The Storymaker (Part Six)

© 2012 David Jasmin-Green

A few minutes later, after the Storymaker had dried his eyes, he realised that he had more messages, a whole ruck of them. He didn't bother reading all of them because they weren't from his mentor, which was all he was interested in right now, but he scanned a few to get their gist. From bitter experience he expected the worst, but they were all heartfelt congratulations. Or congratulations pretending to be heartfelt, more like - most of them were from the same brown-nosed, cock-sucking bastards that backed up Buffalo Mozzarella's hateful rants in the past. But that was because they were in on the big secret, Gordon reminded himself, ashamed that he was still ranking the Buffalo and his acolytes as his enemies, albeit unconsciously.

“Congratulations, Storymaker, and I really mean that. You've had your ups and downs on this site, I'm sure you'd be the first to admit that, but you've worked hard, a damned sight harder than the rest of us cheap hacks put together to improve your writing skills, and obviously it's paid off! Have a virtual pint on me, mate. It'll have to be a virtual one, because I'm skint.”
PrettyBoy996 01.04.2012, 6.46pm

“Ditto, Storymaker, PrettyBoy said it all. Your success has given us all faith in our own potential. To be honest your work did nothing for me when you first joined the group, but you've slaved relentlessly to correct your faults, which proves that we can all do reasonably well if we're willing to work hard enough. I wish you all the best with your upcoming book. I haven't read your last draft of The Venusian Project, but I promise to do so tonight after I've fed my hungry tribe.”
Cinderellarockefeller 01.04.2012, 6.58pm

“I knew there was something special about you, Storymaker, you dark horse. I always liked your stuff even though some of the earlier stories I read needed a fair bit of work. I've always had faith in you, and I guessed you'd hit the big time sooner or later because, as several others have said, you're a hard grafter, and all you ever wanted was to succeed. Congrats!!! I Hope you'll consider inviting me to your publication party, because I want to give you lots of big kisses! XXXXX”
SheilaBDevotion 01.04.2012, 7.29pm

“Wankers,” Gordon mumbled, unable to control himself. For starters the message from SheilaBDevotion pissed him off, because she had never had a good word to say about his work even before the Buffalo's arrival. And the note from PrettyBoy996 almost made him froth at the mouth, because PrettyBoy was one of the senior administrators of the site, and on one of the rare occasions that one of Gordon's stories was cherry-picked the bastard publicly complained because he didn't think it deserved that badge of merit. “Fuck 'em, fuck 'em all,” Gordon grunted. “I don't need them any more, I don't need their sodding cherries and I certainly don't need their stupid comments.” As he scrolled to the bottom of the page a fresh message appeared, and it was a lengthy one.

“A final word, Storymaker. I know you don't take much notice of the passage of time like people in the real world have to, you ageing, work-shy, utterly selfish git, but while you've been donning your party hat and uncorking the champagne (no, I take that back because I know very well you can't afford such luxuries) – while you've been opening a can of Tesco value lager or some such crap in lieu of champagne and, no doubt, hooting like a loon, have you paused to check today's date?

I know you don't bother reading newspapers or watching the TV much nowadays, I know the battery died in your cheapo Timex over a month back and you conveniently forget to charge your crappy, bottom of the range mobile phone most of the time because you can't bear the thought of your missus bothering you every half hour with banal requests like 'Can you nip to the corner shop for a carton of milk, sweetheart?' or 'Will you put the chicken in the oven for me, duck?' or whatnot. For reasons I can't even begin to understand, though, all your chunky wifey really wants is to hear the dulcet tones of your voice to brighten up her otherwise miserable days, but you're too bloody stupid to realise that.

Aah, the genius doesn't like being disturbed while he's busy penning his oh so important little stories, stories that he seriously believes are something special, though the rest of the world, even the very densest members of the population, recognise your efforts as dull, tired, criminally unimaginative verbal sewage.

You really should have remembered today's date, matey, because it's Sally Anne's birthday. I don't think you did remember, mind, and you also forgot your 25th wedding anniversary on Sunday. Well bugger me, who's in the doghouse? But never mind that. As well as being your wife's birthday it's April Fool's day. You've been had, knob breath – you've been had big time, you gullible fuck, you complete moron, you snivelling, shilly-shallying Showaddywaddy fan. It entertains me immensely to think that the silly cunt you're married to was born on All Fools' day because, as everyone can see, the biggest fool (not to mention the biggest cunt) in the marriage is you.

Sometimes I wish that the world's nobodies, you included, of course, Storymaker, would crawl off into their respective corners and die as quietly and considerately and, on reflection, as painfully as possible. But most of the time I grin and bear the existence of folk like you, most of the time I thank God above for creating no end of numb-skulls, dick-heads and daft, inanely smiling twatties for my amusement - without people like you bright, cheery, talented folk like yours truly wouldn't be able to find anything uplifting enough to brighten the occasional tedious half hour. You've been a good sport, mate, and I know in my heart that you'll take my little joke in the light-hearted manner in which it was intended to be taken..... Not.

I have to go now, Gordon. Rest assured, your missus is almost certainly smashed out of her brains by now – you know as well as I do that she can't take her drink. Shit, you haven't even noticed that she's gone yet, have you?

Don't cry for Sally Anne, lover boy, because she's happy enough right now - a damned sight happier than you're capable of making her just recently, anyway. When was the last time you slipped her one, by the way? What do you mean, you can't fucking remember? Don't give me the lame excuse you usually try to fob your poor, neglected missus off with, because I've been covertly tracking your private browsing history and I know you can still get a reasonably serviceable stiffie. You're the undisputed king of the five knuckle shuffle, Gordon, and you waste more bog paper wiping up the baby gravy you spill over the assorted sluts you encounter on the wanker-net than the Andrex puppy. Except for the times you forget to stock up on tissue and you wipe your cock on the curtains, you scummy fuck.

Right now I reckon Sally Anne is greedily sucking on some despicable lowlife's ulcerous, suppurating cock in a dark alley or a dinghy flat as another eager stud takes her from back-a-hind and brutally busts her virginal ring-piece. Failing that the dirty stop-out's lying starkers on a greasy pool table in the lounge of a seedy backstreet pub, her torn knickers hanging cheekily from one ankle and those huge, jiggly-wobbly tits of hers receiving numerous unholy anointments of jism and flopping around like a couple of overweight puppies having a shared epileptic fit as all of her pockets are potted at once. I bet the fat bitch is whistling Dixie and shouting 'Joy to the fucking world' as a series of scum-bags shoot their worthless loads into her mouth and eyes, her aching puss and her bleeding jacksie.....

Bye-bye, cuckold, it's been a laugh a minute playing with you. I've had so much fun that I might even come back for an occasional poke, Mr. Talentless Fucking Sideshow Freak - if you dare to show your face on this site again, that is.
Buffalo Mozzarella 01.04.2012, 7.57pm