If you're a returning member, no, your account has not been deleted, we've actually changed board since you were last here. just go ahead and register, PM one of the staff, let us know you're here, and we'll get right to work converting your information and post count from the old board. Keep in mind that any RPs running on the old site are probably still there, so if you don't see them here, just check the 'Home' Page, and follow the link back to the old board. |
- Pages:
- 1
- 2
| Boasting Challange; Stories told over tea... | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Aug 22 2008, 03:20 PM (394 Views) | |
| ~beflexor~ | Aug 22 2008, 03:20 PM Post #1 |
I just _____ in the _____.
|
Okay, while I wouldn’t really call it an RP, it does require writing of the creative degree. I got this idea from a forum I lurk. The rules are, I ask “you”, the person who posts after me, to tell me about the time you (insert hilarious, wild claim here), then you boast about the adventure and make a similar request of the next person. You don’t use a character, you are the character. You don’t have to commit yourself to it, you can pop in and answer whatever wild story you want. Speak in first person. Don’t make it too long, maybe eight hundred words at most? Be fun, be creative! And with that, I’ll start: Tell me, my friend, about the time you traveled back in time, naked, to the nineteen eighties… |
|
Ceiling Cat is watching you... | |
 |
 
|
| ~Fatalis Maximus~ | Aug 24 2008, 11:49 PM Post #2 |
Beware the Berserkergang...
  ![]](http://209.85.62.24/static/1/pip_r.png)
|
((This little fishy just took a bite on the bait...)) Ah, miss 'Flexor, now THAT is a tale to be told! Twas just a regular evening, like any other that I had working on my marvelous Time Machine. You see, I had full intention of going back in time about 18 years, to visit my parents and convince them to give me a name that matches my awesome prowess. It started as a bet, really, form my second cousin Richard, but I'll talk about that some other time... Well, I stood in front of a large steel Arch in my parent's basement. They thought I was just expressing myself artistically, mainly since they didn't notice the jumbles of cords and wires littering the ground behind. It had taken me about a year to get the materials (mainly since Wendy's Salary doesn't leave me very many options with purchasing), but since my dad was a mechanic, I had most of the tools I needed. I decided to draw some rune-like lines on it with a magic marker for that extra touch. It was pretty neat, I must say. Well, on that night, everything was finally ready. All the power I needed (which had cables running to all of my neighbor's houses, mind you) was attached to the Central Core of the Arch, and all of the programming was in check. After a bit of fiddling on the touch-pad screen, the Arch began to whir, all of the in-built gears and mechanisms spinning rapidly as there was a slight glow in the arch's center. In seconds, a miraculous explosion of light burst into the room, nearly blinding to my less-than-perfect vision. Of course, I was so excited that I walked through the gate as soon as it opened. That was my mistake. You see, I'd apparently touched-in the wrong time to go to when I typed it on the pad. I'd gone back ten years too far... And apparently my calculations were a bit off when it came to my clothing. So, there I appeared, completely naked in, mark my word, a group of hippies that appeared to still be clinging to the 70's in all of their glory. Of course, I fit right in... they were naked too. Even the... well, the ones less than pleasant to look at. Well, my machine was only meant to transport me forward in time; I'd actually forgotten to build one to where I could go back. Due to the times, I didn't have the supplies I needed to build another one, so... I waited. For 28 years. I found my house again, and after my present-self (or would it be my past-self at that point?) walked through the portal, I destroyed it and assumed my place as myself again. Through 28 years, however, my appearance had gotten a bit rougher, so I was forced to start using age-reducing creams and salves of my own invention, which worked perfectly. To this day, no one knows of my secret. Now, my friend, tell me of the time that you stopped an invasion of zombie squirrels with a salami... |
|
"Hmph. I don't even need this rusty sword to kill you." - GSD | |
|
|
|
| ~Qualanx~ | Aug 25 2008, 12:29 AM Post #3 |
The Ignored
|
