Final Project: Holden Style Writing

Final Project: Holden Style Writing

This Guy Really Got Me

An epic piece of literature by Max Duckworth

I had been sitting in the back of that goddam cab for hours. This driver was really a moron, no matter how many times I told him to take one of the back more empty roads he stayed on the busy ones with damn near a million others cars waiting for the light to turn green. He must of figured that the longer he takes the more I’m gonna pay him, but I was spent up – I mean it. There’s no way I’m gonna pay this guy for making me sit in the back of his crumby cab. These kind of people kill me, they really do.

It was so damn cold out tonight. I was freezing my ass of in this cab and the dumb bastard didn’t even turn on the heating for Christ’s sake. I didn’t really care much; it’s just that people’s laziness can really get in my nerves sometimes. I gave myself a hard time thinking about all the other poor people that had to freeze their ass off in this cold taxi, and then the people in the summer. That’s the deal with Ney York, too damn hot in the summer, too damn cold in the winter. Did this guy even put the air conditioning on for the poor people in the summer? The coldness was getting to me, it really was.

The cabbie hadn’t even said anything to me yet. I am really getting sick of morons like this. So what I did was, I tried to strike up a conversation. “Do you know what happens to the ducks when the lake in central park freezes over?”

“What ya tryin’ to do mac?”

Mac? If there was a word I hated more, I got enough of that crap from the last cabbie, that stuff kills me. “I’m not tryin’ anything. Just curious.”

“I dunno where the hell they go, and who the hell gives a damn about a few stupid ducks”

This bastard was really starting to get on my nerves. “I give a damn about a few stupid ducks! Ya know what, let me out here. I have better things to do than sit in this damn traffic!” I got out and slammed the door as hard as I could but I was too damn cold to do it hard enough to intimidate the guy. Walking wasn’t so bad, I do it quite a lot actually.

“You gonna pay the fare or what?” The cabbie asked. I ignored him; this moron wasn’t worth my time- the stupid bastard. I started walking a few blocks. My legs started to ache and stuff so I called another cab. This guy could tell I was as drunk as hell and tried to take advantage of me and charge more than an average fare. I didn’t really care, I had money.

I fell on to the back seat the second the car door opened. “Where to?” The cabbie asked.

“You tell me.” I had nowhere to go. I told the last cabbie to drive around until I saw a hotel that looked nice. “Ya know any good hotels I can stay in?”

“One, on the other side of town though.”

The lying bastard, this guy was a thief, he really was. I could name a million hotels between wherever the hell we were now to the hotel he just mentioned. I didn’t care; I was as drunk as hell. “That’ll do.” I told him.

The guy was quite a talker, I was up for it. I felt like chewing the fat a little bit myself­. This guy was a nice fella, he really was. “You want to get a drink?” I asked.

“Sorry, can’t do that. Savin’ money for the wife. She wants a big diamond ring for Christmas. How the hell is a cabbie supposed to provide stuff like that?”

I was sorry I asked; he went on a rant about how his wife is always wanting whatever she saw in a shop window. Why the hell should I care? I really hate it when people start ranting about whatever they can get their hands on. I roomed with a guy a couple of years back for about two months. Anything would set this bastard off. Door’s unlocked, get mad. My bed isn’t made, get mad. Leave the lights in the can on, get mad. I get mad at him for getting mad, get mad. He killed me, he really did. So what I did was, I put so many things out of place that this bastard damn near had a heart attack. But of course, after punching me in the face and damn near knocking all of my teeth out, he got me kicked out of the dorm. That bastard killed me, he really did.

“You got a wife?” The cabbie asked.

“Uhh, no,” I replied.

“Lucky bastard, what I would give to be single. Imma be bankrupt if my wife keeps wanting to buy stuff like a goddam ring.”

Sorry I asked. “Oh, really?” I asked, trying to be polite.

“Anyways, so how long ya in New York for?” He asked.

“I’m not really sure yet.” I responded.

“It’s a beautiful place isn’t it.” He asked.

Yes it is, I can’t get enough of these beautiful car fumes. “You got that right.”

“One thing I don’t get, where do the ducks go in the winter?”

This guy got me, he really did.

