Welcome to the guidelines for the Second KMC Short Story Contest!
To those of you that participated in the last contest, thank you for making it such a big success. I actually had requests for a second contest!
With each Short Story contest, there will be a genre that defines what the story must be about. The genre is completely decided on my whim and fancy, whatever I feel like choosing. With the last contest, there was no such thing. You could write whatever. Not so, this time.
Story length is 10,000 characters minimum (one post) and 20,000 characters maximum (two posts).
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NOTICE
Keep in mind that Short Stories with explicit imagery or language must be censored (*'s for language, [spoiler][/*spoiler] tags for passages).
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GENRE
The genre for this short story contest is...
Horror! You'll flip on the television around Halloween time and all the horror thrillers and shows that are meant to creep you out are on. Twilight Zone, Halloween, Friday the 13th, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, etc. Or maybe some old Vincent Price movie like 'The Thriller' or perhaps the classic Frankenstein and Dracula movies.
Write a story that's going to creep me out or scare me, basically. Monsters, psycho killers, scary situations, etc.
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SPECIAL
Feh, since I flaked and started late, I will make no special requirement other than that the thing be scary in some way.
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JUDGES
For all contests, there will be a panel of five judges.
I have not yet chosen the judges for this contest, though assume that it may be a similar panel.
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CONTESTANTS
Please send me a Private Message to express interest in this bimonthly contest.
Vinny Valentine
TheKingofKINGS!
Ultraman Baltan
animelover4ever
Claymud
Eternal Turmoil
newjak86
Feanor x
Mortalitas
Scythe x
Wind Sister
Dusty
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OTHER GUMF
Should be interesting to read everything entered.
The contest begins today, October 1st, 2006.
All stories must be entered by Halloween, October 31st. Knowing me, I'll let a few slide if they come in late.
Judging takes place in November.
Good luck, writers. And Happy Halloween.
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Last edited by REXXXX on Oct 20th, 2006 at 05:25 AM
Jack, Jack a good little boy
Loved his mommy, loved his toy
Where, oh where is your dad
Dead, dead, Jack was glad.
Jack said very little when he ate his morning breakfast of cereal and toast; not that he was being quiet or proper, just that Jack lived in a world of silence since his daddy died in a horrible accident more than three months ago: poor little Jack, having witnessed that accident himself caused his little boy voice to go quiet. Along with that, good little Jack had a secret. A secret that no one knew about : not his mommy, his school friends or anyone in the little town where he lived.
Jack’s daddy was abusive towards his mommy and to Jack. Jack hated his daddy. Not like a little child hate, but a hate only a grownup would know or feel. Many times Jack would wish his daddy dead. It confused Jack only because Jack was always told that you’re supposed to love your parents. So why couldn’t he love his daddy? Jack’s little mind couldn’t comprehend this conflicting dilemma. Jack felt a knot in his stomach whenever he thought back to that black day. Or was it at night? Jack tried to remember.
But he knew he loved his mommy and that daddy had treated his mommy very badly. But what could Jack do? He was only 9. Poor little Jack; who would’ve thought that day he saw his daddy beating his mommy; he could lift his daddy’s shotgun and with tiny little hands pull the trigger and shoot his daddy full on the face. He died in a pool of blood and a severe wound to his face. Jack stood shocked and his mommy in tears. Fortunately for Jack, his mommy was able to make it seem like an accident when the authorities came to investigate.
Jack, Jack a good little boy
Loved his mommy, loved his toys
Fired a shotgun at his dad
Dead, dead, Jack was glad.
Within weeks after his daddy accidentally died, Jack’s mood had improved. He even learned how to smile and no longer felt fear. However, his mommy—although no longer beaten or abused—still seemed sadden, not so much at the loss of an abusive husband and a daddy to her child, but from the psychological and emotional scar she assumed it may have left on poor Jack. He tried to reassure his mommy that every thing was fine and things would get better. He promised. She smiled at him in a way only a mommy can. But the smile was forced and there was bitterness behind it.
