It is getting near my bedtime and I am sleepy. Stories are ever so lovely and would be nice to hear before I sail off to slumber-land. Do you know of any fine tales? Something of plot and character, to think of and consider, as a gentle hand to carry one from the world of waking to that of sleep.
Oh Oh! But that would be nice.
pulls up covers
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful and virtuous princess who lived…
(next)
The red eyes glowed hellishly in the dark. Little Jake saw them in his nightmares usually but right at this moment, before submitting to the quiet lull of sleep, he could see them from just outside his window. They seemed so close… he was certain the red-eyed thing would wait just long enough for him to fall to the seductive whispers of sleep before it crawled silently into his room! He couldn’t go to sleep; no way, no how! It would get into his room and kill him! He wondered if it would kill him quickly, gobbling him up like a doggy treat or if it’d go slow… oh, so slowly, taking it’s long sharp claws and tearing off strips of his skin as he was frozen in pure terror! Oh, God… please don’t let me sleep, he prayed fervently, not taking his eyes off the red ones glaring at him…
Well, it seems I’m a bit late, but if Sanguine’s tale has given you insomnia, here’s a little something. I think I might have told it before, but it’s a fun one nonetheless.
When I was still a teen and had my sights on a certain guy, I invited him over to my house to watch the latest G ‘n’ R video on Mtv, Welcome To The Jungle. In other words, back when wheels were square. He happened to have a beautiful harlequin Great Dane named Bella, and I was probably as taken with her, as I was with him. We decided to take her to a park after watching the video, which was being shown roughly every hour on the hour, keeping in mind this was when Mtv showed music videos.
Eventually we arrived at my house, and of course weren’t going to leave Bella in the car, and so the three of us settled in the living room. Sometime between Axle’s snake dance, and the moo eyes we were making at each other, Bella decided she had more urgent business. Who knows what anguish she endured trying to break our concentration, before resorting to taking a dane-sized dump in my little brother’s room. Eventually, Axle finished on his ja-na-na-knees, and we paused to wipe the drool from our chins, ready to hit the park.
Meanwhile, my parents came home, and little David had quite a surprise waiting for him in his room. My mom’s suspicions were naturally triggered, when, realizing we didn’t have a dog (or a cat, for that matter), someone must be the culprit. I returned home, as the questioning began, and though I immediately realized what must have happened, my explanation was cut short, by my step-father’s answer. “Darrell, did you poop in David’s room?” silence… and apparently some effort to recollect, “When?”
My friend, the correct response to my thinking, would never involve asking “when”. Had I pooped in my brother’s room last Wednesday, I’d surely remember, and it would take me even less time to remember that I have never done such a thing. Good times.
cichlidiot, that was a great story.
Here’s mine, Muad’Dib.
Once upon a time, there ws a beauuuuuuutiful princess named Kolindria who lived in a castle at the top of a pointy pointy hill. Every day she begged her father to rebuild on top of another, flatter hill, because she was tired of rappelling to work.
One morning, she awoke to find that the polar ice caps had melted and the pointy pointy hill was surrounded by ocean. Mermen, giant squid and seadragons danced around the pointy pointy island. Kolindria immediately set about building a sea kayak. It took her a few days. When it was complete, she packed up her tiara, her favorite gown, and her pointy pointy hat with a scarf draping from the top. She called her trusty hound to her side and together they kayaked off to find land…
I just had to see what else was offered in this thread now, didn’t I. “Darrell, did you poop…?”, OMG. Your parents are WEIRD.
When my little girl wanted a bedtime story, I would amuse her with the story of the Pee Little Thrigs.
It’s the same story you’re familiar with, but involves the transposition of letters at the beginning of words as you go along, building up in such a way that the story becomes largely incomprehensible by about midway through, which allows for the story teller to go off on tangents (i.e., the Perd Little Thrig had moved to Cancun, where the Wig Bad Bulf couldn’t even find him, but when he went to the Borner Car for a Diff Strink, he found Greedo waiting for him, because Habba the Jut wanted his money…)
Once upon a time in a small town in Kentucky, in the 60s, lived a black housekeeper who worked for a white family.
