Wickimen wrote:
bananaman114 wrote:
I can write sentences too, wicki.
I hate cement.
Wires are useless.
I am not a good writer.But the point is for a one sentence story!
Those are all induidual sentences
I am dead.
that's a good one
Last edited by bananaman114 (2012-08-07 20:13:43)
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bananaman114 wrote:
Wickimen wrote:
bananaman114 wrote:
I can write sentences too, wicki.
I hate cement.
Wires are useless.
I am not a good writer.But the point is for a one sentence story!
Those are all induidual sentences
I am dead.
that's a good one
Try for a long one that doesn't have to do with me killing you and having surgeons put your brain back together so I can control your subconscious
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Wickimen wrote:
It's about helium balloons and how disappointing they are
Yes, especially in this phase of us not having quite enough helium

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Laternenpfahl wrote:
Wickimen wrote:
It's about helium balloons and how disappointing they are
Yes, especially in this phase of us not having quite enough helium
No he's just sad because the balloons always die
And he finds himself very deep because of this allusion to life, but no one shares his mentality so he feels sad and turns himself into a recluse
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Wickimen wrote:
bananaman114 wrote:
Wickimen wrote:
But the point is for a one sentence story!Those are all induidual sentences
I am dead.
that's a good oneTry for a long one that doesn't have to do with me killing you and having surgeons put your brain back together so I can control your subconscious
I'm uninspired at the moment
later!
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I'll try making a story, though remember, I'm not that good at it and it will probably not have a good climax either, if that's what you call it. Also keep in mind that it is probably riddled with grammatical mistakes.
Anyway, here it is:
Once upon a time, there was a desolate world that was mainly made out of burning rocks with a vast, barren, cold space beyond and there was nothing moving save for the sea of lava that was the All Great Devourer, which made everything so intolerably hot that iron could melt right on the spot, so hot that the tons of asteroids that pounded the surface day to day, leaving only more destruction in their wake, had little chance of surviving in its wrath, but then a strange reaction took place, a strange one that has never been seen before, one so chemically complex that modern trinkets couldn't even compete with it for it was the beginning of something completely new; which as the sea turned into water, and the land became more temperate, was the beginning of life, a wondrous event, which made a tiny spec which is what created all of what we see today, and many more things to come in the future, but in its humble beginnings, it was only a tiny spec in a grand world, just a piece of the puzzle that had just begun to form, on a world that was barely out of its infancy, that had been waiting for so long to continue with its destiny.
Last edited by ErnieParke (2012-08-08 16:46:00)
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ilackoriginality wrote:
There was once a hobo, then he died, the end.
^ story
We had to write a story about somebody that does something good for someone else and I wrote a story about a hobo in 5 minutes off the top of my head. Oddly enough, I got an A+ for it.


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He was always nervous in the dark, which was probably due to the fact that it was human nature- it would be harder to see an oncoming attacker in the dark- which is why he didn't see the man that had been following him since 4th ave- or the baseball bat he swung- and it was no surprise he woke up without his wallet.
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bananaman114 wrote:
He was always nervous in the dark, which was probably due to the fact that it was human nature- it would be harder to see an oncoming attacker in the dark- which is why he didn't see the man that had been following him since 4th ave- or the baseball bat he swung- and it was no surprise he woke up without his wallet.
Cool
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There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was not telling a story.""""""""""
What. Does this count?
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Molybdenum wrote:
There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was not telling a story.""""""""""
What. Does this count?
I think that it does.
Anyway, nice story!
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Molybdenum wrote:
There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was not telling a story.""""""""""
What. Does this count?
Recursion means recursion means recursion means recursion means recursion
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Wickimen wrote:
Out of the ones I've written, I like the second one best
But I can't think of any more right now
Which one is the second one? I don't know if you count yours or someone else's story as holding first place.
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ErnieParke wrote:
Wickimen wrote:
Out of the ones I've written, I like the second one best
But I can't think of any more right nowWhich one is the second one? I don't know if you count yours or someone else's story as holding first place.
I wouldn't be arrogant enough to say LOL MINEZ THE BEST OT OF AL THES
I meant as in, out of the three I wrote, I like my second one over the other two
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Wickimen wrote:
ErnieParke wrote:
Wickimen wrote:
Out of the ones I've written, I like the second one best
But I can't think of any more right nowWhich one is the second one? I don't know if you count yours or someone else's story as holding first place.
I wouldn't be arrogant enough to say LOL MINEZ THE BEST OT OF AL THES
I meant as in, out of the three I wrote, I like my second one over the other two
Oh, that clarifies quite a bit.
Edit: Oh, I just noticed the "I've written" part of what you've said.
Edit #2: Of the three sentence-long stories you've made so far, I think that I like the first one more because I just happen to like it more.
Last edited by ErnieParke (2012-08-08 18:13:19)
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Molybdenum wrote:
There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was telling a story, which was this: "There once was a man who was not telling a story.""""""""""
What. Does this count?
XD i love it! XDDDDDDDD

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I have to say, the english language is quite amazing.

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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![]()
related
I love jokes like these





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