Tonukurio

This is a story of the Wannabe Webnovelist Team (aka WW) who slaved over writing for five years and did not receive a single reader, only to discover that the person responsible for the final edit and publishing in the Wannabe Webnovelist writing team never actually published anything. He had only uploaded everything to the drafts.

Sit back and relax (or not) as you try to figure out which character has written which paragraph or chapter. Not to mention working out how many people are actually in this team - this may fluctuate. The WW team's rules in this novel are that once a chapter has been published, no one in the team can edit it.

(NB: all the characters in this work are fictional and while any resemblance to real life people are not entirely coincidental - no insults are meant. This is a completely tongue in cheek, rubbish piece of nothing. Yes, you read that right. If you find this as nonsensical as the author, then 'high five!' You are on the right page.)

Also, has this story really been discontinued? Wait and see... because if it really has been discontinued, we hope the readers enjoy being left hanging on the cliff edge - or just hanging, cos there's nothing wrong with just hanging about.

Addit Oct 2023:
WW is on a long break. Who knows if they'll ever get back together or come back (in fact, I doubt they will ever return - I think they've given up). Therefore, you will receive random short stories instead.

This is absolutely discontinuous nonsense

(Note to readers: mo beng huat is a phrase in a Mindong Chinese dialect that pretty much means, there was no helping it, no help for it or what to do. It is kind of similar to the Korean otoke in the way it is used, but not. The Mandarin translation, I believe, is literally, there was no help. You may find other languages 'campur'ed together.)


Mo Benghuat had an unfortunate name. It was similar to names like O'Toh Keh, Mia Blewit, and Watt Todoo. However, since most people didn't know what it meant, it didn't matter. It only mattered when close family friends and relatives got together and were gossiping or telling stories. Then, because it happened so often, as often as his name was mentioned, a jar would be passed around and that person would have to give a gold coin donation. That is, unless they were actually calling him.


As a result, whenever family friends and relatives got together to eat or party, just to get out of having to donate a coin, poor Mo Benghuat would be ordered here and there. For example when his sister told the story of a scummy classmate:


"When the guy's three girlfriends all turned up, the guy could only suffer in silence. Mo Benghuat! Pass me the fruit platter!"


Or when his cousin's aunty's brother-in-law was telling the story of how he had gotten stranded while on a roadtrip:


"It turned out we were out of petrol, water and engine oil. And all our phones had run out of battery. That's the last time I'm trusting that friend to check the car before our next roadtrip. Mo Benghuat! Get us another pack of beer. Oh, and another packet of peanuts. We ended up having to walk four hours until we arrived at a petrol station. Only to discover it was closed. Mo Benghuat, take that jar away. I'm not giving you any money. I didn't call you without reason."


Honestly, Mo Benghuat didn't understand why his parents had decided to give him this name. It was meant to be a name with a good meaning but somehow had devolved into a phrase used almost as often as an exclamation mark, depending upon the person. His grandmother found his name so amusing that she had given him the nickname of Gong Kadiew (means joking around, speak-play, speaking playfully or speaking in fun). Mo Benghuat, didn't find that nickname anymore amusing than his real name.


Actually, he felt he ought to be grateful that only other speakers of his family's dialect or the neighbouring dialects, found his name so funny. At least it wasn't a name like A'kow, A'boy or Ting. While these might be common names where his family came from, in the Western world, names like these led to all sorts of teasing. 


In any case, there was no help for it. Mo Benghuat could only grin and bear it with an upraised chin and rolled eyes. While the sun may still come out tomorrow and he may not get a single dollar at the bottom of his jar to bet on it, Mo Benghuat was still determined to try and earn pocket money by monitoring people's speech when they came over to visit.


16. Mo Benghuat