The World's Greatest Novel

Drunken Meat Fist

Veni Veni Veni
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I'm tired, why don't we just write the longest novel, with a little song and effort, all mediums, pics and music where it goes, uneditied, in the words, your barbaric yaap, obviously a trainwreck but some serious intent and flavor and atmosphere. A handful of screwdrivers wrote a bible.
 
I'm not sure I get this, but are you saying that this thread should be published as a novel?
 
I'm 206-0 in streetfights
 
I'm 206-0 in streetfights
But that all changed the day she walked in my favourite drinking hole. I didn't know it then, but a few weeks later i would almost die for her. Twice.
 
I already published a really long Sherdog thread into a novel and have spent a year and a half watching grass grow looking at the sales charts.
 
What, why, when?
She didn't have any answers. But she was a classy dame with a mean streak who would not leave until I listened to her story and request for help.
 
So I bought her a scotch - "neat please" she said while taking the stool next to mine.
 
After a while i was ready to walk away when she mentioned a name that caught my attention. Billy the Finger McLeod. Fuck, i was in no matter what if that prick was after her.
 
Is this a game where we continue to build upon each others storylines/continue unfinished sentences? I played that game a lot when I was a teenager, was fun. Can't do it in english, so I'm out, I'm just curious what this is all about.

Please don't publish this post in your novel, mister Meat Fist!
 
maybe not published and this is has already went to hell like a pack of dogs, why couldn't we start a real or imagined thread and nobody broke face, just post dialogue or narrative or conversation, NO SELF CONSCIOUSNESS, no artifice, like nobody's looking, just for it's own sake, you pop in with what's fucking laying on you or a turn of phrase you heard or what someone typed hits you with a song, drop the song, a scene from the rime of the ancient mariner, a picture of a bird on your truck, just a long inexplicable ocean of thoughts and seashells and beautiful shit, someone a year from now stumbles on and there's none of this conversation, just outsider art, mental communal graffiti, no self reflection, just the thing. It seems impossible, someone would fuck it up, we can delete those. I ....think it would be a worthy endeavor, and nothing I've seen. All the world's a stage, you contribute a verse, absolutely no criticism, just shit from the heart, a mad story from a schizophrenic eye. Drop beauty as an inexplicable narrative. Let it go forever. And when your shit hits the bottom, you think of this place in your dreams. In stead of all the dark shit and bad place, you check in and see where this story is, drop a verse. It would be too vast mean anything, it would blow all that shit away, just a place to go to drop some poetry and beauty and thoughts, so when you scroll down seven hundred pages of that shit, it's a hidden treasure of the internet, no one bringing it to the surface for self reflection, see how long before someone fucks it up, but we can deal with that. I[ve long thought that would be a cool thing I haven't seen out there. Maybe just horseshit. Posted moments like Naked Lunch. Drop your shit and let's make it a collective narrative that lives on it's own.
 
Ottawa guy gets it. Obviously you're into Drizzt, Snapshot_20181027_2.JPG I got a pretty cool hardback I could toss ya. I lived in a big place and now I'm in a tiny shithole, I would like to give shit to people who give a shit, I'm mostly literature but I fuck around.
 
It was too late, she rolled her stockings down like she was shedding a skin, turned her hair with a movement no one else in the world would ever see. She turned the water on and looked in the mirror and then looked down to shut off the day. closed her eyes and melted in the water.
 
the clouds through the window, the kids in the street as hear the time go by and look at your hands the radio playing something soft in the bedroom
 
And still I can’t get that image out of my head. Every cloudy day brings me back. The booze helped for a while, but now there is no reprieve to be found.
 
I woke up early today, the pain of losing her was almost enough to push me over the edge, I decided to chase a few shots back, that cocksucker billy will pay for what he did, betraying me when I was out of town, but when I get back to LA, there will be hell to pay
 
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The sun creeping through the curtains is blinding me, almost as much as my rage. I hate mornings, the alcohol never wants to stay down.

Last night whiskey was my drink, fuck where is the tylenol .

Anyways how did I do last night, better check my wallet, fuck wait, where did I put my wallet. I had a whale on the line down at the pool hall last night, but I blacked out
 
she'll come around, it's always just the same gripe, it smells like apricots and everything's in order. Aunt Law, whatever the fuck that means, time's what it is, and no one's getting any younger, if it wasn't for that song last night
 
I remember the first time I met Billy the finger, by his nickname I figured he was a narc, he seemed the kind to flip on ya to save his neck, over a few years i came to find out billy was a standup guy, they called him the finger cause of his love of fingering woman, apparently billy was born with a micro penis, so he needed to finger a bitch to get her off
 
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