/critique/

I'm paranoid that this is pasta, simply because it's about black people.

Regardless, I liked it. The dialect is a little miscalculated at times, causing the voice of the piece be feel at odds with itself.

Keep it up though.

I'm if you're interested.

bump

an ikea salad

been bamboozled another by that moonslinging son of a whip-crack. one of these 3:36 pm’s i’m gonna wake with cake on my throat. speed racer earning some greasy simoleons, he does. grendall kirchner aimless and true mumbles his way into rightless eternities. my elbows grungy up to the idea of wingless avocadoes. please be told you are one buddy walleye in this fling-up parade. you are my rastaman from iceland with golden fingertips.

weightless birds with lego blood dance towards infernal burger joints. like 30 times the bunsen burner feeds the viagra babies in pepsi. with my lighter i set the mosaic mirror on fire. georgia peach in georgia font. keep on surgeon on for those mink iron answers. billy eyed bluebelly really ought to do something about this.

tennis elbow johnny manhunt lily willow steal this heart of water bells. the stream seems false. verify your freedom condition with your freedom identification. who do you think you are smoking space shuttles in the blossom pie night? the future takes you where? ablaze’n din and even ablaze’n lulls. the task manager is a task. go back to your home.

Fired up my nuerons there user.

Here's what I got. Amatuer hour, watch where you step folks. Three parts this one..

The vacuum of space felt a little smaller that day.
King stood guard in his fighter; a small craft no higher than five metres, no wider than ten. Shoe-shine polished. Gattle gun at the helm with a knack of vaporizing – so long as it weren’t over three.
Bad day to be in a tin can, he thought, and thus they went to war.
The S.S Arcadia came into view, the blue moon of Siphus barely walled from the lumbering view of steel hull. Star cruiser, S- Class it said on the side, long hauls of red branding. And there, by the side of it’s branding was the symbol of the iron lady, sceptre in one hand, a crown of stars in the other, and beneath her feet was the lost planet of their former homeland, for which is why this battle and all other battles forever will be predicated on – Earth: the last wish of the former Earth’s Alliance.
“All fighters on me!” said Joker over the com. “We’ve got bugs at two o’clock, and it looks like they’ve brought a hive, gentlemen.”
King looked over the thinly veiled tint of his windshields. A slight haze dozed as the temperature dropped to minus ten – that’s how you knew the Praetorians were nearing: a blur at first as you see them gather, but as sure as the light strips shadow - they will all be naked before the prying eyes of the foolishly hopeful, and there King sat, and saw all of it laid bare; they were threshing about like the waves of the stormy sea, the poisonous abyss barely yawning to the glint of thunder striking across the black waves. Their eyes were like burning indigo, the colour of royalty, the colour of empires, and in this galaxy, only one will get to mutter that right. And for the King, it will all end today.
“Looks like they got busy,” said Spades, the B- Class Bomber of the group. He raised thrusters to make sure he was on top of the whole squad. It was never fun to get grabbed during a raid, and the last thing you wanted was a Natter canning your windshield to suck your guts out through a straw, and that’s why you always made sure there’s a guy around to finish the job. With Bombers, one could to a lot worse than Spades, and he knew he had an eye for it.
“Move on up,” said Captain Ace, ace as ace up a sleeve of cards, “I want everyone on Joker’s rear till we reach the left flank of that swarm. Keep your thrusters at low vibrate, and douse those shields till we reach thick-twenty.”
We’d be lucky if we hit ten, thought King. There was a nagging doubt in his head about the fortitude of the new Fighter model; coincidentally because it was the fastest to explode on a first contact. To penetrate ten percent into the swarm, before a Natter decided to kamikaze your fortunes was like hitting the lottery – except it was always rigged.

(1/3)

“They’re coming!” Joker said, speeding ahead of the pack. “Looks like the Natters are on first base.”
“Remember the plan,” said Ace, “Loose formation till we reach thick-twenty, then edge it triangle once we got the clear from HQ. I want no wise-guys.”
“You’re in the navy, Ace,” said Spades, chuckling, “we ain’t got one of those.”
“Should’ve been in the Marines then, eh Spades?” said King.
“Aw shut up,” said Spades.
Everyone signalled their okay. Decker Squad was on loose.
A buzz of colours flew across space, rainbow lasers in all directions, explosions, screaming, the bursting of shells, and Decker Squad was in the thick of it.
“We lost the Vanguard!” radioed HQ.
“There goes the right flank!” said a Cruiser Captain.
“Left flank’s taking a beating, how many we got left?!”
“Hold up!” radioed HQ. “I’m picking up a small squadron of fighters at thick-twenty!”
The Arcadia moved into frame, a lumbering hull of metal, barely hovering, more like amassing the very structure of open space into its gravitational presence.
“That’s Decker Squad for you,” said Admiral Barkins. “I knew those new models would pull through.”
“I wouldn’t be too chappy yet, if I were you,” said Admiral Corinth. “They’ve still got to break the fourth wall before they can reach the Mothership. And if anyone of them dies-”
“Then we pull a Plan B,” said Barkins, “But we should wait till we draw that Mothership in range. No good to fire it from here.”
“I agree,” said Admiral Bashard. “Copy to all Admirals: deactivate your cloaks; conserve all energy for Ion fire.”
Two more Cruisers crept into the shadows of the field, as large as the first before them. The Elysium and the Olympus were their twin names; sporting cannons five hundred meters wide, these vessels brought the name of genocide at first glance of the Ion.
Spades moved up on King’s left flank.
“You’ve been hit!” he said. “Stabilize your thrusters, or your engine’s going to blow!”
“I ain’t got spares!” said King. “If I douse those thrusters now, I won’t have enough shield to bury through the thick of the fourth wall!
“What’s wrong back there?!” said Ace.
“King’s been hit, sir,” said Spades. “Engine looks like it took a blow-out on the first impact.”
“Ah sticks!” said Joker, “Ok, cover my six, I’m moving behind him.”
“Forget about me, it’s nothing!” said King, “the last thing we need is-”
“You don’t get to decide what is and what isn’t, King,” said Ace cutting him, “I want King front and centre. Everyone! Form a triangle. King I want you in middle.”
Decker Squad confirmed and began the shift, when suddenly a moment’s pause allowed a Natter to swipe Joker’s tail fin clean off.
“Dammed bugs…” he said recovering his balance, shifting back into calm space.