Of course, being a child…Jack had not noticed. How could he? Jack was now a happy boy free from a tyrannical daddy that drank too much and was quick to use a stick to beat with rather than use words of love and caring. It didn’t take long before the memory of his terrible daddy would soon fade. As a matter of fact, Jack was beginning to wonder if it all had been a very bad dream: or, if all that had been some other boy, a different mommy, another life. What else could it be? Jack’s spirit soared higher and higher as the days stretched from the time of that incident to the now.
Jack, Jack poor little boy
No more daddy, no more toy
Becoming the man was not so bad
But mommy still was very sad.
Then one day, Jack went to school all happy and smiling. When he got to class, he took his seat along with the other children and waited for the teacher. It was a cacophony of sounds and squeals of laughter. Then Jack’s voice and laughter died when his daddy walked through the door. Jack’s eyes went wide and he felt his heart stopped. He’s dead and buried, thought Jack. He saw it with his own eyes on the day of the funeral. So how can he be here? Jack’s eyes followed his dead daddy slowly enter the classroom, past the teacher’s desk and walked towards where Jack sat. None of the other students notice Jack turning pale.
If Jack’s daddy had a mouth, he would have smiled.
As it was, his face was torn and had bits of skin hanging, and on his left showed teeth and part of his skull and the deep gash of a wound was still blood red. Jack wanted to scream but had lost his voice. His daddy took an empty seat behind Jack. Jack found himself gripping the edge of his desk tightly turning his knuckles white. His daddy however sat quietly and made no move. Jack felt the hairs on his neck stand. Still, no one seemed to notice Jack’s distress. My daddy’s dead! He’s dead! Dead! He thought to himself.
And every morning for three months at breakfast, Jack would be accompanied by his dead and mutilated corpse of a father at the table. He never said much, nor did anything else. He just sat. Smiling. There was no malice in Jack’s father’s eyes. Just…happiness. It was as if in death, his daddy had learned to love and beam with joy at being part of a family. A family he once abused with such severity that bordered on being evil. Once, his daddy did something different after so many days at the breakfast table; he tried to reach across to touch Jack’s hand. Jack, naturally, recoiled in horror catching his mommy by surprise.
She had asked him if anything were wrong. Of course being the brave little boy that he was, Jack nodded no. His mommy was worried though. Jack had stopped speaking. He stopped talking or answering questions in class which was a concern to his teacher and the school principal. Jack’s mommy tried desperately to find what was wrong, but Jack wouldn’t say anything. Jack’s daddy continued to smile at Jack, and Jack continued to live in horror and fear of his dead daddy following him around.
He was there when he’d go to bed, when he’d take his bath, when he ate breakfast and dinner, and when he’d be in school. Wherever Jack went, his daddy was sure to follow. Poor little Jack. How could he know that when he shot and killed his daddy, he’d be rewarded, not with a life free from his clutches and an overwhelming feeling of fear, but his constant, silent, menacing presence? He was, after all only a little boy.
Jack, Jack what a shame
Lived in fear, lived in pain
His daddy dead, don’t ask why
Time for death, time to die.
With each passing day, his dead, complacent, silent daddy tried more and more to touch Jack. And each time Jack would recoil in horror and fear. And that smile, and the menacing gleam in his eyes would cause Jack to turn more inward. Jack looked placid and circles formed beneath his eyes. Jack couldn’t sleep very much at night. How could he? The poor little boy. He’d lie in his bed, blanket up to his chin, and his body taught as a tightrope. No one saw Jack’s daddy: not his friends, his teachers, or his mommy. Only Jack could see his daddy. It was his…secret.
