Bad Writing: Alfredo and Shit

Chicken fettuccine alfredo from Lori’s Diner in San Francisco. — © BrokenSphere / Wikimedia Commons

Inspired by bad writing I read this morning

“So I decided to become an actor.”

“Wow,” I said looking up from the plate of fettuccine alfredo with a mouthful of pasta in my mouth. “Really?”

“Yup. Once my work contract ends.”

I wipe my mouth on a red hankerchief.

“I’ll hire a coach and get headshots taken.”

“When does your — “ I burp suddenly and feel a strange movement of gas within me. “…contract end?” I finish between a pair of belches.

“A year and a half from now.”

I look him directly in the eyes.

“But right now, I’m so busy with work. I must work like 100 hours a week just on the Fozeen account.”

I take off my shirt.

“And it’ll give me time to find a good acting coach, and a photographer.”

I pull out a nail clipper and use it to trim my moustache.

“Meanwhile, I’ll make notes of the movies I’d like to be in. That way, when I have an agent, I can give him the list and he’ll get an idea of the movies I’d accept a role in.”

I stand up on the seat of the booth I’ve been sitting on and start dancing like someone who just chugged an energy drink.

“So I’ll get there eventually. Gotta finish this contract first though.”

I pull down my pants and take a shit in my half finished plate of fetticini alfredo.

“Oh, and I won’t do any roles under six figures. I decided that is what I’ll tell my agent so he doesn’t have to bother me with everything.”

The waiter is coming towards me now, waving at me and screaming STOP.

“I’m going to buy a house in Mailbu, beachfront. Already picked one out.”

I grab the waiter’s hand and use it to mix the alfredo and shit together.

Bad Writing: Alfredo and Shit was originally published in Gentleman of the Heart on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
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