Have any of you tries writing pastas?

Have any of you tries writing pastas?
What is the secret to writing good ones?

Here is a classic example:
A liberal muslim homosexual ACLU lawyer professor and abortion doctor was teaching a class on Karl Marx, a known atheist.
”Before the class begins, you must get on your knees and worship Marx and accept that he was the most highly-evolved being the world has ever known, even greater than Jesus Christ!”

At this moment, a brave, patriotic, pro-life Navy SEAL champion who had served 1500 tours of duty and understood the necessity of war and fully supported all military decision made by the United States stood up and held up a rock.

”How old is this rock, pinhead?”

The arrogant professor smirked quite Jewishly and smugly replied “4.6 billion years, you stupid Christian”

”Wrong. It’s been 5,000 years since God created it. If it was 4.6 billion years old and evolution, as you say, is real… then it should be an animal now”

The professor was visibly shaken, and dropped his chalk and copy of Origin of the Species. He stormed out of the room crying those liberal crocodile tears. The same tears liberals cry for the “poor” (who today live in such luxury that most own refrigerators) when they jealously try to claw justly earned wealth from the deserving job creators. There is no doubt that at this point our professor, DeShawn Washington, wished he had pulled himself up by his bootstraps and become more than a sophist liberal professor. He wished so much that he had a gun to shoot himself from embarrassment, but he himself had petitioned against them!

The students applauded and all registered Republican that day and accepted Jesus as their lord and savior. An eagle named “Small Government” flew into the room and perched atop the American Flag and shed a tear on the chalk. The pledge of allegiance was read several times, and God himself showed up and enacted a flat tax rate across the country.

The professor lost his tenure and was fired the next day. He died of the gay plague AIDS and was tossed into the lake of fire for all eternity.

Semper Fi. p.s. close the borders

One of my favs:

>chilling with friends
>put morton feldman's second string quartet
>confront myself and my self (as an ontological historical entity) with the mirror of atonality (as a mirror is not an empathic but a reflexive entity, alien to the space and time it reflects and only existing by itself in relation to the other) and realize the boundaries of human thought, comprehension and consciousness
>reach rational ecstasy
>pleb friend gets up and says "what is this silence shit, lmao, put some nirvana"
>get angry at their rockist subaltern consumption conditioned by the structures of power of the imperialist white economies, but contain it
>calm myself down by remembering quotes from finnegans wake, my favorite book since i was a teenager
>mfw can't express myself because i'm a spectator in the society of spectacle

"It is not the slumber of reason which engenders monsters, but vigilant and insomniac rationality. - Gilles Deleuze" - ~Astigmata

I literally can't express how much better my life has been since I attended Oxford. I went to a state school and gradually became the stereotypical moody, withdrawn sensitive type who both despises the quality of his immediate culture and feels a weird pride for having been raised in a sort of anti-intellectual and brutal environment. I was all set to take my Russell Group humanities BA and spend my life working as an anonymous, insecure wageslave forever thankful of being offered a job and forever too insecure to pursue my creative ambitions. The chip on my shoulder had become something of a wedge, and I felt too out of place regardless of my environment, too resentful and bitter to even attempt to make it in the artistic world. Then I finally applied for Oxford and got in to study an English MA, with reassurance that should I work hard enough a career in academia or within one of Oxford's affiliated companies would be almost guaranteed. I turned up as apprehensive as usual, and the first few days were spent regretting my decision and desperately feigning a cultured personality. But then I realized that the people there were just interesting and that the snobbery and exclusivity I had anticipated was just a myth borne out of my working class upbringing. I've since graduated, having spend the year dining in grand halls with groups of interesting people, dating several girls (one of whom, a petite Russian whose family traces back to the aristocracy, is now my fiancee). I work four days a week at a publishing company and earn £38k a year. I regularly meet up with friends from my college and visit Oxford for nights out and for meetings with my professors. The Martin Eden-esque novel I have been writing for two years has been selected for publication at a major British publishing house and, honestly, I could not have imagined a few years ago how great life could be. I come on Veeky Forums and see how pathetic you all are and just shake my head and chuckle. If I saw you guys on the street I would of course throw you a penny or discuss Bukowski or whatever "realist" writers you enjoy, but ultimately I would be able to tell within ten seconds if you're an Oxbridge grad and would dismiss you as a potential source of good company if you are not. I never thought I'd know what it was like to be objectively better than somebody else, for the value of my existence to be superior to the value of a stranger's, but now I do and I've never been happier. People are awed by power and prestige. All I need to do is mention the university I attended (if only for a year) and they immediately begin to hunch and look at their feet because they know they are in the presence of greatness.