(2/3)

“Joker,” said Ace, “Set your thrusters to zero shift; keep the wings on ninety, and don’t use up any of your rockets.”
“I got it, I got,” said Joker. “Last thing I need is you babying me.”
Spades sighed. “For crying out loud.”
Admiral Barkins moved his way across the terminals of the bridge to inspect the last of the head charge. There was a flurry of radio static and dead lifelines on every computer, except one.
“How much have they penetrated through the swarm?”
“A good twenty - twenty two thick,” said the coordinator. “They’re clearing up on twenty five soon, but it looks like they’re having trouble.”
“Twenty five’s just fine,” said Barkins returning to his console. “Bashard, Corinth – are your cannons charged?”
“All ion filters are loose, Admiral,” said a stray coordinator, “We’re ready on you.”
‘Ready on you,” said Corinth.
“Ready on you,” said Bashard.
Barkins glared the Praetorian field one last time; it was as if eyeing the last blight of a dying animal, squirming for its last breath of air – before the ants come to devour what’s left.
“Fire,” he said.
‘Shields on!” Ace screamed. No one had time to protest. By the time they could think to complain, there was already a large segue of light piercing through a husk-filled graveyard of dead Praetorians, floating in blissful, cathartic delight.
“I’m never going to get used to that, let me tell you,” said Joker hushing himself.
“And neither am I,” said Ace. “Now! Zoom it home lads!”
The way was clear, the murderous Praetorians out of sight and mind of a short warp jump, the black, cacophonous fortress of the mother ship in plain view of her abode, screeching untranslatable jargons of pained suffering, or perhaps lustful violence. Whatever it was, it chilled bone to anyone with a mic to hear it.
“What in god’s name is that?” said King.
“That,” said Spades, “is the Mama Grande of all Mamma Grandes.”
“You weren’t talking about your mum were you?” said Joker.
“Nah,” said Spades, “I was really talking about your girl, Jokes.”
“Enough,” said Ace. “Everyone ready yourself for warp jump. Set all capacitors at ten thousand, watts at fifty.”
“Aye, aye,” Joker groaned.

(3/3)

It was shit

The day it all started

The title is a little misleading and I'm partly sorry for that. I mean, events has been in since the dawn of time;so it was just a matter of,time, until this was to happen. What I'm trying to say is that this is the day that it all started - for me - , in a metaphorical sense of course. This epoch in my lifetime would be just as game changing as my birth. I don't mean to say that my birth was anything miraculous or in a biblical sense. I'm not really a religious person I will tell you that but it has no bearing really on the story, just a little antidote to get to know me better. Anyway, taking twoturns back and return from these tangents: this event was tantamount to the miracle of life coming into being.

First title that came to me as i sat down and wrote a few paragraphs. As I'm rereading it now it's glaring with errors and makes me cringe.

This excerpt details a state-mandated shrink and his conversation with an agent in deep undercover.

So, I'll start here: "How do you feel?"
Well, its all the same, I suppose, as it has been. I persist. I consider myself a soldier of sorts. I adhere to routine. I struggle with adversity, often times much more powerful than I. I suffer many a blow, but I am also of a mind that he who can endure the most blows is the superior man.
I am privy to the tactics of the warfare I engage in. Both sides apply subtle pressure while presenting all smiles otherwise, and its all about who breaks first. I understand that, since I am but one man, and am contending with many, it is only logical that I break first. This is where logic fails the situation, there is more to take into account. I will not go into the details, but suffice this: it is in my best interest to carry this banner, even if I am outnumbered.
Entrenched in this twisted game, I find respite in the fact that I represent the more virtuous aspect of the struggle. I am the hero to one and the anti-hero to some. Of this I am certain. I sometimes wonder who else will come to know of my tale and how many others I shall be a hero or an anti-hero to. I also wonder if, being presented the whole story, what the general unbiased opinion of a third party would be. This is not to say I would care much, but it would be nice to know there is more good than evil in this world.
I cannot be dislodged from my position of power, despite the efforts of many. It is not so much a position of power, either, as it is merely a position. The power I hold is unweildy and wild, as if I had wrangled a hurricane and managed to tame it, to ride it like a horse, but a horse not fitted with reigns. It is a strange existence, but I find validation in knowing that through the absurdity, there is one man I keep in contact with who resides in a different realm. A nicer realm. One I'd like to revisit. The realm of ignorance. Blissfully unaware of any ongoing intrigue.
I do enjoy my conversations with this man. He is endearingly out of the loop. He is as good a reference point as any to keep myself grounded in what the real narrative of my life should be, and not what I am being assaulted with. He is my ace in the hole. He is the ultimate ally. He would never abandon my cause, even if he doesn't know what the cause is. In fact, he is so useful to me, that he is often the subject of secondhand threats. It is a good thing that he is protected. Such is the nature of War. So, if you must know how I feel, it is rather simple. I sacrifice to earn. It is neither extremely good nor bad. It merely is. Neutral. That's the answer I'm looking for. I feel neutral.

Thanks for the critique.

Woke up had a smoke did my dance and drank my coke
Drive my car
Dont go far
Im burning out this star.
I'm going crazy, and i dont know if its fine
im going crazy, and it feels so sublime
At my bread, did my chore.
I felt the bore
Took my time, im feeling fine
should i smell that dandelion ?
Where to go?
no one knows
how it goes
it flows.
I took the last train home and stopped at misery lane.
Everythings different, but why does it feel the same?
Am i going insane?
Woe, am I to blame?

fast world slow brain high five short skirts brown yurts

this was fucking brilliant man, love it, love "daggerfairy" very cool.

i was wondering... what song of Hannah Diamond's did you have in mind writing this? i'm a huge fan.

attachment, glad you enjoyed it man!

I dunno man, sounds like a bunch of mumbo-jumbo to me. Out of curiosity, how seriously do you take your own poem?

Is this a pastiche? I have to say I didn't enjoy reading it. Just felt like it was mindless hot air. Sorry, I literally don't even know what to suggest by way of improvement other than scrap it, start again, get a new shtick.

>doesn't provide critique
>expects critique
Pretty sure you've posted this same shit in a bunch of threads too. If so, what are you doing? Just cast a wide net hoping to reeling in some wayward validation?

Makes me cringe too, friendo. Why post something like this? Why not post something you put some effort into? Are you afraid?

Character isn't really believable. Or perhaps the sentences are just awkward. Read them aloud to yourself.

