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By Punkerslut
"A Story of a University Boy" By John Mahkno
Perfect.... the audience is being drawn into the plot beautifully.
Eck... Lover? Seems too real. If making it fake gives it more sensationalism and glamor, so be it... I'll change that part now.
Aaahhh, fits like a puzzle piece. It'll draw in readers like child with a broken pinata at a five year old's birthday party.
Ah, no way... That's too obvious. First he must think about his problems, then something random is pointed out by me (the author), and then that random thing actually deals with his problems.
Errr, we can't have that. In a story about true love, it is always the guy who shows affection first, and never the woman. I mean, the woman can show it first, but that's only for pornographic stories. And if they show it at the same time, ugh, that's just poor writing...
I can't even have that. I have to implicitly make sure that the reader knows she has absolutely no interest in him.
Absolutely brilliant. Now the audience knows that she wouldn't a valuable second to turn and see a slight sliver of a guy staring at her. Because, as these stories go -- those to be nominated for best love story awards and have spinoffs of spinoffs -- the girl has to be a prize to be won, something higher than the guy can achieve.
Hey, there's nothing wrong with compounding a crime, is there?
Eeerrr.... no, no, no.... He has to think about her. It's imperative. Let me redo that sentence.
Something more, still....
Ohhhh yeah, burning mark-in-the-heart gig...
Hhhhhmmmm, actually, it's too soon. He still has to fantasize about her. She's really beautiful, otherwise, why would people want to read about some university punk falling in love with her?
I hope I didn't overemphasize the fact that he wants to talk to her.
Eeehhhh...
Mmmmeeeehh...
Eeeerrrr....
Uuuuhhhhhh....
Yeah, I guess that works. It has that right characteristic of sexual potency and normalcy.
Whoa, whoa, whoa... Now, granted, this is a university boy, as the title indicates, but not an idiot... He needs to say something cool.
Yeah, it is, but only an awkward fool would say it like that. I'll redo that.
Hhhhhhmmmmm, I'm still recognizing the fact that he's giving in to being complacent to absurd social rules. It must be changed!
Bwahahaha.... I hope nobody notices that one. Maybe I overdid it, but if that's the case, then so did the movie "A Love Story" and every other piece of crap that Hollywood shoveled out as love.
Uuuhhhhh....
Ha! We don't want her to be a completely useless human being.
That works.
Mmmmmmmm....
Aaaahhhh, nice...
Actually, I want this to be published, with a readership of more than four people.
Beautiful... Love by practicality, not by whatever else that I was writing...
I don't think so, Carl. Not while you're in my story!
Oh, yeah... Wh00t wh00t, Carl!... in many ways, he reminds me of myself, a young John Mahkno, attending a community college and finding the wife that I did. But then again, I wasn't into studies as much as I was into partying.
Nah, that's too soon. She hasn't played the game enough.
Man, I kill myself some times...
I could tune that up a little bit actually.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: beautiful.
Hhhhhmmmm.... need to tweak that.
Aw, crap.... what was her name again? Oh, yeah...
It doesn't really matter. It's just a name and it's not like a person can choose their own. Lilly has that right feel, that right vibe. It's a little too close to "Lillith," but I'm sure we can manage.
Fuck! That can't happen in this story... because that's exactly what happened to me when I went with my wife. And, in fact, it turned out that she didn't even have something come up. She went to a party while throwing off our date that we had to go out to movies and get something to eat, because, that seemed like the most American thing to do. I found out, from her roommate, by prying, that she had gone to a kegger. It struck me like an anvil.... I just walked away from her roommate. My to-be wife, unknown at that point. Her name is Jennifer. Finally, two days would go by. I ran into her. I told her that what she had done had hurt me, and that I wouldn't care very much at all, if I didn't see her again. In those simple, precise words, I told her that. Then, I walked away. She grabbed my shoulder and said, "Stop." She explained to me, in a human language, "You know, John... I thought that you were just some shallow guy, and that it wouldn't matter. I didn't know that you could care deeply inside and that maybe you see things differently than the average kid around here." It sort of struck me oddly, and never considered that as an option with her. So, I turned around, and she asked me on a date. I accepted. Years went by, and we were married. But, this is not that story. This is a story that I am being paid by the Portland Times to write, not a self-expose on the demeaning characteristics of a culture run amok with treating sex like power.
I think we can fix that...
Carl, he's definitely a good kid. A good kid. I wouldn't mind punting off my daughter to him one day, once she's eighteen, which is about a decade.
Eh, now, that's reality, but this story doesn't have to be reality.
Carl da' man!
Ha! Every little 15 year old adolescent dispossessed with society wishes! Just a little bit of editing, now...
I don't think so. Let me fix that.
It's still missing something...
Eeeerrr....
Beautiful. Just beautiful.
I think we know we can't have that...
Hhhhhmmmmmmm.....
Still needs a little bit more editing before I can leave this part...
Now, I'm sure that everyone can see the problem there...
Now that is art.
