I see I have some competition in JM fanfic!Jack's short story. I'm really bored at work lmao.
Jak trudged her weary feet through the dreary supermarket, her heart aching with the guilt of a million evil goblins, due to her severe misfortune.
"You wouldn't understand," she whimpered at the vicious, classist, mean cashier. Who had rudely enquired why Jak's trolley was groaning with the weight of one hundred tins of beans. Each tin was to represent her loneliness, she was to pile each one up, photograph the rich shadows cast across woody surface of her sideboards, watch the dark envelope the light, nothing had been the same since she left.
She left.
Loneliness, Southend.
It still sent shivers of sadness throughout her despondant might, but yet, she was hopeful.
"Hello love, you're that Jak Mulrow off the Twitter, aren't you love," a lecherous old man leered in her ear, she received the hated looks and comments every day. Why her? She couldn't help being such a pixie, it was so unfair, so sad, so tragic.
"Leave me alone, thankyou!" she screeched, her foot making contact with the dull thud of a solid shin.
And then.
Her saviour. The shop's fluorescent light bathed her skin with an ephremal glow, her hair more red than fox's tail, her eyes flashing with rage. She grabbed Jak by her waif-like arm. They ran together, through the crowded aisles, her soft fingers pulling her along past the bottled lemon, the mint/parsley/rosemary combination, and then through the door. They still ran their fingers entertwinned, Jak shocked at the beating of her hopeful heart and how she felt alive!
"I didn't introduce myself," her hidden saviour said once they had finally stopped their swift escape. "I am Mary Portas. And you are the most beautiful, smart, deserving woman in the world. I have admired you since your potatoes."
And they forever scampered across each other's dear hearts, never cycling, and went to many outdoor festivals in the beautiful five bedroom cottage they crowd funded.
Fin. x
are they trolling her?
I think it depends on how it's used and who you follow? I like being able to see my friends' pictures and what they're up to...but then, I only have close friends on there and lock my accounts down.It can be, depending on how you use it. I have to use Social Media a lot as part of my job, and I also train people on how to use it positively.
For me:
Facebook - a great way to stay connected with people who are spread across the globe, to develop networks etc. The way they handle private groups make it really good for community development and event organisation is quite slick there too. (Downside - all the keyboard gangsters and folk who share stuff blindly without Fact checking
Instagram - I love all the tourism stuff on there, destinations I want to visit etc. Sharing my arty attempts with other like-minded folk. The Downside is for younger people it becomes a misrepresentation of life and they compare unrealistic body images with their own.
Twitter - Again I use this a lot for work, networking and debates. I totally agree that there's a lot of argumentative arses on it though and a real tribal troll mentality. That being said - it's related to how I found this place and I have to praise it for that!
Like I said, it's like everything else in life and it depends how you use it. You reap what you sow.
Quite nice is what they are. If a friend took them you might say what a nice photo. But I would never buy it. I don't listen to music that I think is mediocre etc. Why would I want to look at mediocre art?You can definitely tell she just points and snaps looking at those photographs. Some of them are quite nice but a lot are under/overexposed or are framed weird.
I doubt I could do a better job tbh but I am also not calling my sets of photos collections and angling to get them displayed everywhere.
It's the way she's calling them 'the [whatever]' collection' too. Even professional (talented!) photographers I've come across online don't do that?Quite nice is what they are. If a friend took them you might say what a nice photo. But I would never buy it. I don't listen to music that I think is mediocre etc. Why would I want to look at mediocre art?
Christ on a bike! They are really shit, you would have thought someone would have said something.These are just awful. I don't claim to have an expert eye, but God they are bad.
Most of them look like crime scene photos and what is with the Ye Olde cottage stuff?
Positively HOOTING at Mary PortasJack's short story. I'm really bored at work lmao.
Jak trudged her weary feet through the dreary supermarket, her heart aching with the guilt of a million evil goblins, due to her severe misfortune.
"You wouldn't understand," she whimpered at the vicious, classist, mean cashier. Who had rudely enquired why Jak's trolley was groaning with the weight of one hundred tins of beans. Each tin was to represent her loneliness, she was to pile each one up, photograph the rich shadows cast across woody surface of her sideboards, watch the dark envelope the light, nothing had been the same since she left.
