Re: The story game
by edible_hat » Thu Mar 20, 2008 12:49 pm
There was a town that held a secret; 12chan's username and password, except no one cared, including the towns people. One day Madman appeared before the crown prosecutor to plead his story. A story involving many candies, or something similar. The judge was unable to punish Madman because he did it wrong, causing a time paradox which could only be causing a time paradox that killed all of the people who tried to create time paradoxes. It goes without saying that one should never consider penguins to be tasty when deep fried, penguin pantsu however are Bazza's favourite breakfast cereal, loaded with 3 grains of housing cement formula for verbal diarrhea control. Unfortunately his attempts at living failed miserably, and declaring allegiance to Madman, causes a time paradox, and ceases to exist. Then came the phonebooth masquerading as a duck roll, however it was difficult to ascertain if it was copypasta or a clever ruse. Suddenly, minderjährigen mädchen! Hundreds of them! They all started to dismember madman with their small, highly rusted weapons coated with taipan poison. Madman knew right away that November had come, and in order to successfully sell his soul he had to purchase twenty three fluffy ducklings. With these ducklings he summoned a frontier psychiatrist, named Moot who had large tumors attached to his naruto dvd boxset. The tumors suddenly became infected when bazza appeared, and started breeding with Rika-chan who was a mutated time paradox, who hated breeding with Moot's infected dvd tumors. So she strangled Bazza with a nylon garrote, becoming 2007 Saimoe champion. Meanwhile, more minderjährigen mädchen's had started to grow tumors so phill could use them to change topics.
Suddenly, a new paragraph, traversing the hard road, looked around at the clowns plotting nefarious deeds. A passing Jesus impersonator said Moe is the greatest sin from mankind. At once, many catgirls exploded into flame, causing damage of 9000+, also called OVER 9000. Pity Goku wasn't around to see it happen. He was already dead. Killed by a haemherroid from attending weekly AJAS. The Rat Hole's seats were hard as stone, which may explain why we only desperately use the poorly designed little shitpit, with stairs of natural selection designed to claim the lives of all bogans who dare enter this place of horror that has killer babbits, wait what's a babbit? Anyway, having buried Goku in Mappy's car trunk ; driven away by Ryan, they arrived at Failtown, the origins of 4chan (pre-internet days you know) and promptly proceeded to deface every wall with election posters. The AEC together with The Topless Christopher Pyne Dancing Troupe began doing Mappy impersonations that scarred the children's delicate psyche and caused explosive diarrhea, which covered the election better than Channels Seven, Nine and Ten. Which was not hard. The ABC won easily with digital airing anime that few could access unless they contacted Mappy via the secret passage, which sounds really dodgy. A one-eared man was selling tickets to the local bogans, who were homosexuell for Bridget but also wanted to make sweet love to strawberry flavoured popcorn dipped in buckets of lard. Striking a pose, he said Madman was god of the feral bogans and deserved many minderjährigen mädchen's, but Labor won instead causing Johnny to expectorate, extrapolate, defenestrate, masticate and menstruate. Afterwards Howard decided to Martianise the Kazakhs and summon the Qiraji, while playing the war because he had no life. Which is known fact.
Meanwhile, back in Swaziland, three tentacled hentai monsters applied for unemployment benefits. But couldn't hold pens so they couldn't fill in the correct forms, instead they filed for divorce, because they were performing guro on request of Ryan, their husband. Meanwhile, back in Salisbury, England, Stonehenge was attracting bogans with F**koff shotguns. Primitive rocks, primitive people. Also know as Chavs, their stupidity exceeds all serpentine digestive systems worldwide, whilst knowingly segregating artichokes into matter and antimatter. The Artichoke Rights Movement was an incompetent organisation masking Melbourne underground figures from the Oompa Loompas targetting Sydney Harbour Bridge with recycled body butter and continental mürrisch spam, egg, sausage and spam. So they got hungry jacks double whopper with Murloco's South Seas Chilli and black jellybeans in 100% non-biodegradable styrofoam containers. Doing a Highland Fling versus Scot Haggis McHaggis McDonald McCheeseburger Deluxe Smith, aka Fred; the specialty of glace' fruit producers, Mendes jumped into action inserting jellybeans into his illicit Scandinavian gardening implements which he then used on seven dyslexic goalposts for the purposes of creating a pime taradox! Which created many tsunderes for the king of the bloodthirsty, swashbuckling pirates. Arrrrrr be makin' mp3s of sultry sea shanties an' file sharin' em causing music label wars, but I don't care because of the Internets Of The Carribbean.... Arrrrrrrr....
