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  • #3307

    Sanso was tied securely on a Louis XVI chair, inside an ornate room kept mostly in the dark by heavy embroidered curtains that smelt of celery.
    He was craving for a tomato juice to go with the smell, and could hardly focus on an empty stomach.

    He could have easily escaped from his predicament, but he was curious about his captors, and the reason why they had him abducted after he went back to his little love nest in the R&R B&B where he’d hoped to meet again the mysterious Lady Cucumber. That was his name for her.
    He was hopeless with names, and although he was sure he had heard hers before, he preferred to remember people by associations. With Irina, that was Cucumbers. There! he thought, another proof of the brilliance of this method, as I remembered her name… Iris? Eyrin?, well, Lady Cucumber.
    He’d made love to many a lady in his life, a lady in Salmon, even a Lady Mermaid, a Lady Gingerale, a Lady Panty, a ladyboy even. He could go on for hours thinking about them, but the lady Cucumber had spun a spell around his head it seemed.

    After his last mission on a rescue with Miss Bob and her Sponges Squarepanties team, he’d run back for the 2222 B&B.
    No sooner had he arrived that heaven and hell broke loose and things went to rules and “do that or else”‘s, all things he abhorred with a passion. The links, and keys for his chains, that he could suffer, so he focused on it for awhile.

    He was woken up by a splash of ice cold water on his pants and a raucous voice in his face. Better that than the reverse, he chuckled to himself.

    “Something funny now? Tell us, where did she go?”

    He knew better than to feign ignorance, so he preferred to feign knowledge, which he’d found usually worked miracles.

    “Of course. She stole something from you…”
    “Damn right, she steal it, and we want back it.”

    The accent was difficult to place, he’d known so many inter-dimensional dialects that sometimes it was hard for him to remember.
    He would have said some northern Chinese dialect accent, with a bit of kiwi.

    He needed to know a bit more before disappearing. His curiosity was aroused by the implication that what she stole was certainly valuable. What could it be, a revolutionary hairsplitter, a butt-fluffer, a fringe freckler, ah! his head was teaming with great possibilities it was making him dizzy.

    “Don’t be silly Mister Sanso, she steal it robot very precious and advance technology.”
    and before he could reply:
    “Yes we read your mind, I confirm… You have silly thinks Mr Sanso.”

    He was starting to think now was a good time to get lost, and started to confuse their mindreader with energy patterns otherwise called gibberish thoughts.

    The chains and ropes gave way easily.
    His next move was to phase out of the room, but instead he managed to fall on his butt, in the middle of mocking looking Chinese in tuxedos and purple bow ties.

    “Ah, I see, you have some antiportation technology…” Sanso was a fair player. The temptation was big to run for another exit, if only for the exhilaration of a chase in the corridors of that strange place, but his stomach was thinking otherwise.

    “I see you are vely fond of kewcomber, we are no animawls, we will give you delishius kewcomber.”

    Minutes after, he was thrown with a certain form of Chinese ceremony in a small cubic windowless room. On a table next to the door, was his meal apparently.

    He recoiled in horror when he opened the lid covering his plate. The strong odour of garlic pricked his nose.
    “No way! Fucking jokers!”
    That was even worse than to eat boiled cucumber chunks in spicy sauce.
    Swimming in soy sauce were slices of chewy sea cucumbers that looked more like fat juicy leeches from a filthy bog.

    He ate reluctantly, arguing with his stomach about the benefits of the collagen in said sea cucumbers, and at the same time realized the Chinese mobsters were probably from the Chinese Robot Incorporated Mission Eternal, a renowned corporation that had managed to free countless people from menial jobs thanks to prodigious advances in robotics.
    The Lady Cucumber was suddenly more than a mysterious beauty, she was also a mysterious wanted beauty, and he couldn’t wait to… But he had to guard his thoughts for now.

    He looked at the bamboo chopsticks with a sly smile. He had not said his last word, and the person who could boast of having Sanso detained was not born yet.

    #3299
    AvatarJib
    Participant

      It hadn’t been easy to obtain Sadie a pay raise. The management always seemed to look for new ways to cut the costs wanted to give her an extra for the good job. Although this time, LP could put the golden balls and the rebirth of the network in the balance. They could have had enough to give the whole team a decent salary. Indeed, it wasn’t really fair that the young queens were not paid at all. Unless of course you counted props, wigs and fake eyelashes. Eventually, Linda got Sadie the extra and the raise she had asked for, and new contracts for the three young queens. She shall not forget the tears of joy in their eyes when she announced them they were part of the big Queer Network family. It had made her feel good and generous even if it was not her money she was giving.