This is way too heavy handed. The best pastas flirt the line of sincerity and parody

Too esoteric for me, but I appreciate it

A+, upboated

I did a "hold up spork" with Anti-Climacus once.

only really works in Lolita appreciation threads because you faggots don't read.
>Doritos, light of my life, cheese on my fingers. My hunger, my munchies. Do-ree-toes: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Do. Ree. Tos. It was chips, plain chips, during lunch, weighing one-point-eight ounces in one hand. It was Nacho Cheese for snacks. It was Cool Ranch at school. It was Salsa Verde in the shopping line. But in my mouth it was always Doritos.

>This is way too heavy handed. The best pastas flirt the line of sincerity and parody

That doesnt really bother me.
What I enjoy and find funny is the very appropriate usage of words.
For example the use of the word pinhead in ”How old is this rock, pinhead?”
That single word just immediately colors the guy as some sort of stereotypical southern hick.

I dont agree that the best ones are the ones that are somewhere between sincerity and parody.

It seems to be the heavy handed execution creates a sort of multi layered parody of both sides.
The supposed YEC hicks as they are presented and on the other side the awarness of the writer as the narrator of the story.
In this sense the more heavy handed the better because the beauty is in exactly how many stereotypes you can cram up into it while still making sure the writing is crisp and crackling.

When you try to make it appear vaguely sincere it takes on a completely different approach.

>he read Lolita in English

Poor fella, its like reading a completely different book.

>In this sense the more heavy handed the better because the beauty is in exactly how many stereotypes you can cram up into it while still making sure the writing is crisp and crackling.

Respectfully disagree on this point. This makes it a McDonalds-reddit-tier parody, in that it is merely smug and witless:

>ayy cultural reference cultural reference cultural reference hehehheeh

The best pastas understand the target's mindset to such a fine grain that it can masterfully put in those subtle touches of parody (e.g. "I've had three existential crises...")

Those give the top keks

I'm 19 years old.
I am handsome, smart, athletic and virile.
I have a novel that is in it's final editing stage, and a creative writing professor at my college has read the first draft and thinks it's saleable.
I have a girlfriend who is confident, articulate, playful and spontaneous.
I have a small group of interesting friends from different social and academic backgrounds, and I also have many other acquaintances who see me as a reliable source of humour and good company.
Both my parents are aIive and in good health.
I have no regrets.
I have already experienced three existential crises, the latter of which was described as having the depth and profundity of a man twice my age.
I am a passionate lover, a sharp thinker, and a trader of witty repartee.
I am not self-pitying, meek or needlessly humble.
I will live a good life at your expense.

>reading a book that was originally written in English in English
Oh no the horror.

can any1 hmu with the bird jizzing one??

Women are cruel in a way you can't possibly appreciate until you see it from the inside. Lack of worth in a suitor translates to complete "badness." They feel the same license to exploit, abuse, humiliate, etc. a person if they're not an Impressive Male Specimen that the average man feels about triple-convicted child rapists or whatever. There's almost a weird hatred there for failed, weak men. Even among the nicest, most reflective ones, there is always this tinge of enjoying shitting directly down a beta male's throat. Especially when that beta male is cluelessly supplicating, doesn't realize his own unworthiness, etc.

There's some quote like "young men delight in thinking that women are angels, and are dismayed when they learn that it's not always so." If there's any incommunicable instinct that I wish I could beam directly into the minds of all dudes, one of those things you can only learn by getting your battle scars from it first-hand, it's just how petty and mean women really are. It's so hard to describe the juxtaposition of what your dick wants you to think they are, and what they really are.

