Jonestown Bartender

Everyone at one level or another is a hypocrite.

It's okay but hard style will always be my favorite.

That was a joke, you know Walt Disney and all. Btw I said crypto thats different then neo. I have no idea what you're trying to communicate there.

or that I'd see things differently when I was older. I'm looking at some very old post of mine and I'm amazed at what a retard I was.

Do you mean grammar wise? because yeah I have really awful grammar, it's something I'm trying to improve.

Art is anything not required for survival.

The first quote only implies that he was clever, if I was a hungry and I killed something I'd be pretty happy too, and preventing people from harming him is just as fair as people retaliating.I think you're taking the bear metaphor to literaly. How about Grendel is no more evil then a fox killing rabbits, it just happens that we're the rabbits and Grendel was th fox.

Then we're thinking the exact same thing. I keep saying its a "Holy ###### this guys so awesome he goes off and fights monsters which act on animal instinct" story which it is. It's about a guy who goes off and kills a bunch of monsters it's not a christian parable with all the morals and character development that Kraggh is trying to inject into it. On horror stuff, Theres so many clichés and archetypes that it's almost impossible to avoid. I like horror, I enjoy reading it but it's a very formulated style now because theres only so many things that are scary. I'd suggest not worrying about it too much but constantly ask yourself "Have I read this before" and if it seems to similar consider re-writing it.

Is that a space marine from starcraft? I swear that looks just like a spec marine.

Thanks man, glad I was able to spook you a bit. I'm considoring writing more horror to get me in the mood for the season.

I don't think you've actually read the real beowulf. The only motivation even hinted for Grendel was greed and revenge if that makes him evil Beowulf is just as bad because glory seeking is a form of greed. The conflict between Beowulf and Grendel's mother is even less defendable because she was attempting to take revenge for the death of her only son. The conflict between the Dragon and Beowulf is unjustifiable. If the slave didn't steal the dragons favorite cup we can assume he would have left them alone forever considering Beowulf was able to rule for 50 years and not have a single issue with him. But instead of giving back the stupid cup they decide to try to kill it in its sleep. These are not good people, they're all shades of gray. Everyones acting out of revenge or glory seeking. Stop trying to inject morals into a "HOLY ###### THIS GUY IS AWESOME" story. Grendel was no more evil then a bear looking for food and the mother and dragons actions were justified Who cares? He doesn't change that much between movies, comics, and TV shows. He's two dimensional at best. Then Hercules is not your hero, you like the whitewashed version thats childish, watered down, and acceptable for day time TV. Actually no you haven't this is the first time you mentioned To kill a mockingbird and Les miserables but thank you for showing me you have taste beyond cartoons created by cryogenically frozen crypto-facist. But anyway Les miserables is not meant for children and neither was to kill a mockingbird. No my problem is that you keep writing things in a matter of fact way "this is the only way to do it" kind of thing. So I argue with you over the benefit of writing in this style. Whats wrong with using these things as inspiration for your writing is that they only allow you to use childish themes and explore childish concepts in a manner appropriate for children. You can't have a book about drug use, gender issues, or poverty using such a simple outlook and frankly the only thing writing childishly is good for is writing for children. I'll give you that there is all inclusive media, but love in the time of cholera is for adults and Pokemon is for children. I'm starting to think people who cry at movies don't have anything worth crying over. You do have some kind of problem if all it takes to set you over on edge is a well executed scene and you should be kept away from revolutionary media. I would appreciate if you stopped mentioning god, godliness, and sin. I feel like you're trying to bait me into breaking the religions rules.

Something thats marketed towards children is intended for children is childish. Yes they majority of BZPers have childish taste, thats why they're still on here.

Heels are sexy because they force a girls pelvis to tilt so that her rear end and chest stick out. If you didn't realize that I'm guessing you're under 14

Halo is mostly played by 11-19 year old boys so yeah its pretty much for children. I hate to break it to you but bionicle is for children. I've never met someone who cries at animated animal deaths. I think you're starting to take this personally but everything you mentioned is specifically marketed towards children.

I don't think you're old enough to understand why high heels are sexy

They have serious emotional issues if they cry when an animated lion dies. A few people clinging to their youth does not make a card game and cartoon something acceptable for adults. Star wars had a massive amount of toys almost from the start.

Thank god wrack to the rescue.I was starting to think I was alone here.I'm pretty sure there were no real morals in Beowulf, it's more along the lines of "holy ###### this guys so awesome he killed a goblin thing and a bog monster and fought a freaking dragon! This story is so gonna take my mind of starving, being sick, and living in a hovel with no air conditioning! Did I tell you he killed a bog monster?"

