# The New Bad Writing Competition...just for laughs! (LANGUAGE)



## Foxee (Jan 14, 2010)

*CRIMES OF FICTION CONTEST*​
*WARNING: ANYONE WHO TAKES THEMSELVES TOO SERIOUSLY WILL BE CANED.*

*Moderan has inspired me to throw up** a new Bad Writing thread.* Is it a competition? Sure, in the same way that people swapping tall tales is a competition. Do you win anything? Only groans...and hopefully you'll have a good time with it.

Don't just write badly...take bad writing to a whole new level! The most entertaining awfulness wins.

Check out the link to Moderan's story 'Squatched' above to see how this should be done! Then post your efforts (or lack of effort) here!

Most of all...have fun.


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## moderan (Jan 14, 2010)

*Recycler *(723 words and a picture)






It was with a heavy heart and even heavier boots that I undertook to clean out the sub-basement after the shit had hit the fan.
You see, I had performed certain arcane rituals, and had become the keeper of a slightly iridescent amorphous creature, born of the unholy union between a man and a mutant banana. The banana had split with the pain of de livery and was off in a limousine somewhere enjoying the High Life until the guy in the commercial came to take it away, and I was stuck here in the middle of a bad writing contest, trying to keep my shit together.
There I was, with a collection of Hefty bags, a big shovel, a rake, and a Super Duper Pooper Scooper, trying not to breathe while the shoggoth watched me collect its dung. I was wearing a vintage gas mask and several other devices, but the stench still wrapped its arms around me and gave me a loving embrace and a big wet kiss.
Guano what's worse than shoggoth dung? Nothing. The smell is roughly akin to deep-fried, three-week-old, rancid mackerel, with sulfurous low notes and skunky high notes, concentrated, and distilled with the essence of yesterday's six-weeks-before-changing cat litter.
Mind you, a small shoggoth is an excellent pet. They're quiet, friendly if you don't mind the smell and the trails of sticky mucus they leave everywhere, and will eat anything. The problem is, they grow as they eat, and they don't stop. They are from the universe before this one and don't obey the same laws of physics as common terrestrial creatures. The conservation of mass and the ratio of mass to energy don't mean a thing to them.
I learned that very early, and stopped feeding him. I installed a small attic fan and did a little ductwork to allow the smell to escape into the outer air, through several thousand layers of charcoal furnace filters. That helped some, but he ate his own refuse and continued to grow. 
Shoggoth poo is the best fertilizer in the universe. That's the sole saving grace of the whole enterprise. I found that out by paging through the Necronomicon, trying to find a solution to my dilemma, namely, how do you get rid of a pet shoggoth? It isn't like the ASPCA is gonna come and get it-it isn't even an animal, a vegetable, or a mineral. I dunno what exactly it is, but man, does it ever shit. And it shits in balls, like a rabbit.
Once I had located a market for the shoggoth feces, I was kept busy collecting the shitballs, loading them into my van, and delivering them. I had to work fast, since, as noted, the thing would eat its own dung, often collecting it directly from the source. Few things are more repugnant than watching a shoggoth suck poo-balls out of its own ass. Those few things include listening to a shoggoth suck poo-balls out of its own ass, and smelling a shoggoth sucking poo-balls out of its own ass. But one cannot look away from a train wreck, and that's about as wrecked as a train gets.
While I was at the market, the shoggoth kept eating, and eating, and growing, and growing. Soon it filled the sub-basement where it was kept, and threatened to ooze into other areas of the house. It pointed its outsize pooper at the ductwork, and that was that. The fan blades cut the shoggoth into many little shoggoths, whch I collected and threw into a room filled with dry ice, which kept its selves quiescent, and released the contents of its abdomen.
One son of a shoggoth escaped my clutches and took to lurking over my shoulder while I shoveled the shit into the hefty bags. I couldn't catch it, and instead concentrated my attention on the shitballs. I did manage to collect em all, and told my friends, being the first on the block to have a shoggoth.
Despite it all, I was rather fond of the jelly bellied little dude, who lived to eat and poo, and had some regrets when I called Alhazred Exterminators to rid me of its odious presence. But not so much that it stopped me.
I'm lonely without it, though, and I think I'll buy me a dog.


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## alanmt (Jan 14, 2010)

*Rhys saves the Princess 1,169 words*

*Rhys saves the Princess* 

           Rhys rode wildly through the dark, deep, sinister forest, guiding his faithful steed Lightning with a steady and sure hand down the narrow twisting path made by sneaky evil woodgoblins.  

 _Clomp! Clomp! Clomp! Clomp! _went Lightning's hooves on the stony ground.  _Clomp! Clomp! Clomp! Clomp! _went Rhys's heroic heart, beating time with Lightning's clattering hooves, as he held the reins tightly in one hand, guiding Lightning through the dangerous and treacherous terrain with his manly instincts and his superior horsemanship, plus the blessing of _Arestwo_, God of War, not that he needed even a god's help because of his own surpassing bravery and courage.  He held his magic shield before him like a shield, deflecting the twisting grasping branches of the evil trees of  the Goblinwood, which sought to restrain him, to slow him, to keep him from the woman he loved above all else, the most beautiful half-elven princess ever, Amberissa the Beautiful.

            "Hold on, Amberissa, my love," he said with grated teeth, sparkling and white like an ivory portcullis, "I am on my way, and soon there will be hell to pay!"

He rode on, determined to save her!

_Clomp! Clomp! Clomp! Clomp!_

* * * 

            Far away, many leagues and some furlongs and a cubit or two, Amberissa the Beautiful lay weeping in the deepest, darkest, dankest, most rat-infested and cold and dirty dungeon of Merde'or, the powerful and evil sorcerer who had kidnapped her from her castle home and brought her here, to his far away tower, to force her to marry him so that he could claim the throne of the Kingdom of Veneration, and also the throne of the elf-nation of Wingdom, and could ravish her repeatedly until she bore him a brood of little sorcererlings and she was a used-up distorted thing with no beauty left, and he also intended to live off the labor of the Kingdom and elf-nation and subject the inhabitants thereof to whatever cruel whim struck him at any given moment, and it must be noted that he was the cruelest and most whimsical sorcerer in the four lands of earth, air, water and fire.

            A sound approached, and the princess rose, wiped away her tears with the ineffable dignity only a princess, particularly one of partially elven blood, because elven half-breeds are the only kind that is socially acceptable, can do, and turned to face her fate.  There was a sharp _click_ and the lock was unlocked, and her dungeon door opened.  Several rats jumped out and ran down the hallway, carrying indescribably vile little morsels.  Through her bright blue eyes with hints of silver and the occasional glint of green and gold, Amberlissa saw two strong guards, wearing the sorcerer's livery.

"We have a delivery!" one announced ominously.

"What is it?" asked the ephemerally beautiful half-elf Princess with trepidation.

"You!" ejaculated the other guard with an evil snickering laugh.  And the two guards forcibly seized the gentle young virginal maiden and hauled her out of the cell, and up the 392 steps from the deepest dungeon to the highest room in the sorcerer's tower.

* * * 

            Rhys charged valiantly and quickly across the unending desert of Parabola-Banana, his steadfast steed Lightning living up to his name by galloping with lightning speed through the sand, stomping on the deadly poisonous yellow sand scorpions which sought to bear the hero's way with stings from their tails, the poison of which was enough to kill the largest whale in but 4.3 seconds, which explained why there were no whales in the hot, dry and deadly desert of Parabola-Banana.  

            "I am coming, Amberlissa, my love, with the sparkly skin of the half-elfs and the only slightly pointed ears, and a heart that is true and whose beauty makes children weep with gladness!" Rhys called out in encouragement, even though he was still some leagues away from the sorcerer's tower, which was on the far side of the desert next to the endless Ocean of Endlessness, where the pirate king and the kraken of korn had their lairs. He pulled out his sword, and a flame of courage ran along its blade, which, when added to the interminable heat of the desert sun, would have made a lesser man sweat, but Rhys, cool as a cucumber and pure as the driven snow - at least as pure as a manly hero can be, for he loved his princess with a manly love - stayed dry and comfortable and a model for lesser men.  He pointed his flaming sword right at the obsidian tower in the distance and spurred Lightning to even greater speed.

* * * 

            Merde'or cackled evilly as the struggling princess was dragged in and thrown callously upon the obsidian floor of his tower's highest room.  He dismissed the guards before turning on the hapless maiden.

            "Hahahahahahehehehehahhohohoho!" he cackled evilly.

            'You can't hurt me!" Amberlissa bravely cried, reaching out to slap him. "Rhys will be here soon. Look!" she said, pointing out the window on the side of the tower that looked out over a vast and trackless desert. 

            "There he is now!" she said triumphantly! 

            "My boyfriend's back and you're gonna be in trouble!"

            "Hehehehahohoha," giggled the sorcerer Merde'or as his giggles subsided. "Foolish Princess, neither you nor that foolish hero are a match for me.  Have you forgotten? Or have I never mentioned it in all the times that you have been my prisoner?  _I am Sorcerer of Polymorphyry!_  HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

            The princess was struck dumb with sudden dread.  Well, dread, plus the fact that the sorcerer had polymorphed her mouth shut.  He then waved his cruel little magic wand in her direction, muttered a foul unholy incantation, and _Wa la! _she was transformed into an identical version of the sorcerer himself, but without a mouth.  He repeated the process, and instantaneously he was transformed into a bound and beautiful princess.

* * * 

            Rhys threw himself off of his horse Lightning, and kicked down the adamantium door to the obsidian tower, his sword cutting into guards from left to right, slaying them all as he fought his way up the stairs, from where he could hear his princess's calls for help, threw down the last door and burst into the tower, to see the beautiful Amberlissa bound and at the mercy of the sinister mouthless sorcerer known as Merde'or.  Before the princess could even speak, Rhys had slain the evil sorcerer, gently cut off Amberlissa's bonds, and kissed her with the kiss of truest love ever.

            "Oh,. Rhys," sighed Amberlissa dreamily. "You have saved me.  Take me away from this awful place, never to return."

            And he did.  And they were married and lived happily ever after, although Rhys was quite alarmed on their wedding night to discover his beloved had hairy nipples and after the triplets were born, with their strange shapeshifting abilities, he could never get rid of the lingering doubt that perhaps Merde'or _had_ had his wicked way with Amberlissa at his tower.


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## alanmt (Jan 14, 2010)

moderan, no offense, but your story stinks


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## moderan (Jan 14, 2010)

I know. Isn't it wonderful?


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## Foxee (Jan 14, 2010)

Yours reeks, too, Alan...don't want you to feel left out. I think Moderan should get extra points for ugly artwork and Alan gets extra points for some horribly mangled writing.


> Far away, many leagues and some furlongs and a cubit or two


LOL!

You both have set the bar so low that it'll be difficult for anyone else to worm under it. Great start to the thread!


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## moderan (Jan 14, 2010)

I like it. Everybody limbo!

I think Alan should also get extra credit for having a new avatar every single day


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## Sigg (Jan 15, 2010)

*Hero's Delight*

There was a time, and a place, when a hero was all the many many people on this big planet dreamed about having walk through the windswept doorways of their meager lands.  That day in fateful historical reference was about to arrive!

*** 12 years earlier ***

“Father, I wish to attire to my refines until supper has been repaired.”

“Boy, quit speakin’ like such a retard.”

“I know not of what you reek my clearest Father.”

“I done told ya, if you don’t shut yer yap I’m gonna get out the plunger and beat some sense into ya!”

“Why Father, that is just vanity, and lately I have been calling your sanity into gestation.”

A knock at the door halts the father’s hand from socking his son in his ugly face.  But before either of the two men can answer, the intricately carved portal covering, made from Tasmanian Pink Myrtle wood (imported from the island of Thieves and Fools) to protect the abode from evil magic as Tasmanian Pink Myrtle wood was rumored to protect abodes from evil magic, suddenly exploded into pieces as a ball of suspiciously evil fire impacted with the Tasmanian Pink Myrtle wood door (seriously, ALLLL the way from the island of Thieves and Fools!).  Bits of wood and other stuff were strewn everywhere, into every corner and nook and cranny.

A booming voice rang through the smoky abyss that was previously the door through which a suspiciously evil fireball came.

“I HAVE COME TO SELL YOU COOKIES!”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”  The father was reaching for his beatin’ stick.

“Oh sorry, I mean…I HAVE COME FOR YOUR SON!”  The father stopped reaching for his beatin’ stick.

“Weeeell now, I see we have ourselves a customer.  It’ll be 49.95 for an hour but all week we’ve got a special goin’ on : 199.95 for the _whole_ night!  Whaddya say there… you’re  a little on the old… and crusty, side but my boy is a real deeee-light!”

The old man in the doorway looked confused, “What? No, I just need him to help save the world…HE IS THE BOY WHO WAS PROPHESIZED TO _SAAAAVE THE WORLD_!!”

“Eh?  It’ll be extra if you damage the merchandise.”

** 11.99726 years after the aforementioned events **

The boy who was now a man walked with his mentor of almost 12 years (11.99726 years to be exact) toward the windswept doorway of a land.  People in that land had dreamed of the boy for many years and news of his arrival caused happiness, laughing and premature ejaculation even in the farthest reaches of the land.

As the pair of travelers made their continued travel through the traveled woods of traveling, the boy (not the old guy) suddenly had a revelation that was so immensely profound that it shook the very foundation of reason, rationality, logic, philosophy, religion, and science.  The thought swirled in his head like a storm cloud trapped in a crystal ball, forming into an awesome power of insight.  It was so immensely large and _profound_ that he felt it would crush him or make his brain explode or in the very least give him a nose bleed…

“Master, I’ve just had the greatest revelation!”

“Oh?  Do tell.”

“Well I realized that all of this around us is really just-“  Something hard smacked into the side of the boy’s big head.  “WTF was that?”

“What does W, T, F mean?  Sounds cryptic, you truly are the prophesized one!”

“No I mean what hit me in the head?”  The boy spun around, looking for the perpetrating culprit.  He could have sworn he heard a tiny squeaking noise coming from a nearby tree.  As he stepped closer to examine the tree, there were suddenly more squeaking noises behind him.  When he turned around, the squeaking noise was now all around him and growing louder and louder.  His eyes went wide when he saw the terrible fanged creatures with their tiny claws and big puffy tails (probably filled with maliciously evil poison) staring and squeaking… they were plotting to kill the boy-hero!

“Run Master!  They’re after us!”  The old man didn’t waste any time, he hiked up his long robe and booked it out of there so fast that the boy had difficulty keeping up.

Once they had finally escaped that horrid squeaking they stopped to catch their breath.  The Master spoke,

“You have learned much, and today you have learned something else.  There is a time for which you should fight and a time for which you should run!”  The boy pondered this tidbit of information, letting the idea roll around in his brain like a piece of candy dissolving in his mouth.

“Are those the only two options?  Seems a little limited, I mean what if I want to negotiate? Or what about all of the ordinary situations like in the morning, what if I want to eat breakfast instead of fight or run?  What if-“  The Master held his hand to stop the rambling.

“You are missing the point, live to fight another day!”

“Again with the fighting!  What if I’m a pacifist?  Did you ever think of that?”

“Live by the sword, die by the sword!”

“What does that even mean?  What if someone poisons me?  Wouldn’t that be dying by the _poison_?”

“For the poison of hatred seated near the heart doubles the burden for the one who suffers the disease; he is burdened with his own sorrow, and groans on seeing another’s happiness.”

The boy through his arms in the air, “I can spout some cool quotes too, ‘English mothafucka, do ya _speak_ it?!’”  The Master sighed and sat down.

They stopped to make camp for the night.  As the boy-turned-man-turned-soontobehero dreamt, he dreamt of his father…

** DREAM SEQUENCE **

“Father! I have almost arrived at my destination that I have traveled to reach for so long now!”

“Boy, I’m just glad you no longer speak like a retard.”

** END DREAM SEQUENCE **

The next morning they awoke feeling refreshed and ready for the fateful day that had been prophesized for so long.  They made their way to the King’s castle, drawing many stares and cheers from people along the way.

** Fast forward to Throne Room because the stuff in between is boring **

“My King!  I have brought the boy who will save our land!”

The King was pleased, “Good, good.  Let’s get this show on the road.”

Very loud horns sounded and the people of the land gathered in the King’s courtyard.  The King stepped to his balcony and spoke,

“My faithful people, the day has arrived!”  Everyone cheered. “The day when we will finally be in God’s grace once more!”  More cheering.  “Without further ado, LIGHT THE FIRE!”  The boy looked very confused.

“Wait, fire?  No one said anything about a fire.”  The Master just shrugged and started smoking his ridiculously long pipe.

Before he knew what was going on, the boy was bound, gagged and subsequently thrown into the fire.  More cheering.

A clean looking businessman stepped out of the shadows and spoke to the King, “Sir, studies show that if we make an additional sacrifice then our national approval rating will increase another 10%.”

“Very well, throw the old man in.”  So the Master was also bound, gagged and subsequently thrown in the fire. Much more cheering.

“Fantastic sir, we can already see our currency is being bought up like hot cakes and our commodities market is sky rocketing as well.  We’re back, project ‘Hero’s Delight’ was a success!”

“Yeah yeah, the world is saved, we’re rich, great.  Now I need to take a shower and a shit, let me know when we’re rich enough to buy something cool.”  The King retreated from the balcony and the cheering continued.


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## moderan (Jan 15, 2010)

I like it. There are some very good lines and stuff in that. My head didn't explode but I think I sneezed. That must count for something, somewhere *thinks* it must. That thinking stuff hurts.


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## Sigg (Jan 15, 2010)

It was difficult for me to post my story because I kept stopping myself wanting to fix it somehow. Same with reading yours and alan's stories. I find myself forgetting that this is a "bad writing" competition and then I start thinking "wtf, that's terrible!" and then I remember...

EDIT : all right Mod, a sneeze is good enough then.  A bloody nose would have been more respectful but I'll take what I can get


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## Foxee (Jan 15, 2010)

Sigg, I think I hurt myself...not laughing, exactly, but your story IS very painful. As established in the Biker Baby thread...You badd!

Edit: I'm working on something for this and I think Word might be online turning me in for crimes against fiction.


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## JosephB (Jan 15, 2010)

OK, I'm going to break the rules here, because I already posted this in File 13. So sue me.

*Mylar and The White Queen*​ 
Mylar sat by the roaring fire. He had worked hard that day, and felt he deserved a stout tankard of mead. He took off his boots, which were covered in mud and placed them by the hot fire. They were caked with mud, from him having worked so hard in the fields that day.

Mylar was a jolly sort, and as cunning as ever a Peopelve there was. It was said that humans, in a time of great suffering and famine had somehow crossed of the River Zorn, a mystical a river that was not only of water, but of time itself. On their journey, the humans came across the Druze, in the Wood of Isonon. Druze were elves, and as such, were most kind and provided the humans with much needed sustenance. In time, the two became one. Poepelves possessed the kindness of elves and the cunning of humans. They had the pointed ears of elves, but the long legs of a human, so they could hear exceedingly well, but were also fleet of foot. But they also had much difficulty finding those pointy elf shoes that were large enough.

Just as he was sipping his first sip of mead, he heard the unmistakable, hollow clump of hooves.

“Be damned!” he said to himself. “Who could it be at this time?”

He heard pounding on the door.

“Mylar it is Bozem and Ken, we carry news from the town!”

“It had better be important!” Mylar said, with a scowl.

Mylar opened the heavy wooden door of his hut. He could see that they had a look of worry on their faces. 

“Henni, the scout, came with news that the Dwarves of Enbar are amassing a mighty army and they mean to attack us!”

“Why?” asked Mylar, with an inquisitive look. We have always lived peacefully side-by-side with the Dwarves of Enbar.”

“Their crops have failed, three years now. They are pretty hungry!” 

Mylar thought of the humans of so long ago. The Poepelves would provide food to the Dwarves, if they had only asked. He sensed something or someone was behind this treachery.

“Xanax!” Mylar blurted. "Only he could put the Dwarves up to such a thing.”

“Do you think?” they asked.

“You betcha.” said Mylar.

“The town council sent us here,” Henni said. "Because only you among us have fought such a battle!"

“Aye,” said Mylar. “But ’twas long ago. My fighting skills have long since gone away.”

He scratched his beard, as many men among the Poepelves had them. 

“I fear we have no choice," Mylar said. “But there is only one way we can win. And that, my friends is to call upon the aid of….”

Mylar paused dramatically. He tapped his boot, which he had put back on and ruminated.

“The White Queen!” he exclaimed, loudly.

“The White Queen?” Bozem and Ken both said, together at the same time.

“Yes, but I will need two good strong and wise Peopelves to take on my journey to see The White Queen.”

“We are _way_ ahead of you, Mylar,” Ken said. “Jozell and Nonny have said they would go with you on your journey!”

Mylar was relieved. Jozell was the strongest among the Peopelves and very smart indeed. He was as sharp as a stick that had been carved by a sharp knife to a point. Nonny was nearly as strong, but not as smart. He was as also as sharp as a stick like Jozell, but more as if the stick had been used for something, and was no longer as sharp as it once had been.

“I’ll need three good horses,” said Mylar. And tell Vim the blacksmith I’ll need a new sword, as I have put my old one somewhere and can’t find it.”

He smiled knowingly. For as much as he abhorred war, he also liked it, in a way. The thought of wielding a sword again, riding a strong horse and spending the night with Jozell and Nonny suddenly appealed to him.

“Yes,” he said, while swinging an imaginary sword. “Man, I’m _up_ for this.”

Bozem and Ken nodded solemnly, for they knew the danger that probably lay ahead, more than likely. They stood facing one another. All held their fists in the air and exclaimed, “Power to the Poepelves!"

"Right on!" Mylar said. Then he nodded and turned away.

“I have to pack my suitcase now, friends. Go give word of my quest to the townsfolk!”

[FONT=&quot]“Use the suitcase with the wheels on it, Mylar, for it is a long journey!”

"Aye, a long journey indeed," Mylar said. "A[/FONT] long journey indeed," he said again, as he repeated himself.


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## Like a Fox (Jan 15, 2010)

Excellent.

You know when you feel something, and you just have to write, and you channel your piss-moany sixteen year old self into your fingers, and bash away at the keys and call it poetry?

Here's two examples I'm ashamed to say I wrote, some time ago. 

I call them:
*Bound for the Bin*

*Untitled*

If only he’d open his eyes
If only he’d tell her goodbye
If only he was what I need
If only he was easy to read

She could be the one that I want
But she can be so nonchalant 
She’ll forgive what I did, though it was rough
She’s magic but is there really enough

He needs me to be more than I am
He wants me to call him my man
But he wants to be free, for what
He wants to find something I’m not

I look and I want only to touch
I love her but I can’t say how much
I think about her every single night
I hope time will someday make us right

Every man that I see on the street
Says I’m the best woman he’ll ever meet
Every boy that I have in my life
Can’t imagine me being his wife






*Lucifer Run*

I run with the devil, towards my demise,
We run through the firefield with smouldering eyes

I’m screaming your name, I’m hearing your voice
Your face burnt in my mind, do I have any choice?

I remember when you died and standing on your grave
You were ever so close, but so fucking far away

I cried for so long, so much pain, all those tears
Became a shell of a human filled with nothing but fears

Then I met him one night, at the late witching hour,
I swore allegiance to him and felt my being turn sour

We started running then and there and run we do still,
Always closer and further away from that hill

Through the heat in my mind I catch memories sometimes
See us driving with the roof down both alive in our prime

Hair whipping in the wind, smiles shining in the sun
Clouds reflected in your eyes, better memories; I have none,

He tells me you’re there, on this hill that looks fake
It looks smaller to me, every step that I take

I keep running with the devil, run forevermore
To try and get you my love, take us back to before


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## moderan (Jan 15, 2010)

It's so good to be bad! I am wondering about the pointy elf shoes ruminating, among other things. And those poor boots, being booth covered with and caked in mud. Gad, sir, you have descended to the very depths with this turkey.


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## moderan (Jan 15, 2010)

Wow, a twofer! And one has smouldering eyes! Hot diggity damn dog biscuits.


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## Sigg (Jan 15, 2010)

Foxee said:


> Sigg, I think I hurt myself...not laughing, exactly, but your story IS very painful. As established in the Biker Baby thread...You badd!
> 
> Edit: I'm working on something for this and I think Word might be online turning me in for crimes against fiction.


 
Causing pain is a bit of a hobby of mine, I'm glad I could inflict discomfort with my genius!

Also, Joe... I had a difficult time reading your story, it was just so atrociously bad.  What made it worse for me is that you said it was posted in File 13, which means at some point you thought the story had potential.

Same with you Fox.  My story was written for this contest so I intended it to be bad, but now I'm inspired to go digging through my files for something horrible that was not originally intended to be bad...  Idunno if I have the guts to post it though!


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## Sigg (Jan 15, 2010)

Ok, this isn't really a 'contest entry' if that actually matters, but I managed to find something terrible that has never seen the light of day, and for good reason.  I am frantically resisting the urge to post a bunch of excuses for why this is so horrible, but suffice it to say I was being serious when I wrote it haha.  I feel it's only fair since some other people posted similar things, it feels like my story was a cop out since it was intended to be horrible!

Fall Again

            It’s strange.  This cyclical motion always takes me by surprise even though it has been such my entire life.  Though despite my chosen or perhaps involuntary ignorance, the wind changes and the world moves on yet again.  That’s all right; I can accept that which I cannot change.  It would be nice to be able to have more control over the world, but that power is reserved strictly to the domain of my imagination.  Perhaps it is for the best anyhow, the human mind and imagination is erratic and often extremely unbalanced.  I digress, onward with the story.

            It began on a bright day in the middle of June.  I had just gotten laid off at my job.  Working at the Plant was never such a great gig anyhow.  So I began walking down the muddied and broken streets.  I didn’t know where I was going, just walking.  Walking maybe away from something, but certainly not walking to anything.  I turned left down a busy street.  The lights of the cars and neon signs glimmer off the millions of remaining rain drops on the slick steel surfaces.  The moon was just starting to peek over the row of bars and strip clubs on my right, but who needs the moon when you have a sea of artificial light to bathe in.  A cold breeze made me pull my hood tighter around my head.  It’s funny how everything always looks different when you something serious just happened, like getting fired from the only thing that allowed me to scrape by.

            I began to get a picture of where I was going in my mind when I saw the lights melt together.  There was really only one place with no lights now; the middle of the road, the busy traffic had thinned out to nothing.  I saw the nothingness as an arrow pointing me away from it all.  So I followed the arrow, straight down the road.  When you’ve tried to travel all the tempting side roads, you find out they lead nowhere and where you really want to be is the main road, right in the middle.

            It was fall again, and for me that meant trouble.  It’s not really very important why right now, just that the fall has always brought trouble for me.  Laughing couples, stumbling their way home with the stink of alcohol in the air.  Their breath hangs in the air like the acrid smoke of a cigarette.  Mine just disappears, mine always disappears.  A loud car horn sounded in my ear as a black car rolled by.  The windows were rolled down, and the driver had his head out yelling violent words in that tough city-driver voice.  You’ve got to be tough here to survive, or at least appear to be tough.  Is anyone really _tough_ anyway?  Or are we all just clay dolls, some left out in the sun longer than others?


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## alanmt (Jan 15, 2010)

O.M.G.


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## Sigg (Jan 15, 2010)

Orlando Masturbates Gleefully?


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## Sigg (Jan 15, 2010)

Damn this thread! It made me sift through a lot of the garbage I wrote when I was still in highschool, I don't think I've cringed this much since the time I sat front row for my buddy (AKA the world's least funny man) doing stand up comedy.


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## Foxee (Jan 15, 2010)

Warning!: Reading the following piece may cause choking, fainting, disorientation and possibly rickets. Do not read while operating heavy machinery. Do not read if heavily pregnant, susceptible to heart problems, or under the care of a doctor for Compulsive Editing Syndrome (CED). 

_This warning brought to you by HAL (Happy Association of Lawyers). Thank you and have a very litigious day._

*A Sound Chip Over Beethoven​*_A Cyberpunk Adventure!!!_​
The night was dark and deep, darkly deep, and deeply unhappy. Cloid The Darkblade was pulling his dark glasses onto his pale face already dressed in black pants, shirt, socks, and underwear. His hair was raven black and his trenchcoat was awesome black. He made his katana go SWOOSH through the air like a thing that goes swoosh before he put it away in its sheath that he had paid 10 marks for at the pawnshop because he was depressed the corporation had taken everything he loved even Jenny on that day when she wanted a picnic by the dried-up river but they came with their machines and took her away quickly so now he had her spork that he refused to wash and the heart of an eighty year old man but he didn’t know what to do with it.

Peachy, his purely platonic friend who had a body like a full bait bag, pink spiky hair, and cool emo wristlets walked up to him. The big green eyes with yellow flecks looked at him compassionately.

