So this update about dead white women is probably a little mean... but the site is called Something AWFUL, so what did you expect? Insight? Quality writing? Pfft.
I really didn't feel like writing today and I went through a couple of ideas before I finally settled on this white woman thing, which I'm sure has been done before. Actually, I'm pretty sure everything you could possibly write about has already been writtentenenen about, and I was actually going to write about that, but then I got confused. Anyways, here's one of the ideas for today's update that I didn't go with:
Afleet Alex/Danica Patrick Slash Fan Fiction
Danica and AlexAfleet Alex was a horse. He had just won the 137th Belmont Stakes race. I guess you could say Alex was afleet of foot!
"Thank you for riding me to victory my man," Afleet Alex said to his jockey, Jeremy Rose.
"You are welcome Alex!" Jeremy said with a smile. "I am sorry I had to kick you there but you know how it is in the race world!"
Alex laughed. "Yes it is ok I forgive you jockey!" Alex smiled. "I will be eating oats tonight!"
"That may not be all you are eating!" A female voice said. Alex looked up and saw Danica Patrick.
"Hello I am Danica Patrick," Danica Patrick said. "I am racing my race car in the Bombardier Learjet 500 and I wanted some advice from a racing winner." Afleet Alex was very surprised to see Danica Patrick, she was very pretty.
"yes ok" Alex said.
"Maybe we can talk in your private stall?" Danica winked.
Alex knew where this was going. Ladies loved champion studs. He flipped Jeremy a quarter with his nose. "Go get yourself a soft drink, kid." Alex said.
Alex and Danica went to his stall and Alex turned on some music. "You looked great racing out there I am a racer too isn't racing a big thrill?" Danica said.
Alex snorted. "Yes it is the biggest thrill."
Danica sighed. "I only wish it was I who was riding you to victory."
Alex "Well it is not too late..." Alex said. "I hear you are good with a stick shift."
Danica got her first look at Alex's horsehood. "With that thing, I doubt you will be coming first tonight!!"
Then I stopped writing because -- among other things -- writing creepy hardcore beastality isn't really my thing.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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