      Linda Pol wrapped her luscious lips around an authentic straw and sucked up voraciously the glowing rainbow cocktail. Mmmmm, this new Peas’cocktail is divine, she thought. After the buzz created by their last network and that mysterious quest of Saint Germain for Peasland, peas-thingies were everywhere. She put the glass back on the edge of the Jacuzzi and looked at the little magenta umbrella for a moment. She didn’t know what was the most pleasing, the bubbles gently massaging her back in the water, or the gorgeous scenery of the Merry Otter resort in Maui. Linda Pol hadn’t had good vacation in a long long time, and if she had been in vacation this place could totally be one of her first choices destinations.

      Unfortunately, she wasn’t there for vacations or relaxation. She wasn’t there for exercise either. She had been asked to attend a conference and meet with one of those new Random Science scientists specialized in the ambergris tiles. As if it was a joke from the Universe, her name was Amber Graystone. But Linda Pol had long learned that there were no such thing as unusualness, you just hadn’t seen enough of the world.

      A boy came to refill her cocktail. Girl, you spend too much time looking at young bums, she thought, ageing beliefs were everywhere. She was feeling drowsy with the bubbles and the alcohol, almost dreaming of whales and ambergris.

      “… Graystone is taking her job too seriously”, said a man’s voice.

      Linda Pol opened her eye, just enough so that her fake eyelashes could still hide she was awake. When she was young, her curiosity had put her in trouble more times than the number of her pair of shoes. She had developed strategies and an incredible butt recognition skill. It had helped her win many contests in her youth and avoid boring conversations later on.

      The two men wore bath suits. Linda could clearly see that one of the butts was slack and lifeless. Almost avoiding the contact with the fabric. An American butt fed with hamburgers and soda. The rest of the silhouette seemed to naturally spread out from its central component.

      The other one moved like a mustang, the shiny red lycra was only here to help you see more clearly the outline of the flesh, not hide it. The curve of the bottom of the spine indicated a Russian ancestry. She felt a rush of adrenaline. She loved how Russians rolled their Rs. They could do many things with a rolling tongue.

      “You want me to take carrre of herrr ?” asked a voice carrying ice.

      “No, just remind her to whom she owes her subsidies. And her results.”

      #3295

      “Wait, wait!”
      When Jonbert in his crab suit arrived on the spot, most of the life had deserted the place to go for a half-brain peaceful sleep, except a few remaining inebriated whales making some more ambergris gyrating around the fading crystal. At times, the hologram could still be faintly perceived.

      “It’s so unfair, I’ve invested so much in this quest to see it fail now and have other reap the reward! I have a question, answer me!”

      The St Germain hologram seemed roused by the word question, if not by the emotional request.

      “A question… Mmm, sounds tempting, I didn’t really get a good question in ages, not to be rude with the previous ones, but well…” he shrugged.
      “Alright, alright, a few questions but be quick with it, I’m nearly done packing my data to transcend to Peasland.”

      Despite the draw to ask more about Peasland, Jonbert was steadfast in his resolve and asked the question that had been on mind rehearsed many a time, hopeful for a mind-blowing answer.

      “Life everlasting is at hand; all I need is to refine enough gold to go through time…”
      “Oh, or simply a bit of gugleshopping would do”
      “What?”
      “Nevermind, must be a data interference”
      “How do I manage that? Can you teach me transmutation?”
      “Well, sure I can, it probably would help, actually I just did it again right here about half an hour ago.”
      “Where is the gold? Where is it?”
      “It’s in the heart, that’s where true transmutation works. Maybe you should listen to some music, I hear a hit song is on its way.”

      Jonbert had the vague feeling he was being mocked, if not by Saint Germain, by fate or worse, his own attempts at a futile quest.

      “But seriously, endings are not so bad you know” the hologram went on “sometimes some experiences are like being trapped in a crystal. I was trapped in a crystal, in a previous life, a long time ago you know… But I digress… You see, new life sparks new creativity. I suggest you make peace with your life and go on with the rest of it, otherwise you’ll find out you have missed it completely. No amount of fountain of youth is going to make you feel better, not in this state. But the reverse is true, the more you will enjoy and inhabit your present, the longer you will live, without even ageing.”

      It surely wasn’t an answer he was expecting. Nobody would have dared give him such answer.

