Scratch

Fun fact: helium is running out.

That's relevant, right?

ImagineIt wrote:

Rocket ships are the most amazing things mankind could ever offer, even better than television, microwaves, computers, lollipops, video games, and so much more than that, but anyways, everyone loves the ships that soar across the night sky and move everyone with their amazing engines that blast out fire and allow them to travel at great speeds, faster than sound even, I wouldn’t ever want to ride in one though, I think I would regurgitate, throw up, puke, other synonyms, there are so many different words to explain what I would do that I can’t think of anything else, too bad I can’t, as that would make this story longer, back to rocket ships though, I’ve seen many launches of them, but I’ve never actually seen the videos of them in space, on the moon, or anywhere else, but I don’t care, rocket ships are fun to watch for sure, think about, talk about, make lengthy sentence stories about, which I am in fact doing right now to see if I can ever have one that could COMPARE to Wicki’s, but I don’t ever think that will happen, I think it’s time to stop talking about rocket ships now though, so goodbye.

Most fascinating :0

I wrote another sentence:

As he was walking down the sidewalk one miserable rainy afternoon that left the the city’s sky streaked gray, sinking the sharp-angled metropolis in a dismal pale light that reflected interestingly off the steel-and-glass, triangular prism bridge smashed creatively between two old and tall brick buildings (which formed a narrow, shady avenue--a one-way street lined by leafy, lively trees, with faded graffiti along the walls that gave it an appearance rather like a dark alleyway, and perhaps it could be referred to one as, technically), and musing to himself about the strange heartbeat sound his car’s windshield wipers had made on the drive there, a few blocks away from work, where he could have easily parked his car just in the lot behind it, but had decided not to, for he rather enjoyed taking a short walk and did so often enough that he felt it accurate to call these walks “daily,” even though it wasn’t really daily at all; nevertheless, he enjoyed his walks, for sounds and colors were sharper outside in the heavy warm and very real air of Boston instead of hidden inside the air-conditioned car, and there on the sidewalk he could see greens and reds and blues and grays so clearly that he savored them, as well as the quiet, lovely rushing sound of tires on wet asphalt, he noticed several feet away on the corner a lonely-looking young child, perhaps eight years old, lingering near the bus stop by herself and sheltering her head from the heavy widespread drops with what appeared to be a thick red school notebook from her backpack, having had no umbrella with her; he certainly did sympathize, for these storms could often come by without warning, but he was older and prepared for these kinds of things, living in the city his whole life, and stored a black umbrella inside his trunk in case of such emergencies--so he had an umbrella over his head, almost Mary Poppins-like in a way that made him feel very nostalgic, and with these thoughts drifting through his mind, something charitable occurred to him: he could kindly offer the umbrella to the schoolgirl so that she didn’t ruin her school assignments, as he had before around her age, during times in which he wished desperately that his mother had provided him with an umbrella, or a well-meaning stranger might give him one--but neither had ever happened, and it almost made him feel happy to think that he could stop this from happening to another person; why, they might even be friends after that, and wave brief hellos to each other on other, fair-weathered days, he fancied--but suddenly, as he got closer and his footsteps were surely audible to her by now, for she glanced away, down at her worn, mud-splattered sneakers, he realized just how annoying it was that a parent, legal guardian or stranger had not thought to give her an umbrella, and why was she still standing by herself here anyway, when school had surely been out perhaps an hour ago--the whole thing made him feel very angry, the way people were so selfish and never thought of one another, how no one could even bother to give a little kid standing by herself in the rain an umbrella--of course, he thought bitterly, they wouldn’t think of it as their concern; and then when she grew up, this girl would surely be just as bad as the rest of them, doing nothing to help someone if it felt like too much trouble--it made him sick, truly it did, and he began to feel very angry towards this girl because he was convinced now that the pattern would never end, so when he finally passed by her he took care to step very hard on her sneakered foot and not to apologize, and then he kept walking and never saw her again.

Last edited by Wickimen (2012-08-05 02:34:22)

Yes rather.

That's very creatively written. 

I'll give it a try!

As he was walking down the street, he noticed some ninjas approaching, and as they approached, they attacked him, and as he was screaming for help, MegaMan appeared, and saved him, and then the guy thanked MegaMan, and the MegaMan said, "Guy, whoever you may be, I will always look out for you," and then MegaMan left, and then the guy kept going, and walked into a barber shop, and got his hair cut, and then the ninjas attacked again, and MegaMan didn't come, but the ninjas had mercy and left, and then MegaMan came, and then the guy said, "I thought that you said you would always look out for me," and then MegaMan replied, "I am a liar," and then the guy got angry, and then he left, and then MegaMan got angry, and left, and then he said, "I really hate that guy," and the guy said, "The feeling is mutual," and then they started karate fighting, and the guy won, and then he went home, and drank some coffee.

jji7skyline wrote:

That's very creatively written. 

