Holy specifics, Batman!
Truth or Dare
- Thread starter Morphine
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Morphine! Truth or Dare??
Jeezus.... lemme get off-shift and see what I can come up withTruth!
This time I really wanted to get a dare but my stomach hurts pretty bad, I refuse to get up for anything that's not throwing up ; _ ;
Truth!
This time I really wanted to get a dare but my stomach hurts pretty bad, I refuse to get up for anything that's not throwing up ; _ ;[/QUOTE]
I can give you a dare that recquires minimal effort!
Or you can tell us about the most romantic gesture you've ever made/had made towards you. Either wayyyy
Truth please
No webcam eh? I dare you to post a love poem of your own creation, written to Dave involving at least three other forumites, Pawn Stars the TV show, Linda Carter and Homer Simpson[/QUOTE]
*laugh* Good lord, that's like something BJ would come up with. Which reminds me, I still owe him a sestina as well as a love poem using fruit as metaphors...
Tattoo's is hard stuffz to draw on yourself.
....in a mirror..
....in a mirror..
Oh, what the fuck. I"ll take a dare. I don't have a videocamera though.
P
Philosopher B.
OMG, lol! That's awesome.
Null: In the vein of my own dare, you must write a short story that involves:
Your elementary school
An archeopteryx
Fine china
The Dewey Decimal System
and peanut butter.
Your elementary school
An archeopteryx
Fine china
The Dewey Decimal System
and peanut butter.
No webcam eh? I dare you to post a love poem of your own creation, written to Dave involving at least three other forumites, Pawn Stars the TV show, Linda Carter and Homer Simpson[/QUOTE]
Okay.... here we go. You asked for it. *grins*
Dave, Aetheric lord and suzerain,
Old Man-like overseer without a Chumlee
To torment, deride and berate.
Your patience with forumite griping
(As exemplified by Chaz, to name one)
Is nothing short of legendary.
Your enjoyment of fresh new topics
Is positively Homeric in its depths
(Think donut, rather than döner).
And despite jibes from various Callejas
And Nulls, you soldier on diligently.
Ignore these foul darts at your age!
I see you as something like a masculine Linda Carter
(Although, perhaps, less fetching in spandex and spangles),
Aging gracefully, and retaining your sass and verve.
Yea verily I say unto thee:
Semper Fidelis, frater meo!
E
Element 117
... That was crazy. Sick, etc.
I do what I can.
I'll try and get it between 500 and 1000 words. Probably some time tomorrow.
E
Element 117
Better step it up, Null. OC set the fucking bar. In orbit.
It's like I told my last girlfriend, before making love: "Prepare to be disappointed."
E
Element 117
It's like I told my last girlfriend, before making love: "Prepare to be disappointed."[/QUOTE]
Paint your face white, wear black, and cut yourself, man.
J
joemc72
Gonna have to share my car wreck story with you sometime. I got mine out of the way early while on FTO and was on my second shift ever.Oddly enough, the one that stands out the most in my mind is from when I was 14 or 15. My brother was being picked on my a kid older than him, so I snatched the kid up and told him to go home. A little later, the little shit came around to my back door. I look up, and the little fuck is pointing a 12-gauge at my head. I look at him calmly, then walk into my brother's room, get him upstairs to where my dad kept his guns, and called police. After that, I had a little mini-freakout on the phone with my mother.
The one that stands out from my job is from when I crashed my car, responding code to an accident with injuries. Approached an intersection, and I had the red light. I slowed down, then noticed that everyone seemed to be (for once) paying attention to the lights and sirens, so I give it some gas. Right about then is when this grey car started pulling out, so I swerved to the right. He kept coming, so I swerved back to the center lane, which overloaded the shocks on the left side. I lost all traction there, pulling me into a spin that ended up wrecking me into a bus stop. After I jumped the curb and was airborne. I came out of it without a scratch, but looking at the damage to my car, if it had hit even a foot forward or back from where it did, I'd have been in trouble. Witnesses said they saw the underside of my car, so it's damned lucky I didn't flip, either.
The extra tire at the front WAS at the rear... apparently it cleared the Arby's and almost struck a car at the drive-through. That's me, walking about in the background. DAMNED lucky.
It's like I told my last girlfriend, before making love: "Prepare to be disappointed."[/QUOTE]
Paint your face white, wear black, and cut yourself, man.[/QUOTE]
With such an effective blood-letter as your tongue, that would be redundant.
But seriously though, I'll do what I can, OC's gonna be a tough act to follow. We'll see.
No webcam eh? I dare you to post a love poem of your own creation, written to Dave involving at least three other forumites, Pawn Stars the TV show, Linda Carter and Homer Simpson[/QUOTE]
Okay.... here we go. You asked for it. *grins*
Dave, Aetheric lord and suzerain,
Old Man-like overseer without a Chumlee
To torment, deride and berate.
