'The Story Of Me'

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic


An egotistical no-talent writer embellishes, you know, like our president!

Submitted: November 10, 2017

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Submitted: November 10, 2017

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I can't begin to tell you how many times someone has told me, 'You're a throbber, aren't you?' Well, thousands of times on that one, but 'Why don't you write the story of your life? I'll bet it'll be fascinating!' Well, no one so far, but since you asked!

 

I haven't always been fabulous, and a big star in the novel-writing game. In fact, with my humble beginnings, you'll be amazed how I turned out so fabulously. I first viewed the world on Sept. 5th, 1972, from my mother's bed, where she screamed epitaphs so vile, our neighbors must have thought she was watching the coronation of the First American King. (Actually, that didn't happen until January of 2017.) See, my mother, from my first breath, resented me and my obviously superior intellect, as even my screams of unhappiness carried the ring of greatness. Now I ask you, could I help it if I was born so intelligent? Of course, I had no idea I had been born with such a massive brain. My skull, to all outward appearances, looked normal. The source of my unhappiness revolved around lack of food, which persists to this day.

 

I'll skip all the growing up stuff, at least 'til I turned six, and started sixth grade, my superior brain allowed me to skip right there from kindergarten, with it's juvenile making art from macaroni (the first day, the teacher said we were going to make art, so for my macaroni artwork, I did a likeness of Albert Einstein, which Mrs. Fairfax took one look at, and recommended I be skipped ahead several grades. Anyway, to make a long story short, from there, I went on to college, got straight A's in writing class, and then, once I got my B.A in Clever Writing, it became obvious what direction I should go in. So, I became the best-selling author this true-life story is about--

 

"Charles, this is your editor, requesting that you stop making shit up. No one believes you're a best-selling author, in fact, other than several child-like regurgitations of semi-literate English, you ain't published shit, and if it weren't for the fact you came to us with several thousand dollars, you wouldn't even be writing this bullshit."

 

"I swear, everything I've written is true, and since I'm paying you, it shouldn't matter anyway"

 

"Look, we may not exactly be above-board, but even we have minimal publishing standards. You may be paying us to publish this untruthful drivel, but in the end, it's our name on the book as publisher."

 

"Oh yeah? Well, I've got some bad news for you, all that money? It's counterfeit!"

 

"Hold on, I'd like you to repeat that while Uncle Sven listens; he's a cop--oh, Uncle Sven, can you pick up the extension?"

 

"Oh, come on, you're bluffing--You expect me to believe that shit--"

 

"Hello, this is Officer Husqvarna, and may I have your full name and address, please? Hello? I think he hung up, Sander."

 

 

 

 

 

 


© Copyright 2018 Mike S.. All rights reserved.

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