Haha thanks 

Lol these are some interesting stories
I enjoy raspberry pie, incidentally

Last edited by Wickimen (2012-08-05 12:32:55)

Wickimen wrote:

The white cat--so it appeared anyway--across the snowy avenue, pawing through your next-door neighbor’s trash bins--you never like your next-door neighbor anyway--made you stop on your paper route--a useless task anyway (the papers became unintelligible with ink blurred from wet snow)--and watch for a moment; you didn’t really know why, but maybe it was because you liked cats in general, and it perhaps reminded you of a cat you had once had as a child (in a time when children were entrusted with the job of “paper route,” but aren’t anymore and you wish it wasn’t like that, even though you’re glad for some of the extra money from this extra job), even though really, this small white cat was nothing like yours, that big, beautifully shaggy monster with glass-green eyes, a cat you had secretly adored even though you always complained about her, and how funny she looked, like a lion next to your tiny dog, and you had been devastated when she didn’t show up after school that Tuesday in November, especially when they said she had just gotten lost and had found a new home with a nice big backyard--there was nothing wrong with your own backyard, and you knew the truth, anyway--and you naturally wondered if this cat was some other unhappy kid’s, wondering where Snowy had got off to; so, on impulse, you tossed a paper in the driveway you were on, a driveway where you had already thrown a second paper on accident while considering the cat, and came across the street, taking breaths of sharp air, to see whether this abandoned specimen had a collar or not, and much to your surprise you realized it wasn’t a cat at all but one of those little odd-faced dogs, “bull terriers” you believe them to be called; like something out of a Chris Van Allsburg book, you loved those when you were a kid--but that was so long ago, children had paper routes then, imagine--well, maybe they still do, in some places anyway--and, having fond memories of your old dog and Chris Van Allsburg books, you approached cautiously and held out your hand in a friendly sort of way: the dog, of course, came over, ears erect and eyes bright, and you noticed, close up, that there was no collar and ice had cut jagged scowls into its paws, which made you pity him and ask something along the lines of, “Where’s your owner, fellow?”--but you never liked talking to animals anyway--and you didn’t like the way “owner” sounded anyway--and he couldn’t understand you anyway--although he seemed to, because he looked at you curiously and with immediate trust; so you decided you liked this dog, and if you couldn’t afford to keep one right now, well, perhaps things would change soon--so you took him home next door for your daughter anyway--and you didn’t notice that the stupid next-door neighbors were missing their dog anyway--but you didn’t like them anyway--anyway--well anyway.

These are fun 

There once was a rock in someone's backyard. The end.

I can't do it, man!

mythbusteranimator wrote:

Agg725 wrote:

Wickimen wrote:

The white cat--so it appeared anyway--across the snowy avenue, pawing through your next-door neighbor’s trash bins--you never like your next-door neighbor anyway--made you stop on your paper route--a useless task anyway (the papers became unintelligible with ink blurred from wet snow)--and watch for a moment; you didn’t really know why, but maybe it was because you liked cats in general, and it perhaps reminded you of a cat you had once had as a child (in a time when children were entrusted with the job of “paper route,” but aren’t anymore and you wish it wasn’t like that, even though you’re glad for some of the extra money from this extra job), even though really, this small white cat was nothing like yours, that big, beautifully shaggy monster with glass-green eyes, a cat you had secretly adored even though you always complained about her, and how funny she looked, like a lion next to your tiny dog, and you had been devastated when she didn’t show up after school that Tuesday in November, especially when they said she had just gotten lost and had found a new home with a nice big backyard--there was nothing wrong with your own backyard, and you knew the truth, anyway--and you naturally wondered if this cat was some other unhappy kid’s, wondering where Snowy had got off to; so, on impulse, you tossed a paper in the driveway you were on, a driveway where you had already thrown a second paper on accident while considering the cat, and came across the street, taking breaths of sharp air, to see whether this abandoned specimen had a collar or not, and much to your surprise you realized it wasn’t a cat at all but one of those little odd-faced dogs, “bull terriers” you believe them to be called; like something out of a Chris Van Allsburg book, you loved those when you were a kid--but that was so long ago, children had paper routes then, imagine--well, maybe they still do, in some places anyway--and, having fond memories of your old dog and Chris Van Allsburg books, you approached cautiously and held out your hand in a friendly sort of way: the dog, of course, came over, ears erect and eyes bright, and you noticed, close up, that there was no collar and ice had cut jagged scowls into its paws, which made you pity him and ask something along the lines of, “Where’s your owner, fellow?”--but you never liked talking to animals anyway--and you didn’t like the way “owner” sounded anyway--and he couldn’t understand you anyway--although he seemed to, because he looked at you curiously and with immediate trust; so you decided you liked this dog, and if you couldn’t afford to keep one right now, well, perhaps things would change soon--so you took him home next door for your daughter anyway--and you didn’t notice that the stupid next-door neighbors were missing their dog anyway--but you didn’t like them anyway--anyway--well anyway.

These are fun 

There once was a rock in someone's backyard. The end.

I can't do it, man!

Nope. 

I will try

Sherri was reading a book and put it down when she finished it.

Simply spellbinding.

You disappoint me greatly

ilackoriginality wrote:

Hi.

^ story #2

XD umm.. aha

Here's a dumb story:

There once was a rock in someone's backyard and when their dad mowed the lawn the mower hit the rock and the rock went just over his head and just missed his face and the family was so relieved that their dad wasn't taller or else it would have hit him and it would have hurt so they put the rock in a cage so it couldn't hurt anyone and they named it Rocky but they didn't know why and that's how they came up with the concept of pet rocks, but someone else came up with the idea and was going to share it with the public so they paid him to keep quiet and let them handle it, so they finally told the newspaper and they got rich and famous and they bought a mansion for Rocky with everything he ever needed like a 5 tv sets 5 radios, and 200 computers, each with their own minecraft server, and Rocky got rich and famous too and there was a rocky fan club and he lived in his mansion forever and ever cause rocks never die.

what a dumb story.

Last edited by Agg725 (2012-08-05 16:55:34)