Post by justthisgirl on May 31, 2006 23:10:09 GMT -5
ok, just so everyone knows why this is so silly sounding... here's the rules of the game
1. add three words at a time to the story.
2. have fun!!!
This story has been building for quite some time. here's what we have so far. lets keep it going!
One surely night, just after 8:00, Mr. Swatherton the bookkeeper, was in the coffee shop, nursing his broken knee. Who had suffered very loudly over a mild injury which turned out to be caused by years of being a spy. Now the Russians were no longer for the CIA. He has lapsed, but the CIA still wanted him because he's mastered black belt aikido. "Bookkeeping for Spies" was his favorite reference material, because it had saved his life many times. Especially once on that little island in the IRS Escapees Sea. But the IRS had tracked him for they were still angry because he hadn't flushed his W-2's down the toilet like most normal spies, but he was avoiding them determinedly because in 1978 he had ran into a smuggling ring whilst spying for an undisclosed ultimate profit. He got busted because his mother wanted him to pick up his newly dry-cleaned suit. This was important because it contained a supply of mints. Crucial for good breath... without which, the collapse of his body dragging ability would be complete. But when he decided that he was allergic to Peppermint tea, he had tossed them into the air, but forgot to cancel out the girly mag subscription his friend had made his money through. He’d meant to create an unexpected but necessary rift in the magazine/mint business. This would destabilize his sudden urge for mindless entertainment since the spies were nothing but duty driven characters. The whole idea behind it all was in fact a top-secret plan meant to incriminate modeling agents who were embezzling underwear from unsuspecting clients. But the clients turned out not to be impervious and secretly knew about their scheme to expose the largely illicit ladies special intelligence recording operations that were being planned for the New Year’s ball. To adjust, they rearranged their closets to better hide the transporter pad Extra-terrestrial spies used to go to the fashion shows on planet mars. The Neptune shows were better but far too pricey for the second class petty officers many spies attended the marvelous gatherings attendant on them. Dathron was hiding and so was SilverGnome from Torra's wrath Because of her high scariness rating. Forced into labour to disguise themselves in an obscure and slightly laughable inspector Clusoe disguise, which caused terrible rash-like contusions because -the- mustache was a stick-on he was allergic to the glue and other random methods of disguise. Once, while wearing a beehive wig, he contracted a bad case of laughing monkey disease. It completely ruined his disguises because his moustache fell into his soup that was cooked with yummy liver. So of course, he had to follow his nature, because the mission to save the cute little penguin was indeed the most important mission he'd decided not to follow through. Instead of buying a new yet inferior penguin he decided to clone the superior waddler from the DNA he got from a lightly more creative breed of spy penguins that coincidentally happen to own some really clever new gadgetry. It works by identifying people by printing their individual feet print on a huge round rotating disk made of angle food cake. Because of the sensitive nature of the mandrake root, he pulled on as an aid the long rope reacted to it in a peculiar and dangerous fashion. But danger was his middle name. Besides being a spy, he also was an adrenaline junky and loved to make other people laugh a spy-like laugh that was really a code for his inbuilt transmitting device designed to make communications with base personnel a widely contracted disease. Except by the time he had perfected the way it infected folks, it somehow managed to mutate into another laughing monkey disease that laughing monkeys couldn’t seem to cure. After all, the spy’s superior equipment that his friend designed for him seriously outclassed anything of a similar nature due to its innate ability to finesse tricky puzzles with the complex inner workings of a crazy small electronic device. The device carried ultrasonic waves designed to disrupt and disorientate the enemy into an immediate paralyzed state thus freezing all but one very important brain function that controlled his ability to move his superior equipment. Which involved the production of a gigantic ax-o McCutter thingymajigger tool. A Thingymajigger tool is His cortex, apparently. He used it frequently in missions of love and war. As a spy, he encountered many other dangerous spies until moral improved. The great spy knew one thing: It was impossible to