Pop song lyrics tier

We enter the apartment and starts kissing right away. I strip her down like a whore, her peachy snatch is slippery wet. I grab her by the hair, push her down on her knees and stuff my erect cock in her tiny mouth. There is a moment of hesitation in her glistening eyes, but she takes it like a champ. After a few minutes she's choking and gasping for air so I allow her some five second pauses before I put it back in. I've had enough of it. I grab her arm and pull her up, turn her around and push her against the wall. I could do anything that I wanted with her and she would just be smiling like a silly little girl. She's not as wet as earlier so I have to force myself inside. She won't let me in before I tell her I love her, so I do and she opens up again. I grab her breasts from behind and go in as deep as I can. She's screaming under her breath and asking me to slow down. I cover her mouth with one hand and keep going. Her body is curved in a perfect "S" form. I periodically pull out my dick and rub it on her clit from behind. It drives her crazy. She accidentally turns on the light with her left hand and feels ashamed. I keep going until she starts twitching in ecstasy and bends down in sweet defeat. I throw her on the bed and go to sleep.

Ears are listening -
watch out.
In glades of the waxing tideline on the shales
I sit aside him like we’re destined
to be together, but
I’m barely past the drinking age.
It doesn’t have to be so serious, does it?

7 years on
watching cityscape processions waft along;
vapors white, exhumed like smog from those coal chimney stacks.
My heels clacking against the sidewalk;
my stockings pulled up in the reflection of an empty shop window;
my eyes adjusted if ever I’m thought to be watching oncomers.

5 years on
he won’t stop crying
but I do love him.

9 years on
a bottle of red,
some finger food,
maybe that cheese later on.

I realized how I fucked up here. That whole passage wasn't dialogue, it was thought by the character. He thinks about these things before he gives his answer. Its not supposed to be dialogue.

Thanks for the critique, looking back I can see the sentence structuring is a bit odd.

No worries. You should critique someone. People who post writing but don't critique are the bane of these threads.

Will do, but right now I gotta run.

Hahahah this is actually good

'Tis good pal o'pal
this is my piece
The language is supposed to be Poe-esque. It is a gothic short story and basically I just wanted to know if you liked it, liked the characters, etc.

Thank you

drive.google.com/open?id=1Xz_IroZJVmVHPPqrQCda0Zz33QoGkwVsiGdcNLQ2TRI

Really liked this. Great characterisation. Gg

>mumbo-jumbo
why?

Thank you. Which is yours?

Sorry man, perhaps I just don't get it. "Mumbo-jumbo" was hyperbolic/inaccurate. I meant more that I found it hard to take seriously, and I don't think it works as a light poem. I could understand it, I just didn't appreciate what I understood.

There is some playful wordplay, some slightly cliched wordplay, some cringy, and some lyrical yet unsatisfactory.

Do you read much poetry? Also, in order to understand how to repsond to you properly I would appreciate an answer to my first question. How seriously do you take this poem?

I don't read erotica, but I presume some of it is of a higher standard than this. I really am not sure how to judge it. I wouldn't keep reading at any rate. Sorry.

Mostly awkward. There's an idea here though. Perhaps rewrite from scratch while retaining the overall idea?

Can I ask what you mean by awkward?

Good question. It just moved in an unpleasant way as I read through it. But you deserve some specifics. I'll try my best.

>I sit aside him like we’re destined

The use of 'aside' here. Is this an attempt to replace the word 'beside' with something slightly less suitable and thus hopefully more poetic? I'm not saying that's it, but that question flashed in my mind as I read it. This is one example of the awkwardness I experienced.

The whole of the first section feels cliched if I'm honest. However, (as I already touched upon in my first response) there is an idea here on the whole. The jumping around time periods idea could be turned into something.

The feel of the writing is very inconsistent though. I dunno if you're changing the style of language based on the different time periods or something? Anyway, the effect is a bit hotchpotch.

I hope this clarifies my position for you.

That ones mine pal

Okay. I will give you some feedback, just might take a while. Have to find some time to read it.

>some slightly cliched wordplay
>some cringy
>some unstisfactory

could you tell me which ones you feel this way about?

and I read poetry (this one is part of a string where I'd been reading H.D. a lot)

Its meant to be serious and specifics would be greatly appreciated here

I really dig your idea, but as another user said the character is not believable enough. It feels too much like a third person talking about him, even though it's in first person.

>H.D
Okay that helps me make some sense out of what you're aiming for, although not all that much as I'm not a familiar reader of H.D. I spent a couple weeks reading through some of her work a while back.

On Hannah Diamond

>When that bass hits
cringy, like something a dj would say.
>like a wet laugh,
sensual, but lacking within the larger context of the poem

>the candle wax drips
>through my ribs and eyes.
Sort of lyrical imagery, but nothing unfamilar or subversive is done with these images. There is nothing new about the candle, the wax, the ribs, the eyes, or whatever it is they are supposed to suggest.

>You hopscotch across
>that daggerfairy-synth,
>feet bleeding like gloss-
Again, there is some playful wordplay here, novel, but in a way that would only be interesting to you. (and maybe someone who is also in on who this Hannah Diamond is, as I have seen earlier in the thread)

>Jesus. Pin-up
>your gossamer wings.
This feels extremely cliched/cringy. wings. gossamer. Not without doing something more than that with them you don't.

>Pitch-up to heaven
>attached to velcro angels.
Heaven, angels, all massively cliched images. The attempt to render angel novel with 'velcro' is another example of some imagination on your part, but it really is unsatisfactory.

>When that bass plops,
>and the gum pops,
>I wonder at its cruelty.
First two lines are similar to the first statement I made about your phrase being like something a dj would say. The 'cruelty line' seems to be an attempt to draw it back into the a sort of artistic seriousness, but again, it really falls short. Borderline cliche. e.g. this beautiful, cruel, thing vibe. cliche.

>When that treble drips
>off your plastic lips,
>I wonder at its cruelty.
Some imaginative things here, continuing with this artificial beauty theme that recurs in the poem. I can't take it seriously though, for the same reasons that I can't take velcro angels seriously. It's just forced, and ultimately within the context of the poem, unsatisfactory/unearned.

Also, it is important to note that the enjambment seems arbitrary. Which is tiresome, because people do look for some reasoning behind your choices in this regard, when they don't find it they lose faith in the poem quickly.

So, some there is some superficial novelty here, because you use some odd, seemingly self-constructed wordplay here, but I don't think it amounts to good poetry in this case.