Just When I Thought My Day Was Getting Good

Just When I Thought My Day Was Getting Good

An epic piece of literature by Max Duckworth

I stepped out of my apartment holding my dog’s leash. We strolled through Central Park enjoying the serenity. It was practically silent considering it was five in the morning and this was one of the more quiet parts of the park. I couldn’t believe the profuse amounts of snow along the fields. It would have been the perfect moment had my dog not just peed all over my new shoes. It wasn’t like this was some regular old shoe; this shoe symbolized everything that had to do with 1949 and all of the great technology that we Americans enjoy every day. That’s what the radio says at least, but the world is full of symbolism that people say is there but it really isn’t. This shoe symbolized a new modern age…and now it was soaked with dog piss. Speaking of symbolism that people say is there but it really isn’t, guess who I just ran into: Holden Caulfield, the asshole maniac from my old school.

“God damn it.” I whispered to myself as I saw him notice me. Just when I thought my day was getting good, god ruins it with this. I wasn’t surprised to see his usual drunk waddle. As he waddled towards me I could see a bottle of beer in his hand. It reminded me of our school days, always drinking. Except I was conscientious about my alcohol intake, but this guy would drink until somebody was forced to confiscate the booze. People never change, I thought to myself.

“Hey there, Max.” He tried to say but he was too drunk to make the words clear. He dropped his bottle on the floor when he got close to me, he seemed to not notice. My dog started to lick it up; I really shouldn’t give him anything he can pee out all over my shoes. But I had bigger things to worry about. I had almost forgotten how audacious he was. “I’m sorry, I really am,” he started. “The night is still young.”

“No,” I told him, “Before I left school, I remember you saying that you’d sort your life out and look at you!!” He was wearing yet another school uniform clad with vomit and vodka. “Please just go home, Holden, and put on some nice clothes for Christ’s sake!”

“Shut up you dumb bastard!” He shouted. I forgot how irascible he was. “Ya know, I thought I saw you the other day. He looked like you –the guy I mean-, so I conjectured it was you, I introduced myself. It wasn’t you.” –AUTHORS NOTE: Yes that was a cheap shot at what Vigan said the other day--.

That made me depressed; anybody stupid enough to say something like that just killed me and made me despondent. Wow, Holden is rubbing off on me. I felt impelled to help him but he abhorred any advice anybody gave him about his life.

I told him that he needed help (despite the fact I already knew the answer). He didn’t care though. Like I said, it was his disposition to ignore advice. He started shouting at me using his usual unnecessary cuss words and dumbass repletion of everything and (what I hated most) his stupid symbolic hidden messages. Then he stopped, he looked like something was amiss. I should have gotten out of there when I had the chance, but I stayed. Then he spontaneously threw up all over my dog!

“WHAT THE F-!!” I started but he cut me off.

“Don’t say that word you dumb moron!! Your goddam bad words will scare all of the goddam kids you goddam stupid bastard!” Oh, the irony. It recurred to me how he always had a love of innocence of kids, he was always blabbing on about (not that anybody gave a crap about it)

He endeavored to put his finger on my lips to silence me, but he just collapsed. I was electrified; it just came out of nowhere. He looked like he had passes out and blood was coming out of the back of his head. THANK YOU GOD!!! I thought to myself. I finally had a chance to get away from this maniac AND he was in pain. This day might not be so bad after all. I started to walk away.

But no, he grabbed onto my ankle. This bastard wasn’t unconscious or in excruciating pain. God damn it!! What did I do to deserve this?? Who knows what this could escalate into: a trip to the hospital? Bringing him to my place? I wouldn’t want to see my wife’s “WHY THE HELL IS THERE A SOCIOPATH IN THE HOUSE!!” face.

“Wanna get a drink?” He offered again. This guy was just weird. As if the second spontaneous offer wasn’t weird enough, it was followed by one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard. “You know, if they fall off, they fall off but it’s bad if you say anything to them.”

“What the hell does that even mean!?!?” Now he was just talking complete crap. I assumed it was another typical ‘Holden message’ that was something deep hidden behind his usual ranting on everything he can get his hands on. “Don’t demean yourself by saying stupid hidden messages that nobody gives a crap about!”

I then walked away, I had heard enough. Stupid Holden and his dumbass hating on everything and randomness. I didn’t even care if he bled to death on the floor. If anything it made me happy. The concept of Holden in pain is better than any Christmas present anyone’s going to get me.