10 comments/ 11109 views/ 1 favorites Fictionrotica's Contest Scandal Ch. 01 By: BOSTONFICTIONWRITER The events and characters of this story are figments of my imagination and totally fictional. Truly, I have no idea where I get this shit. I need help. * Should someone see themselves as characters in this story, it's either a huge coincidence on my part or guilt and shame on your part. Yet, for those who are truly shameful and guilty, don't despair, oh miserable ones. God is saving a special place for you, one that is much darker than your personality and more deeply disturbed than your thoughts. Whenever I can, I promise, I'll drop you down some ice. Only, by the time it reaches the depths where your soul remains in burning eternity, the ice may turn to boiling hot steam. In that case, I'll send you extra ice...and you thought your stories were hot. Give my regards to Dante, to all the Popes of the Catholic Church, who took pennies from the poor to build the glistening gold of Vatican City, and to all of our political public servants. I'd wear sunscreen and bring marshmallows if I were you. 'Twas a sad day at Fictionrotica. The clouds appeared, the skies darken, and the birds no longer sang when Freddie lost another contest at Fictionrotica. Shakespeare rolled over in his grave and Stephen King decried, decreed, and declared the death of the short story...again. Freddie thought he was going to win the Great Divider Contest this time. He had a good chance, after all, because the contest was based on story quantity and not quality or by the popularity of the chummy friends votes. If only he had not pulled 32 of his stories for publication. Alas, so few have such control over the destiny of so many writers on this site. "Quiet please. Calm down amateur writers and aspiring professional scribes. Things are not as bad as they seem. There is hope. Put out your torches and return back to your keyboards and write, write, write. Persevere my dear friends, persevere. Don't be discouraged by the deceitfulness of so few. There is no need for violence. I beg you not to revolt and withhold your stories for it will surely pass. It is but only a temporary condition of the lunacy that pervades pornography sites such as this." I write fiction. Alas, I write it all too well. The only thing that eclipses the mastery of my writing skill is my boyish good looks, the muscularity of my manly body, the size of my package, and my modesty. There are those who write and read on these very pages who I have angered because I turned down their offers of sex. Thank you for wanting to fuck me up the ass or for wanting to tie me up and beat me silly while having forced sex with my muscular body, I wrote back, but I'm in a serious relationship (thank God) with a normal, breathing woman, one who I don't have to inflate. I wrote and told them that I'm not gay. I wrote and told them that I'm not into anal, bondage or S & M or whatever the Hell they do with that cattle prod, (God only knows). I told the fat women that I prefer thin women, the thin women that I prefer fat women, the short women that I prefer tall women, and the tall women that I prefer short women, all to no avail. They all still want me. I'm so very flattered, but I'm so very afraid. These people are crazy. I just want to write my stories and if perchance someone enjoys what I write, that is my reward. If it is meant to be for me, the fame and fortune will follow. I don't need to prove that I have talent by winning a writing contest that is more dependent upon the favored personality of the writer than it is on their writing ability and their art of telling a story. I'm just your normal every day, talented and good looking, but modest writer who writes to give some modicum of pleasure to his reading audience. Think of me as a public servant of the reader, if you will. I shall await your inspiration before I write another story. Thank you for this one. Unfortunately, my rejection of their overt attempts to have sex with me is what pushed them over the edge, the poor lonely, demented dears. They couldn't take my rejection. Matter of fact, those who post nasty comments at the end of this story are the same sad people who I have rejected their offers for sex over and again and who still hold hope that I will change my mind and embrace them in some form of a depraved, delusional, and desperate relationship. You need help. Find a psychiatrist who will prescribe something to ease your misery. You no longer have to suffer with the antidepressant drugs that are available now, Prozac, Zoloft, and electrical shock therapy. Think lobotomy. Now, so as not to show everyone how crazy they truly are, they'll post their comments as Anonymous. Only, how sad to go through life anonymously. "Who was that?" "I don't know it was an anonymous person." "What's that they're wearing?" "A double body bag from head to toe, incase the first body bag breaks." "Gees, they really must be ugly." "Truly, they are inside and out." I'm followed by an army of people who don't possess my writing ability and creativity and who are jealous of my talent. Therefore, they purposely sabotage and thwart any attempt that I make to write a story and any effort that I take to honesty win a contest by giving me low and undeserved