I just came across this website called “I Write Like” that’s supposed to analyze your writing style and compare it with the styles of famous authors. You just paste something you’ve written in this box, click analyze, and bingo-bango it tells you who you write like. Even though I’m currently serving a two year blogging ban for doping, I figured it would be worth violating my suspension to see what famous authors I stack up with. I can only assume it’s the best of the best, maybe Hemingway or Dickens or Shakespeare…but let’s see. It’s been a while, so let me just pull up the first post I can find. Ah…here we go. A story about a bear eating a man’s head off. Here are my words:
Yesterday, I had to take a huge shit. When I perched my cheeks on my throne, I reached into my pocket only to realize I left my iPhone on my desk. No Twitter, no Chess with Friends, no iB… just me and my excrements. Aside from that though, I bet getting eaten by a bear is the worst thing that can happen to you while trying to drop the Obamas off at The White House. Credit his friend though. If he were just a dumb, teenaged chick he’d probably waste his time texting his mom about the ordeal. Instead, he manned up and shot the bastard. The journalist in me has to know though… was he able to finish taking care of his business? Having to poo and not being able to has got to be one of the all time worst feelings in the world. If it were me, and I had to decide between bear chompers in my cranium or a stuffed up and bloated large intestine, I’m taking the gnawed off noggin every time. I’d just sit there and take my chances… no way I’m pinching off a partially pinched loaf.
Poetry. Genius. Now, lets copy/paste that into the ol’ IWL machine…and the results are. I write like Margaret Atwood. Who is that you ask? No fucking clue. Must be awesome though if she writes like I do. Let’s Google a sample of her work.
You’re sad because you’re sad.
It’s psychic. It’s the age. It’s chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.
There’s more, but I cut it off after the first paragraph because it fucking sucks. You’re sad because you’re sad? Hug your eyeless doll and you need to sleep? Margaret, I can write better words using a pen protruding from my asshole (see, I did it right there). I’m so pissed off at this website right now for comparing my prose to this rubbish…but let’s give it another shot. Maybe they’re still working out the kinks. After another quick search through the archives, here’s a story about black people and McDonalds:
I don’t understand this philosophy at all. McDonald’s obviously knows that African-Americans can’t afford the extra charge, so all they’re doing is losing their black customers. They’ll never step foot inside another McDon…ohhhhhh. You sly sons of bitches. I’m with you now. Well played. But if you’re going to charge a tax for thievery, you might as well charge a brawl tax too. If I’ve learned anything from watching World Star Hip Hop videos it’s that (fast food restaurant) + (minorities) = (all out knock down drag out brawl). Shit gets absolutely destroyed. I wouldn’t be mad at McDonalds in the least if they started enforcing these taxes either. If it costs me an extra buck and a half to be able to eat questionable patties of meat in an environment where I don’t have to worry about my wallet being stolen or some fat broad tossing my table at some other heifer, then sign me up yesterday.
Aaaand, IWL says… What the?!…no joke, Margaret fucking Atwood again! Maybe I just picked a bad sample of Margaret’s work. Let me try finding something better. Stand by… Uh:
sauntering out of the almost-
silly West, on your face
a porcelain grin,
tugging a papier-mache cactus
on wheels behind you with a string,
What. In. The. Fuck? How do black people beating the shit out of each other over Big Macs have anything to do with star spangled cowboys? This broad is awful. I think the IWL guys have to tweak their site a bit. I’m going to give it one more shot. Oh…I remember this post. One of my favorites. I have to at least get a James Joyce comparison for this one.
Have you ever been joking around with someone and then they laughed and said, “oh that’s too funny”? For some reason, that really grinds my gears. What does “that’s too funny” even mean? I mean, I understand that my humor is probably superior to anything they’re used to hearing. But is it possible for something to be too funny? Like, “hey, the jokes you’ve been spouting up until now have been hilarious. As far as funny goes, they’ve been just right. But that last bit was a little too funny and I’ll kindly ask you to dial it back a touch. Funny is funny but that was a little too funny.” Never in my life have I ever thought something was too funny for me to handle.
And the result is…Stephen King! I’ll take it! My posts are pretty much interchangeable with The Shining and The Green Mile. I mean, hilarious posts about being too funny and clowns that go around killing each other… whoa… hold on. I was about to write a facetious sentence about how dumb the iwl site is BUT wouldn’t a clown that goes around killing people, like in Stephen King’s IT, be considered too funny? Spot. On. Finally. Third time’s a charm.