I think I may have discovered the worst piece of short fiction ever written. It’s on a manosphere/pickup-artist blog called Colonel Crimson (slogan: “The Colonel of Truth”).
Here’s how it starts:
So I’m in bed with a dime and she says to me, “Willis, what are your goals in life?”
“Simple, Adime,” I respond with my larynx. “To explore the caverns of dimes throughout the world.”
And it only gets worse from there. I would quote the worst bits, but then I’d have to quote the whole thing. Pretty much everything is a worst bit.
There’s some domestic violence, some utterly horrifying descriptions of sex, a lot of mansplaining, and even a sammich joke. There’s an element of self-parody to it — or at least I hope that’s what I’m seeing there — but the author seems to actually believe all the things he’s gently satirizing. You should of course go and read the whole thing immediately.
If you’re hesitating, here’s another sample:
I remind her of her last gentleman suitor. Average height, median weight. Put the schlub in the word schlub. “Do you remember when he strapped on his kneepads and proposed marriage to you?”
“Unfortunately I do.”
“And do you have any recollection of how the beaver felt in that moment?”
“Dry.”
Oh, and in case you were wondering, a “dime” is a Hot Babe 10. Either that or the dude is having hallucinations about talking currency.
@kittehserf I keep getting reminded of some of Paul Stanley’s KISS songs.
Thanks to Alice & Opium4themasses for much better/funnier stories
I think my IQ dropped 50 points reading the original
Also, kittehserf, I’m going to pretend I didn’t read your comment in the interest of not attaching negative thoughts to a good song 😉
So is he the prize ? I’m confused.
Well at least dime was meant as 10 . Where I’m from dime is “dime a dozen” as in cheap.
A “grin formed on her semen encrusted lips? ” (this is after being “backhanded of course and called a whore)
Dude you need to get out of the house . OR better yet go to jail.
The majority of those guys are sexually frustrated. This combined with entitlement gives those horrifying results.
That has got to be all tongue in cheek. PLEASE tell me that is tongue in cheek. Like, he’s written the woman to never use the same honorific twice…he actually uses phrases like, “I respond with my larynx” and “I take her. By this I mean sexual intercourse was had again.” – This has got to be his attempt at a joke, somehow.
My first thought was that she was building some simple wood furniture. But no, that would be Shakering.
I love deep voices in men and women, but only if they’re natural, not forced. I especially like deep singing voices.
crmsnfrn — if you don’t mind me asking, seroquel? Cuz waking up in a daze of “how the FUCK did I end up over here, last thing I remember I still had my laptop out” (or similar) is always fun. But hey, sleep!
On topic, sort of…I don’t think dimebags of coke exist. I had to buy an eightball when I wanted one evening’s worth (ended up being one evening every other week or so for about two months, because I’m actually not terribly fond of it, but needed the high to clean my goddamned apartment already [it was bad, like, moved in long enough for kitchen horror, but not enough to unpack…ended up with a shiny kitchen, unpacked and even decorated])
I am probably the only person who plans coke use in advance with a specific purpose in mind…and meds psych from hell seems to find my drug history risky and impulsive (she must, cuz that sort of stretching is the only way she’s managed to Dx me borderline)
The actual topic, I fucking can’t, but drug questions I’m always happy to lend my ill begotten knowledge.
kittehs: No, I’ve been hearing it since I looked at this.
@kittehserf – I keep hearing the Star Wars cantina song. But I have heard that if you play the White Album backwards, it negs you.
I don’t really get the canteen/cavern metaphor. If you compare the relative sizes of your average cavern (several square miles, give or take) and your average canteen (8 to 12 inches), is he saying his dick is an insignificant entity in danger of getting lost inside the vast subterranean chambers of Ms. Dime’s vagina?
I think he riffing on the idea that a woman who has lots of sex becomes, “loose”, so one night with him and she’s, “fucked out” for other men; he’s so amazing they will pale in comparison to him, and she’s now been so stretched out they won’t want her.
I think we may have a contender for the Bulwer-Lytton Lifetime Achievement Award. And if said award doesn’t exist, it should be created just for him.
http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/
…
…
… SO THERE I WAS; in bed with some dime. All things checked it could have been worse – Life seemed to be inordinately fond of the “Day late and a dollar short” method of poetic justice lately, so waking up to a dime remained a pleasant surprise.
“So, what’s happening here, adime?” I asked, mouth like cotton balls and my brain still trying to work off the havoc played on it over the last several days.
