Contests
Dead Eye Dick Contest
*contest ends May 26 8PM (PST)
CONTEST:
In the comment section, write your own version/introduction to Vonnegut’s famous drawing — though you must re-appropriate the drawing so that it’s not an asshole — like, it could be a diagram on how to cut a pizza, or a drawing of the big bang, etc. It should be roughly the same word count as the original portion above, and you do not need to mimic Vonnegut’s style.
I will choose the winner based on creativity of re-appropriation and actual writing. Your piece must end with a colon (get it? asshole/colon, hey Onion, call me…). Please no ‘blast entries,’ just one entry per person.
PRIZE:
A 1st edition hardcover of Vonnegut’s Dead Eye Dick (1982) in perfect condition. (I actually found it in a box on the street, can you believe that?) The value ranges from $30 – $150, the latter price marked here. A signed one with a drawing goes for $1750. There’s one on eBay for 30 bucks, so don’t have a heart-attack.
Htmlgiant contributors are not eligible, sorry, but I can already hear the moaning if anyone of you wins, and I’m too sensitive for shit-storms.
Proof I have the book (note that my 70% bamboo robe’s color matches this website):
Tags: Dead Eye Dick, Kurt Vonnegut
I am designed to interest your love– to shape your desires among my own, my “Money Can’t Buy You Love,” to scrape the pieces of a shattered existence and glue them back together in collage-form. To show you my sincerity, my simple seriousness, here is an illustration of the crack in the windshield, through which I will pull your heart to safety.
I am designed to interest your love– to shape your desires among my own, my “Money Can’t Buy You Love,” to scrape the pieces of a shattered existence and glue them back together in collage-form. To show you my sincerity, my simple seriousness, here is an illustration of the crack in the windshield, through which I will pull your heart to safety.
I forgot my colon…. insert this at the end “:”
I forgot my colon…. insert this at the end “:”
Sometimes we lay out in the sun topless for hours, and the mailman stares, and the neighbors complain, but we are young and covered in oil. We glisten. We look like sparklers, or firecrackers, and we roll in the grass like playful shimmering otters. Afterward, in the transition from outside to inside and during the inevitable shower, my skin turns from pale white to bright red, and you mock me, you call me your thick-headed lobster, and over the next few days my nipples go from smooth pink to cracked black, and they look like this:
Sometimes we lay out in the sun topless for hours, and the mailman stares, and the neighbors complain, but we are young and covered in oil. We glisten. We look like sparklers, or firecrackers, and we roll in the grass like playful shimmering otters. Afterward, in the transition from outside to inside and during the inevitable shower, my skin turns from pale white to bright red, and you mock me, you call me your thick-headed lobster, and over the next few days my nipples go from smooth pink to cracked black, and they look like this:
Tao Lin, writing under the name Sarah Schneider, will win this.
Tao Lin, writing under the name Sarah Schneider, will win this.
have some faith okay?
have some faith okay?
Gary was tall and had ordinary hair and hated losing and hated being obvious, and the combination meant he was fucked, because the way to win was almost always to be obvious. Everyone else seemed to be very good at it. Everyone was blond and liked movies and had a favorite drink. Everyone played in the middle square at tic tac toe. Gary did not play tic tac toe anymore. He had his own version. He called it kicky kacky fuckhole. Your move:
Gary was tall and had ordinary hair and hated losing and hated being obvious, and the combination meant he was fucked, because the way to win was almost always to be obvious. Everyone else seemed to be very good at it. Everyone was blond and liked movies and had a favorite drink. Everyone played in the middle square at tic tac toe. Gary did not play tic tac toe anymore. He had his own version. He called it kicky kacky fuckhole. Your move:
Let Jimmy Chen be. He’s a good-hearted, funny guy. The contest is clever.
Let Jimmy Chen be. He’s a good-hearted, funny guy. The contest is clever.
