Shadow Dream Girl - A Bennet the Sage Psychological Horror Tale

[Kugelfisch]

>pineapple on pizza bad
>the most forced reddit meme of all time
>muh tropical fruit
Unlike tomato. A fruit from the South American tropics.

[ebin namefag]

Couldn't be, he is shitting on Salami, too.

He shits on his bfs salami.

>pineapple on pizza bad
>the most forced reddit meme of all time
>muh tropical fruit
Unlike tomato. A fruit from the South American tropics.

Benit the Sag is a fruit from North America.

[pibbs]

The DHI Autistic Book Club

Shadow Dream Girl
by Bennet “The Sage” White
Chapter 4:The Heart of Blandness
protected by Fair Use, bitch


Alright, my brothers, let's see if ANYthing happens in this chapter.
First paragraph;

Mercy was scarce at Ian's job, but scarce wasn't the same as non-existent. While the hours were long, he was able to clock out a full ten minutes before the last bus on his route home would leave. It was just Ian's luck, though, that it was often a ten minute walk to his stop.

“Mercy was scarce...” kinda melodramatic for someone working at a video rental shop. Wait, I get it. This is Bennet's “A Farewell to Arms,” or “All's Quiet on the Western Front.” because to an IN, working retail is akin to fighting in a war. Being bored and doing tedious tasks causes people like Lupa, or PUR trauma and PTSD just like Vietnam vets.

Anyway, we get a couple of paragraphs of this nigga trying to catch a fucking bus. Not kidding:

...autopilot: pass the laundromat, pass the drive-thru coffee stand, remember to leap over the steep curb right before you get to the fire hydrant plastered with numbers of perverts all over it, pass the sporting good store that once was an appliance store and a patio furniture store before that, hook a left at the deli, continue until you see the Sooper-Dooper Burger and pray you made it in time.

This shitty sentence amused me.

Ian flopped onto the nearest available seat, the driver grunting at his brusqueness.

I believe that is the first time I've ever seen the word “brusqueness.” Bennet is smarter than me, no doubt. He uses a thesaurus like a samurai uses his katana.

So, dude's on the bus obsessing over the day's “events.” He tries to recover his memory gap from his episode. This takes a couple of pages. It's mostly shit like this.

His memories were broken and scattered, and tracing them was often fruitless. Luke had made it a point for Ian to try anyway, for the only way to regain what he would lose was to make the attempt. However, it wasn't the failure of remembering that Ian hated; he had made as close to peace as he could with the fact that there were going to be numerous sections of his life that were forever out of reach.

And like this...

He placed himself back in the office, cataloging the recent releases and placing them in their plastic shells. From there, he played out the entire run of his day: the shelving, the checking out of rentals for customers, answering their inane questions about if they had that movie where what's-his-face...

Pages of this monotonous introspective anxiety. This is not a fun read. It's really reminiscent of Lindsey's writing. A chapter of over-written, non-events, then the next chapter recaps previous chapters non-events as this internal stream-of-consciousness. This is reflection of the ego on these IN “ecelebs” as though their “profound” prose makes for fascinating reading. At least Lindsey had the prospect of human on space-raptor banging to keep things interesting.

But as Ian tried to push forward, a sudden thought sprouted, forming a bramble that cordoned him off from the path. Was he replaying that day in his head, or was he replaying the day before? Or maybe even the day before that?
Every day is the same.
It was a burr in his mind.

Sigh. Sorta the way I feel about these chapters.

More and more of this...

That kind of accidental, tangential stumbling toward employment felt like a pattern that he lived by throughout all his life. Guided more by what he had to do than what he wanted to do, it should only make sense that he would wind up where he is. A directionless life would leave few physical remains in its path.

We get it, Bennet. Your YouTube “career” has run dry and the only job you'll be able to get is in retail like a high school teenager. We tried to warn all you dumbass INs.

“You get to watch movies all day,” went the common refrain, “who wouldn't want to do that?”

Ironic.

Either find a job that you can stand, or whittle away your life at the nearby community college so you can get a job you can stand.

Yeah, more and more this is reading like Bennet's own anxiety.

