FOT Forum
FOT Community => General Discussion => Topic started by: The Haacksawist on March 12, 2009, 10:03:57 AM
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I've been burning posts (creatively, though), so I thought I'd start a thread with my 50th post wherein I'll start a story with one line and then we'll see where it goes. Have fun. Or don't, I guess.
The first line is...
And then he jumped.
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for the past half hour he couldn't get his heartburn to subside and the jumping only made things worse.
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"That swindler Casey Cazmandiar has sold me my last pair of cure-all jumping pants, that's for sure." he said.
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He cursed these recent developments, as well as the parents who had shirked their civilized duty to name him.
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His mind flashed bitterly back to second grade rollcall: "Billy Herzog? Here. Timothy Hiller? Here....Him?.....Here."
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He jumped again. He jumped again and cursed his name as the pain flared up, up, up into his throat and he screamed,
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"Why won't my throat stop burning!? What did I do to deserve your torment, throat?"
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"Damn you, lower esophageal sphincter! You sound like the lousy name of a lousy grindcore band! Made up of high school kids from rural Indiana!"
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The burning feeling in his upper G.I continued to increase. However, in his midst to find a remedy for this, such as drinking copious amounts of Antacid, sitting in his refrigerator was an unfilled prescription for a proton-pump inhibitor, which if taken, could ease the pain. However, due to the crippling agoraphobia, leaving the house to fulfill this prescription was not an option.
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Then, as it always did at the appointed hour, the phone rang... "Hello?" "Don Rickles?"
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I remember seeing something similar to this on another forum, but it was what would be your opening joke be if you were doing stand up.
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Baffled at the prospect of Don Rickles being able to successfully decipher a Captcha, no less his ability to formulate a reply that would convey his sick brand of off-color diatribes as an 'opening joke' on a seldom-used message board dedicated to a very specific type of Japanese anime-pillow fetishcism, the only clear choice, once again, was to jump.
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"Our Band Could Be Your Life": not very likely, he thought, and then frowned.
Wait, I think I misinterpreted the import of this post. Still.
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the delusions brought upon him while jumping were second only to the time he took ayahuasca, and performed the elaborate mating rituals of a poisonous tree frog with the wild-eyed shaman of a hitherto unknown tribe, deep within the South American rainforest; the very act which inspired this lifelong need to jump.
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"hey, it's better than burning posts", he said, as he licked his nictitating membrane.
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he licked his nictitating membrane.
This is nice stuff.