Allow me to introduce you to anxiety, a close friend of mine. You two are going to be together a long time/

I think that he also brought a point that I forgot: it is more important to relate to the hero than the villain in most cases. There are exceptions, of course. I always related more to Javert than Jean Valjean, which is a bit telling. Otherwise, I do also like villains who have no justifiable reason to commit evil. What that does for me is remind me that evil in general results in corruption. One of the morals of Beowulf was that Grendel was a monster because of his hatred, because he embraced the evils that we all have in us. In these cases, the story serves as an allegory depicting the severity of all sin, which I find to be just as important a moral as any. Your Honor,Emperor Kragghagain tl;dr. Everything with the exclusion of Julius Cesar is childish and Mewtwo is from a card game. If you can't see whats wrong with this then I give up. You keep forgetting to mention how and why Beowulf died.

I wish I could tell you but if I knew I would be publishing.

Thank god you've found the note pad. My name is Frank Kamac and I'm a building inspector. Please listen to me and don't finish reading this note pad, just turn around and walk out the door, there are things here and you just need to leave and forget this place. If you're reading this I hope to god you took my note pad out with you because if you didn't the doors to the funhouse should be closing right about now. My name is Frank Kamac and I'm a building inspector, I was sent here by the state of Vermont to condemn the old fair grounds. If I remember correctly (I'm almost sure I don't, I am very hungry and thirsty), the grounds were normal as long forgotten fair grounds could be. I mean, the kind of places where thousands of people used to gather are always scary and surreal when they're abandoned. It's especially scary to me; I remember when this place was alive and beautiful. The lights of the rides and games mixed with the sound of music. The droning of aimless light hearted conversation filled the air. My nostrils were invaded by the smell of batter frying. It was an all around warm feeling, troubles were left outside the gates and only life and happiness could be found here. But that was many years ago, the light bulbs are missing or broken. The bandstand has rotted way leaving nothing but the concert foundation. I believe that the fryers were sold to that burger shack on south street right after the grounds closed. There’s noting left here but a few buildings and the iron skeletons of rides. I started off my inspection with midway. As I said before all the rides are rusted skeleton looking shells of their former glory. No amount of nostalgia could make anyone think they're safe. I moved father down the midway crossing off buildings as I went, most had completely collapsed but then I saw something out of place. It was the house of mirrors; it looked like it was still in half decent shape. I never liked the house of mirrors even as a child. The carny that owned it scared me a great deal. In my teenaged years I found out my fears were justified. The carny had been caught attempting to slash to death a child for breaking one of his mirrors. The carny was arrested and the fair grounds sued to bankruptcy. Since the building looked like it was in good shape I was required to have a look inside. I figured just a little peek inside the door and I could leave it forever. I slid the bolt holding the heavy aluminum door closed and walked inside. Every single mirror was shattered, like someone had come through with a hammer and bashed them all in a fit of rage. I walked closer to the mirrors when I heard the door slam behind me with a resounding crash. I tried to open it but it was too heavy, I tried smashing at the hinges with my suitcase but it was no use. My only option was to look for another door (They have to have another door right? Who builds something with one door?) I wandered the darkened hallways using the small amounts of light coming through the holes in the roof to navigate. After wandering for quite sometime I finally found a straight hallway with no mirrors. I squinted my eyes and I saw another door. I was so happy that I had finally found a way out I was beginning to think that I was trapped forever. I grabbed the door handle and let out a yelp. It was hot! Like someone had lit a large fire on the other side. My hand was badly burned I had to rip a bit of my suit to bandage it. At that point I broke down, I just sat down and cried. I had no idea how long I had been trapped in here, I had no idea if I was going to get out, I had no idea about anything at all. So I just cried. I eventually stopped crying and fell asleep on the dusty floor. When I woke up again the sun had gone down. I decided it would be best if I look for walls near the outside and try to break through to freedom. As I left the mirror-less hallway to start my search something seemed off but I continued to search, gently hitting the mirrors to see if had found the edge of the maze. Then it hit me; I was taping on mirrors, not the wood backing. I stumbled back in shock. All the mirrors had been fixed; every last mirror was perfect and clean. Not just mirror clean but they were like liquid metal they were so clean and clear. I thought stress might be getting to me so I had to touch the mirrors to be sure. The edges were smooth and warm. I moved my hands from the corners inward, probing every inch. The center of every mirror was hot enough to light a cigarette but the heat did not radiate off the mirrors. I don’t know how many hours I spent moving my hands around the mirrors it was just so bizarre that I couldn’t get my mind off the mirrors. I had to touch them I had to feel them. Eventually I was able to stop groping but at least one hand had to be on a mirror always. I don’t know why I didn’t question this behavior at the time, it just seemed natural too me. It’s strange now that I think about it but without the suns light I made many realizations. The first was this place was too big, the second was my clothes had fallen apart as if they had aged decades in the time I had been trapped but I kept wandering until I collapsed. When I woke up once more I realized I was in some kind off basement. I found the stairs and realized a made a right turn out of the mirror-less hallway