You can now read a short story that Wes Anderson wrote when he was in college. Speaking of reading and college and nerds and glasses, did you know the Videogum Book Club now has a Facebook page?
But how do you include long stretches of silence in a written work? Just blank pages, I guess?
(J/k, love Wes Anderson. I’m white, after all.)
Hahahahaha!!! Writing is for losers. Reading is even worse. Can you imagine teaching reading and writing for a living??? Wait…
Now imagine trying to do it in another language, and then BLAM yourself.
Yeah man! English teachers are the worst. Those equivocators are full of meconium.
HEY, WAIT A MINUTE!!!
Your avatar times a million.
This story brought to you by Porsche and Dr. Pepper
It’s fascinating to me how Wes hasn’t lost his indie cred even after doing an American Express commercial. Indie Bands ™ get the “sold out” label after selling more than 2 albums.
I can’t wait to see the language he uses to lovingly describe Jason Schwartzman’s mole.
[No offense, Jason! I love you and your sexy mole!]
Wait! I’m in college! Guess I need to step up my game…
I’m stepping up my game by taking midterm after pointless midterm. (No joke I have one in about an hour.)
This is pretty good, but I am a Wes Anderson fan (No-Darjeeling Limited-Mo).
Would you guys read something I wrote recently? It’s called “The Ballad of Reading Wes Anderson”:
Oh man, you just straight up BLAMMED yourself out of upvotes! Total downer, bro!
It’s not about the upvotes, my friend. It’s about putting down college-versions of famous film directors.
I must say I sincerely love Wes Anderson’s work and his whole aesthetic. That said, this story was such crap. I realized he was just in college, but I was still expecting better.
This line made me cringe: “The image of Jack Kennedy holding a half empty styrofoam coffee cup infected his mind”
INFECTED, REALLY. Ugh.
If you’re tired of Wes Anderson, everyone else’s undergraduate fiction is here:
Wes stared at his entire repertoire, an endless file of khaki corduroy suits hanging in his closet. Unsatisfied with his options, he returned to his computer and began typing a strongly worded email the Analecta, the literary magazine from his alma matter. He moused over the fonts, heavily divided between helvetica and futura, but ultimately, no matter how hard he tried to break habit, he stuck to it and choose futura. Pulling back wisps of his amber hair back from his forehead, he stared at the email and considered its tone. Again, as much as he would like to change it, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Old habits die hard,” he muttered to himself. He hit send, rose, and went to wash his face. He stared in the mirror above his sink, locked eyes with his own self, and ruefully whispered “It’s good to be white.”
You just won Thisismynightmare’s comment of the week, friend.
Thank you, this is just as good as being invited to the Monster’s Ball.
I cannot upvote this enough.
GOD WHY DON’T I JUST BARF INTO A HAT?
The New Yorker is already typing up a brown-nosing article about how great the writings are.
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