“Mmmmm… Spiders. Yummy and crunchy.”
That was the last thougth of **French frog ** chewing a delectable ** Sanguine Spider **.
- How do you like your spider?
- Rare… I would say sanguine.
- Do you want french fries with that?
french frog had had it with his humdrum life, his miserable in-laws, and his dreary routine. Where was the adventure in life? The excitement? The glory?
So, one day, he chucked it all and ran off to join the French Foreign Legion. Ah, there he’d surely find all the adventure, excitement, and glory he craved!
The training was brutal, but french frog bore up bravely, convinced that once he’d passed that test and joined the Legion in foreign lands, he’d finally have the lusty, lively life he needed.
At last, he became a full-fledged Legionnaire, and off he went to his first posting, in the dusty, sun-lashed wastes of the Sahara Desert. As he stepped off the transport plane and marched toward the grim fort where his first duty lay, he thought: “Ah, this is what I’ve been waiting for! This is it at last! This AAARRGGHHHHhhhhhkkkkkkk…”
The camel herder apologized profusely to the sergeant for the stampede, and was let off with a stern warning.
The Grim Reaper, rested after his four-day nap, woke up and stretched.
:::searches for scythe:::
Oh, there it is, in the hall closet, right where I last left it. Let’s see, now - who’s up?
Ah, it’s EddyTeddyFreddy!
:::gleeful cackle:::
ETF woke up as well - and decided to take her two horses for a walk in the woods. As they plodded along, she thought it would be a good idea (eh, not) to walk down a little path she’d seen in the past. A mere dirt road at best, but today it looked inviting. The sun was shining, a light breeze blowing, and a clear blue sky watched from above.
As ETF and her horses rounded a corner in the road, they came upon a small, ramshackle house. She decided to go in and take a look, despite the horses’ attempts to pull her away. Entering the house, she sensed that no one was home, but - hmm, there’s 3 chairs, 3 beds, 3 bowls of…
The horses turned tail and went back home, and ETF is now the human equivalent of a bear rug.
“If this is dying, I don’t think much of it.”
- Lytton Strachey (1880-1932)
Blonde loved cats. Oh, how she loved cats. (Though she drew the line at loving ETF – a dignified cyber-amity sufficed in the case of the logorrheic tri-cat.)
Blonde wanted to resist the pitiful strays and winsome kittens she encountered, but try as she might, she just couldn’t harden her heart. And so her collection of kitties grew…
And grew…
And grew…
And GREW…
Alas, one day as she was feeding the swarm, her electric can opener’s motor burned out, and she was forced to hack away at the 10-pound tub with a carving knife. Her 42 felines, already maddened with hunger at the delay in their feeding, went wild at the scent of blood when she accidentally cut her hand.
<the details of Blonde’s demise have been deleted to avoid a rating of X for violence>
EddyTeddyFreddy will get sproobed by a fernangle while inventing words.
Lobsang will get boiled alive and served with butter.
Ilsa_Lund is hunted down and killed by one of the fathers on the daughter-ogling thread.
"Bella!" - “I’ve been waiting for you, me sweetie,” said the beast seated next to her on the train. “I hear you walk on the dark side.”
It turns out that Bellas’s initials (BDI) stands for Better Duck Immediately!
Trouble ahead, trouble behind…and you know that notion just crossed my mind.
When Ilsa_Lund’s lobster dinner arrived, he had just come out of the little boy’s room. He sat down as the platter was placed, steaming and delicious, onto the table before him. Ahhh, smell the Lobsang… he thought to himself gleefully and inhaled the wonderful aroma.
“Don’t you love it when you go to the bathroom and you come back to find your food waiting for you?”, he asks merrily.
“We’re lucky we got it at all. Buddy Holly doesn’t seem to be much
of a waiter. We shoulda sat in Marilyn Monroe’s section”, Vincent mutters not quite sourly and begins to eat.
“Which one, there’s two Marilyn Monroes”, **Ilsa_Lund announces, nodding his chin in point at the two ladies as he dives into his meal.
“No there’s not”, Vincent tells him as he points to the Marilyn look-a-like in a white dress serving a table of patrons. “That’s Marilyn Monroe.”
Vincent turns to point towards a blonde waitress in a tight sweater and capri pants taking orders from a different table.
“That’s Mamie Van Doren. I don’t see Jayne Mansfield, so it must be her night off.”
Ilsa_Lund takes in a huge bite of Lobsang legs and tries to swallow. Halfway through the leg, he accidently inhales a bit of shell. It sticks in his throat making him cough. He stands up, choking on the shell, hitting himself on the chest to try and expel it but Vincent, mental giant that he is, takes this as a sign that Ilsa wants to dance. A golden oldie starts on the jukebox and Vincent takes Ilsa by the hand out onto the dance floor.
Trying to suck down some air, Ilsa gapes and gasps like a dying fish as Vincent starts twisting like he did last summer, paying no heed to Ilsa’s plight. Lips turning bluish, Ilsa tries giving himself the heimlich manuever and Vincent mimics him coolly and with style, strutting on the dance floor to the applause of the crowd. No one gives Ilsa_Lund a glance, Vincent has taken all their attention with his smooth moves as the tune bops loudly from the speakers.
