RE: Let's tell spontaneous stories.
06-24-2012, 07:41 AM
When a crcodile is sad, nobody will believe it. It and its lying eyes. /Maybe it shouldn't have been born with no facial muscles to express with -- should have thunk twice -- and then stolen a lion;s face to proveide the emotions it needed to convey. As it stands, when most people see it, this fictional crocodile we'll call Dill, first they think, oh shit, a lion, then they think, oh shit, a crocolion, trhen they think, oh SHIT, that thing is straght0up king of the jungle! by coup ed;eatout! Which is all well and good, but it makes it reall y hard for Dill to talk out his sadness and he still hasn't accomplished his main goal in the first place! It's hard to be king, too.
One day, Dill and one of his )many) unwanted mating partners were straight shilling in his hut. Dill said, 'I know not why it is I am so sad, but I wish it nt to be so."
Dill's unwanted mating partner said, "I love Shakespeare! Let's bone, make e your queen." Then she started tpeeling off ehr bikini, very sexily (for crocodules),. But Dill remained unbonered.
"The only Queen, for Shakespeare," said Dill, ":s Queen Elizabeth." With that, quite satisfied witjh the way that quipo turned out, misplaced colon and all , ge left his unwanted mating partner behngd, all cold, naked, and sexy. (forc crocodile standarsd.)
Dill powerwalked through all slorts of environemts in a montage. It was his quest to find real truth, true happiness at last. He walked ifrom his swamp to the deep jujngle first. His lionface disguise scared away all trhe Zebras and Gazelles and shit, but when he came to the lions, well! At first they were repulsed by his hackjob and cavalier disrespect of mortality/lionanity, but then got over it when they realized their hypocricy feeling that way as carnivores themselves. Then they recognized their friend's face -- it was the head honcho lion! They fawned all over him even harder than they did back at his own swamp, and you will not BELIEVE how much poontang he got. But soon they realized that he wasn't a very commanding presence at all. They caelled him oversensitive and homosexual(despit how much crazy sex he got.) (for a crocodile).
He ran and he ran and he dashed and he dashed, tears streaming down his face, until he came to te desert, the place with all the answers and no questions. He stayed hydrated by drinking a canteen full of his own tears. But they were all fakem or atleast of no substance when they evaporated. Juzt when he thought he was going to habve to use his surivivalist techniques he learned on the Discovery Channel -- he was already gwtting ready to pee into a solar still, mentally 00 a wise shamzn bird (some desert bird) walked up with its gangly(?) legs all aflutter.
"i see you are in need of my hdlp," said the shaman bird.
"How did you know?" asked Dill.
"well you're a corcodile in the desert. you kinda stick out like a sore thumb."
The shaman desert bird took Dill back to his teepee (is that racist? - author( and fed him some water in his mouth. Then he took Dill aside to do a palm reading, because he apparently wasn't just a shaman, but a shitty fake gypsy too.
"Doill said, "are you sure this shit works? Because I heard ths shit was bullshit."
"No, it's birdshit," said the Shaman. now "shut up."
Then the Shaman Desert Bird took Dill by his hand. Paw? and started to read it. But as he unfurled more and more of the scroll-tapestry that was Dill's leather-bound skinn and literally peeled back the letters of skin, (*layers) (that is seriously the only error i've made so far i fel the need to really correcgt because it altered comprehension) the wise desert shaman bird thing became progressively more surprised. Eventually, jhis eyes lkeaped out his skull and little train whistle sounds come out of his ears a nd his at spins aond by itself. Like a Looney Tune.
"What,s up, Doc?" asked Dill. He did not realize that that was an actual good quip for the situation, unlike the one where he actually tried.
"What you got might change the world if you got it." said the Shaman Stupid Birdshit Thing, " you are the chosen one."
"What des that mean?" That boy needs therapy.
"It means you were chosen to be the protagonist of your very own story."
"Wow! My own story! Is it a good one?"?
"No. You were pounded out in about a half an hour and it was really dark so the author kept making typos. It was also Midnight and no revisions were made."
