Here's the start of a Wuthering Heights parody (not my funniest- mostly just making jabs at a great work of literature), which I wrote out of my frustration at revision and reading into books too much.

So kinda the same reasons for my Jane Eyre parody.

Please tell me what you think ^_^

Furface xx

1801- Dear diary,

Please note that to prove that I am an impressively eloquent/pretentious misanthrope, I shall be writing in a way in which no ordinary human being would ever write, because it is far too complicated for anyone else's irrefutably inferior minds. I would have written in the imperial 'we' form, but for fear that my avid fans would be bamboozled by the plural pronoun, I decided not to. Now if you may, I will start the story.

As you may notice in the course of my narrative, I lack in common sense and basic intelligence (though my vocabulary's diversity is, if I may be frank, simply inspiring), as well as emotional awareness. Please ponder this as I walk over to my landlord's house for no other reason than to inconvenience him (who else is there to vex on these barren moors? What else is there to do here other than attempt to ruffle as many feathers as possible? This all leads me to wonder why I originally elected to come here).

From the very second that I saw my landlord, I knew we would be friends. His black eyes reminded me of the high-quality coal which I use at home- which is far better and more expensive than yours- and he spoke in the same discourteous manner which I tend to converse in. Our similarities were endless (we were even wearing the same coloured shoes: white in order to combat society's mainstream black).