Night came, and Jack was full of dread. His mommy was giving him a bath. The tub was full of water and loads of bubbles. Just how Jack likes it, or so his mommy assumed; she hummed to himself as she was scrubbing his back while his dead daddy stood by the doorway. After his bath, he was dressed in his PJ’s and led to his room. Every step seemed heavy, but his mommy urged him on saying very little at his reluctance. Jack climbed on to his bed and his mommy, although sad showed a lot of love for her dear little boy, drew the covers over him, smiled and kissed his forehead. Jack’s daddy watched his wife walk towards the door, turn the lights out, then left, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Jack’s daddy took a seat at the foot of the bed. Jack tried so hard to be brave, but he felt the pounding of his heart in his chest, and he held his breath. He tried closing his eyes. After a while, he opened them and saw that his daddy had edge his way closer to where Jack lay. His daddy tilted his head sideways as if curiosity had overcome him. Jack froze when his daddy reached out and lightly touched Jack’s shoulder. The hand felt cold. Jack tried to say something, he opened his mouth but no sound or word came. A long, sullen sigh. Jack’s daddy shook his head and leaned closer. Jack closed his eyes again, tighter.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. He wanted to be anywhere other than where he was now. Jack still felt the cold hand on his shoulder. When he opened his eyes again, Jack saw that his daddy was gone. Where did he go? Jack hoped he was gone forever. So, why did he still feel the cold, cold feel of his daddy’s hand on his shoulder? Jack looked side to side and saw nothing. He felt his body melt, relax. Jack finally went to sleep with the cold sensation on his shoulders. Poor little Jack never woke up from his sleep.
Jack’s poor mommy was crying and sobbing uncontrollably when they lowered his coffin. Friends held on to her as she tried to jump in after her son. At the end of the funeral, she remained. Jack’s mommy never saw her son—eyes gouged out, mouth sewn shut—holding his daddy’s hand as they stood beneath a large oak tree. They stood there. Silent. Unmoving. She fell on his tombstone and let loose her agonized tears from swollen red eyes. Jack lifted his head towards his daddy. His daddy looked down on Jack and smiled white teeth. The scarring and the wound was all that was left of his face. Daddy and son turned and walked away. Jack…gave one last look at his mommy. Jack’s mommy turned her gaze towards that large oak tree, and through tear-filled eyes saw…nothing.
Jack, Jack, daddy and son
Both are dead, both are gone
Mommy cries for her little boy
Alone, alone, with his toys.
Thunder claps as the soaking wooden door comes to a close. Rainfall slides off the adobe roof as a wood-paneled station wagon drives near. Justice was not served after I quacked those words of purity.
"Xirius, did you remember to go to the bathroom? I don't want to have to stop at every damn Carl's Jr. in this poverty stricken kingdom." Asked Scythe angrily.
A defiled look as maggots escaped from the wretched mouth of a nearby carcass, and still I drive off in disappointment, that a tri-day from now, Xirius will order me to stop for tinkle...
A fourth-night's into the long horrific drive through shotgun-toting Mormon country, gave way to a flat rubber donut. Upon further inspection, the cause of our vehicle's mutilation was none other then a ten-gallon hat which read:
"Da~Rev ponders your ghey"
I wee shrill of my voice led me to continuously piss and shid myself several dozen times, not exactly in that order. Xirius, however, preoccupied with a paddle ball, decided we could make great use of this hat, by purging our inner bowels when the curse known as "Car-Sickness" would snare us.
Nightfall came, and a lone toll-booth stood in our way. Cylinder metallic housing of an ominous giant shelled inside, our stool was downloaded faster then Richard Simmons undressing a Care Bear. Panic ensued as the mighty, surprisingly jelly-filled, towering menace made his way to the driver's side window. A closer look, and we realized it was Capt. REX! Sneering down at us, he bellowed words I can only describe as, "Aloha". A hand full of coins dropped down on to the street resembling jitter-bugs. Waving us to proceed, he let out a bellow which blew up the back of our vehicle.
"You forgot your complimentary b*tch-slap!" Bellowed Capt. REX.
A massive iron hand connected to Capt. REX's arm side-swiped us exactly three days back with great force.
Thunder claps as the soaking wooden door comes to a close. Rainfall slides off the adobe roof as a wood-paneled station wagon drives near. Justice was not served after I quacked those words of purity.
