Matt stared at his laptop, squinting his beautiful blue eyes in concentration. “I need to write the worst story ever,” he said, to the cat behind him.
“Meow!” said the cat.
“Shut up, cat.”
The cat stood up straight and proclaimed “My name is Bartholomeus,” in a deep, intimidating voice. He then left the room, never to be seen or heard from again.
“Good,” said Matt, not at all perturbed by the mysterious talking cat whom he had never actually seen before nor would ever see again. “Now I could concentrate on my work.” He began typing.
It was just a normal afternoon when Sherlock decided to tell John that he loved him.
“John,” he said, “I’m like, totally in love with you.”
“Seriously?” asked John, “Because I was like, just about to tell you the same.”
The two embraced and made passionate love, which was not at all weird, even though Mary and Mrs. Hudson were in the same room.
“Looks like I was right after all,” said Mrs. Hudson.
No. Matt deleted it all. “It needs to be original.” He decided to take a different approach.
A Sheep named Pig (A short story)
Once upon a time there was a sheep. His name was pig, for some reason.
He stopped right there, unsure of where to go next in the story. Eventually he just gave up and moved on to a new idea.
Once upon a time, there was an assassin named Bill.
At this point, Matt startled giggling uncontrollably, because he had just realized that the word ‘assassin’ had the word ‘ass’ in it twice. Luckily, he regained his train of thought and continued on:
But Bill wasn’t always an assassin. No, he used to be a politician. In fact, he was in the middle of his campaign for the mayor of Chicago when something terrible happened. Something so terrible, it ruined his hopes of ever becoming mayor and drew him to the dark side of assassin-ing.
He got attacked by a hawk.
No one knows why the hawk attacked him. I don’t know, you don’t know, not even the hawk knows why. All we do know is that the attack disfigured his face so badly that the opposing candidate, a young Mr. Conan O’Brien, had nicknamed him “Ugly McUgly face.”
(It should be noted that O’Brien himself was also attacked by hawk just days before, and while that didn’t mess up his face it certainly destroyed his creativity.)
Because he was so ugly, no one voted for him, not even his wife or kids. Hell, not even himself. He was just that ugly.
So he decided he was going to assassinate not just Conan O’Brien, but every in O’Brien’s entire family.
But then, in a shocking turn of events, Bill found out that he was actually O’Brien’s distant cousin. So he killed himself by purposely choking on a basketball.
You’d think he’d have killed the rest of the family first, but I guess not.
“There,” Matt said, looking at his work in satisfaction. “The perfect terrible story. My followers will love this.”
“It’s too terrible,” said a familiar voice behind him. Matt turned around, startled, and saw what he recognized to be himself.
“Hey look, it’s me!” Matt shouted, excited.
“Indeed. It’s a future you, from June, 2014.” Matt couldn’t help but notice how handsome his future self was. “I’ve come to tell you something very important. Something so important, that if I don’t tell you now, everyone you know will die.”
But Matt had grown bored of the conversation already, resorting to playing Words With Friends on his smartphone. Future Matt grew impatient.
“Hey, Matt.” He snapped his fingers in front of Past Matt, who then rolled his eyes and groaned.
“Shut up,” he said. “I’m playing a game here.”
“This is important.”
“So is this game. I’m trying to finally beat SImplyMiko, but I’m never going to if you keep interrupting me. Geez. Get a sense of perspective.”
“Seriously? This is a matter of life and death here.”
“Okay, I’m going to tell you this once and only once,” said Future Matt, “so pay attention. If you post this story on your blog, it will be so terrible that it will cause Bill, that guy from your story, to kill off not just you, but all of your followers.”
“But Bill’s a fictional character!”
“No he’s not,” said Future Matt. “Do you really think you’re creative enough to come up with a completely made up character?”
Past Matt shook his head, sadly. It was true that Bill wasn’t a fictional character. In fact, the events of that story actually happened last week. He had read about it in the New York Times.
“Yeah, anyway, Bill actually faked his own death, and he’s been following your blog since it started.”
“Well, if he’s a fan of my blog, he must be a nice and intelligent person.”
“Wrong. He’s just on the brink of insanity, y’know, from the whole hawk situation, and this one post is just enough to push him over the edge. It’s bad enough that you didn’t post yesterday—”
“Hey, I had a cold!”
“—but to write a story this terrible? It would drive anyone insane. And so Bill will start hunting down all your followers—”
“Wait, what did they do wrong?”
“They’re guilty by association, apparently,” he explained. “And even if they unfollow you, they’ll still be in danger. Then he’ll kill you. I only managed to escape because I managed to travel back in time. Hopefully I’ve convinced you not to publish that godawful story.”
Past Matt thought this through very carefully. Then he shrugged and said “YOLO!” and clicked publish. Then he continued playing Words with Friends, while putting music on to drown out Future Matt’s sobs of frustration.
[Disclaimer: A guy named Bill is not actually out to kill all my followers. I hope.]
That right there was my entry for my fancy blog party in which all the participants write a terrible story and link back to this post. Click on that link to the left for any information, and remember you are free to join, even if this is your first time visiting the blog.
Also, feel free to read the story by Plotwhisperer, who was the first participant, and the one to come up with the idea.