|Reviews for The evil dead four, the cabin has been fixed|
| Nekron Smauzog chapter 1 . 2/1/2009
How serendipitous for you that I happened upon your story! You are about to receive one of my more creative flames, written from the copious amount of words which people suggested for my flame-writing challenge. After all, one can only use a copy-paste flame for so long before it becomes trite, right?
Now, before I crack my knuckles and begin, I certainly hope you don’t suffer from katagelophobia as I’m about to flame this disastrous fiasco you call a story, or from triskaidekaphobia as this sentence will end with the number 13.
I wish I could tell you that you didn’t have superfluous spelling errors or that your loathsome grammar didn’t make me cringe. I wish I could tell you that your plot wasn’t turbid and your characters banal. And I also wish I could work the word antidisestablishmentarianism into this flame….but, alas, I can’t do any of those things.
Now, perhaps there is an excuse for you posting this irredeemable excrement. Maybe you were drunk on a few strawberry daiquiris, or maybe you were even attacked by a bevy of flailing birds when you were younger, thus causing a permanent writing-related affliction. Or perhaps your computer was hijacked by a crank-addicted Sasquatch or a monkey whose loose sphincter and love of broccoli causes an aeruginous effluvium wherever he goes.
Whatever the excuse, it doesn’t make your story inscrutable to honest feedback like this:
I would rather attend a hoedown where inbred midgets caterwaul and perform fouettes while some guy named Jed plays the piano with an unmentionable body part than read any more of this pitiful abomination you call a story. I would rather be forced to participate in the domestication of rabid chupacabras than read one more sentence of your crap. I would even rather have an internship with Microsoft where I have to juxtapose logarithms for no reason and answer questions in pig-Latin about misconfigurations or network error messages all day.
I wish I could have faith that you will have an epiphany from this and produce a copasetic story, or that you’ll become obsequious to the fundamentals of the English language, but I think my left testicle will become a famous daredevil who competes in monster truck races before that happens. In other words: as a writer, you fail.
Pillar Of Winter