Ian was clueless about what the plan was for him. He'd never really cared to work at Millie's, but then again, he would have never cared to work anywhere.

The IN motto.

Anyway. He whines about his job for 3-4 fucking pages.

God, even when you're out of Millie's, you're still thinking about it. You're fucking pathetic.

I would say he was self-aware here, but if that were so, he would have deleted this entire chapter.

Ian spots a homeless man out the bus window, and we get two pages of him pondering this man and the quaint little town.

Ian finally gets home to his one room studio apartment with proverbial mattress on the floor. Riveting. I'm expecting an old CRT TV to be propped up on milk crates.

No, no milk crate. But we get a page and a half describing a bare bones apartment. Notice I did in one sentence what's taking Bennet forever to describe, because he thinks there's some profound meaning to it all.

As the time shifted to 10:00, he noticed his bottle of venlafaxine. Normally placed next to the clock as part of his morning ritual, along with his bottle of amphetamines,

I had to look up venlafaxine. It's an anti-depressant. Of course it is. This comes in the middle of a couple of pages of him just fiddling with the TV remote, while lying on his floor mattress.


End of chpater.

That's 4 chapters of nothing except a spaz attack.

[rabidtictac]

He's not as awful as Lindsay, but every writer faces down the demon of purple prose. Some overcome it. Some master it, as Jack Vance does. Many succumb, as Bennet has.

[VoiceOfReasonPast]

I'm really starting to miss ERod's prose. Sure he had the opposite problem of not enough padding, but at least that gave us a never-ending stream of dumb shit to make fun of.

But instead we get "My life sucks, but I'm too lazy and passive to have thought of something else to do with myself" drawn out to a full chapter.

[pibbs]

The DHI Autistic Book Club

Shadow Dream Girl
by Bennet “The Sage” White
Chapter 5:Back in the Shop
protected by Fair Use, bitch


Ugh. Begin chapter 5.

Ian's eyes stung from simply being open. They felt caustic and raw, as if someone had poured bleach into his sockets to wake him from a terrible nightmare. He couldn't help but draw the irony out of the feeling; a narcoleptic who has insomnia. The notion itself would have been funny, if these nights were spaced further apart. To Stan, though, the frequency was part of the humor.
“Only you, Ian.” He would chortle, “Only you.”

Any tiime I see someone use the word “chortle” I get angry. It's a word dumb people use when they think they are smart. For fuck's sake, peeRod used it and he's a mid-functioning retard.

Anyway, we're back at the shop. Ian's staring daggers at Stan because he's still butt-hurt about being called out for his bullshit self-pity. Stan tells him to get ot work.

Then this ridiculous sentence:

He brought a small, gas-station cup to his lips to slurp a mouthful of tepid coffee which he had been nursing with grimaced gulps since opening at 9:00.

“Grimaced gulps?” TWO PAGES about the coffee.

Ian gurgled, swirling the cup and feeling the coffee slosh around, thick and heavy as motor oil. He opened the top to see how much had remained, and despaired when he saw that there was still at least another half to go. Tilting the cup to see the bottom, he couldn't help notice that it coated the inside of the cup a deep, dark brown, as if the coffee were wood stain. It would at least explain the flavor.

I'm seriously of thinking of not wasting anymore time on this garbage.

Alas.

“Stan, in the immortal words of Pauline Kael, shut the fuck up.” Ian's temper had become a grindstone, honing his words as sharp as needles. Stan blinked, raising his head to address Ian face-to-face, “Just saying it seems ridiculous that you drink the stuff when you hate it.”

I don't understand the point of this fucking book. Why would anyone think that a human being would want to read this? I know why I read it. I'm an attention-seeking autist, trying to get a bunch of other faggot autists to laugh at the works of the endless human debris we make fun of around here. But you can't make a living selling to people like me.

Then we get a page of all the things Ian waits on. Reread that sentence.

But as he continued to wait for a living, he realized waiting was all that he was doing. Even when he clocked out, he would wait on the bus to get home, he would wait to see if he could fall asleep, he would wait for his time with Luke to start, and he would wait all week for the entire process to start all over again. He was always waiting...