Honestly though man, I don't know why you needed that much detail. Do you think you're a great poet or something? Nearly everyone who posts here deserves some criticism. You should take away a couple pointers, accept how people react to your shit, and come back with something new. And who have you critiqued to deserve this much attention??

I was just asking man. I'm sorry I frustrated you by asking?

Critique someone else, make my contribution worth it.
And stop being defensive. I'm only frustrated that you asked for a lot while contributing so little.
As I said in an earlier post, posters who don't critique are the bane of these threads. Don't be lazy.

/thread

When I posted there was one other poem (i don't crit prose because I rarely write it)

What part of stop being defensive don't you understand?

And do critique the prose, just make it clear you don't write prose yourself. Do you ever read prose? If so, then you are qualified to give feedback. I get my friends who don't write whatsoever to give me feedback all the time. Stop. Being. Lazy.

And regardless, there are poems now in the thread now. So, before you type out another redundant defense of your lazy bullshit to me, please critique one of those poems or leave the thread.

I have no interest in critiquing prose, but im sorry i haven't contributed yet (wanted to do so on a computer)

thanks for giving me something to look at, try to not get so mad when someone asks you why you have vague feelings about their work. sometimes they just genuinely want to know

and yes I think i'm pretty good (greats a bit weird to call yourself)

>Woke up had a smoke did my dance and >drank my coke
>Drive my car
>Dont go far

The rhythms in this are really weak (which is super important when trying to put hip-hop on a page)

it scans (the whole poem) like this '= stressed
- = unstressed, / = new foot ,C = caesura

L1: >Woke up had a smoke did my dance and drank my coke

- '/ - - '/ - - '/ -'/ -'

L2: >Drive my car
' - '

L3: >Dont go far
' - '

L4: >Im burning out this star.
- '/ - '/ - '

L5:I'm going crazy, and i dont know if its fine
- '/ -'/ -C'/ - '/ ' -/ -' (the caesura (crazy, and) here does not work

L6: >im going crazy, and it feels so sublime
- '/ -'/ -C'/ - '/ - - ' (same and the change in rhythm hurts the rhyme a lot)

L7: >At my bread, did my chore.
Is 'at' a typo?
- - '/ - - '

L8: >I felt the bore
- '/ -'

L9: >Took my time, im feeling fine
' - '/ - '/ - '

L10: >should i smell that dandelion ?
this lines real bad, both mechanically and in actual content
' -/ ' -/ ' -/ ' -

L11: >Where to go?
- - '

L12: >no one knows
- - '

L13: how it goes
- - '

L14: >it flows
- '

L15: >I took the last train home and stopped at misery lane.
- '/ - '/ ' -/ - '/ - '/ - - '

L16: >Everythings different, but why does it feel the same?
gotta be honest, this one is hard for me to scan
' - '/ ' -/ - '/ ' -/ ' - '

L17: >Am i going insane?
' -/ ' -/ - '

L18: >Woe, am I to blame?
this is your worst line rhytmically (and the grammar feels tortured and out of place)
'C- '/ - '

L19? : >fast world slow brain high five short skirts brown yurts
this one is also both hard to scan and parse due to lack of punctuation. an I genuinely don't know why its here
' -/ - '/ ' -/ ' -/ ' -

Disregarding rhythms (which are all over the place and need cleaning) this piece has too many line that are just saying what you should be trying to make use feel

>I'm going crazy, and i dont know if its fine
>im going crazy, and it feels so sublime
these are really tell-y in a bad way

>I felt the bore
>Took my time, im feeling fine
tell-y again

>should i smell that dandelion ?
cliche

The real frustration (as obvious by how much time i spent on it) is the rhythms though. You almost build some very interesting ones but just stop halfway through on everything giving the whole piece the worst case of feeling jerky.

I agree this hits awkwardly
>Ears are listening -
this part just sounds sill

>to be together, but
this feels very, very weak as its own line

>I’m barely past the drinking age.
awkward way to give the age of the narrator

>7 years on
>watching cityscape processions waft along;
legitmately good use of rhyme in free verse, but the following lines go a bit to far in that direction
>from those coal chimney stacks.
>My heels clacking
right here sounds weird out loud, the sonics are hurting you

>5 years on
>he won’t stop crying
>but I do love him.

this almost hits the mark you obviously want it to, but it feels too insubstantial

>
9 years on
>a bottle of red,
>some finger food,
>maybe that cheese later on.

fairly solid stanza, if you were keeping one in total, it'd be this one for me

I'm the user that was giving out to you. Thanks for contributing. You know I love you, right?

It's fine, I'm usually the one that yells at people, but I was holding off today (and you got me)

I actually enjoyed this. Could probably use some re-writing, but conceptually it's sound and the imagery and diction were good enough. "Ears are listening-- watch out" is kind of weird to me, though. Don't really understand its purpose, either.

Not good in the slightest

>on the side of it's branding
>it's branding
>it's

Couldn't make it past the first part, my youth. I thought it was boring mate.

Pic is an interlude in a series of loosely related short stories that chroncile the lives of a handful of jaded, purposeless undergraduates living in the same dormitory hall. It's meant to comment on the psychological products of 'disordered' living, especially among the youth and high-achieving.

I'm not sure what you're trying to achieve so I can't say whether or not you achieved it. It's an interesting style, but it might be worth taming a little, at least for the sake of plot and direction

>antidote
anecdote surely?

Very overwrought and clumsy, user. You can write better than this, I'm sure.

Far too vague and insular

Reads like a poor pop song

THE PLANT MAN
pastebin.com/juWfQ6mi

first paragraph of short story. worried it's too 'purple':

A late-March snow had fallen three days earlier and through its wake Mike Jackson, despising every step, walked to work. Day break brought a shining warm morning and bright sun beamed down on everything from a cheery blue sky. On Mike's path vivid red brick sidewalk peaked out in bursts from beneath the squishy, melting snow. Water dripped off the top of bus-stop coverings, trickled in shining lines down to the ground from the roofs of houses and sheds he walked past. Tiny streams ran hugging the curbs of sidewalks into storm drains in a glittering flow while a breeze blew gently, gathering up a briskness from the cool, wet snow still covering most of the ground. Birds sung in sweet and sharp trills and the sun bathed the back of Mike's neck in warmth as he reluctantly took step after step forward.

>A late-March snow had fallen three days earlier and through its wake Mike Jackson, despising every step, walked to work.

