A Writing Primer

This is what makes for good writing.  Detailed details and documenting the character's thoughts in italics.  Readers appreciate the insight.  Note how this story comes to life!
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Stephen took the previously frozen pizza out of the oven.

This pizza used to be in the fucking freezer.

He managed to escape third degree burns on his right hand (his preferred hand) by using an oven mitt.

I'm glad I'm not some left-handed fuck.  Fucking puffy oven mitt.

The oven mitt was black and made from a puffy fabric. Stephen assumed the oven mitt had certain flame retardant properties. He thought about the oven mitt's flame retardant properties as he stuck his hand into the oven to retrieve his previously frozen pizza.

This fucking thing better protect my fucking hand.  I'd better not get third-degree burns, motherfucker.

The directions on the backside of the pizza box indicated that the pizza should be baked for eighteen to twenty-one minutes at a temperature of four-hundred degrees.

Fucking eighteen to twenty-one fucking minutes.  Figures.  I don't have eighteen to twenty-one fucking minutes.

The pizza had approximately fifteen pepperoni looking things sitting on top.

Fifteen Pepperoni looking things.  You fuckers.

Stephen assumed these were, in fact, pepperonis. This could have been an elaborate ruse by the Nestle corporation to deceive him. He thought about the possibilities of this conspiracy as he cut the pizza into eight equal slices with his pizza cutter.

I bet these aren't actual pepperonis.  Nestle fuckers.  Just like the World Trade Center towers weren't actually hit with actual planes.  Muslim fuckers.

He bought this particular pizza cutter at a local grocery store. The grocery store has since gone out of business and the contents were liquidated at a sheriff's auction.

Fucking sheriff and his fucking auction.  Fuck him and the horse he rode.  Fuck horses too.

Motor City Masters

This show is doomed. It's called 'Motor City Masters,' so naturally it takes place in Los Angeles - affectionally dubbed, 'The Motor City.'  The show has some guy, some lady in a fucked-up hat, and that chick from the 'Dog Eat Dog' gameshow that nobody watched.  'Motor City Masters' follows the same format as every reality competition show you've ever seen in your entire life, so there's no point in complaining about each thing that bothers me

Here's a short list of things that bother me:

1) A different contestant leaves each week thanks to judges nobody has ever heard of based on criteria that nobody understands.

2) Then there's the private interviews. They're just like MasterChef, but without Gordon Ramsey and blurry fruits and vegetables in the background. They usually tell you how badly they want to win.

"I want to win so bad that I can [taste/feel/touch/smell/annoy/aggravate/murder/lick] it.  Incidentally, is it bad or badly?"

"I want to win so bad that I'm experiencing chest discomfort and am having problems with shortness of breath.  Oh wait, never mind, it's a heart attack."

"Your wheels look like shit." says the lady with the fucked-up hat.

Sometimes they tell you what just happened five seconds ago, which is very helpful.

"That lady with the fucked-up hat told me the car's wheels looked like shit.  My wheels don't look like shit!  Maybe a rocks glass full of vomit, but not shit.  Oh, by the way, can you get the medic?"

But the show is not without merit - next week we get to see that lady wear a different fucked up hat. This may be the first show where I actually look forward to the GEICO commercials.