“H0w ar3 y00 d00ing, Cloid?” She asked him kind of sadly as portions of her figure belatedly came to rest.

I sigh windily. “I do not know what to do,” he said angstly, “Jenny was taken by the corporation and the machines smashed my car. It was a Subaru Impreza with the optional chrome trim package. He said I have lost everything.

Peachy had always known that Cloid The Darkblade’s katana was special though she would never say how it was special knowledge. Still, Cloid did not know much. Peachy’s eyes rolled toward him.

The machines were full of hot air in a bunch of three-eighths of a meter of metal like Volkswagens with evil fire and they ran on mostly sunlight under the dark sky taking everything you had. The corporation didn’t care about profit just making us miserable and u could not buy stock in them anyway but they had money out the tukus.

 “J3nny was a ch33p android h0,” I say bluntly, throwing an arm around his waste and Cloid’s purple eyes flash lightningy.

“She had a special place to carry sporks,” he says sulkily, seeing how Peachy’s eyes look at him like loving sawblades, “I can not find another one like that.” And he stares off into space, though it was obscured by a dark cloud. He knew Peachy is just trying to make him happier but that is all uphill for a Goth.

“I am…The Darkblade,” he was a man alone all by himself as he sat beside Peachy not doing anything.

His parents died horribly leaving him with scarred memories from when he downloaded them into the Ocean of Endless Circuits still two young to understand how the toaster worked with nothing but the dark katana that gave him his name though Cloid was on his birth records and also tattooed on his behind though he wasn’t going to show that to anyone if he could help it so then he met Jenny and she made birds sing with a sound chip over Beethoven and now she was gone because of the machines but Peachy was always here and that is how he got his name.


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## Sigg (Jan 15, 2010)

bravo on using the word "tukus", your fellow jews will feel honored


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## Gumby (Jan 15, 2010)

I just_ knew _something was different this morning! When I walked into my computer room, the air was thick and rancid with reeking evil. When I touched my computer, an omnivorous feeling whent threw me... and waves of suffocating darkness rolled off of it. Then I saw this thread, and all became krystal clear to me! And I am suuing you sig, for slander against my peoples for _this _!:...

Or are we all just clay dolls, some left out in the sun longer than others?


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## Sigg (Jan 15, 2010)

slander? pssh, my shiat is golden, it's gumby and your silly people who should be sued for slandering _my_ brilliant metaphor simply by existing!

Go shape some clay!


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## Gumby (Jan 15, 2010)

Oh! I have been sleighed with your crewl werds!


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## Hawke (Jan 15, 2010)

Foxee: And you used "spork"! Damn, now I'm going to have to trash my masterpiece and come up with something else. 

Hilarious and brilliant in their badness, all. Bravo to each of you! They're just what I needed.


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## Foxee (Jan 15, 2010)

Gumby said:


> ...the air was thick and rancid with reeking evil. When I touched my computer, an omnivorous feeling whent threw me... and waves of suffocating darkness rolled off of it...


You get used to it after awhile. 

Ty, Hawke, I'm happy to have stoled your idea and encouraged a new low for your opus.


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## alanmt (Jan 15, 2010)

I love this thread!


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## anubis608 (Jan 15, 2010)

This thread is awesome. Genius! This is like the reading equivalent of watching 'B' movies, and rewinding to see the horrible parts twice.


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## seigfried007 (Jan 15, 2010)

Vinnie’s Masterpiece

 So Hott Noir Sci-fi Porn Theatre… Or Some Shit Like That…
​ 

And so all black and white and shit, rain pouring down outside and streetlight peeking in through the blinds on the ledger, Detective Reno’s sitting in his like huge fucking desk with his boots propped up on the desk and shit when Ira, his secretary, buzzes in on the intercom, all like, “Miss Wannahumpyerbuns is here, sir.”

 “Send her in,” Reno says and like, grinds his big fucking stogie in this stupid looking blown glass ashtray. 
 
So this like, completely fucking busty chick walks in, all wearing fishnets and shit with this little belty dress that’s all pink but you can’t see it ‘cause it’s like, in fucking black and white and shit, and her tits are like practically spilling out all over the place but like, completely forget the physics ‘cause they’re still in there. So she walks up and like, plants her hands on the desk and like, leans over so her tits are like inches in front of Reno’s face and he can like practically lick the perfume and shit off them. 
 
But not like literal shit or anything ‘cause that’d be like... 
well... really fucking nasty and shit.
 
And she’s smoking this like little cigarette on a stick thing and like, blows smoke in his face and shit. “I like, need to take pictures of my husband fucking his secretary and shit because, he’s like my husband and he’s like, not supposed to be fucking around on me and shit. It’s just… like not cool, you know?”
 
So Reno’s all like fucking, “Really, like take a seat and get in line ‘cause you’re not the only fucking broad that shows up here. But, you know, I’m a swell guy like that and I might bump you up the line if you like, you know, do some shit for me and shit… you know, like, act all nice to me and shit, you know?”

“Oh I know, mister. I can be all nice to you and shit like that,” she says, like all fucking bending over that desk just asking for somebody to like walk up and smack her ass or something. And her tits are like, in his face and shit, but he’s all straight-faced about it. And she like, does the whole smoothing down her dress with her hands, feeling herself up and down all over his desk and *puff-puff* attacking him and shit with her tits. And she like, sits down on the desk and her skirt rides like way the hell up so he can see her fucking garters and shit. 
 
And then she like, straightens out and puts her hands all over his face, all cradling his face and like oo-I-so-fucking-want-your-nose-in-my-ta-tas-right-now and shit, and her tits are just spilling out of her blouse but you like, can’t see them because they’re like all over Reno’s face and shit and the camera just isn’t angled right for it and shit. 
 
And she’s like all smothering him with her tits and shit, and so he like, tries to talk and can’t because her tits are so huge and like on the sides of his face smothering him so his words come out like he’s fucking motor-boating her tits, and it like… sounds like a really juicy fart and shit… wait a minute... that could be, like a_ literal_ shit or something… ewww… that’s kinda like… fucking_ nasty_. But it’s like… what it kinda fucking sounded like…
 
And like anyways and shit, she like realizes she’s fucking drowning him in titties and shit and pulls back on the desk so he can like, fucking _breathe_. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mister Reno.”
 
And he like, gasps for breath and shit. 
 
And then she like, starts trying to unbutton his shirt, and he like, swats her hand away like it’s a bug or something. And he’s like all, panting but like, not in a good way or anything, and is all like, “What I meant… by like… doing nice shit for me… was... getting off my fucking desk… you crazy broad.”
 
And she like blinks and shit, then gets kinda weird about it and slides off the desk all stunned but still sexy like and like, apologizes and shit. “I thought you wanted me to, you know, be like_ nice_ to you…”

“If I wanted sex, I’ve got a secretary for that; you’re just here to pay my bills.”
 
And she like blinks and shit and leaves all staggering out the door and shit. 
 
After she’s out of the way, Ira buzzes him on the intercom. “Did you mean that, sir?”

“We got any more broads with cheating husbands coming in tonight?”

“No, sir.”

“We got any more husbands with cheating broads coming in?”

“Not until tomorrow night, sir.”

“Then get that fine ass in here, Ira,” he says, all stroking his pants and shit, “and I’ll show you how much I meant it.”
 
And Ira looks so fucking fine when he comes in—all head-to-toe in beige tweed and white button down and fucking loafers and shit--that Reno actually removes his stupid fucking boots from his desk. 
 
And so, he like, completely bends Ira over the desk and tears off his tweed jacket with his fucking teeth and shit, and he rips that dress shirt to hell, but takes his time taking the belt off because he wants to savor the feel of leather on his hands. And meanwhile, Ira’s like all bracing for the pain and shit, but you know, it’s one of those ‘hurt so good’ kinda things I guess. 
 
And so, anyways, Reno whips that belt right off in one big swoosh of punch-holed leather and buckle, and Ira’s pants fall down with a sexy little whoosh of tweed and shit. And then, taking a big drag on his fat fucking stogie and making it like light up orange on the end and shit, he drops Ira’s stripey little boxers with his short fucking name in black permanent marker on the stupid fucking tag that’s all like ‘Wash warm water. Tumble dry low. Iron when needed’ and assorted other shit like that. 
 
Then Reno drops his drawers and pulls back for the magic thrust and shit... but then he can't get it in 'cause Ira's got a big ass tail and you have to be hung like... like a fucking coat hanger--all bendy and shit--to get into there so he just stands there like a short, fat, hairy fucking idiot, all breathing heavy and shit, and cocks his head to the side trying to figure out what he supposed to do and shit
 
And so, they like, switch places and grease Ira up with like Ivory soap and an ink well. And umm... there’s like a lot of thrusting and shit... but not like literal shit… but you know, just yeah, shit. 
 
And I don’t really wanna talk about this anymore ‘cause I’m not into dudes and... well, kinda nasty shit like that. I mean, I’ve been around the block and jumped the wild side of the fence before, but you know, I’m like all married... to a chick… and we’ve got our two-point-two kids and shit like that now, and like, I really don’t want them thinking I’m like... all into guys and shit still… ‘cause I’m not.
 
Really.


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## Sigg (Jan 15, 2010)

i disapprove of your overuse of the phrase 'and shit', shameful...


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## anubis608 (Jan 15, 2010)

holy crap...

Are horrific critiques of the horrific posts allowed?


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## Sigg (Jan 15, 2010)

just thought id take it to the next level, it's how i roll


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## Foxee (Jan 15, 2010)

Just about anything goes as long as nobody takes themselves,,,or any of this writing...seriously.


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## moderan (Jan 15, 2010)

I recommend the use of one of these:






Because:


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## Gumby (Jan 15, 2010)

*If Ever Love Was Love, Forever*

If Ever, Love, was Love, Forever








 chapter 1
***
 “ Butt, I love you, John”, I said, as John looked at me, with very sad, sadness, in his very sad eyes, that were looking, at me.

 “It can never, never, ever, bee, Celia”, John said. “Wii are like too star crossed luvers, who got crossed in the stars”.

 He razed his hand in a fairwell wave. When he waved, his hard, muscular, chest rippled with muscles, that were hard, drawing my eyes right to the hard muscles, that rippled. I qwickly swallowed some dramamine, and, with sadness in my eyes, I waved a sad fairwell to John.

 As I razed my hand to wave, my sweater tightened across my bosom, drawing Johns sad eyes to the swell of my bosom. His sad, dark eyes, tightened and flared with passhun, and I could see the passhun flare.  

chapter 2
***
 John stopped waving, and with a qwick, determined stride, he strode over to me qwickly. His chest glistening in the sun, his muscles were like iron, as he swept me into his strong, manly, iron arms. And my soft, firm, bosom, was crushed against his chest. His firm, chisled lips crushed my soft womanly ones, and we were transported to another werld.  

chapter 3
***
  When John finally razed his head and looked at me, I swooned. My legs were shaky, like rubber legs, and they shook, cause they were like rubber legs. I had to grab hold of his strong steely arms. I could feel his muscles bugle. John swore, savagely, under his manly breath.  
 And said, “ I don't give a dam about what the werld may think, and Father can go strate to hell!” “You are the wommin for me!”

 “Oh, John!”, I said. I was afraid that we wood never be together!” My womanly lips trembled with a tremble that was feminine and womanly. His pupils dialated and contrackted with manly passhun, and he held me even more crushingly against his manly chest, tightly.

 “Oh, Celia,” he said, vehemintly, How could I have been such a fool?” How could I not see that you were the only wommin for me,? wii were maid to be together, and wii will always be together from now on!” He said this very veminhintly, and swore more manly curses.

chapter 4
***
 We rapped our arms around each other, and looked at the beutiful sun that was sinking in the eastern horizon beutifully. We new that from now on life wood be wonderful, as long as the son and moon were in the heavens, we wood always be the love for the other one of us.


                                     THE END


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## moderan (Jan 15, 2010)

Wow. And to think you did that on purpose. That's just truly. Award-winning:




LOL, and it has Favio. I'm awestruck, thunderstruck, and dumbstruck.


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## Gumby (Jan 15, 2010)

Yes, thanks. I have obviously read many romances, and I will proudly accept your humbling award seal, sticker, thingy.


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## Sigg (Jan 15, 2010)

you misspelled 'butt'


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## alanmt (Jan 15, 2010)

John sounds kinda hot


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## Gumby (Jan 15, 2010)

Thank you, sigg for pointing that out. I am such a bad speller, and I have corrected that.

alan, John is sooo hot! Just read this and you will understand how hot he is.



> He razed his hand in a fairwell wave. When he waved, his hard, muscular, chest rippled with muscles, that were hard, drawing my eyes right to the hard muscles, that rippled.


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## Sigg (Jan 16, 2010)

more evidence of your obsession with all things phallic, is john made of clay mayhaps?


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## Gumby (Jan 16, 2010)

No, he is not. BUT his last name is... Clay...john clay...it's just a coincidence...i swear.


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## Olly Buckle (Jan 16, 2010)

Thank you for posting the link to this thread Moderan.


> He held his magic shield before him like a shield,


Don't quite know why, but this especially cracked me up Alan, though I did feel something should have been "Trusty". Great stuff, off to see what I can dig up/create.


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## Leyline (Jan 16, 2010)

_-- from_ *AGAINST THE TIDE OF DEATHTRONS*, *Book III of THE EARTHFATE CHRONICLES.*


*Chapter 26*​

Lord Flexengraff, Siege General Of The Cravamax Terror Fleet, floated in armored splendour above the bustling bridge of his flagship *Warmonge*r. From his mouth emerged hateful booming laughter, augmented by cybervocals into a symphony of hideous glee.

On the massive viewscreen before him lay the shattered remnants of The Solar Fleet -- their last desperate, foolish hope against the unbridled might of the CTF. The rout had nearly been complete. Of the three hunded Solar battleships sent into combat, only sixty remained unvaporized by antimatter missles and pulsing purple vengatron rays. Those few were hulled and shattered, drifting in chaotic orbits around the now helpless planet that filled half the screen like the succulent prize that it actually really was.

The beauteous femmes of Terra, pride of the Galaxy, would become the concubines of the Cravamax Overlords! Nothing could stop their carnal invasion now!

This realization resulted in a bombardment of enhanced laughter so coldly evil that it frightened even the slavebots that served the Lord as his bridge crew. Only Raptaclox 98, the cyborg First Officer, joined him, perhaps because he too retained enough flesh-matter to look forward to the juicy months of blood and otherfluid filled rapine to come!

"NOTHING CAN STOP US NOW!" Boomed Lord Flexengraff, his unholy joy soaring beyond all boundaries.

***

On the bridge of *FASTBREAK IV*, the lowly scoutship that had proved itself worthy of leading the Solar Fleet by beating off all comers in the Plutonian Trials, only one life still flickered with awareness. Though his body was shattered beyond repair even by the powerful Regeno-SphinchterTubes Of Uranus, Captain Garth Goodelux of Terra clung tenaciously to life. He swallowed hard against the ravaging pain that rippled through him in angry waves, pulling himself along the gore soaked and debris ridden floor of the bridge, towards a hidden panel where a secret button offered The Solar Leauge a ray of hope.

"Must...stop....invasion...." Captain Garth grunted through clenched teeth as he neared his goal. He forced himself to think of the many victims who would perish should he fail: The delightful Spindlemonkies Of Polara Luna, the wise MagmaMen of Mercury, The ancient and noble Rockosaurs Of Undermars, the mysterious but enchanting Bogtocktracox Of Jupiter....these and many more races would be swept way like cosmic dust in the winds of time if he did not persevere!

Only inches now...


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## moderan (Jan 17, 2010)

Great stuff, I mean really bad stuff
Reminds me of Robert Sheckley's immortal (if long-windedly-titled) Zirn Left Unguarded, The Jenghik Palace In Flames, Jon Westerley Dead


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## Gumby (Jan 17, 2010)

It truly doesn't get much stinkier than this:



> Though his body was shattered beyond repair even by the powerful Regeno-SphinchterTubes Of Uranus, Captain Garth Goodelux of Terra clung tenaciously to life.



Good, bad job!


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## Tiamat (Jan 17, 2010)

*The Masks We Wear (Just to Piss People Off) - 600ish words*

Jonathan felt powerful with the mask on.  Its rough, crudely carved wooden surface gazed out at the world as though it could truly give two shits less about whether the sun bestowed magnificent rays of happiness upon the cities and towns or if lava poured down from the clouds, engulfing politicians and philanthropists alike.  He’d found it on a shelf at work, and when he wore it, he felt somehow better about all of life’s frustrations.  Of course his wife hated it.

“Please don’t put that stupid thing on when I’m trying to talk to you.”

And why the hell not? he wanted to say, but instead he lowered his hand and forced himself to look his wife in the eye.

“Thank you,” she said, then put her hands on her hips.  “Look, I’m not saying I expect you to be a millionaire or anything, but don’t you think you’ve been at Wal-Mart long enough?  It’s not like you’re going anywhere with them.”

“I like my job,” he said.

She rolled her eyes.  “Because they don’t make you do anything.  You stock shelves in the middle of the night.  For the love of God, Jonathan, you’re a thirty-one year-old stock boy.  Is that how you want your life to be?”

The answer was obviously no, but just to be an asshole he put the mask on.  “Yes, Barbara.  This is exactly what I want my life to be like.”

She took a step closer to him.  “Take.  That.  Off.”

He stepped up to her.  Sure, he stepped on her toes, but who the hell cared?  “I.  Will.  Not."

She glared into his eyes through the uneven holes.  He stared back, trying to make himself appear as indifferent as the mask itself.  Just as he thought she was going to back down, her hand reached out and ripped the mask off his face, snapping the leather cord that held it on.  He balled his fists at his sides while he watched her try to snap it in half, first with her hands, then over her thigh.  Barbara weighed a hundred and eight pounds _after_ meals, so she may as well have tried to break a steel pole.

Not that it stopped her from trying, though.  And when her strength proved insufficient, she stormed over to the counter, placed the mask on the cutting board, and lifted a heavy casserole dish over her head.  The result was a small scratch on the mask and pieces of thick glass all over the kitchen.

“God damn it,” she growled, and bent to pick up the shards.

When he saw the blood running down her hand, he walked over and knelt down, taking her hand in his.  She let him lead her over to the sink, wash the cut out, and bandage it as best he could.

“I just don’t want you to look back at your life thirty years from now and wish you’d done something more.”

When he didn’t say anything, she took her hand back and walked away.  “I’m going to bed,” she said without looking back. 

Jonathan watched her make her way up the steps, listened to hear the bedroom door click shut, then cleaned up the rest of the glass.  The mask lay on the counter where Barbara left it.  He picked it up and ran his fingertips over the new scratch in the center of the face, letting out a snort of feigned amusement.  A butter knife could’ve done more damage—hell, even a fork for Christ’s sake.

The leather cord, what remained of it anyway, dangled pathetically from the left side.  Nothing a little bit of glue couldn’t fix though…


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## Leyline (Jan 18, 2010)

Way too good, Tia. Disqulaified.


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## Sigg (Jan 18, 2010)

Leyline said:


> Way too good, Tia. Disqulaified.


 
seconded, you failed at failing.  you ought to be ashamed of yourself


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## Gumby (Jan 18, 2010)

Oh man, I didn't groan even once! It's waaaay too good.


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## Tiamat (Jan 18, 2010)

Dammit!  :lol:

That was fun though.  Am I allowed multiple entries?  You know, to try to master the craft of bad writing?


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## Sigg (Jan 18, 2010)

pssh, show off...


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## eggo (Jan 18, 2010)

Some startlingly bad writing here.

Horrifically horrid, pathetically putrid

Someone stop my eyes from bleeding.


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## Tiamat (Jan 18, 2010)

Sigg said:


> pssh, show off...


Hardly.  When I want to show off, I post in the Workshop where everyone promptly puts me in my place.


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## Olly Buckle (Jan 19, 2010)

*Being taught-a-logical driving system* (pun intended)
  Many people erroneously believe that putting the car in neutral and freewheeling when descending a hill will always save them fuel, even though they know it is more dangerous, I say they know it is more dangerous because everyone is taught in their driving lessons that this is the case, that they have more control over the vehicle when it is in gear, of course it is possible that the driver has not received lessons and may be driving illegally without a licence, but in this case it is unlikely that they will be considering the impact of their fuel consumption and I think it is fair to assume for our purposes here, at the present time, it is a fair assumption that those seeking to benefit from this discourse will be licensed drivers . This given I feel it would be fair to say it is true to say that generally, normal, licensed and legal drivers often think that when the engine is idling it is using the minimum amount of fuel possible and that any increase in the number of revolutions must result in more fuel being burnt. They are wrong. Going downhill in gear can use less fuel than doing it in neutral.

   Consider for a moment , if you will, the law of conservation of energy, this is basically the same as the law of conservation of matter, that says that matter can neither be created nor destroyed and the law of conservation of energy says that energy can neither be created nor destroyed. Of course with the coming of nuclear physics and the discovery of nuclear fission and fusion we know that this is not an absolute truth, that matter can be converted into energy and presumably visa versa but the overall principle remains, it may be converted to another form but it does not cease to exist and for our purposes, which involve internal combustion engines rather than stars or nuclear reactors, it is true to say that energy is neither created nor destroyed.

  This being the case it will become obvious upon reflection  that if you are descending a hill with the engine in gear the vehicle’s kinetic energy is being transferred through the transmission system to the engine, the engine is receiving energy from another source than the fuel, it is being driven by the weight of the car descending the hill and therefore must use less fuel than it would if it was idling and the forward and downward motion of the car was being restricted by the braking system rather than the engine, the law of conservation of energy says it must be so as energy is not being lost to friction and heat in the braking system or otherwise and if energy is not being used then fuel will not be being burnt to provide it. If normal amounts of fuel were being burnt, supplementing the energy imparted by the mass of the car rolling down the hill, there would be a surplus of energy, it would have to come out somewhere, massive overheating or a sonic boom perhaps? I jest of course.

  In summary it is safer and more fuel efficient to stay in gear downhill than it is to freewheel.


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## seigfried007 (Jan 19, 2010)

Ouch. My brain hurts, Olly.


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## Gumby (Jan 19, 2010)

](*,)





seigfried007 said:


> Ouch. My brain hurts, Olly.




What she said!  Only mine then moved on to numbness... thankfully.


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## Olly Buckle (Jan 19, 2010)

I'm for letting people make more than one entry, only a different genre of writing, not endless road safety or fantasy. Maybe an instruction manual? 
  One of the worst pieces of English I ever saw was in Majorca, an advertising leaflet which had been written in Spanish and then translated by a non English speaker with a dictionary.
Razes hand in farewell, thankyou for that image Gumby.


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## moderan (Jan 19, 2010)

Spaghettio (600 words)






Blimpetto toiled in his workshop, day and night, working on his newest creation. Little by little, the small wooden toy took shape. He had a little hat and pointed ears and apple cheeks and big blue eyes and a short round nose atop a chunky little body and two sturdy little legs, articulated by hinges and springs cleverly built into the wood parts.
Not aware yet that he had done a better job than intended, Blimpetto rested a bit, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. He sat in his chair at his worktable, closing his eyes and dozing a bit, until awakened by the noise of wooden feet frolicking on the table.

He was thoroughly amazed at the sight-the wooden boy was dancing!

Blimpetto applauded a particularly difficult pas de deux, and the puppet boy bowed low, sweeping off his cap and saying, "Thank you."

You could have knocked Blimpetto over with a feather.

Of course puppets can't talk. He knew that. But they can't dance independent of a puppeteer either. He knew that too. The combo threw him for a loop.

"You can't say that," he pointed out to the puppet. "Puppets can't talk."

"But I can," retorted the puppet-boy, donning his cap once again. "Just as well as you can. Better. You speak in broken English."

Blimpetto had to admit that was correct. He had come from Italy to the States just a decade or so ago, and his accent was very thick, and he didn't know the words for everything.

He was lonely, was Blimpetto. He and the puppet-boy became great friends, good buddies, and went everywhere and did just about everything together. There was no Mrs. Blimpetto, and their friendship had no boundaries. They had fun...still, there was a problem. The puppet boy longed to be a real person like the kids he saw every day. He wanted respect, too, and for someone besides Blimpetto to like him.

The puppet-boy told outrageous lies to the children, and each time he told a lie, his nose grew. Blimpetto was forced to file it down periodically.

"You know," Blimpetto said one day, "I bet if you were to stop with the lies, you'd be able to become a real child."

The puppet boy wanted that more than anything. He promised to try, and Blimpetto gave him a name to get him motivated. "You, my son," he said, "are now Spaghettio." 
That was what he had eaten for lunch. Blimpetto was a fine craftsman, but not terribly imaginative.

Spaghettio told no lies, and told no lies, and gradually he was accepted by the children. He found himself becoming more more like them. He and Blimpetto didn't spend as much time together, though they still did everything.

Spaghettio was a little bit ashamed of some of those things they did. The boys and girls whispered about some of those things, and he listened intently. Some things were very interesting. He wanted to try them with someone besides Blimpetto.

The day came when Spaghettio became fully human, a little boy. Blimpetto noticed immediately-Spaghettio had come in late that evening, and told an obvious lie about where he'd been and what he'd been doing. He reeked of cigarette smoke and his jacket was torn. His nose didn't grow though. Instead he had a little tent in the front of his shorts. Blimpetto gave Spaghettio a big hug, feeling the little tent pole poking at his belly.

"Why, Spaghettio," he said', "you've got wood."

"Yes," the boy replied. "I'm Spaghettio with meat balls."

Blimpetto laughed at that, and drew the boy a bath.


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## seigfried007 (Jan 19, 2010)

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!

Bad Moderan!


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## moderan (Jan 19, 2010)

seigfried007 said:


> Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!
> 
> Bad Moderan!


That story's 35 years old. I found it in a box, along with some ancient song lyrics.


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## Olly Buckle (Jan 20, 2010)

Sorry, but I thought it quite reasonable, apart from the un-originality bordering on plagiarism, and the over run sentences, and the lists with and after each item.


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## Olly Buckle (Jan 20, 2010)

It occurs to me that the winner of this may well not be the worst piece of writing, if it is bad enough no-one is going to read it right through and it won't be considered.


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## Sigg (Jan 20, 2010)

I think you sorta missed the point of the thread olly, I don't think there will be an actual winner declared...


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## Olly Buckle (Jan 20, 2010)

No winner? Why did I bother?:???:


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## Sigg (Jan 20, 2010)

To bask in the glory of being a loser


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## The Backward OX (Jan 20, 2010)

Olly Buckle said:


> In summary it is safer and more fuel efficient to stay in gear downhill than it is to freewheel.


Dunno what the hills are like over there, butt over here they’re real rip-snorters. And I’m here to tell you, your economy story is out of context. Just imagine if you will fifteen tons of metal suspended on eighteen wheels, falling down the side of a mountain at a terminal velocity of approximately eighty-eight feet per second. And imagine all the moving parts of the engine - the crankshaft, the connecting rods, the gudgeon pins, the pistons, the oil and compression rings, the camshaft, the pushrods, the cam followers, the rockers, the valves, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera - being remorselessly ground up and down or round and round or in and out, at breakneck speed, by this dangfangled driver who insisted on leaving top gear engaged. No, sir, in the greater picture, you are wrong. The wear and tear vastly outweighs any fuel saving. 

Oh, yeah, and the water pump.