It's a bit too flat for an opening in my opinion, try
>A late-March snow had fallen three days earlier and through its wake Mike Jackson, despising every step, moonwalked to work.

kek. i just made up meaningless placeholder name and didn't even realize that implication.

Late Reply, sorry anons.

I trade in my Piece
For these Critiques

Certainly paints the setting of black in the hood and their everyday meanderings. Looks messy though, this formatting. Hard to read, and just as said it certainly looks like a copypasta when embeded in that style. The prose structure is admirable at times, but then trips over itself in clumsy flow such as "Each record like a slice of the cosmos pressed on wax, transporting him to places far beyond the rust-coloured streets and the sweltering, swollen cities, and up past the clouds and the blue of the sky."

I'm porbably too dumb to figure this out, but it seems like a very psycadelic image you're forming here, I don't know if I ilike it, but it seems interesting. The language certainly has a "spice" to it with sentences such as "been bamboozled another by that moonslinging son of a whip-crack". Each segment is a line of poetry leading to the other, like a constant slideshow of various imagery, it actually seems pretty artistic, but then again, don't mind me, just an amatuer here, I wouldn't know proper literature if it hit me in the face.

Oh and I'm a writer user, validation is all I crave :) , but you're write, I still needed to critique someone's work. And so here they are.
Sorry everyone. I tried to critique but who was I kidding, one word sentences were just an excuse to get the "Please critique others before or after posting your own work" thing out of the way, and I didn't even really do that, more like a back-handed comment aiming for the obvious, and it seems
already did that before me. Again, sorry for my dishonnor, anons. I hope to do things in more noble intent in the future.

And here's another piece in case you're interested:

The snow did little to douse the melancholy driblets of these trembling feelings. The grey pavement soaked it all in like a napkin, as was all other things in this husk of a city.
All women suck; that was the conclusion of the evening, a sore answer birthed from the wombs of wounded eyes. If one was to get turned down indirectly, is that any more pathetic than getting turned down face-to-face?
Well the pavement didn’t mind either way. Drink it all up, bud, you and everything else in this city. Lifeless tears form lifeless puddles; the ever-turning drones of lost hope, false starts, and dead-end nine-to-five shifts. It’s all you were ever good for.
But then, so was I.
The streetlamps barely lit the long block home, and here I was looking like I jumped out a pool, face full of water, and cameo all drenched. Professionalism was overrated anyway, I mean, who spends all their high school years on a single chick, and then on the last night before graduation turns you down for some roid-monkey she barely met at a party a week ago. Is chivalry so dead nowadays? Why aren’t my efforts recuperated?
“That’s what you get for trusting her,” I mumbled again, like I was speaking a mantra in the third person, reaching for that ill-fated nirvana only a soreness like mine could hope to replace.
God, I’m pathetic.

Without exception, Ricolo Fury was the least remarkable thing that ever passed before my eyes. Light had long corrupted the curtains of my hotel-room and I, erect in my ruffled bed, read the morning headlines. Tapping at my door, Fury arrived. On my command, he entered; with a plump and sunken face that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a walrus, he moved his fat form into the room and presented it to me, as a cat a dead bird to his master.

My first 5, double-spaced pages. I'm currently submitting this story (which is finished and has been revised) to agents, but have been getting nothing but rejections. Hoping someone can point out something shitty about my prose or voice that I can fix. Please, be as brutal as you want.
I'll review whatever anyone who replies to this later, so long as it isn't crazy-big or anything.
Oh, also, inner dialogue isn't in italics because pastebin

My hook: Grace is a prostitute living in the world's largest city until she flees with a former client, a female spellcaster who has stolen a sword infused with the soul of a death-row murderer.

pastebin.com/4KvFB0dA

TRIPTYCH TO THE DEAD

1.Aurora Borealis

They come, wild knights,
And their sword's dance.
'tween shine and burn,
Women whine, six-sided ice,
To be able to throw their children
To the sublime.

2. Prestissimo

The figurants are dead;
Pirouette, as if flight.
With lyric's knight's jump
Which have ended the ballet.

3.Xibalba

Cold, alien steel,
Decorates their bodies.
Preserve them, written stars,
Be as if you were honey.

FRIENDLY REMINDER TO CRITIQUE BEFORE OR AFTER POSTING

My critique of this post: best ITT

>sword's dance
Please tell me this is meant to be possessive and dance is as a noun.

>Without exception, Ricolo Fury was the least remarkable thing that ever passed before my eyes.
Feels really awkward. YA-like almost.
>Light had long corrupted the curtains of my hotel-room
Drop the had.
>and I, erect in my ruffled bed, read the morning headlines
That erect is making this have two meanings. I like it.
>Tapping at my door, Fury arrived. On my command, he entered; with a plump and sunken face that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a walrus, he moved his fat form into the room and presented it to me, as a cat a dead bird to his master.
Delete: that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a walrus,
Delete: to his master.

Yeah. Possesive sword's, dance a noun. Not "and their swords dance" (the swords aren't dancing, it's the dance of the swords.)

Thanks for the feedback, I submitted it my Uni's local poetry compilation that they do annually, I was reading the entries from last year and they were all quite modern or minimal in style, so I was trying to create something similar. So the awkwardness probably comes from it not really being my style, I normally don't write like that.

I'll be severe since you want to sort this piece of writing out

>Grace snapped the round...
Far too many adjectives in this paragraph. For the last sentence consider connecting the two clauses with "and". At the moment it reads clunkily

>She studied her crew...
Far too much going on in the first sentence. Remove "studied" and reconstruct the sentence around that.
"Healer-prescribed protection against sexual diseases." is far too unwieldy.

>Just one night...
"lest the" seems an unusual turn of phrase for a prostitute

>As Grace's crew of prostitutes...
Crew of prostitutes? It seems far more appropriate to say "Grace's girls". Again, in keeping with Grace's likely tone, as well as making it simpler and less on-the-nose.

>Banish it all...
Not sure what the meaning of this first cumbersome sentence is

>Still, she had...
"fellow brothel workers" pic related. It's awkward.

>With a cringe...
I would use "Cringing, ..."
Grace's primary emotion seems to be "cringe". I counted at least 3 instances of this. Flesh out her character. Make her more believable

I'll stop here because my criticisms so far apply generally to the piece in derivative forms.

Overall I think the tone is way off. This is a story about prostitution, but everything is written in a very dry, mechanical way. I'm not saying you need to sex it up, but make it more naturalistic. More real. It reads like you're writing about prostitution as someone who has never encountered a prostitue. That is most likely and hopefully true, but your job as a writer is to sell it.

