twankharder

Apparently we'll never grow out of twank.

Tag Archives: when in doubt flounce

Sometimes They Come Back, DLC Edition

So. It didn’t look like we were going to twank Daddy’s Little Cannibal, for a couple of reasons. Namely, as Cheesemonger #1 said, That fucking [redacted] spit on the memory of everyone who ever lost a loved one. NFW are we going to give her more attention.

And since there wasn’t any doubt left that she’d faked it, her coming back with this ridiculous Heidipology two years later wasn’t news to anyone.

Finally, even Cheesemonger the Elder thought her importance was being exaggerated. (Mostly by DLC herself.) I never even heard of her until she was on Fandom Wank for committing pseuicide. And I just looked at one of her stories and it’s a mess.

Your point, Yoda?

Her profile update is, however, a gold mine of entitlement. You’d almost think she’d compiled all the self-important memes from all the biggest egos in fandom and put them together for lulz.

So, what the hell. For anyone who was confused by her Final Goodbye, we’ve provided a summary with accompanying translation below. And if you don’t belong to the gazebo and are feeling stifled by the sudden resurgence of “no personal attacks” at ADF, wank all you want in the comments.

Snowflake-to-Layfan Translation:

1. I was tired of writing for fanfiction, I wanted to work on my own characters (which, I have sold several stories since I’ve left here and currently in the process of working on my novel, yea, I’m a real author now who has work published and gets paid for it)

Translation: “I have some short stories and poems published in magazines you never heard of even though I can’t write two sentences without some obvious error. I am the teacher and you are the students.”

2. And I may not have deserved it, but I earned it. I earned it because I have potential, because I have a passion and a talent for writing and people can see that when I write.

Translation: “A Farewell to Arms, by Hemingway. Good stuff. That’s what I write,” [s]he says, putting it back. “That’s what I write.”

3. You made me one of the most popular fan fiction authors, ever and you let me try so many new things with my writing and you never stopped cheering me on.

(Except when they were sending her death threats, of course). Translation: “I got lots of reviews to “OMG RITE MOAR” and all my friends said I was the best writer they ever knew. So did my mom before she died. (My mom dying is the reason I acted like a douche btw. Plus it was two years ago and I was young then. I’m an adult now.) Tell everyone I’m the most popular fanfic author ever, in case they didn’t know.”

4. I deleted the e-mail to my account, this is the first time I’ve even logged on fanfiction since it happened, I haven’t even read any of the reviews after it happened…I’m an adult now. I’m 20, going to school, going to work, chilling with my friends, dropping acid and eating shrooms, smoking pot, and living my life the way I want it without fan fiction…With all of this said, I ask that you guys leave me the fuck alone!…I’m a good person. I’ve grown up so much these past two years and I’ve grown up as a writer…Please, don’t get me wrong, I loved this experience, but I’ve moved on. This is my final goodbye.

Translation: “I can’t even explain to you in words (because I have such writing potential) how much I don’t care, but since I’m waiting on a monster upload for my dealer to show up since I’M AN ADULT, I think I’ll just post this 994-word update (997 if you count signing my name at the end; now count them again like a good little freakshow) to my profile that you can’t reply to because I know I won’t be able to keep up with the comments that’ll drive you batshit. I’m doing this just to show you how much I’ve moved on. I. Have. Moved. On. See how much I’ve moved on? I apologize for everything I did, except not really because you all deserved it and I’m a good person (like I give to charity and stuff). Them Now go fuck yourselves.”

5. Keep an ear and eye out for me because I’m out there in the writing world. I really am. You will hear my name again, it may not be Daddy’s Little Cannibal, but you will hear of me again, I promise.

Translation: “You’ll see. You’ll all see.”

Our roller coaster ride is just beginning.

What would you personally consider success in fandom?

Lots of reviews? An award? Seeing your name in every love post?

…A printing publishing deal?

You pathetic underachiever.

If your ultimate goal isn’t to have a fanfic about you, Jennde, Icy, Morgan Locklear, and Ninapolitan posted on ff.net, then you’re obviously just treading water until your trust fund kicks in. You are dead weight, and are hereby voted off this island.

ETA: Link is no longer valid. See screencap here.

ETA II: Oh noes, we have a flounce!

Some highlights:

But alas, talent is a beast with it’s own set of parameters. It literally chooses you. Sebastien didn’t know it, but he had indeed been chosen.


I HAVE BEEN CHOSEN! FAREWELL, MY FRIENDS. I GO ON TO A BETTER PLACE.

He was a writer, so of course he wrote, and wrote, and wrote some more. Does a cow not produce milk? Does a duck not quack?

Does a bull not shit?

His editor Jennde was his most trusted friend, and the only one to see his masterpiece as it formed slowly over the months. Each successful posting, brought people by the millions out of the woodworks, leaving poor Sebastien to abuse his own lip with his awkwardly capped fangs, and made him wonder if perhaps he should have rethought his endeavor.

Too late. The barn door is open and the horses are dead. LET’S BEAT THEM!

He was becoming utterly-famous. He shuddered at the realization.

ZOMG! That’s how we reacted too!!11! *fangirl squees*

“He’s not taking it down!” Jennde told Icy, which turned the Icy lady cold with anger.

“Yes, he will. If you don’t…” she eyed Sebastien, as he held tight to the leather chair beneath him. “Then I turn her. Your choice.”

*instant crickets*

This trainwreck would not be complete without a cryptic, panty-drenching review from Morgan Locklear, in which one of us finally realizes that MOG does not in fact mean “Mother of God.”

We’re shaking in our skivvies as we wonder just what the evil puppetmaster has in mind…

If you came in here with even an ounce of self-esteem today, we sincerely hope it’s gone. Damn, just when you think you’ve made some headway along the Alpine Path, you look up from your well-written, cliché-free manuscript and realize that Sebastien Robichaud/Sylvain Reynard is already at the top.

Not that SR’s life is perfect, not by a long shot. If it were us, we’d want our hagiographies done by someone other than Miss RMD, who brought us the epic tale My Name Is Edward. At the very least, we’d hope for someone with a better grasp of mechanics so the tribute doesn’t read like a colossal clusterfuck. But hey, you get what you settle for in this world.

Nonnie, thank you. As much as we’d love to have called satire on this one…what the shiz. Either way, it was still funny.