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Bushwhacking
Bannon's favored bush-poking stick had been in the shop since last Wednesday, after he'd poked a bush with more vigor than necessary and split it up its middle. So, today, he went about his business with a shillelagh.
While not as suited for poking as his bush-poking stick – being thick and heavy, as opposed to slender with a rounded tip – the shillelagh had considerable heft and weight. Bannon found swinging it through bushes to be a satisfying, if tiring, substitute for poking. That day, it brought him far more success than any mere stick ever had.
After six hours of fruitlessly smacking bushes with his shillelagh, Bannon finally felt the satisfying crunch of his blow connecting with a leprechaun. The tiny body tumbled, head over heels, from the bush, rolling several feet before coming to a stop. It wore blue coveralls and a stained white T-shirt; pale, freckled skin was framed by tufts of fiery hair and beard, and a four-leaf clover dangled from its unusually pale lips, as if surgically attached.
Bannon stepped toward the leprechaun. "Caught you. Finally."
Immediately, the leprechaun sat up. Blood seeped from a gash in his temple, almost lost in the reddish blaze of his hair. He lifted his hands and dashed out a rapid series of gestures, hands clenching and unclenching, fingers dancing and flying.
Please explain the purpose of your unprovoked assault.
Bannon's fingers tightened around the shaft of his shillelagh. "I need a wish granted."
The leprechaun scoffed a noiseless scoff. His hands and fingers weaved a response, slower and less frantically this time.
I am unable to grant that request.
"Bullshit, you're unable," said Bannon, thumping the shillelagh's head into his palm. "The man at the cabaret eighteen miles out told me you could grant any wish. Well, my student loan debt is killing me; I'm paying out the ass in interest."
Leprechauns are forbidden from granting most sorts of wishes. It was decided by majority rule. There was a conclave, and brochures – it was a whole thing.
The arm holding the shillelagh drooped. "Most sorts of wishes?" said Bannon, frowning. "So what can you grant?"
The leprechaun looked flatly at Bannon. He curled his left hand into a fist, jerking it back and forth beside his face as his tongue bulged out his right cheek.
Bannon blinked. "From... like, anyone I wanted?"
The leprechaun just stared at Bannon, until he nodded slowly in comprehension.
"You any good?"
The leprechaun flattened his fingers together and rocked his hand from side to side.
Bannon narrowed his eyes at the leprechaun. A tumbleweed made from four-leaf clovers, stuck together via some unknown substance, blew through the space between the two of them. Then a second cloverweed rolled by, then a third.
After the fourth, Bannon shrugged, and unbuckled his belt.
"That wasn't half-bad, actually," said Bannon, as he refastened his belt. "I'd recommend you to my friends, but I don't think I'm ever gonna look another human being in the eye after today."
The leprechaun spat. You have chlamydia now.
Then he snapped his fingers, and vanished in a puff of fishy-scented white smoke.
Bannon looked at the spot where the leprechaun had stood, and stared silently for a long, long while. Then, slowly, he reached for the shillelagh.
"Joke's on him," he muttered to himself. "He's got syphilis now."
While not as suited for poking as his bush-poking stick – being thick and heavy, as opposed to slender with a rounded tip – the shillelagh had considerable heft and weight. Bannon found swinging it through bushes to be a satisfying, if tiring, substitute for poking. That day, it brought him far more success than any mere stick ever had.
After six hours of fruitlessly smacking bushes with his shillelagh, Bannon finally felt the satisfying crunch of his blow connecting with a leprechaun. The tiny body tumbled, head over heels, from the bush, rolling several feet before coming to a stop. It wore blue coveralls and a stained white T-shirt; pale, freckled skin was framed by tufts of fiery hair and beard, and a four-leaf clover dangled from its unusually pale lips, as if surgically attached.
Bannon stepped toward the leprechaun. "Caught you. Finally."
Immediately, the leprechaun sat up. Blood seeped from a gash in his temple, almost lost in the reddish blaze of his hair. He lifted his hands and dashed out a rapid series of gestures, hands clenching and unclenching, fingers dancing and flying.
Please explain the purpose of your unprovoked assault.
Bannon's fingers tightened around the shaft of his shillelagh. "I need a wish granted."
The leprechaun scoffed a noiseless scoff. His hands and fingers weaved a response, slower and less frantically this time.
I am unable to grant that request.