predict weather boxers or briefs would comply to health code standards. In his briefs, there was a small transmitter that allowed him to see out of the tiny hole in his giant apartment block so that the potato in his freezer could record all relative spy info needed to improve relations with France. Of course this other country would arrest his spuds because of diplomatic protests registered from gun toting leftists as opposed to little puppy loving Nazis. So the spy loving Canadians offered him sanctuary. Since we're discussing Canadians, anyway, let us also remember the legend of the wild horse who could only gallop west because on of his feet was the spirit of pie (spy?) that ate the fields all over but could only live one more minute because of his medical condition, a severe diagnosis. He had an acute diagnosis of Instantaneously Fatal Disease which means that he was doomed to be forever the mortally ill spy with limited lifespan. He decided that all horses should be granted a special medical dispensation in order that all would be well in the land of the flying little ponies that take rabbits and returnable bottles to the world of sentences that end with ridiculous comments, and lots of spy training skills galore. Now for the Bookkeepers Anonymous who shut the accounters association out of the "accounting sucks" club for obvious reasons, known only from astute observations of the little bookkeepers anonymous club that he belongs to. Elsewhere, the books began to turn pages that eventually became tattered and torn. The bookworms disliked the rotten smell of aging books and so prevented them from eating pickled cherry pits. After many years, the Lord of the spy ring attempted to destroy all recreational clubs dedicated to loving alien rights activists. Which was interesting because the aliens were really peaceful aliens, dedicated to breeding black parakeets. The parakeets were displeased with this as they preferred blue plumage. So natural selection was being severely tested via scantron. Furthermore an arch-rival group was responsible for the major damage. Thus bird flu rummaged through bird-nation and surrounding territories by migratory instincts beyond alien control. This displeased the aliens greatly, so they started to develop a new system, so they could control everything! But, due to intergalactic regulations which restricted the amount of dietary fiber that helps the aliens perpetuate their sanitary habits, they needed to use laxatives to regulate flow and pressure of Venetian Garostoys so the aliens traveled in there Garostoy-like vehicle to go to see the council of giant heads which welcomed them with a prophecy of how the hidden ones had found their lost leader's infant heir hidden among the Spyrfol Shadow Dwellers but lost him in his teens when the warriors kidnapped him. The Warriors from Sharnack rode their horses into a meeting which was held every seven centuries among the spy listeners, there was a massive plan to overthrow the giant heads, so that prophecies would never be useful again. To this spy there were no decent people who could create high-tech spy weapons for the purposes of assassinating high-ranking priestesses of the Egyptian colony in Arcturus. In Polaris, aliens lurk in potato stealing huts where nobody urinates much. They plot to conquer their Evil Tyrant Overlord who whips everybody with limp spaghetti. They make rebellions every decade but they fail to achieve their aim. The son of the Evil Tyrant planned to assassinate no-one imparticular, however he thought it would help create a good impression for the almighty Overlord of Karnack. He could possibly use his minions as pawns destined to liberate the unfortunate gobble-swack natives who would seek spies out at Neptune, the land under the sea in which Frizzer marries Hermione with a great plan thought up by Just This Girl, a form of beautiful, intelligent, witty Spy. Agents hide behind her. All the wedding guests find ways to tickle your toes with a rubber stick and stone. Why would you do such a thing is beyond a person’s mind. However, it appears that these people are prone to doing strange things. Meanwhile, JTGirl is teaching Dylan to find a lad who can teach nothing but useless dead unused languages that confuses the various people who try to destroy his little mind. Unfortunately, he only likes to learn scientific statistics that render stupid people utterly comatose. Elsewhere, the forces of Evil Fred amassed are diminishing due To the spies, So Fred calls The Dread Tyrant Goldslogger to meddle and worry about Justthisgirl the fantastic woman who creates works of beauty in all her statues of liberty experience. The best way to sleep is in a large tunnel with plenty of large lenses for spying. The spies take pictures of numerous somnamubulists. Then