The New Bad Writing Competition...just for laughs! (LANGUAGE) - Page 29


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Thread: The New Bad Writing Competition...just for laughs! (LANGUAGE)

  1. #281
    Quote Originally Posted by Gumby View Post
    Oh, I am so glad you caught and desiphered the sekeret hidden messige, HC! I think you mite have saved the hole fourum from distruckshun. We o youu a det of onner.

    A-dub, I am sirprized you wood try to sneek one passed us like that. Just shokt, actully.
    Beneath that dimpled smile lies a heart of madness! All beware A-dub!

    How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
    Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
    Creep into our ears: soft stillness and the night
    Become the touches of sweet harmony.

    - Shakespeare,
    Merchant...Act 5


  2. #282
    Quote Originally Posted by HarperCole View Post
    A good effort. There are a number of stories showing what might have happened if the Nazis had won World War 2, but "The Fall Of Mogdra" is probably the most realistic that I've read.
    Quote Originally Posted by Foxee View Post
    These lines made my face leak a little.
    I was eating lunch with a friend when I saw these responses and laughed a little harder than I should have, alarming my friend and the wait staff.

    Quote Originally Posted by musichal View Post
    Beneath that dimpled smile lies a heart of madness! All beware A-dub!
    Don't be silly! I would never kill any of you!

    Quote Originally Posted by HarperCole View Post
    I was a little surprised, though, to find your hidden message, revealed by highlighting certain letters, following a simple mathematical equation ...
    AND I WOULD HAVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH IT, TOO, IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU MEDDLING KIDS AND YOUR INTIMATE ROBOT LADIES!
    If you're not sure how to take something I say, keep in mind that Bob Ross is my spirit animal. Hidden Content .

    “The reason that clichés become clichés is that they are the hammers and screwdrivers in the toolbox of communication.”
    Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!



  3. #283
    I swung my feet from the bed and heard them smashing against the glass pane of my detective agency door “Stalk Your Wife.Com” I hadn’t got much sleep because I couldn’t find the glass I usually put my dentures in so I had put them in a colander and that meant waking up to re-fill it every 5 seconds. What the hell, next time I would just let them dry out, be a real man for a change. Just as I was flossing my lower denture I heard the door open and in walked the sexiest broad I had ever laid eyes on… she was smoking!

    I did my best Philip Marlow impression,” Sorry Sweet-cheeks this is a no smoking office.” The chicks always go for that Robert Mitchum stuff, it never fails. Trying to look casual I sucked the debris off the floss, trying to remember what I had had for supper last night. The empty toilet roll in the waste basket told me better be safe than sorry.

    Stubbing the fag in my favourite doyley she said “Nah! Big boy, nuthin like Cagney.”

    I smiled then kicked myself for forgetting to put the dentures back in first. Holding my right knee I said “Sorry lady, not my best look.” She took the dentures from me and I could tell she was real class, the way she pushed them into my mouth. “Here, you have any Brylcreem, I’ll smarten up your Tony Curtis while I’m at it.”

    “Sorry babe, but there’s some lard in the fridge you can use, just for emergencies.”
    As she was pouring the goose fat over my quiff I decided to ask her what a broad like her was doing in a place like this.

    "I want you to follow my husband, I think he’s having an affair, but he keeps his iPhone real safe."

    “Hey hun’, look at the sign on the door. It’s 1953 for crissakes. This is a man’s world, just be grateful he keeps you in lipstick and suspenders.”

    I don’t think she liked what she heard because she flattened my Tony into a centre parting and gave me one hell of a shot to the kisser. Then she just walked out. I spat the shattered dentures from my mouth and poured another sour. Dames eh! Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without.