Man, that was an incredible night. It started off normally, mind you, I'd just come back from a party. I noticed there was no chittering of squirrels as there usually was. It was so quiet it was intense, and my girlfriend was creeped out a little by the silence. In fact, it was almost like the neighbors had stopped existing... Anyways, enough about those dumb punks. When I looked outside, I saw squirrels. Lots of them. Silent, and with a faint green tinge about them. "Zombie squirrels?" My girlfriend asks, doubtful that any of this is actually happening. At the speech, the squirrels all looked at me. I swear, Prodigy-Firestarter started playing somewhere. I felt immense heat in my hands, and I hurled a bolt of fire at them. I tried again, but instead I was forced to utter "I am out of mana". So my girlfriend ran to the fridge and got the first thing she could find: A salami. It was like all the physical prowess of Chuck Norris and Bruce Lee coalesced into my body. I was stronger than the gods, and slightly smarter too. With lightning speed I began to attack the squirrels, and like that one scene from The Matrix where all those Smiths come out from everywhere, the squirrels stormed out of every house, armed with tiny pistols and swords. I held them all of, with a salami. My girlfriend, however, started casting Frostbolt. She discovered she was actually a level 70 Human Mage, and donned her Tempest Regalia (which she had stowed away in the closet). She cast Frost Nova, and I had a chance to regroup. I still had the salami, but it seemed different. Harder. Better. Faster. Stronger. I pointed it at one of the zombie squirrels and it let loose a burst of necromantic energy. Runes exploded onto it's surface. I looked down and noticed that I was wearing... Plate armor? It was getting stranger by the second. Apparently, I was a Death Knight. I charged through the mass of Zombie Squirrels, now joined by Orcs, Trolls and Tauren. Wait, what? Curse you Blizzard. Anyways, there must've been something in the punch... I mean, the last thing I remember properly is that a horde of Zombie Squirrels were being decimated by myself, with a salami, and hundreds upon hundreds of War of the Worlds-type tripods. And there were orcs. Lots of orcs. I swear, this one shaman nearly burnt off my eyebrows. But my Rune-Salami set him straight. Polymorphed him into a chicken it did. Anyways, that's beside the point. What about the time you defended Archan-Kor single-handedly from the Worm-Men of Drithalyus V? |
| Takeoff. | |
|
|
|
| ~Earthflame~ | Aug 25 2008, 06:59 PM Post #4 |
|
Machine Intelligence
|
(This reminds me very much of this rather interesting game; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baron_Munchausen#Role-playing_game_.28RPG.29. Is this a case of parallel evolutions of ideas, or your source of inspiration) Ah, i remember that day well. Myself and Kor (As his friends call him) had retired to his chambers after a feast to discuss the politics of the sector, and specifically the possible methods of ending the currently conflict with the Worm Men. Little did i know that, at that moment, a squad of the slimy blasters were making their way up the external walls of the building, evading the security systems with their renowned stealth. After a good half hour of conversation and half a bottle of good port (Kor is partial to good terran Liquor) we, rather foolishly, decided to have a bout of Kethusa, a game roughly equivalent to chess, and well respected by Kors people. When played in an unfit state of mind, it can be thought of as very disrespectful, as well as moderately dangerous, as the pieces themselves are carved from the Derzium ore mined locally, which is worse than obsidian for fracturing into sharp edges. At any rate, about half way through the match, the worm men had finally reached the windows (This being an arcology, we were roughly half a kilometre up) and burst through, glass spraying everywhere and put us both in shock. I must admit i fell sideways off my chair, though this had the lucky side effect of tripping an approaching worm man, who fell upon the gaming table. i hope the unfortunate soul died quickly, as the sharp pieces pierced the fragile hide in a way which must have been extraordinarily painful, but since they don't use vocal communication, i couldn't really tell. I was on my feet in moments, and discovered myself to be unarmed, inappropriately dressed in formal dinner wear, and surrounded by five armed wormman assassins. Kor saved my life that moment, by pushing the panic button on the wrist computer he always carried, activating his speakers system on defense mode. Then it was my turn to save him. As you probably know, worm men sense by vibrations, and so the speakers essentially blinded them. taking a chair, i knocked the first into the glass cabinet which held Kors medals, awards, and the ceremonial duelling blade he had earned at the battle of Mahalsa by the allied high command. Making note to apologise for soiling this important memento, i set at the Worm men, with a newfound calm. unfortunately, they also chose that moment to gain the good sense to shoot the speakers, ending their confusion. Then the fight was really at hand. I suppose i was somewhat at a disadvantage, but the force generator in the blade more than made up for the advantage of their splicer pistols in the crowded environment. When the bloody debacle was over, i helped Kor to his feet, and we both helped ourselves to another glass of port. After that, our discussions turned to the only path the attack left us with- War. But that is another tale, and many must be told in the short time we have. Would you care to relate to us the incident where you ended the Feshwar/Recken clan fued? Edited by Earthflame, Aug 25 2008, 07:00 PM.