"Xirius, did you remember to go to the bathroom? I don't want to have to stop at every damn Carl's Jr. in this poverty stricken kingdom." Asked Scythe with much confusion for the feeling of deja vu was settling in/
A defiled look as maggots escaped from the wretched mouth of a nearby carcass, and still I drive off in disappointment, that a tri-day from now, Xirius will order me to stop for tinkle...
A fourth night occurs, and our vehicle once more nears the metallic cylinder of the toll-booth. The booth keeper dwelling inside, possibly listening to Celine Dion to further his sexual, carnivorous prowess. Within the back of my skull, a beacon of hope stirred with relentless energy.
"Times have changed, and we have been here." Proclaimed Scythe.
"Hwar?" Replied Xirius
"I don't think you understand the seriousness of the situation." Explained Scythe. "One of us might actually die here tonight for a measly, pathetic, easily-replaceable, buck-tooth carrying twenty cents!" Answered Scythe.
"Well, as long as it's you, can I have your girlfriend?" Asked Xirius.
"Xirius! Please!" Shouted Scythe. "As if I have a girlfriend! Geez, sometimes....it's like, you think you know a man, then he flips out all umbrella on your motherf*cking ass." B*tched and moaned Scythe.
Regardless, Scythe had a plan, a very neglected of pure creativity plan, but still one for the history scripts. Revving up an engine with a punch of gas and already our heroes are plowing forward at 120 mph, which is indeed impossible since station wagons have never been recorded going faster then the speed of ghey.
"Alright! We ram the wooden panel with the yellow and black stripes going side to side!" Screamed Scythe at the three feet in distance Xirius.
"Oh, the one with the cute little yellow stripes, and it's called diagonal Scythe, if your going to explain something do it right, don't just "Momma Mia" things, you'll get nowhere in life like that." Recited Xirius.
"Cute....?" Asked Scythe.
Bracing for impact, at the last action-packed moment, a bright light blinds both heroes as they scream. With one last effort, Scythe is heard screaming at Xirius not to close his eyes...
Collision due in seconds, Xirius managed to yelp out utter words of future death.
"Ahhhhhhh, oh look it's Natashia! Hai Natashia!" Yelled Xirius on impact.
A vague figure representing Natashia zoomed past us when we struck the booth. The sound of scrap metal being skewed by Roseanne’s death donating jaws is heard as our station wagon became two. Impossibly keeping myself balanced on two wheels, I looked back to see Xirius planted on the booth like a Girl Scout's acorn eating badge on a finely tailored vest. One more glance gave off the impression of Capt. REX scooping up Xirius' remains with a toothbrush, and vigorously, he began to brush his molars with what I detect was his spleen. Such a hideous sight to behold.
Bloody steel beams resemble Iowa as my half-cut station wagon clears a bridge. From the distance, a figure cloaked in candy cane colors approached me. Coming to a complete stop, 90 degrees never hurt so bad. A loud thud, and I was staring at the pavement with tired eyes. Escaping from the wreckage, it looked much like a station wagon seeped into the ground. The candy cane cloaked figure made his way toward me, each footstep, sooty and gheyer then the last.
"I, am the mayor of Candy Land! But you can call me Iztak!" Boomed the Mayor.
"Tell me where you're keeping my family!!" Scythe screamed.
"Nuu, I have no relatives of yours, however, you can mostly find them in our candy casinos! Why your uncle was arrested the other night for taking a bite out of a gummi stripper!" Explained the Mayor.
"Yeah, that sounds like my uncle, shut up, I need a vehicle to continue my unholy pilgrimage!" Replied Scythe.
