(09-01-2016, 02:13 AM)☆ C.H.W.O.K.A ☆ Wrote: »best get to sleeping, and fast!!!

Sucks to be him, because you're falling asleep on the floor right now! You're sleep schedule is a pathetic joke that no competent monsters should rely on!









Some screechy voice seems to be ripping you straight out of seahorse dream kingdom...

You awake in a dark and fairly spooky room. You can’t remember a thing about how you ended up sleeping here, where “here” is, or who you even are. All you can remember is a very peculiar shade of purple. If the past little while was this scary though, why would you keep it in your head?

Maybe you should start with the basic facts. What’s your name? What’s your favourite colour? Why did sister have to cry out to you in the end?

(09-01-2016, 09:21 PM)☆ C.H.W.O.K.A ☆ Wrote: »your name is tokki t. dosi, your favorite color is purple, sister had to cry out because she's a crybaby. like literally an infant

WAIT A GOSH SHUCKED MINUTE YOU REMEMBER NOW!

You never had a sister! Your parents could barely afford to keep your hair sane, and mom got her tubes tied to avoid another bunny-shaped knotmare.

Also the train, you were on a train just now because...



Well you don't actually remember why you were on the train. Nonetheless, you're pretty sure trains don't dump passengers off in what you reeeeally hope is a hospital bed.

(09-03-2016, 05:35 PM)Kíeros Wrote: »> Look out through the door to see where you are.

The other side of the door is filled with nothing but that bastard, lettuce. You never trusted it on your plate, and look at it now!

(09-03-2016, 09:53 PM)earthexe Wrote: »What if it's just a bunch of lettuce taped to the window? Open that door.

By Johnson, you were right.



Oh hey whats going on in here.







Wait what?







oh jeez no.

(09-05-2016, 03:11 PM)Kaynato Wrote: »Tackle!!

The combat is over before he even sees you coming. Your boot is a plastic surgeon, and his face is… just a face, because this was a poorly conceived metaphor. He was actually much more handsome before you kicked too, so I guess you’re a terrible plastic surgeon to boot? See what I did there? I distracted you with a pun to cover up the fact that I’m horrible at writing!



Anyways, my self hatred aside, the bastard is a quivering mumbling teary-eyed sack of pure concentrated bitch at your feet. Whatchoo gonna do, pal?