Duck and Cover

Basically make any story you want without having to develop it like you would for a short story, here's one to start us off.


Bowling adventure

During my bowling class there is this hot girl, she has a slim body and big boobs. Tan skin and white teeth, you know the norm. Well all the guys like her and are always around her so they can flirt. we'll she likes me cause i'm a hot man, so one day she comes up to me and is like...

"pooper make me fat" while rubbing her vagina. It was hot. I feed her tons of food and she all like "mMMMmMmm, more pooper, MORE!!!". SO i run to the food stand and I brake the grandmas legs so I can steal the donuts. I feed the hot girl dozens and dozens of donuts. Soon the button on her jeans blasts off and hits my bowling teacher in the eye which causes her to bleed and stuff. She still wanted more so I was like "hasta la vista, baby" and I shove the ancient 60 pound bowling ball down her throat and as it goes down all her cloths explode off her body.

She says slowly, "rosebud" then her belly button pops out and she explodes throwing blood and guts everywhere. It was cool.

the end

There was this thing on the floor. I picked it up, sensed it and thought: "Hmmm, that's soft". So I put it in my pocket and walked away, still rubbing it on my hand. Unfortunately, I was with a girl I REALLY liked and while rubbing it on my hands, it looked like I was rubbing my thing while looking at her and drooling. So she screamed "WTF you fuckin' bastard! He's rubbing himself in front of me!". So I said "No! Biatch!" and then everyone laughed at me and I cried.

No, I didn't kill myself, that's when I found out I was emo and any self-respecting clichéed emo would not kill himself just to make the other non-emo suffer from his ever-wheeping presence and sadness and to make life know that he/she hates it.

The End... or not? Biatch.

Once upon a while I sat in the micro wave oven. Micro made my head feel warm and my mind melted.

The
END

Sgt. Micro Wave was serving his second tour of duty in good ol' Vietnam. He was on a special mission, sent down the steaming jungles and rivers of shit in search for an unstoppable weapon. Viet Kong! A giant gorilla who tended to the rice farms and praised as a god among his people. Micro had been looking now for fifteen years. The Vietnam war was over, but nobody thought to let Micro know about it!

The fifteen long years had driven the poor sergeant insane with a need for grandmas warm apple pie and the American way. Every night he read his bible and drew the american flag on the pages. After another night of reading Old Testament he heard a drum beat and a chant. KONG, KONG, KONG!

He stepped out of the clearing and into a mongoloid hell. The gorilla was dead, it's festering corpse home to a million vietnamese sons of bitches. They squirmed against each other, sweating and ejaculating. Some sort of orgy was going on inside that dead ape. Time for plan B he thought and lifted up his minigun. He started firing wildly at everything, screaming like a ghoulish tramp. When the smoke cleared all that was left was a red biomass that bubbled slightly.

Micro started to cry, tears rolling down his gruff beard. Mission complete soldier, time to go home. But there was one last thing to do. He dug a small hole and placed his bible in it. With a , he span on a heel and walked back into the jungle. A crackled whisper dripped from his toothless mouth..."Rosebud."

*sniff*
That was *SO* emotional.

once down on a no-time I found myself not present, it was as unreal as it was real and my head exploded, then everything rewinded and I forgot all about it.

teh funkeh end

We were walking down the hallway in the basement of the Arts building. Myself and Ted were the premiere art history students at the university and everyone knew it. We'd walk around campus and flash big smiles at the ladies while laying into a discourse on the effect of the post-revolution economy on French sculpture and they'd melt like butter. We were headed to a lecture entitled "101 new bullshit art words" when a man tore out of the bathroom and dashed past us. I caught a glance of the hooded sweatshirt it was wearing: it said McGill Engineering. I looked at Ted as the furtive engineer fled. We'd both heard about the Arts Building Pooping Bandit--had we caught him in the act? The few witnesses to his atrocities claimed he seemed to be an engineering student.

We went up to the bathroom door and before we'd even opened it, our suspicions were halfway confirmed by the intense smell. Ted pushed the door open and I had to turn away: the odor was overpowering. I took out my monogrammed lace embroidered silk hankerchief and covered my nose with it. Ted went into the bathroom and I followed.

