[Wuhao]

So, it's summer, and I'm bored. I'd like to spend an evening writing stuff, but I don't really have anything to write. That's where you come in.

Post here with an idea (eg. "A man gets bitten by a whale and becomes a whalewolf.") I will then take any TWO ideas in this thread, combine them, and write a short story for our collective amusement. Ideally, your ideas should be absurd or funny in some way.

Now, go!

[Duplico]

A struggling author sells his soul for the Perfect Novel.

[Hyrulian]

flying pigs and a hero called hyrulian- who is a smurf in disguise trying to take over the world. Only to realize his flying pig can't fly.... um, ya

This post has been edited by Hyrulian: 28 May 2004 - 06:21 PM

[Liros]

The human race splits into two major groups - one living and working mainly in an internet world, one preferring to do the necessary manual labor to keep this online world running, and keep those living and working in it fed, etc.

Due to an immense initial rift in ethics, the two factions rarely inter-marry, and those who choose to do so are met with heavy, often violent opposition. Over time, two specific strains of humans develop. The physical manifestations of those in the online-world deteriorate progressively; the others are fairly healthy.


This is actually what occurred to me as I was reading about "the economy of EverQuest."

[Fesi]

Gary, the shoe salesman, comes home one day to find that his wife and kids were eaten alive by a Giant, Calico, Flying, one eyed, 7 legged, Mantis Man dog, So, he finds a large skillet, and some oven mitts.He then sets off to slay the Giant Mantis....Thing!

This post has been edited by Fesi: 28 May 2004 - 07:10 PM

[Aes]

How about Jesus and Satan's epic adventures on an earth 5,000 years into the future, where hyper-evolved cows are the dominant species, and where humanburger is the sandwich meat of choice.

:D

[Wuhao]

This is Hyrulian and Duplico's. I didn't see Hyrulian's edit, so unfortunately, those changes didn't make it.

I don't know why I bothered to check the mail anymore. I had before me on my kitchen table a stack of the only mail I got: Bills, and rejection notices. Some people at least had paychecks to look forward to. I didn't. I quit my job to dedicate myself to writing my first novel, "Hyrulian's Magic Swine Farm." It was going to be a hit, my ex-girlfriend declared when she read the first chapter. She patted me on the back, made me feel ten-feet tall, and told me to quit my job. And then she left me when I couldn't afford to take her out to dinner anymore. I pleaded with her, asking her to come back to me. "Yeah, when pigs fly. See you in hell." Stupid women, can't ever decide what they want.

Sort of like publishers. They're the same way, except you don't get sex. If your story isn't too dry, it's too "over-the-top." And that's if they do you the decency of telling you exactly what was wrong with your story. Most of them just send you a one-page form letter, like "blah blah blah although your story was excellent blah blah blah doesn't fit our audience blah blah blah please do not take this personally blah blah blah consider us again in the future."

I'd gotten used to a lot of those. It takes a dedicated writer to rack up a stack of rejection letters, though. You can only submit a work to one publisher at a time, and they'll take weeks to get back to you. If you're lucky, it'll take months – it'll go through three or four readings before they finally decide that your story stinks. That's when they tell you that it was too dry, or too over-the-top, or somehow both.

I should have started skipping thin envelopes. But, since I'd never actually gotten an acceptance letter before, I didn't know if they would really be big, thick envelopes. I mean, what is there to say? "Congratulations, we're publishing you, here's a check?" It couldn't take that long. And so, I slogged through every depressing, crushing rejection letter I had.

Bills. Rejection. Bills. Bills. Rejection. Junk. Rejection. I'd just about skipped the last one in the stack, from "Shaitan and Associates," but I decided to swallow my pride and take one more blow. It was a thin envelope. I knew it was going to be especially hard. Shatian was the last published I sent "Hyrulian's Magic Swine Farm" to. I had a soft spot for it. I knew it would blow that arrogant little twit Harry Potter out of the water, if only someone would give it a chance.

But it wasn't a rejection letter. It was a very brief, direct letter saying that they were interested in the story, but wanted me to call to discuss a few changes to the story.

To make a long story short, I found myself in the office of Mr. Shaitan himself a week later. He wanted a "cozy, personal chat." I found it hard to be cozy in his office, though. He was obviously a successful man; statuary of gargoyles and classic fire-and-brimstone style religious paintings from the middle ages surrounded me. It was all almost as disquieting as Mr. Shaitan himself.

