The Story So Far (by a bunch of loons)


One day when the octopus writhed in uninhibited ecstacy in the deep backyard pool, a new and strange gelatinous substance formed. It looked like the profile of Brave Woman dancing. Agape, we stared while sharing a bowl of freshly fermented goat cheese with calamari and Twizzlers. Suddenly, there was a huge burp that felt worse then it sounded. It was tasty, kind of like butterscotch. But the octopus remained unarmed. After that a mammoth toe emerged from a vat full of rendered cave monkeys who viciously attacked (not quite sure how rendered monkeys attack, but oh well, on with the story) the WooT warehouse holding hostage the octopus’s lovely wife October, who had skivvies made of starfish and oysters who became alarmed and fled, leaving his beer behind. In the meantime, the monkeys returned and quickly began making mince meat out of several very oddly shaped creatures with tubular shaped prehensile nostrils who had trouble snorkeling in tapioca after eating a Creme’ brule’. So, she sank like Leonardo DiCaprio into obscurity. After that the lemon scented pledge faeries accosted dust bunnies everywhere causing roombas to rhumba dementedly around the oracle of Delphi, who prophesied the beginning of either Armageddon, or another Disney World. Hmmm…said Rhumba while waxing its buttons and polishing its vocabulary. “Why am I destined to totally suck?” “Yes!” the others applauded his poem. A clap from thunder in heaven scared the crap into a bag which the gods of the underworld instantly used as shoe polish. Naked leprechauns shouted cantankerous yet, humorous dirges while hanging from leashes held by Torakian she-wolves dressed in Pleather. Releasing the leashes, The Torakiens pointed heavenward and proclaimed “Get off my planet, you pestilent yearning inflaming my big toe! See?” The leprechauns left. (ROFLMAO Poof!) Throwing pots of lucky charms marshmallows into thier beer they scampered away. The next day dawned bright and green. Because, unfortunately they had a shortage of gold bling, which was hidden under the she-wolves’ Birkenstocks. Remembering where they were going, they put on their taupe turtle tutus adorned with large gloves on their massive purple eyelashes. Then the platypus slathered profusely in oleo and bitter, proceeded to strut his prize sow that could sew naugahyde duck bills to her thong. The material consisted of tinsel and unshocked sad monkeys sad because shocks feel really good.But not as good as you feel after a massage done by psychic cheese doodles. Meanwhile back at the Grand Canyon, chickens were jostling the donkeys who had their tails dyed and braided. by the great Gazoobi, the world’s largest bi-species hairdresser. The same one that fixes Paris Hilton’s monkey’s coiffe into voluminous, pillowy marshmallow dreadlocks. He reads Redbook and Mercenary’s R Us. The magazines always come with a rocket launcher and a flowered showercap. Gazoobi liked to play with squirrels and cheese in a plastic jacuzzi. The fondu forks inappropriately made of pasta, were completely ineffectual at retaining the rutabaga on the George Forman grill. But suddenly he jumped up shrieking “Bloody Mary!!!”, then without looking back, he ran towards a crowd of Traffic Enginneers playing tiddlywinks, hungry hippos driving recklessly through yards, playgrounds, and macdonalds’ drive-thrus. Suddenly, flying monkeys with poop filled balloons, landed on …scary crouching tigers! The balloons were several and red bearing the resemblance Cher, when Sonny came to ensure the beat rolls on. Later, the traitorous transcriptionist deleted the entire section of sommeliers. The sommeliers smelled something sinfully sweet. Sugar coated fish, lined the trunk of Sonny’s SUV. Slithery, glittery cuttlefish swam up my cholesterol-laden arteries and dropped off into boiling vats of milk CHOCOLATE laced with copious nibbles of nougats lovingly winnowed from Gort, king of Squat, consort of Squirticus (ASIDE: king is consort of Squrticus? Is this Brokeback kingdom?) the slobbering troll from across the sea of sympathy holding onto sanity. Squirticus placed the orb of Squeegee into the manger of ecstasy while gold doubloons cascaded from chests of fair skinned leprechauns leaping about shaking their bootys {dontwantaname:Where do I go to buy the drugs that make this story make any sense at all?}vigorously in circles while laughing uproariously {pooflady:I don’t understand - makes perfect sense to me. (dontwantaname//mental image of poof at woodstock dancing in the rain//) pooflady:That is NOT what we were doing in the rain at Woodstock! ) at two bickering blackbirds flying overhead searching for statues of large disfigured wildebeasts. Meanwhile, nefarious naked, nymphomaniac gnats swarmed naked around nearly naked nannies nursing naughty ninnies nightly, never knowing nearby nearsighted newbies nervously knitted nighties, nice naughty nighties. for Barbie dolls because unclothed Barbies can’t dress themselves. Barbies have plastic implants in their behinds, especially Ken who prefers his Levis to bulge.

