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Post by MOD on May 11, 2005 14:37:23 GMT -5
and to think that he once had a family
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idBiGot
It's Eldelightful! It's Eldelicious! It's Eldelovely!
? ? ?
Posts: 83
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Post by idBiGot on May 11, 2005 19:35:34 GMT -5
One of great importance, but now they're gone
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Post by MOD on May 11, 2005 19:50:34 GMT -5
so all he is left with is pain of haveing to kills his family
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idBiGot
It's Eldelightful! It's Eldelicious! It's Eldelovely!
? ? ?
Posts: 83
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Post by idBiGot on May 11, 2005 19:57:16 GMT -5
And it is all cause by an evil being by the name of....
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Post by Buu on May 11, 2005 19:58:47 GMT -5
Slap happy Sam, who spends these, his elder years, in the Walt Disney World Western Theme Resorts.
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Post by MOD on May 12, 2005 0:06:44 GMT -5
because he sould his soul for the power to
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Post by Cygnus on May 13, 2005 14:13:56 GMT -5
..eliminate all in his way on his treacherous journey to find an answer to the age old question "Brak or juice?"
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Post by DocDocGoose on May 13, 2005 22:56:50 GMT -5
But the question isn't really that simple because it eludes to
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Post by Buu on May 17, 2005 16:10:13 GMT -5
The even more age old question: who is more foolish, the fool, or the fool who follows him?
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Post by DocDocGoose on May 23, 2005 3:40:43 GMT -5
and the answer to this question could only be found by completing a long and devastating pilgrimage to the sphinx to solve a riddle to learn the truth of all truths or whatever other miindless knowledge you would like to know
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Post by Buu on Jun 8, 2005 2:00:27 GMT -5
It's too bad the sphinx has been dead for years. The End.
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Post by deathscythe on Jul 24, 2005 17:35:17 GMT -5
lol
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powerbgg
Since I'm on the guest list... out of the way NEWBIE!
Posts: 104
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Post by powerbgg on Aug 9, 2005 10:27:07 GMT -5
The less sleep I get, the more I write. Weird how that works.
Today's theme over at 100 words is BAZAAR. I wrote several stories, each one ending up at way more than 100 words. So, back to the drawing board.
Meanwhile, here's one of the stories I wrote that doesn't fit the word quota. Enjoy, or not. Keep in mind it's a first draft, unedited, written in twelve minutes story. Still, I think I'll keep it.
Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me
Henry passed the booth four, five, six times. He circled the bazaar, purchasing a glass bottle, pickled herring and anise seeds along the way. Each time he ended up in front of the red and white striped booth, staring at the wrinkly woman with the “Kisses, $1.00" sign around her neck.
There was nothing else in her booth. Just the chair she sat on and a bucket for dollars. The bucket was empty and Henry felt awful for the woman that no one wanted to kiss.
Something pulled Henry to the booth; something he could not resist. On his seventh time around, after purchasing a cap made of skunk fur and unable to hold any more purchases, he found himself back at the kissing booth, staring at the old woman and her crooked smile and sagging skin.
Henry fished a dollar coin from his pocket. He dropped it in the bucket and it clanked and clattered while Henry leaned down awkwardly to kiss the woman.
“No,” the woman whispered. “I kiss you.” She stood and Henry could hear her bones move against each other; her back cracked, her knees clicked, her body protested the movement, as if it had been years since the woman had used those muscles and bones. She moved her lips towards Henry’s cheek. The smell of rotting fruit and something long dead clung to her skin and Henry fought off the urge to twist his head; he must have this kiss, he thought. A dollar’s worth, anyhow.
He felt her cracked lips brush against his skin and he shuddered. She then grabbed Henry’s face, her hands pressed firm against his cheeks and ears, her grip surprisingly strong. As she moved in to kiss him full on the lips, Henry saw something small and white emerge from the woman’s mouth; the maggot crawled down her lip, stopping to suck on the flesh. Henry felt the day’s take of pickled herring churn in his stomach and rise up to his throat, he would surely throw up on the woman’s face if she didn’t move. He tried again to turn his head, but the woman’s hands were like steel. He couldn’t turn an inch either way.
Her lips met Henry’s and as he tried to scream, her tongue entered his mouth and Henry felt it slide across his own tongue, reaching down his throat, slithering its way through his body like a snake and then blackness as the bile and woman’s tongue met and made breathing difficult, if impossible.
If later that day you asked anyone who was searching the bazaar grounds for the missing young man named Henry about the old woman and the kissing booth, they would say no such thing existed.
