. “What is your opinion of it?”
"It was about as problematic as I expected from a hydrophobic cisfat literacy-privileged scumbag who erases the experience of median systems without a consistent front runner," Eva responded. "But no biggie."
“If we didn’t know any better, we’d have taken you for an amoebakin, but judging womyn based on appearance is a tool of patriarchal oppression.”Klaus smiled as he looked Eva over. “Your phantom wings are coming in nicely.”
“T-thank you.” Eva was amazed. Nobody had ever noticed her phantom wings at first glance before--certainly not through two eyepatches. Klaus was certainly an exceptional individual. “What’s that you’re reading?”
“It’s a Superwholock-Homestuck crossover where all the characters are the headmates of a polyamorous asexual tortoisekin womyn of size and colour.”Klaus was holding the book upside down as he explained this, but Eva didn’t dare mention it lest she be accused of ableism.
“Those franchises are a tad problematic for my tastes. The source material stinks of binary interpretations of sex and gender.” Eva sent forth Ellen Page to front. She was much better at being smug than Molly. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Ah, yes. THE BIG GAME.”Klaus swapped the positions of his two eyepatches to spice things up. “Tell us, Ms. Page… what do you know about THE BIG GAME?”
“It’s not my job to educate you.”
“Exactly the answer we were looking for. Does that folder contain what we need?” Klaus gestured toward the wall, no longer remotely facing in the direction of Eva and her folder.
“More than enough,” Eva replied. “Inflation fetish art of each of the original 151 Pokemon straight from my DeviantART, plus the American Rabbit as a bonus.”
“Autistic, aren’t you?”Klaus said as the author made the easiest conceivable joke.
“Self-diagnosed.”
“So are we. In addition to bipolar, post-traumatic stress disorder, schizophrenia, polio, hysteria and sudden infant death syndrome,Tero in particular suffers from snuffleupagitis, the poor thing.” Klaus grinned, satisfied in having won this year’s Oppression Olympics.“Go on then, send the folder through.”
Eva slid the folder through the Haus of Klaus’s mail slot. Klaus fumbled around trying to find it for a solid minute before letting out an exasperated sigh and removing one of his eyepatches. He undid the rubber bands protecting the folder and began to tremble violently.
“Evangeline, what are these?” Klaus sounded on the verge of tears. He held out his hand, the rubber bands dangling from his fingertips.
“Rubber bands to hold the folder shut,” Eva replied nervously.
“What else is kept shut by rubber bands?”Klaus glared at Eva and let the folder drop to the floor.
Eva paused in thought for a moment before gasping and covering her mouth. “Lobster claws,” she muttered to herself.
“Do you see how triggered we are right now, Evangeline? How could you leave our trigger untagged like this? Can’t you see how we can barely even? No, we CAN’T EVEN. We just can’t.”Klaus fell from his chair and began to blubber on the floor of his cell and flail his limbs wildly.
Eva and Holden waited patiently for three hours to see if Klaus would calm down. “How can bun do this for so long without getting tired?” Eva whispered to her father.
“This is nothing," Holden replied. "When they changed Sonic’s arms, he killed ten gypsies and cried for six days.”
As the fourth hour of Klaus’s meltdown dawned, Eva tried to change the subject. “So, um, did you like the art?”
“fhtadsfggffd,”Klaus replied, still flailing wildly through the room.
Holden was a patient man, but unlike the list of things he would put his penis into, his patience had limits. “Klaus, cool it. I’m not going to wait here for you to act like a human being while there are still pigs unfucked. Is Eva going to play in THE BIG GAME or not?”
Klaus continued to babble incoherently with no signs of acknowledging Holden’s question.
#tw #buffknuckles #likeifyouread
Author’s note: Why is Klaus allowed to speak in italics? Does he think he’s me or something?
“Klaus is what we in the business call a fucking spastic.” Jonathan Jordache, executive member of THE TEAM, explained to Eva. Everything about J. Jonathan Jordache rubbed Eva the wrong way. Wealthy, heteronormative, cisgendered, cisspecied, singlet male scum if she ever saw it.
“What makes you say that, Mr. Shitlord?” Eva asked.
J. Jon Jordache flaunted his privilege by responding. “He’s been pretending to be Hannibal Lecter on and off for the past seven years. Also he wears a fucking eyepatch. Only a fucking spastic would wear an eyepatch.”
“He claims to be a multiple system like you," Holden elaborated. "When he’s not Hannibal Lecter, he’s a god, or sometimes a fox if he’s feeling frisky. One time he got so triggered he set his hair on fire and put it out by giving himself a swirly.”
