The Writing Project is something that I started just as an interesting little thing to do while I'm at work and bored. It's a pretty simple idea, I just asked my friends to send me random sentences (one each) that they wrote out of their own unique mind. No copying! Then, I took those sentences, in the order they were sent to me, and combined them into a short story/poem/crap, whatever you want to call it. The results are pretty funny, I'm up to 12 responses!
I'm also using this project (like the whore it is) as an opportunity to work on my poor typography skills. If you'd like to work on your typography skills along with me that'd be awesome. Just send in your interpretation of The Writing Project and I'll put it up for all of us to see.
Here is what we have, so far:
This was just the beginning, to see the real story unfold we have to take a few steps back, to a time when things were different.
Girls get cramps because Jesus hates women.
I don't know if you knew this, but back before jesus times, babies used to come out of the butthole.
I could sit here and write something that sounds intelligent, but my mind is dead.
The jolly green giant is the administrator of both peas, and peace.
It was rather horrible, but the system was better off since Joseph chose to eat the tomato.
Why is sallie mae gay?
I want to go outside and see the world, but for now I'm going to sit inside and be in the dark cause I fear where the world will take me.
Then she had a seizure?!!?
I knew I was in for a treat when Father McMurdoc pulled out the ruler and told me to drop my knickers and bend over for, 'the most god-awful spanking of a lifetime.'
Apparently my dogs are the only dogs that shit in the grass at my apartment complex.
Sometimes the beer, it tastes like oranges in the hot Summer sun.
When the five of them got together, they couldn't help but make their secondary circuitry emit the code over and over again.
I find your love-induced bravado revolting, so wipe that fucking smile off your face already and wake up.
I'm gonna cut your mother.
You shouldn't sweat the petty things in life, but petting the sweaty stuff is ok.
Please don't follow me when I leave, you have showed me nothing to calm my fiery soul.
“I thought that you would love me for all time,” cried Becky into the abysmal caterpillar cage of rotten stems and puss-filled skins.
Here are my typographical interpretations of the project:
Best viewed through beer goggles and/or a haze of murky stench.