      “Take it as you are not dead yet, this capacity to be surprised is a great feeling… Now I must bid you farewell my friend. You had indeed some great questions…”

      “Wait!” the unexpected words had stirred him somehow and Jonbert had a sudden idea “Tell me a bit more about this Peasland place,… are they in need of a person in a place of authority? Can I come along?”

      “I don’t see why not. Let me recalibrate that crystal, and we’ll be there in a minute.”

      And with a flash of light, the hologram and the crab-man disappeared to the relief of Belen who was monitoring the scene with interest mixed with concern.

      “That was unexpected. And bloody hell, I’m dead. Those humans know nothing.
      Well, look at the Now, it’s high time I go back to Peter, he and the kids must be worried green sick…”

      #3173
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Boris, Ivan and Igor were too busy with the stage props and costumes to notice that the actors had been mesmerized in the chapel. Not only were they busy with the practical affairs of the behind the scenes activities of the theatre, but they were preoccupied with their secret mission, unbeknown to the rest of the theatre production team.

        #3042
        F LoveF Love
        Participant

          I am going to write with my left hand said tina joyously but you can’t said becky, not when you are typing. yes i can said tina all i have to do is imagine i am writing with my left hand and that is all i need to do and fairies and dandelions will take care of the rest of the garbage that comes out of my mouth as i breathe in light and then i breathe out grey plonkety plonkey plonk. you have to be brave and not worry about the garbage collectors who will frown at you for spewing out all the nasty words that come out when the light needs to find more room. but i am brave, as a general rule. i think.

          #2983
          AvatarJib
          Participant

            Aqua Luna’s duster was stuck in Cornella’s keyboard. She was still struggling to free it without paying too much attention to the screen. The red symbols blinking on the maps would have confused her, she would not have understood their meaning or the significance of the buttons she inadvertently pushed in her struggle. She has grown in the countryside, at a time where there was no internet available. She barely used her Oopia telepooh her daughter offered her a few years ago. The truth was she didn’t know how to take the call, even after her son in-law, showed her. Richard, that was his name. “He got the face’s name” she thought imagining the rag was a hair in his nose.

            “I got it!” she exulted, pushing unknowingly the key combination to lock the session again. She returned the keyboard to its former position just as Cornella arrived.
            “Oh! Thank you Aqua, you’re such a sweetie.”
            The cleaning lady who didn’t really understood English put on her talk-to-my-hand smile. And left the room. She would clean the other desks later, she needed a break.

            Cornella’s voice stormed out.
            “What the heck! There has been a breach in the artifact chamber!”
            But Aqua Luna wasn’t paying attention, it was like French to her. She was rather wishing she could taking one of those red limo to go back to her place. The Chicks always used them to go everywhere, but Aqua had to take the public transportation system. That wasn’t fair.

            She sneaked into the garage, not aware of the camera system or the alarm system. Tony, one of the chauffeurs was there.

            #2949

            In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

            TracyTracy
            Participant

              open inside, turned green ~ making work away next face.
              busy under odd baltazar fairy…

              #2870

              In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                The world didn’t end that day.
                But maybe it should have, or at least the endless list of senseless rules, silly obligations, half-compromises and clever-yet-too-often-outdone-by-stupidity ploys to defeat them.
                Stuck in the middle of his twelfth failed attempt at booking a flight for the Land of the Long Cloud, he found himself dreaming of buying… well, no— buying was sorely overrated nowadays. With all the rules on how you could or could not spend your money, he’d found it impossibly difficult to buy his friend the new camera of his dreams.
                So, let’s dream of building something instead: a dream submersible airborne trailer, or maybe just a flying house with giant wheels, to soar above the pettiness of this world, and to go unfettered wherever fancy called.
                He knew why the shark tank in the department store had exploded last week, killing only the sharks and turtles. It probably wasn’t being boxed, as much as being forced to look everyday at the headless consumers that killed the creatures. Whatever the reason might have been, in all fairness, they’d managed to boldly go beyond the end of their world.

                #2085

                In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  feeling alone blithe keep help fairy hands

                  :creating_magic:

                  #2794
                  ÉricÉric
                  Keymaster

                    (#235)
                    Well I think for you, said a green creature, to Roselyn. The creature had been there as some sort of exotic plant. I am Frowdup an unusual little Fairy Princess, rather antisocial, sadly.
                    Frowdup cleared his significant sort of way. I will try sad succinct and precise possible, he said.
                    Fairy Princess initiate a witch to magical design the cave with sand. You fly.

                    The creature had stopped Frowdup.

