Hello, and welcome to The Man Boobz Fiction Workshop! Today we will learn my foolproof two-step method for writing believable fiction. It’s as easy as pie — well, easier, since pie can take a bit of finesse — and it is absolutely GUARANTEED to work.
Here it is.
STEP ONE: Write believable fiction.
STEP TWO: If step one fails, write a story that makes a woman look evil and foolish, and post it to the Men’s Rights Subreddit as a true story.
If you don’t believe me, check out this little story from a fella calling himself the-final-word — a Redditor for less than two weeks, with only one previous comment to his name — in which a highly successful gentleman happily humiliates an ex-girlfriend trying to steal his money with the old “baby” ploy.
Take a look at the thread itself to see how eagerly the Men’s Righsers eat up his tale of victory over evil womanhood!
That is the beauty of my two-step method. If people don’t believe your bullshit, find a more gullible audience. And there are few audiences in this world more gullible than Men’s Rightsers.
I should note that I had nothing to do with the-final-word’s story, nor did I sneak into the Men’s Rights subreddit to give his story 47 upvotes and a bunch of positive comments.
Thanks to hackattack92 in the AgainstMensRights Subreddit for pointing out this wonderful example of shitthatneverhappened.txt
My band had a couple fiberglassaphones in a store room next to the band room. Apparently they were ASS because we used the two marching tubas that were basically flat on the bottom and had messed-up bells (and which were held in the arms rather than slung over the shoulder) instead of them until said grant money arrived and we got a couple (Yamaha?) brass sousaphones. My brother and his best friend were the tubists and they babied those brass ‘phones through a marching season and across France and Switzerland and Austria.
And then we graduated and someone’s probably stomped those ‘phones flat in the 16 years since. Possibly not.
The trombone section got another f-attachment instrument out of the money and so I, in third chair, was allowed to use one instead of my own horn (which is a peashooter). I got so used to moving air through that big ‘bone that when I went back to my own in college, I found it wouldn’t take all the air I wanted to push through it.
No, I think they were made of foil coated chocolate, as easy as they were to damage. And despite being ostensibly made of metal, they didn’t sound all that great.
Um. It sounds like she’s died or disappeared or maybe just doesn’t come around anymore, and it sounds like you’re sad about it. I wanna say I’m sorry but I’m worried I’ll hurt you — is there something appropriate to say in condolence, here?
These days I play a Miraphone sousaphone (Which they apparently didn’t make for very long). I do like the sound it provides and the fourth valve is always nice to have.
Four valves are always nice. An F attachment is nice if your arms are stumpy like mine and you have trouble getting to 7th position.
Especially since, in 8th grade, someone in band thought I looked like Tattoo from Fantasy Island, mainly because I was teensy.
I’m new here, but why do they call each other “sir?”
My high school band broke a gong. During a performance for a bunch of music teachers, no less. It came off the supports and fell off the back of the stage we were on, about 3 feet, onto the floor.
Fortunately it happened at the end of a piece, so despite the fact that there wasn’t supposed to be a huge, prolonged crash right at that moment, it could’ve been worse. There was however a lot of “WTF?” face going on among the band, since we were facing forward and watching the conductor’s face turn purple and weren’t sure what the hell had just happened back there.
Haha, found that story I wrote once. It was supposed to be a standard troll story – there was a time when all trolls coming here wanted to tell the story of their lives, and it was always something like the following:
My raise last year wasn’t big enough so I accused my male boss of rape. Of course, I was automatically believed in the court system and was awarded two million dollars. All in a day’s work.
Then I got pregnant by a tattooed gym rat who deserted me the next day so I got this geek I dated for two weeks in college to pay for child support for life.
Then, despite having no applicable education or work experience, I applied to be CEO of Apple and my application was accepted because I am a woman.
Then I got pregnant by a rock star but he already has so many kids that I decided to get an abortion. President Obama awarded me the Congressional Medal of Honor for this.
I have to confess, I fell asleep grinning that night.
Btw, I’m pretty certain that you don’t just find out that you’ve become infertile on a standard prostate check. I mean, how would a doctor checking your prostate find out that your testicles had suddenly stopped producing sperm? Wouldn’t zie need to… idk… carefully examine the testicles and/or investigate a sample of semen to find that out?