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## The Backward OX (Jan 20, 2010)

*Copying Joe’s lead; have taken post from Workshop, where it was greeted with massive doses of ignore.*



*[disc] Offensive Language, Racism, Sex Acts [/disc]*

*PS. The Post # is a coincidence. Truly.*


*“Train whistle blowing, makes a sleepy noise . . .”*

I’m Fred, I'd just received a letter, for some reason began humming the first few bars of Morningtown Ride before even opening it, getting ahead of myself, talking about Morningtown, don’t really like that expression getting ahead of myself, everybody uses it, it’s as _common_ as the brassy tart works down the local with her half-exposed titties threatening to spill out on you when she leans down to put your pint on the table, what else can you say in such a situation, do you know about letters, people once used them as a means of communication, you wrote your message on a sheet of paper, folded it, placed it in an envelope, now there’s an interesting word, _en_velope or _on_velope, suppose where you went to school has bearing on stuff like that, _my_ English teacher always pronounced _were _as _where,_ said stuff like Jack and Jill _where_ waiting for the bus, funny he nearly always grinned when he said it, prolly just playing around with words, those days it didn’t pay to question anything teacher said, or answer back, or be smartarse, tried it once or twice, got clobbered for my trouble, there’d been the time our History teacher put in heaps of effort, so I now realise, looking back with the wisdom of hindsight from a point many years later, showing extent of British Empire at height of power by first drawing map of World on blackboard then overlapping map with representation of fence or wall encircling large portion of map, he was good, give him that, wall had height, perspective, posts dividing it into panels, some kid sang out, please sir, what’s that wall, Mr Smartypants here said "Looks like the Great Wall of China to me," got the blackboard duster chucked at me for my trouble, a six inch long by two wide, rectangular wad of thick felt glued to heavy wooden base, you wrote recipient’s name and address on front of envelope, stuck postage stamp on it, dropped it in slot in big round red post box down the corner, why they called it box is beyond me, boxes aren’t round, when still small child used to believe lots of tubes came out from under box and connected to everyone’s houses, somehow all letters would be routed along those tubes to respective destinations, one day I saw man with those eyes that are constantly darting everywhere wearing blue uniform and with large canvas sack over his shoulder looking as if he was robbing this big round red box of all its letters that were waiting to go into their tubes after forcing it open at the bottom, went screaming to Nanny, Mother always insisted she be called Nanny, although when we were alone she said I could call her Miss Bailey, told me facts of life about letters, said man possibly looked shifty because he suffered from physiologic nysta*g*mus*, *reminds me of joke about receiving invitation to French party in the mail, perhaps save that for another time.
So I’d received a letter, began humming Morningtown Ride before even opening it, do you remember song, Judy Durham sang it, well, version I knew, sang with The Seekers, they kicked off career playing folk music, coffee lounge, Toorak Road, South Yarra, funny, that, back around same era I lived a short time in flat just off Toorak Rd, strange little dive, one of string of four, joined side by side in back yard of big posh house, recollect picking up bird somewhere one night and bringing her back to flat, muggins couldn’t perform, after the event, or non-event really, she suddenly came out with a remark like "Erm, I usually get paid for this," without thinking handed her a couple of quid, reckon she wasn’t really whore just opportunist, saw chance to take someone down, their first big hit, one member of group, Keith somebody, had to leave name off album cover, also worked for Australian Broadcasting Commission, Aunty wouldn’t let you have second job, they had some great hits, The Carnival Is Over, I Am Australian, Georgy Girl, Morningtown Ride, Georgy Girl sold a million copies in US, sitting at home one evening twiddling dial on transistor, came across what sounded like one of those talk shows, they were popular, one of the daytime hosts, John Laws, we’re the same age, today he’s retired, worth millions, on first name terms with half the country’s heavyweights, me I’m still a shitkicker, the first thing I heard was woman’s voice saying he’d have to be tall, handsome, and a Labor voter, said to myself hello what’s this then, lonely hearts programme or something, that’s what it was, you phoned radio station, if you had any brains you had some self-promotion _spiel_ rehearsed or scribbled out, found out next night you went in queue, listened to radio through your phone, amazing, the stuff they thought of, when your turn was coming up next, host’s female offsider, we call them a P.A. today, back then everyone spoke Australian English, came on the line to let you know, obtain your name and address, warn you not to mention your last name on the air, today they leave out the the and just say on air, and about offensive language, they developed the delayed broadcast so that bit didn’t matter any more, next thing you know, you’re talking to this suave type in the studio, anyway the following day scribbled out some bullshit about myself, phoned in when show started, eventually got on, host was good at job, fed me all right questions, after my three minutes of fame he said now if you want to contact Fred, write to him care of this station and we’ll pass it on, I promptly forgot all about it, a fortnight later two letters arrived, first one the bird enclosed a photo, _au naturel_ but a head like a robber’s dog, reminds me, back when sexually naïve, seduced by older married woman, husband giving her hard time with frequent remark about put a bag over their heads they’re all the same, but there’s only so much ugly you can take even if you’re desperate, binned that, other one appeared different kettle of fish, bit intellectual, always attracted to clever women, no photo enclosed so doubly intriguing, maybe at time I’d been in vulnerable state, had to be reason for listening to radio programme in first place, yes I was susceptible, just come out of relationship, raw sex around the clock, large degree of _that_ lady’s sexual prowess developed as result of someone telling her when younger she’d save future dental problems by asking dentist to extract all teeth, silly as two-bob watch and believed it, got them all yanked out, she now removed top and bottom dentures to give blowjobs, being fellated by woman with no teeth even more fun, she buggered off to Darwin on whim, left with dick hanging out, real frontier territory, Darwin, back then, chased after silly bitch, flew up there on 727, _Whispering T-Jets_ TAA called them, good description they were so quiet, see if I could talk her into coming back, only a few years after Cyclone Tracy wiped town off map, scars still visible everywhere, she wasn’t having any, after just one day flew back south again, purchased The Bourne Identity, Robert Ludlum, airport general store, Darwin Airport primitive back then, read three chapters before landing at Gove, isolated outpost on Gulf, big mob of blacks clambered on board yabbering away amongst themselves in _Guddi-Guddi,_ asked hostie what’s going on, these savages looked like they didn’t have two brass farthings between them, but all sitting up like jacky in _Whispering T-Jet_, funny, still using expression sitting up like jacky in this context, old habits die hard, _used_ to think jacky referred to abos as in old days people called them all Jacky-Jacky, nowadays they say I’m wrong, if someone says sitting up like jacky they mean like kookaburra, also called laughing jackass, did you know kookaburra really large kingfisher, sitting up alert on fence post, so sitting up like jacky, we’ll never really know origin of term, lost in mists of time, hostie said they all on public tit, didn’t put it quite like that, told me federal gummint pick up tab for them to shop six hundred nautical miles away across Gulf in Cairns, when I paid my taxes every year I thought it paid for roads and army and immigration and what-not, seems I’m also paying for these black bastards to be flown to the fucking supermarket in a fucking _Whispering T-Jet_, so her letter was exciting to read, hadn’t given me her full address, just street and postcode, had to guess which part of country she lived, poring over postcode list, somewhere south-east of Melbourne, told me she’d be visiting Queensland within month, knew I lived in Brissie from radio show, wrote back, the rest as they say is history.


_Why did I hum Morningtown Rid_e_?_ Tune in again next week.


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## The Backward OX (Jan 20, 2010)

G'day, Rob.


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## seigfried007 (Jan 20, 2010)

moderan said:


> That story's 35 years old. I found it in a box, along with some ancient song lyrics.



Mine was written in March after my husband asked me for some erotica (we weren't living together because he was working in NC and I was stuck in IN). I was too embarrassed to, so one of my characters popped up and said, "Lemme try ;-)" So, I let Vinnie out of the bag and laughed the whole time because... it was just so awful. 

And thus my slightly inebriated and very tired husband rolled around on the floor between bouts of reading it but was not very aroused (so I had to write an entirely different piece later :-(


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## moderan (Jan 20, 2010)

Heh...the stories of how stories came to be are often as good as the stories themselves. Now I have two in this thread, of vastly different provenance.
Keep em coming, people.


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## Gumby (Jan 20, 2010)

Wow Ox, I didn't think anyone could beat Olly for run on sentences! You did it handily. Only two periods in the whole body of writing, that I could see. You get extra points in my book for the most over use of comma's too.


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## Leyline (Jan 22, 2010)

"The AH-64 Apache is a four-blade, twin-engine attack helicopter with reverse-tricycle landing gear, and tandem cockpit for a crew of two," Slim Kantuck, the amiable old master pilot explained breezily as he strapped me into the pilot seat.

I was totally ready to pilot.

"The Apache was developed as Model 77 by Hughes Helicopters for the United States Army's Advanced Attack Helicopter program to replace the AH-1 Cobra. First flown on 1 October 1975, the AH-64 features a nose-mounted sensor suite for target acquisition and night vision systems. The Apache is armed with a 30 mm M230 Chain Gun carried between the main landing gear, under the aircraft's forward fuselage. The AH-64 also carries a mixture of AGM-114 Hellfire and Hydra 70 rocket pods on four hardpoints mounted on stub-wing pylons."

"In man-talk, that's 'It's got mo' ass than King Kong's grass', eggbrain," I derided him. If there's one thing I hate it's a fucking nerd.

"The AH-64 also features double- and triple-redundant aircraft systems to improve survivability for the aircraft and crew in combat, as well as improved crash survivability for the pilots," the dumbass nerd continued, like he didn't even hear me.

"Make sure I send 'em a thank you note," I quipped savagaliciously.




***With apologies to Wikipedia.*


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## moderan (Jan 22, 2010)

> "Make sure I send 'em a thank you note," I quipped savagaliciously.



Good. Otherwise...ok, bad


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## Raging_Hopeful (Jan 22, 2010)

OMG I keep busting up laughing in the middle of my statistics class. Trust me, there is nothing funny in stats so its pretty obvious I'm dicking around on my computer. Foxee, I had to leave my classroom, yours was so funny. Plus the porno one. Good god people *wipes away tears*


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## Foxee (Jan 27, 2010)

Thank you, R.H.! You really made my day. I had an awful lot of fun writing that...awful being the operative word. There has been some stiff competition if the porno one is any indication.


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## Gumby (Jan 27, 2010)

Foxee said:


> Thank you, R.H.! You really made my day. I had an awful lot of fun writing that...awful being the operative word. There has been some stiff competition if the porno one is any indication.


 

Oh my! Even the responses to responses aren't immune in this thread! :smile:


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## The Backward OX (Jan 28, 2010)

Erm...if a post makes anyone laugh, or makes them say they enjoyed it, or in any other way elicits a positive response from a reader, doesn't that automatically disqualify it as bad writing?


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## Sigg (Jan 28, 2010)

"bad" is 100% subjective, there will be no answer to your question Ox other than "not necessarily"


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## seigfried007 (Jan 28, 2010)

“_Bedward Sully, I love you!!!!_” Hella Swine purred breathily as she reached four him like a fat lady gushing for a buffay on All U Can Eat Stake Nite at Golden Corral. She reached for him, lily arms shining like the moone and caressed his, like, really hott butt not hot cuz he's dead face... that was, like, diamonds... but also like a broken windshield cuz it was like, really dangerous And stuff.


 Bedward reached for her reachily, all hotness but not hotness. “But you no we can never be! He Who Shall Not Be Shamed is looking for us and will stop at nothing to find us and make us his own and do really bad stuff to us like get our hair out of our faces and make us wear colors and smile and go outside and even graduate high school move on with our lives and has been searching day and knight for us these many star-crossed loverly years determinedly and not stopping for fast food or Facebook or even the Jonas Brothers carrying kittens at crosswalks! ” we will never b my darling Bella he ejaculated!


 "_But Bedward, Ive lost every1, my mother died when I was born and my father used to beet me with electrick chords and he used too rpostitute me two his fishing buddys and they stole my bible and killed my dog and ran me over with a jeep  impala and burned my hare off with aseetyleen torches and then he married this aweful lady that sent me to a girls school of majic and the dArk aRts teacher molested me and was, like really creepy and stuff! Your all i have ! I cant live with out u!_


 But I could kill you like really easy! he growled manily at her it would be easy like breaking wind with my fingers he held hjis hand out and sliced up the air. Butt I love you to and i think ur hot and i want to b with u 4ever!


 “And as they held eachother, nipples hard against eachothers porslin chests tehre hares all perfekshun and blowing in the wind from nowear, winds of change and such on a Mountaintop of Sadness a big ball of thunder fell from the sqwatting heavins with a lot of vilet lightening fell on the ground nearbye. And a big crack shattered the earth like a headon colishun with a trane. And from it apeered the evil sorcerer, his fangs dripping yellow acid that sizled on the grond like drops of water on something really hot his knows was slits in his face that made farting noises when  he sneezed and snoring impossible. His face was white but not all hott like thares was because his was all lbue and red underneeth and just sick and pasty looking but not hott at all and his hair was all gone but not in a hot want to touch it kinda way at all but just gross like  


 **N**


**E**

**WAYZ**


*“i AM THE BAD MAN WHO WANTS TO STEEL UR HAPPINESS! He roars!” I AM HE WHO SHALL NOT BE SHAMED, MOST FOWL AND BAD MAN IN THE WERLD AND I HAVE BIN WERKING TO KEEP U A PART THESE MANY YEARS AND I AM BADS AND EVIL AND HAVE ICKY RED EYES  HE RAIZED HIS ARMS AND MAID A LOWD NOISE! AND I MUST HAVE U 4EVER HELLA FINE!!! AND SO I MUST KILL BEDWARD AND EXILE HIS DIAMONDY DUST TO SOME FAR A WAY PLACE IN THE SON OR SUMTHING!!!!!  *


 And I clasped my love to my heeving breasts, lcutching at him like he mite eva... evah... eva..prorate But I love  Bedward and only Bedward and We are mint to b togethur! And I love him so much that my chest hurtz when were a partand not togethur and stuff and u cant taik him a way like that cuz its just knot fare She erupted!


 And the rein fell down arownd us as we starred at eachothers, Bedward grasping me in his strong ripplling muscular arms that were like really hott and musculy and that he didn't have to go to the jim to get at all. and we were all wet and hour cloths hunged all over us but clunged to them wetly but hott and stuff. And, as won, they pointed they're wands at the Dark Earl Tromedlov and blew him a part with thair Atomick Wand Blast _Blastokukken!_


 and they lived happily ever after and had lots of money and really good sex a lot and every body loved them a lot and thair parents came back to life and they had a baby together taht, like, didn't hate them and stuff. and taht wearwolf guy with the grate chest showed up and they like maid thair baby merry him and tehy had more hott kids and sex a stuff and it was all good. and you shood reed the books cuz thair grate. butt mines almoast that good


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## moderan (Jan 28, 2010)

teh abuv storry haz a lot uv "and stuff" innit and anyway it's like, if u reed it, u will know, u know? So I'm liek, omigawd and stuff, u know? "Ejaculated" is speled curreckly, shud be sumpin liek edjackulated or just "came" cuz it's 2 edjicated-looking.
Kewl storry.


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## seigfried007 (Jan 29, 2010)

Terminal case of good spelling. Ugh :face palms:


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## moderan (Jan 29, 2010)

sort of a response to Olly's bad piece in another thread (that I wouldn't touch with a magnetic pole):

Weak Force


Dr. Polimus had built a new robot. It was supposed to be seven feet tall but once it was powered on, insisted on slouching dejectedly and moping about the lab while the good Doctor and his minions twittered anxiously about their projects and what would they do if he wouldn't stand up straight and what a waste of good grant money he was.
No surprise that the robot was depressed. I mean, what a bunch of nincompoops.
He probably just wanted better company.
Dr. Polimus stopped twittering for a moment and addressed the robot.
"Axxon XXVII, what exactly is your problem? Here we have spent a small fortune on your development and you repay us by moodily sulking. Why don't you start working on the problems we built you for?"
The robot only stared at him mutely, its photocell eyes reflecting the energy of its positronic processes.
The Doctor continued. "Let's try this. If FN = Gm1x m2 / D2, then FP = Gm1x m2 / (D - dn)2..." He began scritching on the chalkboard. "Then FP / FN = D2 / (D - dn)2...Hmmm."
The robot began to stand erect. 
"D2/(D-dn)2     =   (dn + Planck length)2/(Planck length)2 =   (1 + 10-20) / (10-20)2 =   1040"
The photocell eyes began to glow as the robot reached his full height. "FP=1040g," he said, grabbing the chalk and writing it on the board.
"Omigod!" exclaimed the good Doctor. "It only stands to reason!"


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## Gumby (Jan 29, 2010)

Oh that was soooo bad it was actually good!


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## Olly Buckle (Jan 29, 2010)

Why didn't I think of putting it here? took me ages to decide on file 13.
Never mind, check this out and see if you can find corm, compost and stamen.

   “Drugs squad, this is a bust”, the copper said to the lady gardener.
  “Anything you find here is a plant”, she replied.
  “Blooming likely story petal, you were grassed, we have been stalking you and staking you out for months, you’ve been twigged. Spooner check the greenhouse”
  “Nothing there but a red and gold chair sir”
  “Branching out into stolen goods eh, stowing thrones in the glass house, Spooner”
  “Oh leaf it out will you, you’ll accuse me of money lawndering next”
  “Don’t worry we will root about and dig up the dirt on you, don’t pretend to be lily white, we’re not that green, check the computer for dot com posts.”
  “Found these in a trunk upstairs sir”
  “Cor marm, inflorescence bulbs for indoor growing, look out, floret, she has a pistil”
  But the constable disarmed her. Said his mate “You are the best” “Amen to that said the sergeant.


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## moderan (Jan 29, 2010)

Don't know, Olly. I love me some Tom Swifties and puns.
Dot composts!
Mine makes more sense if you do the math...there's a multilevel pun there, having to do with the title (gravity is the "weak force").


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## anubis608 (Jan 29, 2010)

some of that looks familiar, but 1040 is a tax form. *shiver*


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## moderan (Jan 29, 2010)

anubis608 said:


> some of that looks familiar, but 1040 is a tax form. *shiver*


Yes...but the equation is 



Spoiler



the quantum limit of gravity. It has to do with the unification of the "strong" and "weak" forces.
Here's a link to the whole thing and an explanation, if someone really wants to endure it.


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## caelum (Feb 23, 2010)

I kicked down the door and whipped out my gun.  There were three bitches in my way.  I capped them all.  I ran through this room into the next room where there were at least a half-dozen more bitches.  I pointed my gun, pulled the trigger, and heard a muted click.  Out of ammo.  No matter.  I whipped out my bazooka.  I fired a rocket at the first enemy, who backflipped into the air to dodge it.  Too bad it was a heat-seaker.  He exploded gorily with much guts and blood and gore and blood.

The other five bitches whipped out their uzis and started pelting lead my way.  The bullets bounced off my metal skin futiley, for I am cyborg.  And not just any cyborg, mind.  I am _EPSILON R9000, THE SKIN PEELER._  My hands become spinning saw-blades of death as their bullets continue to do nothing.  I peel all five bitch's skins.  The very last skin I stretch across my metal carapace.

Ten more enemies pour into the room, having heard the commotion, but I look just like one of them.  "He went that a-way!" I bellow, pointing out the exit I entered through.  They believe my ruse and run there, thinking I was telling the truth, assuming I wasn't lying.

I go where they came from and soon find Big Boss Toriyaka.  I peel his skin.

The end.


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## Foxee (Feb 23, 2010)

moderan said:


> "Omigod!" exclaimed the good Doctor. "It only stands to reason!"


Ow.....that one actually hurt.


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## moderan (Feb 23, 2010)

perhaps a gauzy metaphor might help


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## eggo (Feb 23, 2010)

That was bad.

Ugly bad.


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## Matthatter (Apr 7, 2010)

Words cannot express how I felt at that moment, it was bad, i mean, bad. 

I thought this girl was sorta cute, like not hot or anything, but kinda cute in a way. Like when you look at all the stars in the sky, like yah they're hot but only far away, they are'nt hot for earth, their pretty. 

Anyway, stuff happened in class. I said something kinda dum, I admit. And she just looked at me like "Er... what?". Oh man. You know how it is when your really emberesd about something you did, and everyone knows it was dum, and ur face gets all hot and red, like a tomatoe when you heat it up?

So i thought id act all cool to play it off, so I casually remarked, "Ohh I just farted".

"That's disgusting" she coldly replied as she turned her heavenly face away, which then made her hair follow with the hair seperated like in pieces, like big strands of beuaty. 

"Oh my god it's only 1:17" I painfully thought as I scrutinized the round clock up on the classroom wall, on the other side of the room from me.

Tick-tock 
tick-tock
tick-tock

it went.

So I was feeling so stupid, but then it was even worse because guess what the teacher then said "Pop quiz!"

I was not ready because the subject is chemistry and chemistry is not one of my good subjects. 

I dunno how I did, because this just happened earlier today, I'm home now writing this, but I don't think I got even one right. Haha it was so bad i even thought "ohh well its' just a little quiz, no biggie" and started writing stupid stuff for my answers like "Gimme 24 hours and I'll get back to ya, teach". haha. 

Oh but worse was i was sorta in a better mood after playin round on my chemistry pop quiz, so i thought "well this is the perfect time to flirt with her, her the cute girl, not the teacher"! Class was about to end and tests were passed up to front students in topmost desks, individual desks not big ones like in grade school for teacher to pick up and put into one stack and nonchalantly toss on her own desk,not small like ours but normal teacher size; at the end of the day she'd pick up that stack and take it home and grade it, unless she graded them before leaving for home. 

Which she might do, i never asked.

So I got up and shrugged and slung my 2 year old dark blue backpack containing my history book, my 3 ring binder with paper for different classes and pens and pencils and even a cheap compass for geometry class and I slung it over my shoulder as I looked at her with a big smile and then asked her, with my smile a little less big because i was talking towards her, 2 or maybe 3 feet away, down a bit to her, where was she was at that point, and not just smiling all big (which is not possible to do while talking unless you want to look like a total dork)! I casually pondered to her, that princess who was still sitting down and I thought nervously waiting with passionate hope I noticed her, which I did definitely for I remember her sitting there with her hair all angel-like and her arms crossed and I thought it looked even more holier than a religious cross people carry around, which I thought maybe I should say, because girls seem to like that stuff--"Pop quizes are lame, huh? Did you do ok?"

I was so deep in trance after saying it, my heart raced like it never raced before when I spoke to other girls, even the really really hot girl in my geometry class. But I kept smiling all big and stayed calm as I see her very slowly roll her diamond pearl eyes with green pupils up at me, so surprised she could hardully beleive it was happening finally, our moment we both dreamed of for oh so many nights. 

I heard nothing but her sweet voice say "...I think I did ok..." and i felt nervvous first off because when she said it she looked so nervous but then her lips oh so kissable curved into mischievous smile like she understood just then secret of how i felt and how i knew how she felt all along and that her acting like she didnt really like me and sayin g im disgusting was just a game and fooled me not, not at all the least. 

I knew i looked so cool, so I began "well i'm not the smartest guy in the world when it comes to the chemistry of things, but there is one thing i know for sure"

then I pointed at her like slick, with my head tilted, it sounds stupid but it was pretty casual. I said "There is chemistry between us!" Then she looked shocked and I knew she fell in love with me in that moment and me too for her and i wanted to not ruin it and look good so i turned around and immediately began waliking for the door.

But then I heard the teacher's voice. "Bobby"

I stood cold it seemed to last forever i spun around and saw her and all other students in quiet classrom staring at me. then most kids started laughing in erupted laughter.

"We still have 2 minutes, stay in ur seat".

My face was so so red, oh my god. Like fire on the suns of mars. I took off backpack and sat in seat so fast, and tried to look nonchalant. I looked at my princess but she was laughing too, like hard, like the guys. I feel so hopeless.


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## moderan (Apr 8, 2010)

*rim shot*
bad stuff, Matt. Gotta like a story that starts with "Words cannot express..."


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## NathanBrazil (Apr 8, 2010)

It’s a day like any other day but it is today.

I feel a muse in my soft spot and begin to write.
“Why is this rose bud red?”
“She smells so pretty. Nuff said.”

. . .

Three days later.

. . .

I wondered to the store to get some bananas. Most and yucky but I find some really nice green ones.

“Why don’t you try the peaches?”

Her head is on top of the bananas but I don’t see her right away.
. . .

Now about the three days later, I found a twenty dollar bill. It says “Destiny is today.” I feel a very proud smile spread over my tired happy face. I go to the store to buy bananas.

. . .

She smiles at me and I wonder if she likes me. 

“I’m shy I say slyly.

“She knows my name.”

, , ,


“Why don’t you try the peaches.” Over there.

She points over there but I notice a dark mole under her left ear.

I don’t like moles

. . .

The cash register talks to me. “That’ll be twenty dollars”
Thanks. I smile and hand him my twenty.

. . .

I’m happy again and I want to write some more.

. . .

Three, days later I write, a, brand new story. I need; to make a lot; of money. - so I can eat.

The End


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## moderan (Apr 13, 2010)

Pretty hard to follow, Nathan.


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## NathanBrazil (Apr 13, 2010)

Maybe a sequel will clear some things up.


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## moderan (Apr 13, 2010)

And fixing the typos...."most and yucky"?


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## NathanBrazil (Apr 13, 2010)

lol - that was one of my favorites


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## Sigg (Apr 13, 2010)

rofl, why is this rose bud red? she smells so pretty, nuff said.  excellent.


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## vangoghsear (May 14, 2010)

Here is my attempt.  Too fun.  There are some great entries above.  I'll comment more later. 

409 words.

*The Mugging*​
He recalled the day he was mugged with vague, crystal-like, misty, lucidity.  He remembered that he was just leaving work at 6:00 or maybe it was closer to 6:30 or quarter to seven, but it doesn’t matter.  It was after dark (or slightly before dark when the sun is out of sight, but it is not-quite-dark-yet-sort-of-dark).  

He moved with cat like reflexes, but his cat like reflexes never saw him coming (how could they, they’re reflexes not eyes), but he came...he came all over him.  He began to hit him and soon he was punching him like those balls on a rubberband and he just kept punching and punching and punching him like those balls.  Boing boing boing, they go, sort of hollow sounding, but plastic, (not him, the rubber balls) he just went more of a boof, boof, boof.  

He recalled he felt the pain rising.  It rose gently like the stem of a flower, unfolding delicately through the surface of the earth to reach heavenward toward the warm caressing golden glow of sunlight, only the pain rose fast, not slow like a flower, and it was dark out, and was growing in fresh soil (if soil can indeed be fresh, after all it’s dirt that been around for like forever) like a rose which rose up from that soil, a rose which had thorns, but he didn’t know he had thorns, growing and growing till it needed to be pruned and he was just the one to do it.  

He grabbed his assailant by the closest part of his body and began to beat him off, his arm rising and falling, automatically, like a motion he did everyday, beating him off and beating him off until he was limp in his hands.  Spent, like a quarter in a vending machine, he knew he had to let him have it.  So with all his might, he fell to his knees and thrust forward and landed a final blow!  Again and again he landed final blow after final blow, finally he groaned and dropped, a bag of nuts hitting the pavement (a big five pound cloth bag of cashews), crashing to the ground where he lay clutching himself like this battered nut bag.

John stood over him and saw for the first time that he recognized the man, but he must of hit his head when he fell because now, he couldn’t remember who _he_ was.


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## moderan (May 14, 2010)

LOL...I love it. I hate it. I love it. Welcome to the mod squad


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## alanmt (May 14, 2010)

It is exquisitely awful! Yay!


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## moderan (May 15, 2010)

Did you put the net back in the water, Allen?


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## vangoghsear (May 15, 2010)

moderan said:


> LOL...I love it. I hate it. I love it. Welcome to the mod squad


 Thanks moderan.  It's good to be mod. :wink:


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## moderan (May 15, 2010)

I suppose that's better than mad, thought the two are not mutually exclusive.


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## Divus (Jul 1, 2010)

*Newsletter from Consensus Office*

NEWSLETTER from Consensus Office.
August 2020 cc EaBl

CONTROL OF HORSES ACT. 

From December 1 2020, the North Sea Statelet of Briton (NSSB) has been instructed by the United States of Europe (USE) that in future all horses ridden on public highways (which includes notional bridle paths and green lanes) will in future be subject to the laws of the Ministry of Transport rather than Agriculture. It is estimated that there will be 1.6 million horses to do the essential work of grazing grass previously reserved by cattle and sheep now that all milk, dairy produce and meat are being imported from the grasslands of Eastern United States of Europe (EUSE) previously known as Poland, Lithuania, Slovakia and the Socialist Republic of Ukraine. A civil servant resident in the Administrative Zone of London (AZLdn) employed at the Ministry will become responsible for incorporating horses and their riders into the Control Mandate of the Ministry (CMoM) which then will become responsible not only for the restriction on traffic but the restriction of movement of the Residents of the NSSB (previously known as the UK). 


OUTER ZONE TRANSPORTATION
It had been recognised by the Government of the NSSB that if residents of the outer zone could be encouraged to use horses rather than vehicles there would be no need to supply the outer zones with precious motor energy to the volumes currently made available. Horses are fuelled by grass which grows abundantly in the outer regions. Indeed grass is already a problem because if not consumed, this unsightly weed will grow to heights of 4 feet or more. Now that the husbandry of sheep has been made illegal because sheep can no longer be protected from the disease scrapie and the problems imported by ticks, which can only be eliminated by the use of poisonous substances unauthorised for use by the New Environment Ministry. Unfortunately it has been the sheep which ate the grass which must otherwise be harvested until the technology has been further developed to feed processed grass to humans. Experiments in green nutrition are proceeding well at the Government Research Institute on the Isle of Dogs It has recently been discovered that the application of brown sauce promotes take up of the new source of nutrition. It is foreseen that the new urea plants being built in China will by year 2025 produce a more palatable grade of TOFU (Total Ole Factored Urea) which together with the conversion of the old Polystyrene units to produce Synthetic Rice cakes should meet the populace’s revised nutritional need for 1500 k/calories per day. Alongside this programme, the Ministry of Health has reported that the programme of desensitisation of taste buds is proceeding well and that the mass of the proletariat will have been processed within the next 6 months. By year 2022, all authorised newborns will be injected at birth with a cocktail of anti-agents which will ensure that the New Subjects will never feel the need to smoke, to drink alcohol, to absorb most hallucinogenic substances. As a result the taste buds of newborns will never function nor will they have a sense of smell. Work is proceeding on controlling the sex drive of these new people in order maintain population control.


