I can write good.

One:

I scowl with a sense of ennui at myself in the mirror. Damn this mustache and damn Esther Newberg for stealing my mustache bleaching cream. I should already be at the club dancing, my inner goddess keeps saying "you're gonna be late! you're gonna be late! but I ignore her.

I get up and put on my bra, my boobs look amazing in it. My inner goddess is saying "You go girl" But I don't know why cause that phrase died out 10 years ago. I think my inner goddess is an idiot.

I would love to stay home and watch a Gilmore Girls marathon but I have to make money to support my cheap freeloading roommate. Besides today could be the day I meet the man of my dreams…a rich, handsome, enigmatic guy who sometimes wears ripped jeans but no shirt and has a six-pack of abs and likes to slap me around because his mother was a crack whore who messed him up….I think Im getting ahead of myself here.

Anyhoo. Im off to work.

Two:

Because I don't understand grammar or basic sentence structure I some times write in first person and then shift to third person point of view without warning. Just so you know…

Ryder PiratePants GroinGrinder was a serious dude… like whenever he was in a bar and like the bartender spilled a little of his beer, he would just get right up in that bartenders face and say "Hey you spilled my beer!" and then Ryder would refuse to leave a decent tip.

He was just that kind of no-nonsense guy.

Everyone was afraid of him…cause he was such a badass, with his perfect hair and his six-pack abs and his torn jeans and like how he was so tortured because his mom was a crack whore who messed him up and that's why he can only get pleasure when he is slapping around some girl, maybe a simple girl with giant boobs who…oops getting ahead of myself there.

The music in the club was loud and the beat was fresh (do people still say that?) and it was pretty cool, not fist-pumpin cool but pretty close. Ryder moved casually yet noncommittally towards the stage, there was a girl dancing and he wanted to move closer to her and stuff.

Three:

Clarissa was a simple girl from a simple time like if she used that time-travel machine from the first Terminator movie and instead of coming back from the future she came from the past, like from a simple time like 1948 or maybe 1949.

Clarissa was an exotic dancer at Chez Boobalicious and she was kind of bland and plain but she had absolutely earthshakingly-gigantic bazooms.

Her nipples were so big that once on stage she spun around so fast she temporarily blinded a guy in the front row.

But Ryder cold see past all that.

On account he wasn't that guy I just mentioned.

Ryder stared at Clarissa, with a sense of malaise and a touch of whimsy. He smirked knowingly at her as if to say, yes that's right, I am staring at your tremendous breasts.

Ryder continued thinking: Wow, her boobs are like the knobs to a closet that contains my heart.

His really deep thought was interrupted when the waitress came over and gave him his bill. Ryder took out his Waterford pen, it's like a really expensive thing, like maybe more than ten dollars and as he signed his name, he darkly remembered the bartenders earlier gaffe with his beer…

…he only tipped 10%.