*whines at the bowling ball-headed gnome*
Matt Damon...
*brushes his non-existant bangs to the side*
[*bobbles bubbles bobbles*]
[*looks at the black bird with bulging and frightened eyes*]
I... I don't want to be here !
[*bobbles bubbles bobbles and frantically swims away*]
*runs across the Bunyip's Best Friend as it chases after the black doggie*
*whines at the bowling ball-headed gnome*
Matt Damon...
*brushes his non-existant bangs to the side*
Ho... you're there !
[*hand twitches at his side*]
I remember when this thread was about a clear win... the rules were harsh and the game uncompromising, but it was ordered !
[*squints his eyes to try to look at the end of the strings holding the Matt Damon puppet upright*]
It was the time before sock-puppets' puppets... if you get my meaning !
[*looks back at the Matt Damon puppet... and then strides away*]
Get off my lawn, you young whippersnapper !
I used to like quiche before I played this game.
...
While he passes along the Mime, Quiche Lisp clocks him on the head with a frozen plucked chicken.
"Best use of a chicken ever. I hope it's from Bristol, too."
*throws an egg pie at Quiche*
I hope that was made with real gnomes.
I used to like quiche before I played this game.
I'd let you know that it was my mother who cooked the first quiche in the multiverse.
And then some guy called Carl G. stole the recipe and made it available free of charge across the galaxies.
It was before I was born.
And my mother became very angry. She still is.
...
I had a difficult childhood.
...
But I will have my revenge some day, C. Glittergold !
*throws an egg pie at Quiche*
I hope that was made with real gnomes.
[*pulls a black notebook out of his fancy violet pants' pocket*]
That's it, VCoB ! I note you down in my black grudge book !
[sticks his tongue out while he slowly scribbles in the notebook]
The...re... you... asked for it. It's... your fault... You provoked me... I am without... pity...
So is Carl Glittergold related to Garl Glittergold, the actual gnomish deity of the world's oldest RPG?
Having written the name of the perpetrator in his black notebook, Quiche Lisp closes it and then waves it around for all to see.
"And I want to say that there are plenty of spare pages in this mean baby and that I'm not afraid to use them ! You better be extra nice with me in this thread !"
Pfft. They don't call me the Nice Chicken of Bristol.
*sets Quiche's black notebook on fire and runs off with his fancy violet pants*
So is Carl Glittergold related to Garl Glittergold, the actual gnomish deity of the world's oldest RPG?
Hu ?
[*turns his back to VCoB while he reads feverishly in an enormous binder he just pulled out from the other pocket on his fancy violet pants*]
One moment ! One moment ! I'm just reading... hu... my mother's grocery list !
You mean these pants? *waves them about*
[*realizes he actually has no binder in hand... and no pants on !*]
"Mommmmyyyyyyyy !!!!!"
[*flies away*]
I think I'll call it a night with that victory. You can have your pants later, Quiche.
*blinks out of existence*
The portly man looks at the Matt Damon puppet with a seemingly benevolent smile.
"Hello there ! So, you think you're a puppet ? Interesting, I dare say."
Matt Damon...
The portly man smiles sweetly.
"Do you have feelings of inadequacy ? It's very common, you know. You can tell me: I'm here to help."
*shakes its head*
Matt Damon. Matt Damon. Matt Damon.
*points to its strings disappearing into the murk above*
Matt Damon! Matt Damon.
*pauses*
Matt Damon.
I'll get back to your ego and you later. I need to buy a second couch.
"What just a minute there. You have gone and copied my darn alias. You fraud."
The many-jowled man arches a mocking eyebrow at Dr. Sigmund.
"Is that so, doctor ?... You seem pretty insecure if my mere presence were to cast doubts on your reality."
The portly man smiles sweetly.
"And who said you were the first Dr. Sigmung, anyway ?"
Fraud Freud makes a contrived sad face at Dr. Sigmund.
"Also, "Dr." Sigmund, I am somewhat sorry, but my professional ethics command that I ask of you : have you stopped beating your wife... yet ?"
This is a post.
It is, at the moment of posting, the last post.
Thus, i win.
And so did everyone that posted already.
Fraud Freud looks annoyed at having been interrupted during one of his favorite ethical activities.
"Having problem with competition, IceHawk333, aren't we, hmmmm ?"