SUBJECT MOVEMENT RESTRICTION ACT
It had been necessary in 2015 to introduce restrictions on movement by the Subjects of the NSSB because of the need for counter terrorism and the need to reduce carbon emissions in the event of possible Global Warming. It has been readily accepted by the residents of the Greater London Area that the centre of the City of London is a much more pleasant if fewer people travel to it. There is an additional benefit to all Local Governments, for there will no longer a need to build roads or means of public transport. With the advances in modern computerised system residents can live work and play in carefully protected zones from which all undesirables including the sick, adolescent and unemployed can be excluded. A Chip ( known as the SMRA chip) injected into the back of the necks of citizens will ensure that only authorised personnel can live within any designated zone. The Chip screens the Subject from the continuous ultrasonic sound beam which is emitted by the SMRA tower erected on top of Brown’s Column in Trafalgar Square. This course of action has been accepted by Government because the Price Mechanism has failed to stop random access into London However all Subjects have been given the right to move throughout NSSB a total of 1000 miles per year, the calculation of which was made by satellite and recorded on a second Chip embedded into the citizen’s thigh.


CONTROL OF SUBECTS ACT - IMPLANTS
It is reported by the CSD (Control of Subjects Department) that the brain implants are proving to be an essential tool in the control of the populace. Now by the mere pressing of a button at a centralised station, control impulses can be sent down from the satellite to any subject who is seen to be behaving unsociably. State Control Officers already have authorisations to use their portable stun devices on any subject but it is necessary for them to notify their local control station of any utilisation within two hours. Interestingly the new control beams seem to have an accumulative effect, a delinquent once stunned will feel more pain on the second infringement however it has been noticed that persistent offenders seem to have lost certain faculties which may in the future lead to early Euthanasia. A trial unit is planned for staffing by overseas ( Non EU) citizens. These immigrants have no empathy with existing NSSB personnel so it is felt that existing legislation will be implemented with impartiality. Experiments are being conducted to see if these security staff need to speak English indeed would it be better for them to speak another language.
.
POPULATION POLICY CONTROL ACT
The introduction of Euthanasia has been an essential component of the new population policy. Now that the maximum working age level (MWAL) has been set at 80, the authorised retirement age has been set at 20 years during which time the subject is allowed to spend all of their accumulated wealth except for the mandatory incineration cost. Any married couple wishing to go to Eternal Retirement together can apply to the Ministry of Population Control for joint incineration, in which case the cost of incineration will be reduced by a 40% discount. Incidentally the new Euthanasian policies have been well received in that the uncertainty of Life has now been removed. The Social Propaganda Ministry is working on a new brand of religion under which any voluntary applicant for early Euthansia is assigned special privileges, This New Religion must apply to members of all Earthly Named Creeds without fear or favour or prejudice. It is proving to be a very profitable venture in that applicants are asked to donate a portion of their wealth as a gesture of Good Faith.
Nowadays with the advances in medicine there is no reason why any authorised subject (NSSBAS) should not live to 100. Those Subjects in Care (SICKOS) suffering diseases not responding to control procedures are nowadays isolated to the appropriate Environmental Disposal Stations (EDS). Those with bodily mechanical failures are supplied with artificial replacement parts either mechanical or biomechanical. The Centre for Biomechanical Research (CnBR) is managing to salvage more and more body parts from the Euthanasian Candidates. It is already possible to re-use thighs, arms and certain organs but reusing the brain itself is still proving to be difficult. It is not that the brains cannot be made to work, it is that the required element of control of the thought processes has not yet been attained. 


LIFE CONSOLS ACT 
Incidentally the new Life Consols are amazing machines. The SICKO is laid down on a table, a pad is placed over the heart, a digital finger is inserted into a long tube and a cap is placed over the head. The LC Operator presses a button and a print out indicates any and all failing processes and pronounces whether the Subject is within acceptable Life Consol Tolerances. A Life Consol Tolerance certificate is produced automatically and the Population Control Satellite is informed and all the information recorded therein. Any Subjects failing the Tolerance testing and not possessing a certificate when required to do so by an authorised official can be assessed for refitting and/or dismantling. It is the body parts from these subjects which provide most of replacement for the Failing Subjects Programme (FSB).


*Recent News*
The radical wing of the old Conservative Labour Party, is shortly to be renamed The Universal Governance Party (UGP). It is coming round to the idea that the population of the NSSB need no longer rise indeed the present level of 75 million must be allowed to fall. Now that 12% of the landmass of Briton has developed, it is felt that with the need for land for the use by toads, rabbits, wild birds and oak trees outweighs the need for land by humans who after all have fewer functions in modern day NSSB. In the days before Glorious Peoples Condominium of China (GPCC) made everything, it was indeed necessary for there to be workers but even office workers are now being displaced by computers and modern software. There is only a need for 250,000 thousand military personnel and say 1 million security personnel. With planned population policies and new medical practices, birth rates could be cut back and Subject Support Programmes (SSP) reduced. The savings in Government Pension Contributions would be ginormous if this reduced population figure could be achieved.


_To be continued _


PS And they thought Eric Arthur Blair was mad.

PPS I could not find anywhere else on the Forum to post this article, so I thought this would be as good a place as any. There is no humour, it is not science fiction, it is not non fiction, it is sheer honest gobbledegook. So why not post it here?

It is awful writing isn't it.


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## The Backward OX (Jul 1, 2010)

Others may disagree, but I say the overall _theme_ is *not* bad, and as such does not qualify for inclusion here. It is _very good_ writing, being just _so_ British, and with a few minor improvements could hold its own (just like Barry McKenzie) in a compendium of hilarity.


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## mgencleyn (Jul 15, 2010)

OMG! Lots of LOLz while rolling on the floor. This thread is publish-worthy stuff that you could put in a book and sell in bookstores to readers!


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## funnygirl (Aug 20, 2010)

The Adventures of the Nice Man and the Really Cool Girl

I went home.  I'd been at a fully sick party.  It was really fun.  I was tired so I went home and went to bed.  The next day I saw a really nice man. 
"You're the super cool girl from the party" he said lovingly
"Yes" I said cooly.
"I like you" he said with gusto.
"That's awesome" I said with amazment.
"Do you want to go our with me?" He said with questioning.
"Yes" I said with satisfaction.

Then I woke up and it was all a dream.
The End


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## Olly Buckle (Sep 3, 2010)

Then I woke up and it was all a dream.
The End, she said with finality.
Excellent, not too overstated


   “The only place that success comes before work is in the dictionary”  People say this and we do not question it, it is as if it is true because someone said it, this is not really a real reason why we should think it is true, there is no real reason why we should think it is true. Indeed we should not be misled into allowing ourselves to think it is true at all because IT IS NOT, it is a lie, untrue

   Think of all of the people you know what work hard, are they rich? Rich people never pick up anything what is heavier than a pen, I bet you would like to be like that, well here is the good news, you can and I can show you how
.
  Learning a way what will let you become a big time earner without lots of hardwork

  Look around about you, everything is written down. From the man what reads the news on the telly to the instructions in your MFI furniture pack, from the instructions on the cornflake packet to the words on the road signs. Everywhere there are things written down telling you how to do things or what to do

  People think writing is all stories and they can not do it , but you two can write! Simply by writing about what you know.
  Join the Olly Buckle 26 part writing course and you two could make big bucks without lifting anything heavier than a pen.
  What you get:-

  A personal tutor who will set you projects and carefully go through them pointing out all the bit what could be better and telling you what you could do.

  Help discovering your personal area of expertise*
  Help finding places to sell your finished work, lists of care homes for example if that is where your experience lies, we will tell you how to contact them and how to sell yourself for what you are really worth.*

  Help editing your commercial work ready for the market place.*



  *These aspects not always available, charged seperately from the basic course.


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## StrikingEagle (Sep 4, 2010)

Hi Sigg,

I especially like the little kid in this story.  You have some great dialogue here, funny actually.  You must have had fun writing this.  So I will try one, perhaps if I loosen up as this challenge suggests I might actually write something, terrible or otherwise.


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## StrikingEagle (Sep 4, 2010)

*Story of 2 soldiers (about 600 words)*

I just wrote what came to mind as it came. Let the thoughts flow. Nothing corrected or edited. 

Title: Story of 2 soldiers 

On a crisp September day orders arrive for our unit to move and march north to the front. 

I had been in the Marines for only 6 months and now war will force me to kill or be killed. I never thought of that when I joined. Just thought, how cool, that marine uniform and how women would see me in my spiffy dress uniform, especially with that sword. Wonder when you get that sword anyway. Maybe you have to kill someone first. Actually I want to kill my lieutenant. But the lieutenant may be the wrong person because the lieutenant got his orders to march from the lieutenant colenel, so the lieutenant orders the captain , who then orders the seargent All anyone does is order someone to march.

And now we march to war? .....

And now I march to war. No one told me to bring extra sox or a wool hat. This blasted helmet is giving me blisters. Someone told me I have a fat head but I don't believe them 'cause this helmet is too lose. Wonder if my buddy has any socks or a wool hat?

"Marty, you have a hat?

"Nope, I ran out yesterday.

"You idiot," I reply, sounds like you're talking about cigerattes."

Yea, well I don't have those either," Marty proclaims remorsefully. I know he smoked them all last night trying to fight his fear. Fear of killing, fear of marching for miles into the unknown.

Unknown territory, rocks ,trees,smells, sounds, and future. This road I am walking on is worn nearly smooth by hundreds of marchers ahead of me. Only smaller rocks and some sticks remain as objects I can discern, as we plod forward.

Plod. Not March. It has been 2 days of marching so far and I am so damn tired I don't give a crap who I kill. Maybe that's the true purpose of marching: get you so angry at everyone you can't kill you don't mind shooting someone you can. But I haven't heard any shooting, bombs, or rockets. Only a single plan roared overhead this morning going god knows where.

What is the purpose of all this blasted marching to what seems lilke nowhere? I have discovered marching lets you think too much. Think about where you would rather be. About what you hope you are able to do later. Yea, marching and thinking are partners like Marty and I. Problem is the seargent doesn't let you think too much. Won't let you get attached to your thoughts. Just when you're thinking of something spectacular, sarge decides to double time for a mile, The increased pace drives the helmet faster into my infected blisters prevent any thinking now. I can only focus on staying in sync with the column.

As the column snakes around a bend in the road, the seargent orders halt. We are ordered into the nearby terrain for cover and shelter for the night.

"Marty, over here. I think I found a decent place to rest."

"Yea, ok, wait till I take a leak."

"I need to find a place with more cover anyhow, this is too open," I reply walking towards a nearby clump of bushes. 

Ka..BAM. something explodes nearby. PFFFFttttt. Bulletts spit all around. Aaahhhhh, screams a voice, but no one resonds. Marty runs towards a rock near a brush pile and sees a body laying in the open. 

He is not moving. His right leg is gone. Marty slumps to the ground knowing his buddy is dead. No more marching. No more thinking. No more war.


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## Olly Buckle (Sep 26, 2010)

Bees make honey from nectar, the nectar is very runny and the bees work on it to make it not so runny. In the summer when the weather is good the bees go out looking for nectar and fill up their hive with it. When the weather is not so good and they have to stay indoors they can not do nothing.
 Everybody knows that bees are always busy, they work on the nectar making it into honey when they have to stay home in the hive. In the winter they get to stay home nearly all the time and the winter honey is very hard, summer honey is runny.
 Also the few flowers there are in the winter have to be very hard flowers so if there is a nice day and they do get out the bees only find hard flowers. They take the nectar home and stamp on it lots.
  We should all be more like the bees doing things at the right times and not lazing about. Then we could have honey.


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## Scarlett_156 (Nov 17, 2010)

This thread is like a book or something!  Seriously, give it a few illustrations and put it on the shelf, people would buy it.  There are so many good entries here it's going to take me two days to read it all.


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## Foxee (Nov 17, 2010)

It could always use a few more entries, too.


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## bearycool (Nov 18, 2010)

"yo man get that crap out of mah' face"
"Hey relaaax man, I'm only putting the slug on your face!"

the slug, it was a queer thing. You already know what it is, so yeah.... that means that I don't have to tell yeh!!!

"I said get it off"
"No"
"Yes!"
"no!"
"Yes!"
"No"
"No"
"Yes!"

"GOTTACHA!! Now you're going to take it man!!!!"

it was awesome, like being hit with a lot of drugs. Man it was awesome until he turned into a zombie.

"Oh my God, you're a zombie now man!"
"guhhhhhhhh!!!!"

man was he a zombie. I think the slug did it, or maybe it was because of Harry Potter in the far corner. I don't man!!!!!

"GUHHHHHHH!!!!

he picks up the slug, that fool was going to turn me into a zombie. Or maybe Harry, ah screw it!!!

"back up man, back up. oh my sweet mah baby!!!! NOOOO!"

and then there was a atomic bomb that killed everyone and we all became zombie dust. It was a awesome day man!!!!


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## Scarlett_156 (Nov 18, 2010)

Har!! =D>

This: http://www.writingforums.com/wf-cha...ting-competition-just-laughs.html#post1332198 is my favorite so far.  



> _Clomp! Clomp! Clomp! Clomp! _went Lightning's hooves on the stony ground.  _Clomp! Clomp! Clomp! Clomp! _went  Rhys's heroic heart, beating time with Lightning's clattering hooves,  as he held the reins tightly in one hand, guiding Lightning through the  dangerous and treacherous terrain with his manly instincts and his  superior horsemanship, plus the blessing of _Arestwo_, God of War,  not that he needed even a god's help because of his own surpassing  bravery and courage.  He held his magic shield before him like a shield,  deflecting the twisting grasping branches of the evil trees of  the  Goblinwood, which sought to restrain him, to slow him, to keep him from  the woman he loved above all else, the most beautiful half-elven  princess ever, Amberissa the Beautiful.


That made me lol hard.  There's something good.... er... bad, about each entry, but some of em are more making fun of the way people talk than the way people write.  Even so, how entertaining! 

The one about the two soldiers is also hella funny.


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## Guy Faukes (Dec 15, 2010)

This one is very personal to me. It tore me up a little inside to write... 
Hope y'all enjoy reading through this abomination, hehe.


 Grace Topher stood on the edge of the cliff. Her jet platinum heir is flowing wildly behind her. It is long, like her beauty and her beauty is very long. 
“Get down from there!” yelled her boyfriend Tom with urgency in his voice. He’s flapping his arms as a bird does trying to get her attention which he doesn’t have at the moment. 
“Okay.” Grace says with a heavy heart. She steps back but the ground crumbles underneath her feet. She looses balance and is falling, faster than the speed of light, she lost her footing and is falling. Falling Grace at edge of the cliff. 
“I love you.” says Tom tearfully, trying to help her up but can’t: she is too heavy and he isn’t strong enough. Tears come to her eyes too. “I love you too.” She says tearfully, tears that run down their faces and fall into the coast. Grace will be down there to soon. 
Grace falls. She yells “aaaaah!” all the way down.
Tom reaches out and yells “Noooo” as she falls down.
Grace’s identical twin, Nancy, is running up to Tom. “Tom, what happened?” Nancy’s red hair flows out long and her beauty too.
“Grace is dead. I will be too from heartbreak.” Tom says sorrowfully. 
“Do you want to bang?” Nancy asks Tom.
“Yes.” says Tom, happier.
The sun sets as leave the car they go home and bang.

THE END


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## ODaly (Dec 15, 2010)

Another entry for you guys! This was written a while ago in response to an earnestly-written, but nevertheless oh so terrible, story of a man named Blade Deathsword. So without further ado...

The Story of Blade Deathsword (Part 1, Section 1):

There stood a lone, dark figure in the wasteland expanse. His tattered trench coat flapping in the strong winds, except for a few seconds every now and then when the wind let up, because as we all know, winds aren't constant, unless you're considering the big picture, like in the cosmic sense, or a metaphorical wind. Around him lay the rotting corpses of the scores of desert raiders strewn like forgotten toy army men still clutching their weapons, while he stood victorious: a fully-poseable 8 inch GI Joe action-figure standing tall over the green plastic soldiers. An observer unfamiliar with this deadly desperado would've come to the conclusion, judging by the piles and trails of small-caliber automatic rounds and larger armor-piercing rounds that wound among the piles and trails of gore, as well as the deep gashes in the bodies, that there had been masses of troops on either side of the conflict, but as I said before, those observers don't know jack... or rather, Blade Deathsword.

By now, those same hypothetical observers, however, would've been hypothetically slaughtered by the raider's reinforcements as they stampeded towards Blade Deathsword. This dull-witted wildebeest herd was only Level 2 on this game of war for our hardened hero, and as you should've expected by now, Blade Deathsword goes way past 11.

Blade Deathsword nonchalantly (as there are few matters that truly spark Blade Deathsword's passions, and effortlessly slaughtering hordes of enemies had long since lost its flame) readied his sniper rifle and fired from the hip, because Blade Deathsword is too fearless to take cover, and too good to aim. Two enemies fortunate enough to be spared any of Blade Deathsword's prepared wrath fell, one in a headless clump, and the other, grasping at his throat, rolled in agony. The spray of blood washing back and forth over the ground like an automated sprinkler system, a particularly useless one, as there was no grass anywhere in sight.

The dusty despot fired round after round into the oncoming tsunami of ruthless baddies. A question flashed its way through Blade Deathsword's head, but was ignored and just as quickly pushed aside, mostly because Blade Deathsword doesn't ever ask questions. The question, by the way, was: why didn't these guys bring any armored vehicles or mechanized support? The answer was obvious though: tsunamis don't drive armored vehicles. This question did, however, spark Blade Deathsword's inspiration just as he was running out of ammo.

He reached his hands into his coat and around to his back to retrieve two Stinger launchers. Blade Deathsword didn't launch just any pair of missiles, of course. Each rocket, as it streaked toward the onslaught of raiders, loosed a barrage of smaller rockets, which were very similar to roman candles: not overly-lethal, but really nasty either way. Almost as nasty as Blade Deathsword: the only man who can kill over 400 men in less than 5 paragraphs and you wouldn't even know it. [Author's Note: this figure is reduced from the original to protect you, dearest reader, from having your mind blown.(No, I really am serious)]

Our most-afeared killer then opted for his two trusty assault rifles and, cradling the weapons like twin infants suffering the worst case of diarrhea ever recorded, rushed into battle, spewing death. Enemy fire zipped past our hero, whizzing like hummingbirds, or wasps, whichever sounds more like bullets; their aim, however, was about as effective as a drunken grandmother playing blindfolded darts on a speedboat (with either hummingbirds or wasps attached to the darts for the sound of course).

Probability is one match not even Blade Deathsword could best, and a shot scratched his cheek: a light, grazing scrape ever so subtly throwing off the ravishing symmetry of Blade Deathsword’s stark features and grizzled stubble. The raiders knew they were in shit deeper than the Marianas Trench. Well, not exactly, as none of them had ever seen an ocean and could therefore not fully grasp the complete depth of the shit they were in. Blade Deathsword drew his katanas and scanned the crowd for who had shot him. He quickly settled on his target beyond a doubt because Blade Deathsword doesn’t make mistakes and hurled one of his katanas at the man like a Frisbee, a very deadly Frisbee golf Frisbee made by Innova, because those ones are the best and they hurt the most when you get hit with one, and Blade Deathsword doesn’t settle for anything less than the best, nor anything less than pain. 

The raider, split in half by Blade Deathsword’s sword, toppled much like I would imagine a Jenga tower comprised of two pieces would topple. Blade Deathsword’s katana swung back like a boomerang and returned to his hand. Blade Deathsword’s menacing glare perfected by countless previous battles against countless previous bad guys, spurred the battle onward.


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## ODaly (Dec 15, 2010)

guy_faukes said:


> Grace Topher stood on the edge of the cliff. Her jet platinum heir is flowing wildly behind her. It is long, like her beauty and her beauty is very long.


 This one line really got me. Well done. I was wishing you had said that Nancy's beauty was long too as described her hair. haha


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## Guy Faukes (Dec 15, 2010)

ODaly said:


> This one line really got me. Well done. I was  wishing you had said that Nancy's beauty was long too as described her  hair. haha


 Tweaked it just for you man .

Your piece is great, it's like some deluded 16 year old nerd playing with video games and toys while writing about it in real time. Had some good laughs of embarrassment on his behalf.


If I write another one I hope to capture that certain elegance to "good" bad writing, lol.


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## bearycool (Dec 15, 2010)

Once upon of time death came to my door

oh he wasn't that emo guy, the guy's name was death. We boomed and banged a little bit and caught a few zzzzs. I woke up then to find blood everywhere. AND I MEAN EVERYWHERE.

And then I became a zombie.

I turn around in my zombie manifestation and got shot by a shot gun.

"BOOM HEADSHOOT," Death rang.

and then the emo showed up...


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## Johnathanrs (Dec 22, 2010)

The Poop That Took A Pee
By Leopold Butters Stotch

Douglas had to poop. His butt was all stinky because he had to poop so badly. There was a gross woman, named Rebica, who was sun bathing all naked and she was fat. Douglas walked up to her and said, “I need to poop” ok, Rebica replied, “I like poop” Douglas squatted down over the fat sunbathing lady and went poop. The poop sat there over Rebica boobs—looking like a wiener. 

Douglas watched his wiener, as the poop seemed to dance. A bird flew down and took the poop. The poop was on the run. Douglas chased it. Rebica followed, her fat belly rolls smelled delicious. The bird pooped out its eye—it was bird poop, and mixed with the poop that smelled like pee. They arrived at a mountain. “why are we here” Douglas cried, as poop came out his wiener, in a long thin strip. It was wiener poop, which is the grossest poop of all. The pee pee got on the woman’s leg, and she screamed, pooping out her boobs. So when the pee got mixed with the pop—it smelled like a butt. 

Douglas liked butt poop. But the poop had children and married Rebica. Douglas was sad, as a bird pooped falling into his mouth. The poop mixed with his heart, and his blood turned into poop. Pee got mixed inside his butt, and he peed poop from then on. Pee started liking poop. They kissed each other and started eating Douglas’s heart. They finished, and the poop and the pee lived happily ever after.
The End


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## InsanityStrickenWriter (Jan 11, 2011)

I'll rewrite a story from my youth. The class was all asked to write a story on whatever they pleased and then read it out, I decided to take the opportunity to be a jackass and wrote something along the lines of this:

*Happy Land*

Once upon a time, there was a happy kingdom called Happy Land. All of the happy villagers of happy land were always incredibly happy. They had happy jobs, happy children, happy pets, and happy houses. At the centre of Happy Land lay a city, named Happy City. In the middle of the Happy City lay a stone. It was called the Happy Stone, and all of the happy villagers of Happy City of Happy Land were very happy to be so near to the Happy Stone. 

However, one happy day, there appeared a huge Happy Dragon from the sky. The Happy Dragon flew into the Happy City of Happy Land and swooped down terrifying all of the happy villagers. The Happy Dragon spotted the Happy Stone and grabbed it in his happy mouth. He happily flew at a great speed back out of the Happy City, and to his Happy Mountain, where he happily guarded his Happy Stone.

All of the happy villagers of Happy Land could feel their happiness fading. They resolved to get the Happy Stone back to prevent them from losing their happiness. They arranged into a happy mob, with happy pitchforks and happy torches, and marched up the Happy Mountain to face the Happy Dragon and get the Happy Stone back. There was much happy fighting, with happy scars and wounds. The Happy Dragon unleashed a burst of happy flames and turned some of the happy villagers into happy ash. But it was to no avail, as the Happy Dragon was vastly outnumbered by happy villagers. The Happy Dragon happily surrendered, and agreed to give the Happy Stone back to the happy villagers of Happy Land. 

All of the happy villagers of Happy Land were happy again, and the Happy Stone was back inside the Happy City. The happy villagers forgave the Happy Dragon and built him a happy lair inside Happy City so he could share in their happiness. 
Happy End.


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## Richard.E.Craig (Jan 19, 2011)

Dear Watson I have just had a most horrific vision ! I was riding in the wilds of Transylvania on my trusty stallion Sparky when I came upon a most horrific scene. It was a man who went by the name Vlad . He had invited all the pole dancers of Romania to a pole dancing contest in the grounds of his magnificent castle in Wallachia . The prize was to be a chest full of precious gems and gold. There was however a cruel and cunning duplicity played upon these poor pole dancers , Vlad had organised a grand banquet before the pole dancing event in which he had plied all the contestants with copious amounts of Romanian Tuica , a potent plum brandy . When all of the contestants were well and truly schnockered , Vlad gave the order for the poles to be unveiled . A gasp arose from the corral of dancers as a forest of glistening poles was revealed before them . It was then that I noticed a most unusual feature , the poles had been whittled to a sharp spit at the top ! Vlad,s huge imposing figure stood menacingly at the head of the table , with the nod of his head a hoard of men with pales of goose fat came forth and began to plaster the poles with grease ! He then ordered the dancers to their poles . In a mass of drunken confusion I found myself caught in the surge that moved towards the dripping poles.  A voluminous hail issued from Vlad " Vei dansa pe partea de sus a polilor " meaning          "  you shall dance on top of the poles ." What followed shall forever bring tears to my eyes, Some of the poor hapless creatures managed a few graceful rotations before the soles of there bleeding feet slipped on the greasy pole with dire consequences . All around me a mass of little sequenced cocktail sausages whimpering in abject agony as Vlad looked on in sheer evil delight. It was at this point that I came over very faint ! My head was spinning like a top , I felt my feet begin to slide as I slid into unconscious oblivion.
It was for six long weeks that I remained unconscious ! When I finally revived I was most pleased to discover that I was in my own Baker Street residence , and there beside me was Doctor Watson with a huge wooden shaft in his hands , he said ; " I say Holmes , I had one hell of a job removing this from you arse ! "


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## Kyle R (Dec 7, 2011)

Behold! A tale of courageous cowardice, and of words, with spaces between them!

Once upon a time, there lived five brave knights in shining, clanking armor! Their armor was so shiny that whenever they walked clankily by, people would gasp and say "Great Heavenly George! That is some frickin' shiny armor!"

And the five brave knights, they liked all this attention. So, in secrecy, they would gather in the dungeon and rub Windex upon each other with a damp sponge, to get that extra sparkling glimmer.

One day, during their group Windex rub, one of the five brave knights named Goopy had a realization. "Shouldn't we be wearing our armor while doing this?" he wondered aloud. The other four brave knights, as equally naked as Goopy, pondered the seemingly obvious logic.

But this was not a time for pondering! It was a time of Dragons! And where Dragons flew, shiny brave knights were needed! (As sacrifices to appease the Lizard God, but don't tell them that.)

One of the knights named Geepy shouted, "Silence, Goopy! I've had enough of your 'maybe we should wear armor instead of rubbing each other naked' nonsense! Have you not been paying attention to the mysterious words of the post window? Now is a time of Dragons! We must do something, post haste! For we are the five brave knights in shining armor!"

His speech done, the other four naked shining knights applauded. It was a fine speech, after all.

Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to catch an alligator, using my finger as bait? Worst day ever.

And so, onward we ride, you, the reader, and I, the mysterious voice of the post window, and they, the five brave shining knights, now fully clothed and armored!

"Cometh, Dragoneth! I shalleth puncheth thee in thy faceth!" shouted one, in dubiously accurate Old English.

"Quickly, Gaapy speaks in tongues! He has been bewitched!" shouted another.

And so poor Gaapy was burned at the stake for having a lisp. He did not like the burning, and complained very much of it, much to the annoyance of the remaining four brave shining knights.

Their numbers down to four, the brave shining knights travelled across the countryside on their galiant steeds, which apparently they were now riding. Where the horses came from, and when the four brave shining knights mounted them, remains a mystery to this very day. Nobody knows! Creepy, huh.

But one thing was certain: they were four brave knights in shining armor, and they were on horses, riding towards the Dragon! Not even machine-gun toting Zombies could stop them! Mostly because the zombies were too dumb to operate the machine-guns. What fool decided to arm zombies with machine-guns anyway? Shoulder-held grenade launchers were obviously the better choice.

They rode and rode, and rode, and rode and rode and rode, and then they took a break, and played a game of tag. And when the zombies began to catch up with them, they hopped back onto their trusty steeds and rode and rode some more. Finally, they reached a giant cave.

The cave was massive. It was so large that the same people that commented on the shinyness of the original five brave knights' armor arrived, looked at it, and said "Great Heavenly George! That is one frickin' big cave!" And then they returned from wherever that had come, much to the confusion of the four brave shining knights.