|
|
|
|
| ~beflexor~ | Aug 29 2008, 03:54 PM Post #5 |
|
I just _____ in the _____.
|
(My guess would be parallel evolutions of ideas. As I said, I borrowed the idea from another forum ^^ ) Ah, the Feshwar/Recken clan feud. ‘Twas a bright, cloudless day, the two groups of people in each end of a field, freshly sharpened swords gleaming, bowstrings taut. Both seemed eager to start bloodshed and I found myself smack dab in the middle of said field! Everyone saw me, and gave a moment’s pause. After all, I always manage to get people’s attention with my lovely wool coat, adorned with all kind of gleaming medals that I had no right to wear, as I hadn’t earned a single one. This time was no exception, especially considering that the two clans were far behind my level of technology. In every war, battle, or even feud, there are always rules, and when a complete stranger comes out of nowhere you have responsibilities to find out who’s side they’re on. So I was soon greeted by emissaries of both clans. They explained how the Feshwar and Recken clans had been battling one another for thousands of years over a certain ceramonial necklace. Each claiming that they were the rightful bearers of it. Every decade or so it would end up in the hands of the other clan, so it was a never-ending cycle. At the moment, the Recken clan happened to have it, so, as a neutral and curious party, I requested to see it. It was a beautiful thing, worn, the metal bent in some places, but I could still see through all that with a good eye and see its value. My exploits had started to become rather costly, and I found myself strapped for cash so, without another thought, I grabbed the necklace and took off as though the very hounds of the various Hells were nipping at my heels. The two clans were furious, and I soon found myself the concentrated target of both parties! I had the advantage however, leaping onto my stately air cycle, taking to the skies as quickly as I could, but not before hearing both the Feshwar and Reckens vow that they would stop at nothing to kill me and get their prized possession back. Both clans, hand-in-hand, their feud forgotten. But I’m sure I bore you with my own trivial matters, how about regaling us with the story of how you managed to escape your marriage to the Princess Aubree? |
|
Ceiling Cat is watching you... | |
|
|
|
| ~The Boss~ | Aug 29 2008, 03:54 PM Post #6 |
...till Gabriel blows his horn.