                    #2726

                    In reply to: Strings of Nines

                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      “Hem, well…” Vincentius said after a moment, not wanting to upset Arona too much “I just though you’d blend in more stealthily with that bikini, look at that naked green fairy over there, she’s far more outrageous…”

                      “What, darling?” Arona couldn’t make sense of what Vincentius was saying; “are you suggesting this unfit piece of garment is not a figment of my imagination? And pray tell, how could I’ve even got myself into that without noticing?”

                      “I’m afraid you’re unmistakably regaining your acute sense of analysis and continuity honey. As far as the clothes change is concerned, be reassured, I’ve been trained to do many things in my life, such as extracting a wisdom horn off a charging rhinope in pain, so when it comes to matters of bikini, I could have done it twice without even looking.”
                      Needless to say, Arona was aghast at such blunt honesty.

                      #2706

                      In reply to: Strings of Nines

                      ÉricÉric
                      Keymaster

                        “Oh silly me” Winky started to object (again), “I’m all nakie (and boobies), with a snail on me.”
                        Then, she bit her lips, “I didn’t even know I had that much shyness and prudishness in me, lordy. I used to be much more daring.”

                        She took a big inspiration, and channeling her inner fairy essence, started to shout out “champagne, champagne for everyone!”, casting an odd look at poor Shelly Dwelling with a eye moistened by sudden desire for some butter parsley garlic sauce to accompany the impromptu buffet she clapped into manifestation, with bowler hats included for all the guests.

                        #2701

                        In reply to: Strings of Nines

                        F LoveF Love
                        Participant

                          Suddenly the green fairy burst into tears. Yikesy wondered what to do however continued to smile in the meantime. A crying green fairy was unlike anything he had encountered before.

                          When the snail rolled her eyes Yikesy felt close to tears himself. It reminded him so vividly of Arona, who was taking such a very long time to rescue him.

                          “Last one to the emporium buys us all bowler hats!” shouted Minky, hoping to revive the morale of his motley tour group.

                          “I don’t want to go the emporium and I am not crying!” exclaimed the green fairy indignantly. “I have some bowler hat fiber caught in my eye”.

                          “I believe Mr Jib’s emporium is currently closed anyway,” interjected the parrot wisely. “I follow Mr Jib on Flitter and it seems he is part of a consortium currently cavorting in a secret destination which begins with the letter W and ends in the letter N and has 35 letters in between.”

                          “I am confused,” said the lost and confused Yikesy. “Are Mr Minky and the green fairy one and the same?”

                          “Hahahahahahahahaha” laughed Shelly, surprisingly loudly for a snail. “We are all confused! None of it makes sense so why bother trying. What good is sense anyway? Would you like them to be one and the same?”

                          “I don’t have an opinion either way really on that one” retorted Yikesy. “I suppose the less names I have to remember the better. What I would really like is a glass of pineapple juice and a dish of black truffles.”

                          #2697

                          In reply to: Strings of Nines

                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            “I’ll catch you up in a minute” said the green fairy, in between mouthfuls of bowler hat. “I’ve nearly finished. Pass me that can of Guinness will you, this hat’s awfully dry.”

                            #2815

                            In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              There was no place like home, notwithstanding that home could be considered to be anywhere at all. Home in this case was Blithe’s patio one balmy September evening. Citronella candles flickered on the table, and coloured fairy lights strobed in strings along the facade of the house. A rosy glow emanated from the bedroom window and Blithe took a snapshot, noticing later the fly screen visible, overlayed onto the bedroom scene. Not only was the view of the bedroom limited by the width of the camera lens, it was also limited in the sense that the wire screen was obscuring almost half of what would have been visible if the photograph had been taken from the other side of the screen, or, with no screen at all in between the lens and the view of the room. However, despite having such a partial view of the whole, the remainder that was viewable was still identifiable as a bedroom.

                              Blithe wasn’t about to remove the screen however, because it was doing its job of screening, or filtering out, the unwanted insects. That wasn’t to say that she was denying the existance of those insects, or that they weren’t welcome on the other side of the screen, just that she was selectively screening the unwanted items from a particular scene. If, for example, the room was full of insects, Blithe might have been preoccupied with them, to the exclusion of whatever else she might have preferred to focus on within the bedroom. Out on the patio, however, the insects were, if not always entirely welcome, appreciated. The praying mantis and the dragonfly were welcome, and the butterflies and moths were always welcome, because Blithe had associated the energy of those insects with familiar welcome energies. The wasps, flies and ants were not translated in the same way, but were appreciated for entirely different reasons, being an aid to exploring such issues as irritation (and occasionally, pain). Blithe had to admit that despite the praying mantis and dragonfly being welcome, it would not be true to say that they were welcome in the bedroom, however.