Now do me:

"Pic related" was supposed to be this

It's you, the writer, trying to fill the mould of a prostitute

This excerpt details how an Airforce soldier, furious, storms into a lawyers office and demands a controversial advertisement be taken off the air. They are in the midst of a heated argument.

"Ah, damn it. This shit again." The lawyer reluctantly half opens the door and before he can finish the motion an Airforce soldier bursts in.

The look of the man was one of anger, and resentment. The lawyer tried to be conciliatory at first. He didn't want to cause any trouble. But the soldier was furious. He knew the man was upset over an advertisement, one that had been extremely successful for the lawyer.
The soldier immediately confronts the lawyer.

"You lied to me. You lied to my face, and I'm not going to let you get away with it."

The lawyer thought he could defuse the situation.
"Look, I know there was maybe some sort of misunderstanding, but no one was hurt? right? Why not let this go?"

The soldier was indignant.
"No, no I'm going to tell you what's going to happen. You're going to take the ad off the air, and if you play that ad one more time I'm gonna go to the judge advocate and we'll take you down. Trespassing, false representation, stolen valor, the whole nine yards."

The lawyer was shocked. "Seriously?" He questioned him. "For eight seconds of a T.V. commercial?"

The soldier didn't budge, steadfast in his fury. "You take that ad down, or there will be hell to pay. That clear enough for you?"

The lawyer looked at the soldier. He debated internally about his next move. Then, he said it.
"Make me."

The soldier looked surprised. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Make you?"

"Yeah, lets do this, you bring your commander down here and explain to him how you led us on to the base, red carpet treatment!"

The soldier stuttered a bit "Y-You lied your way in!"

"Not how I remember it! and I've got witnesses to back me up-- you like being an Airforce captain huh? You think the U.S. wants to bring action against an old man in a wheelchair?"

The soldier looked incredulous.
"He was standing on T.V.! He wasn't even in a wheelchair!"

The lawyer had gained momentum. "Yeah, well periodically he is, and when he shows up in court you better believe he'll be in a wheelchair!"

The soldier relented.
"Yeah because you're an ambulance chasing piece of shit, 'cause you're all the same you're all--"

Then the lawyer opened the door for the soldier to leave, and it was clear how the cards lie.

“I don't see why you insist on this detour,” Remeron chittered, “a magic knife hardly seems worth the effort.”

Will glowered at the rodent perched on his shoulder and resisted the urge to lay face-down in a greenish scum puddle until his lungs had thoroughly alginated. Exactly what kind of rodent Remeron was had been an unsettled matter that Will never bothered to ask. His education had come to a close after middle school, and the distinction between mice and rats had never proven particularly relevant in his day to day life, but given the critter's use of diction he figured that four more years of biology lessons in an underfunded classroom would not have given an answer that was all that satisfactory.

“Look,” he grumbled, grumbling being the least vulgar means of communication he could manage without adequate preparation, “you're the one who said I'm destined to slay the ever-loving shit out of The Rat That Walks. Since generally speaking you don't need a chosen one to do something that can be solved with a spoon of peanut butter, patience and a brick, I think it would be the least retarded course of action to have some kind of ancient weapon on hand – you know, just in case something called The Rat That Walks turns out to be a squeaking abomination from the dumpster behind the Fudrucker's of eternal perdition!”

His breath spent, Will marched on through the humid tunnels beneath the skin of the city. When he had stepped over the service gate at the end of the subway station the walls had been little but sheared bedrock and supportive girders, but past the impossibly-angled off-branches that had led him into the heart of the verminlands they had gradually been replaced with curtains of whispering pipes, each made of a different metal he somehow doubted could be assembled from the contents of a periodic table. Despite hearing and distinguishing the thousands of chittering voices, Will's temper began to cool down. They were quiet enough after all, and none were directed at him. Maybe if the world could just leave him alone long enough, the years of shit-fit residue would work its way out of his system, and he could have a shot at being an agreeable person. Yeah. He liked the sound of that.

“I still don't think this worth your while or mine.”

Will slammed his leg into a steam pipe and spent several moments hissing with spittle at the pain of a broken toe.

Very dialogue intensive. Could use some more descriptive aspects. The dialogue is excellent, though.

Not writing but just an idea

23 years ago most major food manufacturers began using an ingredient. Naturally it sailed through the FDA with little testing. Then a scientist or something figures out that the ingredient is deadly and takes 25 years to kill you. It's a book that follows a bunch of people through a world where everyone you meet knows their expiration date. that's the name of the book, "expiration date".

A man's internet history:

11:15 Anger Management
11:15 Help with anger
11:16 Apologize for Anger
11:18 How to make your dog less afraid of you

Don't use "like" as a conjunction. It looks and sounds terrible and should be confined only to speech. Instead, replace every instance of "like" with "as though" or "as if."

Every instance of "like" as a conjunction, that is.

Sorry user, but let's stay friends. I just don't as if you as though that.

methinks you be up to something fowl
torturing poor burrito this a’way
his soul must be free from your dirty scowl
and be sent up to high heaven without delay
death-purge the wrap, but without your clamps
feed the ouroboros something divine
and ready up those “good boy!” stamps
what are we real human beans or little swine?
government lads and blue bloods pour some beer
down on the fresh daisies blooming like crazy
whenever poor burrito with tasers you go near
so stop! you very much must mister, relax and be lazy!
whatever you do will be done upon you that’s true
let poor innocent burrito swim in the river so blue

its an inside joke, this guy sends me pages of him torturing a burrito (we nicknamed this dude burrito) and i'm trying to get him to stop cause it's fucked up