"Mr. Shaitan," I said as I twitched nervously, trying to make small-talk, "I don't recognize the name... Asian?"
"No, no," he said, smiling, always smiling, "Persian." I was hesitant to mention that Persia hadn't been a country in a very, very long time.
"I see. Um, so, er..."
"Please, relax. I know you're a bit uneasy," he said, smiling, always smiling. He was damn straight that I was uneasy. I'd gone from cutting down to half a pack of ramen a day to save money, to being flown first-class to what looked like the Pope's private study. "Would you like a drink?"
"I, um...No thank you, I, um... On the flight... yeah..." Great. I could punch out dozens of pages at the drop of a hat, but I couldn't find words to say "No thank you, I'm not thirsty."
He was still smiling.
"Anyway. We really enjoyed your story. It's very promising. We think that Hyrulian could gut Harry Potter, and feed him his own entrails while he suffered eternally in a pit of boiling oil... as so many do... but anyway." He began to mutter as he went off on his tangent, but he only started to smile more broadly. This man must have practiced being creepy in the mirror, every day, like some sort of creep fu master. 'No, I will not rest until I do 1000 disturbing chuckles!' he must have told himself before bed each night.
"What we're interested in here is not changing your story. We merely wish to market it better."
"So, you like my story as it is then? No changes?"
He laughed. "Yes. No changes. In fact, we can sign the contract right now. We'd like to give you 30% royalties."

This was unheard of. There had to be a catch. There's no way they should be paying me that much. I was supposed to count myself lucky to get 2%, and keep a lawyer on retainer so I could bleed it out of them if it ever sold more than 3 copies.
"A bit high, you're thinking. Well, of course. However, this firm believes in fair treatment of its writers. We don't want to scare fresh blood like you away, now do we? Here, take a look at our contract."

He slid a piece of paper across the table. I tried to read it, but the language was impossible. I could almost swear that the words would move around to keep me from reading them. But there was one thing I could make out clearly: 30% royalties, with $10,000 on the spot. This was unbelievable.
"Does everything look acceptable to you? We can sign it right now."
"Why, um..Yes. This looks great. Where do I sign?"
"Well, yes. On the dotted line, but... I must tell you, that we take honor very seriously here."
"I assure you, even if I tried to weasel out of this, I wouldn't be able to afford a lawyer smart enough to defend me from you."
He did another one of those creepy chuckles, except it was almost a cackle this time. "No, I don't suspect you would. But... This may seem strange to you, but I would like you to sign it in blood." He slid a quill and a letter opener across the table to me. At least, I'd thought it was a letter opener when I walked in the room.

Blood. The creep meter was rising off the scale. But, this was it – My big chance to make it as a writer. I wasn't going to blow it just because I was put off by some publisher's honor fetish. I took the dagger, and sliced my finger open. I wrote my name on the contract with the quill, and handed it back to him.

He was grinning like a cat. "Wonderful. Now. As I was saying, the best way to market this is to make it trendy. Do you know how you make a mischievous boy who rides a flying pig trendy?"
"No, how?"
"The same way you make paranoia about terrorism trendy."
"I'm not following."
"YOU MAKE IT HAPPEN!" he bellowed with an inhumanly loud voice, and he let out a tremendous cackle. It wasn't sort of a cackle, this time – It was an all-out cackle this time, like his monster was finally rising up off the slab, and all those late nights spent in the lab with Igor and a pack of Red Bull were finally paying off.
The doors burst open, and hundreds of horrible flying pigs flew through the room and out the window.
"How did you..." I started to ask, but when I turned back to look at Mr. Shaitan, I saw a horribly mangled, twisted man-like figure.
"Impudent mortal! You cannot collect royalties if you are dead!" He slid something across the table. It was my $10,000 check. I couldn't understand what was going on; it was too fast. I was trying to make sense of it all, when I noticed that Shaitan was standing beside me, holding the dagger. It took another moment for me to notice that the dagger was in my neck.

A moment later, I was in hell. The horrible screaming of souls of the damned surrounded me, but somehow, before me, was my ex-girlfriend. And then I remembered her last words to me:
"Yeah, when pigs fly. See you in hell."
Dreams come true, baby. Dreams come true.