There were issues we couldn’t deal with, such as hunks of clay molded into nude forms better than my un-symmetrical body and your grin which scrunched the meat of your left eye a bit, same corner your mouth-grin lifted. There were issues we couldn’t discuss—your mother and her naked body hanging opposite the fireplace, above the fireplace a mirror to reflect the
pantingpainting and my slow-swallow, body heat creeping up through my collar. Issues you never knew about because it didn’t bother me, allegedly. Issues like your impacted nipple which you let me see the first night and never again, so when I tried to copy your artistry and picked up a pen, all I could draw was that… us:(repeated, just in case the strike-through for the word PANTING didn’t take)
There were issues we couldn’t deal with, such as hunks of clay molded into nude forms better than my un-symmetrical body and your grin which scrunched the meat of your left eye a bit, same corner your mouth-grin lifted. There were issues we couldn’t discuss—your mother and her naked body hanging opposite the fireplace, above the fireplace a mirror to reflect the painting (panting) and my slow-swallow, body heat creeping up through my collar. Issues you never knew about because it didn’t bother me, allegedly. Issues like your impacted nipple which you let me see the first night and never again, so when I tried to copy your artistry and picked up a pen, all I could draw was that… us:
There were issues we couldn’t deal with, such as hunks of clay molded into nude forms better than my un-symmetrical body and your grin which scrunched the meat of your left eye a bit, same corner your mouth-grin lifted. There were issues we couldn’t discuss—your mother and her naked body hanging opposite the fireplace, above the fireplace a mirror to reflect the
pantingpainting and my slow-swallow, body heat creeping up through my collar. Issues you never knew about because it didn’t bother me, allegedly. Issues like your impacted nipple which you let me see the first night and never again, so when I tried to copy your artistry and picked up a pen, all I could draw was that… us:(repeated, just in case the strike-through for the word PANTING didn’t take)
There were issues we couldn’t deal with, such as hunks of clay molded into nude forms better than my un-symmetrical body and your grin which scrunched the meat of your left eye a bit, same corner your mouth-grin lifted. There were issues we couldn’t discuss—your mother and her naked body hanging opposite the fireplace, above the fireplace a mirror to reflect the painting (panting) and my slow-swallow, body heat creeping up through my collar. Issues you never knew about because it didn’t bother me, allegedly. Issues like your impacted nipple which you let me see the first night and never again, so when I tried to copy your artistry and picked up a pen, all I could draw was that… us:
There’s the traditional way to begin a novel, and there’s mine. The traditional mode involves the crafting of a sentence that — if executed properly, if one’s aim is true — kindles the reader’s synapses, captures her will, immediately drawing her under the current of the narrative. My way is much more simple. I load my great-grandfather’s Webley service revolver, close the chamber, pull the hammer, chuck my unwritten book high in the air, aim carefully (tongue out just slightly), and fire. The result — if executed properly, if my aim is true — is just as startling, just as thunderous. I’ll prove it to you. I’ve got the gun. Wait. Here:
There’s the traditional way to begin a novel, and there’s mine. The traditional mode involves the crafting of a sentence that — if executed properly, if one’s aim is true — kindles the reader’s synapses, captures her will, immediately drawing her under the current of the narrative. My way is much more simple. I load my great-grandfather’s Webley service revolver, close the chamber, pull the hammer, chuck my unwritten book high in the air, aim carefully (tongue out just slightly), and fire. The result — if executed properly, if my aim is true — is just as startling, just as thunderous. I’ll prove it to you. I’ve got the gun. Wait. Here:
I’m programmed to eat humans– to store the occasional body, child, maybe howl at the remains of a prostitute. Have you ever passed a TCBY Yogurt and thought hey, “marrow?” Is it cold enough yet to pull my arm out of this throat? Here’s an idea:
I’m programmed to eat humans– to store the occasional body, child, maybe howl at the remains of a prostitute. Have you ever passed a TCBY Yogurt and thought hey, “marrow?” Is it cold enough yet to pull my arm out of this throat? Here’s an idea:
I’m not entering, I’m just voting for Will (who I do not know). I love his first sentence and also “Everyone was blond and liked movies and had a favorite drink.”
And if he is a Tao Lin alias, I might cry a little.
I’m not entering, I’m just voting for Will (who I do not know). I love his first sentence and also “Everyone was blond and liked movies and had a favorite drink.”
And if he is a Tao Lin alias, I might cry a little.