one time I opened the burrito's room
I let it move into the cupboard and have a small bed
it was listening to music
"Ra ra Rasputin, lover of the Russian queen"
it was dancing under a napkin tent so that I would not find it
I said "How dare you listen to your favorite burrito music, by yourself in your room at a reasonable volume, and dance by yourself?"
It said "squee" when I removed its napkin tent, and attempted to conceal its burrito iPod in its kleenex bed
I told it it was bad and that its privileges had been revoked
I removed it from the cupboard and burned all its special toys and favorite things
I flushed its bed down the toilet
it was watching and saying "wah, wah"
I told it this was its fault it and it said wah louder
I got a lighter and burned its tuck place while I held it still. it yeed loudly and began to thrash around
I let it go and it lay scrunched together trying to nurse its burned tuck place. it made sauce on the counter
I got a spoon and spanked it. it was squeeing and trying to roll away, but I pinned it down with one finger. after that it was saying wah and making burrito tears.
I gave it a poke in the middle to cheer it up, and it said "hee!"
"see, burrito? that wasn't so bad. you can still be a happy burrito" I said, and I held it down with one hand and kept poking it while it said hee
then eventually it started saying "HEEEEEEE" really loud, and it started struggling hard
"not funny anymore, burrito? say sorry to me to make it stop", I said
it tried to say "sorry" but it could only say "moo". after a while it was saying "eeheeheehee" while I was poking it, but screaming "moo" over and over again to make me stop
I let it go and it hid behind the napkin dispenser
"Oh come on, burrito. I'm just trying to cheer you up", I said.
"Since you were such a good little burrito during your burrito discipline, I will let you have a piece of ice to make your tucky place feel better. would that be nice?"
It was still quivering and trying to nurse its tucky place, but it couldn't reach it because it is a fat little burrito
it poked its head out from behind the napkin dispenser hopefully and said "moo?"
I let it crawl over and place its burned tuck spot on the ice
It let out a little sigh of relief that sounded like "wew"

I began to rub the ice on its tuck place. at first it liked it and said "wew... wew..." but then I rubbed harder. it became uncomfortable and started crawling away
then I picked the burrito up and twisted it. it made a big yee. then I twisted it again to make sure I got it crying. It started to wah
then I squeezed its head while I rubbed its tuck place with the ice. it tried to wriggle away, and I could hear a muffled "yee, yee, squee" coming from my hand as it tried to waggle its end away from the ice
but I rubbed it hard with the ice until it really yeed
then I went to get the burrito pincher. it started rolling away again when it saw the burrito pincher, but I made it sing "ra, ra, rasputin" and I pinched its burrito place whenever it got the words wrong. it is illiterate and does not know any of the words, and can only make cute, rudimentary sounds, so there was a lot of pinching. at the end it was covered in spicy burrito tears and shivering uncontrollably.
then I slammed the burrito against the counter until some refried beans came out and it passed out.
the funny thing about burrito is that burrito doesn't possess sexuality, so when it is penetrated, it just understands that something is inside it in a mean way, and it feels wrong, but it doesn't understand why. it only makes the burrito cry because it feels like it's being touched in a mean way, and it makes it sad that someone wants it to hurt, so it cries. and it feels naughty in a way it doesn't understand, so it makes it feel bad and scared.
that is a good punishment for an extra special burrito. I coaxed it around to being awake and then I shoved a baby carrot up the little tucky place where I hurt it. it began to blush and squirm. I was holding it down so it could not get away. It made sauce on the carrot.
I yelled at it, "Burrito, are you becoming sexually aroused? You are a very naughty burrito. Didn't I teach you higher values, you dirty little fuck loaf?"
Then I threw it in the freezer in a bowl of cold water and left, but before I did I stuck binder clips on its Burrito Teatos.

sorry for posting this, really sorry. just have to share my pain, you know.

sorry but this was painful to read
>the funny thing about a burrito is that burrito doesn't possess sexuality

don't say sorry man. it is painful. i didn't write it, my friend did, i just had to share it so i wouldn't have to suffer alone.

can i post my short film?

youtube.com/watch?v=T4bTq16OXF8

Thanks for the feedback, user. Any advice on making one's writing come off as less dry as a whole?

Here's my thoughts on yours

>The Plant Man arrived early that morning at the piazza and took his usual place at the foot of the fountain. It was before daybreak
Condense to one sentence. "Early morning" and "before daybreak" is redundant as hell

>He fondled around his back
Fondle is an pretty damn awkward word

>He took then
Why this choice of phrasing? Why not just "he took"? The sentence is so long that it becomes disjointed.
Also, you use that phrase twice and start a sentence with "He took" two times in a row." Reads pretty awkwardly

>Some splashed lightly
Some sprinkled

>The Plant man felt himself
What does this mean? Is he running his hands over his body? Is he just more aware of his body? Needs expanding

>gasping for a moment the naked air
I can't wrap my head around what this means

>The smell of fresh bread wafted over and caressed his leaves but failed to tempt him.
I really like this line. Do more of this.

>Different, but the same.
Cliche as all hell

>A self-renewing, self-contained ecosystem
The word "ecosystem" doesn't fit the tone of the rest of this piece. Could use reworking

>He felt himself rooted in the soil
Idk what it is, but this just reads awkwardly.

>After a while, the soft moans of a mammal trailing off into the distance
The soft moans what? It's just a fragment sentence and doesn't fit the rest of the piece's grammatical tendencies.

Overall interesting, but language and sentence structure could use a bit of tightening. Best of luck with your work in the future.

Ideas are cheap, user. Go out there and make yourself write that story. Any idea can be done amazingly or horribly, and it's up to you to do it well.
That said, that's a pretty interesting hook. I'd read it.

Opening section seems a functional pastiche to me. I would urge you to try and push your own writing a little harder to try and find something fresh in the old. This style isn't really for me in general though, so perhaps I'm not the entirely the right person to give you feedback. Is there an audience for Poe imitators?

The section with the caterpillar is a little rough, with some awkward constructions and I think a couple typos.

There's too much text for me to comment on all of it, but:

>It wasn’t awfully instantaneous and, at first, I presumed it to be the blustering gale that caressed the carriage but the noises got louder...

>it wasn't awfully instantaneous
this seems awkward to me

>noises got louder
"got" louder rather than "grew" louder or something like that seems out of step with your pastiche to me.

There are a number of times I experienced similar awkwardness or inappropriateness within the text.

I'm not sure whether the issues with word choice/sentence construction in your story are a result of pressure from the style you are imitating, or more to do with issues with your writing more generally. Anyway, functional pastiche. Better than plenty of crap I have read on this site.

We know

Ah, I dunno if I got you. I don't have all that much faith in my ability to critique poetry. I do write some, but I'm a novice. Maybe there are elements to your poetry I can't appreciate. Had a listen to Hannah Diamond by the way, such sweet sorrow. She wrote it about me, right?

