Listen up, you kumquats, the Web Fiction Guide has posted a link to and review of the Guide to Moral Living in Examples. Go check out the WFG and most importantly, vote for the Guide because I’m your favorite author and I make every other piece of prose written in English look like a gummy bear stuck to a turd drying in the wicked light of an uncaring Sun.

A pineapple gummy bear. Ick.

Yesterday I had a run-in with I Write Like, a site which purports to analyze any text and give you the name of a famous author with a similar style. I gave it a spin yesterday and received P.G. Wodehouse, H.P. Lovecraft and Bram Stoker for a trio of Moral Guide entries. My brother fed it some technical data and received Stephen King.

I fooled around with copying and pasting in text until I had an idea of what authors were in the system, and then wrote some text snippets in an attempt to get specific authors.

First up was this to try for Raymond Chandler:

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Logan attempted, unsuccessfully, to push past the wall of old people that a bus had just ejected onto the sidewalk in front of him. He tried to hustle around them, only to be arrested by a couple with a stroller coming the other way. Then he stepped into the street and a taxi gave him an earful of horn and expletives.

“Goddammit, old people just get in the way,” Logan muttered.

He worked with them extensively in his position as Chief Meteorologist at the Midwest Weather Monitoring Station, or MWMS. When he arrived, sweaty and twenty minutes late to find one of his subordinate meteorologists waiting for him, Logan unloaded.

“All these geriatrics do is get in my way, slow me down, and complain.”

The unlucky meteorologist gulped.

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“Six groomers were found dead, apparently mauled,” the radio announcer said.

“Damn,” Yoshi said.

“Animal control authorities are asking residents to keep their eyes open for any large dogs. If it is spotted, do not approach. Get to safety. Call the police emergency line.”

Yoshi pulled his car into the alley behind his animal grooming salon and went inside. There were three voicemail messages blinking on the phone. All three of his groomers had known someone in the massacre and were taking bereavement leave. Yoshi understood and cleared the appointments of the groomers. He didn’t have anybody lined up, so he settled down to some serious paperwork.

The little tinkling bell on the door tinkled. Yoshi looked up. A young man stood in front of the counter.

“Can I help you?”

The young man pulled out a stubby black gun and pointed it at Yoshi’s heart.

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Strap yourself in, check your helmets, and grease up anything that needs to be greased up because this is 66% of a Guest Week! In celebration of my birthday, I have two guest authors stepping in to take up the reins of the Moral Guide Today (Monday) and Wednesday.

“Uncle Justin, will you play catch with me? My coach says that I have to work on my glove work.”

“Nope,” Justin said, his voice muffled by thick alligator hide. “It’s too dangerous.”

Justin’s niece wandered off, disappointed. His mother and Justin’s sister Maureen came out of the house and walked over to the lawn where Justin sat inside of an alligator. The alligator eyed Maureen but it knew enough not to bite the hand that feeds it chicken carcasses.

“Justin, dear, why won’t you play catch with Charlene?”

“Because I could get hit in the eye with the ball and it might scratch my eye and then I’ll be blind.”

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