She was a lovely woman, very devout Christian, a widow, had a son who had died. She worked for the family for years and years and they loved her. Mysteriously, she always had this paper bag with her. ALWAYS. Nobody knew what was in it, and you DID NOT touch her bag.
Years passed and she eventually died. Not long after that, the phone rings and the family’s father picks up the phone. It’s a lawyer, telling him “Um … you might wanna come to my office.”
The lawyer was in charge of the housekeeper’s will. Turns out all those years, she had been carrying hundreds of thousands of dollars (in cash) in that mysterious paper bag. And she had left it to her former boss. All of it.
The man was shocked. He was a successful business owner and didn’t need the money, and he wanted to put it to good use. What to do, though?
He ended up setting up a trust fund in memory of the housekeeper. Ever since then, a black student is chosen from the local high school every year to receive a full ride to the college of his or her choice. 
Once upon a time, long ago in Africa, men had wings. But because of our great wickedness, the gods took our wings from us and cursed us to live on the earth. This is why we have always dreamed of flight, for our souls remember when the sky beloged to us.
One day, a man and his daughter were stolen from their home and taken to an island where they were forced to work all day in the grueling sun. The work was back-breaking, the scent of sea-salt was constantly in their nostrils, and every tear they shed was a memory of their home. Finally one day the father turned to his daughter and said, “Do you remember?”
“Yes, Father, I remember,” she said, and as she sprang into the air he followed her. All their captors saw of them was the shimmering of their wings in the dying sunset. They had remembered their wings and as they flew home, the father cried out, “Kukuru, kukuru kukuru!”
But by the time this story was told to me, no one remembered what those words meant.
Suddenly flaming bananas, in her skimpy black leather outfit with a black mask releving red eyes and a flaming banana in hand, attacks the evil monkey from behind, by shoving the flaming banana propley up his bum. flaming bananas then curses him to a lifetime and 3/4s in hell. After taking care of the evil monkey, flaming bananas whipes her hands on her black leather skirt,flies through the chilly night air, and takes a bubble bath with some lavender candles. Suddenly, she hears a noise at the door of the bathroom. She grabs her lavender candle and a flaming banana, opens up the door and…
It was her house cleaner, wanting to give her fresh towels.
Great story eh?
Perfect Agent Vlad hung silently from the exposed pipe, holding an electronic contraption in his hands. The contraption was a quantum bomb. His mission was to plant it in room 11-G of the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Plaza building, where the highest leaders of the Dvadhengrân Corperation were meeting to discuss their plans to take over the Belyorussian government. He was then supposed to arm the bomb, giving himself 10 minutes to escape before the quantum explosives destroyed everything, all matter, energy and even the very fabric of space itself within a 10 mile radius.
As Vlad prepared to enter the arming code (H4X00RZ R00LZ!), a thought struck him. BICTHSLAP (Beylorussian Information, CounterTerrorism, Homeland Security and Lewd Anime Program) was only paying him $80,700 a year. The quantum bomb technology would be worth at least $50 Billion to Dvadhengrân Corp. After some quick mental arithmatic, Vlad calculated that if he betrayed his company by selling the technology, he’d be rich.
Vlad dropped down, and entered the room where the leaders were meeting. Before they could react, Vlad announced his intention to sell the technology for $49,999,999,999.95. After some haggling, it was decided that Vlad would give them the quantum bomb technology, plus his passcodes for the BICTHSLAP computer network, his BICTHSLAP parking pass, and his BICTHSLAP baseball cap in return for $51 Billion, and an '89 Honda Civic with 30,728 miles on it.
After a traditional Belyorussian Underwater Basketweaving session to celebrate the deal, Vlad drove off in his used Civic, $51 Billion richer. He then transferred the money out of his Beylorussian bank account into several accounts in contries around the world, moved to the Bahamas and fulfilled his lifelong dream of becoming a driftwood artesian. He attracted many fine looking women with his immense wealth and the cosmetic enhancement such wealth can bring, and scored with them all.
All records of Vlad’s illegal transaction were destroyed when Dvadhengrân destroyed all matter, energy and space where the BICTHSLAP building used to be with their fun new weapon technology.