instead of a left. I rationalized not noticing the stairs by saying I was dehydrated and not thinking properly. The mirrors on had been shattered where as the mirrors in the basement were not. I decided to spend most my time in the mirror-less hallway since I felt it was the safest. I debated in my head if I should wrap my suit around my good hand and try to open the back door. One part of me said it would protect me from the heat but another said my jacket would burst into flames as soon as a touched it. I kept this debate in my head going as long as possible I felt it was a good way to distract myself from the whole situation. The sun went down again and the reflections form the shattered mirror in the dark really started too disturbed me so I headed downstairs again. As soon as my foot touched the last step I was compelled to place a hand on the mirrors again. It felt like a natural reaction I couldn’t help it. I didn’t wander much that night; I was too tiered form hunger. I found a relatively clean spot and sat down. I didn’t move, I didn’t think, I just sat and stared at my reflection. I started to doze but every time I was about to sleep I felt something small and soft brush up against me. My eyes popped wide open every time this happened but I was too tired to react any further and far too tired to move away. The dozing and brushing kept up for what felt like hours but eventually I was allowed to sleep I was woken up with a jolt, there was an impossibly loud screech coming from what seemed like all directions. I woke up in such a state of shock that I didn’t even think, I just started running for the stairs. I ran faster then I ever had up those stairs and not even thinking, as soon as I reached the top I turned into the mirror-less hallway. My mind snapped at the thought of being burned by the door but I couldn’t stop running. I crashed into it with a thump. To my amazement I was not burned! I stood up and quickly grabbed the handle with my good hand and I wasn’t burned! I quickly ripped the door open to see nothing but a brick wall. My mind started to race “Why would someone put a door in front of a brick wall! How was the door hot there’s nothing behind it! “ I felt the rage build inside me. I grabbed my suitcase and started smashing at the wall. I was so filled with anger that I got and adrenalin rush. I just started hammering away at it like a machine and that’s when it happened; the wall cracked and a few bricks fell. All my anger and rage quickly turned to hope. I started removing bricks from the hole I had made with my suitcase and slowly took apart the wall. When I ripped a hole big enough to step through I realized it was another stair well. It led down to a hall way lit with florescent lights. I decided to take the left turn. It led me to the basement mirror maze. It turns out they were one-way mirrors which opened when pressed properly from the viewable side. I went back to the stairs and went straight this time. I followed a long hallway and came to another aluminum door. Something sent a chill through me as a touched the door handle. Worried I opened it slowly. What I saw made me vomit. I saw a big room with a medical table with straps, a tray of knives next to it, and several large shelves. On the shelves was the most disgusting horrifying thing I have ever seen and I hope I never see anything like it again. There were at least thirty jars with the preserved partially dissected bodies of children. As I looked across the room in shock and horror I noticed a hatch with sunlight coming through it. As I slowly walked towards it I heard a strange wet sound. I looked slowly over my shoulder to the shelves. All of the bodies were staring at me. They looked deep into me with their dead eyes and I looked at them in greater fear then I have ever know. I became a blubbering mass but they would not stop looking at me. They all suddenly spoke in unison: “Tell the others what you have seen.” After hearing that I fainted. When I woke all the bodies were in their original positions. I walked slowly to the hatch, trying to not make the slightest sound out of fear that I would “wake” them. As soon as I reached the surface I ran back into town as fast as my hungry body could carry me and I followed my instructions. I started screaming what I had seen at any person who came in my path. I was soon arrested and taken to the hospital. The doctors said I was severely dehydrated and delirious and that what I saw was all hallucination. To this day no one believes me. I came back and left this note pad for anyone who’s stupid enough to enter. If you’re trapped like I was, when you enter the large room in the basement, please don’t turn your head no matter what sounds they make. I can still see them in my head. They won’t leave you after you leave the house of mirrors. They made me write this, they won’t leave me until the others know! They won’t leave they won’t leave they won’t… ---------------------------------------------------------- I didn't edit for grammar because I'm a horrible editor.

Who said writing should be easy?

Why do you keep going back to movies especially childish ones? If you notice in my post I said there was no wrong or right way to write a story, in the last few post I've been talking about what I like to do. I see so many people limiting themselves by setting up rules for their stories "There has to be morality" "there has to be a hero" "there has to be an easy to understand tangible conflict that can be easily resolved" Writing doesn't need anything. There's no formula or method. you just do it. Oh and BTW flaws do not a complex character make, it just makes them two dimensional. You're still one degree separated form an actually likable character and two degrees separated from a complex character.

...I'm not talking about the movie. If you read the book you'd realize that Brad pit is the kind of person Tyler Durden hates. I'm not writing so that someone can read my words and say "Whelp that was pretty entertaining, guess that killed a few hours" I'm writing to make people think. I want people to come off feeling uncomfortable and unsatisfied after reading my words.

You don't always need brushes to paint a good picture, you just need some creativity and skill. I find it appalling that you belittle going off the beaten path of story telling by comparing it to smashing your head on a canvas.