Eva liked the sound of this Klaus guy. He was clearly misunderstood and misrepresented by the mainstream media. She considered the possibility that Klaus Krieger was a skeleton, but knew that her father would laugh if she asked directly.
“Didn’t he kill like ten people? Why’s he still allowed to coach for THE BIG GAME?” She hoped with every fibre of her being that the answer would be that skeletons aren’t bound by the laws of mortals.
“Remember, dear? Gypsies don’t count as people.” Holden reminded Eva, crushing her skeleton-related dreams like so many brittle calcium-deficient bones.
“So when are we going to…” Eva paused to think of an alternative for 'meet.' The word sounded too similar to 'meat,' something skeletons didn’t have and might be triggered by. “…acquaint ourselves with Klaus?”
“We’ll be seeing him shortly. He’s downstairs with the talking gorilla. Seriously, we have a fucking talking gorilla. Why the fuck do we have a talking gorilla? I genuinely can’t get over the concept of having a talking gorilla just chilling in the basement.”
Following J. Jonah Jordache’s mild existential crisis, the Elliots stepped into the elevator.
#fuckhead #he #goingdown
The elevator started down, deep beneath the earth’s surface where the mole people lived, but not quite as deep as the symbolism in the first chapter. At the bottom, it ground to a halt. Before the door opened, a voice spoke from the intercom.
“This is security speaking. Why is that heaping mound of raw ground beef wearing bifocals?” The voice sounded puzzled. “Are you sure you can bring that in the elevator?”
“It says I can on that sign over there.” Holden gestured toward a poster on the elevator’s wall. As it turned out, today was Bring Your Fat Kid to Work Day. Eva didn’t quite believe she was fat. As a skelekin, she knew that this flesh was all an illusion. She preferred the term big-boned to describe her tendency to occupy large volumes.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Elliot, I didn’t know that was your daughter. It amazes me that a human being can survive with so many extra chromosomes.”
The voice burst into laughter just as the intercom cut out and the door opened. In terms of appearance, the basement was to the Xavier School for Young Urban Gangstas as Eva was to most people: dim and poorly maintained.
“See those puddles? Don’t step in them unless you like fungal infections,” J. Jonah Jordson warned as he guided the Elliots along. The basement was like a second home to Holden. He knew it as well as the unwilling sex slaves he kept here knew every contour of his schlong. The steel security door at the far end of the hall opened and a wooden barrel rolled straight at them as gorilla noises echoed throughout the basement.
“Jump!” J. Jonah Jameson and Holden exclaimed in unison.
Eva leapt into the air with all of the grace of a bag of flour and flopped face first into the oncoming barrel, splashing the puddle and cracking her bifocals in the process. Gravity was the most oppressive force in the universe, aside from the patriarchy.
Holden sighed and shook his head. “Shoulda listened, ya fuckin’ spastic.”
Eva and her newfound fungus friends stumbled to their feet. At the end of the hall, a gorilla in a red tie was laughing his ass off at her. Ms. Pickens would have been proud of the gorilla's grasp of schadenfreude.
“Can we just go see Klaus now?” Eva mumbled, feeling her delicate womyn existence being marginalized by both males and higher primates.
J. Jonah Jameson barely contained his laughter. “You two go on ahead. I’ve got a gorilla to train in the art of go-karting.” He pointed to one of the doors. “His cell’s right through there. You know the rules: do not touch or approach the glass. Pass him nothing but soft paper, no pens or pencils. Most importantly, make sure to tag his triggers and respect his pronouns. We don't want him bitching about you on his Tumblr like the last problematic individual."
Eva adjusted her bifocals and Holden put on his “Kiss me, I’m Irish” tee-shirt. Having successfully reminded each other of their bifocals and Irishness, the Elliots stepped through the door into the Haus of Klaus.
Author’s note: I love Connor for including a gorilla in this story. It made my day.
PART THE SEVENTH: ONE IS AN IDIOT AND THE OTHER IS INSANE
Using her bifocals to adjust the incoming light, Eva’s eyes and nervous system worked together to process the visual stimulus presented before her. Klaus had a pretty big haus for a guy locked up in the basement of a government building. Perhaps he needed the extra space to store Japanese comic books about underage boys fucking each other. If only the skeletons under Area 51 could live in such luxury.
“Tero is currently fronting. Bun prefers bun/buns/bunself pronouns but xe/xir/xirself are also acceptable. CAMAB brakefluid demimoore hemizygous. Our major triggers include lobsters, belly buttons, Hustine Fiber, Pepsiman, kiwis, blue arms, and bifocals. Our complete list of triggers can be found on our tumblr.” Klaus’s voice was that of a morbidly obese man in his fifties pretending to be a young woman with an unconvincing falsetto. "And you must be Evangeline."