I am programmed at flag to perform here – to fifty “the scrawl book flag, to maturity pictures of a to book and an pen and illustrations of other things with a felt felt pen. To give an idea of the flag of my illustrations for this book, here is my picture of an scrawl:
I am programmed at flag to perform here – to fifty “the scrawl book flag, to maturity pictures of a to book and an pen and illustrations of other things with a felt felt pen. To give an idea of the flag of my illustrations for this book, here is my picture of an scrawl:
(courtesy of open wound 1.0 text treatment program – http://openwound.mbutler.org/cut-up/index.pl. i’m experimental. it’s far better than being ironic.)
(courtesy of open wound 1.0 text treatment program – http://openwound.mbutler.org/cut-up/index.pl. i’m experimental. it’s far better than being ironic.)
I am not one to speak. Generations of inherited hypocrisy land upon my shoulders and leave me in a vast desert where I am left to draw only sea anemones:
I am not one to speak. Generations of inherited hypocrisy land upon my shoulders and leave me in a vast desert where I am left to draw only sea anemones:
Listen:
As you age, your hair will fall out. Rather, the hair atop your head will fall out. Other hair will grow, though. In your ears. Also, in your nose. And on your shoulders and back. The hair in your nose and on your shoulders and back will be coarse. The hair in your ears will be finer, and fluffy, and will wave at friends and enemies alike. The hair in your ears will not be discriminating. The hair in your ears will say “Hi!” with great excitement. This is the hair in your ears when the wind blows just a little:
Listen:
As you age, your hair will fall out. Rather, the hair atop your head will fall out. Other hair will grow, though. In your ears. Also, in your nose. And on your shoulders and back. The hair in your nose and on your shoulders and back will be coarse. The hair in your ears will be finer, and fluffy, and will wave at friends and enemies alike. The hair in your ears will not be discriminating. The hair in your ears will say “Hi!” with great excitement. This is the hair in your ears when the wind blows just a little:
dude…. we think alike….
dude…. we think alike….
wow… only times i get this revved up over people is never people at all, but over movies on the imdb message boards which i never post on because i find it pointless to do dumb shit like this again and again.
if you can dig it put the shovel down.
wow… only times i get this revved up over people is never people at all, but over movies on the imdb message boards which i never post on because i find it pointless to do dumb shit like this again and again.
if you can dig it put the shovel down.
YOU DONT UNDERSTAND ‘IRONY’ WHEN YOU READ IT.
YOU DONT UNDERSTAND ‘IRONY’ WHEN YOU READ IT.
I love this contest. Jimmy is the best. I know I”m not allowed to enter it and I understand that, but I just must say that I love all of the entries.
The shortest distance between point A and point B is not a straight line. I’ve witnessed many, coming from all directions, walk in straight lines directly towards, over, and finally past point B, without ever noticing what their soles had touched. Their incessant momentum made it seem like they were carrying heavy train rails to some unknown destination, one on each shoulder, hard pressed against each ear, adding an immense weight for their perpetual heels to scar the earth with. When I found point B, crossed over by so many, it looked like this:
I love this contest. Jimmy is the best. I know I”m not allowed to enter it and I understand that, but I just must say that I love all of the entries.
The shortest distance between point A and point B is not a straight line. I’ve witnessed many, coming from all directions, walk in straight lines directly towards, over, and finally past point B, without ever noticing what their soles had touched. Their incessant momentum made it seem like they were carrying heavy train rails to some unknown destination, one on each shoulder, hard pressed against each ear, adding an immense weight for their perpetual heels to scar the earth with. When I found point B, crossed over by so many, it looked like this:
Agreed. I always enjoy HTMLG, but I’m particularly in love with today’s posts.
Agreed. I always enjoy HTMLG, but I’m particularly in love with today’s posts.
i never feel older or more out of it than when i read these tao lin entries on HG. So much vitriol and funny shit going back and forth and I can never tell what’s what. I know there’s something about ‘ ‘ involved and some ‘interns’ but so much fucking drama is funny as hell. It gets like this on sherdog sometimes when someone calls Matt Hughes a hick. So much drama from the people posting, some of whom don’t appear to be kidding. I’ll just eat some food and try to give a shit about anything as much as some of these folks do.
i never feel older or more out of it than when i read these tao lin entries on HG. So much vitriol and funny shit going back and forth and I can never tell what’s what. I know there’s something about ‘ ‘ involved and some ‘interns’ but so much fucking drama is funny as hell. It gets like this on sherdog sometimes when someone calls Matt Hughes a hick. So much drama from the people posting, some of whom don’t appear to be kidding. I’ll just eat some food and try to give a shit about anything as much as some of these folks do.
