cornflakes

The fuck is his problem? Does he not know what fun is? Does he think he's better than us, that he can just stand there and scowl when we're telling him the most hilarious stories and jokes that we know? That he can just frown the whole time and then turn around and say he liked it when we ask him?

Jesus.

I think he doesn't know how have fun. Honest to fucking god. He never learned how. His family moved away and forgot him at their old house and he just stayed there, living off of the two tons of cornflakes his cheapskate dad hoarded. Not even brand name cornflakes, either, the kind with that green chicken who looks like he'd know how to have a good time, the kind that gives you a role model to look up to when your dad's a cheapskate who forgot you home and decided it would be too expensive to drive back and get you. No, fucking generic brand. And the only reading material is that waste of paper, culler of trees yellowpages, and so of course this prick can't learn how to have fun, how the hell can he when he lived off of corn flakes and safe, non threatening white suburban names of the likes of John Smith and Mary Brown, that fat cow.
And then one day after twenty-two years of dry, stale flakes that at that point don't even deserve to be called corn, who look in the mirror everyday when they wake up and reminiscing about the glory days when they were young and played football in the ass end of nowhere otherwise known as Iowa and then they move to get out their faded letterman but it's too small because when they were young they were fit as hell and now they're fat slobs and they try and make it fit and decide they're going to start playing football again and become new men but then they look up and they're in the maw of Mr. Enthusiasm-Out-of-Every-Orifice, he runs out of midlife crisis and decides it's finally time to step out into the outside world even if it's just to stock up on another two tons of corn flakes. And he steps out of the door which hasn't been used in twenty-two years and in those twenty-two years slowly grew accustomed to being a wall, going so far as to starting a family with the stretch of wall to its right and having little wall children whose family and whole worlds have just now been blown by the realization that their father was a door all along, and as he steps out he looks outside and sees a glimpse of fun, two girls playing jump rope and he stares a bit for a second and promptly decides that nope, he's not having any of that.
And that's how that happened. How this over the top, smug, better than everyone else asshole came into the world, through cornflakes and yellowpages and doors who forget that they're doors, and ends up at this party absolutely refusing to laugh at our jokes, the poor bastard.

And the party's ending and he's making his way to the door and I put my hand on his shoulder and I say to him that it's alright, that I know about what happened to him and that maybe if he wants I can help him learn how to have fun. And he just stares at me and says

and I get surprised and I say that that's why you weren't laughing at any of the jokes, even though you said you liked them and he says that


Fucking prick.

Hi there! I'm Nagrom and I'll be your reviewer today! First off, I'd like to say that this is very good! Your character is absolutely brilliant, and the tone is wonderful. I love how your MC goes off into this fantasy off cornflakes and yellow pages. Amazing! XD Alright, time to move onto the nitpicks:

I think he doesn't know how have fun. Honest to fucking god. He never learned how. His family moved away and forgot him at their old house and he just stayed there, living off of the two tons of cornflakes his cheapskate dad hoarded. Not even brand name cornflakes, either, the kind with that green chicken who looks like he'd know how to have a good time, the kind that gives you a role model to look up to when your dad's a cheapskate who forgot you home and decided it would be too expensive to drive back and get you. No, fucking generic brand. And the only reading material is that waste of paper, #FF0000 ">killer of trees yellow#FF0000 ">-pages, and so of course this prick can't learn how to have fun, how the hell can he when he lived off of corn flakes and safe, non threatening white suburban names of the likes of John Smith and Mary Brown, that fat cow. #FF0000 ">I suggest dropping the "that fat cow" part. When I first read this I honestly thought you were talking about Mary Brown. X3

