Hey Veeky Forums let's have a practice lap on our writing skills...

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you are quite welcome
yeah, something weird about sitting in a really comfortable chair outside. can't quite put my finger on it.

They surrounded her, they knew her thoughts. She couldn't resist them for long, their staring eyes, slits of evil through wide expanses of white, they even glowed in the night, the bastards. She lay prostate and motionless, rigid in tense fear, if only to sever their horrific gazes as she hid her tears in the sheets. She suddenly felt the weight of them as they lay on top of her, cold, surprisingly cold, as they stiffly lay on her, lithe muscles as rigid as her own, there seemed to be a vibration coming from them all, something undulating, and finally beginning to rise to a climax. She wished to look up, but her fear restricted her, she knew she was going to die.

lel no. maybe something about the anguish of fractal mind, tearing at his nerves as he surged into another dimension, one where his limbs no longer lay flat but have a weight, something different, not that, something dense, something wrong, he tried to reach out to touch his limb, but found himself warped swiftly, attempting to learn these new movements, but finding himself more and more constrained by this confusing world, he instantly missed the simplicity of home, and wept into his armpit, begging the Lord to take him back

Dang. Slow thumbs up. You're good.

I now cry tears through the eyes of Pepe the green frog. Mission accomplished. Transcendence through ego suicide. FTW.

hey, thanks! but yeah, i'm done before i run out of steam.

Somer Himpson lingered. He seemed, at all times, to drag behind him the sad and often unquiet aura, as everyone instantly noticed, of eerie displacement and collection of emotional pastiche from double-sided bad people he called his 'Buddies'

When John had finally wrung to sand the last of all his earthly vim
He found the jewels he'd fought to bear were now forever wearing him

"Get that nonsense out of your head Martha, I thought to myself, you're just a Maid and he's your Lord. Besides, what if the Lady where to find out?"
And yet, seeing him laid across the bed, gazing at me spookily, I knew what I wanted. Underneath his fine garments, I could hear his bone rattling for me.

"Stop being a prude, Carl, it's not gay if I'm in between the both of you. Can you be any more of a little bitch?"

Here's a fun one.

"I know it was dumb to ride you while swinging my sword but damn it felt right. I regret nothing."

Farewell to thee my trusty steed
Last request - sexual
Place your large mouth over my genitals
No worries anymore, just peace
As I bleed into the soil
Becoming worse than dirt
Orgasmic pleasure - I refuse
You shouldn't have done that
I live to see another day
But another steed I request

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Harold was sad. The man was on the ground and he was covered in blood. The man had been on Harold's back for a little while. Harold wasn't sure why he cared about the man whose heels had pained his sides, but he certainly felt pity towards the person before him on the ground. Harold noticed the rain, and forgot all about the man. He didn't want to be wet.

Hot dang what a twist

Here's another one, you guys are doing good.

almost funny but the awful execution ruined any semblance of humor here

"what a fucking loser" the horse thought to himself, as he stared at the man on the ground. "I can't believe he killed himself before we even got to the battle"

A beautiful misunderstood man stood there perplexed. The girl of his dreams had just presented herself to him. Was it really happening? No, it was just another self-fulfilled delusion. After all, how could any member of the opposite sex be attracted to a husky gentleman in suspenders wearing a Superman t-shirt.

One day she will come, presenting her hairy kingdom to him. Unshaven with the gates slowly opening. A true black goddess will crave the wide-set ears and smile of pure pride and lust, yet exposing the anguish inside.

The biggest change was the quiet. Sure, the walls were run down and the yards were overgrown, the hallways filled with puddles and moss had colonized half of it but what unnerved me the most was the quiet. There was no laughter, no herds of footsteps pounding hurriedly on the floorboards, no bell to signal the midday but most of all there was no music.

They share the same soul, Clara though. Tom was not very bright to begin with but now both Toms seem to be even less so. That would explain why she'd talk to one of them and the other would answer or why she couldn't get them to move at the same time. How would she even tell Mother about it? I pushed Tom into a glowing pond and now there's two of them, they're yours now. Now way she could hide them, she couldn't even get them to keep their clothes on.

Gonna dump some interesting ones

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Alright last one, I'll see what you guys made tomorrow. Don't let this thread die.

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visit infowars.com for more

She always loved to roller skate. Dan skated in the streets and she, Rosie, would skate parallel mimicking her older brother's movements. Often she would fall and Dan would have to stop acting like Rosie wasn't there and stand her back up again. Sometimes she would cry. Their parents would peer out the windows and check on them for meals and their nervous mother would peevishly ask if Rosie was alright, even when so covered in pads her elbows and knees could barely bend. Dan was always annoyed when his parents asked, he knew he could keep Rosie safe.

