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Story-retelling: Make up your best stories. Again, and again, and again.
Meat's parody of Avana's girlfriend account of how she was harassed by the pizza deliverer - as told by the delivery guy - was pure gold, and it gave me an idea for a fun thread: Make up a random story, and tell it from the perspective of someone else involved in it. Feel free to continue the story. New versions may, of course, add more people, so we can keep the game going.
I'm going to tell a story about one of my favourite TA's:
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| "I've just arrived in this exotic country to see my brother. It's my first time ever abroad, and everything looks so different! Everyone else's got hair for one, but that's not different from my parents' house in Cascadia. This is the proof that my socialist utopia for the world works: everything is so community driven, nobody is selfish and there are robots everywhere selling fizzy drinks. The women look sort of funny, but I'm not really into them. Unless, of course, one of them is into me. It's been a while someone kissed me... when was it? Oh, that's right, when Reagen kissed my forehead back when I was a baby. Since them, I've been avoiding any sort of physical contact, lest another Republican touches me. What's up with those guys anyway? They want to arm themselves to their teeth and want to wage wars against the whole world with an ever more powerful army, which can of course turn against them. So they have to protect themselves even more and, last thing you know, we'd all be living in basements, making combat simulators (gotta be prepared!) and hiding from the outside world - now, how sad a life would that be?! Back to the main point - I'd let a girl kiss me if she isn't a Republican. On second thought, Megyn Kelly is kind of hot and she looks Nordic... scrap that - I'd let a girl kiss me if she isn't a guy! But, Avana looks quite cute nowad-- Wait, I think I just heard something. How could that be? I'm alone in this hotel room. Maybe my parents are coming with my brother already but I really need to take my weekly shower first! What if my brother's girlfriend shows up with her friends? They don't really look attractive but they aren't Republican, so I'm game! Let me hop in the-- Wait, I think I heard something again. Sure, I'm naked but if I just take a peek through the keyhole, I can see if there's someone knocking on the door of this hotel room. Let me -- oh, silly me -- doors open with cards here, there's no keyhole! Well, maybe if I open the door and take a peak. Hmm... let's see, there's no on-- "Gaaaaaaah!" I heard someone scream inside my room and jumped outside. What can I do now? I forgot the card in my pants and I'm naked in the corridor. What if someone shows up? I'd better hide! But where!? There's nothing here but other rooms and the elevator. Fuck, I hear someone coming. Think, Ford, think! Let's look around and see if -- good, a vending machine, I'd better go hid behind it. If I'm lucky, whoever shows up won't have to come here and I'll be safe until my parents show up. Fuck, the voices are coming. The voices are coming. What can I do!? They're walking past me - it's a couple - and please God, I hope they don't see me. I hope they "Gasaaaaaaaaaahhh!" God damnit! What do I do now? Run, Ford, run! The woman looks scared, and the guy - wearing a suit with converse shoes (how tacky is that?!) just looks puzzled. "What's the meaning of all this?", he says. Oh, god, I'd better run. I run towards the elevator. The doors are closed. I press the buttons frantically, hoping that the elevator will be empty. Come, ******, come! The doors finally open and I look inside. There's a foreign couple with three or four cheetahs. "Oh, you pervert!" - the guy says. Fuck, it's not my lucky day, where the hell are the stairs? Run, run, run! I look behind me and the guy and his cheetahs are chasing me! Oh, there's a red door, I bet that's the emergency stairs, I'd better rush inside! I open the door, look back quickly enough to see the guy approaching, close the door and lock it. Phew, I guess I'm safe. Wait, what if he contacts the hotel staff? Or the police. I better run and jump out of a window somewhere in the 2nd floor. So I run as fast as I can and get to the second floor. I see a small window, and there's a mattress outside. Good, maybe I can squeeze through. I jump and try to do all according to planned - if I'm lucky, I'll land in the mattress and pretend I was mugged! Great! Wait, I'm stuck! What the hell! I hear someone coming behind me. "What the hell?" - I hear someone say. It's a guy. "Help me, I'm stuck!" - I yell. "I can see that. lol". I can't believe the guy actually said 'lol'. "All right, can you please help me out?", I say. Finally, how lucky is that?! Someone that speaks English offers to help me. "Well, all I have is some peanut butter I bought at the convenience store, maybe if I spread it around your body, you can slide back in. I feel him spread the peanut butter on me. That's, by far, the oddest sensation I've ever felt. I then feel him pull me back in. "Wait, you're too heavy... we're just on the 2nd floor, what if I push you out? Do you believe you can land in safety?" "Sure do!" I suddenly feel him pushing me out and.... whooooooaaa... I'm falli-- ouch! Oh, good, I landed on the mattress! Yes, my plan is success -- now all I have to do is run. Run, Ford, run! There's the main street, it's full of people and I can still pretend I got mugged. So I run towards the oncoming traffic, scream for help and fall on my knees. A car stops behind me. It's my parents, with my brother, his girlfriend, and a hot friend that I don't find attractive. "Ford, can you please explain why you're naked in the middle of the street, and completely covered in peanut butter from the waist down?" |
Re: Story-retelling: Make up your best stories. Again, and again, and again.