|
Ok, so here's how it went down. I was panning for gold out in the mountains when the feud between the Feshwars and the Reckens started to really heat up. They were a couple of warrior clans whose conflict went back at least three generations. The Feshwars would raid a Recken encampment, then the Reckens would strike back, burn down a village and drag of some Feshwar girls. And sometimes boys too. Back and forth, back and forth... it was a war of attrition. I was fairly well known in the area at the time. I lived in a little cabin down by the river where I used to do my prospecting, and I had a good reputation among the locals as an honest man. Sometimes I'd even toss a nugget or two to some of the local kids when they were playing in the river. They all loved me. Anyway, the local villagers had lived with the constant feuding between the Feshwars and the Reckens for decades now. Some of the other clans were loosely aligned with one or the other, and sometimes got involved with the conflict themselves, but mostly they just wanted the fighting to stop. When Feshwars burned a village to the ground because they were friendly with a few Reckens, they'd finally had enough. And that's when the magistrate came knocking on my door. He told me what had happened, how his village was reduced to little more than smoldering wooden beams, and couldn't I do something about this. You see, I had been asked to negotiate peace before, given my neutral status in the area my a reputation for honesty. But while I helped arbitrate disputes between individuals, I had never done anything this big before, with entire clans. I knew this was going to be a challenge. Nevertheless, I agreed. I sent a message to the leaders of the two clans, requesting that they meet at my cabin to settle their difference. Much to my surprise, they agreed. Both leaders arrived with a fully armed entourage, neither of them trusting their counterpart. In fact, the Recken leader, Gorian, actually sent scouts out into the hills around my cabin, just to make sure that it wasn't an ambush. While I was able to convince him that everything was on the up and up, I could tell that this was an incredibly intense situation. Once the meeting began, Valchor, the Feshwar leader, unloaded on Gorian with a bluster the likes of which I have never seen before or since. He accused the Reckens of all sorts of crimes against his people, and just for good measure, perversions as well. Gorian made counter accusations that were even worse, perhaps feeling that he had to up the ante. Shouting ensued, and it wasn't long before the leaders and their respective warriors drew their weapons. This was going nowhere fast. I tried to calm them down, and with great difficulty finally managed to get them to put away their weapons. But I could tell that the situation would continue to deteriorate beyond my ability to rectify it if I didn't come up with a solution and fast. I quickly realized that there was only one way we were going to resolve this. It was time for a dance-off. I led everyone outside, and all the warriors gathered in a circle, with Gorian, Valchor, and myself in the center. I threw a piece of cardboard on the ground, broke out my boombox and fired up some funky beats. It was on. Valchor went first, showing off his best pop n' lock moves. Simple, classic, and dope. The warriors cheered and talked smack as he laid down those moves. Then it was Gorian's turn. He turned things up a notch by going into some super slo-mo. It was pretty badass. The crowd loved it, but Valchor wasn't impressed. He sent out one of his warriors for the next round, whipping out some funky shit of his own. Gorian's warrior responded with some sweet drops and floor rocks. And it just went on and on... guys from both sides going at it one at a time, each clan displaying some of the best breakdancing moves I've seen since the Lincoln-Douglass debates (bet y'all didn't know ol' honest Abe had some fly moves, did you?). Actual video of the event When it was finally over, based on crowd response I declared Feshwar the winner. Gorian, understanding that his clan had lost in a fair competition, conceded and agreed to put an end the hostilities. The two leaders shook hands, and everyone cheered. There was now peace in our time, and I was recognized as a great hero. So, let this be a lesson to all of you who read this. The best way to solve any dispute - whether it be over land, power, money, politics, or Star Wars vs. Star Trek - is by breakdancing. It is a peaceful, bloodless solution to the greatest conflicts, and it is recognized as legally binding in 37 states and the District of Columbia. But enough about me... I wanna hear about your breakup with Samus Aran. |
 If Mama Cass had just given that ham sandwich to Karen Carpenter, they'd both still be alive today. | |
|
|
|
| ~The Boss~ | Sep 10 2008, 04:07 PM Post #7 |
|
...till Gabriel blows his horn.
