Yay to creative writing prompts for the mentally unsound block people who think of themselves as writers get

So I found a website that has random creative writing prompts. One of which was to write a story about a man who teaches his pet cockroaches to dance. Another was to write a letter to your ten year old self. Most of the rest was trash I could not comprehend.

So...

Dear Chloe,

I assume that since you are 10 now, you will be 11 soon. I am really sorry about that but don't worry, 13 years later you haven't changed at all. Goal succeeded, win.

But the real reason I'm writing to you now from the future, as your awesome future self, is not to tell you shit I know now that I wish I knew then but to tell you this ridiculous whack story I'm making up right now about Mr Hunting Lodge as a whim.

Who is Mr Hunting Lodge you ask? Why, he's the bottle of whisky daddy finished that mummy now uses as water bottles to hydrate her annoying and awful family. Yes, we are awful and annoying but don't worry, generally people kinda like us so really, you can quit trying now.

Mr Lodge was one of those cranky pseudo posh guys with big teeth and oily skin that always thought at the back of his head just like you do that he was meant for something greater. It was always just out of his grasp and try as he may, his long skinny fingers just couldn't feel it in the dark. He lived like the slob he is but walked around in his prissy purple coat tailed jacket and shiny denim jeans and talked posh, posh not like he went to Hogwarts but like he had a smell under his nose and a singing frog stuck in his throat.

He lost his job because the frog in his throat lost its voice.

His pity party was Britney Spears, Tesco and New Years at Times Square all at once with the devil beside him patting his shoulder whispering there, there really sweetly. Then a cockroach crawled up to the little cardboard box that once held the fat he had had delivered out of misery but which now lines his stomach and clogs up his ass and started nibbling on the remnants of cheeseburger it contained inside.

Mr Lodge tried to smash it with his fist but the little roach evaded and continued its meal.

"I can't even kill a cockroach," moaned Lodge, tears rolling down his eyes again in streams.

"There, there," whispered the devil sweetly.

"Useless, useless, useless... maybe I'll facebook the 45 minutes before I commit suicide."

"There, there."

The cockroach shot Lodge a look. If you can't imagine a cockroach doing that Chloe, don't worry, Wall-E will show you how and your imagination will fly away with you.

Lodge started humming Evanescence. Imaginary paper flowers and purple clouded skies for him.

"FML!" thought the cockroach. "Another fucking emo."

And it started to dance.

That's right, you heard me. It started to dance.

Not like a ballerina in a tutu you dumbass, but it bopped it head along to the humming, and scuttled this way and that the way only a cockroach knows how. In its head it chanted dance, dance, dance, dance, dance dance dance revolution! Dance dance revolution, ohhh-hhhhhhh oh oh ohhhhh ow ow emo!

When you grow up Chloe, there will come a time when you will nod your head in agreement when some bimbo tells you that she doesn't care about the alcohol, she only likes to dance. You too may say it to someone else but believe me, that will be a lie, not a white lie - a really bad one.

But still, the cockroach danced its way in front of Lodge whose tears was still streaming down his face though his eyes were shut tight and it cleared it throat. This too is something you will see in Wall-E as cockroaches are apparently one of the only creatures that can survive a nuclear disaster which is probably how we will die in the near future. He was so sererousry ronerey that he esproded Sou Koreya. Or his dough faced successor did and AMERICA FUCK YEAH did nothing to help cos there ain't no oil there baby and they sure didn't want another Vietnam on their hands as ever since then, they only like to go to war when they sure as hell know what they're dying for.

The cockroach cleared his throat again in a series of clicks and jingly buzzes. Mr Hunting Lodge looked down and yes, I am about to say that his life changed forever.

His life changed forever.

I am now bored of this story and I realise you have no idea what facebook is. It's what people with no friends do not have. You have facebook, don't worry.

Love,
Chloe.

PS: But you like to fuck your friends over as it suits you and you have atrocious work ethic.

PPS: I wonder if this will get me a job in a magazine if they ask for sample writing.

PPPS: Maybe I should have chosen the topic which was to tell a story about an adoption agency selling shaved baby chimps instead.

PPPPS: Or about a bucket of distaste. Everyone okay with another racist post?

PPPPPS: Happy birthday EBONY! Who never reads this blog. I love you!

PPPPPPS: http://www.creativewritingprompts.com/ if anyone's interested.