"I can see why being the 333th in a nest could lead to deep-seated insecurities."
F. Fraud makes a gourmet face and rubs his hands together
"Tell me all about your worries, IceHawk3333. I am here to help."
No. I just like poking fun at...
Well...
Everything.
And I'm not actually a hawk, that's just my username.
Also, you have 1 too many 3's ont hat last one, and it's three-hundred and thirty third, 333th.
Quiche Lisp steps out the shadow and clocks Fraud Freud in the head with a frozen lamb. The portly man falls on the floor and stops moving.
"What a fraud ! But then, he's only human..."
Quiche Lisp looks at Icehawk333.
"Well, you look... peculiar. Anyway, I win !"
The silence is defeaning here. All the best for me to enjoy this win.
You can all bask in my very-stern-but-ultimately-beneficent gnomish aura while I wait here for the inevitable (and misguided) contender for the mastery of the Thread !
[*unwraps from a parcel he brought with him a strangely looking steampunk brass gun, with frozen chocolate-topped mice as ammo. Also, he handles with care a bubbling bluish potion whose vial displays a "Vicious C. of B. special" label.*]
Just because thew silence is deafening doesn't mean you win.
I win!
Matt Damon?
No, I've been told I look like George Clooney.
Ben Aff...leck.
NO! Geoerge Clooney!
Matt...
Matt...
Just... in...
Matt...
Bieber.
[*whistles to himself like he owns the place*]
Quiche Lisp is startled by the talking voices. He whirls around and sees the Matt Damon puppet and the other... thing.
"Ho ! for the love of..."
*reappears and tosses shreds of Quiche's purple pants on the ground*
Free speech does not protect that kind of language. If you're going to come on here and spread your filth, think again. We're a decent community. Sure we get a little rowdy and sometimes a little mean-spirited, but there's no excuse for what you just said. Go. I don't want to see you again until you can hold a conversation without using such foul and puerile language.
*shakes head at Matt Damon Puppet*
I'm ashamed of you.
[*points his steampunk gun at the two creatures in front of him*]
"Come to poppa-gnome to take your medicine !"
[*Quiche Lips's gun wavers between the two humanoid creatures in front of him and the black bird in the air*]
[*finally tosses his gun, picks up the shreds of his violet pants and runs away as fast as he can*]
"That's the biiiiird !"
*flips through a large binder with 'Quiche Lisp' written on it in gold glitter*
Hmm, some interesting addresses you have here, Quiche...Perhaps I should pay them a visit?
For a moment I thoguht you were talking me my good, well er, vicious chicken.
The slumped shape of the Fraud begins to move, while he awakens on the cold hard floor.
He finally manages to get on his feet, swinging unsteadily.
he looks around him, taking in the audience with glazed eyes, while nursing his battered head.
At last he focuses his gaze on the Duke of Disgorge.
"B... Ben Affleck ?"
|
"You have obviously had an e episode come sit on my couch and tell me more about it. Start by telling me when you decided you wanted to impersonate me? Was this a result of your lack of ability to perform at your previous job? When you found out your parents disowned you? Please take your time I now this is hard to talk about."
|
|
"You have obviously had an e episode come sit on my couch and tell me more about it. Start by telling me when you decided you wanted to impersonate me? Was this a result of your lack of ability to perform at your previous job? When you found out your parents disowned you? Please take your time I know this is hard to talk about."
Still looking for another couch...
Your couch is in another castle.
Fraud Freud looks at Dr. Sigmund and Zigman Fraud M.D.
"I must tell you something... Dave."
A whiff of smoke comes unexpectedly out of his left nostril, while a strong ozone smell permeates the air. His right arm trembles with a strange whirring sound.
"I had no childhoooooood...... Da... Daveeeee. I aaaaaa... aaaam... affffffraiiiiiid, Daveeeeeeee."
A crackle. A pop. Something goes haywire inside the portly frame.
And then Fraud Feud's neck snaps open, revealing electronic insides, while his head falls sideways on his shoulder. The electronic lenses that are his eyes freeze in a non-living glare.
"Beeeeen... Aaaafffffllll. lllll... eck... eck."
And Fraud Freud remains silent thereafter.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Why do people have to resort to cussing around here? If you're going to write it, then type it as 'B** A******'. We have children here.