Fictionrotica's Contest Scandal Ch. 01byBOSTONFICTIONWRITER©
The events and characters of this story are figments of my imagination and totally fictional. Truly, I have no idea where I get this shit. I need help.
Should someone see themselves as characters in this story, it's either a huge coincidence on my part or guilt and shame on your part. Yet, for those who are truly shameful and guilty, don't despair, oh miserable ones. God is saving a special place for you, one that is much darker than your personality and more deeply disturbed than your thoughts.
Whenever I can, I promise, I'll drop you down some ice. Only, by the time it reaches the depths where your soul remains in burning eternity, the ice may turn to boiling hot steam. In that case, I'll send you extra ice...and you thought your stories were hot. Give my regards to Dante, to all the Popes of the Catholic Church, who took pennies from the poor to build the glistening gold of Vatican City, and to all of our political public servants. I'd wear sunscreen and bring marshmallows if I were you.
'Twas a sad day at Fictionrotica. The clouds appeared, the skies darken, and the birds no longer sang when Freddie lost another contest at Fictionrotica. Shakespeare rolled over in his grave and Stephen King decried, decreed, and declared the death of the short story...again.
Freddie thought he was going to win the Great Divider Contest this time. He had a good chance, after all, because the contest was based on story quantity and not quality or by the popularity of the chummy friends votes. If only he had not pulled 32 of his stories for publication. Alas, so few have such control over the destiny of so many writers on this site.
"Quiet please. Calm down amateur writers and aspiring professional scribes. Things are not as bad as they seem. There is hope. Put out your torches and return back to your keyboards and write, write, write. Persevere my dear friends, persevere. Don't be discouraged by the deceitfulness of so few. There is no need for violence. I beg you not to revolt and withhold your stories for it will surely pass. It is but only a temporary condition of the lunacy that pervades pornography sites such as this."
I write fiction. Alas, I write it all too well. The only thing that eclipses the mastery of my writing skill is my boyish good looks, the muscularity of my manly body, the size of my package, and my modesty. There are those who write and read on these very pages who I have angered because I turned down their offers of sex. Thank you for wanting to fuck me up the ass or for wanting to tie me up and beat me silly while having forced sex with my muscular body, I wrote back, but I'm in a serious relationship (thank God) with a normal, breathing woman, one who I don't have to inflate. I wrote and told them that I'm not gay. I wrote and told them that I'm not into anal, bondage or S & M or whatever the Hell they do with that cattle prod, (God only knows).
I told the fat women that I prefer thin women, the thin women that I prefer fat women, the short women that I prefer tall women, and the tall women that I prefer short women, all to no avail. They all still want me. I'm so very flattered, but I'm so very afraid. These people are crazy.
I just want to write my stories and if perchance someone enjoys what I write, that is my reward. If it is meant to be for me, the fame and fortune will follow. I don't need to prove that I have talent by winning a writing contest that is more dependent upon the favored personality of the writer than it is on their writing ability and their art of telling a story. I'm just your normal every day, talented and good looking, but modest writer who writes to give some modicum of pleasure to his reading audience. Think of me as a public servant of the reader, if you will. I shall await your inspiration before I write another story. Thank you for this one.
Unfortunately, my rejection of their overt attempts to have sex with me is what pushed them over the edge, the poor lonely, demented dears. They couldn't take my rejection. Matter of fact, those who post nasty comments at the end of this story are the same sad people who I have rejected their offers for sex over and again and who still hold hope that I will change my mind and embrace them in some form of a depraved, delusional, and desperate relationship.
You need help. Find a psychiatrist who will prescribe something to ease your misery. You no longer have to suffer with the antidepressant drugs that are available now, Prozac, Zoloft, and electrical shock therapy. Think lobotomy. Now, so as not to show everyone how crazy they truly are, they'll post their comments as Anonymous. Only, how sad to go through life anonymously.
"Who was that?"
"I don't know it was an anonymous person."
"What's that they're wearing?"
"A double body bag from head to toe, incase the first body bag breaks."
"Gees, they really must be ugly."
"Truly, they are inside and out."
I'm followed by an army of people who don't possess my writing ability and creativity and who are jealous of my talent. Therefore, they purposely sabotage and thwart any attempt that I make to write a story and any effort that I take to honesty win a contest by giving me low and undeserved votes. They hate me. Yet, to evoke that kind of hateful emotion (love and hate are symbiotic emotional twins after all) and to make them do the things against my reputation that they do, only proves how superior my writing is to their writing, how hurt they are from my rejection of their affection, and how much they truly love me.
"They love me. They really, really love me."
Sorry, oh horny ones, but cheer up, maybe you should read instead of write. As you may have noticed by all the outtakes, not everyone can be an American Idol, not everyone can sing, and not everyone knows how write and tell a story.
Whenever I post anything to their "Decorum" the name of the forum pages where they live, haunt, and hide behind their cutesy little names and wishful whimsy artwork 24/7, they are nasty to my comments, ideas, and suggestions. I don't take their nastiness personally because they act out in the same way to any newcomer who is not part of their inner circle of demented friends.
Now, that I have given you a bit of background, let's proceed with the (fictional) story.
To be continued...