Making a slightly strange gesture with his hands, I wasn't sure if he either told me to follow him, or suck out the venom due to a snake bite on a man's penis. However he made it plain that I was to follow him down lollipop lane. Instantly, I racked up a major criminal history, for by the time we arrived to city hall, I had digested seven gummi kittens, nine taffy puppies, a young African American boy, and somewhere along the way, I think I might've licked an under aged lolita. Iztak had me thrown in chocolate jail, where I dwelled for a week. Then it hit me, that everything was made of chocolate. Just before chewing my way to freedom, a few inmates came by for their weekly blow jobs. As much as I thought about a solid cylinder composed of chocolate and whipped cream filling in the shaft, I puked for fifteen minutes straight, then pissed myself, and then chewed my way out. Looking around, I noticed Mayor Iztak's vehicle parked in front of city hall. Many failed attempts at hot-wiring it, I finally managed to get it up and running, but still, I have to question Mayor Iztak's choice in a vehicle for it blurted out: "I'm ghey!" and "Wear your short-shorts! It's gunna beh muy caliente tomorrow!", every ten miles. However, that was the least of my worries, my unholy pilgrimage was almost at it's peak.
The fifth moon watches over me with quiet ease as my ghey-mobile stutters itself to death.
"Something must be wrong with the engine." proclaimed Scythe.
Rolling himself up to the hood, it popped open with a comical "boing" as Scythe realized there was no engine, just four monkeys wearing Richard Simmons-esqe afros and pink ballerina costumes.
"Okay, this is getting weird." Shouted Scythe.
A sweet aroma of cooked food triggered Scythe's attention as he realized an all-you-can-eat-buffet. The tall structure was painted in red and black paint, resembling a Hot Topic. The masses of hell have come to be treated to dinner, and Scythe was not to pass off this opportunity
The leathery notches on Scythe's belt give off a vibe of loneliness as his belt snares open like God's godly hand donating a heavenly b*tch slap to Hitler's ass cheek. Scythe lets out a sigh begging for morbid obesity to strike him down with a heart attack.
"I'm stuffed" Proclaimed Scythe wiping his greasy fingers on a young lady's dress. "Hey! Use your napkin!" She clucked
Rolling himself out one pathetic sigh at a time, Scythe realized he hadn't paid the bill yet. Seems his master plan to stop at an all-you-can-eat emo-f*ck buffet hadn't been thought of financial wise.
"Well I could use one of Xirius' credit cards, but he maxxed them out buying pr0n.... Damn it!" Uttered Scythe. "Aha! I've got it!"
Listening for the footsteps of the waiter or the owner of the establishment, because Scythe's neck had increased in size thrice fold, the mild soft footsteps of a waiter coming in Scythe's direction was heard. This was the que Scythe needed.
"I can't believed you slept with someone else!" Yelled Scythe at himself.
"Maybe if you paid more attention to me I wouldn't have!" Explained Scythe to himself once more.
Picking up a vase with flowers, Scythe began to fling cheesy bread sticks and vases at what he proclaimed to himself. Striking a young child in his high chair with a vase, and an elderly man with cheesy sticks, which conveniently stuck to the side of his mouth making him look surprisingly like a saber-toothed tiger, only older, and not as cool as a saber-toothed tiger. The Waiter apprehended Scythe, and explained to Scythe that, it's going to be okay, he then went on to comfort Scythe by telling him;
"You can totally do better then that sleaze bag, your a beautiful woman!"
Once outside, Scythe turned on the ghey-mobile, and drove off screaming buh-bai at the top of his lungs, until he spat one out.
Reaching the outer rim of the great Zanny city, Scythe realized he was low on fuel. Exiting the ghey mobile, he pushes himself out toward a gas station. Upon coming up to the cashier Scythe was assaulted by Kit from Knight Rider, the Dune buggy from that horrible crap-tastic wannabe Scooby-Doo rip off cartoon and the entire cast of the movie Cars including the car from Back to the Future.
"Hey buddy, got a dollar?" Asked Kit.
"Yeah man, need some gas money man, just let me have enough to buy a taco man!" begged Lightning McQueen.
"You're a car, you don't eat tacos..." explained Scythe.
".....a gas taco?" Answered Lightning.
"More like ASS-taco." Interrupted Kit.
"Okay! This is getting weird..." Proclaimed Scythe.
Taking out his wallet from his back pocket, Scythe slowly takes out two hundred dollars. Handing them over to the cashier, Scythe went on to explain that he wanted the middle eastern discount, which was a ten percent discount for screaming a Taliban death creed.
"Oh! Thank you very much my homey." Said the cashier.