votes. They hate me. Yet, to evoke that kind of hateful emotion (love and hate are symbiotic emotional twins after all) and to make them do the things against my reputation that they do, only proves how superior my writing is to their writing, how hurt they are from my rejection of their affection, and how much they truly love me. "They love me. They really, really love me." Sorry, oh horny ones, but cheer up, maybe you should read instead of write. As you may have noticed by all the outtakes, not everyone can be an American Idol, not everyone can sing, and not everyone knows how write and tell a story. Whenever I post anything to their "Decorum" the name of the forum pages where they live, haunt, and hide behind their cutesy little names and wishful whimsy artwork 24/7, they are nasty to my comments, ideas, and suggestions. I don't take their nastiness personally because they act out in the same way to any newcomer who is not part of their inner circle of demented friends. Now, that I have given you a bit of background, let's proceed with the (fictional) story. To be continued... Fictionrotica's Contest Scandal Ch. 02 The events and characters of this story are figments of my imagination. Truly, I have no idea where I get this shit. I need help. Should someone see themselves as characters in this story, it's either a huge coincidence on my part or guilt and shame on your part. Yet, for those who are truly shameful and guilty, don't despair, oh miserable ones. God is saving a special place for you, one that is much darker than your personality and more deeply disturbed than your thoughts. * Whenever I can, I promise, I'll drop you down some ice. Only, by the time it reaches the depths where your soul remains in burning eternity, the ice may turn to boiling hot steam. In that case, I'll send you extra ice...and you thought your stories were hot. Give my regards to Dante, to all the Popes of the Catholic Church, who took pennies from the poor to build the glistening gold of Vatican City, and to all of our political public servants. I'd wear sunscreen and bring marshmallows if I were you. "Honey, where are you?" "I'm up here in Edna's room." Jean leaned over the banister and looked up to confirm her worst fears. "Get out of her room. She'll know you were snooping." "I'm being careful, Honey, don't worry. I'm wearing rubber gloves, taking digital photos, and writing down everything that I touch, just like the police do at a crime scene so that I can move everything back the way that it was before she gets home." Jean took a step up the stairs. She had not gone this far up the stairs and this close to her daughter's room in 5 years; since her daughter bought a computer and lost her mind to the Internet and to the decorum pages of Fictionrotica. "What if she comes home and catches you? She almost killed you with that sparking knife the last time." "I told you before, Jean, that wasn't a sparking knife. It was an electric dildo that she uses to pleasure herself." "If only she'd get a boyfriend," her mother said collapsing and sitting on the third step. "Surely, there is someone for everyone, even her." "Well, part of her problem is cheese doodles." "Cheese doodles, what do you mean, cheese doodles?" "Come up here Jean and I'll show you." "But, I'm afraid, John. What if she comes home? I don't want to have to call the police and have her committed again." "Nah, I saw her take her cape. She'll be gone for hours." "Which cape did she take the black one with I'm Fat, I'm Ugly, and I'm Angry, So Don't Fuck With Me in big, white letters on the back or the red one with our address on it incase she gets lost again and forgets where she lives, 2 Bongo Lark Lane?" "She took the BongoLark II cape." "Okay, then, she's out with her friends RedMadOldMaid, ReallyHateMen, Barkers, AbbraKadbrica and that new, arrogant, bossy and mean woman, Maureen Wynnde. They'll be gone for hours." "But, I thought she was going by the name ShortFusedAndNasty." "It appears that she goes by dozens of names, but BongoLark II is her new identity. She has 99,000 posts to this one web site alone. She must sit at this computer 24/7 to post so much. The poor thing must be so lonely and miserable, but she's become such a good typist. I can't believe she's still a virgin." "Virgin? Of course she's a virgin. Who the Hell would fuck her? Come up here because you're not going to believe this." Jean carefully climbed the steps one at a time, crossing herself while praying to God as she ascended the steps. "Oh, my God, John, what's all that?" She said standing in the doorway and staring in the room. "Cheese doodles. They're everywhere." "But, she said she was on a diet." Her mother fell back against the doorframe to support herself and stepped on a cheese doodle. "Crunch! She said she was losing weight. She told me that she was down to 200 pounds." "You're going to have to cleanup that squished cheese doodle, Honey, or she'll know we were up here. Also, look to see if you can still read the number." "Number?" "All the cheese doodles are pre-numbered with cheese flavored pen." "This one is 42,090, I think." "Okay, get me a fresh one from one of the open cheese doodle bags and I'll number it and toss it on the floor with all the others." "Here," said Jean handing