Monday, 30 April 2012
What is a writer, really.
Writers seem to have been getting a lot of press lately, haven’t they? Most of it good too! Glowing, in fact. If you were to believe everything, you would think that writers excrete cures for cancer and build homeless shelters out of used tissues once the cum on them dries. Writers can immortalise you and bring you to orgasm with little more than a probing preposition and a firm set of parentheses; they just make you comma all over the place.
But have you stopped to think about who might be creating all of these little odes? Did you read it? Well it must have been made of words. And if it was made of words, it must have been written down. And if it was written down, someone wrote it. And bingo! Writers! Writers have been writing about writers. Making themselves look ten foot tall and made of benevolence.
Would you trust a polar bear to sell you the benefits of hugging large, white-furred mammals? No. Why trust a writer to sell you on writers? Don’t you think it’s about time someone actually revealed what a writer is really like? I mean, without a writer writing it? Never fear, I am here, using a speech-to-text program to dictate to you what writers really are.
Writers eat human infants. Regularly. You will often hear a writer refer to “Wednesday Night Baby Roast”, this is not a euphemism. Nobody really knows where they get the children from — many suspect that writers uncovered technology for human cloning quite some time ago but have an unwritten law that forbids writing essays for submission in scientific journals — but a Wednesday night will often see a writer dining in on slow-roasted baby, glazed with giant panda puree served alongside potatoes prepared in a unicorn milk bêchamel sauce. I can almost see the questions in your mind: “Only one type of vegetable?!” Yes, only potatoes. Writers eat far too much endangered animal meat and not enough greens.
Writers only ever write for one day of every month. You would think that with their output they would be writing twice a month at least, but it’s just one day. Because writing is so easy. They release that one day’s output in little dribbles and appear to be productive far more often than they actually are. Most of the time when you see a writer at their computer they’re probably just trying to organise a writers’ poker night — where they use the souls of orphan puppies as chips — or they’re trolling the comments section on YouTube. And when you see a writer with a notebook and pen in hand, they’re more than likely just doing a sudoku puzzle — stolen from the newspaper in the community library — or the notebook doesn’t belong to them at all and they’re drawing small penises and naked women across the blank pages.
The bread and butter for a writer’s work is the astronomical simile. And they control weather and cosmic events with reckless abandon. Sure, you might have spent a wonderful rainy day inside with a writer reading poetry to you, but the writer made it rain, and in doing so, ruined fifteen little league soccer grand finals, four weddings and countless cum-tissue homeless shelters. When a writer compared you to a shooting star, the writer conjured the meteor. Your breath may have been taken away by the wonderful description, but the meteorite took out a hundred square kilometres of farmland in Siberia. Daylight savings was a concept invented by writers so they could sleep in even later and still catch a sunset. Have a think about what that love poem you found on your pillow may have cost. One thousand, two thousand lives?
According to the spit on the breeze, writers are emotional and sensitive too. Um. Yeah. That doesn’t mean that everyone else in the world possesses the emotional range of a startled penguin. Writers are emotional and sensitive because they are human, they just like to tell you they’re sensitive so you think they’re crying when they over-season their baby roast. If I told you one of my defining features was that I have two eyes and a full head of hair, you’d probably poke one of my eyes out and shave my head while I was sleeping. Writers are doing the same thing to you when it comes to emotions.
There’s many more things about writers but they vary, oddly enough, about as many times as there are writers. Writers are hideous creatures continually using their craft to convince you they’re more than another fleshy sack of same-as-you. Don’t believe a writer is different to anybody else … except for the baby eating and laziness and ability to control the weather and things.
Labels: from rakuli.com, humorous, prose, writing
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Love this piece, nice one.ReplyDelete