However, in another sector of space, malevolent crepuscular spiders spun glittering, evil strands of poisonous kittens that immediately that viciously claw ususpecting bystanders. So… the Pillsbury Doughboy grabbed his trusty Brave Woman cookie and p-chopped dozens of unsuspecting fireflies , mincing their little electrolites into a frothing, froth of St. Patrick’s beer. Quaffing beer and nookie cookies, antique spatulas protrude from the slanted ceiling . The canted floor whined incessantly about shoving a hamburger-flavored rubber bullet being inserted in the cracks of riffs and ragged all day long. “What the…” exclaimed disheveled Librarian who {INTERJECTION: when are y’sall gonna update “the story so far…”? I can’t keep up.OK, back to the story }followed his lead assistant into the {dontwantaname:Yeah, I for one would like to read that! }stack pass protected by puffing dragons in wild and unbridled lust driven constraint and release. Antique drive shafts of alien origin, connecting marmalade transaxles from his B-O-C to the length of a peck and the depth of a hector, not to be confused with the rash on your artificial proboscis. Then we shall not dine on catepillars untill we finish off our toes. Then KT said, “I really love sports, especially football ,not, what was at the door?” The open feeling quite chilly and like I’m naked is a passage chillin my little Tiny brain. Meanwhile, before I kill some time why not give myself a luxurious self-indulgent steaming hot bubble-bath. Wrinkled as a prune, I emerged and sensuously toweled myself off. Leaving a trail of slick purple foam. In the other garden, a box seeping a noxious odor from the rotting orange mushrooms inside. Unbeknownst to us, they were incubating vile larvae within their stems. Once mature, adult hornets fly southward malevolently seeking to procure fishy requisittttes. Then the hornets do sumersaults over perpetually jumping sheep that are infested with pustules of butterscotch pudding which smelled alot like rancid tubs of liquified squid and saponified cadavers of deep fried zombies. Grabbing plates and utensils, the audience approached the steaming trenchers and dropped flaming slabs_ of_ carcass on the balding pates of gargantuan medieval french born snail-eatin’ peasants. Camels were prancing gaily amongst the poppies. Their polka-dotted skirted jockeys humped the legs of rabid siamese jackals. The over inflated pork belly pontoons were paraded down the Champs Elysee. Wild-eyed, the frenchmen overcame their fear, quit running away, and surrendered quietly. Singing like frogs, while munching baguettes , they put berets aside, and pithily mumbled “Stupid American!” “When will you learn to mime in our language?” The mental institution filled with screaming hermaphrodites and midgets sent emergency messages using high heels to tap Morse and Chuck Norris mixed karate code to computer geeks six feet under in Macedonian tunnels. It seemed fuzzy under the tactile feelers of my noodly apendages. Starting a paradigm shift by snorting some Funky Cold Medina. Unexpectedly, trouser trout leaped the zippered barrier and remorselessly sought after the dark, moist crevasses of sweet Solace. But Solace said she had no desire for such hot monkey lurv. Retreating to the den of iniquity within cerebral folds, their neurotransmitters flashed kinetic rays of electric orgasmic delight ,blinding all that stuff. You know nothing of the heartache of desire. Tomorrow we shall combine our shiny fossilized feces collection. For pretty poop has no equal for doody aficionados love diggy deep dark gallery showings. Sleeping oafs lay their eggs in kettles of brine simmering over lava in Mordor’s shadow. Upon analyzing urine samples of metamorphosed kittens taste like chicken. So we fed kittens to the octopus and Sally Struthers. The kids were all “ding, dong, ditching” because the kittens’ litterbox was full of sliced bagels and they didn’t have cream cheese.


Well, I guess if you put it that way…



It almost flows!


yeah, like a trail of slick purple foam…


Dude, you SO need a real hobby…


har har!


LOL, that almost made me choke on my pretentious rice cake…



That’s just cold, Jose.


I’ve never heard of that brand of rice cakes . . .


It’s right next to the Wannabe Wassabe in a grocery store near you.


Wooters should take over this collaborative novel site! :slight_smile:


Trust the King of the Loons to write oot oour Exquisite Corpse!