I’m headed with this Pekinese straight to hell—I wanted G3, but she’s tucked tight under one arm and panic-sweat’s in my eyes; I could’ve hit 33, or LL, for fuck’s sake. It’s goddam Christmas Eve. I smack at “door open,” eyes squeezed shut; keep seeing what I swear’s a sign from Jesus—
I’m headed with this Pekinese straight to hell—I wanted G3, but she’s tucked tight under one arm and panic-sweat’s in my eyes; I could’ve hit 33, or LL, for fuck’s sake. It’s goddam Christmas Eve. I smack at “door open,” eyes squeezed shut; keep seeing what I swear’s a sign from Jesus—
well, i understand that irony consists of five letters. letters which, amazingly, my brain comprehends as letters. squiggles which, quite possibly, do not mean anything at all, until my brain decides, at a near instant speed, they mean something. kinda like pareidolia.
i feel irony more than i understand it. im not entirely sure i understand anything. like turtles. how do they live so long? I mean really… we’re studying stem cells for the fountain of youth, study a freaking turtle. grab some ooze and get to work already.
but back to the irony… irony is tricky, especially via words. Irony is, by memory-definition which could be completely wrong, a situation turning out the opposite of ones expectation….. right? But people tend to add an element of comedy to it… lemme look this up, hold on…
okay, so with the amount of definitions irony has, and the inaccuracy of deciphering tone through blog-boards… I can say that in this instance I do not understand irony when I read it… written by you.
I understand it in “Wag the Dog” and “Bulworth” and the way the mom acted in “Everybody Loves Raymond”.
I think there was a lot of irony in “O’ Brother Where For Art Thou”….
I come to the understand of irony as being difficult to pull off unless it is in deft hands. Otherwise it comes off as kinda yelly, or scathing, or whiny, or… I dunno, kinda jerk-face’d. But maybe that is also what irony is, being a jerk-face by speaking in a manner contrary to a jerk-face…
But yeah… irony often escapes me unless I’m face to face.
well, i understand that irony consists of five letters. letters which, amazingly, my brain comprehends as letters. squiggles which, quite possibly, do not mean anything at all, until my brain decides, at a near instant speed, they mean something. kinda like pareidolia.
i feel irony more than i understand it. im not entirely sure i understand anything. like turtles. how do they live so long? I mean really… we’re studying stem cells for the fountain of youth, study a freaking turtle. grab some ooze and get to work already.
but back to the irony… irony is tricky, especially via words. Irony is, by memory-definition which could be completely wrong, a situation turning out the opposite of ones expectation….. right? But people tend to add an element of comedy to it… lemme look this up, hold on…
okay, so with the amount of definitions irony has, and the inaccuracy of deciphering tone through blog-boards… I can say that in this instance I do not understand irony when I read it… written by you.
I understand it in “Wag the Dog” and “Bulworth” and the way the mom acted in “Everybody Loves Raymond”.
I think there was a lot of irony in “O’ Brother Where For Art Thou”….
I come to the understand of irony as being difficult to pull off unless it is in deft hands. Otherwise it comes off as kinda yelly, or scathing, or whiny, or… I dunno, kinda jerk-face’d. But maybe that is also what irony is, being a jerk-face by speaking in a manner contrary to a jerk-face…
But yeah… irony often escapes me unless I’m face to face.
uhh… and im not being ironic.
uhh… and im not being ironic.
Sometimes you just need to carve a swastika into a man’s face.
Sometimes you get so nervous and your hands shake so much that you just break down crying.
And sometimes you are so drunk that you cannot remember what a swastika looks like, so you carve this instead:
Sometimes you just need to carve a swastika into a man’s face.
Sometimes you get so nervous and your hands shake so much that you just break down crying.
And sometimes you are so drunk that you cannot remember what a swastika looks like, so you carve this instead:
Sometimes I say to people “hey, I’m going to draw you” and then they get really excited and do this thing where they suck in their cheeks and look slightly to the left of me. Sometimes the people feel disappointed and “let down” after seeing the finished work, such as the time I drew Sarah Jessica Parker:
Sometimes I say to people “hey, I’m going to draw you” and then they get really excited and do this thing where they suck in their cheeks and look slightly to the left of me. Sometimes the people feel disappointed and “let down” after seeing the finished work, such as the time I drew Sarah Jessica Parker:
haha, winner! ben brooks is my winner!
haha, winner! ben brooks is my winner!