"Hehehe, ah the racism is making me poop out penguins." Sighed Scythe as a massive 22lb Emperor penguin exits his ass.
Opening the hood of the ghey mobile was no easy task, it needed a stained underwear sample, and five Madonna-esque freak poses to open the hood. Surprisingly, the trunk was voice activated to open when the words, "READY SAILOR!" were uttered.
The ghey overweight monkeys inside the engine all conveniently stuck their massively cheeky asses in the air.
"So, I stick the nozzle in your monkey asses? Why does this remind me of someone?" Joked Scythe.
Sticking the nozzle into all dozen monkeys as the Ass-Penguin watched, made Scythe feel abit strange, which also led him to drive off at 75mph while giving Kit the bird.
"So....my name's Betty, let's go get drunk and screw some hot tuxedo b*tches!" Said The emperor penguin.
"Your a male penguin named Betty that escaped from my ass after I said something racist??" Asked Scythe.
"Ya foo'." Answered Betty.
"And you're street!? Okay, this is getting weird!" Yelled Scythe.
"You've said that so many times it's lost all meaning!" announced Betty.
The neon lights generated heat inside the already stuffy strip joint. Scythe parked his wheelchair next to Betty wondering how the hell he's going to manage to get rid of this penguin.
"Look at that? Ain't she beautiful? Check out her fish-net stalkings!" Said Betty.
"Stalkings? They look like hair scrunchies! Penguin strippers can't wear stalkings." Explained Scythe.
"Yeah, cuz they're just waitin' to take em off for youse!" Replied Betty with excitement.
"No, it's because penguins don't have legs..." Said Scythe.
Reaching out with his pathetic excuse of a wing, Betty snatched a toy gun from a cowboy themed stipper's holster.
"Alright! Make one move and I'll shoot yo ass! Yes, I'm street again!" Yelled Betty as he pointed the toy gun with an oversized cork tied to the gun with a weak piece of string.
"Whaddya gunna do? Pop my ear drums?" said Scythe jokingly.
: : POP : :
A loud popping noise is heard as the oversized cork plows into Scythe's eyeball, spreading VD, crabs, and a rare case of eye herpes throughout his head. Sending Sythe to the ground swiftly with a slam.
"Oh crap...." Sighed Betty. "I gotta get rid of him."
Failing numerous times to grab a hold of Scythe's arm to carry him out, Betty cursed his nubile disease infested wings, then substituted his beak to carry Scythe over to the bar.
Entering the vicinity of the bar, Betty props Scythe next to him, and hails the bartender.
"Ello, My name is Xavius, I'll be your happy go-lucky bartender, my first rule is simple, shut the hell up!" Said Xavius with a smile.
"Yeah, just get me loaded, and a small chocolate milk for my passed out friend here." Replied Betty.
Peering over the counter to take a good look at Scythe, Xavius turns toward Betty to assure him that goats don't drink chocolate.
"So, you want him?" Asked Betty.
"Oh hell no." Answered Xavius. "I have enough fun throwing darts at my limited edition Scythe dartboard. It came with a free mini dartboard with a picture of his crotch!" Said Xavius with glee.
Betty began to contemplate ideas as to how he'll dispose of Scythe's internally retarded body. His thoughts however where interrupted by a cowboy boot wearin', gun-totin' Rev walking by.
"Hey you!" Hollered Betty.
"Yessum?" Answered Da~Rev.
"Now you look like you're a man of few goats, so let me interest you on this one of a kind freak!" Announced Betty.
"Oh my stars! A Scythe key chain! I've been searchin' for one of those for years! Not to mention the fact that I'm already on an unholy pilgrimage to locate my lost ten-gallon hat that calls people ghey. Witnesses say two freaks in a stationwagon might've stolen it, and are vomiting in it as we speak." Said Rev.
"Well today’s your lucky day, here's one for you! No refunds, or takey-backseys!" Said Betty.
Xavius leaned over and whispered in Rev's ear:
"That key chain is death-prone...."
