I made a beer recently that was great in every way except one: it was lacking in carbonation. This is the first time I’ve made a beer that was deficient in this regard, and to my surprise it’s become something of a scandal.
Why should anyone care that it’s a little low on carbs? Do people really believe that my beer’s flatness, carbon-wise, and its low percentage of something called “dioxide,” has given me an unfair competitive advantage in the marketplace?
What a laugh! Who likes flat beer?
Until now. That’s because my new Belgian Flat Dubbel is going to blow you away. You’ll be able to let the flavors wash over your mouth without all that unnecessary carbonara getting in the way.
Want to try one of my tasty flat beers? Be prepared to shell out big time, buddy.
When was the last time you used two question marks to end a sentence when only one was needed??
Some may argue that the vast majority of interrogatives never need more than one question mark, but aren’t those people simply unwilling to get out of their comfort zones vis-à-vis using question marks??? Or are you of the opinion that using several question marks makes it seem like you're exasperated with someone????
Also for people who’ve been told by their lawyer that they are in danger of insufficiently punctuating their writing maybe because they just don’t know when to use commas to set off phrases or parenthesis to indicate asides using multiple exclamation points is a great way to get your punctuation count up!!!!
Here’s what I think; don’t use a semicolon in place of a colon.
And never add a couple of extra dots to a period unless you want the reader to think that your thought is unfished or something…
I’m toying with the idea of having a contest in which people ghostwrite a short story for me about a talentless film enthusiast who spends his whole life in a struggle to become a successful movie actor but is ultimately disappointed. Oh, sure, he gets a teeny bit of work here and there – appearing as recurring characters in various commercials, sneaking into a handful of major motion pictures in the unsung role as extra – but by and large his career is a pathetic failure.
Eventually he dies in some kind of freak urinal accident and his body is donated to science. That seems like the last we’ll see of him, except, wait, the story goes on for another 2,500 words, so either it hasn’t ended even though our protagonist is toast, or you and I (actual writer, and guy who gets byline credit, respectively) are wasting everyone’s time with padding well-after the story’s climax.
But here’s the kicker: this dead man actually gets post-mortem work in a major feature film called “Anatomy!” in the role of “Cadaver number 3.” It seems that the producers of the movie, trying to make the film as realistic as possible, use real cadavers, and a couple of friends of our deceased central character watch the movie and notice that their buddy is in it, which prompts them to start a campaign to get him paid for the role ("what, just because you're dead you don't get paid?"). They have ulterior motives for the campaign to get their pal paid posthumously, as he had spent his entire life hitting them up for money because of his failure to secure a good day job while he was failing at his acting career, and they intend to sue his estate down the road to recoup their losses, once the producers pay the estate for his performance as a dead guy on a slab in a medical school lab.
Well, wouldn’t you know it but the Academy feels sufficiently wowed by the cadaver’s performance (“transcendent!”) that he is nominated for an Oscar. And he wins!
Give it a go! What do you have to lose?
Please include $100 with each submission (and submit as many versions as you like).
Now that you stopped funneling your family secrets my way, cutting off the lifeline of ideas I had for daytime soap plotlines, you can kiss goodbye your chance at being invited to the first public tasting of Pat’s Truth Serum Ale. That’ll be a big bummer for you. While all your friends are reveling in the first sips of this specialty beer, which will have been dry-hopped with my very own secret mix of horse manure-fed Willamette cones, tangerine peel, coriander, and sodium pentothal, you’ll be home drinking Bud Light and watching the Daytona 500 from little monitors set up in your chicken coop.
Of course, I fully realize that one of the two of us might be dead by the time my Truth Serum Ale is ready for consumption (in 3 to 5 years, depending on government regulators), which would make this complaint of mine somewhat moot. Another possibility is that you develop your own competing truth serum product (aged in French oak -- clever!), which you use to spike my breathing space such that I find myself telling everyone off. “Your front teeth are too large.” “I never understood your weird art.” “You were crazy to buy that stallion for alternative transportation.”
Sorry to bring on the negative karma, but I tried a little truth serum in my Count Chocula this morning and this is the result.