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chriseccles


Member

Posted Sun Jan 25th, 2009 12:04pm Post subject: making a story
the talking budgie, kept in the nearby tower for just such an occasion, started to squawk "the red coats are coming, the red coats are coming!" prompting the wise men, the old man and his son, attended by the sprites and seagulls, to enter the conference room, to debate and discuss the current policy regarding ways of manageing the house hold whilst also appeasing the redcoats, in a way that is mutually agreeable and non threatening to either side.
It was as they were just pouring themselves a glass of luke warn water that the red coats...i

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Mister


Member

Posted Mon Feb 9th, 2009 11:21am Post subject: making a story
stormed into the chamber, knocking the glasses out of their respective hands, screaming incoherently.

"`scuse me!" said the old man, with barely concealed lust. "Just what are you doing there, my fine fellas?"

"The water, the water is to cold to make the Tea, and without the Tea the world will be sucked into the vortex of doom and day old jellyfish!"

"Of course!" said Marcus, with a voice more lusty than his father could ever hope to achieve, "we need the tea to

Beautiful thing, the destruction of words.

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Mr Mittens


Member

Posted Sat Feb 21st, 2009 1:29pm Post subject: making a story
improve the viscosity of the enormous

Don't be ridiculous Darling!

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fryfan20


Member

Posted Sat Feb 21st, 2009 4:28pm Post subject: making a story
the story so far....

In a country that shal not be named, there was a house and in that house there was a room and in that room there was a old man. Like many old men, he had a secret that he was determined to take with him to the grave; however, there was one young person that was even more determined to prevent him. that young man was also in the room, looking down at the old man who was tied to a chair. The young man's gaze was cold, for the old man was not struggling against his restraints. The old man was too busy thinking whether or not he should ask his captor for a potty or just wet his pants and be done with it. he could not bear the thought of further humiliation, swallowed whatever pride he had left and gazed up at his captor...
The young man sniffed loudly, then gave the foot of the chair a swift, hard kick.
the old man crashed to the floor with a sickening crack as his jaw hit the concrete and he felt the warm surge of blood filling his mouth He spit the blood out as best he could, and with his worn-down teeth stained red he managed to grin out, "Nicely done." he could make out the contours of his captors face, he could sense the rage emanating from the mans very being "You're wasting your time, Marcus," the old man muttered. just tell my, what i want to know dad shouted Marcus loudly "All right," sighed the old man. "They're in the ceramic jar with kittens. Pantry, top shelf." They aren't, i've already looked there.
well she must have taken them then, i don't know where they are The monkeys have got away as well. who said anything about monkeys
The old man sighed. 'the monkeys that were protected the jar. They are gone.'
the old man, who was still lying on the floor started cry. his son kicked him. 'you are a grown man' he yelled. "I am an old man" he wept openly, "who just wanted the best for his family" marcus felt sorry for his father and helpt him get back on the chair. thank you, mumbled the man almost unintelligible. tell me what happened to the monkeys dad, i need to know- now, and where is she? you must have some idea! you know as well as i do how important this is. the monkeys run of, i don't know where they are, perhaps in the zoo. ..all the while, the old man slowly worked the rope binding his hands against the metal edge. "If she were here, she could get us out of this, she has the device...you know about the device, don't you?" He asked his son... yes i know about that thing but i don't know where she or it is, so that will not help us finding the monkeys. the man noded but was not lissening to his son. He was too busy worrying about how they could ever find her again.
They clearly needed her help, but how to contact her? Then he had an idea, if they could just find the uncooked potatoes he had been planning for lunch, they could recharge the mobile phone!
the son untied his father because he realised that he couldn't find his sister, who had the device, without his help. The old man stood up, his eyes gleamed strangely. He regerded his son with a strange expression, an idea blossoming in his head... The old man coughed, and as he did so, he tugged on the already thinning rope, and it snapped. He was free. But freedom came at a high cost. He had to work with his captor to ensure the safety of the monkeys. And he could not do it without his daughter. "Son, I've got an idea..." I don't care much for your ideas' said the son. 'Unless... is it a cunning plan? "It is a cunning plan, and involves some cunning linguistics...we need to charge up the phone and order fish and chips, masses and masses of fish and chips...once they are delivered, we will open all the doors and windows ride, and your sister is bound to be drawn back by the comforting smell of malt vinegar.
And while we are wating, you must repeat her name over and over, as if in a chant: Marigold Goldiman, Marigold Goldiman, Marigold Goldiman, like a mantra."
He sat down, tired in the way one is tired after a night of debauchery and anal sex.
Any person who dared to sneek a peak at this rather piculiar family would have been thoroughly freaked out. However this was normal to the Goldiman's; this was all they knew. The ordering of the fish and chips seemed to be a good idea to begin with. Unfortunately the aroma and huge amount of grease also attracted masses and masses of... Sylphs, spirits of the air, who were invisible to the naked eye. Sylphs ate demons, and knew that this particular demon would be drawn by the grease of the chips. The amount of salt and vinegar in the air also caused huge... Swarms of seagulls to appear, it dawned on the old man that she hadn't taken the device, As animals were materializing out of thin air all around them, his thoughts turned to the basement, maybe ... the tins of tomato soup could. be tossed into the air as a distraction, tempting the rampant animal barrage to the corners of the wigwam, and allowing the chanting men the opportunity to.ie down and have a jolly good snooze, just for ten minutes.
However, this was not to be because he talking budgie, kept in the nearby tower for just such an occasion, started to squawk "the red coats are coming, the red coats are coming!" prompting the wise men, the old man and his son, attended by the sprites and seagulls, to enter the conference room, to debate and discuss the current policy regarding ways of manageing the house hold whilst also appeasing the redcoats, in a way that is mutually agreeable and non threatening to either side.
It was as they were just pouring themselves a glass of luke warn water that the red coats...i stormed into the chamber, knocking the glasses out of their respective hands, screaming incoherently.
"`scuse me!" said the old man, with barely concealed lust. "Just what are you doing there, my fine fellas?"
"The water, the water is to cold to make the Tea, and without the Tea the world will be sucked into the vortex of doom and day old jellyfish!"
"Of course!" said Marcus, with a voice more lusty than his father could ever hope to achieve, "we need the tea to improve the viscosity of the enormous.