Good advice, actually. Thanks. I hadn't noticed that I was doing so. Although I find the more I think about those aspects of writing, the more my writing process suffers. Bit of a dilly of a pickle. S'why editors are needed. Thanks anyway.
As for: wut

Some nice shots. Like, more promising than the average indie short.

nice meme
seems quite awkward but if it was less chaotic would be cooler
sounds like a sad bandcamp song
it seems like from one side you want to describe her beauty, but then just call your fucking dick in vulgar words

I finally got the job. Pretty simple deskjob, probably a work of no importance for anyone. But
somehow it is needed. But this is not important for this piece of writing. What is important is the
window. The window, with the view at the parking lot. From this day, I will write what is happening
on the parking lot. The parking lot. Usually there are 20ish cars there, mostly those owned by
middle class, nothing interesting. Often some kid just runs through the lot to get to the nearby
school. But most of time nothing is happening there. At 6 AM the lot starts being populated by cars
and people start coming to their works. Probably the only important car is the car of the owner of
the whole place. Families do not park here, cause this is a bussiness related parking lot. Oh, did
I mentioned sometimes a cat runs away through parking lot, but there are no stray dogs. Probably
just a weird observation of mine, of course it maybe just exceptional situation that happened today
that there are no stray dogs. What may have caused such turn of events for those animals, nothing
forces them to stop getting on this quite average parking lot.
To sum stuff up, except for the stray dogs situation, this day probably was an average day on the
average parking lot.

Clunky, oddly phrased, colourless.

The chilling hoarfrost bit the tip of my nose like an insatiable Jack Frost swooping down from the clouds after an eternal hibernation, or more so the antithesis of one. Not much could be done about the dry, coagulating blood crust painting my upper lip and pain shot through my mustache every time I attempted to pick at it's scabbiness. Hearthmouth was only a few miles off, over the formidable mountain obstructing my path, although, boot camp back in 85' would help me traverse the monstrous boulder of a beast with no problem. The dropping temperatures are what worried me. Soon a rustle in a near by tree caught my attention. Something was lurking about back there, on the other side of this stone I'd propped myself against. My body trembled at the thought of overturning what was on the other side. Petrified and bone-chilled, I sat quietly... listening... waiting... wrapping my body with the warmth of my arms, unable to defend myself should some creature pounce over the top of me. "Panther?" I said aloud. Suddenly the wind mysteriously died down, the ambient silence settled like the last shifting of an avalanche. My eyes burned at the sight of naturally groomed white surrounding my cozy hiding spot. Then... the rustle again. This time closer. Much closer. I mustered up the strength to grasp the stone head and pull my self over for a peak. Surprisingly, my eyes met the gleaming pupils of a trundra jackrabbit. It stood unwavered except for its fluttering nose, which mesmerized me for a few seconds before RRWWAAARRRR... and that's how I lost my arm. Still don't know what ripped me ol' socket out. Something livin' out back in the boonies of the far reaches of Hearthmouth...

Thank you so much! Yeah I'm still in the process of editing this but I finally finished the first draft. Honestly I'm just trying out new styles and for my genre fic classes, I chose gothic and ya haha

Yeah I need to look at some of the word choices/make it much more modern in the world and I'll have a look at the whole caterpillar thing because I realise it kinda gets discarded after a few paragraphs further into the piece.

Again, thank you so much

Already posted here but I'll critique yours.

I don't know what "alginated" means, but I guess it's to become like algae, at least that's what I got from it, so it fits I suppose, still weird though.
The first two paragraphs are clear (to a point).
The joke in the second paragraph didn't hit me because it went on for too long, and the language and setting became kinda jarring ( is he some kind of modern day hero in a medieval fantasy land or something? Or is this just "rough language in this world", because it seemed a little modern.)
The third paragraph lost my attention. Maybe it's the boring description (in my opinion), or the lack of flow, I don't know, but it killed it for me there.

Here's mine.

The coarseness of the ride was more than X’amad could bear. The old warrior was not familiar with the flying vessels of steel that his captors had driven. Humming engines doused the merciful g-force split in his ear as the ship took off into outer space. One could only pity the poor soul to have been encased in ice for over ten thousand years to have finally heard real sound once again, and it all came rushing into his ears like splitting earth.
“Cease this foolishness!” he cried, two hands walling what was left of his eardrums. He was an alien to them, and his concerns were treated as such, or perhaps, like aliens, they didn’t know him any better, and so he curled, and hoped to the presence of his father that he could be relieved of the ignorance striking him raw. He curled like an infant, as sure as was the first birth of his day; for in that succour of the womb, only then could he find his peace.
“Someone tie him up!” said the female of his captors. There was a whole team of them; three men, and two women, but one, he recalled, was lost to his previous captors when they freed him from the old temple.
Temple? He thought; the word returned to him like the hushed sooth sayings of a mother’s old nursery rhyme. He indeed remembered he was held captive at some temple at some far off planet; the result of banishment most likely, or a fall from the graces of a high society too long ago to have ever been recalled, even for him.
Which lead to the next hollowed question. Who am I?
“Brace yourself for impact!” said the female captor, holding onto dear life for the braces of her steel buckled chair. The whole ship convulsed with the trauma of a blow to the head, the bridge was bleeding into hyper space; computers and wires being sucked out through various points of cracked windshield covering the view of outer space.
“Set lockdown!” said a male captor of his, darker skinned than the rest of them pale faces. Shutters of steel wrought low on the open gush of space, one of the captors was disembowelled by the late intrusion.
“Jeffery!” the female called out.

No problem. Caterpillar thing is a nice idea, just needs rephrasing in my opinion.

Good luck.

That's a scene from better call saul with some dialog changes

I guess I should make the setting more clear. Hes a modern hero but the fantasy world he's in, which sort of overlaps with the real one is kind of steampunk or magepunk

Ill crit you when I can. Today is damn busy for me

I'm not involved in your discussion, but after reading through the thread, I felt the need to point out that you're being way more defensive than he is. He just asked for specifics and you wrote out this long, blow-by-blow account, and then got mad at him after because you went to so much trouble. Get some self-awareness before you start criticizing others.

Been working this out for a year now. Not sure if it's print worthy, but here it is anyway (please rate):

Her pee pee went around his pee pee, hers was wet and warm but his was cold like ice but not anymore because they were inside each other, her ass now inside his cock.

He gingerly puts his fingers like a peace-sign up her nostrils and bites her ear to show dominance. This causes her to start farting uncontrollably inside his cock, tickling him.

"Hehe" he says.

She starts shitting in his penis.

lol

10/"10"

Smart, sassy, razor sharp, and cuts that dummy apart at the joints.

hey, this dummy has feelings.