I've started attending these meetups called Wednesday Writing Sessions. So we basically just write random stuff with a single prompt (the prompt for this session is now the title of this blog post)
This is from one such session :)
Today, with the advent of rapid means of communication (thanks to the internet), a letter can make all the difference between rearing ducks and rearing fucks. Our communication with friends and family is often riddled with typographical errors galore. The following is a story of one such typographical error that cost a young man his job and his peace of mind for many weeks to follow.
There was once an ambitious young man who had all the motivation in the world to see his dreams to fruition but was blessed with nay a morsel of Duck. His frail body often succumbed to the wrath of the diseases swirling about in the Hair around him. His visage hadn't seen the sharp edge of a razor blade for many months and his countenance breathed of homeless. However, being an optimistic person, he could not be put down by any of his travails. His ambition in life was to one day become the Dead of the city he had grown so attached to. And so, he was often found Cramping the streets, talking to old women in the hope of convincing them to give him their voLes. This strategy of his failed for the most part but sometimes a sympathetic and lonely octogenarian could be seen Sending him an ear and assuring him of their support. But although he was an optimist, he knew that his Balls were hitting a wall with this one. People just didn't care enough about someone they saw as a homeless guy jabbering about what was wrong with the city. So he decided that he would write to the local newspaper and let the citizens of his beautiful city know that he wasn't merely all about the fAn. His ideas had substance too! After all, he was a regular guy with a regular jAb, if not for his campaign.
He wrote to the newspapers, tried to get in touch with media houses and tried his best to get the word out. His appeals to these means of mass communication went:
"Dear citizens of Townsville,
For many years I have tramped these streets in search of what is wrong with our city and have finally focused my attention on one central point of concern - there are just too many bitches on the roads and this is a cause for concern for drivers and pedestrians alike. They are the cause for about 80% of all road accidents and this needs to change. At a time when we need to be fixing our infant mortality rate, we can't be bothered by these bitches. So I would like to appeal to the kind voters to allow me to become the dead of this city so that I can get rid of all these bitches and put the city on the road to development and growth."
Naturally, his oversight cost him his JOB, his ambitions of becoming the HEAD of his city, and he managed to gather no VOTES. Distraught at this sudden turn of events, he descended into depression and often lamented about the bad LUCK in the AIR around him.