No, no, no, no, it can't end like that.
No, that's still not right. I don't know, it just doesn't seem "Honey, are you still up?" my wife asks. "Huh?" I say as I look up from the flickering monitor screen, "Oh, yes, yes I am." "Can't you finish that story in the morning and come to bed?" she asks. "I'm almost done," I say, "I just have to figure out how to end it." "Well, how does the story go?" she says, as she pulls up a kitchen chair closer to the desk. Though one moment ago, she was sleepy and seeming to be out of it, now her mind ignited with a sort of thoughtfulness and awareness, maybe one of those mostly hidden characteristics that drew me to her those many years ago. "It's about this college boy, typical American," I speak to her, "Just a normal kid, gets good grades, studies, polite, respectful, perfect in many ways. He wasn't looking for love when love found him." "Oh?" Jennifer smiles at me, "Sounds like the subtitle to a mediocre film." "No, it doesn't," I say, "At least, not that bad..." She puts her hand on my forearm, and gives me one of those understanding looks. "Tell me what it's really about now," she says. "Well, it's this guy, like I said, who's an all-around good, patriotic, American citizen," I start in describing the story, "And then he finds this girl, falls in love with her, takes her out, and now it's at the end of the story, where he lets her go back to her room." "They don't have sex?" my wife wrinkles her eyebrow. "Noooooooo," I say, "That's not American." "If it weren't for sex, none of us would be here as Americans," she spoke. "True, true," I say, "I don't know... Just with some parts of the story, I kept erasing and changing my original. I'm not sure that I'm entirely satisfied with the whole story." "Why wouldn't you be?" she asks. "Well, I have to turn it in as a work assignment. And they just won't publish anything at the Portland Times," I state, "It has to be broad and general-based. It has to reach out to everyone. Some of the rules they taught us: (1) Details don't matter, (2) Characters must represent the public, (3) Story flow must be simple and follow-able." "Ever since they started the short stories section of the Portland Times, I've found less of a reason to read the paper," she says, "I don't like any of them at all." "That makes two of us," say, without my vision leaving the monitor. "What's wrong?" "Oh, nothing's wrong, dear," I say, "Go back to bed. Here, Mommy will tell you a story." "Sure," Jennifer gets up, "Come on, Natalie..." "Will you tell me the one about the mutant space aliens?" my daughter asks, "Daddy tells me that one all the time." "What have you been teaching our child, John?" Jennifer asks with a smile. "At least I can be creative with bed time stories," I say, "Some guys don't even try." "Okay, well, let's go Natalie; I'll tell you a story about a ladybug family..." she says, as I can hear the voices of the two in the distance arguing. I poured myself another glass of gin and mixed it with some orange juice, which by now was at room temperature. There has to be a way I can finish this story, with a better ending.
A( "A Story of a University Boy" By John Mahkno Carl was a young lad in college, whose interest lay in discovering the beauty of another intimate soul, and in uncovering the depths of knowledge that his ancestors had carefully set up for following generations. Carefully, he tended to his homework and his studies, passing his exams and completely papers with high grades. He didn't particularly enjoy the party scene. In fact, it had a somewhat repulsion to him. Not that he despised it, but rather, that studies kept him busy intellectually and personally. His interest in finding a soul mate went unattended. An incident would come to him. As he was walking to the cafeteria, he would see a girl who sparked his interest. He turned his head to see her, and saw her pony tail bouncing as she walked away. Her body disappeared into the background of the academic community, as Carl watched stunned. He didn't even know her name. Carl went to the cafeteria, and though the girl was truly far from him, she was still in his mind. Her beauty was a mark that burned in his heart. Several weeks of hard study would go by, as he found that he was sometimes interrupted by the image of her running through his mind. "I have to talk to her!" he convinced himself, over and over. But he didn't even know her name, just a fleeting image, a shadow disappearing into the background. "When, I see her again, I'll talk to her." The day finally came, when he was walking and saw her. "Hey, my name's Carl, what's yours?" he said, as his heart raced. "My name is Lilly," she said. "So," Carl said, as he began walking with her, "What's your major?" He listened to what she was going to say with intent, as the subject vastly interested him. "I'm an English major," she said. "So, how do you like the university so far?" he asked. They talked for a few minutes. Only shortly into the conversation, Lilly discovered that she liked Carl. They shared many of the same interests. For instance, they both enjoyed poetry. It also turned out that they had lived in the same small town outside of the university, but they had each attended different public schools. Carl asked her out on a date. Almost shock-stricken by his proposal, she turned her head and batted an eyelash. "Why, yes, that would be nice," she said. They set up a date, time, and exchanged phone numbers. She walked away shyly, turning her head only once for a split second to see him. All up until the time of the date, his stomach was full of butterflies and his heart filled with passion. He felt courageous that he had done something that few can claim they've done: "Talked to Lilly." The time when he would come to pick her up. He knocked several times on her dorm door, himself all dressed up. Her roommate came to the door, telling him that something had come up, and that Lilly wouldn't be there. He knocked several times on her dorm door, himself all dressed up. "Just a moment!" her roommate said, "She's still getting