Tired and hungry, for nowhere in this story is food ever mentioned, Geepy dismounted his trusty steed, and clink-clanked towards the entrance of the cave. He raised his sword into the air, jutting it like a magnificent leaf of spaghetti, and shouted, "Dragon! Come! Taste my cold steel as I plunge it into your fiery heart!"

Goopy raised his hand and remarked, "but how could the Dragon taste your cold steel if you're plunging it into his fiery heart? Does his fiery heart have tastebuds?"

The other two brave shining knights threw their shiny armored arms into the air and shouted, for the thought of a Dragon with tastebuds on its heart was so monstrously devious that it made them horny.

"This is no mere Dragon," one of them shouted.

"It's a tastebuds-on-its-heart Dragon!" shouted the other.

Suddenly, the Dragon beeped out of its cave like a delivery truck, blinked at the tiny, shining brave knights and their tasty little horses, and inhaled deeply.

Shouts and yelps erupted like oatmeal from a lightbulb.

"The Dragon!"

"The monster!"

"Great Heavenly George! That's one frickin' big Dragon!"

"Who ARE you people, and how do you get here?!"

And then the Dragon exhaled, spewing so much fire from its mouth that, if you saw it, you'd probably agree that it was alot of fire to be spewing from one mouth. Two mouths, maybe. But one? Absurd!

The valiant steeds and the irrelevant commentators remained unscathed, for the fire got bored and decided to go watch some television.

They ate licorice and danced the hula.

But the poor brave shining knights were burnt to a crisp, joining the fate of Gaapy and his wizardly lisp of a tongue. They had failed to realize that all the Windex they rubbed upon themselves so nakedly was highly flammable.

Thus, the warning label was born, and slapped in the rump by a doctor.


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## candid petunia (Dec 10, 2011)

^ LOL I loved that!


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## Foxee (Dec 16, 2011)

> Shouts and yelps erupted like oatmeal from a lightbulb.


And yea verily I am stealing this for my sig line. -eth.

I chuckled quite a bit through that, Kylemeister!


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## Punnikin (Dec 17, 2011)

I sat in my dark office with my feet on my desk and my gun was stuck to my chest. I played the radio quiet so I could nap a little, but someone knocked the door. I looked at the door. My name is painted on the door backwards, Dick Mistery Privet Eye. I saw a shape of a woman behind the door, and she looked hot. I yelled to come inside.
She walks in, and she's wearing red high heels. I looked at her upwards and down, smiling. 
I can't find my husband she sniffles, crying. I was waiting at home but he didn't come home so I came here.
What's a dam like you doing in a place like this? I asked.
She tells me about her old man not coming home, so I say I'll go find him. I put on my fedorah and check on my gun. Hang on I say and lean behind the desk to drink from a bottle until it empties. I'll go find him.
He works at the fish place down at the dicks she tells me so I go there. I walk around for a while looking behind boats and stuff and it smells like rotten water. I hear a noise form a dark spot where there aren't any lights so I run over there but I can't see. Then some guy in a trench steps out and punches my in the stumich really hard. I fall down and pucked on the ground and the guy runs away so I stop pucking and chase him down.
I catch the guy and he says her husband is in a warehouse at the other end selling stolen statues. So I go there and he's got a bunch of statues in crates and talking to a Mafia. I jump behind a crate and pull my gun out of my chest and shoot all the bad guys and didn't get hit one time.
That was ice cold, he whistles. He tells me he's a uncovered cop and he was trying to arrest those guys but they wouldn't buy the statues so he could arrest them. I tell him his wife wanted me to find him, so he goes home. I look at the dead Mafia guys. They look like dead birds, but wearing clothes. I smiled about that and walked to my office.
She was still there so I tell her her old man is at home now, so she pays me 75 smackers and left.
I sit down aat my desk and drink from the bottle again. Life is good for a privet eye.


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## Foxee (Dec 18, 2011)

Punnikin said:


> my gun was stuck to my chest.





> pull my gun out of my chest


Double ouch.



> He tells me he's a uncovered cop


That's drafty.

Loved it, Punnikin!


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## candid petunia (Dec 19, 2011)

> I looked at her upwards and down, smiling.


I smiled at that lol. Also like the mixing of tenses.


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## Punnikin (Dec 19, 2011)

It hurt to leave typos in it, and make a few more intentionally. It was actually more difficult for me to write that than to do it up correctly.


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## STAYCALM49 (Jan 3, 2012)

It was a dark and stormy night.  No, actually it as a dim and mildly warm night with a little rain, splash, splash.  I went to bed.

Fin.


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## Raptor980 (Jan 5, 2012)

*A Student’s Life is Hard*​Rain poured from the sky. If it didn’t stop raining soon, the fish would probably drown. When I say it poured, I mean it was a gushing river falling from the sky.
Wandering through the empty halls of the South American school, Josh made his way toward the front of the school. The corridor was dark and was only lit by a few lanterns positioned every fifty feet or so. He pulled the hood up on his black hoodie and nervously checked the time. 6:13 PM. 
‘Act cool. Just hide my face and walk past,’ Josh thought as he rounded the corner and saw two of his sworn enemies. He pulled his hood up a little higher to cover more of his face and looked away.
“Well if it isn’t Flynn?” Devin sneered.
“How much did you study today? You’ll never be good as us,” Nicolas joined in.
“Leave me alone guys,” Josh replied silently. He started walking away from them, but Devin’s hand caught hold of his hoodie.
“We’re not done with you yet.” Devin remarked.
“Let me g-“ Josh yelled but was stopped when a fist impaled into his stomach. He gasped for breath. His teeth were rattled loose when Nic’s other fist slammed into his jaw. His mouth filled with blood.
Devin laughed as he pulled out a long knife, “I promise this won’t hurt a bit.”
Josh went into a wild frenzy as Devin inched closer. He could see the horror on his face as he looked at the reflection of the knife. He opened his mouth to scream but, instead, choked on his own blood.
“Time to meet your maker Flynn,” Devin snarled.
Nic pulled Josh to his feet and held him there, “Goodbye little Flynn. Hope you enjoy the rest of your short-lived life.”
Josh opened his mouth to gasp as the cold steel entered his stomach. The pain was so horrendousthat his nerves went crazy.
Devin pulled the blade from his stomach and stabbed him five more times before Josh lost consciousness. He fell like a rag doll onto the concrete. Blood seeped from his open wounds and stained the concrete red.
Devin and Nic started walking off.
“All in a day’s work,” Nic laughed.
The two gave each other high fives and walked off into the dark.
They never did get caught.
*The End*


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## obi_have (Jan 6, 2012)

George could not possibly have known what was about to happen. Because it was unexpected. And in the future.


It didn't happen yet.


So when it does, I'll let you know, 'k?


Meanwhile, another guy named George was waiting. But for something else.


One time I was talking to this kid on the bus, and he said that the guy who got off at the last stop was named George. I don't know why he told me that.


Then the George who was clueless about the future saw the other George who was waiting and said, "Hey George, what are you doing?"


But I'm getting ahead of myself... you see... My name is George. And I've been waiting to tell you... your name is George too.


It's happened.


See, I told you I'd let you know.


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## Foxee (Jan 6, 2012)

See, Obi, now I'm kind of enlightened in a very confused way.


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## Kyle R (Jan 6, 2012)

"Kablammo whammo!" shouted the boy.

"Fwee fwee dapoople!" retorted the girl.

They both giggled. Because, she said "poop". Poop is funny.

They were playing a game, a game which had no rules. But I was losing, somehow, even though I was not playing.

I was on the couch, reading, in the dark, because they say reading in the dark is bad for you, but I thought, since they say all the food that tastes so really yummily good is also bad for you, maybe if I read in the dark, since it's bad for me, the reading itself would also be really yummily good, and yes, this is a huge run-on sentence, I am so, so very, completely, apologetically sorry about any inconvenience it may cause, because I know some people feel inclined to finish reading a sentence, no matter how silly it may be, just so they can know how it ends, because if they just got up and walked away and left, and never finished the sentence, then they might have trouble sleeping at night because the little voice in their head would keep saying "But what happened in the rest of the sentence? What did I miss?", and so they would end up tossing and turning, which is an expression I don't really understand because when I think of "tossing" I imagine something being thrown into the air, and so how can somebody be so restless as to throw themselves in the air while they're trying to sleep, surely that would be quite a skill indeed, a skill that you could probably make money on, if you decided to charge people admission to watch you toss and turn while you lamented over the run-on sentence that you never got to finish reading, and every time you turned people would grumble and complain, because they didn't think it was worth spending money to watch somebody turn, but then you would surprise them by tossing yourself gracefully through the air like a ballerina, or maybe, like a pizza pie, or like a ballerina eating a pizza pie, and they would all say "ooh" and "ahh" and "oh wow" and "magnificent" and "whew!" and "did somebody see a contact lens?" and "that tickles!" and "is this the line for free refills?" and the boy and girl would overhear and think that the crowd of growned-ups were playing their game which had no rules and so they would chime in to show how wonderful they themselves were at it, and they would yell "Kablammo whammo!" and "Fwee fwee dapoople!" and then giggle, because the girl said poop.

And poop, after all, is funny.


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## candid petunia (Jan 7, 2012)

You devil, you! You actually made me read that whole sentence!


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## Kyle R (Jan 7, 2012)

\\/

Sorry, Tinkerbell. I don't know what came over me. : )


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## SubjectWhat (Jan 9, 2012)

As I do from time to time when I need to clear my head I was walking along the beach one morning, smelling the smell of the ocean, and hearing the waves crash, and seeing birds flying around, and feeling the sand under my bare feet. "This is Nature" I thought. I stared across the horizon and thought about life, and how asignificant it is. Truly, it's amazing. And I get so uplifted by scene of purity. But then I had to pee and I thought it'd be most natural to just pee right there on the beach but there were other people around, so I was conflicted. I should just be able to pee right there in front of them but society makes rules so we can't, so we live unnatural, apart from nature (we pee in little artificial boxes). So I compromised and peed in my pants.


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## candid petunia (Jan 9, 2012)

SubjectWhat said:


> As I do from time to time when I need to clear my head I was walking along the beach one morning, smelling the smell of the ocean, and hearing the waves crash, and seeing birds flying around, and feeling the sand under my bare feet. "This is Nature" I thought. I stared across the horizon and thought about life, and how asignificant it is. Truly, it's amazing. And I get so uplifted by scene of purity. But then I had to pee and I thought it'd be most natural to just pee right there on the beach but there were other people around, so I was conflicted. I should just be able to pee right there in front of them but society makes rules so we can't, so we live unnatural, apart from nature (we pee in little artificial boxes). So I compromised and peed in my pants.


lol okay it was a fun read.


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## SubjectWhat (Jan 11, 2012)

:icon_cheesygrin: Glad it was enjoyed.


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## obi_have (Jan 11, 2012)

George tried to describe his love for the detective. Not that he was in love with the detective or anything like that: he just was trying to describe his love (his girlfriend) TO the detective, maybe I should have originally said 'to' instead of 'for'. George tried to describe his love to the detective. Yes, that's better. This way the detective would know what to look for when he was trying to find George's love.

"Let's see," began George, "she is pretty... pretty like a rock. And I don't mean an ugly rock either. She's not  like this rock that I found one time wedged between the tread in my front passenger side tire, at first I thought it was a nail but luckily it was just an ugly nail-colored rock that didn't flatten my tire. But she is prettier than that rock by far."

"I see," said the detective. "Is there anything else you can tell me about her?" The detective said this because there were many women who were prettier than an ugly nail-colored rock, and so saying that she was prettier than that didn't help him one single bit.

"Yes, there is one other clue that I know about," said George. "She was wearing my University of Washington sweatshirt when she disappeared."

"No I wasn't, you nitwit!" replied Martha. "I was wearing a black t-shirt and sweatpants. You never let me wear your UW sweatshirt."

George glanced down and realized that he was still wearing his University of Washington sweatshirt. It could not possibly have been on Martha. One of the properties of matter is that a sweatshirt cannot occupy the same space at the same time. That's basic physics.

"Right," George said, "That doesn't seem to make sense." He thought for a moment. "Oh! I know, here, try this." He took off his sweatshirt and handed it to Martha who seemed surprised that he was allowing her to wear it, then she put it on. "There!" George exclaimed. "That's what she would have looked like if she had been wearing it when she disappeared. You might want to take a picture of this for reference," he said to the detective. "Say cheese, honey," George said, putting bunny ears on Martha.

The detective snapped a photograph and then stood up to leave. "There is something very suspicious going on here," he said. "I can't put my finger on it yet, but I'll go get this picture developed and we'll go from there. Don't worry George, I will find your love and have her back in no time."

"Thanks, detective," said George.

George and Martha were arm in arm as they watched the detective walk back to his car. "I have a good feeling about him." George sighed.


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## wallacemarino (Jan 14, 2012)

Like a loud fart through delicate lace something was amiss. A Miss Jenny Newlove to be precise and she'd obviously had eggs for breakfast. I gathered my thoughts as the last of my lunch hurried out of the open window and merged with the curried streets below. 

"Will you marry me?" I spluttered., sending flecks of stomach lining to mingle with the chintz.

This at least got her attention, her chubby countenance rose to face mine, infused with a virulent apathy, eyes like a metallurgist's leavings. "Bugger O..."

Her enthusiastic reply was cut off by the phone ringing. She pounced on it like a demented leprechaun on the world's last pint of Guinness, but her face soon regained it's familiar patina of surliness as she passed me the cordless handset. 

"For you" she intoned, or should I say monotoned as she turned her limited attention back to her magazine. God this girl was dull, I just had to marry her.  She couldn't even be bothered to fake an orgasm, it was fabulous.  Breaking my reverie I pressed the grubby reciever to my foetid earhole, 

"Yes?"

A husky voice insinuated itself into my consciousness.

 "The cat is out of the bag!" 

It was headquarters.  My mind filtered a range of benign ambiguities as I searched for the correct prearranged response.

"The top has come off the mountain?" I hazarded. 

"The bus conductor has taken one in the double-entendre," the message continued.

"Erm, has he? Er right, okay then." 

Management's new code system was bloody awkward and I was going to have to look that one up. I fondled my discarded trousers and was rewarded with the small red book we had all been instructed to learn by heart. I flipped to the B section. 

"B, B, B, er, B, U, ah, here it is bus conduc.....Oh No!" 

The bizarre linguistic missive to which I had just been made privy had, it turned out, a single word translation - Duck!

  I let go of the receiver, making a valiant attempt to race it to the floor and just as my nose impacted the cheap cord weave, sending rivulets of sickening pain up through my forehead, I heard the window smash and several bullets sprayed the room. Covering my head with my hands I concentrated almost one hundred percent successfully on not soiling myself until silence fell.  Looking up to assess the damage I realized I was going to have to rethink my future romantic aspirations.  Most of the bullets had impaled themselves harmlessly into the nicotine yellow wood-chip, but one of them had taken a detour directly through the endearingly dull Miss Newlove's skull. As if she wasn't empty headed enough, what brains she had were now making pretty Rorschach patterns on the wall, so much for marriage!

I waited a few minutes before getting up to be sure I wasn't going to get shot at again, and whilst changing my underwear I came to the decision that it was time to find a new job. This door-to-door vacuum sales gig was just too cut-throat!


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## rubisco (Mar 10, 2012)

*The Ferris Wheel*

So quick intro/explanation.  This is a short story I wrote for one of my college writing workshops years ago where the assignment was exactly what this challenge is about:  write a bad short story.  So I took it upon myself to not only write a bad story, but also utilise some grammar and POV badly as well.  I pretty much wanted to write a story that a reader would, at the end (if they made it that far), throw up their hands in frustration and annoyance, but to also find it somewhat humorous in how stupid it is.  Enjoy?

 It was a dark and stormy night, and Jet could not get the plastic off the slice of cheese.

“By golly, this sure not is the opposite of being not very very very easy,” he said to himself. He hated when this happened. Or did he like it? He would get all excited over the slice of cheese, and then he couldn’t convince his fingernails, which looked like wood shavings from an ice cream cone, to get under the bad plastic flap, which was the means through which the process of opening the plastic went. 

He got frustrated and set the cheese on the counter and glared at it. It looked like an orange rectangle that somebody drew with a pencil and paper, and it smelt like blueberries, and it fell down whenever he dropped it, and when he thought of it, it really wasn’t like cheese at all, and even his mother’s sister thought so, but then again, her dog did, well, the last time he checked anyway, which just happened to be three Sundays ago. He remembered the conversation he had with the dog:

“It is just like cheese, isn’t it?” he asked the dog. The dog just sat there. Stupid dog, Jet thought. The dog looked like a cocker spaniel who had earlier that year jumped up on the Thanksgiving dinner table and had overturned the gravy boat. That did make a mess. The gravy stained the tablecloth in such a way that it looked exactly like someone had spilled gravy on the tablecloth. 

Jet all of a sudden snapped himself out of his train of thought, which had apparently jumped track because of boredom. 
Then all of a sudden, Jet remembered something. But wait, oh, he lost it. Wait! There it was again! Some glimpse of a memory. Oh wait! There it was again! It was . . . a memory, yes, but about what? Then Jet remembered: it was a memory about having a memory. Unfortunately he forgot what the memory was about. Well, at least he had one. Jet sighed in relief, or maybe despair, he just didn’t know these days.

Well, there was that darn piece of cheese sitting there on the counter. It reminded him of an orange that had been pulled through some pasta rollers, or run over by a steamroller, or been put out on the railroad tracks by some bored kids, or been placed on the road on the highway, or was sat on by a sumo wrestler, or was sat on by himself, he was kinda on the plump side. He bet himself a nickel that he could flatten an orange by sitting on it. \

He always made these silent bets with himself, and sadly, he lost most of the time. Last time he checked, and he checked rarely, he owned himself five thousand six hundred forty dollars and five hundred and two cents. He was scared all the time that he was going to send a hit man after himself. But the scariest thing was, no matter how many locks he put on the door, no matter how many guard dogs he owned, no matter how many restraining orders he had on himself, he always managed to find himself. This made him feel very vulnerable. For all he knew, he was poisoning the food that he ate, which was why he was trying to eat this stupid piece of cheese that was surrounded by a plastic wrapper. There was no way he could have poisoned this piece of cheese, which was evident by the fact that he couldn’t even open it. Ah, there’s the rub, he thought. The only security he could have was the security he couldn’t reach. He was willing to bet himself a whole dollar on that. 

A whole dollar it is! He thought excitedly as he scrambled for his wallet. He loved it when he made a bet with himself. The intensity of it, the exhilaration of it, the awesomeness of it, the goodness of it, the smoothness of it, the scent of it, the score it achieved on the Richter Scale of it, and to top it all off, it always reminded him of cooking bacon over a bonfire. 

Aha! There it is! He grabs his wallet and opens it. But he finds that it holds no money because he had just used it to buy the dumb slice of cheese. He tears at his wallet in frustration. Or maybe happiness. There’s only one thing to do, he decides, and with that he marches out of his door in despair. Or triumph. 

“I must go to the supermarket and return the cheese so I have the money to bet with,” I reaffirmed to myself as I drove to the store. It was rather windy today, I hated that. Or perhaps I liked it. It always reminded me of lighting a bonfire using a slab of bacon. 

The narrator explains to the reader that Jet returned the cheese, got his precious money back, but when he tried to return back home he got captured by terrorists and was involved in a huge twisting and creative plot, and Jet ends up saving the day. But it doesn’t matter because, as the narrator explains, Jet arrives back home with his money.

You walk in the door and sit down in triumph. Not only did you have a fantastic adventure, but you got to do something or other with some sort of terrorist plot thingamajig. You then prepare yourself to make the ultimate bet with yourself. A whole dollar! So a whole dollar says that the only security you can reach is the only security you can have. That sounds about right. The way the words stumble off your tongue reminds you of cooking bacon under a bonfire.

Jet all of a sudden realized that he had an epiphany two years ago. It had to do with realizing something or other. The word revelation came to his mind. That’s it! Jet suddenly realized that two years ago he had an epiphany about having a revelation! Jet thought about flashbacking, but even backpacking wore him out, and decided against it. Or maybe for it.

Jet all of a sudden got up and danced a jig on his carpet. His carpet was the kind of carpet that you usually found in such a situation. Not only was this carpet found in this situation, but it was often found in other situations as well. Lots of people think that carpet is carpet, and they would be right. For after all, is not carpet a universal truth or something like that? But most importantly, you can not cook carpet over a bonfire and believe for five minutes thirty five seconds that it was like bacon baking over a bonfire. Even though that some people’s bacon tasted like carpet, Jet’s never did. Well, except for that one time he mistook a roll of carpet for a pig. But that’s another story, well, not really.

But beautifully before Jet, the biggest bet in the bestest bowling ball balloon battle of the Betelgeusean Bonnet Brigade of Babies for Bottles, was being born on the bare bamboo bottom of the basket. In more complex terms, Jet was ready to make the bet. Or was he? He went to his buff bookie and bet his bet. His bookie’s name was Bob, which was not by coincidence, as three people might think. But in the end, Jet lost the bet, and now he owed himself one dollar more than he did before. Jet frowned. Or maybe smiled. Pretty soon he would have to send a hit man after himself if he didn’t pay up. He smiled. Or maybe frowned. This situation always reminded him of burning bacon beside a bonfire. But then something happened. 

The End.


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## STAYCALM49 (Mar 15, 2012)

A man possessing a blue coat who must be in want of something better, far far better than he has ever wanted in a far far better place to want something, must be in want of a tuba.   To be or not to be certainly wasn't a question anyone asked of him. So victor fallamaloo, (of Bristol origin), decided to spend the evening playing the said tuba.  Shame he couldn't play it though, so he made a racket. Or is it 'racquet' who knows.......


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## Walt1093 (May 19, 2012)

In the smoky coffeeshop. Supercop Blaze Winchester sat at the shaky, garbagy, piece of garbage they called a table. He stuffed chocolate donuts in his mouth and watched the breathtaking sunrise go down and wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked at the table next to him and put the napkin back down and brushed his perfect hair back and looked back at the donuts again and ate them. Winchester’s six-pack drew constant attention from ladies nearby, he stood up and flexed it fro them so they could watch. Flies flew carelessly above the messy, chocolatly pile of delicious donuts that still sat on the table behind them, Winchester stomped his sexy feet, killing all da flies, and making the ladies gasp in awe. He was the handsomest, smartest, and most nicest man around, and protected the helpless city of New York!!!!! 
“Oh Officer Winchester!!!!! Your so handsome and good-looking and nice and wonderful!” One of the ladies said. “May I come close to you?” 
“Go ahead, just because I’m so wonderful doesn’t mean that I’m not a person too.” Winchester replied. The coffeeeeehous aplausded. 
The lady sat with him at his garbagy table. She told him how sexy and smart he was and he told her that he was thankful to her for saying it and they talked some more about his time on the police force and all the awesome things he had done for the city of New York!!!!!!!!!! Just then, his assistant supercop, Peeta Mellark, busted through the swinging doors with wonderful news. 
“Officer Winchester, Edward is on the loose again, and he robbed the bank and took your girlfriend hostage!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Peeta screamed as he jumped up and down and his shodow bounced up and down against the walls as the sunrise went down. 

“Don’t worry Peeta, I will find Edward and I will kill him and take my sister back!!!!!!!!!!!” Winchester said. 
They headed out the doors, blinded by the falling sunrise. Edward met them in the parking lot, holding a nife to katniss everdeen’s throat. 
“I’ve got you now Winchester!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Surrender or I will drink of your Katniss’veins!!!” Edward screamed as he jumped up and down. Winchester could’nt see him because the moon was in his eyes. 
“No Edward!!!!!!!!!! You SURRENDER!!!!!!!” Winchester grabbed Edward by the throat, choking him to death. 
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!” Edward screamed as he jumped up and down. Katniss fell into Winchester’s arms, and began to make out with him passionately. Peeta began crying. 
“I thought you were MY girlfriend Katniss!!!!!!” He sobbed as he jumped up and down. 
“I’m sorry Peeta. But officer Winchester is so handsome and nise!!!!!” Katniss said. They kept making out. 
“Guess you have a point there Katniss, he’s so handosme!!!! How could you resist!!!!” Peeta said…………………AS HE JUMPED UP AND DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


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## bo_7md (May 28, 2012)

* DON'T READ IF UR NOT +18?? you have been warned extremely sucky stuff*
 =====Note to da editer============================================

 My back space don't work so ignore some stuff, ZOMG just noticed its da  button not my butt. and da names come up with squiggliy lines so i used  morse code for dem e.g mz gropesmeunderdatable didn't work =(, i learned  it when i did a tour in nam last year. WHO SAYS WE LOST.  

 but i diegrass, not rly i love weed. anyways.

 P.S ths is originally  where my mum wrote her shopping list here so i just wrote around it
 ======================================================================

dis is da ting u put on the front ------>Da princess andz da dragon.

 "Nay nay nay;" sayz princes --..- to her other princees who sat next
 "Why nay" saed the first one
 "Because -- potatos <--moms hopping --  i like da food court in thy castle better" said the 2nd one
 "QFT butt we been dere 2ice, lets mix it up, lest we get diharrea." said  princess 1 to 2--  2 to 1 one to da other

 "meh lets go, i'ma -----tampons----- send news to ready them for us, wheres ur pigeon txt room ?" sayz --.-.
 so da princess got lest, i know ~chicks meh~. and walked into da wrong room.
 inside she saw me, i was on m bed with a red flower in my mouth.
 she said, "Who u be, sir"
 and I said " I'M DA MOFO DRAGON!, oh bewitching princess" says me prince ..-..

so to make long story short, she turned out to be da maids daugther and i got crabs. gotta do the shopping.

happy ending

P.P.S---If you are picking covers pls spring for the hardcover its gonna be worth it i promise. I also added the story as attachment "Lovevirus.exe" don't worry its not virus.

------
Bo, 

I took the spring from the backspace button out, and won't be putting it back until you do the shopping.

Love, 

Mom.
---------------


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## Gerry_VDS (Jun 3, 2012)

Great Job everyone!!! I burst out laughing at all of these stories!!


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## Staff Deployment (Aug 31, 2012)

"NO!!" exclaimed Celestiawonder, who is a fairy, as her auburn, shining long blond hair gleamed in the light of the rising sun (but of course in her world the sun is actually the shining eye of a one-eyed cyclops that watches over the world). "All I wanted is my boyfriend back! Please give him back to me!!!"
"HA HA HA HA HA HA!" explicated Mordialloc the Murderer, murderer of fairies. "Your boyfriend is mine because I am actually your estranged father!"
but she saved him
and then she exposited "This is for being the best boyfriend ever!" the end


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## Vitaly Ana (Sep 22, 2012)

It is a challenge to be challenged but challenged I am. Write badly or poorly? It sounds like a scam!
I'll write about what I ate at eight and one and five. 
To write badly, so poorly. I feel so alive!
Green eggs and toe jam was breakfast for this man
Lunch had a punch of spicy tandoori
I am running out of time for this little story
(I have to wake up at six o'clocko)
But continue I might and continue I may
Dinner was a mean, lean cuisine 
Southwest Chicken I say!

So delicious and delightful was my food today
And tonight I wish 'lish and 'light upon all who read and write.
Goodnight, goodnight
Have beautiful dreams!


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## Fin (Sep 22, 2012)

Oh get out of here. ^ Making me feel bad and stuff 'cause I'm so bad at writing poems that if I wrote that, I'd be oh so very proud of myself.

Funny how you said the "Green eggs" part. The moment I started the poem, it felt like a Dr. Seuss book. The came along that line!


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## Namba (Sep 22, 2012)

Sometimes I sit and stare at the wall and wonder about things... like, how the world was made and crap. 42.
the end


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## Vitaly Ana (Sep 24, 2012)

Thanks Fin! Bet you're a much better poet than you know! And, yes that was Seuss inspired


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## J Anfinson (Oct 22, 2012)

Some of these are pretty funny.  I'll have to work on one, and post it when I get it done.


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## Foxee (Oct 22, 2012)

It's never too late for bad writing.


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## J Anfinson (Oct 22, 2012)

Foxee said:


> It's never too late for bad writing.



Should be easy for me then


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## J Anfinson (Oct 23, 2012)

(Just so you all know, i'm not sure I can write anything worse than this.  It took some serious self control to keep from hitting the backspace button.  But I can't because it's broke.)