| quote: |
| Originally posted by Lira Meat's parody of Avana's girlfriend account of how she was harassed by the pizza deliverer - as told by the delivery guy - was pure gold, and it gave me an idea for a fun thread: |
Well yeah, gold. Like he said.
So today I browsed TA and Lira made this thread that was a wall of text nobody read. Later nefardec got butthurt just like Theresa.
Today my business partner informed me that he was quitting our joint business venture. I was a bit surprised that he had quit, because I had always felt a strong sexual tension between the two of us. I suppose you could say that things came to a head when I spurned one of his advances at my home in Colorado recently. After the callousness of his resignation, I of course made sure to notify all of our existing clients as to the mental instability of my partner, and apologized many times over for any transgressions he may have had with them. I then made sure to replace all of our storage space with $100,000 worth of 14 inch black double ended dildos, because he seems like the type of person to exact revenge of some sort. He also seems like the type to make use of $100,000 worth of 14 inch black double ended dildos. Truth be told, he was a good business partner, and I valued both our partnership and friendship. I hold no ill-will towards him, and I sincerely hope this is reciprocated. I do, however, take issue with the suitcase full of polaroid photos of his anus and scrotum that were fed-exed to my house. I don't know why, but my wife spends a lot of time with this suitcase locked in the bedroom. She must be concerned for me having to see such a vile thing.
C- for accuracy.
They are single-sided. The bastard. 
As the old saying goes, dildos for one aren't the least bit of fun.
What an asshole.
Re: Re: Story-retelling: Make up your best stories. Again, and again, and again.
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| Originally posted by nefardec it was also mean spirited. wtf? |
Re: Re: Re: Story-retelling: Make up your best stories. Again, and again, and again.
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| Originally posted by Lira Are you saying that because he's German!? What the hell, you can go around saying Germans are evil and mean, they can change, you know? That's just a conservative prejudice you hold against them, and that makes you look very bigoted (He does that to everyone, Nef, and it's just him being silly... besides, what sort of parody doesn't make fun of someone/some situation?) |
I saw your status earlier and laughed.
Don't really agree with the Theresa comparison made by some, though. You're not in "Why don't they provide parachutes on passenger jets in case of a crash?" territory...yet.
Re: Re: Re: Re: Story-retelling: Make up your best stories. Again, and again, and again.
