Friday, March 27, 2009

Sitting in a tree.

I got this as a email a long time back. I spent a lot of time searching for it because I liked it and wanted to read it again, it definitely looks apocryphal; but who cares for accuracy huh? You could also call it sexist or inappropriate, I don't really care. It is fun to read and that is what I am looking for :)


I promise that my next article will be original. But for now, read this one please. Or not. Whatever.

==============

This assignment was actually turned in by two of my English students:
Rebecca and Gary

English 44A

SMU

Creative Writing

Professor Miller

In-class assignment for Wednesday:

Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The
process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to
his or her immediate right. One of you will then write the first
paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and
then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a
third paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to reread what has
been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. The story is
over when both agree a conclusion has been reached.

——————————————

At first, Laurie couldnt’ decide which kind of tea she wanted. The
camomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now
reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he
liked camomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind
off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about
him too much her asthma started acting up again. So camomile was out of
the question.

Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron
now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than
the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he
had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. “A. S. Harris to Geostation
17″, he said into his transgalactic communicator. “Polar orbit
established. No sign of resistance so far…” But before he could sign
off a blueish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole
through his ships cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying
out of his seat and across the cockpit.

He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt
one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had
ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless
hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Sklylon 4. “Congress Passes
Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel.” Laurie read in her
newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her.
She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth - when the days had
passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no
television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the
beutiful things around her. “Why must one lose one’s innocence to become
a woman?” she pondered wistfully.

Little did she know, but she has less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands
of miles above the city, the Anu’udrian mothership launched the first of
its lithlum fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed
the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through Congress had left
Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were
determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage
of, the treaty the Anu’udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying
enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop
them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithlum fusion
missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his
top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast
of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosian which vaporized Laurie
and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the
conference table. “We can’t allow this! I’m going to veto that treaty!
Let’s blow’em out of the sky!”

This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My
writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.

Yeah? Well, you’re a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at
writing are the literary equivalent of Valium.

Asshole.

Bitch.

2 comments:

Slippery Reflections said...

hehe nice!

what's happened to your story? write it!

JerryKantrell said...

yeah, hope to write it soon.