Writer's Cramp

“It was a beautiful, balmy day on the southern end of Lanthton beach, and Bally the beach ball was in high spirits as a group of youngsters pummelled him for their own sick amusement.
Bally did not mind though, the sea was warm and clear, and his new friend Lisa the lilo was floating nearby, supporting a hideously obese tourist with her supple, translucent blue frame.
"My my, these children get more energetic and full of suppressed rage every summer!” screamed Bally as he soared towards a blonde boy with a face distorted by a hideous, savage grin.
"Brwarghrgrhrgrhrhrhhewqrwrw," bubbled Lisa as she sank further underwater, her inflation valve almost bursting with flab-induced pressure. Sometimes Bally thought her owner might be better supported by his own folds of blubber, but his not to reason why these people did things this way. Maybe one day he could get his turn on Lisa...a holiday romance would be a welcome diversion.
*SMACK*
Bally withstood a blow that would shatter the face of a moose, and bounced right back into the air. Life was good among the waves and the sea breeze...little did he know that on the shore, the beach-bound inanimates, the SUNBEDS and DECKCHAIRS, were not wasting their summers with whimsy and masochistic indulgence.
No.
They regarded Bally's buoyancy and lovable nature with envious eyes, and slowly but surely, they drew their plans against him...”

Jack put his pen down and stared at what he’d written, a quizzically raised eyebrow ascending into the unmapped wilderness beyond his chestnut fringe. It was late in the afternoon and most of his classmates were getting on with their creative writing with various degrees of vigour. Jack usually wrote pretty well, he thought, and quite how he had ended up holding this A4 sheet of madness at three o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon was entirely inexplicable. It was certainly creative though.
He twiddled a pencil in his right hand as the stifling summer air pressed against him, the foam ceiling tiles and asbestos-laced walls seeming red hot and mere inches away from any direction he cared to name. It was a start; original, a degree of comedy, good spelling. He’d get passable marks for it, certainly. But in terms of satisfaction…Jack considered the crises the characters would have to overcome, how they could be resolved…the relationships and character development…
Whilst part of his mind was struggling with quite what a crisis involving two air filled plastic shapes would look like, the other was imagining rutting beach furniture.
Two hazel eyes blinked in confusion and pubescent lust. Of course not. Jack screwed the paper up into a crumpled mass and threw it over the heads of several year 10s into what he hoped was the bin and not someone else’s lap. Tearing a fresh sheet of paper from the pad he begun again.

“Twelve years later Jack is a respected author working principally within the crime genre. However, at a school reunion it turns out a girl in his class is in fact his industrial rival; a critically acclaimed writer who had penned several “instant classics” using furniture and childrens toys as integral, and often erotic plot devices.
Jack is immediately smitten by her appearance and wit, and after much trepidation walks over to her.
“Hi, I’m Jack E, I don’t know if you remember me.”
“Of course I do!” She smiled, “I’m Lisa Lambert.” Jack admired her figure as she played with the strap of her red dress.
“That’s a crazy awesome name,” Jack breathed. “Will you marry me Lisa?”
“Yes Jack. Yes I will,” announced Celia, pulling Jack over to a table. “But only if you change your name to Ball.”
“For you, anything,” gasped Jack.”

Jack’s heavily stained work got him a high B and an extremely odd look.