Without missing a beat, Eva removed her bifocals and responded. “Molly Ringwald is currently fronting, she/her/herself pronouns. Magi-girl demisexual. My triggers are skeleton disrespect, my own reflection, thin privilege and matchbox cars.”
Klaus spun around in his chair. Even without her bifocals, Eva had no trouble seeing this because Molly Ringwald was perfect in every aspect, especially vision. He looked like the world’s fattest potato had put on a loose-fitting hoodie with a cat-ear headband to distract onlookers from his ever-thinning hairline which was receding. Both his eyes were covered by eyepatches for reasons unknowable by human minds. His lack of pants was equally inexplicable.
“I'm acquainted with your complete list of triggers,” Eva said. "I read your whole blog last night."
“Annnnnd…?” Klaus inquired. “What is your opinion of it?”
"It was about as problematic as I expected from a hydrophobic cisfat literacy-privileged scumbag who erases the experience of median systems without a consistent front runner," Eva responded. "But no biggie."
“If we didn’t know any better, we’d have taken you for an amoebakin, but judging womyn based on appearance is a tool of patriarchal oppression.”Klaus smiled as he looked Eva over. “Your phantom wings are coming in nicely.”
“T-thank you.” Eva was amazed. Nobody had ever noticed her phantom wings at first glance before--certainly not through two eyepatches. Klaus was certainly an exceptional individual. “What’s that you’re reading?”
“It’s a Superwholock-Homestuck crossover where all the characters are the headmates of a polyamorous asexual tortoisekin womyn of size and colour.”Klaus was holding the book upside down as he explained this, but Eva didn’t dare mention it lest she be accused of ableism.
“Those franchises are a tad problematic for my tastes. The source material stinks of binary interpretations of sex and gender.” Eva sent forth Ellen Page to front. She was much better at being smug than Molly. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Ah, yes. THE BIG GAME.”Klaus swapped the positions of his two eyepatches to spice things up. “Tell us, Ms. Page… what do you know about THE BIG GAME?”
“It’s not my job to educate you.”
“Exactly the answer we were looking for. Does that folder contain what we need?” Klaus gestured toward the wall, no longer remotely facing in the direction of Eva and her folder.
“More than enough,” Eva replied. “Inflation fetish art of each of the original 151 Pokemon straight from my DeviantART, plus the American Rabbit as a bonus.”
“Autistic, aren’t you?”Klaus said as the author made the easiest conceivable joke.
“Self-diagnosed.”
“So are we. In addition to bipolar, post-traumatic stress disorder, schizophrenia, polio, hysteria and sudden infant death syndrome,Tero in particular suffers from snuffleupagitis, the poor thing.” Klaus grinned, satisfied in having won this year’s Oppression Olympics.“Go on then, send the folder through.”
Eva slid the folder through the Haus of Klaus’s mail slot. Klaus fumbled around trying to find it for a solid minute before letting out an exasperated sigh and removing one of his eyepatches. He undid the rubber bands protecting the folder and began to tremble violently.
“Evangeline, what are these?” Klaus sounded on the verge of tears. He held out his hand, the rubber bands dangling from his fingertips.
“Rubber bands to hold the folder shut,” Eva replied nervously.
“What else is kept shut by rubber bands?”Klaus glared at Eva and let the folder drop to the floor.
Eva paused in thought for a moment before gasping and covering her mouth. “Lobster claws,” she muttered to herself.
“Do you see how triggered we are right now, Evangeline? How could you leave our trigger untagged like this? Can’t you see how we can barely even? No, we CAN’T EVEN. We just can’t.”Klaus fell from his chair and began to blubber on the floor of his cell and flail his limbs wildly.
Eva and Holden waited patiently for three hours to see if Klaus would calm down. “How can bun do this for so long without getting tired?” Eva whispered to her father.
“This is nothing," Holden replied. "When they changed Sonic’s arms, he killed ten gypsies and cried for six days.”
As the fourth hour of Klaus’s meltdown dawned, Eva tried to change the subject. “So, um, did you like the art?”
“fhtadsfggffd,”Klaus replied, still flailing wildly through the room.
Holden was a patient man, but unlike the list of things he would put his penis into, his patience had limits. “Klaus, cool it. I’m not going to wait here for you to act like a human being while there are still pigs unfucked. Is Eva going to play in THE BIG GAME or not?”
Klaus continued to babble incoherently with no signs of acknowledging Holden’s question.
#tw #buffknuckles #likeifyouread
Author’s note: Why is Klaus allowed to speak in italics? Does he think he’s me or something?
- Joined
- Oct 29, 2013
Mauv, your parodies never fail to get my in stitches.