Your patience with forumite griping
(As exemplified by Chaz, to name one)
Is nothing short of legendary.
Your enjoyment of fresh new topics
Is positively Homeric in its depths
(Think donut, rather than döner).
And despite jibes from various Callejas
And Nulls, you soldier on diligently.
Ignore these foul darts at your age!
I see you as something like a masculine Linda Carter
(Although, perhaps, less fetching in spandex and spangles),
Aging gracefully, and retaining your sass and verve.
Yea verily I say unto thee:
Semper Fidelis, frater meo![/QUOTE]
Truth!
This time I really wanted to get a dare but my stomach hurts pretty bad, I refuse to get up for anything that's not throwing up ; _ ;[/QUOTE]
I can give you a dare that recquires minimal effort!
Or you can tell us about the most romantic gesture you've ever made/had made towards you. Either wayyyy[/QUOTE]
Hmm ok, I'll take a dare because that's kind of a sensitive subject right now ; _ ;
---------- Post added at 10:29 AM ---------- Previous post was at 10:27 AM ----------
HCGLNS: when was the last time you said the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time?
Friday, June 13, 1988 Subject was how to dress at the wedding and I said ""Well neither of us is at our ideal weight." with regards to size of clothing needed.
Make this your new User Title, "Ask me about my Bumble."
@CG: I DARE you to...
Hrmmm.... ukelele too obvious.... what to do, what to do...
Hrmm.... draw your adventures as Carmen Sandiego, and perform a short score to accompany the display! *grins*
Hrmmm.... ukelele too obvious.... what to do, what to do...
Hrmm.... draw your adventures as Carmen Sandiego, and perform a short score to accompany the display! *grins*
Make this your new User Title, "Ask me about my Bumble."[/QUOTE]
There you have it. You didn't say how long I'm supposed to keep it, though...
That is a most excellent dare, OC.
Sorry, I just have to habitually give everyone a nickname after a while and that was the best I could come up with that 1am while a little tipsy and extremely hot...
Well, you said "Truth or dare, someone," so I took it as an invitation...Wait wait wait I never agreed to a dare! Or did I? It's very late. I don't wanna draw anymore. It's too hard!That last horrible strip I drew took an hour! I'll play something though, dare or not.
Very well, in the interests of NOT making a Cajun triste, just play the score that tells your story. Stretch your creative wings, as it were. *grins*
The boy took the last bite of his peanut butter and banana sandwich. He drained his thermos of the last slosh of milk and wiped his mouth with the napkin, wadding it up and stuffing it into the plastic bag his sandwich had been in before tossing it the large garbage can. The clock showed there was twenty minutes left in lunch period, so he went to the water fountain and rinsed the inside of his thermos, packed it back in his lunch pail, and headed into the hallway. Glittering posters covered the cinder-block walls, celebrating the recent victory of Green Street Elementary's own 5th grade spelling bee winner, Amy Blunt, at the state bee. Her little sister Donna was in his class, also dark haired and blue eyed, and everyone's first pick at kickball. They used to live next door, but after his family had to move in the apartment building he only saw her at school. He stopped thinking about that and headed for the library.
Ms. Brysson was at her desk, as usual during lunch, paging through a large copy of 'The Collector's Encyclopedia of Early Noritake'. The cover was dark red with tea cups on it, and she barely looked up at the sound of the door. “Oh, finished lunch early?”
He nodded.
“Well, don't be late heading back to class,” she said, burying herself once again in her book.
He passed the 700s that he usually headed for, having read all the volumes of Garfield that the library had, and instead pulled a book from the 500s, the science section. It was 'Raptor Pack' by Robert Bakker, and though he'd read it nearly a dozen times already, he lost track of time reading about those delightfully vicious dinosaurs. Jared Penyak, one of the big 4th graders, had beat him up for reading that book because it was 'against Jesus', whatever that meant. The boy doubted the reason had mattered, it never did with bullies.
Too soon, the bell rang, and the boy placed the book on the overflowing return cart before heading for his classroom.
“Where did you go? You weren't at your usual seat at lunch,” Donna said from the desk next to his.
“I went to the library,” he said.
“Again?” She sounded disappointed. “I could have used your help. Deke brought his deck and challenged me. You always know which cards to play at the right time. Besides, if you brought your deck, we could have played him and Marc together.”
“I don't have my deck any more.”
“You don't? Why not?”
“I just don't.”
“You're being really weird.”
“I don't mean to be.”
“Well, are you coming on Saturday? It's at the roller rink.” Her birthday party always was.
“If I can find my skates.”
“Well, look for them, okay?”
“Okay.”
