Messenger Puppet

Cannibalism, hookers, guys in dresses with 8 pound (bowling) balls and the Skipper as a sex-starved necromancer. Or, “what happens when you unleash a bunch of drunkards on your laptop” in order to create the all American novel, or a ridiculous tale of depravity, debauchery and beer.

This is actually a pretty fun thing to do when you’re just hanging out. Somebody start writing the great American short story (*It was a dark and stormy night…*), then just pass the story around and add to it. Just make sure your work stuff has a password, so that productivity report doesn’t suddenly digress like….

[Bagman] suggested that they go to the bowling alley to look at all the fat women in tight jeans. [8 Barrel]didn’t think that would be interesting enough. He wanted to visit the local leper colony (located at the North side of town) and watch body parts fall off. [Fort Adrian] decided that this was a better idea because of the appetizer potential. The maid, who was in the very act of leaving (with a house decanter stuffed in her coat) suddenly gained a new interest in the job. She said, “maybe these pale people ain’t so dumb after all.”

 

At this point, [the Penis Lord of Scum], who had just returned from a trip to southern Climax, showed up, hoping for some cheap thrills. He was disappointed at first, seeing everyone ready to depart, but perked up upon hearing the agenda. He suggested that they stop off at Osco [Drug Food] to pick up some high speed film for action shots of “Sterno” bums pillaging Herby-Curbies, as they drove by in the welfare Caddy he recently boosted.

 

 

The merry bunch had no sooner ceremoniously burned the fuzzy dice and piled in when John Q. Law happened by, attracted by the smell of burning polyester in the smog-filled spring air. “What’s all this merriment about?” he demanded in his best intimidating voice. The group was not impressed. [PLOS], in his best display of extemporaneous judgment said, “die, you Nazi bastard!” and piddled on the astonished officer’s feet. John, looking down at his sodden shoes, made an unmistakable face of pure disgust. “Hey, cornholer, primitive gestures of disdain are my constitutional privilege, goddammit! Go kill yourself!” [screeched PLOS] Dumbfounded by the unprovoked display of cojones, the pusillanimous peace officer had no alternative other than S&W .357. “What a stupid asshole,” [PLOS]laughed, as [Rogainetown]‘s finest made himself into rat kibbles.

 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Nick and Heath were pistol-whipping the butler, while Jarrod was espousing the virtues of a chauvinist society and its historical contributions to the 19^th century to Audra. “This chick’s gorgeous,” Jarrod thought to himself, “but, for one, she’s my sis, and second, Nick’s got dibbies.” Victoria was ready to take her shotgun to the lot of them. Now, back to our story…

All I can give you is a taste, since there were about 17 authors on this thing. Plus, this particular one is 3000 words long. (if you’re an author or subject shoot me an e/m and I will forward the whole thing.)

Now playing: David Lee Roth – Let It All Hang Out