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To everyone who joined these forums at some point, and got discouraged by the negativity and left after a while (or even got literally scared off): I'm sorry.

I wasn't good enough at encouraging people to be kinder, and removing people who refuse to be kind. Encouraging people is hard, and removing people creates conflict, and I hate conflict... so that's why I wasn't better at it.

I was a very, very sensitive teen. The atmosphere of this forum as it is now, if it had existed in 1996, would probably have upset me far more than it would have helped.

I can handle quite a lot of negativity and even abuse now, but that isn't the point. I want to help people. I want to help the people who need it the most, and I want to help people like the 1996 version of me.

I'm still figuring out the best way to do that, but as it is now, these forums are doing more harm than good, and I can't keep running them.

Thank you to the few people who have tried to understand my point of view so far. I really, really appreciate you guys. You are beautiful people.

Everyone else: If after everything I've said so far, you still don't understand my motivations, I think it's unlikely that you will. We're just too different. Maybe someday in the future it might make sense, but until then, there's no point in arguing about it. I don't have the time or the energy for arguing anymore. I will focus my time and energy on people who support me, and those who need help.


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shit my uncle tom-tom writes
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Post: #1
shit my uncle tom-tom writes

My uncle Tom lives in Finland, and he's a bit off his fucking rocker, if I were to put it lightly. He was always an odd job doer, but I would never have guessed he'd start writing. Well, he wrote the original of this draft in Finnish, then translated it into Estonian and sent it to me to translate into English. s'pose he intended to have it in english from the start, seeing as he used anglo names. Not sure how he even got my e-mail, but what's done is done. Only reason im doing this is because I know he'll manage to reward me...... somehow. always has so far.
He also asked me to review it and criticize this thing. I posted my translation here, because its supposed to have this "Catcher in the Rye"-esque shit going on and I suppose its anti-skewl as well.
Basically, I want you to read it and review it, the translation and the story.

DISCLAIMER: The shit that's underlined is subject to change

Quote:The number on the dark red door said 17.
She struck the key into the lock in a machine-like fashion, in the manner of someone who has done this many times before. It was obvious, as to why. She lived here.

Weeks ago I wouldn't have dreamt of entering someone else's home. To be honest, weeks ago, I wouldn't have imagined talking to someone other than my parents, either.

I don't talk much.

My parents are worried about this because they think I might turn out weird. "Not normal," as they would say. My brother doesn't seem to mind, though. His name is Mark and we used to have a lot of fun when I was little
But Dad tells me that my brother is a 'deadbeat', when mum's not around, and that I shouldn't spend time with him. (I wanted to argue, but I know better.) They don't want me to turn out like him. I'm constantly told to focus on my studies, yet expected to have a healthy social life.

A lot/Much is expected of me.

I used to have a sister too, but I don't remember much of her. I tried asking my parents about her once, but mum started crying and dad ordered me to go to my room. (Haven't dared to ask since.)

Anyway, this one time after school, I went to the park as I always do.
I enjoy going to the park, even if it is full of annoying insects and people from all manner of suspect backgrounds. It had a reputation of being a place for drunkards and the homeless.
Admittedly, I often have trouble making the distinction between the two.
The sky was clear, bright blue and quite sunny, but I would have preferred it to be overcast. This didn't bother me much, however, it was shadowy under the towering trees anyway.
Having found the bench, where I usually sit, I opened my rucksack and pulled out a couple of books and a yellow lunch-box.
This small Spongebob Squarepants-themed container was a relic from kindergarten. Dad wanted to throw it away once, but I protested so much he allowed me to keep it. I understood why he'd wanted to do it: there were obvious signs of 'wear and tear', which weren't helped by my former classmates from Primary. Or Purgatory, as I liked to call it. I guess I kept it because it reminded me of a happier time. When Dad didn't gamble and Mum didn't drink, and my sister was still here.
It wasn't like I used it all the time, either.
Quite the opposite, in fact, I don't really like to eat.
This one time I had to go to the hospital because I'd been neglecting my meals and got really ill, but that's a story for a different day.

Inside this beaten-up lunch-box was an uneaten sandwich. Mum always takes time out of her morning to make me a sandwich. I appreciate it, so I try real hard to come back home with an empty lunch-box.
Between two pieces of buttered white bread there was a slice of ham with cheese on top. Mum's sandwiches were always the same
I did not mind.

Quickly realizing, that today was going to 'one of those days', I put the sandwich back in the box and started reading.

I was alternating between reading a textbook and this fantasy book when a girl approached me. She wore jeans with holes in the knee area and a black tank top under a grey hoodie.

"Is it okay if I sit here?" she asked with a radiant smile on her face.

I kept my head down and gave her a stuttery nod. The situation was awkward and my body language seemed to startle her a bit.
I felt like an idiot.
She sat down and I assumed that this girl goes to my school.
Trying my hardest not to look at her, I focused intently on the book. Unfortunately, reading about the intrigue of fictional royalty becomes difficult with a stranger nearby. It was tough to breathe even, and soon found myself having to do it manually. I did notice her glancing over to my lunch-box every now and then.
After a few minutes of this, she suddenly perked up and said:

"I will blow you if you take me out to dinner and buy me a meal."