I was walking down the street; and some guy stopped me; pointingto a chair he said to sit; so I shat in the chair; and he told me that Ihad to fulfill a quest; so I got started on it. I went into an alley; someonejumped me; and just like in last months issue of wizards and dungeons; whenlord vard laid the smack down on the green ghost; KAPOW! I hit him; and he fellback; but just when I thought I would escape; not now mom; oops; I didn’t meanto type that; but my backspace key is broke; I hate living in moms basement; surelythe publisher can delete this part; my mom says Im a great writer.
Anyways back to the story. He got up, like WASHAAA and hit me, and I said !@*&.  Literally. I said exclamation point, at, asterisk, ampersand.  I don’t like to cuss.  But I wasn’t beat yet.  I put up a counter force field projector, buteven that couldn’t overcome his anti gravitational laser beam.  PACHEW! PACHEW! He fired it at me.  I ducked, and pulled out my fire enchanted dagger!  Level 85 sucker!  Gosh this is so cool, this is like my beststory ever.  I bet Ill get lots of money,and I can finally get a new minivan, and a huge supply of acne cream!  But back to the story, I stabbed him with itand he hit the carpet, screaming like a gypsy on steroids.
ARGHHHHH!  THAT HURT! Hewhispered.  but even tho he was down, I didn’t want to take any chanses,so i beat him up, really, really bad.  

But was it really over? Stay turned, my loyal fans, for part 2!


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## Foxee (Oct 23, 2012)

Many great moments in this incredibly stinky piece of writing, I applaud you! "not now mom;oops" LOL! Lots of greatly horrible moments in this.

Scary thing is how often I've seen the 'ARGHHHH!' kind of thing done in published works. 

I hereby award you the Putrid Toad Award!

...Don't worry folks, that's not the only bad writing award... this thread can go on forever.


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## Foxee (Oct 23, 2012)

...


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## J Anfinson (Oct 23, 2012)

woohoo! i'm gonna put it next to my star wars action figures!


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## obi_have (Oct 26, 2012)

It was a dark and stormy night. I was sitting at the computer typing. My legs were stretched out in front of me and crossed at the ankles, right foot over left. The left side of my chair was feeling uncomfortable, so I shifted my weight slightly to the right, probably placing about 80% of my weight on my right butt cheek, and 10% of of my weight on my left. 

You might be wondering, "What about the other 10%?" Well, I'll explain. You see. I have legs. And while a lot of the weight of my upper legs would have still been resting on my rear end, the weight from both legs from about knee down, would have been supported by my left foot which as I said earlier was under my right foot because I was crossing them at the ankle. I suppose you could say that 80% of that weight (from my legs from the knee down) was weighing on my left foot which was on bottom, and probably the other 20% was on the right foot. But that is just an estimate, I didn't sit there and weigh everything to be sure, but you get the idea.

Then my right cheek was getting sore, so I shifted a little bit to the left. Instead of keeping my legs crossed at the ankle, I leaned forward and moved my right leg back almost directly underneath the chair. Now my weight was distributed much differently. The main places I could feel the pressures of gravity at work were on my left heel, my right big toe, and my left buttock. Oh sure there was a little bit on the back of my right thigh, that goes without saying, but it was minimal at best.

I have to laugh as I'm reminded of the time when my phone rang. My phone is located to my right, but my mouse is also located to my right. What to do? What to do? I couldn't just pick up the phone with my right hand (even though it would have been so convenient to do so) because then I would have to let go of the mouse, which isn't good because I like to click things. Even when I have no window open, I sometimes just click on the desktop and drag the cursor to the opposite corner of the screen, because it makes a rectangle shape. If you have no icons within your rectangle when you let go of the mouse button, the rectangle just dissappears. Well... I suppose it dissappears either way, but if there are icons within your rectangle, they will be selected when you let go of the button.

Anyway, I just answered the phone with my left hand, so I didn't have to worry about it. But that meant I had to reach all the way across my body, thereby placing practically 100% of my weight on my right hip. I say "practically" because I'm sure some of it was held up by my right forearm (and by forearm I mean all of the length of my arm from the elbow to my hand (which was gripping the mouse)).

This was difficult because as I mentioned previously, my right buttock was sore from all of the sitting I had been doing. So I told the person on the phone that I would call them back because there was something I needed to attend to. I hung up the phone and then stood up to releive the pressure from my bottom. Now My weight was shifted exactly 100% to my feet. I can say "exactly" because nothing else was touching the floor, or the desk or any other horizontal surface. I went to call the person back but I couldn't because they didn't tell me their name or leave a phone number or anything.

It was a dark and stormy night, but I slept well that night because of all of the excitement and rigorous physical activity that I went through that evening.


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## Foxee (Oct 26, 2012)

Obi! I haven't seen you in forever, probably because I haven't been around enough. Or maybe you haven't been around enough. Or maybe we haven't been around enough together. I dunno.


> I have to laugh as I'm reminded of the time when my phone rang.


I usually cry over my phone memories.

I am happy to see that you listen to your body, so many people don't do that and hence have no idea where they are, especially not what percent is where.


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## obi_have (Oct 26, 2012)

I haven't been around in over a month mainly because I've been so busy moving from Oregon to North Carolina. Just started a new job this week.

I wanted to write a story that was very detailed... because _they _say "the story is in the details". So it is. So it is.


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## Foxee (Oct 26, 2012)

obi_have said:


> I haven't been around in over a month mainly because I've been so busy moving from Oregon to North Carolina. Just started a new job this week.
> 
> I wanted to write a story that was very detailed... because _they _say "the story is in the details". So it is. So it is.


Hm! I always heard that it was the devil that was in the details, who knew? Congrats on the new job, that's great!


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## J Anfinson (Oct 27, 2012)

Obi, I'd like those two minutes of my life back.  You win.


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## Leyline (Nov 28, 2012)

"I am the Rogue Rider!" he called out, shifting his perfect abs to catch yet more of the golden falling milkweed sunlight that turned the world to falling milkweed gold. "Not for me the Riding of Order and Law, of Reason and Non-Crashing!" He looked vaguely tormented, as if the gas of hurt has passed across the stomach of his soul. "Nay! Backwards I ride, often, even sideways though that really pisses off the horse. Once I even let the horse ride me."

He pondered that last, soulfully.

"I think that was both our favorite."


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## Foxee (Nov 28, 2012)

Truly frightening, Leyline, truly.

I'm glad that this is one of those competitions that never really ends. Judging it would be severely painful.


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## dolphinlee (Jan 5, 2013)

I was reaching for the red pen within a few words. 

Repeated words, lack of punctuation, a dreadful line about gas passing across the soul.   AND A LAUGH.

Masterful


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## Saeria (Jan 27, 2013)

Billy the Squid Vs. Pokemaster Ryu

   Once upon a time in a galaxy fara far away (and underwater too) there was a very sad little octopus named willy who hated his name. All of the other fish guys called him wet willy cause you know... they lived under water (duh!). William the octopus went to fish school to learn how to be a ninja assassin if the deep but he didn't want to be all sneaking around throwing starfish and stuff. He wanted to be a cowboy. But not just any cowboy. A Squid cowboy!!!!! The problem was that he had two many testicles. Everyine know octopusses has 8 testicles but a squid has lots more. That means he can hold more guns and shoot more bad guys.
one day william the octopus said "screw this noise im gonna be a squid whether mom or soceity likes it or not. So william the octopus,  in his garden in the shade made 4 more testucles out if seaweed and glued them to his slimey body. He the went to china to buy lots of cowboy guns from the black market. When he came back wasnt william the octopus no more. He was billy the squid!!!!!!! 
One day billy the squid was walkjng around when he saw a beautiful barracuda princess. She was real pretty like katy perry except she s not all gross and bony and her hai was real and mo one autotuned het voice when she sang. Ok so she easnt nothing like katy perry. Anyways so this barracuda princess looked at billy the squid and said "you are cuter than the Hitachin twins from Ouran High even cuter than that a squid sparkly vampire or even cuter than a kilt guy in a time travel romance book. So they kissed. Lots. Tgey were all up in eachothers saltwater kool aid and billy was sure he was going to get to se ond base when suddenly a wild pokemon appeared.
 Billy grabbed the barracuda princess and held her real clise. Feeling theid hearts beat wildly as one. Suddenly a weird kid jumped out if the kelp and yelled "Vulvasore i choise you."her Billy wasnt as afraid as he tjought he was gonna be cause the kud threw a little dinosaur plant thing at him that kepr hokding its crotch yelling ow ow ow!!!
Billy pulled his gun out if its holder thingie and bang banged until the dinosaur floated belly up (theyre still underwater).
the weird kid yelled "i want that pretty fish pokenon and started throwing pokeballs at princess barracuda. I got real mad telling "hey thats my woman!!!" 
her.
Ryu. Oh yeah the kid is called ryu. Said "haha i have the best pikemon ever! Torchick i choose you." I loled cause fire is weak against water and i dicnt evdn have to shoot my gun at it before it too went belly up. Ryu got real mad and screamed oh yeah i got the bezt pokemin ever magikarp i choose you!!!!!'" The pikemon blurble and ryu told it to fight. It splashed butnithing happened. I git my gun out of the holder thingie again and pointed it at the magikarp. It splashed again but nothing happened so i filled it full if lead. Poketrainer ryu whited out and rushed to the nearest pokecenter. But not before paying me 800the yen.
princess baraccuda was so happy that the yelled "my hero."I gave here a big hug with all my testicles and gave her a long french kiss. He totally got to second base that night. 
And this is what i did in my sumner vacation. The end.


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## Staff Deployment (Feb 4, 2013)

Namba said:


> Sometimes I sit and stare at the wall and wonder about things... like, how the world was made and crap. 42.
> the end



(this is the phoning-iniest piece of writing i have ever seen and i love it)


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## ppsage (Feb 14, 2013)

Fellow Bad Writers

It being quite apparent from subsequent posts that my explication of the issues at hand and so as a most pertinent example take this from pete,

_if'n you write so bad, it's suppose to be good?
but if'n you try to write good, but it's bad, it's gonna be bad.
But some writin', even when it's written good, is still bad.
_ 
Obviously very much on point, but taking the more difficult path depending as it does on a reciprocal movement, when the crux must certainly be circularity. Bad writing can be essentially reduced to the circular. This is easily demonstrated.

Take any character from a major work, The Mule for instance. It’s not even clear that his foundational course through the galaxy is even closed, all even the closest reader can see is the parabola closing in on the sun, even then crashing out before landing. Yet all ends where it begins. Lessons here as Asimov is avoiding all the pitfalls in having written his great trilogies.

Even more central are the core of the problem as both ckm, who writes:

_chastisements, cautions, admonitions, explanations and qualified thanks,_

and Jon Jones with:

_ignore.  Here's my swing_ 

and of course Cacafire’s brilliant comment:

_second-hand when it comes to the pros_

point out with alacrity, which might lead us to a more definite and eternal example in the exploits of one Odysseus of Ithaca whose voyage is usually compared to the orbit of our globe around its star, and therefore circular indeed. (Often at this departure, the neophyte to this debate will attempt to substitute the example of Hamlet’s father’s ghost’s paternal offspring’s identity crisis, as did Stephen, which anyone of learning will recognize immediately as spurious due to its slight taint of the Gaelic.) Unless that theoretical (and therefore mythical?) component of its motion is placed into the truer context, to wit, the sun itself orbits the galaxy center at a higher velocity and the galaxy careens through the cosmos, with a presumed but unevaluatable circularity, making the path of the true Earthly motion identical to the shape of the mythic wire binding of Rasputin’s spiral notebook after it had been burned for warmth by the Czar’s sentries and trampled by the Red Queen’s zebras. Thereby getting it all down in black and white and returning to rest forever the spurious argument for celestial literary guideposts.

Which conveys us finally to Dru’s brilliant summation:

_i actually liked that..._

bringing as it does the whole semantic issue into sharp focus for how are we to know that liked doesn’t mean hated in modern usage or actually mean not so much or even and most crucially bad mean okay?

But it’s unfair to leave the readers, who are always, I believe, more properly and more respectfully, referred to as the nexus of equidistant points, with such disarray and despondence. Think of the author as the center of his illumination, riding in his circle, his halo, if you will, of light and then consider him striding through time and what have you but an actual temporal tunnel, like the twin tunnels being dug hundreds of feet deep along the banks of the Willamette River, by two giant exhaust fans named Lewis and Clark, to keep the effluvium of Portland from the stream and carry it into deserved treatment.

Take hope from the fact that even the master is not able to completely empty all utility from each and every metaphor.

I want to thank the whole cast for this marvelous opportunity and as always the fare is forgiven to all passengers and earnest inquiries into the ultimate destination will be immediately dropped with kid gloves.

In appreciation, pp.

[Posted someplace else I think, back in '08.]


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## J Anfinson (Feb 15, 2013)

It was a cold, clear stormy night. My friends had dared me to go into the old spooky house, so I descended the front steps with rigor. The old wooden boards that were nailed across the door had rusted it shut, so I broke out a window and climbed inside. Inside it was creepy. An old chandelier hanged from the roof, and while I was looking at it it started swaying back and forth. That kinda freaked me out, but I wasn't going to run like a sissy, so I climbed the stairs. There was a room at the end of the hall, and I opened the door. Inside there was some guy hanging from a rope. He opened his eyes. He told me to get out. Starting to think maybe I should leave, I turned and ran back down the stairs, and sailed through the window. I decided that the guys could call me a sissy after all. Boo.


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## moderan (Feb 15, 2013)

Cheers and raspberries. That is perfectly awful


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## J Anfinson (Feb 16, 2013)

I may not be Hemingway, but I'm pretty good at writing things that suck. :smile:


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## Lewdog (Feb 16, 2013)

J Anfinson said:


> I may not be Hemingway, but I'm pretty good at writing things that suck. :smile:



Vacuum.  :triumphant:


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## moderan (Feb 16, 2013)

Remora.


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## Erwin (Feb 16, 2013)

J Anfinson said:


> I may not be Hemingway, but I'm pretty good at writing things that suck. :smile:


Leeches.:drinkcoffee:


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## dolphinlee (Feb 16, 2013)

> Everyine know octopusses has 8 testicles but a squid has lots more. That means he can hold more guns and shoot more bad guys.





> princess baraccuda was so happy that the yelled "my hero."I gave here a big hug with all my testicles and gave her a long french kiss. He totally got to second base that night



Thank you Saeria

It was so awful I had difficulty getting to the end by the second quote made it all worth while.


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## Gargh (Jul 2, 2013)

*The Last Magic Tingle: ForNever After
*

It was the best of times and the worst of times and Angel (that was'nt her real name but everyone called her that because she looked a bit like a fairy) knew that something pacific was about to change. Her long red hair was like fire and her violet eyes were unlike anything anyone around her town of Doomsford had ever seen before. They were inherited from her unknown warlock father who had saved her mother from an evil king before disappearing in mysterious circumstances. Angel missed him desperately, especially sometimes when her dreams seemed real and there was no one else around with magic to talk to.

          Tad was watching Angel from afar. She had a sorrowful hair for one so young. He was knew to this town and had already heard a lot of things about Angle. Suddenly, a man came up behind him. 'Don't turn around' he ejaculated. Tad jumped. 'What do you want old man?' Tad hissed. 'That doesn't matter to one as old as me' he growled 'Nor should it matter to you young whippetsnatcher.' 'Who are you'?. Tad was getting very angry now. This guy didn't know who he was messing with. Tad was a super fighter black belt in his home town of Omensville and he was'nt going to let some old dude push him around.

          'WHo are you?' he cried, getting his fighting-grade tungsten ninja stick ready, just in case. 'I am you're future stupid and I have come to warn you not to talk to her.' 'Why?' he asked but the man had already gone. Tad turned around quickly, his long raven black hair (which was tied in a cue) whipping in the wind like a snake, and tried to see who it was. Their in the background was an old man, hunched like Nostradamus, hurrying away from the scene. He stopped once and looked back at Tad. His violet eyes flashed green sparks and then he disappeared. 'That was weird' thought Tad. He wasn't going to let some mad old monk stop him from talking to Angel, she was beautifull.

          All of a sudden, a thunderstorm broke out and the kings' horses cam riding down the cobbled street, almost knocking Tad over. Before he had time to recover they had snatched up Angel and ridden off. Her eyes met his in a flash of lightening. 'Noooooo!' he cried, dropping to his knees in the rain. Now he knew he had to do something - and fast.


*To never be continued...ever.*


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## Travers (Jul 2, 2013)

Gargh, that was truly awful... Well done  "whippetsnatcher"


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## Gargh (Jul 2, 2013)

Travers said:


> Gargh, that was truly awful... Well done  "whippetsnatcher"



Thanks. It felt like lancing a boil... had to be done!


----------



## Justin Rocket (Jul 2, 2013)

The wind blew over the wide, brownish field like a gust ofwind.  In it’s contrails were left pinkribbons of  fire – the kind my cranky fatherused to show me when I was a young 12 and we were practicing the 8[SUP]th[/SUP]sigil of Tvkranianian magick.  I gaspedas I lay there beneath the Bentley tree. The ominous omen could mean only one thing, Syriana the Beautiful hadstirred in her deep slumber and was awakening to an age of peace.
I drew the sword of my ancestors, whisperwind, and beckonedmy darling love to come beneath the tree with me.  In one last embrace, I whispered to her ofthe dread ominous omen, pointing to the sky, and told her to rush to town withall haste.  Then, I headed to the crackedcave of granite and obsidian within which we’d trapped the scaly witch ingenerations long, long ago.
Syriana the Beautiful was not called that because she wasbeautiful.  She was called that becauseshe was vain and, legends said, she could hear anyone in any of the nine planeswhen her eldritch name was spoken.  Shewas, in  fact, a brown skinned hag – thecolor of a toad’s underbelly smeared through mud.  She had eyes the color of red stones and herlips were the color of a purple field of witten grass.  The tragedy was that she had once been beautiful,before she’d traded it all away, unintentionally, for ancient magicks.  Now, she was known not for her lost beauty,but for her habit to devour small children. She was whispered about in hushed whispers to unruly children tofrighten them  into obedience.  In truth, she had not stirred from her rockybed for three generations – ever since the wydren elders had enchanted herslumber with the fruit of a povern tree.
Now, if the ominous omens were to be trusted, her frightful,accursed body was stirring ponderously awake once more.  As I drew upon the gaping granite maw thatled to her prison, my magic senses warned me that the ominous omens could betrusted.  The sword of my ancestors,feldspar, was literally vibrating as it sensed her dire damned demonishpresence.  I could hear her predatorybreathing and feel her burning eyes upon my presence the moment the shadows ofthe dark cave swallowed me.
I paused, praying that my eyes would adjust to the hellishpitch of the place before she found me and tore her iron claws through me.  Then, I moved further in with a prayer toAveshinalala on my quivering lips.  
It was a few minutes later that I heard a piercing scream asshe lept upon me, her taloned hands raised high to swipe the air viciously.  The sword of my ancestors, Valisina, wasready for her.  It pierced her blackheart with a screech and left her feet dangling like a pair of rotten danglingfruit burst open with foul juice spilling down upon the cursed cave floor ofher enchanted prison.  I sighed.  Finally, the curse was lifted from ourtown.


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## Gargh (Jul 2, 2013)

Justin Rocket said:


> The wind blew over the wide, brownish field like a gust ofwind.



Ouch! :hopelessness:


----------



## Staff Deployment (Jul 2, 2013)

Justin Rocket said:


> The wind blew over the wide, brownish field like a gust ofwind.



This is by far the worst opening to anything I have ever read in my life.


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## Apple Ice (Jul 2, 2013)

Gargh - 'Don't turn round' he ejaculated. 

That sentence makes me happier than I've ever been.


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## Justin Rocket (Jul 2, 2013)

Garrgh,



> 'I am you're future stupid



Am I the only one who thought, "wait, is his future stupid worse than his present stupid"?


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## Gumby (Jul 3, 2013)

Its gude to cee this wunderfull thred reviv-ed. And the tradishun ghos on...


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## Foxee (Jul 3, 2013)

Gargh said:


> ...that something pacific was about to change.


At least it probably won't mind.


> 'Don't turn around' he ejaculated.


If there really was a way to win this competition, this sentence might just do it.


> ...hunched like Nostradamus


From _Little-Known Facts About Nostradamus_


> All of a sudden, a thunderstorm broke out and the kings' horses cam riding down the cobbled street, almost knocking Tad over. Before he had time to recover they had snatched up Angel and ridden off. Her eyes met his in a flash of lightening. 'Noooooo!' he cried, dropping to his knees in the rain. Now he knew he had to do something - and fast.
> 
> 
> *To never be continued...ever.*


Thank you for that. Thank you with my most heartfelt thanks! If it were to be continued the world might wobble off it's axis and explode so I say that's a good call. There are just too many things in here that made me laugh.


Justin Rocket said:


> The wind blew over the wide, brownish field like a gust ofwind.



Another award-winner for this competition (if it really was one)



> Now, if the ominous omens were to be trusted,


Do not ignore the ominous omens!!


> my magic senses warned me that the ominous omens could betrusted.


They'll do that.

Truly horrible stench, that story. I'm glad I donned my gas mask before reading. 


Like Gumby, I am humbulled and heckcited to see storeys here again, it brings tears to the orbs in my head. Thank you.


----------



## Justin Rocket (Jul 3, 2013)

thanks all, if there's anything I have a knack for, it's writing badly.  Writing well is where I still need work.


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## Foxee (Jul 3, 2013)

Justin Rocket said:


> thanks all, if there's anything I have a knack for, it's writing badly.  Writing well is where I still need work.


It's good to have one accomplishment under your belt when trying for the next one! Best of luck.


----------



## J Anfinson (Jul 3, 2013)

I'm working on writing a story, (which was told to me by my uncle bob, (who i swear is the funniest man in the universe, (which if you recall may or may not have been created in a big bang, (I don't believe that, myself. I think space aliens engineered us from other species they picked up on their travels, (like maybe galaxy X, (or somewhere closer for all I know, (which I don't know a whole lot about space travel, (but I like to read about it, (like the Star Trek books, (I've read all 687, (which is quite a few I might add, (and by add, I mean to this post, (just so we're clear, (hopefully I'm making sense, (I don't all the time, (I've got ADHD, (which means I can't concentrate on anything, (not even writing, (which I think I'm pretty good at, (I'm like, the new Mark Twain or something.)))))))))))))))))))

I'll post this tale when I get it done, (I know you'll be looking forward to it.)


----------



## Foxee (Jul 3, 2013)

Looks like we'll have to consider a punctuation prize.


----------



## J Anfinson (Jul 3, 2013)

It takes effort to figure out how to screw up punctuation that bad, believe it or not.


----------



## OLDSOUL (Jul 10, 2013)

Hollywood has been known to twist real stories to make them more commercial. I feel it is my obligation to correct a grave mistelling of a story I was personally involved in. My name is Charlie and I'm here to tell you the truth about Willy Wonka and his chocolate factory. The national chocolate binges that ensued from the Gold Ticket competition Willy Wonka hosted invited and inadvertently encouraged children of previously immaculate health to delve wide-eyed into boxes of rich glucose-ridden chocolate bars, with hope that they'd fulfil their childhood dreams to wander around the blood sugar elevating castle, hand in hand with frowning, disapproving parents that would side-eye Mr Willy 'Kiddy Fiddler' Wonka, as my Father had deemed him, for an entire whole day. I was fortunate enough to find two tickets a hundred and twenty five chocolate bars in to my sticky, heart clogging endeavours. My dearest friend Thomas, who had already gorged himself on over four hundred chocolate bars since I spoke to him a month and half ago, was in a sorry state of defeat. I'd secretly hoped to see him at the preliminary meeting held at Mr Wonka's factory. Since I did not see him there, as I had expected from his grandiose endeavours to find a Golden Ticket and make history, fuelled incessantly by his parents inattention and their massive fortunate in the rug trading business. Left to his own devices Gus had set out with a smile on his face to win a Golden Ticket. He had contacted me by phone briefly a month ago to tell me he was going strong albeit being diagnosed with acute and irreparable diabetes as well as a heart condition that Doctors rarely saw in anyone below the age of fifty, let alone twelve. I'd never seen such dedication or such an adamant sweet tooth in anyone, so after the big tour I deemed it my duty as his friend to recount the days events at the chocolate factory to him in vivid detail. From the fruit salad wall to the raging chocolate river, as well as the child that was taken behind 'a secret door' by Willy Wonka and returned wide-eyed, his pockets bursting with everlasting gobstoppers. I put on my raincoat and trudged out into the East London rain. I found myself at his lavish front door soaking wet. His Mother answered. Her eyes were sunken in her skull and she beckoned me in, staring through me hollowly. I moved into the house. Her gaunt, ashen complexion paled under the dim light of the entryway. I made my way up the stairs to Gus' room. I heard muffled arguing come from behind the door. I made out a few words as I drew nearer to the door.


"Gus, stop. The competitions over. Gus, please, you have to stop, you're going to die."


The feint inflection of chewing emanated the thick oaken door. As I near the second floor landing the door opened and a man dressed as a doctor stepped out. His brow was beaded with sweat. He panted on the spot for a moment before noticing the small mousy haired boy standing at the top of stairs clutching the banister as if to keep himself up.


"Hello there, little boy," he said, his voice flecked with poorly masked anxiety. "I'm afraid Gus can't see anyone right now."


"Why not?" I asked. "Is he sick?" 


"Boy, you best turn around and walk yourself down those stairs and out the door. Be happy you won your ticket in the time you did and forget about Gus."


"I came all the way over to visit him."


The doctor pulled a single cigarette from his breast pocket and put it to his lips. He lent against the balustrade heavily and lit the cigarette.


"I'm being paid ten times my usual hourly rate and it's still not enough. I'm tired, kid. I've offered my sternest advice to you and that's all I have to say on the matter." He took a deep drag of the cigarette. "Do what you want."


I was slightly shaken by the words, but I'd spent too long in the rain and had been feeling slightly pneumonic the last few days from the cold weather coupled with the excess sugar I'd consumed over the past few months. Not to mention the central heating was a welcoming juxtaposition to the icy London streets. 


After the doctor had descended the stairs and disappeared out the door and I'd entered Gus' room I immediately regretted my decision.


There in the middle of mountains of chocolate bars and discarded wrappings sat my childhood friend, Gus. At least, I thought it was him. I barely recognised him for his enormous girth that had swallowed his king size bed. The sides of him sagged over it and onto the floor. I gasped audibly. He didn't hear me at all. His health had receded so badly that his diabetes had sent him blind. I watched him, my jaw hanging open loosely, as he shovelled chocolate into his mouth, not bothering anymore to search the wrappings for the golden ticket that had been his dream. The dream that had landed him on his deathbed. A feint beeping emitted from somewhere behind him. I noticed multiple drips the doctor must've been paid to set up coming out of his arms to combat the damage he was doing to his body. They pumped nutrients into him and kept his heart from failing under his great weight. They pumped the toxins out of his body and transfused his blood rapidly. In intervals, Gus would shove his fingers down his throat to empty his stomach before he kept eating. Brown vomit spilled out like brackish water and I realised the tide of his chocolate bile was lapping at my feet. My mind couldn't comprehend what I was seeing and I wavered on my feet.


"Gus! It's me, Charlie. You need to stop this." He couldn't hear me. He was lost to Willy Wonka's evil genius. Left to drown in his own chocolate river in his own chocolate factory. And that is the true story of how Augustus Gloop died.


----------



## MJ Preston (Jul 10, 2013)

It was then, not now, in that moment of utter despair, when the birds sang and the blood flowed, after the boys returned home, long before the powers to be pulled out their keys and their code books, that I realized, with total complete clarity, that my thoughts were set into motion by an alcoholic haze, not unlike Jimmy Hendrick's: Purple Haze, which by the way is not his best song, I actually prefer "Hey Joe." and from what I heard, so did he. Where was I? Oh yeah, the birds were singing, the blood was flowing and bodies were every after I came into this thread and saw the overuse, the undefined, a Mecca of exclaimated adverbs and run sentences peppered with typos and blatanancy and blisffullness. It was then as the birds sang, or maybe it was "The Byrds" that I loaded up my virtual gun and killed them all. 

Sadly, I now realize that this was kind of fun and there's no one here to read by post.

Sniff...


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## Gargh (Jul 16, 2013)

MJ Preston said:


> Where was I? Oh yeah,



Oh dear. How many times have I read that delightful conversational tone? And, unfortunately, how much do I recognise it from my NaNo attempts last year?! :redface:


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## Staff Deployment (Jul 25, 2013)

Dark Tides

Dark Tides
Break through the levees of my soul
I am DEATH
Darkness
_Darkness_
I cut myself to drink the blood
It tastes like DEATH


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## bookmasta (Jul 25, 2013)

Oh gosh a bad writing contest? I thin I would have this thing in the bag just by writing.


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## escorial (Jul 26, 2013)

Staff Deployment said:


> Dark Tides
> 
> Dark Tides
> Break through the levees of my soul
> ...




so bad it's good.