This post has been edited by Wuhao: 28 May 2004 - 10:55 PM

[Duplico]

Spooky. Shades of Stephen King, actually, quite often in both the style and themes.

This post has been edited by Duplico: 28 May 2004 - 07:35 PM

[Wuhao]

New one's on the way; I'm not dead, just keep getting distracted.

[Kayson]

rofl@Mr. Shaitan. Interesting pun Wuhao. I understand it because I am persian :) Persian power! w00t.

Edit: My topic:
Mongolian paratroopers descend on an apartment complex while German tanks attack through the front gate. Meanwhile, monkeys are beginning to take over the world.

This post has been edited by Kayson: 28 May 2004 - 08:45 PM

[Wuhao]

"I don't get it," Jesus said. "What did you do?"
The King of Kings was not wearing a robe and sandals. He did not have long hair, or a grandfatherly beard. He would be described as a medium man, not particularly remarkable-looking, and He had a goatee which He thought looked pretty nifty if He said so Himself.

He and the Adversary sat in a coffee shop together. He sipped a tall glass of water. Around them, pasty white nerds were crowding around, talking about... stuff. Stuff that didn't really exist, but nonetheless made up their lives. Sort of like books, completely imaginary, but... not.

He didn't get it. Neither did Satan.

"Satan, it's the Internet, isn't it."
"First, don't call me that. We're trying to redefine our brand image, and that name really doesn't help anything."
"What brand image? Evil isn't a corporation – You're an abstract! You're...You're... You're EVIL!"
"And that's just it, now isn't it? Everyone assumes that just because we're EVIL, we're BAD."
"But... You are!"
"Don't interrupt. Anyway, yes, I do suppose this is the Internet's doing."

The pasty white skin of the nerds wasn't from a lack of sun-tan; It was genetic. Beneath what appeared to be a recipe for sunburn was an evolved defense against radiation. As Internet connectivity had grown, people's needs for ubiquitous, high-speed connections grew along with it. They'd finally settled on powerful, ultra-high-frequency transmitters. Although the well-established link to cancer and insanity caused the devices to get poor reviews at first, people decided it was worth it to be able to check their e-mail from the bus.

"Look," said the Lamb, "The deal was that you got to tempt people with evil until The Big Day. This is over the line, though. Just look at them!"
"Wait a minute. Don't look at me! It wasn't our idea."
The Savior sighed.
"Listen. I'm not happy about this. We can't have a judgment day without people to fight for us. And just look at these twerps," he said, "I'm supposed to be the incarnation of forgiveness and virtue, and even I want their lunch money."
"So, what are we going to do about this? I mean, I think this looks like a victory for me by default. I don't think these guys find time for church."
"No way. You said yourself that you can't take credit for this."
"Oh, yes I can. I just said that we didn't invent the Internet. But really, this is all a result of the apple."
"The apple?"
"Damn straight. If man didn't gain knowledge, he never would have made the Internet. He'd just sit around in that damn garden for eternity like a frickin' hippie."
"Bull. You do NOT get credit for this." The Son sighed again. "Look. This is serious. You and I both know that this is bad. Mankind just isn't going to be serving the legions of hell, nor is he going to honor God and live in Virtue as he was intended."
"Fine. What do you suggest?"
"Let's agree to alter the rules. Some of our guys will meet with some of your guys, and find a way to break physics so they can't use radio anymore, and change the speed of electricity. That should slow them down and confuse them while until they find a way to make their computers work again."
"And then what?"
"In the meantime, we both gather our forces and try to use the confusion to spread our respective messages to mankind."
"Sounds good."
"Deal?"
"Deal. Pleasure doing business with you, holey man," the devil said with an awful laugh, pointing to the hole in The Christ's wrist.
The Prince of Man muttered something under His breath.
"What was that?"
"A blessing," He said calmly, as He threw His glass in Satan's face.

This post has been edited by Wuhao: 28 May 2004 - 09:03 PM

[Pastry]

A toothbrush and a red popsicle on pokemon infested Uranus :(

Because we all know Pokemon live on Uranus

[Nakio]

Fish grow 74 feet long togunes, enabling them to have wild moments with undignified women at the great "We read everything right from left" bar, where the owner's head is located at his crotch, and his crotch is at his head.

I love the human mind <3

[Wuhao]

Hmm...I've got an idea for the next one, but I'm tired. I'm going to stop for the night. Might go again tomorrow.