'I was taken aback' would be selling it short, dear reader. I gathered myself for a moment and, with a nervous tone in my voice, proceeded to bumble and stutter as I tried to find the right words.

"N-no, there's no n-"

Her head and shoulders dropped as she rushed to leave. I understood my mistake right away.

"But... I do have this sandwich. I'm not really hungry so you can have it." I uttered, with a tone of desperation in my voice.
She hesitated, perhaps to swallow her pride, and sat down again. I handed her the box.

"Thanks," she said.

She took modest bites, but it was obvious that she had the hunger and desire to swallow it whole.

"This is really good," she said with a mouthful.

Thanks, my mother made it," I replied

"Tell your mother she makes great sandwiches." she said with a smile, having finished her last bite. I noticed she smiled with her eyebrows raised and eyes closed, as if to protect her eyes from sunlight.

I wondered what she would look like, smiling, with the sun actually shining on her. It was a nice thought.
My reverie was interrupted by her waving her hand in my face. I had drifted away again. I do that sometimes.

She broke the silence and we talked for a while. I found out her name is Ashley, and that she does go to the same school as I. After a couple of minutes of this, we both had to go so we split up.
The next day, we met up again. I gave her my sandwich and we talked. Then we did the same the day after, and the day after.
And so on.

Now, here we are at the entrance of her flat, by her request, and I haven't felt this happy in months, years... decades.

She glanced at me and gave one of her shy smiles that showed her white teeth. Her eyes matched her brown hair, which was in a pixie cut.
I have always preferred girls to have long hair like my mother, but I thought she looked pretty nevertheless.

She opened the door and it made a sudden, heavy noise. None of the doors in my house croaked like so. My father made sure of it with some nagging assistance from my mother, of course.

"Come on," she said.
Ashley grabbed my wrist and lightly pulled me into her apartment.

"What do you think?" she asked excitedly.
Her cheerful tone complimented her bubbly nature.

07-04-2016 04:56 AM
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UnicornLionWolf Offline

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Post: #2
shit my uncle tom-tom writes

That was better than expected...I think a lot of us can find it relatable until it gets to the part about the girl so desperate for food she offers to blow the guy for it.

07-04-2016 03:02 PM
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Alistoriv Offline
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Post: #3
shit my uncle tom-tom writes

That's kind of... odd
writing's not bad though

There are a couple of areas where I think the wording's a little weird.

Quote:She struck the key into the lock in a machine-like fashion,
Not sure if it's just me, but struck seems like a weird word to use here. Maybe use stuck instead? I'm not really sure lel

Quote:I did not mind.
This should probably be didn't imo

Quote:"I will blow you if you take me out to dinner and buy me a meal."
This could stay this way, but the way it says she suddenly perked up and said it makes me feel that it should be I'll instead of I will.

Quote:I found out her name is Ashley, and that she does go to the same school as I.
Should say same school as me or same school as I do

Quote:None of the doors in my house croaked like so.
Like so seems a little awkward here, maybe it should say like it or that way; something along those lines.

on a side note, Uncle Tom's Cabin was first published by a relative of mine.

(03-20-2013 05:08 PM)brainiac3397 Wrote:  Stand up with pride and say "No! I will not be a McDonalds employee. I WILL BE A GARBAGE MAN!"

[Image: USVWSwj.png]
07-05-2016 03:30 AM
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Username Offline

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Post: #4
RE: shit my uncle tom-tom writes

Noted! Gotta finish translating and polishing the whole chapter soon.
Thanks fellas.
07-05-2016 06:56 AM
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Post: #5
RE: shit my uncle tom-tom writes

it's not the same exact story, but my uncle sent me this other thing that i've translated.
he went full chuck palahniuk here

Quote:"The Things We Love Doing"

Billy was walking to the nearby corner shop on a clear, sunny day. Fiddling with the change in the pockets of his ill-fitting shorts, he worried whether he had brought enough money to purchase his beloved beverage. Sweat starts to flow from his forehead and he regrets wearing a black shirt on such a humid day.

Billy does eventually reach the store and, with great haste, immediately makes his way towards the dairy aisle. He grabs a small carton and rushes to the check-out, which is all but empty were it not for the shopkeeper.

The boy places the carton and the change on the check-out desk. The shopkeeper is slow and his hands tremble as he tries to take Billy's order. Billy becomes impatient and unable to stay still. He watches the old man press the wrong buttons and struggle with the cash register. Billy becomes so annoyed he offers to do it himself, which the shopkeeper allows.
Billy is, after all, a trustworthy local boy.

With the rest of his change collected and carton in hand, he leaves the shop. As soon as the automatic doors behind him close, he triumphantly opens the small carton of chocolate milk he just bought. He takes a small sip of the liquid and twirls the drop around his tongue before devouring the rest of it in seconds. Billy is lactose-intolerant, but that doesn't matter, and he licks the remaining milk off his upper lip.

