Posts Tagged “Good”
Question by James: Would anyone, with a well-paying job and good healthcare policy, be interested in an arranged marriage?
I’m great looking, smart, can cook and clean, but I don’t have the time or interest to go out and meet women. If there a good-looking woman out there who feels the same way and has a good job and can support my somewhat sporadic income as a result of playing online poker while attending law school, let’s get this thing done. Marriage has its financial and societal benefits, but I do not consider it an eternal bond nor do I care if you sleep around, as long as I know with whom and as long you do not have AIDS. I’m entirely open-minded, not clingy at all, and I don’t snore. I even put down the toilet seat when I’m done. If I sound like the person for you, let me know, and we can hammer out the details in the form of a written agreement and our families can exchange dowries immediately. I don’t want children, but I’m willing to budge on my stance if it involves adopting an 18-year old Korean Girl. Please respond if you are interested so we can discuss further.
I’m not a pedophile. I’m 22 years old. I will be attending law school next fall but haven’t decided where, so don’t worry about locale.
To box of rain: I’m not looking for a date. I’m looking for an arranged marriage partner.
To Ahmad: Thanks for the offer on your maid, but it doesn’t sound like she’ll make enough to support me and my free-spending habits.
To Kalis: I am entirely serious. As far what I offer: I’m great looking, highly intelligent, good at housework, and I can do a pretty mean robot dance. I’m sure you can find some functionality in me. I’m willing to lay out a blueprint of my daily contributions upon entering the written contract stage.
To all prospective arranged marriage partners: I will probably still date on the side, but I will inform in advance. I do not do online dating. I think it is pathetic. Online arranged marriages, on the other hand, are much more convenient and time-efficient (condensing what would usually take years into a matter of hours) and it would really facilitate the whole process for me and anyone else with a lot going on their lives.
Also, to prospective online arranged marriage partners: You will be taking part in a historic event as my research shows there are no precedents for this. You will be one-half of the first ever online arranged marriage and a pioneer for a future phenomenon. We will probably even end on The View at some point and possibly end up with our own late night show and cable TV. Think of the historic value, let alone the benefits of an arranged marriage with arguably the most divine person on this planet.
Best answer:
Answer by QWERTY
~lol~ Law school? Perfecto!
Know better? Leave your own answer in the comments!
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Question by LionQueen: Is my writing any good?
In the heart of a poverty-stricken town named Ashville, stood a small, run down building, a filthy sign dangled above the front door—which read, by the dim light of the moon, Ashville home for the homeless youths. The gray, crowded neighborhood kept motionless, silent except for the echoing footsteps by town guards from the streets, on patrol continuously.
The early hours of a chilly, September night took cause with each resident, nearly all asleep. Within the building, inside a dormitory on the second floor overlooking the street, a troop of guards questioning a young-looking man with violent shoves and kicks could be witnessed from the lone window, whose thin shutters had been thrown ajar by the heavy gusts of wind. He had violated curfew, clearly. It was just about half-past two in the morning, and curfew started at approximately nine in the evening. Penalties for disobeying curfew were harsh ones.
Lying on her cold, steely bed, eyes open and unable to shut, was fifteen year old Cornelia Lowell, hidden partially by the thin, ragged blanket provided. She was the only one awake in the crammed dormitory in which she resided. The snores and unconscious drones of her fellow occupants made it difficult for her think, let alone sleep.
Her bed was placed next to the window, allowing her a clear view of the town. A tremor erupted through her body as yet another burst of air entered. Cornelia, positioning herself underneath the blanket, warmed her numb hands by rubbing them against each other, her breath created frosty mists. Suddenly, the snoring of the occupants grew fainter, and the ticking of the hall clock grew louder, echoed as thuds to Cornelia’s ears. Suddenly, her forehead creased, and her chest tensed.
There were thuds.
She lifted a part of the blanket off her head, and looked, despite the dimness, in the direction of the door before her. Cornelia heard the clumsy stomping of feet. Then, they halted—she saw their feet’s silhouette from the empty space beneath the door. She heard an impression of murmurs. With a creaking noise, the door partly opened, and a little girl’s head appeared.
“Cornelia?” She whispered.
Cornelia let out a breath of relief, and sat up. “I’m over here, Denise.” A tiny child, with hair like sizzling fire entered the room in silence, two more girls followed her. Neither of them was older than seven years of age. “What are you doing in here?” The little girls simply remained standing before her.
Another girl overlooked the question and said, “Did we wake you up?” Cornelia gestured them to sit on her bed, they did so with soft, silent movements.
“No, Jill,” Cornelia smiled. “I could’t sleep.”
The little girls glimpsed at each other with miserable smiles. “We couldn’t sleep, too.” Jill said in a small voice.
“How come?”
They hesitated. Jill’s eyes lowered, while Denise fiddled with the hem of her nightdress. The one that was yet to be named, the youngest, however, looked at Cornelia with a sort of teary gloom. “We . . . we heard you’re l-leaving t-t-tomorrow. Forever.” Shaky sobs started—something she was not at all prepared for. Cornelia seemed to have frozen for a moment, her senses lost in a dream. She was quite lost for words. Glancing around the room anxiously, she leaned towards the girl, and drew her into a comforting hug.
“Who told you?” She asked quietly.
Denise, wiping the tears that formed, unable to keep them from falling, mumbled, “It doesn’t matter. It’s not fair . . . you’ve only been here for the summer!”