@drst: I was at a workshop weekend once, and one of the bands put on the 1812 Overture.
Of course, they didn’t have any cannon, so they found the biggest baddest bass drum they could find and told someone to whack it with the drumstick as hard as he could when there was supposed to be a cannon volley in the music.
About the second or third time he gave the drumhead such a whack in the performance, the nice felt head of the drumstick broke off and went flying into the band and disappeared. The guy assigned to the drum was apparently stuck for choice, because he kept on with the broken stick, which dented or marked the drumskin every time he smacked it.
@Dvärghundspossen – I love it! I especially love how he wants to see his 35-year-old “little girl,” from time to time.
@grumpycatisagirl – Congressional Medal of Honor! LOL!
@Falconer – maybe he should have punched it, instead. Also, I love your avatar! Cary Grant was, is, and always shall be magnificent!
@Michelle: It’s not a classic troll story unless the timeline doesn’t make sense!
@Michelle C Young — and his expression perfectly matches the one I often make when reading the fruit of MRA labor on this here website.
RE: Falconer
Um. It sounds like she’s died or disappeared or maybe just doesn’t come around anymore, and it sounds like you’re sad about it. I wanna say I’m sorry but I’m worried I’ll hurt you — is there something appropriate to say in condolence, here?
It’s kind of hard to say. ‘Dead’ is probably the closest, and hell, even WE aren’t sure if it’s accurate. Even we aren’t sure how we feel about it; it’s not like society gave us the manual on, “If one of you splits into different system members, here are rites to commemorate that.”
RE: drst
OMFG that sounds amazible. Our band conductor was a bony young man with a tendency to stomp and swing his arms and glare as we fell out of key. The worse we got, the more emphatic the performance. At times, he resembled a galumphing vulture.
We were a wretched band, on the whole, but we also got to play Sweeny Todd and Nighmare Before Christmas for our shows, which was AWESOME. Shame that we generally sucked.
So, there was a time when I had a substance abuse problem. I’d take mushrooms and then I’d bang any chick who would consent to it. It didn’t matter what they looked like because, well, I thought I was having sex with the an anthropomorphic personification of the wind. My cohorts in sexual congress were always confused why I called them Serendipity (I learned from later discussions with them). I eventually sobered up and this woman comes up to me and says that I fathered four children with her and her life companions. Well, if it hadn’t been for the fact that I had been diagnosed as infertile by the guy down the street when he said he couldn’t taste any sperm in my semen, I would have worried. But Warren is a stand-up fellow and you can trust him. I told that lady in no uncertain terms that while I would be willing to to provide a much needed male role model, I wasn’t going to pay child support. And then my dog walked in and told me I should stop screwing crazy ladies.
Well, maybe condolences are premature, but it does sound like you miss her. I’m sorry she’s not coming around any more.
I LOL’d. Ours was given to red-faced temper tantrums and throwing chalk … when I was in school. Hear tell that escalated to small instruments at some point, and cameras were installed in the band room and his office specifically to watch him.
Eh, we got to the quarter-finals in our class in marching band every year I was in the band, but concert band was less reliable. Every other year, though, we’d go to some regional concert band competition. The first year was in New York, the second was in Orlando, FL. Only time I’ve been to Disney World. Also we went to an MGM/Universal park in Florida and I remember attending a medieval dinner theatre thing too. In New York we went to the top of the Empire State building and out to Lady Liberty.
We generally got suites from Broadway shows to play, like Phantom and Les Mis and Miss Saigon. I really enjoy the Phantom theme, it’s simple and I get to blow my lungs out.
I immediately told my dog that she was being rude to our guest and demanded that the bitch apologize.
@Baroncognito. *LOL*
Ha ha ha @baroncognito. Warren told me you were funny.
Must have been all those misandric hard chairs. You know, they can deform a person’s prostate and I think we all know what happens to sperm when the prostate is deformed.
Re: raunchy band times, I have to say, we had a corridor of small soundproofed practice rooms between the band and choir rooms, and I can personally assure everyone that they were at least once used for… inappropriate purposes…
Dammit, and here I was too shy to even talk to girls.
Life sure is unfair, isn’t it.