                              There had been times when Blithe wished that the whole patio was enclosed in screens, but the trouble with screens was that they tended to filter out everything of a certain size, although perhaps that was more a beleif about physical screens than anything else. Was it possible to filter out flies and wasps, but allow dragnflies and butterflies? Possible surely, she thought, but perhaps not with physical wire screen devices and associated beleifs.

                              A few days previously Blithe had cleaned the mesh filter on her kitchen tap, unrestricting the flow. Coincidentally, her friend had also had a tap mesh restricted flow incident, and had removed the mesh filter altogether. Another friend had removed a window screen for cleaning, and had chosen not to replace it, as she was appreciating the allowance of much more light. And then another friend had mentioned a dream, of dragonflies under a screen that was covering a pool. She had lifted the screen in the dream, to allow the dragonflies to escape, and yet some of the dragonflies chose to stay under the screen.

                              Intrigued with the words screen and mesh, which meant the same thing in one respect, but not in others, Blithe investigated the definitions. To screen could be to filter out the unwanted, but to mesh was to weave together. But were they so different, really? A screen was also a blank place on which to project images ~ meshed and woven selectively screened and filtered images, perhaps.

                              {link ~ weaving}

                              #2694

                              In reply to: Strings of Nines

                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                “Of course I’m a real green fairy” replied the green fairy with a scowl. “And if you’re not Alfred Jarry I’ll eat my bowler hat”

                                #2693

                                In reply to: Strings of Nines

                                ÉricÉric
                                Keymaster

                                  Mandrake had been on Yikes’ trail for what seemed to be like ages, closely followed by Arona, the silly dragon and that demigod Arona seemed to have grown so fond of.

                                  As they were walking, flying and hopping further North, they had passed the Forest of Endless Desolation, just through the Isthmus of Ghört’s Hammer where the whaling laments of the lamanatees were luring the careless travellers in pits of dark despair, only for them to sink in cores of boiling lava if they strayed too far away from the darken wizened old sticks that once had been luxuriant trees.

                                  Mandrake would have made a meal of the dreaded lamanatees, but Arona had thought safer for them to plug their ears with candle wax and invoke their Mother guidance to help in their quest to find the lost boy. Little had she thought of the pain it would be to scrap it off his catly ears without turning wax into furballs, and his ears into a prickly mess.
                                  These minor troubles apart, they had gone through Arona’s homeland, the pretty Golfindely, which was only a soft consolation before they got to the far ends of it, where land, water and ice meld and become one. It was the threshold, the passageway to the homeland of the dragons, where only Sorcerers and their likes were known to have been and returned.

                                  It was there that the sabulmantium had hinted Yikes would been found.

                                  :fleuron:

                                  When Minky came finally back to the High Priestess of the Pendulous and Loose Otherworldly Threading —aka Messmeerah (Winky) Maymhe—, Messmeerah was taking a dip into the Rejuvenation Pool. Her last vials of bleufrüsh blood had been all drunk, and she was starting to get all sagging after mere hours out of the icy waters.

                                  She welcomed with a large smile, the sack Minky was carrying as a treasure, where Yikes was calmly waiting.
                                  “Thank you Miny” she said, throwing some ashes to the minion who, in a puff, instantaneously transformed into a large redhair rat, which disappeared behind Messmee’s luscious green hair.

                                  “There, there, there, look what we got…” she finally said ominously to the boy who was considering the naked green evil fairy in front of him with a rather interested and mildly amused glance. “Don’t you have anything to say?” she said, raising an eyebrow, maybe slightly disappointed at the lack of frightened reaction.

                                  “Oh, looks like you’re a genuine green fairy, “ he said staring at her with a smile.

                                  #2806

                                  In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

                                  ÉricÉric
                                  Keymaster

                                    The leaves were dry. They’d started to change to a brownish hue at the tip, then rapidly withered. They’d hoped it wouldn’t affect the whole crop, and when the first tea bush went down, they quickly uprooted it, for fear it would spread to the whole hill.
                                    But despite their best efforts, the tea bushes went down, one by one, as though engulfed by a deadly plague. He and she were worried for their next year income, as their tea field was their main source of revenue. The highlands had always been favourable to them, and it seemed such an unlikely and truly unfair event given that the beginning of the year had brought an unexpected bounty of huge tea leaves.
                                    What had happened? He was quite the pragmatic about it: disease, pests, too much sun, over-watering, over-pruning… nothing extending outside the visible, the measurable. She was the mystical: core beliefs, did she worry too much about that sudden wealth and made it disappear, the evil eye, greed and covetousness, celestial punishment.