I am what I am

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Mr Mittens


Member

Posted Mon Jul 13th, 2009 10:46pm Post subject: making a story
bunions on my weather-worn feet

Don't be ridiculous Darling!

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tito


Member *

Posted Sat Jul 18th, 2009 2:30pm Post subject: making a story
bunions on my weather-worn feet

'which i was going to have removed until I met my current partner, who has a bunyon fetish. I was revolted at first I admit, but it's always good for a couple to have interests in common and so I threw myself into it'

The room went quiet and the old man released a hacking cough,

the he said..... (quote)

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Mister


Member

Posted Mon Aug 3rd, 2009 8:10pm Post subject: making a story
"Well" , he said disgusted. "That's....well...ehm, well, that's that. And if someone ever say the word bunion again, I might so something horrid. But If we really need tea to save the world, there is a simple solution, the one and only, a simple, little thing, yet ingenious in it's own special way, and I flatter myself by saying that I, and only I could think of something so great and simple, and..."

"Old man, get on with it. It will soon be too late." screamed Marcus.

"Well, it is."

"What is?, what you insane old excuse for a father!"

"Too late!" screamed the father, as everything suddenly went...

Beautiful thing, the destruction of words.

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tito


Member *

Posted Mon Aug 3rd, 2009 8:34pm Post subject: making a story
black!

The lights all over the house, fizzled, sputtered and failed.

The old man was moving about the room. The noise of his rasping breath moving here and there.

The others twisted and turned to follow him.

Marcus called, 'the lights! We've got to fix the lights'

The old man's movement ceased. 'Forget the lights boy! I pressed my cuff link, which was a secret detonator and exploded the generator! It was a quiet explosion I admit.'

And then his breathing again maneuvered about the place.

'Candles, let's get the candles' urged Marcus.

In that instant the french windows flew open, allowing in the welcome moonlight, it shone down on the figure of........

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