    The End.
    Last edited by Kepharel; August 10th, 2015 at 08:00 PM.
    One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six." From A Child's Christmas in Wales - Dylan Thomas

  4. #284
    I thought it was raining. I looked out through past my window right into the sky. It was not raining. I found a match and rubbed the heads off six til I finely got fire. I wish matches still had white tips. Then I realized I couldn't find my smokes. I threw all the letters and bills lying on my table in a garbage can and tossed the match in to keep a flame while I looked for my cigarettes. I found them underneath an end table, got one out of the pack and threw the pack back underneath the table so I could find them again later. A place for everything and everything in its place are words. I thought it was raining and looked outside through my window again but even though I thought it was it wasn't. I noticed the smoke was getting thick so I lit my cigarette to help me ignore all the smoke from the garbage can which was really not so much a garbage can as a plastic bucket into which I threw garbage sometimes. I urinated on it to put out the fire but on the tuck afterwards managed to get some delicate skin caught between the metal teeth of a zipper. Since there was blood I went to get a band-aid but it hurt and made me limp down the hall. The band-aid wouldn't stick so I did the logical thing and filled a condom with tissue, then donned it. Maybe I'll patent the idea I thought but then couldn't figure out how it would be explained in a commercial so I gave up that idea even though it was probably worth millions. At least I had stopped the blood and even though I only limped a little the problem now was that I may have used too much tissue as there was a large lumpy bulge in an embarrassing spot now and I still had the wedding to attend. Maybe a whole roll was too much. Oh well I thought everyone will be looking at my bride maybe they won't notice and left still hoping for rain outside through my window.

    How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
    Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
    Creep into our ears: soft stillness and the night
    Become the touches of sweet harmony.

    - Shakespeare,
    Merchant...Act 5


  5. #285
    Hal, you've managed to offend sensibilities I didn't even know I had.
    If you're not sure how to take something I say, keep in mind that Bob Ross is my spirit animal. Hidden Content .

    “The reason that clichés become clichés is that they are the hammers and screwdrivers in the toolbox of communication.”
    Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!



  6. #286
    While jogging down the street, a car hit Sue, and severe body damage ensured she would be out commission for at least 6 months. Through intense throbbing pain, continued jogging to get help. With a badly injured body, a mangled wreckage leaking a trail of bright red fluids behind. Turning the corner, the repair shop was about 50 feet away. Susan limped and trudged on as hard she could. Her efforts were in vein; the faster she traveled the further away the repair shop was. By now it was out of her sight, and turning another corner, she was sure she would never catch up to it.

    Finally catching up to the repair shop at last, inside, the woman was laying on the floor waiting for an ambulance to arrive.

  7. #287
    Kepharel, that story was raw sex, converted into pixels which hovered magically on my computer screen and spoke to me in rich, lusty tones. Nice work!

    Musichal, that was a tragic tale of how happiness can slip through our fingers. Speaking of fingers, I cut one of mine off so that I could share the pain of your noble hero. I can recommend it, it really added a visceral level to the reading experience.

    TheDarkOne, that was a clever metaphor, because aren't all of us limping towards the repair shop called "Life"? I'd recommend that you publish it, but unfortunately I myself have already done so. Plagiarism is hard to prove in cases such as these.

  8. #288
    Quote Originally Posted by HarperCole View Post
    Kepharel, that story was raw sex, converted into pixels which hovered magically on my computer screen and spoke to me in rich, lusty tones. Nice work!

    Musichal, that was a tragic tale of how happiness can slip through our fingers. Speaking of fingers, I cut one of mine off so that I could share the pain of your noble hero. I can recommend it, it really added a visceral level to the reading experience.

    TheDarkOne, that was a clever metaphor, because aren't all of us limping towards the repair shop called "Life"? I'd recommend that you publish it, but unfortunately I myself have already done so. Plagiarism is hard to prove in cases such as these.
    Tell me more about what you have written. I was actually trying to make some humor out of bad subject/verb agreement (The car is the one doing the jogging).

  9. #289
    Oh, I was just kidding; I haven't really covered that area, you're in the clear.

    My stories are focused more on using as many eight syllable words as I can cram in ...

  10. #290

    Red face

    Quote Originally Posted by HarperCole View Post
    Oh, I was just kidding; I haven't really covered that area, you're in the clear.

    My stories are focused more on using as many eight syllable words as I can cram in ...
    Oh LOL, I should've known after I read your reply about breaking off one of your fingers. Now I see.
    Don't mind me. I can take things too literally at times.

    Kepharel, that was a good read. Nice and witty.
    Last edited by TheDarkOne; August 12th, 2015 at 10:52 PM.

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