On a bet I made with Elliott

I'm supposed to be working on my masters' thesis. Since my major is creative writing, I'm supposed to be writing a book or something. I hate writing. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Everything is falling to pieces around me. Instead of working, I take long naps and make jambalaya. I wish I had Guitar Hero here at the house so I could play that instead of working on my masters' thesis.

Anyway, Elliott suggested a couple of weeks ago that we make a little bet. We were both going to write for two hours each day. The first person to not write for two hours would pay the other person twenty dollars. We were allowed one day off per week. I lost the bet after two days.

I cried and cried that night. How could I let Elliott beat me! I'm a MAN, DAMMIT!

So, two days ago, I reinstated the bet. Today, I worked on a short story from 7:30 until 8:00, and then from 9:00 until 9:30. So that's one hour. I hate the crap I'm writing. I'm working on a story about SUMMER CAMP, for goodness sake!


I got really mad about the story I was writing. Also, I got really mad because I can't control how many times I write the word "really." I just like that word. It makes sentences more intense. WAY more intense.

"This sucks. I'm writing such crap. I use the word "really" so many times," I said.

My beautiful girlfriend, Corinne, was working on some homework in my room. "I can't concentrate when you say stuff like that," she said.

"This is how I work," I said.

"You'd better win that bet against Elliott," she said. "And you'll do it fair and square. I'm going to make sure you don't cheat."

I knew I was doomed. I went over to Elliott's room to talk to him about the bet. "Hey Elliott," I said. "What if we change the bet to only being one hour per day?"

"No way, scumbag! If you don't write for two hours today, your ass is grass. And I'm the bad-ass cow that'll eat that grass for dinner. Ding ding! Come and get it! Supper time!" Then he fell out of his chair and got on all fours. "I'm Elliott the cow!" he said, and started kinda crawling around the room.

"Chill out, dude," I said. He was really freaking out. Every so often he would rear up and start rubbing his hands together like a villain in a silent movie.

Then Corinne crawled into Elliott's room on all fours. "I'm a cow too," she said.

"NO!" I cried. "You're a beautiful woman, sweet and kind! You're much too smart to be a cow!" But she couldn't seem to hear me. She and Elliott began to chant, "Your ass is grass, your ass is grass, your ass is grass..." Then I woke up. It was all just a dream!

I went back to my room and started writing on this blog. This counts as writing, you see. We never stipulated that the two hours had to be comprised of useful writing. This counts. Except now I've kinda reached the point where this blog should end. Crap. Back to camp, I guess.