It was a nice day outside, so I decided to go out for a walk. As I walked out of the apartment building, I saw several transvestite bikers riding by. If I had known then what I know now, I never would have given them the finger. I started running from them, but they were gaining on me. So I hailed a cab and jumped inside. He took off into traffic like a kamikazee pilot on PCP, and that’s when the adventure began…
To be continued by the next poster…
I hate these stupid posts!
Please…continue…
-SS :rolleyes:
SS- This is supposed to be a way for people to share some creativity and maybe even have fun doing it. If you don’t like it, if you don’t want to participate, then don’t. But don’t post to my thread just to tell me you think it sucks. What’s the point in that?
Freak, maybe you misinterpreted. Could SkySlash have been saying (in a remarkably concise fashion)
Unfortunately, when I jumped into the cab, I failed to notice it was already occupied by a short non-descript man, holding a very large, very easy to describe Magnum .357.
“I am hijacking this cab,” the man growled. “Please go to the corner of Third and Main.”
The terrified cabbie followed the instructions, and pulled up in front of an old mansion. The mansion had clearly been unoccupied for several years. The paint was peeling, the front door swung open in the breeze, and nothing was left of the fence around the property but some tall poles spaced about 8 feet apart.
The hijacker got out of the cab, and started firing at the remains of the fence. “I hate these stupid posts!”, he yelled, as he his bullets chopped several of them down at ground level. Then, he waved his gun at the cabbie and said “I don’t need you here anymore. Please … continue …”
The mansion suddenly collapsed onto the highjacker with a sicking roar. The frightened cabbie one again speed off into the traffic like a fightened jackrabbit. After two or three minutes he noticed me sitting in the backseat in abject terror. He screeched to a halt and demanded:
“Get out of my cab!”
“But I didn’t have the gun,” I cried.
“But I do.” he snarled. He then proceeded to point it at my forhead. The barrel looked big enough to fall into. His finger slowly began to pull the trigger…
I panicked. I acted without thinking and shoved my finger into the barrel. He gaped increduously for a moment before he spoke.
“Get your finger out of my gun you fuckin’ moron!”
“Ummmm, no.”
“Yes!”
“Uh, nope.”
“Fuck you!”
“No.”
He sighed. “I’ll give you five dollars to take your finger out of my gun.”
“No deal.”
“You know I can just blow your finger off, right?”
“No you can’t.”
“I can’t?”
“Nope, the gun would explode.”
He growled and cursed creatively for a few minutes before he sighed again, “Just get out of my cab.”
“What about the fare?”
“Just get out of my cab!” he screamed.
“Deal.”
I slowly scooted over and opened the door. I Stepped on foot out of the car, then in one motion jerked my finger out of the gun and took off running.
I ran for what must have been a mile before I stopped. Well, more like fell. I laid there on the wet asphalt for almost thirty minutes before I was in any shape to get up. Just then, I heard a rustle from the bushes on the side of the road. I went to investigate…
Hijack posts like the one illustrated above? Yeah, I hate 'em too. :rolleyes:
::mumbles:: Geek.
In the bush was “small person” (read: midget) and a priest. Both, startled, jumped up uttered a small, faint hello and ran away.
Goodness!
It seems the bikers had managed to find me again. As I scrambled to my feet, I noticed the high-tech tracking device that was affixed to my leg. Luckily, I had designed this model during my years at the NSA.
Using my handy pocket knife, I cut it off, and started running away from the bikers, who were now on foot. Evidently their bikes couldn’t handle the terrain we were on.
I looked at the knife in my hand, and I suddenly knew what to do…
It was at that point that I promised myself, no more LSD for breakfast.
However, that didn’t make me any less late for my meeting with the Pope. As the world’s foremost authority on pornography, I had realized years ago that I had to gain access to their secret vaults. The most pressing matter at hand was where to get items I had promised in my bribe. Sure the Domino’s pizza with pineapples and rutabega would be easy enough to get, but where was I going to find 17 pounds of plutonium. At this time of day.
I decide to go see Benny the Nose . . .
Oh no, me and inoci - simul-posts. Where will the story go? I can’t wait to find out.
Picker. He’s famous for his collection of boogers and such.
::dramatic pause to get the “ewwwws” out of the way::
He, after inspecting my nose for additions to his collection, he referred me to a man by the name of…
|Jack, I think the two work well in the order they appear. Perfectly in sync with the story so far…|
Harmon Kilebrew (no relation) …
…I snuck after the bikers who had lost track of me, where they parked their bikes at a bar. I huddled behind some garbage cans outside until they had gone into the building. Then I used the knife to slash all of the tires. Then, laughing like a crazed fool, I pushed the bikes over in a domino-like fashion. Unfortunately, one of the bikers had left their lipstick outside, so he/she had gone back out to retrieve it, and they caught me standing there. So I stuck my hands in my pockets and whistled “One Hand in My Pocket” and wondered what to do…
ARGH! Simulposts!! Dammit! hits her head off keyboard
I second that motion.
Harmon told me that, to obtain the 17 pounds of plutonium I needed, I would have to give up a piece of my anatomy or pay him $5000. I told him he could have my right thumb, to which he agreed. Then I…
[Should have seen this coming. For the sake of clarity, it would work better if we had a subject for each post. That way, you could see which thread of the story it’s in reply to. The the story can branch off into several different directions and possibilities while still retaining coherency. But very cool so far. I like the way it’s turning out. Please, continue.]
cried out in agony as he proceeded to cut of my thumb. I then left the building carrying my 17 pounds of plutonium. Right outside stood a crowd of transvestites and bikers. And boy did they look pissed.
Example, por favor, Freak?
I immediately tried to lighten up the situation, by attempting to hitch a ride. Forgetting for a moment that my thimb had just been hacked off, I succeeded in completely grossing them all out by displaying the bloody gore that was once my opposable digit.
As all 47 Bikers and 38 transvestites began puking all over the sidewalk, I look at them with a glint in my eye and said, …