Just remember, women have no sense of their romantic or even their sexual power over you. They benefit from it, they're immersed in it, but they don't embody it gracefully or graciously. The chivalrous worship that some part of your brain wants to give to them isn't reciprocated on any instinctive level by them, there is no yin / yang harmony waiting to happen there. They are basically short, weak, listlessly hedonistic men, boring and petty and selfish by default, who have been born with a silver spoon between their legs. They will not be nice to you if you kneel and offer your heart to them. That cooing "awww" moment where they realize the depth of your love is more substantial than some alpha male's Lamborghini only exists in movies. Women exist to take the hearts of supplicants and sell them on the black market to pay for the alpha's Lambo lease. Especially be wary if you meet one or end up dating one and find yourself thinking "this one's DIFFERENT."

Those ones are the ones that take the other organs too. Always close yourself off a bit with women. The transcendent friendship your culture tells you you'll find with them is a misguided delusion of degraded Platonic love. They don't understand it and they never will.

This one has no parody in it, it's just uncomfortable

This one is just true.

I think its a very good example of an actual sincere hatred of women presented ironically by someone who cannot admit to himself of said hate or wont allow himself to actually hate women.
It reminds me of /pol/ because it is similar to conspiracy theories and the supposedly ironic hatred towards the other that manifests itself on that board.
It is intellecualized hate in the snese that one cannot actually believe in it and is aware of that but he none the less imagines himself to be able to and thus through this self awareness of the questionable nature of such hatred can only hate ironically in an unsure half jokingly manner.
As if asking "well, cant i just believe this to be true?"

trying to write a pasta full of literary devices
anybody know what this is
"It coincides with the arrival on newsstands of the September issue of the magazine, which contains a page of mugshot-like photos of me, eyes slightly vacant."

I've written a few for /pol/ because they are so easy to rouse.. especially with the Canadian flag. A lot of my pastas are copied from Facebook statuses, reddit, and almalgamated into fresh bait. It's pretty easy.

Great Veeky Forums pastas like
are simply delightful. The 19 year old existential crisis guy has me in raptures every time I read it.

So how would you describe the steps of writing them? What are they really?

Good pasta is easily changeable to fit the current environment. Hence why "My name is John" pasta grew popular. All the old boreds have a version that was easily modded.

Dumbest shit I've ever read. Cringed.

>tfw authored a decently popular Veeky Forums pasta
>tfw feel a tinge of joy everytime i see it reposted
>tfw this is the peak of my accomplishments, and will likely never be surpassed

it's an abstract kind of feel senpaitachi

Please can somebody post the greentext one with the word 'never' in caps.
> you will NEVER enjoy rowing a boat on the Thames in February with your Russian girlfriend
...or something like that. It's very similar in content with the Oxford one but somehow manages to out-twat it.

my pastas will never be popular. i am a worthless piece of shit with no friends. the world at large would ultimately be made better by my death. the rope's on the way. i've already prepared the hook on the ceiling.

what was it

Pa. Why are eggs breakfast?

What.

You can put bacon on lunch.

Ye.

But if you put eggs on stuff it becomes breakfast?

The man spat and said the eggs are not for this world or from this world they come from the chicken but the chicken knows it not.

He wiped his chin and spat.
I've always thought this is a very good piece of parody, a double one, even.

>good ones

ya dun goofed

One of my replies got pasted last week, it felt good, I must admit.

Same. But mine was itself just an inversion of a pasta.

fascinating

>Sitting down in an empty public bathroom stall taking a dump
>Some guy takes the stall next to me
>Feel awkward, so I try to break the ice and ask him if he likes books
>He doesn't respond
>Start getting nervous, repeat my question but this time louder
>He says "not really"
>Ask him if he has ever read Ulysses
>He says "No"
>Feel kinda mad and hit the wall of the stall that he's on in a fit of rage
>Instantly regret it
>Say "Sorry"
>He doesn't respond
>Feel really bad
>Hold some money under the stall as a peace offering
>He doesn't take it
>Tell him to take it
>He says no
>Feel really freaked out so I wipe, get up and leave
>Wait outside the door of the toilet to apologise
>See him come out
>Say "I just want to apologise"
>He says "Fuck off"

Tell it to me straight, Veeky Forums. Did I deserve that?

this is a good pasta

>I have already experienced three existential crises, the latter of which was described as having the depth and profundity of a man twice my age.