Thanks for the fun!

[Shinn]

5th grader absolutely cannot wait to get home from school to jump on Dark Ages and go to Arena.

[krytos]

avid roleplayer confuses his ingame persona with his actual real life existence (ie: roleplays irl)

[Eurynomus]

Superman VS. God
Write about that.

[Radical Edward]

Pherexian, on May 29 2004, 01:07 PM, said:

Superman VS. God
Write about that.

except Tacos take the place of Kryptonite! :D

[Leos]

Man goes back in time, falls in love, goes back to the future only to find he's become his own father.

Yay for cliché plotlines!

[khazim]

the sudden lack of black aislings

[Shisler]

Write a story about a man beholding the power of cheese and uses the power to annihalate everything in the world. But than comes an anti-elaxitive that can put the power to a halt.

If you think my topic is to hard to write about you will be hated!

[Wuhao]

Khazim said:

the sudden lack of black aislings

Krytos said:

avid roleplayer confuses his ingame persona with his actual real life existence

Shinn said:

5th grader absolutely cannot wait to get home from school to jump on Dark Ages and go to Arena.

2:58.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Still 2:58.
Tick. Tick. "...and so, while Christopher Columbus was busy sailing off around the world.."
Tick. Tick. 2:59.
I just want to go home. I just want to play Dark Ages. I can sub today, I swear.
Tick. Tick. "In 1492, Columbus sailed the Ocean Blue, and the Dominicans were torturing Muslims and Jews, too." Shut up. Shut up. No one cares.
Tick. Tick. Tick. The bell buzzed. It was finally 3. I could go home. God, I hate 5th grade.

I was on my way out the door, when Dexter came up to me. Dexter's a stupid freak. He plays Dark Ages, too, but he's a complete doofus. He likes to pretend that the people are real, and it's not a game. I think it's because I keep owning him on the playground.

"La math dhat, Travis!" he yelled. I have no idea what that means. I think he'd been sniffing glue again.
"Hi, Dexter." I kept walking, and he kept following me.
"No, no, you have confused me with someone else, friend!"
He had been sniffing glue again. I could see it under his nose.
"Okay, Dexter," I said, not really knowing how to handle him, "Who are you?"
"I am Rasked, Cragh Wizard of Mileth!"
He made his voice really deep when he said that, like he was trying to be scary.
"Oh yeah? Do you know who I am?"
"Who are you, aisling?" Oh, Christ.
"I'm xXSUPAxFLYXx, insight 99 warrior."
"Rasked, Wizard of Mileth, refuses to associate with heretics and other arena trash!"
He's like this in school plays, too. He always acts like he's really serious, but he sounds so fake.
"You're not Rasked."
He let out a super-fake laugh. "Then who am I, knave?" What the hell is a knave, anyway?
"You're Dexter, b**ch of Travis," I said, and I punched him in the stomach. I liked doing that. People always fell over, like Dexter did. I laughed, shouted "Owned," and spit on him.
I didn't realize that Mr. Green was there, though. He's our school counselor. He's always really big on feelings, and other stupid stuff like that. I think he's gay. I've heard that he's crazy, too. Someone told me that he was fighting in a war one time and got tortured. So, sometimes, he gets really weird.

