sometimes i'm bad and sometimes i'm bad AND a bad influence on others
one of those times was on sunday when we decided that rather than listen to sunday school and relief society, which were admittedly rather dry that day but still, we would write another story by one line contributions. well bethany and i both wanted to do it. sarah was in and katie agreed but seemed to have reservations like "maybe we shouldn't be bad". but we forged ahead. not only this but sarah went and nabbed two huge sheets of green paper for us to perpetrate our badness on. here's the story:
sarah's text
bethany's text
my text
katie's text
The wart was there-- there was no denying it. Preston stared at it in the mirror again and again, but it never went away. Of all the luck--to have wart sprout up smack dab in the middle of his right eye lid! So he did what any self-respecting bulldog would do. (Bulldog was a name he gave himself because he felt it adequately prtrayed his newfound grizzly manhood.) He grasped the wart firmly with some tweezers and pulled--only to find another fully-formed wart underneath! This was fast becoming a nightmare. Preston couldn't help but feel he must have done something to deserve this. Then he remembered, with a feeling of doom, the incident with Patricia last week. Patricia had warned him--indeed, threatened him this would happen. He vaguely remembered, although he had tuned out most of what she was saying, her lips DID part in a way that looked like they were forming the words WART. Preston sighed, finally admitting to himself: He had done wrong. It was just that Patricia's boingy locks were so fun to, well.. boing! And then there was her salami cheeks. It was then that the drunken sailor fell into the room. "I know what to do with your 'eternity' wart", he slurred from his face down position on the floor. Preston was used to this sort of thing--drunk people often found him somehow. "yeah...spit it out, you old wine-bibber", he scoffed. "it's simple, stupid.", he suddenly looked confused. "you mean you don't know?" "Bite it?" Preston was outraged. "just how am I supposed to do that, you old fart?" "i'm not going to help you if'n you're rude to me." whined the drunk. Preston decided to ignore the drunk's pleas and gingerly tugged at his eyelid to see if perhaps it could be stretched and then be twisted to reach his mouth. "Well...I could...mebbe...bite it for you", Drunk wheedled, with a greedy gleam to his eye. Just when Preston was considering that, Patricia blew in, knocking the drunk to the floor (accidentally of course), stopping in front of Preston, she grabbed his eyelid and puckered her lips. Just as she was about to plant one on him the drunk grabbed her ankle and pulled, "oh no you don't," he lazily slurred. "I know what you're up to." Still looking deeply into Preston's stunned eyes, Patricia lifted her foot and deftly, rapidly, delivered a quick and efficient jab right into the drunk's nose. Preston let his inner bulldog take over. "Woof!" he yelped as he grabbed ringlet-ted, salami cheeked Patricia and dipped her. Surprised, a growl gurgled in Patricia's throat. She released his eyelid, grabbed his cheeks and kissed him deeply as his eyes bugged out, colour creeped up from his neck, his wart shriveled and the drunk groaned and writhed at their feet. He pulled away to whisper, "If I had a tail, it'd be wagging right now.", his voice full of longing. Patricia smiled softly and licked his cheek in answer. He winked a wart-less eyelid, and busted out some of his "bow wow" moves to the song "Who let the dogs out" that the drunk was now enthusiastically serenading. Hand in hand they left to go throw and retrieve sticks in the park, happier than they had ever been in their entire lives.
The End
sarah's text
bethany's text
my text
katie's text
The wart was there-- there was no denying it. Preston stared at it in the mirror again and again, but it never went away. Of all the luck--to have wart sprout up smack dab in the middle of his right eye lid! So he did what any self-respecting bulldog would do. (Bulldog was a name he gave himself because he felt it adequately prtrayed his newfound grizzly manhood.) He grasped the wart firmly with some tweezers and pulled--only to find another fully-formed wart underneath! This was fast becoming a nightmare. Preston couldn't help but feel he must have done something to deserve this. Then he remembered, with a feeling of doom, the incident with Patricia last week. Patricia had warned him--indeed, threatened him this would happen. He vaguely remembered, although he had tuned out most of what she was saying, her lips DID part in a way that looked like they were forming the words WART. Preston sighed, finally admitting to himself: He had done wrong. It was just that Patricia's boingy locks were so fun to, well.. boing! And then there was her salami cheeks. It was then that the drunken sailor fell into the room. "I know what to do with your 'eternity' wart", he slurred from his face down position on the floor. Preston was used to this sort of thing--drunk people often found him somehow. "yeah...spit it out, you old wine-bibber", he scoffed. "it's simple, stupid.", he suddenly looked confused. "you mean you don't know?" "Bite it?" Preston was outraged. "just how am I supposed to do that, you old fart?" "i'm not going to help you if'n you're rude to me." whined the drunk. Preston decided to ignore the drunk's pleas and gingerly tugged at his eyelid to see if perhaps it could be stretched and then be twisted to reach his mouth. "Well...I could...mebbe...bite it for you", Drunk wheedled, with a greedy gleam to his eye. Just when Preston was considering that, Patricia blew in, knocking the drunk to the floor (accidentally of course), stopping in front of Preston, she grabbed his eyelid and puckered her lips. Just as she was about to plant one on him the drunk grabbed her ankle and pulled, "oh no you don't," he lazily slurred. "I know what you're up to." Still looking deeply into Preston's stunned eyes, Patricia lifted her foot and deftly, rapidly, delivered a quick and efficient jab right into the drunk's nose. Preston let his inner bulldog take over. "Woof!" he yelped as he grabbed ringlet-ted, salami cheeked Patricia and dipped her. Surprised, a growl gurgled in Patricia's throat. She released his eyelid, grabbed his cheeks and kissed him deeply as his eyes bugged out, colour creeped up from his neck, his wart shriveled and the drunk groaned and writhed at their feet. He pulled away to whisper, "If I had a tail, it'd be wagging right now.", his voice full of longing. Patricia smiled softly and licked his cheek in answer. He winked a wart-less eyelid, and busted out some of his "bow wow" moves to the song "Who let the dogs out" that the drunk was now enthusiastically serenading. Hand in hand they left to go throw and retrieve sticks in the park, happier than they had ever been in their entire lives.
The End
Comments