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.