|
(OOC: Double post, but since B and I both responded to the same scenario - literally like within minutes of each other - I think it's only fair that I respond to her scenario. I didn't really intent to go nuclear on this post,it just kinda turned out that way) Ah... Princess Aubree... man, is that a tale. I was living in Paris at the time, working for a private investigator named Michel. Ex-spy, ex-mercenary, ex-smuggler... this guy had been there, done that more times than I could even count. He was also a raging alcoholic. And certifiably insane. And, of course, French. Put it all together and it's a dangerous cocktail. I loved the gig, and loved the city even more, but one can only exist in the same world as Michel for so long. It was on one particular job that I met Princess Aubree. She'd hired Michel and I to locate a diamond necklace which had been stolen from her. At the time, neither of us knew that she was royalty. We just figured that she was just some rich heiress blowing through her family's money or something. Long story short, we tracked down the thief, turned him over to the Paris police, and celebrated the job well done. And that's when Aubree dropped the bombshell. First she told me that she was a princess, heiress to the throne of the tiny country of Catalia. Okay, no big deal. But then, she proposed marriage to me. I was flabbergasted, I was floored, I didn't know how to respond. I said baby, you're a pretty girl but I just met you. Then she explained the situation to me. It turns out that this particular princess was more interested in getting with Cinderella than Prince Charming. Her parents, the king and queen of Catalia, were generally supportive (read: indifferent) to their daughter's orientation, yet felt they needed to keep up appearances. Thus, an arranged marriage. Why me? I asked her. Well, she said, I seemed like a nice enough guy, and if she was gonna be forced to marry she felt she should at least like her husband, even if she'd never exactly love him. Besides, it was better than letting mom and dad pick out her mate. Give me some time to think, I said, I can't make a snap decision like that. So, she gave me a week. Now, at the time, I was in the midst of a romance with a woman named Vicki, a correspondent for CNN. And even though I lived in Paris and she lived in Tel Aviv, we somehow managed to maintain our relationship even across the Mediterranean. I called her up and told her about Aubree's proposal. While she wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea of me saying vows with another woman - lesbian or not, sham marriage or not - she was of the opinion that it would be incredibly stupid of me to turn down a free pass like this. I'd be a prince, husband of the heiress to the throne, set up for the rest of my life. She asked me, would I rather hang out with Michel, he who seriously believed the Freemasons were plotting against him? Or would I rather spend my days in the lap of luxury with a royal wife who would encourage me to have a mistress? When she put it that way, it was really no contest. I called up Aubree immediately and accepted her proposal. Well, I got more than I bargained for. A lot more. Not to say that I wasn't living the good life. Far from it. I was on top of the world and climbing, living in the palace, having my every need catered to, and had a bank account with more money in it that I'd made in my entire life. Aubree was cool as hell too, and to this day I consider her a great friend. But, as Brett Micheals once said, every rose has it's thorn. And this rose had a gigantic thorn by the name of King Edward. See, what Aubree hadn't told me was that her father was a paranoid lunatic. He wasn't quite as insane as Michel, who covered his windows with tin foil, but he was pretty bad nonetheless. The king would say that he was merely security conscious, being a head of state and all, but his actions went way beyond the appropriate protective measures for a royal family. Part of it was his concern for himself and his family (which now included me), but another huge part of it was the fact that he simply didn't trust anyone. He had his security team spying on everyone. The servants, the other nobles, his Parliament, his wife, his daughter, he even had his bodyguards spying on each other. So it goes without saying that he kept tabs on me 24/7. It was beyond excessive. While I understood from the beginning that I would have a bodyguard - specifically, a refrigerator-shaped gentleman named Lars - I hadn't expected one of his duties to collect intelligence on me. Just in case. Then there was the spy that the king had following the both of us. My cellphone was tapped, my car was bugged, my bedroom was bugged - it was completely insane. Naturally, I objected to all this surveillance. I'm an ex-private eye, I said. I can take care of myself. But the king would not be moved, insisting it was for my own protection. So after a few months, I started telling Aubree, I can't keep living like this. But you can't leave, she said. A divorce would be a huge