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## J Anfinson (Jul 29, 2013)

Once upon a time there was a man who woke up one morning. He got out of bed and put on his pants, then his shirt, then his socks, then his shoes, then he went over to his nightstand and put his watch on and grabbed his wallet and car keys. After that he went into his bathroom and brushed his teeth, taking his time brushing, making sure to use plenty of toothpaste, until his teeth were squeaky clean. He had a perfect set of teeth that his dentist regularly complimented him on, since they were so perfect. His wife was jealous of him for it, and sometimes spends hours brushing at hers, but can't seem to ever get them quite so shiny as his. He smiled thinking about that. 

In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and selected a container of low fat yogurt for breakfast, rather than cereal. He knew it would be in his best interest if he chose that instead. His doctor had warned him of the dangers of carbohydrates, sugar, and all the other sneaky things that manufacturers often put in store shelf items. That's why he preferred to eat organic foods.

When he left the house through his back door, not the front, he tried to hail a cab. It seemed like some days you could stand on the sidewalk for hours waving at cabs, yet it was like they didn't want to get paid. "Whatever," he thought. "I'll just walk." So he did. Before long it started to rain. It was a wet rain, and soon he was wet. "Why does it have to be such a wet rain!" he yelled out loud.

A beautiful woman came along, walking her dog. And he felt himself getting aroused. Because of the woman, not the dog. So he said to her, "Hi. You're very beautiful, and I find myself aroused by you. Would you like to go on a date with me?"

"I find you attractive as well," she said. "Therefore, I will agree to go out with you." He was pleased, and so he got her to write down her address, so that he could pick her up that Friday. Then he went home and ate some more yogurt and watched television for a while. Until the bomb went off and killed everyone in the city.

The End

***

Grocery List

Milk
Eggs
Cheese
Bread
Lunch Meat
Bananas
Ketchup
Flour
Sugar
Soup
Crackers
Chips
Soda
Laundry Detergent
Hemorrhoid Cream
Deodorant


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## Gargh (Dec 13, 2013)

^^ I'm hoping that it's just the fifty shades of mucas rolling round my head that's led me to a point where that actually looks quite good! Especially that last one. I've never felt so inspired Haemorrhoid cream :shock:.


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## J Anfinson (Dec 13, 2013)

Gargh said:


> Haemorrhoid cream :shock:.



What? How did that get there? That's a typo...

Hope this thread gets revived, some people are funny.


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## Gargh (Dec 13, 2013)

J Anfinson said:


> Hope this thread gets revived, some people are funny.



Me too. I've been bed-bound with a niggly virus and reading through some old threads to help me keep sane (what was I thinking?!?!?). This one is by far the best.


----------



## Foxee (Dec 13, 2013)

OLDSOUL said:


> "I'm being paid ten times my usual hourly rate and it's still not enough. I'm tired, kid. I've offered my sternest advice to you and that's all I have to say on the matter." He took a deep drag of the cigarette. "Do what you want."


A stirring cautionary tale about joining the healthcare community. A _tour de farce_ of gluttony.



MJ Preston said:


> It was then, not now, in that moment of utter despair, when the birds sang and the blood flowed, after the boys returned home, long before the powers to be pulled out their keys and their code books, that I realized, with total complete clarity, that my thoughts were set into motion by an alcoholic haze, not unlike Jimmy Hendrick's: Purple Haze, which by the way is not his best song, I actually prefer "Hey Joe." and from what I heard, so did he. Where was I? Oh yeah, the birds were singing, the blood was flowing and bodies were every after I came into this thread and saw the overuse, the undefined, a Mecca of exclaimated adverbs and run sentences peppered with typos and blatanancy and blisffullness. It was then as the birds sang, or maybe it was "The Byrds" that I loaded up my virtual gun and killed them all.
> 
> Sadly, I now realize that this was kind of fun and there's no one here to read by post.
> 
> Sniff...


I'm finally here and your words, etched in blood with tongue in cheek, are read even if you have passed on. ...You haven't passed on yet, have you?



Staff Deployment said:


> Dark Tides
> 
> Dark Tides
> Break through the levees of my soul
> ...


Oh! The depth. It's, like, deep. 
deep.
_deep_




J Anfinson said:


> ..."I find you attractive as well," she said. "Therefore, I will agree to go out with you." He was pleased, and so he got her to write down her address, so that he could pick her up that Friday. Then he went home and ate some more yogurt and watched television for a while. Until the bomb went off and killed everyone in the city.
> 
> The End
> 
> ...


You should call this *The Writing Notebook*. I have a few of them that look exactly like this, at least they might. I can't read the writing very well. But well done, the Grocery List contained much Truth. That's an award-winning list with the daring addition of controversial Hemorrhoid Cream. Well done. Now don't do that ever again.


*And as a nod of thanks to those who have kept the flame of Bad Writing going in my absence, I salute you with a new post! Consider yourself saluted, please put any drinks or food away and swallow before reading. If you don't, I can't be held responsible for the consequences.*

Ready? Off we go, then.

*Wind of Passion*
By _Anonymous I Swear_

He saw himself on the beach, alone, all by himself, with no-one around. A candy-cane sunset was like Christmas against the sudden glom of night when she came like one of those gushing white waves and walked up to him in a transparent negligent that fell down about her.​ ​ “You will be eaten by a dolphin.” Her arms were all about him​ ​ The moon was a scurrying baseball against the crystal-fresh bowl of night sky, promising. The wind broke on them. His eyes searched for the truth like surgical lasers getting right down to the brass monkey.​ ​ “I don't know about Alfonso, he said sulkingly, “you love him more.”​ ​ Her eyelashes fluttered heavily and her raven hair flowed away on the sea wind.​ ​ “That is only his pecs.”​ ​ “I can hold that against you but it doesn't have to change who we are.”​ ​ “You mean that we can really be us?”​ ​ “We probably are and therefore our love will never end no matter how long the earth goes, we will go on it together, hand in glove.” She stared, her misty eyes misty. “Forever,”  ​ ​ Waves crashed like a herd of wet doves against a plank.​ ​ “That is a long time!” He screamed​ ​ “At least Alfonso said he might commit!” She screamed to.​ ​ And tragically they were eaten by a dolphin.​ ​ ​


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## Gargh (Dec 14, 2013)

Foxee said:


> Waves crashed like a herd of wet doves against a plank.​



That is my favourite simile EVER. It's so bad yet so effective!

I'm wiping a tear from my eye now, in the hope that I too can some day be consumed by a wind of passion.


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## midnightpoet (Dec 14, 2013)

The door opened slowly and the dame came into my office.  She glided across the floor like winged victory on ice skates, except she was wearing high heels and you can't skate on them.  She pulled a box of tissues from her purse.  She wore a tight skirt and had legs that would have gone on forever if they hadn't stopped at...never mind.

"Are you Richard Dick, the private dick?"

I pulled a bottle of bourbon out of my drawer and two glasses.  I wiped the grease off the glasses with my tie and poured them half-full.  Not too full or too little, just right, because I was a half-glass kind of guy.  She took one of the glasses and hammered it down, like the kind of nine-pound hammer John Henry used to defeat the machine drill.

"What can I do for you, Doll?"

She blew into the tissues with a loud honk, like the honk of geese flying south for the winter after passing the Canadian border where they turned left and headed for New Jersey, scaring the beach-goers.

"It's my Sammy," she said.  "He owes 50G to Big Al the concert pianist, and he can't play.  Now Big Al has threatened to drop a baby grand on him."

I pulled my AK-47 out of my desk and started polishing the barrel with gun oil.  

"What do you want me to do?"

"Well, he already played him once, now he wants more."

"Doll face, you'll just have to tell your boyfriend what to do."

"And what's that?"

"Tell him to play it again, Sam."


----------



## midnightpoet (Dec 14, 2013)

I just realized the geese should have turned left, not right, and I'm not sure if that made it better, or worse.  Oh I forgot I can edit the post.  This is what I get for writing before I'm fully awake.


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## J Anfinson (Dec 14, 2013)

midnightpoet said:


> She blew into the tissues with a loud honk, like the honk of geese flying south for the winter after passing the Canadian border where they turned left and headed for New Jersey, scaring the beach-goers.



Sexy!



midnightpoet said:


> "Tell him to play it again, Sam."



Ouch...


----------



## J Anfinson (Dec 14, 2013)

Foxee said:


> *Wind of Passion*By _Anonymous I Swear_
> 
> He saw himself on the beach, alone, all by himself, with no-one around. A candy-cane sunset was like Christmas against the sudden glom of night when she came like one of those gushing white waves and walked up to him in a transparent negligent that fell down about her.​ ​ “You will be eaten by a dolphin.” Her arms were all about him​ ​ The moon was a scurrying baseball against the crystal-fresh bowl of night sky, promising. The wind broke on them. His eyes searched for the truth like surgical lasers getting right down to the brass monkey.​ ​ “I don't know about Alfonso, he said sulkingly, “you love him more.”​ ​ Her eyelashes fluttered heavily and her raven hair flowed away on the sea wind.​ ​ “That is only his pecs.”​ ​ “I can hold that against you but it doesn't have to change who we are.”​ ​ “You mean that we can really be us?”​ ​ “We probably are and therefore our love will never end no matter how long the earth goes, we will go on it together, hand in glove.” She stared, her misty eyes misty. “Forever,”  ​ ​ Waves crashed like a herd of wet doves against a plank.​ ​ “That is a long time!” He screamed​ ​ “At least Alfonso said he might commit!” She screamed to.​ ​ And tragically they were eaten by a dolphin.​ ​ ​



That had some of the worst similies I've ever read. I'm going to go scrub my eyeballs with bleach after reading that.


----------



## Gumby (Dec 14, 2013)

Awsome story, Foxee! I like story's about breaking wind.

Here is something I've been twerking on, feel free to critique or whatever.


*The Bad Man*


  He was the baddest of the bad,…he was really bad. That was his rep around town, the town he lived in. His town. But what could he say? It was true. He was a soldier of unfortunate and he worked for the highest bidder. One week he was on the good guys side, the next week he was on the badder guys side. It all depended on who was willing to pay him the moistest. But he had a secret, one that he kept hidden from the world, everyone, even his family, everyone. He really had a hart of gold he was a sensitive guy, deep, deep inside, in his deepest inside place, way, way, down there, deep. He was a deep guy.
   No one knew how much it hurt him to blow people away. The nights he cried himself to sleep, because he amembered all the faces of his victims. They’re cries for help, ecode in his memry, he herd them. But he still got up each morning, drank his coffee, and straped on his guns and went to work.
  Then one day, he met her. The womman who changed him. She let him know that it was okay to cry, she always cryed. “I love you, she said, I know you really have a heart of gold, I can see it even if no one else can, she said." He took one look in her eys and he knew it was true. He started to cry and he never hid it from her or anyone else, ever again. He was a senstitive guy and he didn’t care who knew it now, becuz she was always there to dry his eyes and sooth him. Now, no matter how many people he blew away, he never had to cry alone agin.She wuld always be there, crying with him and they cried together , happily ever after. Forever.

  The End


----------



## Foxee (Dec 14, 2013)

*Critical praise for Foxee's newest gust of inspiration, Wind of Passion...*


Gargh said:


> I'm wiping a tear from my eye now, in the hope that I too can some day be consumed by a wind of passion.


Just watch out for the dolphins and hold onto your hair. I'm proud to have given your life porpoise.


J Anfinson said:


> That had some of the worst similies I've ever  read. I'm going to go scrub my eyeballs with bleach after reading  that.


Happy to contribute to eyeball cleanliness! 


Gumby said:


> Awsome story, Foxee! I like story's about breaking wind.


Thank you! I thought it added a certain warmth.



midnightpoet said:


> She glided across the floor like winged victory on ice skates


Statuesque and slippery...


midnightpoet said:


> I just realized the geese should have turned left, not right, and I'm not sure if that made it better, or worse.  Oh I forgot I can edit the post.  This is what I get for writing before I'm fully awake.


It's okay, they're ambidextgeese.



Gumby said:


> Here is something I've been twerking on, feel free to critique or whatever.


I was so sidetracked by this I nearly forgot to read the rest of it.

*


Gumby said:



			The Bad Man
		
Click to expand...

*


Gumby said:


> He was the baddest of the bad,…he was really bad. That was his rep around town, the town he lived in. His town. But what could he say? It was true. He was a soldier of unfortunate and he worked for the highest bidder. One week he was on the good guys side, the next week he was on the badder guys side. It all depended on who was willing to pay him the moistest. But he had a secret, one that he kept hidden from the world, everyone, even his family, everyone. He really had a hart of gold he was a sensitive guy, deep, deep inside, in his deepest inside place, way, way, down there, deep. He was a deep guy.
> No one knew how much it hurt him to blow people away. The nights he cried himself to sleep, because he amembered all the faces of his victims. They’re cries for help, ecode in his memry, he herd them. But he still got up each morning, drank his coffee, and straped on his guns and went to work.
> Then one day, he met her. The womman who changed him. She let him know that it was okay to cry, she always cryed. “I love you, she said, I know you really have a heart of gold, I can see it even if no one else can, she said." He took one look in her eys and he knew it was true. He started to cry and he never hid it from her or anyone else, ever again. He was a senstitive guy and he didn’t care who knew it now, becuz she was always there to dry his eyes and sooth him. Now, no matter how many people he blew away, he never had to cry alone agin.She wuld always be there, crying with him and they cried together , happily ever after. Forever.
> 
> The End


Everybody now! "How bad WAS he?!" If anyone could change him, it couldn't be a normal woman, no! It would definitely take a 'womman'.

I cried. Forever.


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## Jeko (Dec 15, 2013)

Can't believe I've never found this thread before!

*Ewan*

His name was Ewan, and he was like the breeze that sits upon the snow on a frosty December morning of the annual Russian winter. His teeth were as white as the snow that sits underneath the breeze on a frosty Russian winter morning in the annual month of December. His hair was swept back like it had been swept back by the breeze that sits upon the snow on a frosty December morning of the annual Russian winter. His eyes were frosty like the winter that enveloped the breeze of the Russian snow on an annual basis. His fingernails were sharp like icicles hanging from the houses on a frosty Russian winter morning, hanging limply in the breeze above the snow, appearing annually.

He was black.


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## Gumby (Dec 15, 2013)

Oh Cadence! Your abjectives were supurbulous! I got the feeling of Tropical breezes and ilands when I read this, almost as if I was ther.


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## Gumby (Dec 15, 2013)

Foxee said:


> I cried. Forever.



Thank you! Forever. (your check's in the male)


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## J Anfinson (Dec 15, 2013)

Cadence said:


> *Ewan*



An outstanding example of pointless repetitiveness. I'm sure any agent would say, "Don't call us, we'll call you."


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## Foxee (Dec 15, 2013)

Cadence said:


> Can't believe I've never found this thread before!
> 
> *Ewan*
> 
> ...


Welcome! Glad you stumbled in. I see you wasted no time with this celebration of annuity and Russia. When I read that his hair was swept back like it had been swept back it caused wonder of a sort, like wondering. Congrats on a masterful piece of...stuff.


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## midnightpoet (Dec 15, 2013)

It was a dark and stormy night when the shot rang out and the Great Detective was puzzled by the locked room where he found a gold digger armed to the teeth and it was plain on the nose on your face that the corpse bit the dust and the body was still warm and he knew he had bought the farm but he wanted bragging rights but it was just a bump in the road so he burned the midnight oil until he decided to call it a day because you can’t have your cake and eat it too so he chewed the fat and come hell or high water he knew that crime doesn’t pay so to get to the bottom of it the then decided to go with his gut and get the hell out of Dodge.


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## Gyarachu (Dec 15, 2013)

I luve lurkign this thread. please tell me you've have all have read DOOM: Repercussions of Evil. If not, it is imperative that you need to promptly do so as ASAP as possible.


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## Foxee (Dec 15, 2013)

midnightpoet said:


> It was a dark and stormy night when the shot rang out and the Great Detective was puzzled by the locked room where he found a gold digger armed to the teeth and it was plain on the nose on your face that the corpse bit the dust and the body was still warm and he knew he had bought the farm but he wanted bragging rights but it was just a bump in the road so he burned the midnight oil until he decided to call it a day because you can’t have your cake and eat it too so he chewed the fat and come hell or high water he knew that crime doesn’t pay so to get to the bottom of it the then decided to go with his gut and get the hell out of Dodge.


I think that in every life a little rain must fall and you have crumbled the cookie by taking it to the next level where a penny saved is a bird in the hand!


Gyarachu said:


> I luve lurkign this thread. please tell me you've have all have read DOOM: Repercussions of Evil. If not, it is imperative that you need to promptly do so as ASAP as possible.


Have not! I guess I should do that, though! Glad you enjoy lurking here.


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## J Anfinson (Dec 15, 2013)

Wendy ran as fast as her stubby legs would let her. Only six months ago, she'd been taller, but then she'd shrunk. The vampire was hot on her tail, and it was whispering sweet nothings into her ear as she ran. There was no way Lara was going to slow down, not after what had happened to her boyfriend. She kept running, her feet slapping the ground like they were in a tub of ice cream. The werewolf was gaining, it wouldn't be long before it had her, and then what was he going to do?

She swung around and punched it. The vampire hit the ground like a sack of puppies. "I hate you," she screamed.

"But it's in my nature," the wolf snarled.

"I don't care. Go back to the haunted house you came from."

The creature stood and pouted. It new that it was overpowered by Margarette's fury. So the ghost flew back to it's house and scared children away instead.

Th End.


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## Gumby (Dec 16, 2013)

J Anfinson said:


> The vampire was hot on her tail



I hate when that happens. Poor Wendlargarette.


I found your characters to be multi-face-ted, lots of layers, many levels, great depth, as if there was no end to them, the levels, the layers, the facest. Very deep work, J. It was endless, really.

The end.


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## Warrior Monk (Dec 18, 2013)

midnightpoet said:


> It was a dark and stormy night when the shot rang out and the Great Detective was puzzled by the locked room where he found a gold digger armed to the teeth and it was plain on the nose on your face that the corpse bit the dust and the body was still warm and he knew he had bought the farm but he wanted bragging rights but it was just a bump in the road so he burned the midnight oil until he decided to call it a day because you can’t have your cake and eat it too so he chewed the fat and come hell or high water he knew that crime doesn’t pay so to get to the bottom of it the then decided to go with his gut and get the hell out of Dodge.



A masterful stream of consciousness. James Joyce would be jealous. Any more cliches and I would have had a seizure. Great work!


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## midnightpoet (Dec 18, 2013)

When you get praise for bad writing, is that a good thing or a bad thing?  Heh.  Thanks, anyway (I think).:grin:


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## Gumby (Dec 18, 2013)

> Originally Posted by *midnightpoet*
> 
> 
> 
> It was a dark and stormy night when the shot  rang out and the Great Detective was puzzled by the locked room where he  found a gold digger armed to the teeth and it was plain on the nose on  your face that the corpse bit the dust and the body was still warm and  he knew he had bought the farm but he wanted bragging rights but it was  just a bump in the road so he burned the midnight oil until he decided  to call it a day because you can’t have your cake and eat it too so he  chewed the fat and come hell or high water he knew that crime doesn’t  pay so to get to the bottom of it the then decided to go with his gut  and get the hell out of Dodge.



Oh how did I miss this little jool? I agree with Warrior Monkey, it was a real streem of stuff! I specially like yure masterful use of punctuation throout the peace. The beginning grabbed me and jus wouldnt let go of me until I'd gotten it all out of my sight. Grate work!


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## Foxee (Dec 18, 2013)

J Anfinson said:


> Wendy ran as fast as her stubby legs would let her. Only six months ago, she'd been taller, but then she'd shrunk.


I'm pretty sure this has actually happened to me.


> The vampire was hot on her tail, and it was whispering sweet nothings into her ear as she ran. There was no way Lara was going to slow down, not after what had happened to her boyfriend. She kept running, her feet slapping the ground like they were in a tub of ice cream. The werewolf was gaining, it wouldn't be long before it had her, and then what was he going to do?


This is a good question! When running from a horney monster who just did something totally unmentionable to one's boyfriend, this is what one has to ask oneself! While running, of course.


> She swung around and punched it. The vampire hit the ground like a sack of puppies. "I hate you," she screamed.
> 
> "But it's in my nature," the wolf snarled.
> 
> ...


I'm totally stealing this and publishing it elsewhere. Go me. No one can withstand a vampire hitting the ground like a sack of puppies!


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## The Tourist (Dec 18, 2013)

_“Do you come here often?” crazed mercenary Lance Ironstaff mused to the comely female replacement next to him in the foxhole.

The buxom huntress brushed back her diaphanous locks, then drew her compound bow back effortlessly.  A crisp release, and she deposited a broadhead into an enemy’s brisket while he was a at full gallop.  The bow had a serious draw weight, and she had led the target with practiced precision.  A good strong female lead.

“The name’s Skylar,” the archer stated flatly, “You got any rations with you, Slick?”

“Give you my last candy bar after seeing you make a shot like that, ”Lance quipped, “No breakfast?”

“I can’t kill on a full stomach, but scoring a point makes me ravenous,” she gushed.

“Scoring a point?” the mercenary spit.

“Yeah,” Skylar responded, “I keep score, it’s just a diversion.  The game is the hunger…”_

*Hey, what did you expect me to write?*


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## Foxee (Dec 18, 2013)

The Tourist said:


> _“Do you come here often?” crazed mercenary Lance Ironstaff mused to the comely female replacement next to him in the foxhole.
> 
> The buxom huntress brushed back her diaphanous locks, then drew her compound bow back effortlessly.  A crisp release, and she deposited a broadhead into an enemy’s brisket while he was a at full gallop.  The bow had a serious draw weight, and she had led the target with practiced precision.  A good strong female lead._


I'd make more comments than this but I'm too busy reading this and giggling.


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## Gumby (Dec 18, 2013)

The Tourist said:


> _“Do you come here often?” crazed mercenary Lance Ironstaff mused to the comely female replacement next to him in the foxhole.
> 
> The buxom huntress brushed back her diaphanous locks, then drew her compound bow back effortlessly.  A crisp release, and she deposited a broadhead into an enemy’s brisket while he was a at full gallop.  The bow had a serious draw weight, and she had led the target with practiced precision.  A good strong female lead.
> 
> ...




Wow! What an amazing strong female lead! If I were about 40 years younger, I could totally see myself being her. I've always wanted to be buxom and have diaphanous hair.  I have to give you points for such original dialog, the back and forth between the mercenary and the strong female lead was really scintillating! I had to go smoke a cigarette, that's how good it was, in fact, I'm still smoking as I type. Wonderful work, T!


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## Foxee (Dec 18, 2013)

I've tried to get my locks diaphanous but that seems to be the one thing that Pantene doesn't make a shampoo for.


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## The Tourist (Dec 18, 2013)

@Gumby and @Foxee, you weren't supposed to like it!  It's supposed to be "bad writing."

BTW, I must comment on the "strong female lead" remark.  The bow Skylar used had a firm draw weight.  To pull that much, you'd need a 'strong female.'  The guy she whacked was running.  When you shoot at something moving, you aim in front of it, this is known as "leading the target."  Hence, when Lance Ironstaff referred to the shot (not the female) he opined it was a "strong female lead."  Inside joke, obviously a bad one...

My wife read this opening.  Now get this, she thinks I should write YA!  She reasoned that in Disney cartoons, Walt inserted adult humor.  With my bizarre outlook on life, she figured I could write an interesting story for the kids, and lampoon the genre at the same time.


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## Gumby (Dec 18, 2013)

Well, you shouldn't write bad stuff so good if you don't want us to like it! In this thread really bad is really good!


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## The Tourist (Dec 18, 2013)

Gumby said:


> Well, you shouldn't write bad stuff so good if you don't want us to like it! In this thread really bad is really good!



How far do I have to sink if my lead is named "Lance Ironstaff"?


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## Foxee (Dec 18, 2013)

The Tourist said:


> @Gumby and @Foxee, you weren't supposed to like it!  It's supposed to be "bad writing."


You'd be amazed what we can like.


> BTW, I must comment on the "strong female lead" remark.  The bow Skylar used had a firm draw weight.  To pull that much, you'd need a 'strong female.'  The guy she whacked was running.  When you shoot at something moving, you aim in front of it, this is known as "leading the target."  Hence, when Lance Ironstaff referred to the shot (not the female) he opined it was a "strong female lead."  Inside joke, obviously a bad one...


BTW, already knew all that which is why it was funny! oo, if I already knew does that mean I can be a 'strong female lead', too? Seriously, I'm shopping for that Diaphanous shampoo next.


> My wife read this opening.  Now get this, she thinks I should write YA!  She reasoned that in Disney cartoons, Walt inserted adult humor.  With my bizarre outlook on life, she figured I could write an interesting story for the kids, and lampoon the genre at the same time.


Hey, stranger stuff has made it to the top.


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## The Tourist (Dec 18, 2013)

Foxee, I'm exchanging PMs with another member as we speak.  I had fun writing the piece, and I guess you don't have to like a genre to actually compose something.

I must admit that I'm getting attached to diaphanous Skylar.  This is going to draw flames, but I'm seriously thinking about writing a decent YA short story, just to get my feet wet.  I cannot believe I just said that...

(Don't worry, I have about ten inside jokes already to go!)


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## Jeko (Dec 19, 2013)

> Welcome! Glad you stumbled in. I see you wasted no time with this celebration of annuity and Russia. When I read that his hair was swept back like it had been swept back it caused wonder of a sort, like wondering. Congrats on a masterful piece of...stuff.



Thanks! I might do a paragraph about his chest hair next.


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## NathanBrazil (Mar 29, 2015)

*It Burns*
It burns and yearns.  The fleeting dove of my mind caresses the thoughts of my heart.  I light the match in the dark cave of my brain and wonder, where it all went wrong.

I am the light and the darkness.  Smell me.  Smell my sulfurous undulating thoughts that pulsate through my blood and out of my mouth.

“Hallo . . .” a disembodied voice shouts above me.   I am at the bottom of the pit – the hole that swallowed me up – a dilapidated, abandoned well.   “Hallo . . .”

My voice, scratchy and ragged, tries to claw its way out of my throat.  “Hello.”

“Someone is down there.”  Three heads merge together at the top of the well and form a white pulsing blob – my eyesight blurred from days of inconsolable weeping – the agony of solitude.  “Did you need some help?” they ask in unison.

“No,” I reply.  I hear the sound of retreating feet.  “Maybe a rope?  I was joking, you idiots!”

My friend the rat was nibbling at my feet again.  Or was I nibbling the rat’s feet.  “You are not my master, Rat Feet!”
My mind was swirling down the drain of despair again – toilet water.

Someone tosses a coiled rope down the well and it lands at my feet.  “I can’t move!  Please I could use some help!”

“No.  I don’t think so.”   Jesus flips a bible down the hole and says, “The lord helps thems that helps themselves.”

The rat is nibbling again – nibbling and niggling.  Maybe I have time for a little light reading.  The bible is just inches from my arm – bent at an odd angle that only pipe cleaner arms can bend.  I’d like my light bible reading now.

A light feels me hole. My hole. They haul my body out and it detaches itself from my withered, emaciated, whisper of a soul.  “Dude, that dude is dead,” says one.

“Yep,” says another.

But I’m still here.  Burning and yearning.


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## Gargh (Mar 29, 2015)

O-M-G! I never saw that coming!


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## NathanBrazil (Mar 29, 2015)

I owed Mod a new entry after this "bad" entry, which unfortunately was just bad and not bad with style.  Though, I did enjoy writing it.


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## Harper J. Cole (May 16, 2015)

Okay, I've given it a go, I hope that this semi-autobiographical novel speaks to you.

EPIC TALE OF SELF DISCOVERY

Chapter 1

Imagine! You've been sitting and talking, all unsuspecting, to a man for nearly two hours, when suddenly, with a cry of "Ha!" he tears off his mustache and fake beard.

Oh! Roger!

IT WAS ROGER!!

Chapter 2

A few hours before the events of Chapter 1, I got out of bed like a baby giraffe being fired out of the airlock of a space station that's orbiting Saturn at a height of 20,000 feet, and sprang to my feet like another, slightly older giraffe.

I looked in the mirror. Who did I see? Golden hair like the sun has, those blue eyes sparkling like the fountains in the mall I'm going to mention a bit later, a beautifully cute nose, but also an old nose that had seen the world. Lips like a cow.

I've accomplished so much, so what to do next? I bounded out of my window and turned a somersault while a crowd of people applauded.

CHAPTER 3

 "Who is that?" they asked, but they didn't know, couldn't know, *shouldn't* know, that I was really sad on the inside, like the Mona Lisa if you only scraped away the paint to see the real her.

Anyway, I went to the mall to meet a man who was interested in talking about what I might do about the meeting which was coming up about the situation in Eastern Europe, and as I went in I saw a pair of fountains sparkling like my eyes. A man sidled up to me; he had a beard and mustache. Yes, it was the man I mentioned earlier. We talked like a lighthouse and the tide that answers it, and then the bit I mentioned in Chapter 1 happened.

