Friday Fluff Part II

Now, I'm doing this to inspire all you writers, and future writers out there.

You think you can't write? You think all your stuff is trite and crap? You think you'd rather gouge out your eyes than read another stupid, horribly written story?

Well, you're not alone! Behold! For your inspiration (and condolences) I'm showing you the first 4 paragraphes of my totally unedited masterpiece which I have titled "Crap-terpiece".

Be prepared to have your bowels filled with mercy towards me (and my hopeless abilities) as you read...

When you have a first name like Abbott, old people think you're funny and young people think you’re weird. A normal person would realize this before cursing their child, a daughter no less, with such a name. But, I don’t come from normal people.

Hi, my name is Abbott Brinley, but I go by Abby, and I’m glad to make your acquaintance. I suppose I should be grateful that my last name isn’t Costello, right? Yes, that would be much worse. Oh, if you talk to my parents, they’ll tell you to call me Bott. But don’t. I mean it. Growing up with a name like Abbott really does something to your world view. Trust me on that. Although growing up in my family certainly didn’t help matters. It’s sort of the chicken and egg scenario, if you know what I mean.

Before you ask, yes, my parents were fans of Abbott and Costello. And no, I don’t know the “Who’s on First” routine. Really, I don’t. I’ve made it a point to not know it. Some would say that this is a terrible loss because that routine is such a classic. And that any well-informed person of American comedy duos should know about such things. But to those people I say, so what? You don’t know what it was like being 9 or 13 or 17 or 30 with a name like Abbott.

I don’t want you to think that my name ruined my life, because that is not the case. I blame my ruined life squarely on the shoulders of my parents. I don’t want to sound cliché, but it’s all their fault. Now, of course, they don’t see it that way. In their minds, I was given lots of love, freedom, and “me” time. But I suppose before I start telling you about my current situation, and how I’m trying to get out of it, I should first tell you about my parents, Max and Sabine, and how they saw the world when I was growing up, and how that viewpoint has determined my life. And their story can’t be told without mentioning the place where it all started, and ended: Otterville, Ohio. This small town, with all it's quirky people, only made things worse for me and my future.

I'm know, I'm sorry I'm literate too...


(Normally I'd ask you to comment, you know, so I feel liked and all. But, in this case, please don't comment. I already feel bad enough...)