This part of the pasta is so good that it transcends pasta. It's worth all of Veeky Forums's copypasta combined. One cannot quite pinpoint why it is so good: the confident assertion that existential crises are measurable, desirable experiences, of which the relater has kept account—the strange assertion that someone else has confidently assessed the "profundity" of one as being that of a man "twice his age" (one imagines him being examined by a wise old master of existential crises)—the proud implication that there will be many more 'crises' of this sort—everything about the passage suggests that an "existential crisis" is like a spurious bout of self-improvement for a talented young go-getter, which is counted towards his character because it stems not from existence but from high IQ and good initiative. He demonstrates no capacity for understanding the grounds of an existential crisis, while boasting that he has outdone everybody else at it.

It is a masterpiece of copypasta and ranks among some of the best satire in the English language. It is only a shame that the author cannot copyright it and reveive the credit due to him.

There's a meme in society of some kind of entrepreneurial post-capitalist industrial-scientific "productivity" thing, and they are expressing the meme because they are demi-conscious memebuoys floating on a slurry sea of currents you can only see if you zoom out.

It's exhausting even trying to give an answer to this question. You need to like phenomenologically bracket every single word and write a book explaining that they aren't even people. They aren't even conscious. They aren't even having "opinions". STEM people are like robots with human skin stretched over them. To say "they are dismissive of the humanities" is implicitly to admit I think there's a "they". STEM people don't even fucking exist. They are a statistical gaseous nebula of random particles wafting across continents and periodically expressing junk they picked up along the way. Why would you even talk to them?

Talking to a STEMfag is literally like being some kind of Buddha, ascending reality, then coming back down and talking to bees who were dudes in past lives. I'm sure these bee niggas can be saved or whatever, but let's just wait until they're back in human form. Don't walk around going "BEES, STOP BUZZING, PUT DOWN THAT POLLEN, LISTEN TO ME ABOUT HOW EVERY CONCEPTUAL CATEGORY YOU HAVE FOR EVEN THINKING OF THINGS WAS SHAPED FOR YOU BY AN UNCONSCIOUS SLUDGE OF MEMETIC POLYALLOY THAT FLOWS IN PREDICTABLE CURRENTS FROM YEAR TO YEAR THROUGH THE HIVE IN WHICH YOU WERE CONCEIVED"

samefag

>being this new

these are my favorite copypastas ITT

What's happening is part of a phenomenon I wrote about a couple of years ago when I was asked to comment on Rowling. I went to the Yale University bookstore and bought and read a copy of "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone." I suffered a great deal in the process. The writing was dreadful; the book was terrible. As I read, I noticed that every time a character went for a walk, the author wrote instead that the character "stretched his legs." I began marking on the back of an envelope every time that phrase was repeated. I stopped only after I had marked the envelope several dozen times. I was incredulous. Rowling's mind is so governed by cliches and dead metaphors that she has no other style of writing.

But when I wrote that in a newspaper, I was denounced. I was told that children would now read only J.K. Rowling, and I was asked whether that wasn't, after all, better than reading nothing at all? If Rowling was what it took to make them pick up a book, wasn't that a good thing?

It is not. "Harry Potter" will not lead our children on to Kipling's "Just So Stories" or his "Jungle Book." It will not lead them to Thurber's "Thirteen Clocks" or Kenneth Grahame's "Wind in the Willows" or Lewis Carroll's "Alice."

Later I read a lavish, loving review of Harry Potter by the same Stephen King. He wrote something to the effect of, "If these kids are reading Harry Potter at 11 or 12, then when they get older they will go on to read Stephen King." And he was quite right. He was not being ironic. When you read "Harry Potter" you are, in fact, trained to read Stephen King.

Our society and our literature and our culture are being dumbed down, and the causes are very complex. I'm 73 years old. In a lifetime of teaching English, I've seen the study of literature debased. There's very little authentic study of the humanities remaining. My research assistant came to me two years ago saying she'd been in a seminar in which the teacher spent two hours saying that Walt Whitman was a racist. This isn't even good nonsense. It's insufferable.

I'm absolutely laughing my ass off at the absurdity of this image. Anyone with even the faintest knowledge of history would know that the "corn" that Caesar speaks of in Commentaries On The Gallic War is not the corn that we in the west are familiar with, but is rather a poor translation for the word "grain" which in Latin is "Frumentum"

Myself and many others who have read the commentaries would know what you're trying to refer to with your image but it's wrong. Unless of course you were already aware of this and you are posting this ironically. In which case I commend you for your post but it's still blatantly wrong. I would have gone with a collage of images of wheat instead.