"Everything is death-prone to you, you're a bartender, I feel like killing you right now for not giving me free booze." Explained Rev.
Rolling his hands up and down Scythe's neck to gather enough fat around the back of his neck, Rev formed a make-shift muzzle which he impaled a giant key ring to carry Scythe. Connecting him to his WWLBD key chain, he then went on to connect those to his "Gay pride is for those that have never met Richard Simmons" key chain, which he then connected to his, "my other car is your mom" key chain.
"Finally, my collection is complete!" Announced Rev. "Only the rarest, most hardest to find keychains grace my belt!"
"What the hell is wrong with you, those WWJD keychains are found everywhere, what makes yours so great?" Asked Betty in an outstanding display of dooshery.
"This one belonged to LB himself!" Said Rev.
"Jesus Christ's initials were LB?" Asked Betty.
"No, Lance Bass, who the hell is Jesus? I don't live in Mexico." Explained Rev.
"What....?" Questioned Betty with an awkward look on his face.
Walking out the door, Rev disappeared through the double doors.
"Well, that was that, want to make love?" Asked Betty.
"No, and he's coming back." Said Xavius.
Rev marched up to Betty's presence and yanked Scythe off his key ring.
"..........oo....uch......" Spat Scythe with a bloody mouth.
"What happened?" Asked Betty.
"I was on my way through the double doors when I got all stuck, as if something was not allowing me to enter doorways because I can't fit or something, I blame this god-forsaken key chain, it's cursed!" Declared Rev.
Pressing a button on his belt buckle, A make-shift jetpack sprung to life, and shot Rev straight through the roof where Vinny Valentine is seen taking a crap on the roof.
"It's busy!!" Yelled Vinny.
"What just happened?" Asked Betty.
"You asked if I made sweet, sweet love to you, a psychopath returned your deceased corpse of a key chain back to you, and flew straight through the damn roof punching a hole in it, and of course, exposing Vinny's toilet wearing ass in the process. Now buy something, or start your sexual favors!" Thundered Xirius.
"No, I'll just leave, I'll find someone to take this goat." Said Betty as he exited the bar.
And so, Betty continues to this day dragging the maggot filled slag that is Scythe. To this day, we’re all reminded, that if you are quiet enough, and get past Michael Jackson’s high pitched laughs at night, we can still hear Betty dragging the irresponsible fool of a goat-man.
WOW... what just happened? I felt like I entered the Twilight Zone that inhabits only the nightmares of psychotic underlings from the darkest pits of Hell.
__________________ Witness the power of the human spirit in Clashing Forces - Reclamation! A novel by Wesley Belk (that's me!) Here's a sneak peek of the book! The power of the Human Spirit should never be underestimated!Clashing Forces Check the site out for more details!
People signing up should submit or PM Rex and/or one of the judges to say why they can't put in an entry.
But I like the idea of a poll to choose the next genre.
My Grades were slipping, and with that Essay I had to work on including other massive projects I didn't have time. Making a story to enter on a Forum Contest comes after school work, sorry to say.
Well I'm up to whole 1 person remembering being on this forum pretty regularly. That's probably because you're moderator. But anyway yeah its good to be back, I had missed the KMC community.
__________________ Witness the power of the human spirit in Clashing Forces - Reclamation! A novel by Wesley Belk (that's me!) Here's a sneak peek of the book! The power of the Human Spirit should never be underestimated!Clashing Forces Check the site out for more details!
Oh yeah! 2!! Sweet ... LOL! I had a bit of hiatus from here and really missed it. I love some of the threads that go on and on forever! I'm really hitting the horror, movie discussion, comic book and general fiction pretty hard this time around. Some of the video game stuff too! And Pirates and Spiderman every now 'n then. See around Trickster.
__________________ Witness the power of the human spirit in Clashing Forces - Reclamation! A novel by Wesley Belk (that's me!) Here's a sneak peek of the book! The power of the Human Spirit should never be underestimated!Clashing Forces Check the site out for more details!
KMC Community Forums
Oct 1st, 2006 07:33 PM