Cornelia forced a wide smile. “The best summer of my life, too,”
“Please don’t go, Cornelia.” Jill said, with her eyes till staring down her dress. “We’ll miss you and your stories so much.”
“There’s really nothing I can do about it, you know that.” She murmured, shoving a lock of Jill’s blonde hair behind her ear. A bitter breeze swept upon them, shuddering, they fell silent. Watching as the young girls mourned for tomorrow, Cornelia felt a surge of guilt. These girls had been her lone source of joy in this dreadful place. The trials of surviving seemed like a breeze to these children, and in a way, though it may not be after the next day, gave the impression of being so to Cornelia as well. In a week, it would be exactly a year since Cornelia and her brother’s removal from their mother. A year that tested her ability to survive on her own, in spite of the so-called ‘homes’ they were sent to live in. They hardly spent more than a couple of weeks in each home, this being the longest one they’ve spent in, yet.
Best answer:
Answer by Nikki
It sounds good. But instead of saying, “We couldn’t sleep, too.” change that to, “We couldn’t sleep either.” It sounds better that way.
What do you think? Answer below!
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Question by jo: Is the beginning to my novel good?
Charlotte would have taken another option, given the choice. Instead she was now listening to the loud clinking of metal bars, enclosing her inside a cramped ‘room’. A part tugging inside of her begged her to show tears, of sadness, regret, anything. But she did not feel any remorse at all, even when the image of a blood streaked window flashed by quickly in her mind, or when the sound of a high pitched scream rang in her ears once again.
She grimaced slightly as her thoughts traced back to no less than a half an hour ago. Every time she imagined her therapist’s bird like nose twitch or her shrill voice fill the room, more anger rippled through her body. “How are you today, how are you feeling?”
The bulky guard, whom she forgot was standing right next to her, quickly broke her train of thought. He coughed loudly and gave her the evil eye. “I do not want any ‘funny business’ in your time here, do not try to break out of your cell, it will not work, and your jail time will only be extended. “ He said. His voice, deep and scratchy, reminded Charlotte of fingers running through a chalk board.
He scratched the back of his head, and bent forward to show off his crew cut. “Sixteen years in the military, fourteen in the navy.” He boasted. “Don’t be messing with me.”
She rolled her eyes and shrugged, “Why would I want to get out to begin with? It’s better here than stupid school or my whole stupid life.” She dug her finger into one of her nails, and scratched out the dried red fluid stuck underneath. For a moment the guard was taken aback, but snapped out of it in the matter of seconds.
“Not what you were expecting from an innocent-looking teenage girl, huh?” She said, smirking at his response. The guard didn’t reply, instead focused all his interest on a crack in the cement wall. Charlotte tapped her foot gently and tried to act like the lack of response didn’t bother her.
When the rattling once again filled the air, she scowled. “This is the real, deal, ain’t it?” Her eyes locked with the guard’s, and she let out a tiny whimper like a drowsy puppy would. The guard nodded his head nonchalantly, looking not at all sympathetic.
It was only when she heard the loud slam that she finally realized this was going to be her life. She couldn’t change it now, and she had to deal with all the consequences her psychotic self gave her.
Charlotte flinched as she heard a loud beeping noise, followed by static and mumbled voices. Shortly after she realized it was the guard’s walky talky, who was hectically rummaging through his bag. She used the opportunity to examine him more closely than she had before.
His body was buff and lean, for a man who looked like he was in his late forties or early fifties. The shirt he wore was blood red, and resembled a tank top of some sort. It was obviously meant to show off his muscles, and to attract, or maybe just frighten, everyone who saw him.
He wore red sweat pants, the same shade as his shirt, and ragged flip-flops the color of mud.
The little hair he had was gray, and looked like it could easily fall out. Patches of stubble were next to both his upper and lower lip, which she had noticed him rub constantly.
Soon enough the guard found his walky talky and spoke loudly into it. “Sorry, Eliza, I’ll be there in a second.” He nodded his head, and said “Yes,” a thousand times, until finally there a beep to show the conversation ended.
Charlotte tried to understand what the people on the other end of the call said, but they used numbers and their voices sounded too meshed together. The only words she was able to make out were: Cell, Charlotte, and new. “What were they saying about me, whatever your name is?”
“Vincent,” The guard quickly mumbled under his breath, then turned away sharply and left.
The hallway of cells was deathly quiet, only muffled snores and sleepy voices could be heard. Charlotte gazed at the floor tiles, stained with blood, dirt, and she didn’t want to know what else. She cringed at just the site, and felt nauseous when she reminded herself this was going to be her home for the next three years, if not more.
She shuffled her feet quietly towards her bed, and then carefully placed herself atop it. It was nothing but a wooden crate and a cheesy mattress on top, about as useful as a thin sleeping bag. On top was a bleached towel, like one you would see on a shower door.
The cramped room made Charlotte feel claustrophobic, being three feet wide and five feet tall at the most. She practically had no room to breathe. Two “beds” sat across from each other, and a small toilet was squeezed between them. Three more tiles down was the door.
Suddenly, she started to feel light headed. Her eyelids began to be too heavy to keep open, and her head started to spin. She took deep breaths, and counted to three, but that just made the pain ache more and more. Soon enough, she blacked out.
Best answer:
Answer by DrakeP
I felt like the beginning to your novel reached deep into my hippopotamus and attempted to strangle it. It said, I will tie you up and hang you until you are dead dead dead.
Just kidding, I couldn’t really get into this. Whats up with Charlotte? Shes like a cardboard cut out, I feel nothing for her. The guard is a badass though.
Give your answer to this question below!
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