With every step we took, the smell got stronger. My eyes began to sting and soon tears were running down my cheeks. We came to a stall that seemed to be the epicentre of it all. I looked at Ted, nodded, and kicked in the stall door.

The toilet looked perfectly normal at first inspection, but the smell confirmed that there was something horribly wrong with it. It took me a few seconds to gather my courage and approach the bowl with my eyes shut. Slowly, ever so slowly, I cracked open my eyelids to gaze upon the horrors the bowl contained.

I was greeted with the most majestic sight I'd ever see. There had been legends of truly colossal turds. Van Gogh was said to have gone mad trying to capture the essence of such a load on his canvas. But even the wildest dreams of that one-eared opium fiend were nothing to this fecal monolith. I was in awe.

Ted joined me next to the toilet bowl. "By my wasted thousands of dollars of tuition money!" he gasped. "What... is it?" The turd filled the bowl almost to the rim. Uncoiled, it could have been six, maybe seven feet long. The whole rope was about five inches thick.

"It's magnificent," I whispered. It truly was the greatest work of art I'd ever seen. Ted's eyes became glassy as he stared off into space. "It... it's talking to me..." he said. I could hear it too. It spoke to me of a dark and terrible past and of a great future. I understood now. When I had told my father I wanted to study art history, he'd told me I was a pussy and had kicked me out of the house. A trucker I'd hitchhiked with to get to the university reacted poorly when I told him, savagely sodomizing me in order to "knock the faggit outta yew, boy." But now I saw what a waste my earlier life had been. I saw now this was my true purpose: to serve.

"I don't know where it came from, Ted," I said, "or what it wants. But I know this: it is our new God, and we must worship it."

"Yes," said Ted, whose eyes had now gone completely black. He had seen the true light of wisdom and could never again see what normal men saw. "We must go and spread the New Truth."

On that day, the world changed forever.

----------------

Every time I write something like this, the balance of "stories I've written about poo vs. stories not about poo" gets tipped slightly in the wrong direction. This is a depressing thing.

You are a genius for poo poo stories, Spazmo. I you!

I sipped the flask and turned my eyes back to the newspaper. Since I do all my work at night, I can indulge in drinking beer for breakfast, and this beer I desperately needed. My girlfriend was sitting across from me at the table, having one of her usual monologues. I nodded and glanced her way occasionally, giving her the bare minimum of attention forced upon me by my own willingness to appear at least courtous, if not affectionate. I had stayed up till six in the morning the previous night working, and didn't feel like talking, especially since my girlfriend only has about ten different stories that she keeps telling over and over, always expecting me to show the same amount of enthusiasm. My beer was lukewarm. I stood up and walked past her to the refrigerator, getting another one. As I closed the fridge and turned towards her back, I paused, looking at her beutifull, dark hair. Remembering the way our relationship used to be, I stood there seeing a slideshow of our most passionate moments in my head. The slideshow stopped as I felt myself getting a slight erection. Anger swelled in my mind, thinking of what we had become, at what SHE had become. The anger dissipated and turned to sudden determination as I carefully put my hand - holding the fresh beer bottle - in the air, and swung it at her head with cold precision.
She had just started turning towards me, and the last expression I saw on her face as I struck her was not love, not fury, but amused curiosity.

"You can not posibally imagine what it is like being me." The cybermutant droned on, looking down at his arms. Chainguns. From the depths of pain the two thoughts clambered over each other across my consiousness. He had guns for arms.
"My first memories are of these arms." He waved them around in the air. I wished he would shut the hell up and let me die in peace. There was little I could do as I lay crippled in a pool of my own blood.
"Shut the fuck up." I managed to groan. The monster had severed my legs at the knees with a single burst from his arms. Chainguns. Pain consumed me and I resumed blacking out.
"People like you always chasing me, hunting me..." The words pireced the pain with their droning monotony. The asshole wouldn't let me die.
"Would you PLEASE, just go away...." Too little blood and the world spinned around his chainguns. "Or finish me off for the love of god."
"Sorry," the cybermutant droned, "I don't want to waste any more ammo."
He continued to serenade me into the oblivon with his self pity. What a wonderfull way to go[\i] burned itself sarcastically into my soul like an afterimage as I died.
"Rosebud..."