This was his most favourite thing in the world.

With not enough money to buy another, Billy made his way back home. He regretted drinking it so quickly, as he walked along the grey cobble that would eventually lead home, and wanted to make sure that never happened again.
This hadn't been the first time he had done this, either.

As he reflected, the sun got weaker, the road narrower and the neighbourhood became much more familiar. Recognizing a white picket fence in the distance, he rushed towards it. He'd reached home.

Billy went to his room and saw his awaiting brother. They both immediately knew what to do next. Billy started his video-game console and sat down on his bed, two controllers clutched in his hands. He kept one and handed his sibling the other. They stared, wide-eyed, at the television screen as the game started up.

This was his second most favourite thing in the world.

His brother, Charlie, was two years his junior and starting school this fall. The two couldn't look any more different, yet their parents had constant trouble differentiating them. It was one of the few things they bonded over, when their parents had managed to, yet again, mix up their names.
The game started up.

The boys picked their characters and the carts they would race each other in. This went quickly and without dispute - those had already been settled in the past, and the race began.
Billy, being the eldest, was much better than Charlie, and would soon pass his cart for the second time. This made Billy hysterical and he laughs as his brother starts falling more and more behind. Charlie's eyes well up and he's struggling to focus on the game. Things go from bad to worse for him as he begins driving in the opposite direction of where he's supposed to go.

Billy is cackling, gasping for air, when he feels something bubble up in his belly. He decides to play a trick to torment his brother some more.

This was his third most favourite thing in the world.

He stands up, pulls down his trousers and plants his bottom near Charlie's head. Charlie, eyes closed, sobbing, does not notice this. Billy feels this bubbly sensation pass through his system. Awaiting, he realizes that this is no ordinary fart. It's something definitely not gaseous or, indeed, solid.
But it's too late.

Billy feels this hot, foul liquid spray out of his butt onto his brother. Hearing some of it splatter onto the wooden floor, all Billy can think about in this moment is the relief passing through his rectum. When he finally finishes, he turns around. A small stream of excrement drips down his leg as he does this. He sees Charlie, covered in crap, look as if he's about to wail.

Instead, Charlie lets out a scary, ear-locking scream. Shortly after, Billy hears loud footsteps coming from outside the room. Someone opens the door.
It's his dad.

He looks at Billy, who isn't wearing any underwear, and Charlie, who is coated in brown, and starts to puke.
Charlie is crying and urinating himself. Billy, twisted with guilt, starts to weep as well. Everything around him goes dark and the last sound he hears before passing out is a splash as his head hits
the wooden floor.

Years later, doctors told Billy that he, in fact, was not lactose-intolerant. This had no effect on him, he could never drink chocolate milk ever again.

And that, dear reader, was his least favourite thing in the world.

as always, gimme yer thoughts and revisions
(This post was last modified: 07-16-2016 01:24 AM by Username.)
07-16-2016 01:19 AM
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AnyOptions Offline

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Post: #6
shit my uncle tom-tom writes

What the hell
10-22-2016 10:45 AM
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Post: #7
RE: shit my uncle tom-tom writes

(10-22-2016 10:45 AM)AnyOptions Wrote:  What the hell

What a constructive comment.
10-23-2016 01:58 AM
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AnyOptions Offline

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Post: #8
shit my uncle tom-tom writes

I shall make a constructive comment.

This was quite the articulated story. The plot gripped me, as I saw myself, my innocence, in young Billy. I could relate with his desire for something that is of great desire, yet not beneficial to you. The mental imagery of the splattering was very well thought out. I could imagine being Billy, feeling a relief of my stomach, as my liquid brown rain sprayed all over my older brother's face.

I would rate this story an 8.7 out of 10. Good day, good sir.
10-23-2016 08:36 AM
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no Offline
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Post: #9
RE: shit my uncle tom-tom writes

Does he have a cabin, perchance?

Hello, traveler.

This is an ancient account I have not used in a long time. My views have changed much in the intervening months and years.

Nonetheless, I refuse to clean it up. Pretending that I've held my current views since the beginning of time is what we in the industry call a lie. Asking people to do so contributes to moralistic self-loathing. "See, those people have nothing damning! I do! I'm truly vile!"

Because you can never be a good person with a single blemish on the moral record, I thought that simply entertaining some thoughts made me irredeemable. Though I don't care for his writing style, William Faulkner presents a good counterexample. He went from being a typical Southern racist to supporting the civil rights movement. These days we'd yell at him for that, probably.

People are allowed to change their views.

Nevertheless, this period of my life has informed some of how I am today. In good ways and bad ways. To purge it would be to do a disservice to history. Perhaps it will not make anyone sympathetic, but it may help someone understand.

If, after reading all this, you still decide to use the post above as evidence that I am evil today, ask yourself if you have never disagreed with the moral code you now follow. In all likelihood you did, at some point. If some questions are verboten, and the answer is "how dare you ask that," don't expect your ideological opponents to ever change their minds.
10-23-2016 11:39 PM
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