"BLACKIE" The World's Worst Fiction Writing

Funny story written by tlmedia

Tuesday, 4 May 2010

image for "BLACKIE" The World's Worst Fiction Writing
Where All Really Bad Writing Begins, And This Is Bad!

"It was a dark and stormy night, but never like this. There's never been a dark and stormy night the like this doozey. Lemmie just say this was real dark and real stormy. It was so dark ya couldn't see a finger until it poked ya in the eye. So dark it was beyond black. So dark a 'darkie' looked white. I'll tell you mugs, that's dark. Hubba-hubba. Ya want dark & stormy? This is the real bees wax.

Lemmie give ya some straight palaver about stormy. It was so stormy ya hair would be ripped right out of yer noggin. So stormy, the rain could crush ya. So stormy a tornado is a gente breeze. Yeah, real dark and stormy, if ya get my drift.

My name? As the Bard guy said, 'what's in a name?' Call me Blackie if ya want. That's all ya need to know, just 'Blackie.' Last name? 'Smith, Jones, Doe', take yer pick. It don't matter none. Make me real high class it ya want. 'Stoddard, Cabot, Getty,' fine with me. Make me an 'Itie' if that suits ya, 'Barboza, Felini, deVinci,' makes no matter to me. Wanna make me a Mick? 'McNabb, O'Reilly, Flanagan,' just fine. Right now it's just 'Blackie,' that's my name and all ya need to know.

What do I do? Can't tell ya. Hear me? Can't say a word. Lemmie say this. What I do is illegal in this burg and the coppers will get ya in any town, city, state & nation. Get my drift? I get called when 'something needs to be done and done now! Getting' a clearer Kodak in those baby blues? I get called when some other low life wouldn't touch the job with a ten foot wiener from Coney Island. I do the jobs even the dead wouldn't touch. Yeah I'm bad, real bad. The baddest. That's bad and did I say you can call me 'Blackie?' The picture getting' clear? I thought so. I'm called 'The Solution.' Maybe I've blabbed too much, but this is all between you and me. Get it? Good.

I'm not the guy ya take home to meet ya mudder. Met three, they all dropped dead. Yeah I'm sorry, but that's life. My priest is always too busy to take my confession. One of them dropped dead too after I flipped my lips at him. Met the Devil once and he says, 'You sir are more evil then me. Please leave my premises post-haste.' Fancy talkin' guy that Devil. A real hep cat, a killer diller.

Ya really wanna get to know me? Let's go to what I call the 'office.' Stayin' here could really gum up the works. I know them cats over there. Real yeggs and always keepin' an eye on me. Not too far for your hoofs and the storm is getting' nice and easy like. Mind ya I'm so far on the West Side they run out outta numbers. And don't try to make time wit any flappers we meet, dames is real bad news. I got dizzy over a dollface once. She had great gams, but, it was curtains for me. Crushed the old ticker.

Here we are. Real dump ain't it, but the coin is right, forty simoleans a month and walkin' up four floors don't hurt my dogs none. They used to have an elevator but it got busted. The Brits call 'em lifts. Man, those limeys can they jump all over the English language.

Ok, here are my digs. Sit down and take a load off. Take a swig of hooch. Always take a shot first thing in the good ole' ayem. See all these framed snaps hangin' all over the joint. You might say them are pictures of lugs I've 'serviced.' Pretty blonde. She was a handful to take care of. That family of four, what a pain in the old Johnson. Look at that mansion burnin' up. Real purty. See the dead dame in the bathtub with that sizzlin' space heater. Fried real bad. That was a real screw up, but I wormed my way out of it with the flat foots.

Gotta call my service to see if I have any work. Hey babe get me Murray Hill 2369. Yeah this is Blackie. Got any gigs for me? In Weschester where all the money bags are? Sweetheart you are cookin' with gas. That's a Washington's worth of gas. Hope the old flivver make it, but work is work. This sound like good one. A whole family and two babies. Youzer, youzer, youzer!

Well. I gotta put all my 'tools' in a bag. I could call it a valise like them uptown swells, but I don't put on no airs. Like to keep things nice and simple. So, I gotta make tracks. Remember, you never met me."


The funny story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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