Dan sat back to better enjoy the sun. Camo is hot in the sun and with full pads it's even hotter. Dan wondered why they had given him a gun at all if he could just throw those pads. A girl walked up and played with the hefty pads. Dan smiled and wondered at the tight braids in the girls hair. Dan hugged his gun away in an act of caring. It was then that Dan wished he had roller skates.

He leaned limply to slide, back against the glass, slowly and onto the floor and for a brief instant - amidst the rioting - soft carelessness grazed him and called out in undertones of sadness

Wardine be cry

He just loved his katana, more than everything and everybody, he would have made america great again for her.

I don't want it to be funny, let's try a little revision.

Farewell to thee my trusty steed
My last request of you
Place your large mouth over my genitals
Transcendental ecstasy between us
Surpassing barriers between man and beast
As I bleed into the soil bodily fluids
Red with white ropes becoming pink
Slowly sinking into the fertile soil
I have become worse than dirt

We have the greatest swords folks. We really do.
We're gonna forge a katana and make the Japanese pay for it.

bump

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bump

>The static of the rain melted into the television snow and drowned out the rest of her thoughts.

The "is" of the crowd has gradually drifted into a deafening "was". Silence reverberated throughout the stadium, kissing the seats of every step. I didn't think it would be over so soon, or that everyone would be gone so quick - but what do I know? I'm just the shadow of the last man remaining in the crowd. All the other shadows have left.

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What about this one?

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Not all of these pics have to get written, you can write about the one you want even if others have done it too.

The turpentine drips down your face to your lips, you spit it over your left shoulder. You are not in pain, you cannot see, you grasp out, you cannot reach any more forward than your highest point, you turn your head, you speak, you have ears, you cannot see, you cannot hear the sound of your voice, you sing, you spit turpentine, you are still grasping, your thoughts have become calming, you no longer grasp, you no longer panic at the pain of your eyes. You are not in pain, you are no longer grasping, you gesture outward, your hands relaxed, you have lips, you can sing, you don't need to, you cannot hear the sound of your voice.

I step out onto the road barefoot feeling the sifting wind floating through the trees as clouds sit motionless in the sky moving as one atmospheric entity spaced throughout the blue air. The intermittent phasing of crickets and cicadas is the only unsilence and the sound sits suspended above the dirt path and mound shoulder only to be lost in the wild brush just off the way. I see her walking *and I open my mouth and feel my vocal chords reverberate and the air pass out of my lips and my tongue strike the top and bottom of my mouth but no sound reaches my ear and she’s running now and I can’t control it anymore I only notice the pure breath against the winter air the only cloud in the vicinity is the one leaving her lips* and she yells to me and for some reason it’s not her voice it’s mine and we’re together now, one of the same of the kind of the one of the two of us together now.

*[stuff]* denotes italicization

Inspired by Quentin's ridiculous prose in Faulkner's "The Sound and the Fury"

Meta

All jokes aside I do like this. Makes me think I'm part of the painting.

'ere

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Thanks.

When I saw the painting, I instantly thought of the title "I, purples, spat blood, laugh of beautiful lips," a piece of music by Aaron Cassidy, so I almost wanted to plagarize that as the first sentence, but I really dislike writing in first person (since it is the most natural to me), and I wanted to try out second person since I've never really tried anything with it, and I'm thinking of writing some sections of my novel using it after reading some in "The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You"

Space Funeral, go for it

"It's like that picture I showed you, of the canvas that some jackass just painted a little black dot in the middle of, and then sold to some pretentious prick for $5 million or something." He said, after a while of sizing up my car. What a dick.

"Come on man, I put work in at least. I don't care if you don't get it but I didn't just put a black dot on a canvas, you have to give me that." I said in a regrettably pleading tone. "I don't mean you didn't put effort into it, I just mean it looks like the only point you were trying to make is that most people aren't going to understand it. It's nonsense."

"Fuck you, man."

The kid was bald and was wearing an Auschwitz uniform and a headless donkey sauntered up to him casually in the wild and level wasteland where the eye can roam around to distances that it knows not and in the background were heads rising up out of the ground like blood and cracked psychedelic mushrooms from some horrible inferno and the headless donkey asked the kid why he was crying and the kid said, Ye.