scandal, practically an invitation for the tabloids to dig up every bit of dirt on the royal family they could. Look what happened with Di and Charles, she said. It would be a nightmare for everyone involved, not to mention it would really send her father's paranoia into overdrive. Given what I had already experienced, I didn't want to see overdrive. So I stuck it out for a few more months. Until one day I just couldn't take it anymore. I wanted out, but I didn't want to cause any problems for Aubree with a divorce. So, I did the unthinkable. I called up Michel. After hearing my situation, Michel in typical fashion proposed an elaborate scheme to extract me from the palace that would make Wile E. Coyote look sensible in comparison. After a considerable amount of time discussing the exact number of brain cells Michel had left, I was finally able to convince him that his idea was just too crazy for words. Eventually, we hit upon another idea: I would fake my own death. The plan was that I would take a little recreational plane out over the sea and then conveniently disappear, JFK Jr.-style. Michel would rig the plane with a bomb, which I would detonate after parachuting to safety, when he would then pick me up in a fishing boat he had managed to procure. The only problem was dealing with Lars, but he proved surprisingly sympathetic to our plan. He would call in sick that day, and if the king objected he'd reassure him that the plane was all set up for proper surveillance (a lie) and that he'd have his buddies in the Spanish Navy keep an eye on me (a bigger lie, made credible by the fact that said buddies did actually exist). Finally, the big day had arrived. I gave Lars a letter I had written to Aubree explaining what had happened, then climbed into my plane and proceeded to fly out over the Mediterranean. It took me several hours before I finally spotted Michel's boat out on the water, and that was my cue. I strapped on my parachute, checked the bomb to make sure all the wires were connected, grabbed the detonator, and jumped. Once I deployed my chute, I hit the button, and the plane went up in a ball of flames. Fortunately, I was drifting safely to the surface of the ocean, where Michel pulled me up into the boat. It was done. We docked in Naples, and I immediately placed a call to CNN's Israeli bureau. The media had not yet gotten wind of the disappearance of a royal in-law, but I wanted Vicki to know that I was safe. Obviously, being a member of the media herself, she'd already heard reports they had lost contact with my plane, reports that were not yet being aired until the royal family had been briefed on the situation. She was relieved that I was safe though, and I was relived to hear that British accent of hers that always drove me so wild, and I promised to meet her soon. So I bid a fond farewell to Michel, went incognito and hopped on the first flight to Israel. My disappearance didn't get a whole lot of play in the States. A quick rundown by a CNN anchor, a little blurb on the MSNBC crawl, and that was pretty much it. In Europe though, it was a full-on media blitz. Queen Deanna was on TV nearly every day, expressing her confidence that I would return home safely. The King was whipped into a frenzy, which I had expected he would be. Princess Aubree, on the other hand, was far away from the TV cameras. She was said to be in mourning, fearing the worst, but I knew the truth. Namely, that she had run off to Puerto Rico for two weeks with a supermodel named Gabrielle. They found the wreckage of my plane, but never found my body. Obviously, since I was in Tel Aviv with my girl. Eventually, the search was called off, and I began a new life in Israel, falling back on my skills as a private investigator. This time, my employer was an ex-Mossad agent named Ari, who was considerably more sane than Michel. I realize I've been going on about this for a while, so let me go ahead and wrap this up. Ari found out through some of his old contacts in the intelligence community that King Edward had gone into a paranoid tailspin, convinced that Al-Qaeda had bombed my plane. Aubree decided that her father had finally gone off the deep end, so she concocted a scheme whereby I would be "rescued." I stopped shaving for a few weeks and dressed up in my most ragged clothes for the BBC cameras so that it would be believable. Then, to my surprise, a few days later she publicly outed herself, Gabrielle by her side. Then she called her father a loony on international television. I was granted the most amicable divorce in the history of divorces, and - as they say - we all lived happily ever after. Except King Edward. He remains paranoid as ever. And Michel now believes the World Bank is poisoning his drinking water. Well anyway, I think I've told enough stories for one day. It's your turn now. Tell me about the time you shot Charlie Sheen in the ass. |
|
If Mama Cass had just given that ham sandwich to Karen Carpenter, they'd both still be alive today. | |
|
|
|
| ~beflexor~ | Oct 17 2008, 02:58 PM Post #8 |
|
I just _____ in the _____.