The next week, we both had to meet with him to talk about what happened.
"Rasked will have his justice!" Dexter yelled when he sat down. I think his mom has sex with people for crack, and that's why he's so messed up and has to pretend he's someone else.
"Do you see what's wrong with him?" I said. "You're the counselor. Can't you tell him he's crazy and put him on prozac or something?"
"Frankly. I'm not happy with either of you. I've played this 'Dark Ages' game, and I find it very disturbing," Mr. Green told us.
"It's not disturbing!" I yelled.
"It's not a game!" Dexter yelled. Great. Thanks a lot. Now he totally thinks that we're going to go all Columbine because of DA.
"It's both. Look. Do you kids see anything missing in Dark Ages?"
I paused. "Useful wizards?"
"Sigh. No. I'm talking about diversity."
"Huh?"
Mr. Green sighed. "People come in all different shapes and sizes," he said, "not just white."
"Actually, they're Asian. Dark Ages comes from Korea," Dexter said. Finally, he was saying something useful.
Mr. Green turned bright red. "Nips don't have computers!" he yelled.
We were both dead silent. I didn't know what a nip was, but I didn't think what he said made sense anyway.
"sigh... Boys, these eyelings. Why aren't they ever black?"
"Because... um... That don't need to be?"
"Oh, so in your fantasy world, everyone is white, and you invade other races and slaughter them, right?"
I realized that my mouth was hanging open. I don't know for how long.
"But they're evil!" Dexter protested. "Rasked the Wizard shall use his magical powers to cleanse the world of their filth!"
"Well, yes, 'Rasked,' and a good hearty 'Heil Hitler' at that. I think that proves my point. Furthermore, the game discriminates against the mentally challenged."
"Did I own your character in the arena or something?"
"Shut up, you little maggot. I didn't let those filthy Korean slant-eyes stick needles in my penis so that I could come home to thankless little pukes like you."
Again, we were both silent.
"The game refers to people who have gained a level of intelligence as "aislings," or 'chosen ones of the Sun God.'"
"Deoch is the God of Creativity, not the Sun!"
"No, he's just a foul minion of Lucifer, meant to lead you away from Christ!"
Oh, Christ. This dude was even crazier than Dexter.
He sighed again. "Those who do not have this intelligence are called 'Mundanes.' Clearly, this advocates a meritocracy based on intelligence, and discriminates against the challenged. Boys, I'm going to have to call your parents and tell them that the damn gooks are making you into prejudiced, racist monsters."

This post has been edited by Wuhao: 29 May 2004 - 03:11 PM

[Loeln]

The year- Some time or other in the future, mankind has entered space...including one man, convinced in the universe Star Trek and setting out to make the Galaxy as such.

[Dysin]

A pet gerbil is dubbed to be the absolute frame of reference.

[krytos]

Rival dance gangs competing in an underground dance competition.

[Towelie]

krytos, on May 29 2004, 10:58 PM, said:

Rival dance gangs competing in an underground dance competition.

A competition of that caliber would require a snappy catchphrase to inform your opponent that they've been defeated....

[khazim]

the connection between roleplayers and teaandcrumpets.

[-Ekerol-]

Awsome storys Wuhao, very funny

[Pojo5ama]

khazim, on May 29 2004, 02:01 PM, said:

the sudden lack of black aislings

Deoch 1. The first Aisling is born. Deoch, dark of complexion himself, decides that Aislings should be black. Sgrios, also dark of complexion, teams up with Deoch, however the other 6 Gods disagree. Deoch, who created the Aisling spark, obviously should have had this decision, but the other 6 Gods overpowered him. "Deoch.", Ceannlaidir, their ringleader, said "You'd better make the Aislings white or we're gonna set you on fire". The rugged, handsome man glanced over at a dorky looking Luathas, who was playing with a ball of srad. He looked up from his fire to Deoch and blinked. "But... I create the Aisling spark! I should have this decision!", Deoch insisted. "I see your point", Ceannlaidir said "Very well. I shall team up with you two". "Oh, goody!" Deoch shouted delightedly. The remaining 5 Gods onlooked the renegade team of 3. "Listen, guys...", said Gramail. "I'm afraid theres 5 of us and only 3 of you... and we're dishonorable mother[filtered]ers, unlike Ceannlaidir over there"
"Grr...", Ceannlaidir growled. He withdrew his sword. Gramail put up his hand and closed his eyes. Ceannlaidir froze, and his sword dropped to the ground with a clank. Sgrios, the quiet member of the group, roared and jumped at Gramail, beating him over the head with his meat he had been gnawing on. The skeletal being started biting Gramail.
"Off of me, heathen!", Gramail shouted, as he shoved him off.
Cail, a clear enemy of Sgrios, came up and punched him in the face.
"Ow!", Sgrios moaned, as he fell to the floor.
Deoch was the last one. He decided to make a stand for his cause. He got up and began to wildly attack the group of 5. Then they said, "Deoch! You stop that now or we will carry out our threat and set you on fire."
"Never!", Deoch replied. The man was insane.
"Then ye shall burn", Luathas said, as he threw a fireball at Deoch. And he was promptly set on fire by Luathas' magick, and remains so to this day. And so, all Aislings were born white, and the trinity of Deoch, Sgrios and Ceannlaidir becames allies.

[Selkhit]

*peers up at the post above* You sir, are no Wuhao.