they move onto funambulists -much more entertaining. However the boss gets paid well so he treats the spy employees out to dinner on festive occasions. The spies work diligently to find and emerald in Figi. First they cleaned it, then they cut out the middle bit in the shape of an apple to add character. Also a chain of people fell over down at the local pub because of very strong real ale, everybody falls in a drunken state and starts killinf and misspelling because of overweening joy! Suddenly, spies appear dressed as Snuffelupugus in the highest style, and proceeded to mop the floor with the leftover fur from a meercat. Then a warthog wandered in thinking: "juicy grubs, mmmmm....." The grubs, however, were soaked in battery acid. So, instead of them he decided on crunchy june beetles equipped with spy cameras the bugs were expert spies but bad ninjas. Though black pj's suited them well as anything could. The next day, despite hangovers, all spy loving women descended on the bar for a nice round of deliciously smooth beverages including the potent Long Island Teas! which they drank until it was too late to remember not to designate a driver; which meant everyone called taxis. This was a deliberate tactic meant to throw off other underwear wearing spies who weren't as clever as the men who arranged for the drinks. Just then a very ugly large underpants gnome walked off with the first spy saying "let there be peaches!" The gnome had a very big and floppy hat. The captive spy then took off, and backflipped over the mysterious barrel then landed in the pudding from another world that was used for fierce fights between jtgirl and lil'D! “This is fun!" said the gnome, "my only wish is to have..." Suddenly he was confused because posts came too quickly along came a... spider and sat in the pudding who frightened Miss Universe into cowering beneath a table. The spider was about to eat some of the pudding that was growing mold beneath furniture legs. Then it began to rain red wine everybody looked up to see the source of such bizarre cloud patterns and strange precipitation. To their surprise, it was actually an exploding winery drops of wine mistaken for rainfall that began to fall on everyone's head, until everybody was quite drunk. Meanwhile, the crazy spy hatched a plot to invade all the DC clans and to begin assassinating the leaders. This was so crazy that noone, unfortunately, believed him. And so every titular clan head was taken to
1. add three words at a time to the story.
2. have fun!!!
This story has been building for quite some time. here's what we have so far. lets keep it going!
One surely night, just after 8:00, Mr. Swatherton the bookkeeper, was in the coffee shop, nursing his broken knee. Who had suffered very loudly over a mild injury which turned out to be caused by years of being a spy. Now the Russians were no longer for the CIA. He has lapsed, but the CIA still wanted him because he's mastered black belt aikido. "Bookkeeping for Spies" was his favorite reference material, because it had saved his life many times. Especially once on that little island in the IRS Escapees Sea. But the IRS had tracked him for they were still angry because he hadn't flushed his W-2's down the toilet like most normal spies, but he was avoiding them determinedly because in 1978 he had ran into a smuggling ring whilst spying for an undisclosed ultimate profit. He got busted because his mother wanted him to pick up his newly dry-cleaned suit. This was important because it contained a supply of mints. Crucial for good breath... without which, the collapse of his body dragging ability would be complete. But when he decided that he was allergic to Peppermint tea, he had tossed them into the air, but forgot to cancel out the girly mag subscription his friend had made his money through. He’d meant to create an unexpected but necessary rift in the magazine/mint business. This would destabilize his sudden urge for mindless entertainment since the spies were nothing but duty driven characters. The whole idea behind it all was in fact a top-secret plan meant to incriminate modeling agents who were embezzling underwear from unsuspecting clients. But the clients turned out not to be impervious and secretly knew about their scheme to expose the largely illicit ladies special intelligence recording operations that were being planned for the New Year’s ball. To adjust, they rearranged their closets to better hide the transporter pad Extra-terrestrial spies used to go to the fashion shows on planet mars. The Neptune shows were better but far too pricey for the second class petty officers many spies attended the marvelous gatherings attendant on them. Dathron was hiding and so was SilverGnome from Torra's wrath Because of her high scariness rating. Forced