No, he decided it wasn’t the Christian cross he saw over the sun, so he crossed that out. And because he was opposed to the whole idea of the rejection of religion, an invisible narrator writing down his actions behind the scenes, he crossed that cross out too. But those actions left him with a web, which sucked his lifeforce into this book. Look at it, just not too closely, for although the picture’s a copy of the original, it still may have some power:
No, he decided it wasn’t the Christian cross he saw over the sun, so he crossed that out. And because he was opposed to the whole idea of the rejection of religion, an invisible narrator writing down his actions behind the scenes, he crossed that cross out too. But those actions left him with a web, which sucked his lifeforce into this book. Look at it, just not too closely, for although the picture’s a copy of the original, it still may have some power:
I really should be working this afternoon. You know what? I think I’ll just have a sneak peak at my Tweetdeck which of course, as you all know, is a much more profitable use of time. You never know, I might serendipitously bump into a customer. My boss will be pleased.
But hang on, what’s this? Some one microblogging abut Vonnegut, better check it out.
Bummer, my boss just back from lunch!! Arseholes, will never find out what it’s about now.
I really should be working this afternoon. You know what? I think I’ll just have a sneak peak at my Tweetdeck which of course, as you all know, is a much more profitable use of time. You never know, I might serendipitously bump into a customer. My boss will be pleased.
But hang on, what’s this? Some one microblogging abut Vonnegut, better check it out.
Bummer, my boss just back from lunch!! Arseholes, will never find out what it’s about now.
Thanks, Rachel. I’m not Tao Lin or anyone else he is.
Thanks, Rachel. I’m not Tao Lin or anyone else he is.
Dearest Marjorie, your repeated usage in letters to me of the words “short” and “powerful” is unnecessary, as these are widely understood to be the essential qualifications of a jockey, and I and half the neighborhood are well aware that that is the profession of the man you have run off with. I have nothing but respect for your decision. But in spite of myself, I think I would like you to know the kind of power growing in your own, abandoned home (although as yet I am no shorter), and it is with this aim in mind that I now dip my tongue in the fatmouthed collectible inkwell your mother bought me last month as consolation for your behavior and show what I can accomplish in one and one quarter seconds, to the benefit of countless women unknown to you:
Dearest Marjorie, your repeated usage in letters to me of the words “short” and “powerful” is unnecessary, as these are widely understood to be the essential qualifications of a jockey, and I and half the neighborhood are well aware that that is the profession of the man you have run off with. I have nothing but respect for your decision. But in spite of myself, I think I would like you to know the kind of power growing in your own, abandoned home (although as yet I am no shorter), and it is with this aim in mind that I now dip my tongue in the fatmouthed collectible inkwell your mother bought me last month as consolation for your behavior and show what I can accomplish in one and one quarter seconds, to the benefit of countless women unknown to you:
hi. my life is a dandelion parachute ball:
and i meant to ask, how do you dance the hokey cokey?:
hello. pleased to meet you. oh. you’ve ejaculated in my eye. right. thanks:
spiders in sexual union:
hi there. my life is a suicide bomb:
example of unusual typographical signs are ‘lozenge’: ◊ ; ‘interrobang’: ‽; and ‘immoderate asterisk’:
(ps. ben brooks ‘ftw’)
hi. my life is a dandelion parachute ball:
and i meant to ask, how do you dance the hokey cokey?:
hello. pleased to meet you. oh. you’ve ejaculated in my eye. right. thanks:
spiders in sexual union:
hi there. my life is a suicide bomb:
example of unusual typographical signs are ‘lozenge’: ◊ ; ‘interrobang’: ‽; and ‘immoderate asterisk’:
(ps. ben brooks ‘ftw’)
oh
wait
sorry
i didn’t understand what a ‘blast entry’ was
maybe that was a ‘blast entry’?
i don’t know
i am sorry
oh
wait
sorry
i didn’t understand what a ‘blast entry’ was
maybe that was a ‘blast entry’?
i don’t know
i am sorry
The tattoo artist looked up from the drawing in his hand to the girl, shaking his head. She’d used her mascara wand to ink what she claimed was a spider with too many legs, and wanted him to tattoo it onto her forehead. “As big as you can do it,” she’d asked.