Fat Mrs. Algus started writing on the board then, ending the conversation, for which he was grateful. The afternoon blurred into pencil scratches in his workbook and writing down homework assignments. There was more than usual, since there was no school Thursday or Friday. Finally he could hear the rumbling diesel engines of the school buses pulling up in front of the school. The bell rang and he got his jacket and backpack, shoving in his math and vocabulary books.
“Do you want to walk home together?” Donna asked.
“I don't live nearby anymore. I'm up by the projects now,” he said.
“Oh, that's right. Sorry,” she said. “Well, see you on Saturday!”
“Saturday.” He made himself smile and wave as she walked away. He shifted the pack on his shoulders and headed down Corliss Avenue, past the old people sitting on their porches in front of the clustered houses. As Corliss hit Pursel the houses grew further apart, and by the time he reached Sayre there were few houses and large clusters of trees and grass covered with the brittle tawny blanket of dead leaves, at times over his ankles. Sometimes there were branches underneath the leaves, and so he took care of his footing, walking steadily, ignoring the irate chatter of squirrels and the swooping grackles.
A blue and gold blur flashed past and the infuriated chitter of a squirrel was cut off in a sudden squeal of terror. The boy looked up and saw a large bird in the tree, wings resting on the branch, and long tail rigid to balance it as it bobbed its head, swallowed the rest of the gray furred lump with a slight crunch. The triangular head regarded the boy, cocking right and left, each gold eye regarding him with cold curiousity. It squawked at him, revealing rows of small serrated teeth. It was the teeth that made him recognize the snout instead of beak, gold scales between stiff blue feathers. It was beautiful, and it was dangerous.
“No... way.”
Ms. Brysson was at her desk, as usual during lunch, paging through a large copy of 'The Collector's Encyclopedia of Early Noritake'. The cover was dark red with tea cups on it, and she barely looked up at the sound of the door. “Oh, finished lunch early?”
He nodded.
“Well, don't be late heading back to class,” she said, burying herself once again in her book.
He passed the 700s that he usually headed for, having read all the volumes of Garfield that the library had, and instead pulled a book from the 500s, the science section. It was 'Raptor Pack' by Robert Bakker, and though he'd read it nearly a dozen times already, he lost track of time reading about those delightfully vicious dinosaurs. Jared Penyak, one of the big 4th graders, had beat him up for reading that book because it was 'against Jesus', whatever that meant. The boy doubted the reason had mattered, it never did with bullies.
Too soon, the bell rang, and the boy placed the book on the overflowing return cart before heading for his classroom.
“Where did you go? You weren't at your usual seat at lunch,” Donna said from the desk next to his.
“I went to the library,” he said.
“Again?” She sounded disappointed. “I could have used your help. Deke brought his deck and challenged me. You always know which cards to play at the right time. Besides, if you brought your deck, we could have played him and Marc together.”
“I don't have my deck any more.”
“You don't? Why not?”
“I just don't.”
“You're being really weird.”
“I don't mean to be.”
“Well, are you coming on Saturday? It's at the roller rink.” Her birthday party always was.
“If I can find my skates.”
“Well, look for them, okay?”
“Okay.”
Fat Mrs. Algus started writing on the board then, ending the conversation, for which he was grateful. The afternoon blurred into pencil scratches in his workbook and writing down homework assignments. There was more than usual, since there was no school Thursday or Friday. Finally he could hear the rumbling diesel engines of the school buses pulling up in front of the school. The bell rang and he got his jacket and backpack, shoving in his math and vocabulary books.
“Do you want to walk home together?” Donna asked.
“I don't live nearby anymore. I'm up by the projects now,” he said.
“Oh, that's right. Sorry,” she said. “Well, see you on Saturday!”
“Saturday.” He made himself smile and wave as she walked away. He shifted the pack on his shoulders and headed down Corliss Avenue, past the old people sitting on their porches in front of the clustered houses. As Corliss hit Pursel the houses grew further apart, and by the time he reached Sayre there were few houses and large clusters of trees and grass covered with the brittle tawny blanket of dead leaves, at times over his ankles. Sometimes there were branches underneath the leaves, and so he took care of his footing, walking steadily, ignoring the irate chatter of squirrels and the swooping grackles.
A blue and gold blur flashed past and the infuriated chitter of a squirrel was cut off in a sudden squeal of terror. The boy looked up and saw a large bird in the tree, wings resting on the branch, and long tail rigid to balance it as it bobbed its head, swallowed the rest of the gray furred lump with a slight crunch. The triangular head regarded the boy, cocking right and left, each gold eye regarding him with cold curiousity. It squawked at him, revealing rows of small serrated teeth. It was the teeth that made him recognize the snout instead of beak, gold scales between stiff blue feathers. It was beautiful, and it was dangerous.
“No... way.”
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