Mouth open in a silent, choked gaping “O”, Ilsa drops to the floor in a dead faint, starved for air. The crowd goes wild as Vincent keeps up his stylish moves, thinking Ilsa’s fainting is part of the dance. The crowd surges forth to hug Vincent, the gents patting him on the back as the ladies reign kisses on his clean-cut cheeks. Ilsa passes away silently underfoot, unbeknownst to all.
Well, big piles of steaming ape crap!!!
I took so long, other people posted and then my bold went all to hell and back! BLARGH!
Blonde was sick and tired of it. Day after day, week after week. Ever since she was just a little girl, people talked a little slower to her, smiled patronizingly, because she was blonde.
“I want a new look,” she told her stylist on impulse one Friday at the salon. “More highlights?” asked the stylist, snapping her gum. “Nope. I want it black.” The stylist’s jaw dropped. Luckily, the gum just missed Blonde’s soon-to-be raven hair. “Black?” She nodded vigorously. “Black as night.”
The more she thought about it, the better it sounded to her. Finally, she would be respected as a bright, funny, college graduate instead of just another dumb blonde! “But…are you sure?” “Yes of course I’m sure!” Blonde snapped. Again with the condenscending! The stylist, a 25-year old straight out of cosmetology school, tried to talk her customer out of it.
“But your hair is so beautiful the way it is! Do you want Honey Wheat instead of Buttery Chunks? I can do Honey Wheat! I can! I’ll even throw in some auburn! It’s edgy! A perm?? Please! Once you go black, you never go back!” Blonde was getting very tired of the stylist’s infernal babbling. She wanted black hair, and she wanted it NOW. “I’m sure. Now PLEASE dye my hair.”
Biting her lip nervously, the stylist spun the chair around and began to squirt a foul-smelling black substance onto her hair. She smiled as the stylist washed out the dye and sent her to sit under a hair dryer. Blonde sat. And sat. And sat. After a while she fell asleep, while her stylist sobbed uncontrollably out on the front steps of the salon.
After a while the hair dryer next to Blonde’s caught fire. The heat combined with the bottle of hair dye left out made for some very nasty lethal fumes, sending Blonde into an early chemical-induced death. Many will mourn her passing.
NOT THE HAIR! ANYTHING BUT THE HAIR!
Oh, wait…I see I died from fumes, and my hair was unharmed. Or was it? I think the story implies that I had to wear a blonde wig in the coffin.
I’ll get you for that, Bella. Just you wait and see.
:eek:
Monday, ** Blonde **, after a week-end of shopping spree / credit card burning, asseses the multiples items that she bought, tried some, let other untouched.
-
Well, do I really need the ‘As seen on TV Ding-a-King’ to repair the multiple dents on my car?.. probably not.
-
Did I buy 27 rolls of Xmas paper wrap on sale?!!!
-
Hey! I forgot to give all my coupons…
-
Damn, I took the wrong lipstick color. I just realized it now that it’s not good on my lips when I’m wearing my favorite dress…
-
Mmmm… The bounty is on sale at ShoppyShop for 5 cents less… I have to bring it back.
[FF note] Shoppyshop is 15 miles away [/FF note] -
I don’t like this hairdryer. It’s green.
So ** Blonde ** decide to bring everything back to her favorite drugstore. As the manager is paged, she brings her bags of merchandise towards the photo counter, where she was told the returns are done. -
Hi, this is for a return.
-
[the manager gasping at the amount of products] hum… Hi… OK… Do you have your receipt?
-
Aw, no… but i’m buying other stuff, can I do an exchange?
-
[the manager annoyed to be bothered the first time for nothing again, ** Blonde ** doing her returns every monday] No problem, they’ll call me when you checkout. Just come back to the photo counter.
…
[page] Manager to photo for a return! [/page]
… -
[manager coming back] All right, what do we have… a used lipstick? ahem … heu…
-
yes I don’t like the color…
-
and this bottle of conditionner os half empty?!
-
yep : it says it made you hair silkier and it does not work.
-
well… ok… [contained comment] do you think it’s a f*g sample store here? [/contained comment] … what’s next… Xmas wrapping paper… 26 rolls at 50 cents…
-
I paid a dollar for those!
-
Well, there 75% off now and you don’t have your receipt for that, so… [unfinished sentence, usually ‘duh!’-punctuated by the outside world, generating some brain customer use, most of the time…]
-
No, but I paid a dollar for those!
-
[I am not deaf!!!] [silky soothing very well controlled voice] Yes, I understand that, but without a receipt I can only give the current price . Why don’t you hold on to that and bring it back with your receipt [/silky voice]?
-
Ah… Hum… All right…
-
[Manager holding a Johnson’s baby powder bottle and showing the ShoppyShop price label] Heu… There is a problem on this one : you didn’t bougth it here, I cannot take it back.
-
[Blonde, hysterical tone] Yes I bought it here ! look a this receipt ! I bought it here ! I bought it here!
