Pearl E. Gates

Bakedbeanbadussy’s  WHIRLWIND 
          
          Hey hey heyyyyy, bean buddies!  Or are you beans? Are we all beans?  The world's spinning, and everything's just a blurry blob of BEAN-ness. ️
          
          My fingers? Feeling like beans. ️ My thoughts? BEANED OUT!  And those twinkling stars? You guessed it, flying beans! ✨
          
          Bed? Do beans sleep? ‍♀️ If I lie down, will I sink into a beany abyss? ️ Who even knows anymore! Might as well try. Dive into the bed-bean-sea. 
          
          Everything’s just... beans and zzzs. The echoes, the whispers, the shadowy beans lurking...  Stay crunchy, stay saucy, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll dive into the great bean dream. Or nightmare? 
          
          Beeeeeed... or bean? Time to... zzz... 
          
          Baked...bean...badusszZZZzzz... 

so like, beans ain’t working. too shiny, too loud, too bean. need a BREAK. got told 'bout herbs, not the beans, other greens. y'know? like planty things? might help brain unbean. sounds nice, might try.
          
          took a walk. saw a squirrel. was it a squirrel? maybe a bean in disguise. couldn't tell. trees whispered, or maybe they hummed. or... was that just in my head? shoes felt squishy. why? didn’t check. maybe more beans.
          
          herbs? saw some. dandelions? maybe. smelled one. sneezed. not the right herb? picked some anyway. put in pocket. felt squishy. more beans?
          
          got home. boiled herbs. or was it beans? tasted... weird. not beany. kinda grassy. maybe will help. maybe won't. head still a jumble. full of beans and herbs and squirrel-beans?
          
          writing? still blocked. more walks? maybe. more herbs? perhaps. less beans? doubtful.
          
          Bakedbeanbad...usss...y?

f Pearl E. Gates (aka Bakedbeanbadussy) fs"
          
          Baked beans. Why can't I escape them? Every thought, every word, beans. In my dreams, in my name. It started as a joke, didn't it? A quirk? Now it’s a pulsating obsession.
          
          Beans... they're watching, always watching. Shiny, sauce-covered, glistening in the dim light of my mind. Every time I blink, beans. Every heartbeat, beans. They echo, echoing, echoed.
          
          At breakfast, they whispered. By lunch, they screamed. Dinner? There was no dinner, just... beans. The world's a can, and I'm trapped inside. The sauce—it’s thick, suffocating, drowning in beans.
          
          Can't breathe. Can't think. Just beans. Everywhere. Beans. It's too much, too bean, too real, too surreal.
          
          Help me.
          
          - Bakedbeanbadussy

"When Originality Goes Bald: A Rant by Pearl E. Gates (aka Bakedbeanbadussy)"
          
          Okay, first of all, to the audacious imposter who decided that my "Bald Jimin" story was ripe for the picking: Did you think I wouldn't notice? Do you believe the creative galaxy of the internet is so vast that I'd miss an echoing star? WRONG.
          
          Let's get one thing straight: writing isn't just about putting words on paper. It's blood, sweat, tears, and in this case, an imaginative dive into what a bald Jimin would be like. That story was my baby. I nurtured it, labored over it, and infused it with passion, humor, and a dash of absurdity. And then you just... Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V? Oh honey, that's not how creativity works.
          
          It's incredibly disheartening to see fellow writers resort to pilfering. We are supposed to be a community! We're the weavers of tales, the spinners of dreams. When one of us plagiarizes, it's a slap to all our faces. Every single one of us who has stared at a blank screen, every one of us who has battled writer's block, and every one of us who has poured their soul into their stories.
          
          And let's talk about Jimin for a second. My version of Bald Jimin wasn't just about his hair (or the lack of it). It was about self-acceptance, about breaking molds, about challenging stereotypes. It was metaphorical, symbolic, and a smidge comedic. It was NOT a template for you to slap on your name.
          
          To my genuine readers and fellow creators, I urge you to champion originality. Call out copycats. Lift each other up. Protect the sanctity of our shared space. And to the doppelganger of my work: It's not too late. Find your voice. Don't be a mere echo in this vast expanse. Be bold, be original, but maybe, don't be bald. That's kind of my thing now.
          
          To conclude: Respect the craft. Cherish authenticity. And for heaven's sake, write your own dang stories.

Hi guys I have delved into songwriting let me know what you think my little badussies.
          
          Title: Wotsit's Crunchy Song
          
          (Verse 1)
          I don’t know what I was thinkin',
          Leaving Wotsits behind.
          Now I suffer the craving,
          And it's always on my mind.
          
          (Chorus)
          It’s been so long,
          Since I last had that cheesy prong.
          Lost to the hunger, after so long,
          To the crispy, Wotsit's song.
          
          (Verse 2)
          My fingers, tinged with orange,
          Every packet I breach.
          From the first crunch I recall,
          Those crisps, within my reach.
          
          (Pre-Chorus)
          Perhaps I should snack away,
          Before they're gone and end my day.
          The cheesy lore, from before,
          Brings back memories galore.
          
          (Chorus)
          It’s been so long,
          Since the packet made its song.
          Lost to my hunger, after so long,
          To the melody, Wotsit's song.
          
          (Bridge)
          Those puffed treats, so light, so neat,
          Every bite is a delightful cheat.
          Can't resist, the urge to repeat,
          Wotsits crisps, they're truly elite!
          
          (Verse 3)
          I wish I lived in the present,
          With the snacks of the past,
          Betrayed by my cravings,
          For Wotsits, unsurpassed.
          
          (Chorus)
          It’s been so long,
          Since my lunch sang that song.
          Craving the crunch, all day long,
          To the crispy, Wotsit's song.