Suddenly, nothing much happened. The Pirate King IceLee and Queen Edible Hat had gone out to enjoy The Black Parade For Un-equal White Rights and slightly discoloured Lefts and dined at the Gerard Way Zombie Emporium for Very Special People that write pop songs with very bad lyrics to lure in emos to cosplay for very effective otaku bait. The very unusual problem is that tentacles started growing from their apple danish. The Danish were surprised. And so was Mark. But being Dutch, he had already been mentioned visiting the Nether Regions on his lunch break, where he ate lots of Madman's minderjährigen mädchen potion turning him into a small, offduty traffic warden called Little Johnny Howler, who was Freddy Krueger's dermatologist. He's now unemployed. He should've stayed home! But during renovations, the Machine Gun Fellatio Parade, tired of blutig parades, especially The Black Parade, assassinated My Chemical Romance. He was awarded with Limp Bizkit's limp biscuit; disturbingly the shape of a camel's exceedingly enormous tongue, which he used to summon Miss Murder von Trapp. Admiral Akbar, the Muslim Catholic Wookie and author of "Naked Hibiscus Variegated Leaf Arrangements in Aspic and Jelly", ate some fried Jawa and came down with Gungan howling dancing syndrome ... equivalent to Vorgon Poetry (for external use only) on a sunny Sunday by a rose garden in the middle of a galaxy far away during a time paradox in ye olde England. Which is now dead, replaced by warm beer (the Horror, the Horror), and mouldy French Brie which is still better, and occasionally still butter, but definitely never better than better butter batter, so bitter you'd bother batting the bugger's brother bonkers, biting black bugs between blutig bogan's basements, betting billion bearerr bonds and bolding Bernard's biography. The blutig boring beatch.
Bellowing "Boiled badgers' bottoms!", Bernie Barker-Benson-Brickyard-Boulder-BamBam-Billingsley bedazzled Bazza by bringing boiled brown bristley barnyard bats, bequeathed by Baron Bambrillbettersly boastful blackberried bottom boar. Carefully carrying chopped carrots, Christine Camberwell carved cuticles containing crusty crucified crabs, copiously coated caustic creosote creatively caramelised creamy cheesecake designed despicably during desu, daring druids drunkenly dancing despairing December's deadly days, especially every Easter evening . Elephants easily easing eastwards early every epic endoscopy ended alliteration by sending copious quantities of minderjährigen mädchen's into cerebrally-damaged comas.
Suddenly, not much happened. They hadn't noticed yet. Yet was hiding, elsewhere were the Pirate King and her gender-bending horde of gloomy looking transexual Bazzas. They came in blutig great droves wearing ragged clothings that danced macarenas during beltane. But the minderjährigen mädchen had. Indeed, the minderjährigen mädchen had. The Pirate King IceLee hadn't, but besides that the minderjährigen mädchen had. Imagine, if you were capable of such a thing, and not merely a bed breaker named Mappy, though what that has up its left nostril, besides the mucous membrane could determine the fate of three blind mice, a dish, a spoon,
Mel Gibson's remake of
The Life of Brian is nowhere near as funny as the original.
There are four autonomic responses, and they all start with F. Fright, fight, flight and making love. -Dr Karl
http://edible-hat.livejournal.com/
