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that's one of those urban myth e-mails that went round earlier in the
year isn't it?
thanks for refreshing my memory Nick, I don't think!
― chris, Thursday, 6 December 2001 01:00 (twenty-two years ago) link
I walk to work along the canal towpath; I’m usually in a rush,
because I’m often late. It’s all-uphill to. At the moment a lot of
the locks have been drained, due to building work. I think the ducks
are pretty annoyed about this. I’ve seen them sulking about in the
mud and the puddles. In one part of the canal that is still full,
there were about six male ducks and only one female, but it’s not
mating season, so I guess it’s all pretty innocent. Though one duck
chased off another. There are about 3 houses along the canal, and a
family that lives on a barge. I often think, “how would you get home
late at night? There is no lighting here at all”, also what if
someone was drunk? They’d probably fall into the canal. So, very
cautious people or extremely reckless ones must own the homes.
Once, I saw a stolen car that had been pushed into the water. Only
its roof was visible. The morbid thought of “What if there’s a body
in the boot?” entered my mind, it was around the time of
Eminem’s ‘Stan’ video. Or “What if there’s a suitcase full of gold?”
But, I guess it was neither because it never made the news. Just
recently, the windows of one of the earthmovers being used by the
workers have been smashed. I hate to see vandalism like this. I bet
the ducks do to
― james, Thursday, 6 December 2001 01:00 (twenty-two years ago) link
fifteen years pass...
Slimy Donald Trump
A Short Story
by Froo
Donald Trump had always hated hot Saudi Arabia with its skinny, sticky sand. It was a place where he felt sad.
He was a slimy, bad, ice piss drinker with fat breasts and odd hands. His friends saw him as a bulbous, black blockhead. Once, he had even jumped into a river and saved a dull puppy. That's the sort of man he was.
Donald walked over to the window and reflected on his smelly surroundings. The sunny teased like rambling FLynn.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Melania Trump. Melania was a fat victim with awful breasts and small hands.
Donald gulped. He was not prepared for Melania.
As Donald stepped outside and Melania came closer, he could see the tasty smile on her face.
Melania glared with all the wrath of 6184 just awful ice-dancing Ivana. She said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want hand holding."
Donald looked back, even more annoyed and still fingering the gross nose. "Melania, "don't touch me you oaf"," he replied.
They looked at each other with bored feelings, like two small, snotacular Spicer farting at a very fat state visit, which had jazz music playing in the background and two stupid uncles yelling to the beat.
Donald regarded Melania's awful breasts and small hands. "I feel the same way!" revealed Donald with a delighted grin.
Melania looked hungry, her emotions blushing like a filthy, faffdorking finger.
Then Melania came inside for a nice drink of ice piss.
THE END
http://www.plot-generator.org.uk/?i=stwsycw
― Violet Jax (Violet Jynx), Thursday, 25 May 2017 15:03 (six years ago) link