Chapter 4

As I said a hesitant goodbye to Roger - I didn't know him very well - and walked back home like Odysseus after his 12 labors, I realized that I wasn't the same person who had set off that morning. For one thing, I'd had a sex-change operation on my way to the mall, but it wasn't only that. I realized that we are each of us reborn each day; yes, each day is a new opportunity to be the best person you can be, and as I thought about my adventures, I realized that, yes, I had bettered myself today.

Chapter 5

 And so can you.


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## Gumby (May 16, 2015)

Mmmuuuwwaaahaha! This thread still lives!!!!!


Ummm, by the way... that was really, really, bad, Harper.


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## TKent (May 16, 2015)

Oh my. Never saw this thread. I am cracking up!!


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## midnightpoet (May 16, 2015)

As you know, Bob, when the Zenomorths attacked the Norad 3 station on the class 4 planet in the agua quadrant, there was a crack in the space time continuum that caused the universe to contract and the Emperor decided to crush the rebel alliance and discovered the planet of the elves attacked the dead star and wiped out the lost civilization that revealed that the Earth was really a ball of dirt in the middle of the cosmic ocean and we no longer can fight the evil Borons without the ability to sent the elite team of killers to wipe out the Corpuscles on the home planet of the Beckils.  

Bob:  What?


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## Harper J. Cole (May 17, 2015)

Gumby said:


> that was really, really, bad, Harper.



Aw, you're making me blush ... :redface:

midnightpoet, nice work! I can see that as the first part of an epic trilogy. Bob is a fully realised, three dimensional literary character of the sort we only see once in maybe two and a half generations. :thumbr:


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## Gumby (May 17, 2015)

Okay, I finally have time to dwelve deeply into your storees gents. I'll sturt wit you're's Harper.

Yur first chaptur wuz magicle in the way you surpized me! I never suspectid that it was Roger! Win my hart beet slowed down to a slow, slow, pounding, I wuz finally able to go to the next chapter. Whew!

You're metifour of the guraffes in chapter too, was masterful! And maid me look at guraffes in a totully noo way. Epic! 

Then, The way you woved in the planets, the moaning lisa and geography, not to menshun Greek mithology... man that just maide me want to blow my mind away! And the way you kept Roger in the story, was good. By the end I really felt like I didn't know him at all! Butt by the time I got to chaptur five, I  discuvvedr I had a really epic tail, even though there wuzn't a monkey in the whole story.


Midnitepoet:

I think that if you rerote this storee and added just a litle more detales to it, thin bob would undurstand whut you are talking about. itz really all about the detales, you know. Pleez don't give up, yu'll git there!


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## Foxee (May 17, 2015)

We have to make Thin Bob happy. Always make Thin Bob happy!

These were so. Good, I cried.


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## dither (May 25, 2015)

Hadn't noticed this forum until now.
I have something to aim for now.


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## midnightpoet (Jun 24, 2015)

"Hark," he said menacingly, his cheeks flushing like a thousand toilets that night in Verona when he met his dear Leica and told her of his love for table tennis but it was no good because he knew his words had no meaning in the forest of lies that he told when confronted by the terrible loss of words when he fell off the cliff of his desire and wept.

"You mean?" she said, her beating heart hot with confusion which lept like a faun in the wilderness of her conceit.

"No," he said, and they both jumped off the cliff together, holding onto the bungee cord of love.


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## musichal (Jun 24, 2015)

It was a dark and stormy night
It was - hark!  A swarmy knight!  She was a damsel in distress.
It was - hark!  A swarmy knight!  She was a dame selling his dress.  He crossed, to rescue her.
It was - hark!  A swarmy knight!  She was a dame selling his dress.  He was a cross-dresser.

He was the best of mimes, he was the worst of mimes.

It's too hard, cannot do it, I give up.
"It's not hard, I can't do it, I give up,"  he said to the woman.
I have rider's block, so sorry.


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## Gumby (Jun 24, 2015)

Now yure cookin' with peenut oil!


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## Gumby (Jun 24, 2015)

You kno, yuve got some rilly grate lines there! They are so grate that evin whin I clothes my eyes I can still see them! Donut give up, pleeze! Maybee if you culd just git rid of those pesky letters that are interferrring with thoze wunderfull lines, it culd rilly be somethin, musichal.


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## J Anfinson (Jun 24, 2015)

musichal said:


> It was a dark and stormy night
> It was - hark!  A swarmy knight!  She was a damsel in distress.
> It was - hark!  A swarmy knight!  She was a dame selling his dress.  He crossed, to rescue her.
> It was - hark!  A swarmy knight!  She was a dame selling his dress.  He was a cross-dresser.
> ...



That looks suspiciously like my own word document I have open.


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## J Anfinson (Jun 24, 2015)

"Do you love me," she said seductively while picking her nose. Whatever was in there was stuck real good. She was literally poking at her brains. I wanted to reach over and help but I was still reeling from the totally expected question. That and the three bootles of vodka I drunk before hitchhiking to this stinking town that was out in the middle of bfe. Th e intoxicating smells of her odor and her super friendly smile when she smiled at me makes me hunger for things. 

"Get down! Somebody screamed loudly. I woke up and went downstairs to eat some cereal. The milk was pretty good. After that I went shopping and came home with stuff.  I went to work and nothing interesting happened. So after all that I watched tv and scratched myself a few times before going to jail for the incident that happened on the way home. I spent 3 days looking at the wall in my cell. Some cracks went parallel to the floor and the longest was about 4 feet across from top to bottom. More cracks went up and down and sometimes my cellmate cried for his mommy. The toilet clogged and I had to unclog it. Then the lights went out for a while and finally I gotta go home. I went to bed. I tossed and turned. I dreamed about my sexxy princess again and woke up in a cold sweat. I went downstairs and ate some cereal and went to the store and came home with more stuff. Next time I have that dream I'm going to help her and see what happens.


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## musichal (Jun 24, 2015)

I could hardly read it through tears of laughter.   :rofl:


Thanks for the guffaws, J.


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## J Anfinson (Jun 24, 2015)

I could write garbage like that for hours. Does that make me talented or terrible?


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## midnightpoet (Jun 25, 2015)

J Anfinson said:


> I could write garbage like that for hours. Does that make me talented or terrible?



I don't know, but if you could translate that talent to scriptwriting you'd do great in Hollywood.:cool2:


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## Gumby (Jun 25, 2015)

Thatz just the kind of sotree I like, J, Actshun packed with a leetle romance thrown in.


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## Harper J. Cole (Jun 25, 2015)

Midnightpoet,

One word: movie franchise. :thumbr:

Musichal,

I appreciate you showing us where you'd erased lines. It gives an incite into how the creative mind operates for those of us who aren't touched with genius-level creative genius. 8)

J Anfinson,

That was an in-depth examination of the human condition, as you invite us to wonder how the story would have gone if you had, indeed, picked that woman's nose. After reading it I thought a lot about the choices I've made in *my* life. Then I started sobbing.


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## J Anfinson (Jun 25, 2015)

I'm happy you understand the hidden meanings, HarperCole. I sure don't.


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## Harper J. Cole (Jun 26, 2015)

Okay, this next magnum opus is based on a true story; the only things changed are the names of the people concerned and the events that happened to them.

One aspect that I'm particularly pleased with is the twist ending, in which it's revealed that the first person narrator is actually a woman, and not a man as I imply throughout. I'll be interested to find out whether any of you see that little bombshell coming (spoilers).

Oh, and please be warned, *this story is highly erotic.* 

Enjoy ...

*Lo, For Tis Not My Heart Rent In Twain Like Glittering Moons in The Bosom Of The Night*

Chapter 1

It was a fine English summer morning in early January. I had finished my work at the bank and was enjoying a walk back home through the cruel, driving rain when I saw her.

Yes. I saw ... *her*.

Chapter 2

She was sitting on a park bench amongst the Autumn leaves, bathed in moonlight. She had a face like a million dollars, if that amount of money had been shaped into the form of an extremely attractive female face, possibly by a modern artist who wished to comment on the decadence of western civilisation or whatever. Ah, the woman just breathed class. She also bled sophistication and sweated glamour, and when she sneezed - Oh! When she sneezed! - fountains of liquid gold burst from her nose, glistening in the rays of the sun like a myriad tiny angels notching arrows to their bows of love and piercing my heart again and again until it got boring.

Chapter 3

She ovulated to her feet and OMG, she was looking right at me, with eyes which I can only describe as globular organs of sight.

"Hi there," she began sexily, "how are you doing on this fine

Chapter 4

day?"

I stroked my beard and decided to take control. "You have ... a *magnificent*... ass'

"Thank you," she said, stroking the animal's grey muzzle and feeding him a carrot. "He's actually a mule, not an ass. Verily, sirrah, yon beast of burden hath sojourned withst me on many a perilous voyage betwixt twain points. I call him Mr. Flibble-Flobble."

My heart was pounding at this unsubtle come-get-me line. It was now or never.

 I flung aside my briefcase - the papers within, on drab subjects like European Federalism and mortgage sharing agreements, flew out and scattered on the October wind, metaphorically showing how I was rejecting my old, dull life and embracing a new one full of heart-metamorphosing adventure, and one of the pages happened to land on the front windshield of someone's car, which unfortunately made him swerve off the road and hit a tree, killing the Bulgarian Ambassador to England (who was his passenger), and sending our two nations into a bloody war that ultimately dragged in other countries like America and China, and eventually the entire human species was wiped out, except for a group of scientists who had been stationed in Antarctica, and even they suffered strange mutations because of the fallout, with half of them sprouting four spindly legs from their sides and becoming a cruel race of spider people who enslaved the regular people until one man led an uprising, but it failed and he and all his followers were put to death, and the spider people's reign of terror went on and on until the Sun took pity on the Earth and sent a solar flare to wipe the whole planet out - and kissed her.

Chapter 5


Later that day, after engaging in intense bedroom action!!, we lay in each other's arms, and she leaned over and whispered into my ear that she was a tentacled monster from Planet Z, who had temporarily taken on human form so that she could get close enough to me to suck my brains out through my ears, which she then did.

And that, my dear friends, was the end of me ... the end of Captain Esmeralda Del Potro, lady detective and Space Adventurer!!!!


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## Gumby (Jun 26, 2015)

My God! That was an epic orifice! I really appresheate that you kept the iddentitties unbosomed, until 'She' had ovulated on her feet, or, tentacles, as the case maybe. I could almost see her globbyer orgasmics of site! It was that good! 

Can you say seeequail?


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## Harper J. Cole (Jun 27, 2015)

Yes, thank you, a sequel is in the works; it will open with the revelation that everything that happened in part 1 was a dream. An example of the outside-the-box thinking which makes me a truly great author. 8)


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## musichal (Jun 27, 2015)

The cliffhanger from chapt 3 to 4 was the climax of the story for me.  Everything after was anticlimaxic


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## Gumby (Jun 27, 2015)

Yes, I almost quit reeding it aftur that. It'z hard enuff to wait for the new seeson of Game of Thrones, I shuudn't have to put up with that in a storee two.


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## musichal (Jun 28, 2015)

He was the king of a great democracy, which he ruled with an iron fist he kept in his third drawer down to the left.  He kept his Queen in a closet where they met to have Tex-Mex take-out.  On alternate Thursday nights falling on February 29th, they had relations, for they were married.  He hoped she wouldn't beg off with a headache this time.  King of a democracy had few perks, he thought.  He hoped one day to be President, or a Lobbyist where real power lay.  Being King sucked.

[Very few redeeming qualities.  Yep, this is bad - I give it a 1 out of 100.  It's a true contender.  But the critics loved it - the kiss of death.]


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## Harper J. Cole (Jun 29, 2015)

Easily the best story I've ever read; I quite liked it. I think that a story of this complexitude deserves a line by line review ...



musichal said:


> He was the king of a great democracy, which he ruled with an iron fist he kept in his third drawer down to the left.



Great use of allegory to examine schisms in the feminist movement. The king, of course, represents the didactic logic so thoroughly diagnostic of the 2nd wave libbers, which you playfully contrast with the more teleological epistemology currently en vogue, as represented by the iron fist. Hard hitting but fair. 



> He kept his Queen in a closet where they met to have Tex-Mex take-out.



A crisp segue into satire. The reference to Tex-Mex represents a note-perfect take-down of the facade of capitalism, while the reference to a Queen leaves your audience in no doubt; a benevolent dictatorship is the only system that can save the West from itself.



> On alternate Thursday nights falling on February 29th, they had relations, for they were married.



Breathtaking prose, the roller-coaster ride picks up speed ... I was soaked in sweat after making it through this line! To cap it all off, you correctly spell February. How many good authors have never made the step up to greatness because they spelt it with only one r?



> He hoped she wouldn't beg off with a headache this time.



This line, however, was incredibly dull; I seriously considered giving up on the novel while slogging through it. May I suggest that the word "a", which is one of the least interesting in the English language, might have been replaced with something more exciting, such as "klondike", "Zebedee" or "sesquipedalian"?



> King of a democracy had few perks, he thought.



Oh my! 

I wasn't expecting such openly erotic content. "Democracy" is a well-known euphemism for a lady's bosom, while "King", "perks" and "thought" are all x-rated references I won't translate, lest I offend the sensibilities of our members.



> He hoped one day to be President, or a Lobbyist where real power lay.



I understand what you're trying to say here, but it doesn't really work in the Arial font. Times New Roman would maximise the emotional impact.



> Being King sucked.



In the words of Benedict de Spinoza: "Whatever happens in the object of the idea constituting the human mind must be perceived by the human mind, or there will necessarily be the idea of that thing in the mind; that is, if the object of the idea constituting mind is a body, nothing can happen in that body which is not perceived by the mind."

But where proving the existence of God constituted his life's work, you have done it in just three words! Bravo! Take that, atheists!

IN SUMMARY

I loved this story, but it will have offended a lot of people. My recommendation: change your name, grow a beard and go and live in the mountains as a hermit for a couple of decades until the storm blows over. :salut:


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## musichal (Jun 29, 2015)

HarperCole said:


> IN SUMMARY
> 
> I loved this story, but it will have offended a lot of people. My recommendation: change your name, grow a beard and go and live in the mountains as a hermit for a couple of decades until the storm blows over. :salut:



You've been giving TJ1985 advice, too.  Haven't you?

I was disappointed you didn't look deeper for the real meaning of my masterpiece, but that is what happens when they send plebes to do patrician work.


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## Harper J. Cole (Jun 29, 2015)

You can't have too many hermits. Or too many beards. 8)

Apologies for my shallow analysis: it was only really meant as a foundation for future literary scholars to build upon.


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## midnightpoet (Jun 29, 2015)

Congratulations, you guys have taken bad writing to a whole new level of obsequiousness and pedantry, not to mention sesquipedalian loquaciousness.:icon_cheesygrin:

(I'm not exactly sure what I said)


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## LeeC (Jun 29, 2015)

^ You're right … I think ...


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## musichal (Jun 29, 2015)

midnightpoet said:


> Congratulations, you guys have taken bad writing to a whole new level of obsequiousness and pedantry, not to mention sesquipedalian loquaciousness.:icon_cheesygrin:
> 
> (I'm not exactly sure what I said)



O wondrous God of Words expound upon and share thy meanings!


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## Gumby (Jun 29, 2015)

midnightpoet said:


> not to mention sesquipedalian loquaciousness.:icon_cheesygrin:
> 
> (I'm not exactly sure what I said)



I think that's a cross between a squash, vidalia onion and loquats, yes?


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## musichal (Jun 29, 2015)

Gumby said:


> I think that's a cross between a squash, vidalia onion and loquats, yes?



No, I think it is liqueur of a seven-legged horse?


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## AtleanWordsmith (Jul 29, 2015)

_It's not as good as some of the other stuff in this thread, but I want to share my story anyway, because I am going to be a super duper author extraordinary one day and I want the world to see that I wrote with the best of them._

THE FALL OF MOGDRA

"Come" Varren said, waving his arms "we have much to do."

"I don't know" replied the elf Rae'the'on, his long, shining hair blowing gracefully in the gentle wind that kicked up from the south, "It might be a trap."

The two friends had journeyed many miles and many days, questing for justice against the evil Mogdra, an evil being that had enslaved the entire land with its evil army of darkness and orcs, and they had faced many challenges and trials along the way, including a harrowing battle with a giant four-eyed eldritch monstrosity that had badly injured their other friend, Stormbeard, who was a dwarf.  Now they stood outside Mogdra's villainous castle.

"I shall fight alongside you" said Stormbeard, planting his axe, which was steel with ornate carvings and runes, firmly into the dirt.  Varren gave Rae'the'on a look that let him know that he was not sure about their friend's ability to fight alongside them.

"No, Stormbeard," he said, "Your life is too precious to us, we cannot risk it."

"Damn you, I will fight!" said the dwarf angrily, giving his friends an angry glare, "I have come this far and I have not turned away despite being injured by the four-eyed eldritch monster that Mogdra left in our path, and Varren, I saved you and nursed you back to health after the battle with the Witch of Carnage, so you have some nerve telling me to stand back like a coward while you two charge in and risk your lives!"

"Yes, I was wrong to doubt you" said Varren, hanging his head shamefully "We shall all three face Mogdra together."

He lifted his sword, which was an ancient relic created by the Olden Ones specifically for the eradication of a being such as Mogdra.  Fiery jewels set into the Ormigarian steel of the blade glinted despite there being no sunlight because of the evil gathered clouds.  Rae'the'on and Stormbeard gasped appreciatively, admiring the well-crafted blade.

"Fools!" said Mogdra, appearing behind Varren and striking him down with a sword just like Varren's but with darkness gems.  This time, Stormbeard and Rae'the'on gasped in terror as Mogdra turned and advanced on them.  Rae'the'on fired an arrow at him, but it bounced off the dark armor that he wore.  Stormbeard leapt at him with his axe, but the blade bounced off like the arrow.  Mogdra laughed.

"Pitiful mortals, I am too powerful!"

Rae'the'on and Stormbeard knew it was all over, but then Varren leapt to his feet and cut him in half with a swing of his mighty blade.

"Evil will never triumph over good!" He said as Mogdra faded away, and the curse was lifted, causing everything to go back to the way it was.

"Varren, you had us worried!" said Rae'the'on, but his anger was just playful.  Stormbeard laughed and said "Let us go get a drink at the pub to celebrate!"

And that they did, and Mogdra never threatened the land again... or did he?

To be continued...


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## escorial (Jul 29, 2015)

angry dwarf..ha...


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## Harper J. Cole (Aug 1, 2015)

A good effort. There are a number of stories showing what might have happened if the Nazis had won World War 2, but "The Fall Of Mogdra" is probably the most realistic that I've read.

I was a little surprised, though, to find your hidden message, revealed by highlighting certain letters, following a simple mathematical equation ...



AtleanWordsmith said:


> _It's not as good as some of the other stuff in this thread, but I want to share my story anyway, because I am going to be a super duper author extraordinary one day and I want the world to see that I wrote with the best of them._
> 
> THE FALL OF MOG*D*RA
> 
> ...



This strikes me as threatening behaviour ... :nightmare:


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## Foxee (Aug 1, 2015)

AtleanWordsmith said:


> "Come" Varren said, waving his arms "we have much to do."
> 
> "I don't know" replied the elf Rae'the'on, his long, shining hair blowing gracefully in the gentle wind that kicked up from the south, "It might be a trap."


These lines made my face leak a little.


> He lifted his sword, which was an ancient relic created by the Olden Ones specifically for the eradication of a being such as Mogdra.  Fiery jewels set into the Ormigarian steel of the blade glinted despite there being no sunlight because of the evil gathered clouds.  Rae'the'on and Stormbeard gasped appreciatively, admiring the well-crafted blade.


appropriate response...in fantasy.


> "Evil will never triumph over good!" He said as Mogdra faded away, and the curse was lifted, causing everything to go back to the way it was.


Whew!


> "Varren, you had us worried!" said Rae'the'on, but his anger was just playful.  Stormbeard laughed and said "Let us go get a drink at the pub to celebrate!"


Funny, after reading that going on a bender sounds like a good idea. 

Good badness, Atlean! Enjoyed.


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## Gumby (Aug 1, 2015)

Oh, I am so glad you caught and desiphered the sekeret hidden messige, HC! I think you mite have saved the hole fourum from distruckshun. We o youu a det of onner.

A-dub, I am sirprized you wood try to sneek one passed us like that. Just shokt, actully.


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## musichal (Aug 1, 2015)

Gumby said:


> Oh, I am so glad you caught and desiphered the sekeret hidden messige, HC! I think you mite have saved the hole fourum from distruckshun. We o youu a det of onner.
> 
> A-dub, I am sirprized you wood try to sneek one passed us like that. Just shokt, actully.



Beneath that dimpled smile lies a heart of madness!  All beware A-dub!


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## AtleanWordsmith (Aug 1, 2015)

HarperCole said:


> A good effort. There are a number of stories showing what might have happened if the Nazis had won World War 2, but "The Fall Of Mogdra" is probably the most realistic that I've read.





Foxee said:


> These lines made my face leak a little.



I was eating lunch with a friend when I saw these responses and laughed a little harder than I should have, alarming my friend and the wait staff.



musichal said:


> Beneath that dimpled smile lies a heart of madness! All beware A-dub!



Don't be silly!  I would never kill any of you!  



HarperCole said:


> I was a little surprised, though, to find your hidden message, revealed by highlighting certain letters, following a simple mathematical equation ...



AND I WOULD HAVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH IT, TOO, IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU MEDDLING KIDS AND YOUR INTIMATE ROBOT LADIES!


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## Kepharel (Aug 10, 2015)

I swung my feet from the bed and heard them smashing against the glass pane of my detective agency door “Stalk Your Wife.Com” I hadn’t got much sleep because I couldn’t find the glass I usually put my dentures in so I had put them in a colander and that meant waking up to re-fill it every 5 seconds. What the hell, next time I would just let them dry out, be a real man for a change. Just as I was flossing my lower denture I heard the door open and in walked the sexiest broad I had ever laid eyes on… she was smoking!

I did my best Philip Marlow impression,” Sorry Sweet-cheeks this is a no smoking office.” The chicks always go for that Robert Mitchum stuff, it never fails. Trying to look casual I sucked the debris off the floss, trying to remember what I had had for supper last night. The empty toilet roll in the waste basket told me better be safe than sorry.

Stubbing the fag in my favourite doyley she said “Nah! Big boy, nuthin like Cagney.”

I smiled then kicked myself for forgetting to put the dentures back in first. Holding my right knee I said “Sorry lady, not my best look.”  She took the dentures from me and I could tell she was real class, the way she pushed them into my mouth.  “Here, you have any Brylcreem, I’ll smarten up your Tony Curtis while I’m at it.”

“Sorry babe, but there’s some lard in the fridge you can use, just for emergencies.”
As she was pouring the goose fat over my quiff I decided to ask her what a broad like her was doing in a place like this.

"I want you to follow my husband, I think he’s having an affair, but he keeps his iPhone real safe."

“Hey hun’, look at the sign on the door.  It’s 1953 for crissakes. This is a man’s world, just be grateful he keeps you in lipstick and suspenders.”

I don’t think she liked what she heard because she flattened my Tony into a centre parting and gave me one hell of a shot to the kisser. Then she just walked out.  I spat the shattered dentures from my mouth and poured another sour. Dames eh! Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without.

The End.


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## musichal (Aug 10, 2015)

I thought it was raining.  I looked out through past my window right into the sky. It was not raining.  I found a match and rubbed the heads off six til I finely got fire.  I wish matches still had white tips.  Then I realized I couldn't find my smokes.  I threw all the letters and bills lying on my table in a garbage can and tossed the match in to keep a flame while I looked for my cigarettes.  I found them underneath an end table, got one out of the pack and threw the pack back underneath the table so I could find them again later.  A place for everything and everything in its place are words.  I thought it was raining and looked outside through my window again but even though I thought it was it wasn't.  I noticed the smoke was getting thick so I lit my cigarette to help me ignore all the smoke from the garbage can which was really not so much a garbage can as a plastic bucket into which I threw garbage sometimes.  I urinated on it to put out the fire but on the tuck afterwards managed to get some delicate skin caught between the metal teeth of a zipper.  Since there was blood I went to get a band-aid but it hurt and made me limp down the hall.  The band-aid wouldn't stick so I did the logical thing and filled a condom with tissue, then donned it.  Maybe I'll patent the idea I thought but then couldn't figure out how it would be explained in a commercial so I gave up that idea even though it was probably worth millions.  At least I had stopped the blood and even though I only limped a little the problem now was that I may have used too much tissue as there was a large lumpy bulge in an embarrassing spot now and I still had the wedding to attend. Maybe a whole roll was too much.  Oh well I thought everyone will be looking at my bride maybe they won't notice and left still hoping for rain outside through my window.


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## AtleanWordsmith (Aug 10, 2015)

Hal, you've managed to offend sensibilities I didn't even know I had.


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## TheDarkOne (Aug 12, 2015)

While jogging down the street, a car hit Sue, and severe body damage ensured she would be out commission for at least 6 months. Through intense throbbing pain, continued jogging to get help. With a badly injured body, a mangled wreckage leaking a trail of bright red fluids behind. Turning the corner, the repair shop was about 50 feet away. Susan limped and trudged on as hard she could. Her efforts were in vein; the faster she traveled the further away the repair shop was. By now it was out of her sight, and turning another corner, she was sure she would never catch up to it. 

Finally catching up to the repair shop at last, inside, the woman was laying on the floor waiting for an ambulance to arrive.


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## Harper J. Cole (Aug 12, 2015)

Kepharel, that story was raw sex, converted into pixels which hovered magically on my computer screen and spoke to me in rich, lusty tones. Nice work!

Musichal, that was a tragic tale of how happiness can slip through our fingers. Speaking of fingers, I cut one of mine off so that I could share the pain of your noble hero. I can recommend it, it really added a visceral level to the reading experience.

TheDarkOne, that was a clever metaphor, because aren't all of us limping towards the repair shop called "Life"? I'd recommend that you publish it, but unfortunately I myself have already done so. Plagiarism is hard to prove in cases such as these.


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## TheDarkOne (Aug 12, 2015)

HarperCole said:


> Kepharel, that story was raw sex, converted into pixels which hovered magically on my computer screen and spoke to me in rich, lusty tones. Nice work!
> 
> Musichal, that was a tragic tale of how happiness can slip through our fingers. Speaking of fingers, I cut one of mine off so that I could share the pain of your noble hero. I can recommend it, it really added a visceral level to the reading experience.
> 
> TheDarkOne, that was a clever metaphor, because aren't all of us limping towards the repair shop called "Life"? I'd recommend that you publish it, but unfortunately I myself have already done so. Plagiarism is hard to prove in cases such as these.



Tell me more about what you have written. I was actually trying to make some humor out of bad subject/verb agreement (The car is the one doing the jogging).


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## Harper J. Cole (Aug 12, 2015)

Oh, I was just kidding; I haven't really covered that area, you're in the clear. :thumbr:

My stories are focused more on using as many eight syllable words as I can cram in ... :scratch:


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## TheDarkOne (Aug 12, 2015)

HarperCole said:


> Oh, I was *just kidding*; I haven't really covered that area, you're in the clear. :thumbr:
> 
> My stories are focused more on using as many eight syllable words as I can cram in ... :scratch:



Oh LOL, I should've known after I read your reply about breaking off one of your fingers. :stung: Now I see.
Don't mind me. I can take things too literally at times.

Kepharel, that was a good read. Nice and witty.


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## TheDarkOne (Aug 12, 2015)

I was jolted awake by the sound of my alarm clock going off. I was still tired. It was a bright beautiful day outside. A bird was signing right outside my open window. _Tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet_.
I dragged myself out of bed slammed the window closed and put on some clothes and brushed my teeth and went downstairs to have some breakfast. My wife was hovering over the stove, with both feet planted firmly on the floor, flipping pancakes. I plopped down at the table and opened the newspaper to read the top headlines, the newspaper completely obscuring her view, when suddenly a hand tore through the middle of it and I looked up to see a glass of orange juice being shoved in my face. I lowered what was left of the newspaper down onto the table, shreds of it now all over the floor.  She was hovering over me, floating above the table. Her arms were now replaced with various kitchen utensils as if she was now some sort of multi-tool Swiss army knife. Her arm became a spatula and she slipped some pancakes onto my plate. Then she bent over and vomited up what appeared to be pure maple syrup, dousing them in that rich golden deliciousness. I asked for a glass of milk and she obliged, pulling up her nightgown to reveal a perfect set of utters. I bent over to suckle one of them when--_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

It was all a dream. The aroma of fresh pancakes wafted into my room from the kitchen.


_


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