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| Originally posted by nefardec it would have been funny had he simply left it at 'nefardec is a creepy tall bitch', but he instead insulted my girlfriend, then opted to debase me with the transphobic 'guy in a wig' comments. can't really expect anything more from 'meat', though. mostly it's insulting because i don't wear wigs, i have nice long natural hair. i just find it odd that you're championing this obviously mean-spirited story, when i know you to be a more sensitive guy. parody is funny, but this was more akin to a hit-piece. |
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| Originally posted by nefardec PS why has no one commented on my user status? |
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| Originally posted by Tasty Onions I saw your status earlier and laughed. Don't really agree with the Theresa comparison made by some, though. You're not in "Why don't they provide parachutes on passenger jets in case of a crash?" territory...yet. |
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| Originally posted by nefardec and it's not like i go around posting mixes, getting into arguments, and pretending to be a girl, like some members here... |
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| My team and I were deployed deep in the marshlands of what I was told was called "South F.L." For us, it may as well have been south of everything but Hell. The teeming humidity ensured that we wouldn't last a week before withering- especially if left on the countertop with the cereal. Our crispy, cheesy-dusted goodness would ensure we become stale rinds; husks of the crunchy corn-chips we used to embody. If only I'd known that day this would prove to be all too true. But we couldn�t worry about that, after all, we had a mission: To infiltrate the rank and queue of the dreaded R�s-mar�tin, Nocturnal Devourer. The inconspicuous orange foil of our personnel carrier belied a crack-team of weathered commandos, several of which had seen action at Quincea�eras , pool parties, and school dances � a few of my men had even served time in the couch of a college fraternity for several years. We were as prepared as we would ever be. 11:13am: We sensed the shifting of our transport by the beast�s hammy fingers. The ruse to finagle ourselves into its daily routine had worked, thanks to a cleverly-devised barrage of coupons for Baked Lays distributed to the household around the resource-gathering time of the creature�s maternal feeder. Cooperation with the Publix Corporation, as well as the sacrifice of those brave chips, would ensure our victory on this day. 11:16am: The creature stirs outside of our carrier. We sense we have been tactically stolen away with and deposited in its lair. Its moist paws slide and crinkle the shell, but do not penetrate the bag for fear of violating the savor that must be welling up in its glands. It prefers the freshest kills; the light puff of air pressure in its face as it storms the gates of our foil, inhaling deeply with its porcine nostrils. Duly noted. 11:36am: My men are nervous. For outside of the walls that so thinly separate us from certain consumption, the beast bellows its cacophony of fragments and unnecessarily-pitched assertions at some other entity into some sort of communication device. Our sensors can detect only traces of Bean-Speak, but we have derived that the creature has deemed itself unfit, and seeks to rectify this by visiting some sort of all-hours gymnasium. We all fear for our safety. 11:58am: We have arrived at whatever destination the creature sought for fitness- the tension is building amongst us, for our entire brand's certain doom is at hand should this creature gain an increase in mobility such that gas station parking is no longer a challenge in seeking sustenance. We are within another bag used to house disgusting garments the creature sheds to retain its moisture. A disturbing hush falls over us, for we know the devourer has departed to go exercise- but for how long? 12:04pm: The creature is apparently finished with its routines; the sound of its glistening folds a clear indicator of its duress. Our greatest fears come at the breaking of our gates soon after the creature sets down again- it is hideous. Through the hastily separated void in our foil armour, we can see its ponderous visage, pouring with excitement and delight at its soon-to-be gorging. The first of my comrades died before me, his angles swallowed whole by those enormous, flapping lips, fragments of his frame crumbling upon our startled faces. Johnson had been Dorito recon for 6 months. I hoped that his hardened edges cut the beast's mouth... but even if they did, they proved no impasse toward its avarice, for pieces of Johnson dusted the R�s-mar'tin's upper lip-fibers... I can barely bring myself to put to words quite what followed. The rest of the day saw my entire unit wiped out, periodic handfuls at a time. I can still hear the crinkling sound in my head, the horrid crunch of those good chips echoing throughout the increasing vacancy of our carrier. I was only able to deliver this report to my employers because of a narrow escape from the creature�s maw when it nearly steered into oncoming traffic. I spent 3 weeks underneath the driver�s seat of the beast�s late-90s Ford Focus before being swept off in a grocery bag filled with drinking straw wrappers and taco bell receipts; artifacts of victims I would never know. Rumours abound of the creature�s affinity for a certain cured tobacco, and the ensuing carnage that would see the demise of the Baked Lays decoys the Brass had approved of to make our mission possible. This entry is proof that their deaths were not in vain. Frito-Lay has its report, and can better administer the breadth of flavours and marketing tactics to its single, highest bidder: R�s-mar'tin. |
Re: Re: Story-retelling: Make up your best stories. Again, and again, and again.
| quote: |
| Originally posted by nefardec it was also mean spirited. wtf? |
| quote: |
| Originally posted by Halcyon+On+On |
Re: Story-retelling: Make up your best stories. Again, and again, and again.