She was his second crazy of the day. The first, a hag next to this looker, had had him tattoo EDDIE across her buttocks so that when her ass opened it read ED DIE. After, she’d rushed out of the tattoo parlor, her ass still burning, hurrying home to deliver the telebutt to her husband.
He returned the girl’s drawing. “Why’d you want to do that to yourself?”
She pushed her face close to his, her pupils dilated and mouth parted. He could smell the cherry off her lip gloss. “Beauty’s a curse.”
He wanted to ask her to come home with him, to tell her that he could think of more creative ways to uglify her, but he couldn’t risk losing another job.
“I wouldn’t know,” he said.
“Asshole,” she said, staggering out.
The tattoo artist looked up from the drawing in his hand to the girl, shaking his head. She’d used her mascara wand to ink what she claimed was a spider with too many legs, and wanted him to tattoo it onto her forehead. “As big as you can do it,” she’d asked.
She was his second crazy of the day. The first, a hag next to this looker, had had him tattoo EDDIE across her buttocks so that when her ass opened it read ED DIE. After, she’d rushed out of the tattoo parlor, her ass still burning, hurrying home to deliver the telebutt to her husband.
He returned the girl’s drawing. “Why’d you want to do that to yourself?”
She pushed her face close to his, her pupils dilated and mouth parted. He could smell the cherry off her lip gloss. “Beauty’s a curse.”
He wanted to ask her to come home with him, to tell her that he could think of more creative ways to uglify her, but he couldn’t risk losing another job.
“I wouldn’t know,” he said.
“Asshole,” she said, staggering out.
i get bored a lot, like when i am trying to sleep or watch tv, and when i get bored i like to count but i dont count numbers i count letters instead and i came up with a way to count them up to 1000 but sometimes i forget what combination of letters makes a certain number and in my head i have to substitute this for the missing spot:
i get bored a lot, like when i am trying to sleep or watch tv, and when i get bored i like to count but i dont count numbers i count letters instead and i came up with a way to count them up to 1000 but sometimes i forget what combination of letters makes a certain number and in my head i have to substitute this for the missing spot:
Hey, where’d my colon go? I swear I ended with a colon?
Hey, where’d my colon go? I swear I ended with a colon?
‘Arbeit macht frei’ is to be painted on each building said Commandant when giving this camp design to the Jew architect :
‘Arbeit macht frei’ is to be painted on each building said Commandant when giving this camp design to the Jew architect :
:
[…] you everyone for entering HTMLGIANT’s Dead Eye Dick contest — such creative takes on Vonnegut’s drawing! Most memorable ones, for me, include […]
“It’s going to be a little longer than some of the others.”–that’s what I thought when I started this book, and it bothered me a little bit at first, knowing that I’d have to be sitting in this pneumatic, unergonomic chair that much longer. Of course I inevitably thought “Where would I rather be?” and pondered about a dozen other places, most of which were absurd and along the lines of “the top of a room-temperature version of Mount Everest” and “working in a laboratory on some terribly important robot,” or “standing in the desert, mildly stoned.”
Upon looking back at my list, it became apparent that more than two thirds of the places I thought I would rather be involved me looking up at the stars–which I realized I could easily see from my front yard, and upon investigation, generally look like this:
“It’s going to be a little longer than some of the others.”–that’s what I thought when I started this book, and it bothered me a little bit at first, knowing that I’d have to be sitting in this pneumatic, unergonomic chair that much longer. Of course I inevitably thought “Where would I rather be?” and pondered about a dozen other places, most of which were absurd and along the lines of “the top of a room-temperature version of Mount Everest” and “working in a laboratory on some terribly important robot,” or “standing in the desert, mildly stoned.”
Upon looking back at my list, it became apparent that more than two thirds of the places I thought I would rather be involved me looking up at the stars–which I realized I could easily see from my front yard, and upon investigation, generally look like this:
It appears my timing was off. Nothing to see here, folks.
It appears my timing was off. Nothing to see here, folks.