                                    It never occurred to her she could reverse it as easily once she understood what it was all about.
                                    Well, she almost started to get an inkling of that thinking about warts. How efficiently she got those growths when she was so troubled about them, and how they all disappeared when she forgot about them. How not to think about something that’s already in your head? In that case, distraction never worked; it was a rubber band that would be stretched then snapped back at the initial core issue.
                                    Snap back at yourself.
                                    >STOP< – She stopped. Time to read that telegram delivered to oneself.
                                    Everything still, for a moment. Dashed.
                                    She started to look around.
                                    The air was still, hot and full of expectation.
                                    Almost twinkling in potentials.
                                    Like a providential blank page, in the middle of a heap of administrative papers full of uninteresting chatty figures.
                                    The pages are put aside, only the blank page is here.
                                    She can start to populate it with colours, sounds and life, anytime. Lavender maybe. Soon.
                                    But not yet now.
                                    She wants to breathe in the calmness, the comfort of the silence. Even the crickets seem to be far away.
                                    She was alone, and impoverished…
                                    She is alone, and empowered, … in power.

                                    [link:leaves]

                                    #2463

                                    Meanwhile, Landelin was perfecting his blubbit duct-tape traps.

                                    Landelin was a quite reclusive man, some Peaslanders considered him even a bit mentally challenged with a reputation for having teafing as a secondary hobby. Yes, secondary. Before teafing, came duct tape ; duct tape always came first.
                                    Landelin had been fond of duct tape since he was a kid, since he’d glued his first nanny to the cellar door and then went off buying more duct tape at the local grocery store with the money he’d teafed from her. Teafing always came second.

                                    Plagued as all Peaslanders with blubbits, he’d reasoned, quite reasonably for someone as mentally challenged as him, that blubbits were like worries and warts (and he knew quite a bit about the former and the latter), and none could stand a chance if administered the right amount of duct tape. By right amount, he meant, as much as needed to cover them in silver linings and eventually, maybe erradicate them —but that was a bit besides the point anyway.

                                    Pity there wasn’t more than a few blue pelts’ hair to teaf from a blubbit, he thought quite reasonably again, as his last prototrap worked like a charm and had a few blubbits suffocating under a fair amount of stickiness.

                                    Well, from blubbits, perhaps not so much, but from Peaslanders waiting for naught but a savior, maybe… After all the other treatments have failed, they surely would turn, as they all do, willingly or forcibly, to the raw power of taping.

                                    #2394

                                    The poor Peaslanders were utterly disoriented by the blatant lack of sense in the Eighth Dimension. It was such a blessing they had for most of them already lost their head, kept safe by a dear member of the family.

                                    Once in front of them, the glowing figure uttered ominously:

                                    “opened everyone eye ball,
                                    Worserversity nonsense portal deep
                                    sheila Elizabeth bird gone surprise
                                    come speak thread
                                    face cat Godfrey later create”

                                    And then the figure disappeared in a fit of oink oink’s.

                                    “I think it’s her shoes that make the strange sucking sounds in the mud” aptly remarked little Pickel.
                                    “How come you know it was a ‘her’, it could have been a cloud as far as I know…” retorted Autie Toot who never got a chance to get a good look, with her head upside down in her arms.

                                    “Silence!” ordered Pee Stoll more raucously than he had wished to “We need to concentrate! This riddle may be the clue to the plague of blubbits, can’t you see?!”
                                    “Well… It’s not that easy, you know” Auntie Looh objected sheepishly, while still struggling with her garments as well as with her head.

                                    “I think it’s fairly simple” ventured S’illy (whom nobody ever listened to, probably owing to her tender age as well as her melodious voice) “We got to find the Worseversity, they probably have worked on a cure; our contacts there will be a sheila called Elizabeth… and a Godfrey will provide a cat to eat the bird and put us back to our dimension…”

                                    “Darn riddle!” sweared Pee furiously who hadn’t paid any attention “It’s probably just another bunch of nonsense!”
                                    “I guess we’ll just go anywhere then!” merrily suggested the Aunts each going in opposite directions while the bird rolled its eyes.

                                  Viewing 20 results - 101 through 120 (of 184 total)