"That doesn 't sound good,"
"No, it's really more a peek into the author' psyche than a real story. His underformed psyche that puts crocodiles with bikinis in with Shakespeare."
"Can I atleast have my layers of skin back?"
"No, but according to the story, you can have your letters."
Then they both shared a gtood laugh at my expense. Then Carl SHIT I MEAN DILL died of dehydration. The shaman lived existentially ever after.
the END
One day, Dill and one of his )many) unwanted mating partners were straight shilling in his hut. Dill said, 'I know not why it is I am so sad, but I wish it nt to be so."
Dill's unwanted mating partner said, "I love Shakespeare! Let's bone, make e your queen." Then she started tpeeling off ehr bikini, very sexily (for crocodules),. But Dill remained unbonered.
"The only Queen, for Shakespeare," said Dill, ":s Queen Elizabeth." With that, quite satisfied witjh the way that quipo turned out, misplaced colon and all , ge left his unwanted mating partner behngd, all cold, naked, and sexy. (forc crocodile standarsd.)
Dill powerwalked through all slorts of environemts in a montage. It was his quest to find real truth, true happiness at last. He walked ifrom his swamp to the deep jujngle first. His lionface disguise scared away all trhe Zebras and Gazelles and shit, but when he came to the lions, well! At first they were repulsed by his hackjob and cavalier disrespect of mortality/lionanity, but then got over it when they realized their hypocricy feeling that way as carnivores themselves. Then they recognized their friend's face -- it was the head honcho lion! They fawned all over him even harder than they did back at his own swamp, and you will not BELIEVE how much poontang he got. But soon they realized that he wasn't a very commanding presence at all. They caelled him oversensitive and homosexual(despit how much crazy sex he got.) (for a crocodile).
He ran and he ran and he dashed and he dashed, tears streaming down his face, until he came to te desert, the place with all the answers and no questions. He stayed hydrated by drinking a canteen full of his own tears. But they were all fakem or atleast of no substance when they evaporated. Juzt when he thought he was going to habve to use his surivivalist techniques he learned on the Discovery Channel -- he was already gwtting ready to pee into a solar still, mentally 00 a wise shamzn bird (some desert bird) walked up with its gangly(?) legs all aflutter.
"i see you are in need of my hdlp," said the shaman bird.
"How did you know?" asked Dill.
"well you're a corcodile in the desert. you kinda stick out like a sore thumb."
The shaman desert bird took Dill back to his teepee (is that racist? - author( and fed him some water in his mouth. Then he took Dill aside to do a palm reading, because he apparently wasn't just a shaman, but a shitty fake gypsy too.
"Doill said, "are you sure this shit works? Because I heard ths shit was bullshit."
"No, it's birdshit," said the Shaman. now "shut up."
Then the Shaman Desert Bird took Dill by his hand. Paw? and started to read it. But as he unfurled more and more of the scroll-tapestry that was Dill's leather-bound skinn and literally peeled back the letters of skin, (*layers) (that is seriously the only error i've made so far i fel the need to really correcgt because it altered comprehension) the wise desert shaman bird thing became progressively more surprised. Eventually, jhis eyes lkeaped out his skull and little train whistle sounds come out of his ears a nd his at spins aond by itself. Like a Looney Tune.
"What,s up, Doc?" asked Dill. He did not realize that that was an actual good quip for the situation, unlike the one where he actually tried.
"What you got might change the world if you got it." said the Shaman Stupid Birdshit Thing, " you are the chosen one."
"What des that mean?" That boy needs therapy.
"It means you were chosen to be the protagonist of your very own story."
"Wow! My own story! Is it a good one?"?
"No. You were pounded out in about a half an hour and it was really dark so the author kept making typos. It was also Midnight and no revisions were made."
"That doesn 't sound good,"
"No, it's really more a peek into the author' psyche than a real story. His underformed psyche that puts crocodiles with bikinis in with Shakespeare."
"Can I atleast have my layers of skin back?"
"No, but according to the story, you can have your letters."
Then they both shared a gtood laugh at my expense. Then Carl SHIT I MEAN DILL died of dehydration. The shaman lived existentially ever after.
the END