And then one day after twenty-two years of dry, stale flakes that at that point don't even deserve to be called corn, who look in the mirror everyday when they wake up and reminiscing about the glory days when they were young and played football in the ass end of nowhere otherwise known as Iowa and then they move to get out their faded letter man but it's too small because when they were young they were fit as hell and now they're fat slobs and they try and make it fit and decide they're going to start playing football again and become new men but then they look up and they're in the maw of Mr. Enthusiasm-Out-of-Every-Orifice, he runs out of midlife crisis and decides it's finally time to step out into the outside world even if it's just to stock up on another two tons of corn flakes. And he steps out of the door which hasn't been used in twenty-two years and in those twenty-two years slowly grew accustomed to being a wall, going so far as to starting a family with the stretch of wall to its right and having little wall children whose family and whole worlds have just now been blown by the realization that their father was a door all along, and as he steps out he looks outside and sees a glimpse of fun, two girls playing jump rope and he stares a bit for a second and promptly decides that nope, he's not having any of that.#FF0000 ">I CANNOT say anything about this paragraph. I loved it too much.

And that's how that happened. How this over the top, smug, better than everyone else asshole came into the world, through cornflakes and yellowpages and doors who forget that they're doors, and ends up at this party absolutely refusing to laugh at our jokes, the poor bastard.

And the party's ending and he's making his way to the door and I put my hand on his shoulder and I say to him that it's alright, that I know about what happened to him and that maybe if he wants I can help him learn how to have fun. And he just stares at me and says#FF0000 ">:


#FF0000 ">"What are you talking about?"

I know this was probably intentional, but you should capitalize, add quotation marks, and punctuate your sentences.


#FF0000 ">And I get surprised and I say that that's why you weren't laughing at any of the jokes, even though you said you liked them and he says that


#FF0000 ">Again with quotation/punctuation/and capitalization!
no, the jokes just weren't all that funny.


Fucking prick.

Overall, I absolutely LOVED this. It's an interestingly wonderful way to introduce yourself to YWS. Welcome!

Hey there, Affa!

First of all, this piece is really powerful, especially the tone of the speaker. I was quite surprised when the swearing welcomed me, and I knew right then that this piece is going to be different from every other short stories I've read so far. ^^

I think Ladynagrom has pretty covered up the grammatical mistakes already, so I wouldn't bother much about it. Perhaps you lack the word "what" on the first line because it's incomplete to read it. And there are some instances when you really need to cut or separate sentences into two. It sometimes distracts the flow and hard to comprehend. Here is an example:

And then one day after twenty-two years of dry, stale flakes that at that point don't even deserve to be called corn, who look in the mirror everyday when they wake up and reminiscing about the glory days when they were young and played football in the ass end of nowhere otherwise known as Iowa and then they move to get out their faded letterman but it's too small because when they were young they were fit as hell and now they're fat slobs and they try and make it fit and decide they're going to start playing football again and become new men but then they look up and they're in the maw of Mr. Enthusiasm-Out-of-Every-Orifice, he runs out of midlife crisis and decides it's finally time to step out into the outside world even if it's just to stock up on another two tons of corn flakes.

This is by far, the longest sentence I have read in whole life. It's not that I'm making fun, but I think you just need to slow down. Try rereading this piece aloud and see if there are some places where you can add some periods or commas for a quick pause or something. And again, slice this paragraph into two. ^^

My main problem with this piece is that the narrator keeps on ranting about someone, that it's already going beyond the white thin line. However, I can deal myself with an angry character but with all the swearing and the angst that are splattered here, it seems that an airplane has crashed in the middle of London Bridge that breaks the connection between the speaker and myself. I don't know but I guess this is some kind of a personal piece dedicated to a person you hated much that you just want to spill your emotions onto this piece. But the problem is that there are actually no conflicts and scenes that can make a sufficient requirement for this to be called a story. Try asking questions to yourself if this story can actually relate to the audience, because if you don't, your next readers might just ask, "why should we care about him or her?" I hope I'm making myself clear. ^^

But anyways, you have a great title and it complements well with this piece. Kicking aside my comments, this has potential. Let me know if you have any questions.

Keep writing and peace out,
Yuri