him the cheese doodle. "She's been hiding food up here," John said looking at his wife with tears in his eyes. "She's still weighs 400 pounds." "How do you know what she weighs when we haven't seen her in two years?" "Look at the cattle scale, there's a permanent mark where the needle hits." "Oh, my God, 401. My poor little girl," said Jean beginning to silently sob. "Don't kid yourself, Jean. Your little girl is not so little nor is she poor." "What do you mean, John?" "I've been going through her e-mails. She's been rigging and winning contests on this Fictionrotica site for years with the help of her friends and has been writing to some guy called Gymsoxlicker." "She has a boyfriend, named Jim?" "I certainly hope this is not our future son," he said moving from the computer screen so that his wife could see the photo. "It's a photo of him licking dirty gym socks." "Ewww! Who are these people, John?" "They're all sickos and whackos. And I'm been reading some of her hot mail," said her father. "Listen to this one she wrote to RedMadOldMaid. I hate that Bostonfictionwriter. He's been leading the Fictionrotica's Great Divider Contest since February and I'm going to get him." "Bostonfictionwriter," said Jean, "I remember him; he's that nice young man who was in the newspaper again recently for saving another baby from another burning building." "Yeah, well, anyway, Jean, it appears that our daughter hates the guy and is plotting to steal the 2007 Fictionrotica Great Divider Contest from him by writing dozens of 750 word stories under the name of BongoLark II with the help of her friends." "That's terrible and that's cheating. See, it says here that according to the rules on Fictionwrotica, you must write all the submissions yourself and not as a group activity. Now, that explains why she was able to write so many stories in 10 weeks. Why would they do that to such a nice young man? Poor Bostonfictionwriter. He's so swell." "I think I found the reason. Listen to the hot mail that she sent to Maureen Wynnde who works at the site. Well, Freddie turned down my offers for sex again. He told me that he couldn't afford the cases of whip cream that he would need to buy to cover my fat body. I told him that I would split the cost, but he never responded." "Yeah, I basically got the same rejection for sex from the e-mail that I sent him. He told me that he didn't do mean and nasty women. Imagine that bastard calling me mean and nasty. Who the Hell does he think he is? I'm nothing but nice and kind. If he was here now, I'd set him on fire and watch him burn. And I'd pour more gasoline on him every time he cried for mercy." "Gees, Maureen that is a bit mean and nasty, don't you think? Anyway, I just found out that Freddie wants to build a clubhouse for all the poor children that he has saved from burning buildings, speeding cars, and ice pond drowning with the prize money from winning the contest. I don't know about you, but I hate children as much as I hate men and as much as I hate people for that matter." "Yeah, I know what you mean. I hate people, too. People suck. You can count on me. I will help you in any way that I can, BongoLark II." To be continued... Fictionrotica's Contest Scandal Ch. 03 The events and characters of this story are figments of my imagination. Truly, I have no idea where I get this shit. I need help. Should someone see themselves as characters in this story, it's either a huge coincidence on my part or guilt and shame on your part. Yet, for those who are truly shameful and guilty, don't despair, oh miserable ones. God is saving a special place for you, one that is much darker than your personality and more deeply disturbed than your thoughts. * Whenever I can, I promise, I'll drop you down some ice. Only, by the time it reaches the depths where your soul remains in burning eternity, the ice may turn to boiling hot steam. In that case, I'll send you extra ice...and you thought your stories were hot. Give my regards to Dante, to all the Popes of the Catholic Church, who took pennies from the poor to build the glistening gold of Vatican City, and to all of our political public servants. I'd wear sunscreen and bring marshmallows if I were you. Edna's father John continued reading his daughter's hot mail to his wife, Jean. "Listen to his, she told everyone on the Fictionrotica site that she was taking a year off from writing anything. She tricked everyone into believing that," said her father. "Only instead of writing stories under her name of ShortFusedAndNasty, she's been using stories written by her friends and posting them all under the name of BongoLark II just to win the $500 and to buy more cheese doodles, no doubt." John looked at his wife with a face full of disappointment. "She's 30 years old. It's time for her to get a job, her own place, and to be on her own." Now, there are those who will write that I am a sore loser or have sour grapes towards the winner of the 2007 Fictionrotica Great Divider Contest. Yet, when someone has a pure heart and unselfish reason to win a contest for the betterment of the neighborhood and to build a clubhouse for the poor children to play, then I disagree with you. Besides, cheating is cheating and there is no place in a competition for cheaters. Just as Jose