So apparently I'm the "bad boy" of etsy, even though I'm a girl. I posted a thread today, asking if my new octomom articulated paper puppet was in bad taste. I had a few "Nays" but the majority of people commented that it was distasteful and offensive and they probably would not shop in my etsy store. A few people did bring up a good point that my nasty paper puppets do not look nice next to my higher end jewelry.
That's already solved, however, because I have already opened a rubylane shop for my jewelry and just have to take the time to move it.
I want my etsy shop to be all about fun, making stuff that makes me laugh and have a great time, after slaving 2 years over promoting my stinkin' jewelry which has left me burned out for serious things.
I grew up reading "Mad Magazine" and find many strange things very very funny. I like bad puns. I even like offensive stuff as long as it is innocent and harmless and not hurting anyone.
Here's the closed thread: http://www.etsy.com/forums_thread.php?thread_id=6065754
Anyway, I digress! This is a contest and the prize is my "offensive" octomom articulated aper puppet and her litter of kidlets. The rules are simple. Write the worst, overblown, and BAD first sentence to a story, following all grammatical rules, which means no run on sentences or improper punctuation.
In a few days, I will pick the winner, so please let me know how to get in touch with you after the contest so I can send out the prize.
There is a national contest for bad first sentences. It's a good and funny read: http://www.sjsu.edu/faculty/scott.rice/blfc2008.htm
My example:
Upon awakening to the balmy, grey skies just outside her window, Tiffany Barbie lovingly glanced over at her lustrous, shiny, blonde locks of hair lying about her pilllow like a halo of light, hair that really shouldn't have been there at all and had defied medical science since she was just diagnosed with alopecia, which had affected her hair on her legs and armpits, a disease that was a Godsend in some ways, since it was because of the alopecia that she had met handsome, masculine Dr. Standford Wanky, who, when examining her porcelain skin with his exquisite and moist soft hands, had sent tingles all throughtout her body, though her mind was still on Paul Stank, the starving artist, with his deep pools of blue eyes, who had painted her portrait, and talked of his dreams, his sad life, his lack of proper food and sustanence and a working shower, day after day, in his cramped little studio that smelled of linseed oil and turpentine, its walls covered with holes he had punched in his desperation as he cried about the sins he had committed with his last empoyer's nanny, and now Tiffany wished she could fall back into slumber so she wouldn't have to choose between the two men who loved her so.
Good luck everyone!
*The winners are in and it's a tie! Congrats fishbulb500 and wryandginger! Octomoms will be on your way as soon as humanly possible!
Thanks everyone for your great entries--it was a hard choice.
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rtisan is UpFront
17 comments:
Henry had come a long way from his days (ah, "the days!") growing up on the mean streets of Sunnydale; alone, unloved, unwashed, homeless, helpless, hapless, hatless, bored, burned-out, sad, melancholy, leprous and smelling of nine-day-old beans in the pot (his favorite food--he liked them cold) just like the one man he looked up to--Admiral Bottomwipe (at least as he was known on the mean streets of Sunnydale; chances are he was born with a more normal appellation), a man to whom no amount of respect could ever be enough (nor bottles of cheap wine or boxes of stale cigarettes, items which only served to help him maintain his sway over the lower denizens of the aforementioned "mean streets")...
I think your octomom puppet is hilarious rtisan!
Yeah... I don't think it's really all that bad. It's nice to see someone actually has a sense of humor about stuff these days.
As Doris opened her aching eyes a crack and licked her parched and chapped lips, she felt a layer of fur on her tongue that was thicker than the coat of the filthy old tomcat who had been caterwauling in the alley last night, and she knew this knew could mean only one thing: the man next to her was not, in fact, Santa Claus, though he had, in all likelihood, given her a "gift."
Her dream had always been to have fifteen children, a dream that had become, of late, a reality, and it was her secret, lip-pressing desire to repeat her fifteen children's names to herself over and over throughout each day: Moony, Wonky, Morbid, Sunlight, Moonstruck, Sunny-D, Vivacious, Titillated, Semi-Precious, Bolous, Severus, Unique, Landphil, Jello, and Wendell, which was what she was doing as she dusted their fifteen matching headboards (repeating their stupendous names, outloud, again and again) when she realized that, yes, yes, she did, she really really did HAVE IT ALL.
Once upon a time, Octomom was born.
:D ^Short sentence, but possible the worst story ever.
(Got to have a sense of humor these days, no?)
MyMitosis.Etsy.com
What's offensive is that a woman with 6 kids, 3 of special needs who each need a full time mother, has 8 more children for whom she can not care. We need to remember that the story is now about the children who are in great need. It's not about the mother who is very needy.
What's offensive is that a woman with 6 kids, 3 of special needs who each need a full time mother, has 8 more children for whom she can not care. We need to remember that the story is now about the children who are in great need. It's not about the mother who is very needy.
I dare not enter your writing contest but your OCTOMOM puppet is to DIE FOR!!
just discovered your awesome blog on the etsy forum thread - i'd love it if you'd come visit me sometime:
http://namaste-elsiee.blogspot.com/
Admiringly she gazed out the window at the chiffon-white clouds as she dreamily dreamed of her first date with Sam, a husky blonde male with the throaty bark of a man long experienced in life, and she wondered dreamily if she should wear her winter-white gossamer gown with the hand-hammered copper belt for tonight's second date, or whether she should wear her azure-blue pantsuit with the hand-hammered SouthWestern silver accents; "Ah, accents!" she sighed dreamily as she recounted Sam's gruff golden accent as his mouth gently grazed her ear as they danced the night before.
(don't tell anyone I wrote this)
Your puppet rocks! Anyone who thinks she's in bad taste just doesn't have much of a sense of humor if you ask me....
Not feeling creative enough to write a bad sentence, but still had to comment on how hilarious the puppet is!
hahahahahahahahaha!
Well, it sounds like you should make more puppets for your shop. You've had way more positive comments than negative ones.
I think it is hilarious!
PussDaddy
Having successfully regurgitated the carniverous leeches from her cavernous womb, Octomom readies herself for her screenshot, and astutely prepares for her own carniverous, leech-like bleeding of society's coffers.
PussDaddy
I love your blog and your art! I think your Octomom puppet is great and would be an awesome editorial illustration for a magazine article. Rock on!
The puppet is hilarious, why should octomom get all the glorious pubicsity for being a bitch whelping pups? She should just commit herself to the electrodes shock therapy which she so much deserve.
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