Wendigisms 2: The Penmonkey Strikes Back
Tuesday December 11, 2012 | By Hieronymus Hawkes | Uncategorized | Leave Comments
I needed a good title for the sequel. I thought about naming this one Revenge of the Pen Monkey but Chuck already used that title for one of his writing books. Next was Dead Man’s Prostate, but that’s just a little too gross to publish across the interwebs. The Quickening doesn’t sound bad, but I’m happy with what I picked.
These are all giblets of stuff Chuck has published on his website and most are related to the art of writing in some form or fashion. They’re priceless. The first page of stuff is here on my 1st Wendigisms page. You can always read more over at Terribleminds.
And without further ado:
And without further ado:
- Feculent turd-heads
- Eff that in the ay, emmer-effer
- I will beat you to death with a sock full of your own teeth
- Mornings tend to be when your brain is at its lemon-scented freshest
- Think of this as a narrative laxative
- Covers that look like someone just ingested a rod of uranium and threw up in a clown’s shoe
- Suddenly your voice is scratchy and dry like you’ve been gargling watch parts and cigarette butts for the last ten years
- Loosen your mind sphincter
- Shock-prod your brain-squirrels into powering the endeavor at hand
- Sad trombone
- Harvest all the delicious Idea Chilli *nom nom nom*
- Plot is like Soylent Green: it’s made of people.
- Sweaty genitals, which is the worst ice cream flavor ever
- Massaging the prostate of your soul
- Your artistic faucet won’t offer anything but a quivering, syphilitic drip
- You are not a sad friendless little tugboat
- It’s about throwing caution into a woodchipper
- coffee so black it might as well have been ink poured out of a squid’s behind.
- scream like a Tasered girl scout
- you were just rolling around in a dish of someone’s fingernail clippings and hoagie sweat
- Extract those wretched little nuggets of hard black hate-coal and use them to fuel the writing
- trees only read magazines about trees. Printed on the flesh of humans
- your jaw hangs loose like a broken porch swing
- Secrete enzymes to build your own authorial exoskeleton
- we’re all gonna end up under the Grim Reaper’s riding mower
- it’ll slip through one of the many mouse-holes in your mind-floor
- chipping off the tiniest sliver of our intellectual granite
- Shake lose the barnacles you’ve gathered while floating inert in the murky harbor of your undoing.
- I’m allowed to make up new words because I have my Pennsylvania Writer’s License
- jet-lagged and dung-brained
- an autumnal orgy of sweet arctic fruit-sex
- SEIZE THE CARP. No matter how hard that fucking fish wriggles.
- Embrace the Viking immortality of having your ideas live forever.
- a rollicking case of the spiritual pee-shivers
- Cement your genital stamina