Gentleman's honor
HOW DARE YOU... MY MOTHER WAS A SAINT!!!!
Sir, you have insulted my honor as a gentleman! I challenge you to a duel! 20 paces at sunrise, turn, and fire!
Strike that! A duel will not restore my gentleman's honor! I challenge you to a one-thousand mile race, across the Sands of Arabia!
Oh, so you like wagers, eh? Well, I'll wager two-hundred-and-fifty dollars that I can travel around the world in eighty days. *Jumps into hot-air-balloon*
To Istanbul![edit | edit source]
I have invented a new form of carriage, which powers itself without the need for horses! I shall call it the locomotive! I shall mass-produce this device until the world collectively vrooms, in a manner which echoes the following: VROOM! VROOOOOMMMMMM!!! VRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!
...[edit | edit source]
Now two men are facing across an empty street in front of a saloon, with the sun high in the sky. Tumbleweed blows by. Then a piece of paper. Then a cactus. Then a dog. Then a bicycle. Then the saloon sign. Then the saloon. TORNAAAADDOOOOOOOOOO!
- **Western faceoff music...**
...DOO! DOO! DOOO! DooDOOdoo.... DOO! DOO! DOOO! dooDOOdoo....
...*finger-twitching* ......*eye-squinting* .........*noun-verbing*
DRAW! *banana throwing*
AAAAARGH! I'm hit! Bananas....killing my vital organs.... Tell Sally....Tell her.... I'm....sorry....
for.....not....being......there.....
for......her.....
more.....often.....
and....
for......
having.....so.....
so.....many......
so.....many......affairs......
with......strippers....
and......
did.....I....mention......to.....say.....I'm sorry?......ugh....*dies*
But the story goes on![edit | edit source]
It goes on and on and on and on... The story goes on without rhyme or reason or plotline or characters or medium or anyone paying attention or a writer or a story. On and on! He's ALIVE!! AAALLLIIIVVVEEEE, I SAY! And not even a Frankenstein ripoff! No! The life is real! Real as the hand on your wrist on your arm in your shoulder on your torso on your legs in your pants on your underpants on your privates below your stomach under your lungs in your torso attached to your arms near your hands you see in front of you!
If Chalres Dickens can write a run-on sentence, then I can too! For example, one day when Boston was raining and school was like school is, the day was dreary but the teachers weren't but the students were and afterwards we'd all have a good, long laugh about it unless of course some of us die and don't live long enough to see whatever it is I was writing about in this sentence, which is gradually giving me respect of Charles Dickens since at least he could focus for the whole sentence, whereas I'm getting distracted by thoughts of SQUIRRELS!! SQUIRRELS, EVERYYYYYWEEEERRREEEE.....
Well, I can't think of anything else. Something else to write? Fragments, then. Like Hemingway. The fucker.
But yes, a gentleman's honor. There is a moral here, you know. Do you see it? Look again. Still no? Look closer. No? Look even closer. Closer still! Closer!!!!
....
........
............
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
That's called a screamer. And it has insulted my gentleman's honor! A duel, then! Thirty paces, sir, and fire! Fire, I say! FIRE! FI--*BANG*