Openin linez

sounds like dialogue from a marvel movie

people seem to enjoy those...

im gonna beat the everloving shit out of you for being mean

Dinner over, the table cleared, the dishes dispensed in the sink, my beautiful wife retired upstairs to our bedroom and I hustled across the house to the study, where I would spend rest of the summer evening reclined in a leather chair, listening at last to the latest episode of the Joe Rogan Experience.

>i did get a little lost but not horrible.
i recommend capitalizing i unless there is a motif in the later lines that warrants it

boof taddy nigga

my line is the one in the original post fhugget

how i would revise

>The short man Craig, who was five feet flat, joined the Army only to get his legs blown off. His new mechanical appendages would raise him to six feet tall and give him the leverage he needed to finally beat the everloving shit out of the candlemaker who snuck into his bed at night.

inspired, will be as iconic as the opening lines to Anna Karenina

I think you've completely changed the meaning. I think OP's is just saying what our boy Craig was planning when he joined the army, not that it all actually happened.

oh, i see. maybe make it clearer, i think its ambiguous. it can read like something that happened and not just a plan.

this chapter deals with installation and configuration of _____ on a local server. if you are installing the software on a remote server, proceed to chapter _ instead.

Trevor Wolf lived in a world where death could appear around any corner, where patience was not a virtue, where a child's reproving voice was one's only connection to the outside world, where footsteps meant trouble, silence meant even bigger trouble, and camping, for any reason, was a mortal sin. This is all to say that Trevor was the feared and reviled xChaosWolfx, snack-food devourer and Call of Duty player to the bitter fucking end.

Back in his office, Professor Morris tried his best to recall the series of unlikely events that had led him, after eleven years of employment, to call one of his students a faggot.

Sometimes when John's cat sat warmly in his lap, purring in excited slumber, he would form quite the erection.

Yesterday was the day I stopped hearing the music.

Does he fuck or cum on the cat?

Team Beam were the rilinest body builders on the shore, big on muscles, big on CRASH–––cum in their jocks.

Best in thread desu. Build up the seriousness of the first part before the punchline though.

Hi, I'm known as Ishmael.

...

He instantly fell in love when he saw the chubby, bespectacled girl in stained baggy black clothing relocating all of the copies of the Holy Bible to the fantasy section of the library - the very same thing he set out to do.

"Oh my Sagan." he gasped.

The best. Keep writing shit like this.

>quite the erection
Made me giggle

It was on the first of Juliesdaymonth that Caesariat Cola, third High Circus-leader Magnifex of the Proletarium, found his willingfred. At two thrusts he was in him, and at the third he was outterds. This was the day he died, you see.

and the air burst into golden retrievers.

The thin man groaned like a new year's goose as he slid his books off the shelf.

If you have to ask you shouldn't post.

"Bespectacled"
Never use words like this

>There was only one enemy left... two if you counted god

When did this start?

Never post here again

Ah, monsieur, how am I to describe the bespectacled jeunes filles who, ah, stir in me the feelings of most profound eroticism, non? You do not understand, I do not think, monsieur. You are very stupid perhaps.

Don't talk to me or my wife's son ever again.

idk if im gonna use this one or not but I kinda like the intrigue it creates. and it sets the tone pretty well

Leo looked to his mother "But there's no saving him. Not now." and she hurried him out through the back fences.
He wept alone in an empty room. He wept uncontrollably.
He felt warmth swell behind his eyes and his face contort.
His hands covered his mouth and he closed his eyes tightly.

around september?

> ... three if you counted the devil... four if you counted that kid who bullied him in school... five if you counted the POTUS... etc.

really not that great without context.

i think I've seen that anime

if you sought to affect with cringe, well played

Randolph live in the walled-off house at the top of the hill, and boasted to anyone who would listen that he had once – by choice -spent three and a half years sustained only by skittles, bitter shandy, and anti-anxiety medication.

this is pretty good

It is customary to preface a work with an explanation of the author's aim, why he wrote the book, and the relationship in which he believes it to stand to other earlier or contemporary treatises on the same subject.

An endless stream of black ties and blue shirts. Belts - some a darker brown, some grey and shiny; opaque glamoury suites, matched pants; smiles and concerned faces. Some happy. Some drunk with fatigue. The yellow teeth of an older one, his expressionless, relaxed features; shoelaces and shoes, many with that wide, short heel that feels uncomfortable after five or six hours. The inaudible sound of rolexes and patek philippes’ clicking aligned, not a millisecond apart. Combed hair - all brown and black. The sweat of one bringing a short bang over his eyes. Heat. Combed body hair, up to the last invisible line perpendicular to the cutis. Five out of the twelve unofficially approved government's haircuts. Not that individual freedom would have created a greater variety. Polished nail, short fingers; the clicking of feets against the blacktop floor. Eyes focussed, all black. A pair not quite staring with both pupils at the same object. Loud and orderly at once. The miracle of eastern-asian discipline. Men. All came down from Orchard road and stopped at the traffic lights before Grange road.

I'd like to believe that who we are doesn't matter, and that was does matter is our plan. This thought undoubtedly ran through my head as I entered the restroom before work and saw a man furiously masturbating in the urinal.

How can it be that I should care about who this man at the urinal is when I've never seen him before, and more than likely never will again, when I should ignore that he is doing a commonly done-in-private act publicly? His plan is obvious, but who he is is not. Perhaps I misunderstood everyone before today and the plan is really what matters, and who we are does not.

Sounds deep but truly isn't. It's just stupid.

>reads pynchon once

>browses /tv/ once

>reads nabokov once

>suffers from anxiety once

>attempts meta once

>reads de bello gallico once

>attempts post-irony once

Sup, name's Ish.

this is an eyesore

I liked it.

Leah was never a religious woman, and she never gave much thought to what might be waiting for her after she died. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but be disappointed when her afterlife began not with a cumulus staircase to a set of pearl-white gates, but with a long wait by the smoking remains of her car for what she would later come to know as the most hotboxed taxi on either side of death's door.

Holy... If I read this, I would just HAVE to read the rest!

He had heard but one meme the whole winter; two, if you counted the CRASH.

Promising. A poor copy of the one with the archbishop and the catamite, but still.

When I found child porn on dad's computer I called the police, after saving a copy for later.

>reads de bello gallico once
Holy fucking shit you're right. I didn't realise I was using so many Roman words.
>Juliesdaymonth Caesariat
And I was only shitposting.

This thread is gold

Maman died today; or maybe it was the golden retriever.

Thats not the way he loved here, or as he tried to tell himself ever so desperately, it was more of a certain attitude, a certain credo of him, to speak with her in this particular way; or rather would have spoken to her if he ever knew of her existance with certitude.

...

Shit. Try
>Maman died today; or maybe she made pancakes.

The girl I had just finished masturbating to was just my type: brunette with a body type that leaned toward athletic.

Like all the other issues in my life, it all started with the Bay of Pigs.

Ham-fisted.

A CRASH! comes across the sky. It has happened before, but it's rarely a good thing. It is too late to make pancakes. (...) Mom's afraid of the way the Golden Retriever will fall--soon--it will be a spectacle: the fall of a gargantuan canine. But coming down in total blackout, without one glint of light, only great invisible CRASHING!

HOLY

In the distance, just after dawn as the fog fades away, it arrived on the horizon line, a great steel ship with a flat top and no sail.

>work in a bookshop
>manager is a muslim
>all religious books are in the random ass fiction section
>quran is in non-fiction

>Be bookstore manager
>Don't give a fuck about books
>Don't give a fuck about managing
>DO give a fuck about Allah
>Put one book in the right place, shit out all the others