“Don’t ask me, I’m just a dime. Frankly, the only reason we’re having this metallurgically dubious conversation is because you’re hallucinating with enough force to project g4 Internet across the American mainland”
Damn, that was right. Maybe next time I try to have a epistolomogical debate with a bunch of gangbangers going off on a drug run I’ll remember not to be too sarcastic about it. The pounding must have loosed several things in my already battered skull.
“Allright, dime, that makes sense. So give me the lowdown, what’s the situation?”
“Well, you’re in bed with me, because no one else at this time wants to share your bed. Last person here, you slapped in the face, and not even playful, like, because you assumed it’d be sexy. Stupid move chum, like investing in the dollar”
“Investing works out fine!”
“Bah, it’s all fiat currency and lies! Take it from me, the imaginary russety voice of a dime that slipped out of your pocket and fills the void of companionship in your lonely life now you have no other souls with which to talk, it’s all a symbol for something else. And you can’t trust symbols, like hugs and kind words or poetry, because they don’t exist ultimately, and are just hollow! That’s why getting married is for fakers and we never went to the moon!”
“I… lost track of that somewhere after “Companionship”
“Not important! Now go put me into a coffee machine…”
So I did.
The coffee helped me realize a few things, like the fact that the hotel room I woke up in wasn’t actually mine, and that talking out loud to the contents of your wallet (poor thought they might be) is never a good idea. People stare.
Oh, yeah, and also: Dimes don’t have a very good grasp of anything because they’re just coins. The real world is a bit beyond them, No one should accept their advice.
—
SEE? I CAN DO RANDOM STORIES TOO! It’s not just PuA’s.
Fun, though it was.
As usual, Fibi’s story wins
an interneta dime. (Sorry, it’s the metal kind, not a dimebag of anything)Hard chairs! MISANDRY!
Pecunium – oh good, it wasn’t just me.
Shouldn’t Fibinachi at least get a bag of chocolate money for that story? A PUA talking to ten-cent pieces ‘cos they’re the only things that’ll share his bed is a splendid image.
As soon as my mother’s out of the hospital, I am resurrecting my blog to feature Fibinachi’s story and the other noir stories featured in this comment section.
Oh dear. I hate to say it, but the first thing that came to my mind with the “canteen” was a canteen of cutlery. And the feel, smell, taste at the back of the throat of that silver cleaning cloth stuff.
Not interesting nor arousing nor amusing in any way. Didn’t even read the execrable writing the rest of you have subjected yourselves to. I think that was the right decision.
I wanted to read it, then I didn’t want to read it. Damn you David! Now I might just HAVE to read it! I’ll feel the ‘icky’ for days afterward.
@ Robert
You are correct! This does sound like awkward cock rock lyrics, at least some bits. Now I want to see Paul Stanley try to find a rhyme for “cavern”.
I’m tempted to go post this lovely piece of wannabe parody on Weeping Cock.
RE Deep voices, it depends. I tend to like deeper voices on women, possibly because mine is high and the grass is always greener. On men it depends on the guy. Most of the time I don’t care.
Deep singing voices I like if they have sort of a warm/rich quality, but the combination of deep+cold sounding I don’t like at all. So again it depends.
“I remind her of her last gentleman suitor. Average height, median weight. Put the schlub in the word schlub. “Do you remember when he strapped on his kneepads and proposed marriage to you?”
“Unfortunately I do.”
“And do you have any recollection of how the beaver felt in that moment?”
“Dry.”
“Dry as the Gobi,” I say, alluding to a desert in Asia that is known for not being sexually attracted to beta males.
“Dry as the Gobi,” she echoes.
So, would that suggest the girl in this video is totally faking it in her quest for cash and prizes?
http://metro.co.uk/2013/12/20/man-designs-and-makes-videogame-to-propose-to-his-girlfriend-then-films-her-playing-it-4238561/
I think the deal with guys like the OP is they know they’ll never have anything like this ever happen to them and they’re being sour grapes about it and trying to imagine that a life filled with joyless encounters they had to lie through their teeth for is somehow better.
(btw, I know that video clip is a bit cheesy, but it made me go ‘aww’)
(to the tune of “Darling Clementine”)
Tiny canteen in a cavern
Wasting everybody’s time
Creepy douchetowel and his Roosh pals
Think the world owes them a dime
Keep on wanking, keep on wanking,
Keep on wanking, MRAs,
Turn the clock back with bad writing
And imaginary lays.
I refuse to believe that this is anything but brilliant parody. That’s all there is to it, I reject any other possibility.
@Fibinachi – that was brilliant. In the sequel, he should be in bed with a bitcoin.