And it doesn't. At least not for them.
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powerbgg
Since I'm on the guest list... out of the way NEWBIE!
Posts: 104
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Post by powerbgg on Aug 9, 2005 10:47:57 GMT -5
Before I start I just want to say that this is a true story,and it happened on 3/26/05.
Me and my friends were at my house watching Fat Albert and we heared a big bang, and the power went out. We just sat there for a few minutes and then we wanted to check out what was going on. For a while we just stood there and all of a sudden we heared police sirens. Because the power was out and it was about 10:00 p.m. it was pitch black outside. Just for fun we followed the sound of the police sirens. We went about 2 blocks away from my house wen we saw a pretty tall figure about 6'7 running very fast with something in his hand. We got very scared when this happened so instead of running down the block like a dumb person would we went straight. We were walking very slow (being catious) when we heared footsteps going pretty fast getting louder as they went. Just when the guy was about to hit us he stopped. He said,"Ha Ha got ya, it's me i'm the cafe guard in your school". Me and my friends kinda laughed, but we were faking it. He said,come on i'll take you guys home. Stupidly we said o.k. As soon as we were going to get in the car someone said, freeze put your hands up". It was a police officer. He put the guy in the back of a paddy wagon and put us in the front of it. The police officer went to the back of the paddy wagon for a minute, then came back with a catious expression. He told us the guy shot out a power transmitter so he could walk around trying to kill people. He was in a mental institution because he kill 8 people.
The next day I was going to walk over to my friend's house so we could play video games but police were blocking the driveway. I asked them what was going on and they let me inside his entire house was destroyed, blood all over the place. Just then two men were carting two bodybags and I asked who they were. The police officer said that some maniac identified as Rick Larson (or something like that) killed Fred Butler (my best friend) the police officer then showed me his ripped up,bloody shirt.The shirt read, " you should'nt let the cops take me away." in permanent marker.
This story is very personel and to me very sad. R.I.P. Fred Butche
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Post by powerbegg on Aug 9, 2005 11:51:09 GMT -5
The less sleep I get, the more I write. Weird how that works.
Today's theme over at 100 words is BAZAAR. I wrote several stories, each one ending up at way more than 100 words. So, back to the drawing board.
Meanwhile, here's one of the stories I wrote that doesn't fit the word quota. Enjoy, or not. Keep in mind it's a first draft, unedited, written in twelve minutes story. Still, I think I'll keep it.
Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me
Henry passed the booth four, five, six times. He circled the bazaar, purchasing a glass bottle, pickled herring and anise seeds along the way. Each time he ended up in front of the red and white striped booth, staring at the wrinkly woman with the “Kisses, $1.00" sign around her neck.
There was nothing else in her booth. Just the chair she sat on and a bucket for dollars. The bucket was empty and Henry felt awful for the woman that no one wanted to kiss.
Something pulled Henry to the booth; something he could not resist. On his seventh time around, after purchasing a cap made of skunk fur and unable to hold any more purchases, he found himself back at the kissing booth, staring at the old woman and her crooked smile and sagging skin.
Henry fished a dollar coin from his pocket. He dropped it in the bucket and it clanked and clattered while Henry leaned down awkwardly to kiss the woman.
“No,” the woman whispered. “I kiss you.” She stood and Henry could hear her bones move against each other; her back cracked, her knees clicked, her body protested the movement, as if it had been years since the woman had used those muscles and bones. She moved her lips towards Henry’s cheek. The smell of rotting fruit and something long dead clung to her skin and Henry fought off the urge to twist his head; he must have this kiss, he thought. A dollar’s worth, anyhow.
He felt her cracked lips brush against his skin and he shuddered. She then grabbed Henry’s face, her hands pressed firm against his cheeks and ears, her grip surprisingly strong. As she moved in to kiss him full on the lips, Henry saw something small and white emerge from the woman’s mouth; the maggot crawled down her lip, stopping to suck on the flesh. Henry felt the day’s take of pickled herring churn in his stomach and rise up to his throat, he would surely throw up on the woman’s face if she didn’t move. He tried again to turn his head, but the woman’s hands were like steel. He couldn’t turn an inch either way.
Her lips met Henry’s and as he tried to scream, her tongue entered his mouth and Henry felt it slide across his own tongue, reaching down his throat, slithering its way through his body like a snake and then blackness as the bile and woman’s tongue met and made breathing difficult, if impossible.
If later that day you asked anyone who was searching the bazaar grounds for the missing young man named Henry about the old woman and the kissing booth, they would say no such thing existed.
And it doesn't. At least not for them.
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