|
(Could have combined our two stories “Tell me how you managed to escape the marriage to Samus Aran?” Hahaha…) Okay so get this: I didn’t even know it was Charlie Sheen at the time. He’d said his name was Carlos Estévez. We met on a street corner, he thought I was a prostitute, which is really weird because I was wearing cargo pants and a sweater at the time. Now I’m pretty gullible on occasion, that, combined with being in such a big city, made me more than a bit naïve. So, naturally, I got in his car and we drove to a motel. By now I was starting to suspect his intentions. ‘Mister Carlos’ was saying all kinds of things about making me feel beautiful while he ran his fingers through my hair. I have a personal bubble the size of a house let me tell you, and I’m hard wired to get pissed off when I get scared. But it was when he’d called himself a sex god that I’d shot him. We’d just barely gotten out of the car when it happened. I had a 9mm pistol tucked in my boot. I wasn’t really aiming for his ass, he’d just happened to turn around at the last second. Anyway, he was cursing up a storm, something I don’t care to repeat, and said he’d call the cops. This was a pretty weird senario, no doubt looking grim in my favor, so I took off. They never caught me. As I said, it was a pretty big city. I got away and Charlie Sheen sold the bullet on eBay for millions, so everybody won in the end. But that’s nothing compared to the time you killed off that entire clan of rat people with that single jar of your mother’s home-canned green beans. Care to remind us of it? |
|
Ceiling Cat is watching you... | |
|
|
|
| ~Tvae~ | Oct 18 2008, 02:20 AM Post #9 |
Today's Mood: Syke! Life is awesome!
|
((OC: I could probably cut out a huge bunch and make it shorter, but it's 2 in the morning and I'm tired >.< )) Ah, that old tale... Not the best, but a fun one, I'll admit. It all began when my mom decided to try canning green beans. Now, at first this may seem like a fine idea, especially given my mother - a wondrous cook, she is. 3/4 Italian heritage, raised by parents who can cook better than anything else I've ever tasted (with the possible exception of her own cooking), and having lived in the Big Apple her entire childhood were the perfect recipe for making an excellent cook out of my mom. And then, marrying a man who ended up running a grape farm...? Anyways, let's just say, she's canned things before. Peaches, cherries, pears, as well as having made numerous flavors of homemade jams - apple, peach, apricot, raspberry, blueberry, strawberry, concord grape, pear, cherry... All amazing. Make even PB&J sandwiches unbelievable. Almost makes me wish I was back there now... Ah, where was I? Oh yes. Green beans. Well, she had never canned green beans before, but she figured why not? So, she set up everything, and... Well, let's just say it's a very, very rare occurrence when she fails to cook something. But, somehow, fail she did... The smell which filled kitchen was downright rancid, the house smelled terrible for weeks. We're still not sure what she did do wrong, but whatever it was, she did it wrong. As we had only managed to seal one can before the smell developed, we ended up dumping the rest of it in one of the vineyards outside the house as fertilizer. However, out of some morbid curiosity, I decided to keep hold of that one jar which she did get sealed. It didn't smell at all through the can, so we figured there would be no harm in keeping it, as long as when (and if) it was opened, it was opened outside. Well, days, then weeks, and even months passed, and the can was forgotten in the storage room along with everything else which falls out of use for extended periods of time (and, unlike the other canned goods which also resided in that room, it was not placed in a largely obvious position on a shelf). It was content in its quiet obscurity, I'm sure, but the odd circumstances which soon arose quickly changed it fate. Now, I don't know who all of you already know what ratmen are, but for those of you don't know, well, let's just say they're nasty beasts. Some type of mutant half-man, half-rat thing. Truth be told, I'm not really that sure of what they are... I just know what they are capable of doing. So, it was not a happy occasion when we discovered an entire clan had made its home underground right below our house. My family remained optimistic, however. Maybe the ratmen were only moving through, or would move if we asked really, really nicely. Optimism in the face of ratmen... a foolish idea. Next thing we new, they had raided our house, and we only escaped their onslaught by barricading ourselves in the storage room in our basement. It was safe there, though - we had plenty of food and drink, as we tended to store such things there before use. We ended being staying there for 3 days straight due to a continued siege by the ratmen. If you are forced to spend 3 days in a room against your will, regardless of how cluttered are to begin with, odds are the room will end up completely sorted at the end of those three days (bar you discovering something to distract you for that entire time). Meaning: I spent more time cleaning during those three days than I have the rest of my life combined. Three days was also how long it took me to come up with the idea that finally got us out of there. Finding the green beans that had been forgotten in that room so many months ago, I prepared myself. I pried off the lid, and... Well, let's just say that if there were words I could use to accurately describe that smell, I would use them. However, I just don't think it's even possible. From that point, it was a small matter to use the can (which was emitting fumes so poignant I could swear they were actually taking solid form) to ward away the ratmen standing guard at the door, and indeed, the rest of the clan. They weren't defeated, but with them at least no longer barring our way, we quickly went straight for the phone and called the professional ratmen exterminators, who actually were able to do something about them. Problem solved. The problem of getting rid of the smell that permeated the house for the next few months, however, was another matter entirely as far as getting rid of problems goes. Ah well, I've gone on for quite a while now, I guess I'll let someone else have a turn. What about that one time you traveled to the haunted amusement park on Caltori IV? |
|
|
|
| ~The Boss~ | Oct 19 2008, 09:20 PM Post #10 |
|
...till Gabriel blows his horn.
|
(OOC: When I saw "haunted amusement park," I just couldn't resist) Like, Zoinks! Now that's a story! It all started when Velma, with the help of the Harlem Globetrotters, decided to convert the Mystery Machine into a time machine. We all climbed into the van, and Fred revved up the engine. As soon as we hit 88 mph (cause everyone knows that's the speed necessary to achieve time travel) we blasted 420 years into the future and emerged on the planet Caltori IV. And wouldn't you know it, there was a mystery waiting for us as soon as we got there. This amusement park was being haunted by an evil alien spirit. Of course, me and Scooby didn't want any part of any mystery. We never do. All we wanted was to chill in the Mystery Machine and enjoy us some Scooby Snacks. But stupid Fred just had to drag us into it. Well, it didn't take long for Fred to suggest we all split up. I just hate it when he does that, especially cause it usually means me and Scooby get chased around by the evil monsters while everyone else is finding clues. And that's exactly what happened. Me and Scoob had been looking for something to eat, cause after those Scooby Snacks we had the munchies real bad. We found a nice food court with a fully stocked kitchen, and we were in heaven. Burgers! Hot dogs! Funnel cakes! Nachos! Chili fries! Like, a feast for a king! We chowed down, and that's when the evil spirit snuck up on us. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I thought it was Scoob, but he was like right in front of me. I turned around, and looked into this really mean goblin face with big sharp teeth. Zoinks! Me and Scooby made a run for it. I mean like, this guy was really scary looking! And the worst part was, no one was around to help us, cause Velma was off looking for clues and Fred and Daphne were doing it in the ferris wheel. Me and Scooby ran from one end of the amusement park to another. Finally, Velma finally caught up with us and snagged the evil spirit with a net from one of the carnival booths. Fred and Daphne came up just then, buttoning up their clothes and trying to act like they were investigating. Fred said, "Now let's see who you really are!" and ripped off the monster's mask. It was Old Man Hinkel, the guy who owned the old abandoned mini-golf course that got bought out by the amusement park. Turns out he wanted to scare off all the people to get revenge. We got tons of praise and a big reward from the town's mayor for solving the mystery, and me and Scooby celebrated by splitting a Scooby Snack. A big, fat Scooby Snack. But that's enough out of me. Tell me about the time you almost conquered Milwaukee. |
|
If Mama Cass had just given that ham sandwich to Karen Carpenter, they'd both still be alive today. | |
|
|
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| Go to Next Page | |
| « Previous Topic · Random Role Plays · Next Topic » |
- Pages:
- 1
- 2
5:21 AM Dec 6