Conseco, Barry Bonds, and Roger Clemens, et al, of the hundreds of baseball players, football players, and every professional athlete in every professional sport, who have enhanced their performance by using illegal steroids, it is wrong for someone to submit stories in someone else's name just to win a contest. How can you live with yourself knowing that the words you submitted were not your own? Besides, it is not only me who you have cheated by writing stories in conjunction with others to post under your name, BongoLark II, as your own stories, there are all of those people who finished behind me and who you have selfishly chosen to displaced for your own personal benefit just to win this contest and to buy more cheese doodles. How could you do that to all the other contestants who worked so hard writing their stories? How dare you? Who do you think you are? Get off your fat ass, get a job, and go buy your own dame cheese doodles. Yet, I won't waste my time being bitter or angry. I'll just refrain from reading anything that you write no matter what name you chose to use and I hope all those others who participated in this contest and contests prior and who followed the participants in this contest will have the forethought to refrain and boycott from reading your writings and the writings of your accomplices, too. We all know who they are. You just have to look to see who wins the contests. It's the same characters over and again. The rest of us don't stand a chance of winning, not the way that these contests are designed and rigged. Occasionally, a newcomer will win a contest and that's a fluke. Only, is it a fluke or is he or she just another one of the group who is writing under a different name? Yet, you dear writer, I know that your story was better than the one who was voted to win. I voted for you, but to no avail. Don't waste your energy feeling bad because the contest was a sham and your story truly was deserving of the award. I happened to have the good fortune of meeting BongoLark II or ShortFusedAndNasty or whatever is her name. She was there standing at the Dunkin Donut counter. Never having met her before, I knew it was her. There was a look on her face and instantly, I picked up on the lunacy that plagued her. She was ordering 3 dozen donuts for an outing she told the clerk behind the counter. After I was given my small black coffee, I followed her car, a blue Ford Escort station wagon that listed to one side due to her enormous weight. I felt bad for the driver's seat and could hear the springs moan as she slowly drove along. She pulled into an empty parking lot and parked her car in the distance away from all the other cars. She was gorging on the sugary confections. Fearing the worst, I tried to make it to her car before she had a sugar high, but I was too late and she was too strung out on carbohydrates, calories, and sugar. "You're BongoLark II aren't you," I asked as I approached her opened driver's side window." "Who are you," she said turning to face me with a face full of white, cream frosting. I threw up in my mouth with the image of her sucking someone's cock and seeing their cum exploded all over her fat face so much like the donuts that she consumed. Only, there was nothing sexual about her. I felt sorry for her. ...And she looked nothing like the picture that she prominently displays on Fictionrotica. "I'm Freddie, Bostonfictionwriter, the one who you cheated out of winning the 2007 Fictionrotica Great Divider Contest." "How'd you know it was me?" "You leave a trail of cheese doodle dust wherever you go." "Ha! Ha! I got you good, didn't I?" "Got me good? What do you mean, Bongo?" "I had all of my friends writing 750 word stories and I posted them all under my name to make you lose that contest. Loser!" "Don't you feel even a little bit bad that I was going to donate that money for a good—" "Ah, fuck you, and your altruism. Who do you think you are Brad Pitt? Although you do look a little like him only bigger and better looking." "All this because I wouldn't buy 4 cases of whipped cream and coat your fat, naked body?" "You rejected me," she screamed with her donut filled mouth. "I feel sorry for you, alone in your room. So, you won the contest and the money, you are still alone with your bad self and with friends who don't exist but on your computer. You don't even know their real names. Do you really think that RedMadOldMaid really looks like her photo? That's probably not even a photo of her. And ReallyHateMen, do you think that image of a sexy vixen in black leather and in high heels is what she looks like in real life? And what about Barkers? Her tits don't even look real. She probably has an entire box of Kleenex in her bra. AbbraKadbrica is not even a good writer, yet you guys awarded her the Santa Claus contest when there were so many better stories that were deserving of that award. What kind of friend do you really think Maureen Wynnde is? No friend at all, is my thought. Is Gymsoxlicker your only hope of a serious relationship? Someone who has a fetish for worn gym socks?" "Go away," she said eating donut after donut with two chubby hands. "It's time for an intervention. I'm here to save you, BongoLark II or ShortFusedAndNasty. Get out of the car." To be continued...