| quote: |
| Originally posted by Lira Meat's parody of Avana's girlfriend account of how she was harassed by the pizza deliverer - as told by the delivery guy - was pure gold, and it gave me an idea for a fun thread: Make up a random story, and tell it from the perspective of someone else involved in it. Feel free to continue the story. New versions may, of course, add more people, so we can keep the game going. I'm going to tell a story about one of my favourite TA's: Ready? Go! |
Re: Story-retelling: Make up your best stories. Again, and again, and again.
| quote: |
| Originally posted by Lira Meat's parody of Avana's girlfriend account of how she was harassed by the pizza deliverer - as told by the delivery guy - was pure gold, and it gave me an idea for a fun thread: Make up a random story, and tell it from the perspective of someone else involved in it. Feel free to continue the story. New versions may, of course, add more people, so we can keep the game going. I'm going to tell a story about one of my favourite TA's: Ready? Go! |
Re: Re: Re: Re: Story-retelling: Make up your best stories. Again, and again, and again.
| quote: |
| Originally posted by nefardec 'guy in a wig' comments. |
Also Lira, were you really butt hurt that I said I didn't like Japanese girls. They are good looking, a lot of them, far more on average in terms of here in the states, but like I said, I don't find them that attractive, at least if you use the word to mean all qualities that one might find desirable in a person.
| quote: |
| Originally posted by Joss Weatherby Also Lira, were you really butt hurt that I said I didn't like Japanese girls. They are good looking, a lot of them, far more on average in terms of here in the states, but like I said, I don't find them that attractive, at least if you use the word to mean all qualities that one might find desirable in a person. |
).
�Oh yeah��
�Agh fuck! So�good.�
�To think that we met on the inter-�
�Shut the fuck up or mew!� a backhand: my powdered cheek, Kevin�s disgruntled paw (wedding ring removed).
�Mew��
��fuck��
��mew,� I shut my eyes, gazing into the euphoria washing over my body and no longer conscious of the mew-metronome keeping time under Kevin�s grunting thrusts. Minutes pass, slaps of flesh filling in for the clock�s tick. My cascading ecstasy surges like the sea, hurling everything I�ve ever known into new territory; new shores, a new world.
��mew.�
�Do you like being fucked by a Republican man?�
��m-meow��
�Here.�
��ohhh��
�Look at my muscles.�
��ohhh��
�Look at all of this goddamn muscle,� another slap from Kevin forces my eyes open. But I cannot see Kevin; Kevin is no longer here. Awash in my own emerald seas of pleasure, I find an island. And on the island, I find him. He steps towards me and I plop to my knees like fallen water. I need not get up: he comes over me and gently takes me right there on the beach; so unlike Kevin.
He is the one I feel. His pale moonish belly ripples in the motion of slapping against my firmer, darker body. He kisses me from neck to earlobe. He draws me in close, panting and looking at me with those eyes that kind of do this o_O and whispers, �If you were feathered I�d photograph you.�
I shut my eyes and instead of stars I see a particolored flurry of wings in flight and I cum violently, feeling like a girl stinking beneath sweat-laden sheets, dissolving into tears. Always too soon, he fades away again: the island oasis disperses and the ocean drains and the world rearranges itself around me, placing Kevin back where he was before. It must be near noon. If it�s noon in America, what day of the week is it in Australia? If only the sea would carry me�
Kevin finally climaxes, and the fear returns. In a stupor of crablike movement I shimmy up and over for the rag. I find a soft spot but don�t wipe off. Everything will be alright, I tell myself. Just do as he says.
�The fuck you stalling for? Wipe.�
�I�m sorry.�
I wipe off and toss the rag to him. He'll demand a drink now. Always.
�Whisky, Hell.�
�My name is Hal��
�Whisky. Hell.�
�My name is-�
And Kevin jumps to me, knocking me down. Grabbing my hair he slams my head into the hardwood floor. I scream but hear only shattering glass. A warmth comes over my forehead: I must be bleeding now. Kevin spits on my blood and hits me again. He clutches my throat and chokes me. I shut my eyes. The ocean returns but is now colorless; and I am drowning. The pain from each successive blow to my head numbs into unreality. I believe in God I believe in God I believe in God I believe in
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