I Don’t Know What to Write About
By Johnny Apocalypse
I sit before my computer, a blank word processor document on the screen. The end of the month is nearing quickly. Old Man Forbis is going to break my knees if I don't get my article in on time.
It's not writer's block, I know that much. My various other writings aren't nearly this much trouble. Generally, writing for Acid Logic is easier than the other nonsense I write. But today, I just don't seem to have any ideas.
I surf the internet, hoping for ideas. Instead, I end up playing silly flash games for half an hour before realizing that I should be writing. Wait, that's it! I'll write about the flash games!
In the annals of history, countless cultures and peoples went to battle with catapults, hurling rocks back and forth, occasionally knocking down a castle in the spoils of war. This style of war has long been forgotten, and many is the day where my friends and I sit back and complain. "We need to knock down a castle," we say. "But not with explosives, that's too easy. I know, we should use a catapult!"
Sadly, knocking down castles with catapults is typically frowned upon. But there is still hope! The good people at Armor Games have developed a game called Crush the Castle, where your objective is...
Wait, got an e-mail. Oh, it's from Forbis.
Saleeby just turned in his article, where the fuck is yours? He's writing about some silly castle crushing game he found online. Dear god, it's awful. I sure hope you have something better in line, or I'm sending my goons over.
Shit. Okay, no writing about flash games.
The blank screen is searing into my eyes, the cursor taunting me with each blink. Need to write something, need to write something.
Well, when in doubt, write about movies! I've used that to fill a few pages for the site when I didn't know what else to write about, no reason it won't work here.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I have recently discovered a new Motherfucking Masterpiece. Well I guess it's not really a Motherfucking Masterpiece, but it's at least a Masterpiece. Okay, it's not even a masterpiece, but it's pretty damn good. Well, maybe not pretty damn good, but it's pretty good. I recently watched Rob Zombie's Halloween Two, an interesting sequel where Michael Myers returns from what seemed like certain death, and continues his single-minded pursuit to kill everyone in his path. His primary target seems to be Laurie Strode, the young teeny-bopper girl who killed him in Halloween the first.
However, everything is not as it seems: This time around, we see inside the mind of the killer, and we find that his motives aren't simply based upon the simplistic murder of the local jailbait. Hallucinatory visions of his mother are telling him to "bring Laurie home". While it seems clear at first that mommy wants her daughter to suffer the same fate as Michael's other victims, the main plot shows little Laurie having some severe mental troubles. It seems that Michael may be trying to teach little sister the finer points of mass murder.
Ah, new e-mail.
I'm getting really fucking impatient here, asshole. Waters just turned in some retarded nonsense about Zombie's new Halloween movie. How he justifies is as "pretty good" is beyond me. The goons are headed to his house right now, and if I don't see a fantastic article attached to your next e-mail I'm giving them your address next. And they're wearing protective cups so you can't kick them in the nuts this time!
I take the time to send a quick reply.
Nut kicking isn't the only trick up my sleeve. My twelve gauge and I will be awaiting your goons.
Okay, that was just a joke. Please don't send the goons, I'm doing the last re-write of the article now. Funny stuff, I promise.
As I click "send", I realize that not only have I failed to acquire a subject for this month's article, I have yet to make any jokes for it. The goons are coming for sure, and I can't remember if I have any shells left for my twelve gauge shotgun. If those friggin' neighborhood kids would stay off of my damn lawn, I'd have plenty of ammo, but no, they have to play grab ass in front of my house and I have to open fire to get rid of them.
Something to write about, something to write about. I could write about how much I hate celery! Wait, no, I've already done that. An article on the origins of heavy metal? No, used that one too.
In my desperation I turn to the news, hoping that some current events will light a spark in my imagination. I bring CNN up on the television.
"Today's top story, President Obama's health care initiative is sure to save our country."
Ugh, politics. I hate politics. Let's try Fox News.
"Today's top story, President Obama's health care initiative is sure to destroy our country."
Dammit! Not only are there politics everywhere I turn, I'm seeing the never ending joke about how CNN and Fox News are always on the opposite bias. If I put stale jokes in an article, Forbis is sure to have my balls.
Maybe CNN has moved on to something non-political.
"Furthermore, Obama's talks with Iran about nuclear arms is certain to bring about world peace."
Fuck! Back to Fox News.
"Furthermore, Obama's talks with Iran is certain to have no effect on world peace."
Okay, this isn't working. That's the same old joke, twice in a row. I might as well jump under a bus and save Forbis the goons-for-hire charge. Let's try a different channel. I know, Discovery channel.
"Today on Mythbusters, will Obama's health care initiative make or break the nation? And will he be able to talk Iran into stopping their nuclear build-up?"
Fuck, fuck fuck! Mythbusters is certainly a motherfucking masterpiece, but I'm not touching this crap.
Thanks for warning me about the shotgun. My goons are now wearing some top-quality body armor. I suggest you get an article or short story in pronto before we see how well those bullet-proof vests work. Oh, and those vests were expensive, and it's coming out of your pay.
Pay? Wil doesn't pay me for this. How the hell is he going to cut my pay down from nothing? Crazy bastard.
I check the clock. Almost midnight. First of October is right around the corner. It seems that the goons of Forbis are a certainty. I send one last e-mail to Wil before I get my guns ready.
Fuck your goons, I'm ready for them. I write funny stuff when I damn well want to, and no one says otherwise. You want to charge me for those bullet proof vests, I'm going to make sure you get your money's worth. Twelve gauge, twenty gauge, a .45, a .357 magnum and even a .22 rifle. Best of luck. If I'm still alive once this is over, I'm coming for you.
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