I’m sure we all know someone who is renowned for their pointless stories. The kind of stories that always end it responses of “was that it?” or “and then?” That’s not to say the stories don’t grab your interest at some stage, it’s just that the endings suck (if there is even an ending).
The strangest thing is they don’t even seem to know that their stories suck. Usually when I’m telling a story and I realise the ending is lame or that the best part has already passed and I haven’t received the reaction I wanted, I’ll just fabricate something like a car crash or at the very least a werewolf or something. But these anti-story tellers don’t seem to realise this and will continue through the peaks and troughs of the story on what should be a rollercoaster of emotions and intrigue, except that with this rollercoaster as it gets to the top of the highest peak and you take the gasp before the big plunge… the ride stops and everyone is asked to get off and fill out questionnaires.
In these situations I’m normally stuck in some sort of emotional parallel dimension somewhere between surprise, astonishment, disgust and pure rage. While the tone and emphasis may vary the phrase “what the f*ck?” normally describes this amalgamation of emotion.
While you may or may not know someone like this, I actually dated someone like this. Who would’ve known that “terrible story telling skills” would actually get onto my list of deal breakers and here I thought it was just “tits” and “ass”. I guess I’m not as shallow as I thought I was. High 5, me!
This girl, let’s call her “Shakespeare’s Sister” for ironic purposes, would rush to the phone after school to call me and tell me about her “super exciting day” (dire need of the invention of a sarcasm font). The story would tumble and turn much like any emotional rollercoaster or any of the great literary works of our time. The stage was set, the characters identified, the protagonist developed, their quest outlined, the antagonist enters, the struggle begins, victory is imminent, the plot thickens, the tragic setback, the moment of composure and recollection, the slow and triumphant march towards ultimate victory … and … and … and… nothing.
Now you see, back during my high school days I was allowed a few minutes on the phone each day, so to have it ruined with the culmination of the story being…”and then we had MacDonald’s for dinner” really got to me. It was like as if at the moment Golem and Frodo confront each other in the fires of Mount Doom; the pure reckless hatred and malice of the ring at war with the innocent and incorruptible spirit of the young Hobbit and his alter ego the disfigured and poisoned wretch, Golem. While all this hung in the balance; over 1000 pages of literature behind you; Tolkien decides that “they all just hugged and went for a Big Mac and lived happily ever after.”
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Really? What the f*ck?
I even remember my brother who was no more than 12 at the time and hardly the master of sarcasm he is today, remarking: “Wow! Great story! She’s a keeper”
What is the point of this blog? I’m glad you asked (or at least read on long enough for me to ask it for you). The point is, and at all times in life is… ah f*ck it I’m going to MacDonald’s.
Totally Awesome Name 