into labour to disguise themselves in an obscure and slightly laughable inspector Clusoe disguise, which caused terrible rash-like contusions because -the- mustache was a stick-on he was allergic to the glue and other random methods of disguise. Once, while wearing a beehive wig, he contracted a bad case of laughing monkey disease. It completely ruined his disguises because his moustache fell into his soup that was cooked with yummy liver. So of course, he had to follow his nature, because the mission to save the cute little penguin was indeed the most important mission he'd decided not to follow through. Instead of buying a new yet inferior penguin he decided to clone the superior waddler from the DNA he got from a lightly more creative breed of spy penguins that coincidentally happen to own some really clever new gadgetry. It works by identifying people by printing their individual feet print on a huge round rotating disk made of angle food cake. Because of the sensitive nature of the mandrake root, he pulled on as an aid the long rope reacted to it in a peculiar and dangerous fashion. But danger was his middle name. Besides being a spy, he also was an adrenaline junky and loved to make other people laugh a spy-like laugh that was really a code for his inbuilt transmitting device designed to make communications with base personnel a widely contracted disease. Except by the time he had perfected the way it infected folks, it somehow managed to mutate into another laughing monkey disease that laughing monkeys couldn’t seem to cure. After all, the spy’s superior equipment that his friend designed for him seriously outclassed anything of a similar nature due to its innate ability to finesse tricky puzzles with the complex inner workings of a crazy small electronic device. The device carried ultrasonic waves designed to disrupt and disorientate the enemy into an immediate paralyzed state thus freezing all but one very important brain function that controlled his ability to move his superior equipment. Which involved the production of a gigantic ax-o McCutter thingymajigger tool. A Thingymajigger tool is His cortex, apparently. He used it frequently in missions of love and war. As a spy, he encountered many other dangerous spies until moral improved. The great spy knew one thing: It was impossible to predict weather boxers or briefs would comply to health code standards. In his briefs, there was a small transmitter that allowed him to see out of the tiny hole in his giant apartment block so that the potato in his freezer could record all relative spy info needed to improve relations with France. Of course this other country would arrest his spuds because of diplomatic protests registered from gun toting leftists as opposed to little puppy loving Nazis. So the spy loving Canadians offered him sanctuary. Since we're discussing Canadians, anyway, let us also remember the legend of the wild horse who could only gallop west because on of his feet was the spirit of pie (spy?) that ate the fields all over but could only live one more minute because of his medical condition, a severe diagnosis. He had an acute diagnosis of Instantaneously Fatal Disease which means that he was doomed to be forever the mortally ill spy with limited lifespan. He decided that all horses should be granted a special medical dispensation in order that all would be well in the land of the flying little ponies that take rabbits and returnable bottles to the world of sentences that end with ridiculous comments, and lots of spy training skills galore. Now for the Bookkeepers Anonymous who shut the accounters association out of the "accounting sucks" club for obvious reasons, known only from astute observations of the little bookkeepers anonymous club that he belongs to. Elsewhere, the books began to turn pages that eventually became tattered and torn. The bookworms disliked the rotten smell of aging books and so prevented them from eating pickled cherry pits. After many years, the Lord of the spy ring attempted to destroy all recreational clubs dedicated to loving alien rights activists. Which was interesting because the aliens were really peaceful aliens, dedicated to breeding black parakeets. The parakeets were displeased with this as they preferred blue plumage. So natural selection was being severely tested via scantron. Furthermore an arch-rival group was responsible for the major damage. Thus bird flu rummaged through bird-nation and surrounding territories by migratory instincts beyond alien control. This displeased the aliens greatly, so they started to develop a new system, so they could control everything! But, due to intergalactic regulations which restricted the amount of dietary fiber that helps the aliens perpetuate their sanitary habits, they needed to use