ready! You're a little early, aren't you?" "But I was so enthusiastic about going out with her, that I wanted to come early." Carl's car was stylish and caught the eye of Lily. They arrived without much incident to their dating location. They walked in to the movie theaters, Carl paying $16 to get them tickets, and an additional $6 for snacks and drinks. They sat together, watching the film, as it caught their attention and brought that little daemon of intrigue out. They sat together, watching the film, and as Carl's courage grew, he placed his arm around her and she turned to him a gave a smile he wouldn't forget for eternity. After the conclusion of yet another masterpiece produced by the brilliant American directors that we are blessed to have, the two headed off to a restaurant. Together, they shared a meal, and exchanged some thoughts on the teachers they hated or liked the most, on some students at their university, and the menu at the cafeteria. They enjoyed each other's company and the discussion. He picked up the check. And then they left and he went to bring her back to her dorm room. In a few short moments, he was standing at the door of her dorm room. She moved closer to him, and he to her. Their lips interlocked for a brief moment, they said their goodnights, and both would privately celebrated what seemed to be a night won. The End. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... Several Torn Pieces of Paper, Roughly Stapled Together, Found Underneath the Desk of John Mahkno's Personal Residence, Stinking of Whiskey and Cheap Cigarettes, the Words "DONT READ THIS THIS IS CRAP" Written in Sharpie... "A Story of a University Boy" By John Mahkno
Carl was a young lad in college, whose interest lay in discovering the beauty of another intimate soul, and in uncovering the depths of knowledge that his ancestors had carefully set up for following generations. Carefully, he tended to his homework and his studies, passing his exams and completely papers with high grades. He didn't particularly enjoy the party scene. In fact, it had a somewhat repulsion to him. Not that he despised it, but rather, that studies kept him busy intellectually and personally. His interest of finding a lover went unattended. Just as Carl's desire to find a lover waned, something interesting happened. An incident occurred to him that would incite this interest again. Since nothing had happened to him within the two months of his attendance of this college, he felt it was hopeless, but there would be a strike of hope... As he was walking to the cafeteria, he would see a girl who sparked his interest. He turned his head to see her, and he would see that her head was turned looking at him. He turned, looked at the ground, and then looked back at her. She was still watching him, smiled, and went on her way. Carl stopped in his tracks, thought for a moment, and smiled, where he would eat the cafeteria food once with satisfaction about himself. The gentleness of how her body spoke left a permanent image in his mind. Several weeks of hard study would go by, as he found that he was sometimes interrupted by the image of her running through his mind. Finally, one day he saw her... "Hey, my name's Carl, what's yours?" he said, as his heart raced. "My name is Sara," she said. "So," Carl said, as he began walking with her, "What's your major? After all, that seems to be the common conversation-starter around here." "I'm an engineering major," she said. "So, how do you like school here so far?" he said. They talked for a few minutes. Only shortly into the conversation, Lilly discovered that she liked Carl. The way he responded to her, the way in which he presented the ideas he held inside his mind, not necessarily the thoughts but the intimacy and gentleness in which he brought them out -- his manner captured a small piece of her heart. Carl proposed the idea that maybe they should get together some time and share some poems. "I would love that," she said. The time of the date would arrive without much in between. The time when he would come to pick her up. He knocked several times on her dorm door, himself all wearing plain clothes. Her roommate came to the door, telling him that something had come up, and that Lilly wouldn't be there. "Just a moment!" her roommate said, "She's still getting ready! You're a little early, aren't you?" "Yeah," he said with a smile, "But, I had nothing to do, so I figured I'd come early." The two rode together in Carl's car, a cheap beat-up thing, that didn't look too great, but got him around. "Yeah, it's a piece of shit car, I know," he said to her, "But it gets the job of transportation done quite fine. Besides, I only paid two thousand for it." They arrived without much incident to their dating location. The two, with notebooks under their arms, walked in through the front door, pushing dangling beads on strings out of the way, as they entered the Shop of Spoken Word -- Lily ordered them both some coffee. They read poetry that they had written to each other, brought out photocopies of poems they found in the school library's collection, and exchanged thoughts together. After the conclusion of a poetry reading, which involved their hearts turned into words, and centuries of world poetry, the two headed off to a restaurant. Together, they shared a meal, and exchanged some thoughts on social issues, the corruption of government officials, the shallowness of culture when that culture treats meaning like it has a price tag. They enjoyed each other's company and the discussion. After the meal, they left and he went to bring her back to her dorm room. In a few short moments, he was standing at the door of her dorm room. "Well, good night," he said. She said the same, and tossed him a glance of affection as she disappeared behind her door. He stood there for a few moments, thinking, thinking, thinking... He knocked on the door. "Yes, Carl?" she said, as though not surprised, but rather, pleased. "Is it okay if I kiss you?" he asked. The End. Punkerslut,
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