Fun_People Archive
24 Feb
The War of the Sexes
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From: Peter Langston <psl>
Date: Mon, 24 Feb 97 00:14:42 -0800
To: Fun_People
Subject: The War of the Sexes
Forwarded-by: Keith Bostic <bostic@bsdi.com>
Forwarded-by: bc@pixar.com (Bill Carson)
Forwarded-by: Terence Johnson <tjohnson@comland.com>
Forwarded-by: David Pierce <dpierce@prismnet.com>
This assignment was actually turned in by two English students:
Rebecca <last name deleted> and Gary <last name deleted>
English 44A
SMU
Creative Writing
Prof Miller
In-class Assignment for Wednesday
Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The
process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to
his or her immediate right. One of you will then write the first paragraph
of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add
another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third
paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to reread what has been
written each time in order to keep the story coherent. The story is over
when both agree a conclusion has been reached.
----------------------------------------------------------------
At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The
camomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now
reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he
liked camomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off
Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too
much her asthma started acting up again. So camomile was out of the
question.
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now
in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the
neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had
spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he
said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign
of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam
flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay.
The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the
cockpit.
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one
last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever
had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless
hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law
Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel." Laurie read in her newspaper
one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared
out the window, dreaming of her youth -- when the days had passed
unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to
distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things
around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she
pondered wistfully.
Little did she know, but she has less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of
miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its
lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the
Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through Congress had left Earth a
defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to
destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty
the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to
pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them they swiftly
initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the
atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine
headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the
inconceivably massive explosion which vaporized Laurie and 85 million other
Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We
can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's blow'em out of the
sky!"
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing
partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.
Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at
writing are the literary equivalent of Valium.
You total $*&.
Stupid %&#$!.
© 1997 Peter Langston