Could it be that my slight fascination with this book, is that I marvel at the majestic dullness of nothing that this book is? From a grammatical standpoint, it's competently written. He demonstrates some understanding of authorship. Yet, he's telling a story that has no story. Amazing.

Ian looks at a blank wall and suggests they come up with a new movie category for it. Ian and Stan bicker about this for a few pages.

Far be it for us to suggest something off the beaten path; no one is champing at the bit to see Jodorowsky-”
“Isn't the phrase supposed to be 'chomping' at the bit?” Ian interrupted, hoping to chain enough of Stan's pet peeves together to keep him going.
“Chomp is a derivation from champ, and therefore, the idiom has always been 'champing at the bit'.” Stan groaned out the explanation, much to Ian's internal delight, “Where was I?”
“I think you were fellating Jodorowsky. I hated El Topo, by the way.”
“As a plebe would, yes.” Stan smirked.

How many times can I say the same thing?

This conversation never ends! Two pages on Spielberg. I honestly think Bennet thinks he's writing witty Clerk-esque banter here. But no. Boring. Nothing insightful.

On cue, the two Brians (Bennet's Jay and Silent Bob) enter.

Ian followed Stan along as they rounded the corner of a shelf to find both Brians, sitting on folding chairs with necks craned up to watch Birdy on the store's mounted monitor, all the while shoveling corn chips into their mouths.
Stan was nearly apoplectic, “Where the fuck did you neanderthals get chairs?”
“We brought them in when you guys were in the back.”

Comedy.

Now a four-way discussion on the director Alan Parker.

Stan stomps off pissy because they didn't know who Alan Parker was. Because this is how humans act.

Ian offers an apology to the Brians.

“About what?” Weissbart asked.
“Well, you know, I sort of yelled at you guys.”
Weissbart scrunched his nose and craned his neck back, as if he just smelled a waft coming from a dumpster, “But, you yell at us all the time.”

Gawd, I do not care!
Did you return Aliens? They don't seem to know what he's talking about. But they are going to rent Saving Private Ryan next. They invite Ian over to watch with them.
Ian reluctantly accepts. Then... I don't know what. Here.

“Um, sure.” Ian gave with a light shrug.
The room suddenly felt electric, as if a current sprang forth into the air and shot up the Brians and Ian's spine. The current carried with it a booming, incredulous voice from behind them. It split the stillness of the store and turned their collective nerves into glass before shattering them, leaving them shell-shocked.
“Fucking what?!” Stan yelled.

That's how the chapter ends.

We are 25% through this book, guys. Tell me... What's this fucking book about?

[Complicity]

We get it, Bennet. Your YouTube “career” has run dry and the only job you'll be able to get is in retail like a high school teenager. We tried to warn all you dumbass INs.

Thing is, working in retail among teenagers is way more respectable than what they are doing now, which is glorified begging.
Besides, i may understand the embarrassment of a Spoony of a FilmBald working among teenagers, because they look like a melting Peter Lorre.
But what's the problem with Benito?
He still looks like a dumb, ugly and obese teen who would scream at costumers wearing a MAGA hat.

We are 25% through this book, guys. Tell me... What's this fucking book about?

"I'm also like Spoony, but i hide it behind my shitty book".
And Saya hasn't been introduced yet.

[VoiceOfReasonPast]

Could it be that my slight fascination with this book, is that I marvel at the majestic dullness of nothing that this book is? From a grammatical standpoint, it's competently written. He demonstrates some understanding of authorship. Yet, he's telling a story that has no story. Amazing.

Benito must think that Spoony is living the most exciting life that any human has ever lived.
He's wrong.

That's how the chapter ends.

"Something happened!"
Man, I'm at the edge of my seat here.
And did this like suddenly turn into a shounen action story, what with them sensing this massive ki aura and/or killing intent?

[Kugelfisch]

Nothing is happening. Clerks already was lame and gay and this is a third-rate imitation.
It also reminds me of House of Leafs in the worst possible way in being about a boring faggot, loads of meaningless rambling and no fucking plot whatsoever.

I've never watched Bennet the Fag. I'm assuming he's the most boring man on the planet.

[rabidtictac]

He watches anime, so yes.