-
[Manager staying calm] Well, see this label? This is a ShoppyShop or a BarkedMasket label, it does not come from our store… And looking at your receipt you bought a WalShop brand baby powder, not the Johnson you want to return… see? [contained: see that on your f*g receipt? are you blind!!!]
-
Aw… sorry… I must have taken the wrong bottle…
- …
Meanwhile in the store :
*3 customers are asking for the manager
you have another return in pharmacy
your clerck came by asking you his fourth question since ** Blonde’s return
*the pepsi truck just arrived for a delivery
*manager is alone… pressure is mounting!
… *
- Ok, with evrything that you bought today the difference is $4.29, please [I’m done! yes !]
- Oh, I forgot : see 2 weeks ago, I forgot to give the cashier my coupons, here is my receipt.
- [Manager nearly exploding (this is a computerized system, you need the fg products to scan, f, f*, f******** !!!), passing in silent mode, just cashing the coupons, for which the Loss Prevention department will hang him short]. All right, this is going to be $1.98… thank you… here is your change and your new receipt… Have a good day [yeah, drop dead].
Mission accomplished! The manager did not loose his calm, was nice and polite and solved most of the customers problems. Hurray! Heil the manager!
Until…
Until ** Blonde ** just turned back :
- Oh! One more thing : the guy at the photo lab printed my pictures a little bit too dark… Can you reprint them lighter : see I made a list of those who need to be ligther, those that I don’t like and want to be refunded and the couple that are OK. can you do it quick, my lunch break is nearly finished?
Ah! Too bad… ** Blonde ** was taken in the stockroom, thrown in the carboard press where she was slowly crunshed into a little pile of bloody flesh and bones. - You wont return from this one, honey!
All right, Got to go to work as a manager at Walshop. Hope ** Blonde **is not shopping today 
bye! enjoy your sunday!
french frog turned away from his computer with a sigh. How he’d enjoyed composing his fantasy of revenge on the gormless shoppers of his working world! How he wished he could actually terminate with extreme prejudice every dolt who made hellish his job!
Sigh… As he shrugged on his manager’s coat, with its tacky nametag and ill-fitting shoulders, he braced himself mentally for another day of laborious tedium punctuated by hissy-fitting customers and surly underlings. He stepped through his front door…
And gasped. Where was the street? his car? the other houses? Where had everything gone??? Before him stretched a pearlescent fog, undulating gently, masking everything beyond his front door. There were faint, unidentifiable scents drifting through the mist; he thought he could discern voices, far off and speaking urgently, yet he could not understand them.
french frog jerked back in shock and hovered, dithering, by the doorway. What should he do? As he hesitated, tendrils of fog began to eddy into the house. Frantically he slammed the door shut – then watched in horror as the gray mist seeped under it, around the edges, even trickling through the keyhole.
french frog bolted for the stairs and flung himself into his bedroom, barricading the door with all the furniture he could shove against it. The elusive scents were all about him now, and the voices seemed closer; still their meaning eluded him, but their urgency was tinged with excitement and glee now. He turned from the door, and started back in horror as the fog, now glowing and roiling, with silver sparks flashing through it, pressed in upon the windows… and shattered them! The mist surged into the room, enveloping french frog. He gave one shriek – cut off abruptly – as the voices, now loud and triumphant, roared all around him.
A few minutes later, a thin swirl of gray fog slithered down the stairs, out the now open front door, and along the front walk to the nearby sewer drain in the street. As the sun shone gaily upon the workaday world beyond french frog’s echoingly empty house, the foglet swirled thrice, then sank through the grid and forever out of sight.
ETF was beyond bored tonight - and so, she decided to look up her name in the dictionary. Let’s see, there’s
ecumenism, eczema and…eel.
EddyTeddyFreddy pondered for one brief moment - and then the
ed-dy(ed’e) n., pl. 1) a current of air water, etc. moving aginst the main current and with circular motion (you gotta love that circular motion, except when it’s…)
Sweeping ETF down.
One day soon, and it won’t be long, we’ll look for ETF…but she’ll be gone. 
We´ll never know why Blonde tried to feed the zoo crocodilles holding pieces of raw meat with her teeth, what we can be sure is that she´ll never do it again.
Walking home one evening, everybody’s favorite Uruguayan Doper was lured by strange music into a club which had been taken over by a bevy of young neo-goth vampires. Police the next day were puzzled by the exsanguinated body. Evidently, the sexy, pale young women of the previous night’s festivities wanted a drink of Ale . . .
Somewhere in Uruguay. January 21. The Year of Our Lord, Two Thousand and . . .
Mephisto is burned on a stake by a grup of deranged Jack Chick fans.
During the install of a new version of vbulletin, along with all the other dopers Ale accidentally gets deleted from existence.
Ale and Mepihisto were up to be the next Bachelors! (TV show, you may have heard of it?)
As they strode past a line of ten gorgeous women, ONE of them tripped, fell and cracked his head open on the pavement, much to delight of the media. As for the other contender - well, let’s just say he’s in hog heaven.