Post-modern Descripitive Objectivism - I like it

Eh???
Maybe?

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At dusk around these parts, you'd always hear the melancholy whine and drone of insects big and small. They flitted back and forth and traced their wings along tracks unseen, and if you took it all in at once, I'd swear you could see their souls rising up against the fading light.

gg

ty

Truth is, you never quite know who someone is. Truth is, you can't - you'd have to carve their beating heart from out of their chest to ever see its knowing scars and wrinkles. And truth is, you'd probably rather not. Our hearts are hard and heavy for the painful lives we've led and we weave our skins about us to shield the world from that heat that would radiate outward and tint the world with all our hurt, sad and passionate and full of conviction.

Wouldn't you rather just be here with me now?

>Do you like Huey Lewis and the News?Their early work was a little too 'new-wave' for my taste, but when Sports came out in '83, I think they really came into their own - both commercially and artistically. The whole album has a clear, crisp sound, and a new sheen of consummate professionalism that really gives the songs a big boost. He's been compared to Elvis Costello, but I think Huey has a far more bitter, cynical sense of humor.
In '87, Huey released this, Fore!, their most accomplished album. I think their undisputed masterpiece is "Hip To Be Square", a song so catchy most people probably don't listen to the lyrics - but they should! Because it's not just about the pleasures of conformity, and the importance of trends, it's also a personal statement about the band itself! Hey Paul!

The alarm sounded for the third time and once again i slapped the snooze button for another 10 or 20 minutes. The sirens outside didnt agree with my addled decision so they decided to park not a few blocks from my apartment floor. As much as I would love to fight against the inevitable morning, it couldnt wait until the afternoon today. I began the usual ceremony. I rolled off the couch into a hunched perch on its edge, blinked away the stupor, and scanned the room. Last night's dishes on the floor, the night before, the week before. Racid clothes hung from every makeshift hook. The four walls are as close as they should be, trapping in the stale familiar air. Everything was in where it should be, perfectly out of place.

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aw snap that's the nu bagadi wolf on the skateboard, pretty radical

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"Stop horsing around!"

He would be the last. As Ferdinand sat in the dark room, awaiting his executioner, he wondered whether it was worth it. His father had always told him that the best thing for a jester to do was top keep his head down, and do whatever the king says. A jester's job was to make people happy.

Nevertheless, when he saw just how cruel the new King was to Esmerald, and the lost look in her eyes, Ferdinand knew he had to help her escape the darkness of the castle. He plotted and planned active insurrection, all because he thought it was the right thing to do.

Now, he was going to die within the hour. The long line of court jesters would end, all because Ferdinand had a foolish infatuation.

In some ways,. that was rather funny.

Very nice one user

Thank you! What did you like about it, if I may ask?

this is cute lol

I liked this one. Call it cheesy, but it's just what the picture needs.

They guard the trees, they say. Shadows in the dusk, gliding their almost incorporeal forms across the leaves.

I once asked my aunt if those shades were evil.

She replied "They are what keeps greater evil at bay."

Do this one

First the glass of milk broke all over the floor. Then, while trying to clean it up, he accidentally caused the pile of books to fall over the floor. Than, while picking up the books, the candle fell onto the floor. Then, while trying to get the fire extinguisher, he accidentally fell on the table, causing a vase to fly off, and crash into a window.

So when Mom came home, it was just a cherry on the crap combo.

hey that's pretty fun___

Thanks. Is that a reference to a meme?

It's an amalgamation of IDubbz's 'hey that's pretty good' and Veeky Forums's own bait-and-switch spoiler, plus I thought it was a fun scenario. I like lacing my speech with memes but conveying my thought comes first so the meaning would've been the same without you knowing these memes. It's like easter eggs for memes, or memester eggs

All around me are familiar furries, worn out buttplugs and worn out faces. Bleak and dreary for our daily races, "Going nowhere," I tell them, "going nowhere".

Their tears are filling up their fursuits, no expression, no expression.

Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow, no tomorrow, no tomorrow. And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.

I find it hard to tell them, I find it hard to take, when people stay in these circles it's a very, very mad world.

this is a non-ironic request for you to kys

This reminds me of the man who woke up one day with a plastic knob at the back of his head.

Yes, kind of like that but there's some chance people might get it.

Want to talk about it?

You win for a reference to my favorite song.

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"What mean I bad smell?" he said confusingly after the woman in front of him told him he stunk. "My name George, George of jungle," he said with a stoic expression. Smelly Jungle?" asked George, "No" the woman replied.