Posted: Tue Apr 12, 2005 8:22 am
Suddenly it was taken to the Xtreme point at which this thread hopefully will have a point, or hopefully die. And so the story ends here in some people's fantasies, but apparently not in real life, nor in cyberspace, because we all are going home.
To end the SYM thread we need our nukes, but where are they? Nobody knows. Alas, no blowing today! Anyway, we'll shut up and keep a low profile, or else a man in a chicken-costume will guide you throught the valleys and when you get through, you'll still be sick and you'll die within this damn thread, where more than 675 posts have been wasted in vain.
But, oh well, who cares anyway? What else would happen that's worse, except ofcourse seeing monkeys dance in peril, while the people watch in dismay and disbelief at the horror of this sight! (or the sight of two little birdies)
"Nevermore", cried the old bastard. Next thing you know, you're standing in a puddle of mudd concert. The filthy rockstars aren't clean at all! They're loud and absolutely not talented.
Except for some, donkeys are aliens. The others are natives in SYM, mindless slobbering trolls, but donkeys nonetheless.
The blue sky was very green. Paradoxal, but true..
While sniffing thongs, I contaminated you.
VX-Nerve gas causes you to suffocate instantly. No refund though, when Ik washed his linen.
Brynn got furious and started drooling about Ik being two letters from ikky, the sexy, but that's exaggeration. Indeed it is. No, it isn't. Maybe it is. "Who cares" said 'many things' at the meeting of 'what the heck?!'.
When Brynn finished her supper, she hit the SYMians with her whip and we all relished the pain that was caused and distributed it to Nasuke's mind, which was tiny but very dense, just like oxygene, and was capable of nothing more than what it could think of was behind the wall of doom.
This thread ain't ever going to reap chiblains on childrens, because we are deranged, maniacal geniuses that have created the tastiest pie, ever. Oozit wasn't good at math and couldn't count to THREE, the little chipmunk, so we'll forgive him, if he tries to keep to Ik's strict orders. "That's right, Brynn", said Ik, "and my snake's armpits hurt really much". So we decided that they had to give him a painkiller to not look like anyone related to terrorists, because they are rubber duckies.
It wasn't until Christmas Day, that we grilled shoes for the sake of the birth of the One the prophecy told, would eventually bring destruction. His name sounded something like Fable, or something to do with the 'f' word, but not the 'b' word. Except the only thing besides the rest, is that Fable-character.
You've probably washed your shorts 'till the colour of your face got tanned like Barry White... But the short's still a tad funky.
Do you think we'll all be fine aslong as this goes on? Not to worry though, it will eventually turn out to be deadly and we'll never understand why it doesn't ever end.
And we're at #812
To end the SYM thread we need our nukes, but where are they? Nobody knows. Alas, no blowing today! Anyway, we'll shut up and keep a low profile, or else a man in a chicken-costume will guide you throught the valleys and when you get through, you'll still be sick and you'll die within this damn thread, where more than 675 posts have been wasted in vain.
But, oh well, who cares anyway? What else would happen that's worse, except ofcourse seeing monkeys dance in peril, while the people watch in dismay and disbelief at the horror of this sight! (or the sight of two little birdies)
"Nevermore", cried the old bastard. Next thing you know, you're standing in a puddle of mudd concert. The filthy rockstars aren't clean at all! They're loud and absolutely not talented.
Except for some, donkeys are aliens. The others are natives in SYM, mindless slobbering trolls, but donkeys nonetheless.
The blue sky was very green. Paradoxal, but true..
While sniffing thongs, I contaminated you.
VX-Nerve gas causes you to suffocate instantly. No refund though, when Ik washed his linen.
Brynn got furious and started drooling about Ik being two letters from ikky, the sexy, but that's exaggeration. Indeed it is. No, it isn't. Maybe it is. "Who cares" said 'many things' at the meeting of 'what the heck?!'.
When Brynn finished her supper, she hit the SYMians with her whip and we all relished the pain that was caused and distributed it to Nasuke's mind, which was tiny but very dense, just like oxygene, and was capable of nothing more than what it could think of was behind the wall of doom.
This thread ain't ever going to reap chiblains on childrens, because we are deranged, maniacal geniuses that have created the tastiest pie, ever. Oozit wasn't good at math and couldn't count to THREE, the little chipmunk, so we'll forgive him, if he tries to keep to Ik's strict orders. "That's right, Brynn", said Ik, "and my snake's armpits hurt really much". So we decided that they had to give him a painkiller to not look like anyone related to terrorists, because they are rubber duckies.
It wasn't until Christmas Day, that we grilled shoes for the sake of the birth of the One the prophecy told, would eventually bring destruction. His name sounded something like Fable, or something to do with the 'f' word, but not the 'b' word. Except the only thing besides the rest, is that Fable-character.
You've probably washed your shorts 'till the colour of your face got tanned like Barry White... But the short's still a tad funky.
Do you think we'll all be fine aslong as this goes on? Not to worry though, it will eventually turn out to be deadly and we'll never understand why it doesn't ever end.
And we're at #812
I got to read only half of the last section b/c I had to laugh so hard that it called attention... Will have to go home to continue with the rest