laxatives to regulate flow and pressure of Venetian Garostoys so the aliens traveled in there Garostoy-like vehicle to go to see the council of giant heads which welcomed them with a prophecy of how the hidden ones had found their lost leader's infant heir hidden among the Spyrfol Shadow Dwellers but lost him in his teens when the warriors kidnapped him. The Warriors from Sharnack rode their horses into a meeting which was held every seven centuries among the spy listeners, there was a massive plan to overthrow the giant heads, so that prophecies would never be useful again. To this spy there were no decent people who could create high-tech spy weapons for the purposes of assassinating high-ranking priestesses of the Egyptian colony in Arcturus. In Polaris, aliens lurk in potato stealing huts where nobody urinates much. They plot to conquer their Evil Tyrant Overlord who whips everybody with limp spaghetti. They make rebellions every decade but they fail to achieve their aim. The son of the Evil Tyrant planned to assassinate no-one imparticular, however he thought it would help create a good impression for the almighty Overlord of Karnack. He could possibly use his minions as pawns destined to liberate the unfortunate gobble-swack natives who would seek spies out at Neptune, the land under the sea in which Frizzer marries Hermione with a great plan thought up by Just This Girl, a form of beautiful, intelligent, witty Spy. Agents hide behind her. All the wedding guests find ways to tickle your toes with a rubber stick and stone. Why would you do such a thing is beyond a person’s mind. However, it appears that these people are prone to doing strange things. Meanwhile, JTGirl is teaching Dylan to find a lad who can teach nothing but useless dead unused languages that confuses the various people who try to destroy his little mind. Unfortunately, he only likes to learn scientific statistics that render stupid people utterly comatose. Elsewhere, the forces of Evil Fred amassed are diminishing due To the spies, So Fred calls The Dread Tyrant Goldslogger to meddle and worry about Justthisgirl the fantastic woman who creates works of beauty in all her statues of liberty experience. The best way to sleep is in a large tunnel with plenty of large lenses for spying. The spies take pictures of numerous somnamubulists. Then they move onto funambulists -much more entertaining. However the boss gets paid well so he treats the spy employees out to dinner on festive occasions. The spies work diligently to find and emerald in Figi. First they cleaned it, then they cut out the middle bit in the shape of an apple to add character. Also a chain of people fell over down at the local pub because of very strong real ale, everybody falls in a drunken state and starts killinf and misspelling because of overweening joy! Suddenly, spies appear dressed as Snuffelupugus in the highest style, and proceeded to mop the floor with the leftover fur from a meercat. Then a warthog wandered in thinking: "juicy grubs, mmmmm....." The grubs, however, were soaked in battery acid. So, instead of them he decided on crunchy june beetles equipped with spy cameras the bugs were expert spies but bad ninjas. Though black pj's suited them well as anything could. The next day, despite hangovers, all spy loving women descended on the bar for a nice round of deliciously smooth beverages including the potent Long Island Teas! which they drank until it was too late to remember not to designate a driver; which meant everyone called taxis. This was a deliberate tactic meant to throw off other underwear wearing spies who weren't as clever as the men who arranged for the drinks. Just then a very ugly large underpants gnome walked off with the first spy saying "let there be peaches!" The gnome had a very big and floppy hat. The captive spy then took off, and backflipped over the mysterious barrel then landed in the pudding from another world that was used for fierce fights between jtgirl and lil'D! “This is fun!" said the gnome, "my only wish is to have..." Suddenly he was confused because posts came too quickly along came a... spider and sat in the pudding who frightened Miss Universe into cowering beneath a table. The spider was about to eat some of the pudding that was growing mold beneath furniture legs. Then it began to rain red wine everybody looked up to see the source of such bizarre cloud patterns and strange precipitation. To their surprise, it was actually an exploding winery drops of wine mistaken for rainfall that began to fall on everyone's head, until everybody was quite drunk. Meanwhile, the crazy spy hatched a plot to invade all the DC clans and to begin assassinating the leaders. This was so crazy that noone, unfortunately, believed him. And so every titular clan head was taken to