"Bullshit, you're unable," said Bannon, thumping the shillelagh's head into his palm. "The man at the cabaret eighteen miles out told me you could grant any wish. Well, my student loan debt is killing me; I'm paying out the ass in interest."
Leprechauns are forbidden from granting most sorts of wishes. It was decided by majority rule. There was a conclave, and brochures – it was a whole thing.
The arm holding the shillelagh drooped. "Most sorts of wishes?" said Bannon, frowning. "So what can you grant?"
The leprechaun looked flatly at Bannon. He curled his left hand into a fist, jerking it back and forth beside his face as his tongue bulged out his right cheek.
Bannon blinked. "From... like, anyone I wanted?"
The leprechaun just stared at Bannon, until he nodded slowly in comprehension.
"You any good?"
The leprechaun flattened his fingers together and rocked his hand from side to side.
Bannon narrowed his eyes at the leprechaun. A tumbleweed made from four-leaf clovers, stuck together via some unknown substance, blew through the space between the two of them. Then a second cloverweed rolled by, then a third.
After the fourth, Bannon shrugged, and unbuckled his belt.
"That wasn't half-bad, actually," said Bannon, as he refastened his belt. "I'd recommend you to my friends, but I don't think I'm ever gonna look another human being in the eye after today."
The leprechaun spat. You have chlamydia now.
Then he snapped his fingers, and vanished in a puff of fishy-scented white smoke.
Bannon looked at the spot where the leprechaun had stood, and stared silently for a long, long while. Then, slowly, he reached for the shillelagh.
"Joke's on him," he muttered to himself. "He's got syphilis now."
Pics
It started off so wonderfully Australian, but then there was a distinct lack of the c-word. I'm disappointed.
Joking aside, decent story, though it wasn't quite as witty as it could have been. And while I adore crass humor, this was on the weaker side.
Joking aside, decent story, though it wasn't quite as witty as it could have been. And while I adore crass humor, this was on the weaker side.
Bannon is an old Gaulish word which means “woman”. it’s also the name of a French goat cheese.
So cheesy, yeah. This could’ve been stylishly fun all the way long, but the end was just… It was neither vulgar nor gross, it was just drab. Too bad. Thinking of it, was that supposed to me a feghoot?
So cheesy, yeah. This could’ve been stylishly fun all the way long, but the end was just… It was neither vulgar nor gross, it was just drab. Too bad. Thinking of it, was that supposed to me a feghoot?
Okie dokie, I've come back for more! Let's make a start.
Good Stuff: It at least has a couple of amusing weird bits, such as Bannon hitting the leprechaun and then immediately demanding a wish, and the leprechaun inexplicably using sign language. Structurally, the final punchline works and the prose is okay.
Bad Stuff: Sorry, this just isn't my kind of fic. It's one big joke, so it sacrifices emotion and ambition and engagement and intelligence, and it all depends on the reader's taste for humor. So it's lost a lot when it turns out to be not to my taste. Especially compared with the other entries, this felt too slight. For me, the humor is too obviously vulgar, and the characters too thin, for this to leave any good or lasting impressions.
Verdict: Possible Abstain/Needs Work. I can't honestly recommend any technical or helpful changes that don't boil down to "I don't like this kind of humor", but I can say this felt lacking as an entry. My best recommendation is that you try something more ambitious from the ground up. Sorry if this isn't as helpful as you'd like, and hopefully someone else can give you more specific advice in other comments.
Good Stuff: It at least has a couple of amusing weird bits, such as Bannon hitting the leprechaun and then immediately demanding a wish, and the leprechaun inexplicably using sign language. Structurally, the final punchline works and the prose is okay.
Bad Stuff: Sorry, this just isn't my kind of fic. It's one big joke, so it sacrifices emotion and ambition and engagement and intelligence, and it all depends on the reader's taste for humor. So it's lost a lot when it turns out to be not to my taste. Especially compared with the other entries, this felt too slight. For me, the humor is too obviously vulgar, and the characters too thin, for this to leave any good or lasting impressions.
Verdict: Possible Abstain/Needs Work. I can't honestly recommend any technical or helpful changes that don't boil down to "I don't like this kind of humor", but I can say this felt lacking as an entry. My best recommendation is that you try something more ambitious from the ground up. Sorry if this isn't as helpful as you'd like, and hopefully someone else can give you more specific advice in other comments.