She left.
Loneliness, Southend.
It still sent shivers of sadness throughout her despondant might, but yet, she was hopeful.
"Hello love, you're that Jak Mulrow off the Twitter, aren't you love," a lecherous old man leered in her ear, she received the hated looks and comments every day. Why her? She couldn't help being such a pixie, it was so unfair, so sad, so tragic.
"Leave me alone, thankyou!" she screeched, her foot making contact with the dull thud of a solid shin.
And then.
Her saviour. The shop's fluorescent light bathed her skin with an ephremal glow, her hair more red than fox's tail, her eyes flashing with rage. She grabbed Jak by her waif-like arm. They ran together, through the crowded aisles, her soft fingers pulling her along past the bottled lemon, the mint/parsley/rosemary combination, and then through the door. They still ran their fingers entertwinned, Jak shocked at the beating of her hopeful heart and how she felt alive!
"I didn't introduce myself," her hidden saviour said once they had finally stopped their swift escape. "I am Mary Portas. And you are the most beautiful, smart, deserving woman in the world. I have admired you since your potatoes."
And they forever scampered across each other's dear hearts, never cycling, and went to many outdoor festivals in the beautiful five bedroom cottage they crowd funded.
Fin. x
That was exactly my thought. Always happened to her ten times more, ten times worse.What absolute steaming bollocks. I don’t believe this happened AT ALL.
#be nice Brooklyn Beckham is also a photographer.Christ on a bike! They are really shit, you would have thought someone would have said something.
Brilliant and please do write the next steamy chapter.Jack's short story. I'm really bored at work lmao.
Jak trudged her weary feet through the dreary supermarket, her heart aching with the guilt of a million evil goblins, due to her severe misfortune.
"You wouldn't understand," she whimpered at the vicious, classist, mean cashier. Who had rudely enquired why Jak's trolley was groaning with the weight of one hundred tins of beans. Each tin was to represent her loneliness, she was to pile each one up, photograph the rich shadows cast across woody surface of her sideboards, watch the dark envelope the light, nothing had been the same since she left.
She left.
Loneliness, Southend.
It still sent shivers of sadness throughout her despondant might, but yet, she was hopeful.
"Hello love, you're that Jak Mulrow off the Twitter, aren't you love," a lecherous old man leered in her ear, she received the hated looks and comments every day. Why her? She couldn't help being such a pixie, it was so unfair, so sad, so tragic.
"Leave me alone, thankyou!" she screeched, her foot making contact with the dull thud of a solid shin.
And then.
Her saviour. The shop's fluorescent light bathed her skin with an ephremal glow, her hair more red than fox's tail, her eyes flashing with rage. She grabbed Jak by her waif-like arm. They ran together, through the crowded aisles, her soft fingers pulling her along past the bottled lemon, the mint/parsley/rosemary combination, and then through the door. They still ran their fingers entertwinned, Jak shocked at the beating of her hopeful heart and how she felt alive!
"I didn't introduce myself," her hidden saviour said once they had finally stopped their swift escape. "I am Mary Portas. And you are the most beautiful, smart, deserving woman in the world. I have admired you since your potatoes."
And they forever scampered across each other's dear hearts, never cycling, and went to many outdoor festivals in the beautiful five bedroom cottage they crowd funded.
Fin. x
Can it please involve boobs akimbo and unruly labia?#be nice Brooklyn Beckham is also a photographer.
Brilliant and please do write the next steamy chapter.
Because then she wouldn't get paid and a lot of attention and Patreon and tip jar sheeples . ETA Does she still write for the Guardian?Because then she wouldn't get paid.
can you imagine trusting someone to take photographs of your 'big day' and You end up with a pile of badly focused, badly lit, badly positioned unimaginative dross You'd be gutted.The wedding photos that Mel has taken are truly dreadful.
I wonder if she's somehow burned her bridges with the Guardian? I was really surprised she didn't sell PO-TA-TOES to them, I think a version of it appeared in Grazia magazine but if she still had a decent relationship with the Guardian surely they'd have snapped it up?Because then she wouldn't get paid and a lot of attention and Patreon and tip jar sheeples . ETA Does she still write for the Guardian?
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