Thursday, November 30, 2006

FOAD Thursday... The NaNo Edition

Today is FOAD Thursday on the 30th day of November. I know I predicted you wouldn't see me until December, but I actually did better than I thought I would... well word count wise anyway... but in the meantime, let's tell some rich deserving asshats to Fuck Off And Die, shall we?

If you didn't answer, "Yes we fucking shall!" with enthusiasm, then FOAD. I don't need unthrilled bitches watching the loathing wave I put out... I need riders. Fuck Thursday Thirteen and their comment whores! Subscribe to FOAD! Do it now before I use my Jedi mind powers on you.

To Baskin Robbins and their 31 flavors... for the shittiest ice cream cake I have ever had... FOAD. Now maybe I'm an ice cream cake snob, seeing as how my birthday is in July and I usually get a Cookie Puss from Carvel with the fat ass cookie crunchies, but Tuesday I picked up a cake from Baskin Robbins for one of my dispatcher's because it was her birthday. For some stupid reason, they had me go even though I suck at shit like this. So I got the cookies and cream one. I never asked if there was real cake in it. Its an ice cream cake, so it should be made out of ice cream right? Oh hell no! The bottom was this crappy vanilla wanna be spongecake with a freezer burned Cookies'N'Cream middle. FOAD Baskin... that's the last phony ice cream cake I buy from your dumb asses.

To the United States Post Office... particularly the dumb bitch behind the counter Wednesday morning... FOAD. I may not be very particular about my stamps, but I am particular about whether I lick them or not. Me no licky icky stamp. So when I SPECIFY the self-adhesive sheet and you give me the WRONG KIND don't get ignorant with me when I ask you to swap them out. Now I realize, I stepped to the side of the window to get the mess you handed me back organized, but I hadn't STEPPED AWAY from the window. So when you told me I had to get back on the long ass line from hell... well yeah... I'm gonna 'cause I seen up in there and demand a supervisor... who after dealing with me I hope goes in there tomorrow with a fucking uzi and goes postal on ya dumb ass

To the fool who thought I was the valet at the restaurant Saturday night... you need to FOAD. First of all, even if I was the valet, if you snapped your fingers at me like that I would have still given you the WTF look. Then when I politely inform you that I am not who you think I am you gave me this nasty up and down look as if to ask, "Well what are you doing here then?" The fucking answer is obviously to eat. Finally, the fact that I got a table whereas you had to eat at the bar just proves one obvious statement about life. Three piece suits do not make an intelligent man. Knowing the owner and having reservations make an intelligent man. Obviously my jeans, Sith Lord Hockey Jersey, and leather jacket outfit is that of the more intelligent man who had a table. So because of your obnoxious attitude, poor social skill set, and cheap ass Armani knock-off from Men's Warehouse... FOAD.

Now on to Peace and Love...

So it happened at 12:37 am tonight (or last night depending on when you are reading this). It was a moment of relative joy. I hit the 50,000 word mark. Yes, I have made it to the NaNoWriMo word count. This was not easy... not easy at all. It was a solid 11+ hours of writing today to hit that mark.

It all came crashing down by 12:50am as I began reading what I had indeed written. The smile left my face as I realized that in this proverbial quest for a word count, to achieve this 5 digit goal set before me, I had sacrificed the very thing it was supposed to be. Writing. Sure it starts out okay. Midway I saw some de-evolution as far as dialogue and character development, but that would all be fixable in the edit right? Today's work and the 5,000 words before it was along these lines:

See Dick run. See Jane run. Dick has a gun. Jane screams at Dick. Dick shoots the gun. Jane cries from a hole in her chest. Dick keeps running.

Yeah. What a fucking waste. I am reminded of that age old proverb drummed into me by my grandmother, "Haste makes waste." I spend my life making haste... and I have never seen it as a waste until now. So my final word count, on a novel which by the way isn't even finished and is such a complete piece of crap that I wouldn't even line a bird cage with is 50,367.

So... Peace and Love this week goes to myself. I wasted a month of time I could have used on the project that matters. There is no longer doubt that I am a fool. However, I will also share the Peace and Love with anyone who does NaNo and uploads a piece of shit like my own and thinks that makes them a novel writer.

It isn't the number of words that matter. It's the meaning of the words, whether open or covert, that will serve the true purpose of taking the time in placing the pen to the paper.

Labels: FOAD

Posted by New York City's Watchdog :: 11/30/2006 02:07:00 AM :: Permalink :: 7 Bones Added to the Pile

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