7/10

First two sentences hit too close to home. P-please somebody debate this...

Glad you agree with me. Read Wolfe more thoroughly, with wisdom behind aged eyes, and perhaps time will turn your lies into truth. Alas, you are capable of being only what you are, your unforgiveable sin. Perhaps if twixt your legs an unhatched chick hungered for more solid sustenance, or your breasts were bigger than your head, then this thread, too, might have utility. Wolfe really does belong with those artists, and he writes much more than simple quest fantasies. The banal epistolary aims of Clarissa, the inane peregrinations of the Beats, the useless degeneracy of burroughs and Henry Miller, who attempt to transform being worthless bums into art, never dare approach the sublime themes of real artists. The mockery you make of my words only cements their immortal truth, which rings hollow in the ears of the unwashed masses. But one man alone can be right, like Eratosthenes looking in his well, and the whole world wrong.

>Ye.

kek

Here we are again. user posts a thread with mildly bland quote, says it was from John Green, turns out, it's just another one of his tricks. Who was it this time, OP? Joyce? Wallace? Some beloved author of the memetic persuasion? You people make me sick. So why'd ya do it, huh? Are you some kind of literary trickster? Some kind of 'meme man'? Or do you just enjoy the sweet taste of pleb blood in your mouth? I can just imagine you, looking at this thread as people fall for your trap. "Heh, fuckin' plebs", you say, "can't even fuckin' google a quote to find out if it's authentic or not." You go on. "I bet they haven't even read John Green. I bet they just hate him cause it's cool or somethin. I bet they don't even read at all, and that's why they can't even recognize a Salinger quote when they see one. *pfft*, yeah, fuckin' PLEBS, too young to have read even the most ENTRY LEVEL of PLEB literature." The thread is on auto-update as you wait for your next victim. You hope he tries to analyze this quote as if it's an authentic one. You hope they use the opportunity to go on a rant about how John Green is owned by the Jews. You hope they fall for your trap. And then, you read this post, and it all melts away. Y'see, I saw your little ruse from a mile away without even reading the thread. The picture of John Green with that obnoxiously smug smirk. The greentexted quote. The offhand remark. Too obvious. Too, let's say, "memey". I bet right now you're thinking up some kind of adequate response. Heh. You got nothing, kid. I remember when I was like you.

Pynchons my fav writer for sure because my fav thing in books is goofs, gags, jokes and rambunctious behavior, and his books are full to the brim of it. Every novel is like one of those novelty snake cans, you open the book & POP you get a face fulla snakes and you fall back cackling. The mad mind, the crack genius, to do it! and then you think hmmm whats he gonna do next, this trickster, and you pick the book back up and BZZZZZZZZZZ you get a shock and Hahahahahah you've been pranked again by the old pynchmeister, that card. "Did that Pynch?" he says, laughing yukyukyukyuk. Watch him as he shoves a pair of plastic buck teeth right up into his mouth and displays em for you- left, right, center- "you like dese? Do i look handsome???" Pulls out a mirror. "Ah!" Hand to naughty mouth. And you're on your ass again laughing as he snaps his suspenders, exits stage right, and appears again hauling a huge golden gong.

Silly. I laughed

Literally me

I became an avid reader like three months ago and I can't stop. I stopped watching tv and I don't spend much time on Veeky Forums anymore.

Here's how I did it.

-Remember the average person reads like zero books a year. If you read 5 pages a day, you are 5 pages above the average person

-Don't force yourself to read. Commit to read 5 pages a day. I swear after three days you'll feel like reading more and after a month or so you should be reading 50-100 pages a day for pleasure

-Read various books at the same time. When I grab a difficult book or one that makes me sleepy I grab another and switch. This should refresh your head. Keep them thematically different. I read economics and fiction.

-It isn't a race. Reading slowly won't make you sleepy that fast. Try to acknowledge what books are for you to read fast and which aren't.

-Buy the physical copies. When you get the books from your own money you'll feel the need to read them to avoid the feel of wasting your money.

-Start with books highly discussed here so you feel motivated to discuss.

This one is glorious. I wrote it myself.