We needed Spazmo with a poo story and Megatron with a Matrix comic-style story to start this thread up.

Spazmo is probably my most favorite author ever.

We should open a forum where only Spazmo can write and post stories.

I saw a few tracers fly by me left and right, then it hit me. White heat splashed on my upper body. The warm slowly runnin through my hands to my head. My blurred vision gave a final glimpse of what was left of my arms and tracer after images burned to my retinae. Then darkness.

I came around looking at what looked like an parabolic antenna few inches away from my head. I was lying on a operating table. A doctor came to whisper to my ear as he noticed my eye movement.

"You're critically hit hit in the groin, Son"

I tried to punch him but I had been sedated so all I could do was to make a coarsing sound. Then I remembered the bloody stumps that were left of my arms.

"Fffk off fffgt"

The good doctor didn't flinch. He just continued to talk.

"We have to remove it. Blood loss will kill you. Just wanted to inform you in advance."

"Nnoo wyy wll aach ffaggt cut myy tick off. Gett Innga th Swede t do it yuu cunth"

The doctor paused for moment, then turned and left me to stare at the morphine induced vibrating mesh that resembled ceiling. Shadowy forms that looked like giant dicks and cunts flew around me. Some seemed to whisper to me when gliding out of sight.

Suddenly a nurse with shining blonde ponytails was smiling at me. She was in the whitest nurse oufit I've ever seen.

"Hellå! My name is Inga. Inga Berg. Håw can I assist you?"

First I was too dumbfounded to reply. Too much to handle. Then the dull ache from my groin startled me back into reality with blode still smiling at me. Waiting for my answer.

"Thhey gunna cut my pekkerr off and I've nly used it to peen n whakin.Pllze help me"

Inga thought for a moment and replied with a nod and slipped her hand under the blanket. Fire and pain shot through every nerve when she grabbed what was left of my dick. Waves of pain came with every stroke but along came tiny fragments of euphoria. I blacked out from time to time from the pain but always came around to feel astonishing erupts of pleasure.
Inga started to sweat and had a weird glee on her face.She increased her pumping phase and started to yell:

JAAAA! JAAAA!! JAAAAAAA!!!

And off came the remains of my genitalia and so did I. That night in Nam I lost my virginity, manhood and innocence.

THE END

I've thought long and hard about whether or not to stick this in the Wasteland.

Instead I'll just say that you all disgust me.

The doors were unlocked.
I didn't have to check, the evidence was all there; broken lock in a puddle of mud, dancing lights within the boarded up windows - I counted them up to five - and, by the sound of it, the flashlights were wrecking the place.
Sure, I was sober enough to realize that someone had beat me to it, unfortunately not sober enough to do the right thing and stay the fuck away from the place.
I reached for my smokes, but my cigarette lighter was dead, probably drowned in my pocket yesterday. So much for waiting them out.
A flickering streetlight illuminated the graffiti-stained walls and turned the trashcans into horrible monster shadows, then died.
I guess I was going in.

The inside smelled worse than the outside, le corpse odour no doubt.
A few more steps to the left would have put me face to face with the culprits of stench, but I was aiming for second floor and the flashlight gang.
The rhythmic sound of feet and squeaky boards was amplified by the old office building, and soon hollow voices were singing in chorus with the music.
"-Jack, I'm going out man. I need to take a leak."
"-Just do your thing here. There's no one left to care."
"-I don't need an audience. I'll be back in half a minute man."
"-It's pitch fucking black in here. I couldn't peek even if I wanted to."
"-Will you guys shut the hell up and get back to work?"
"-Sorry Frank, he's being an asshole."
"-I don't give a rats ass. Pete, you're not going anywhere."
"-Fine fine. I'll piss over there."
'Over there', in the right corner of the second floor, the sound of running water, briefly accompanied the rest of the eccentric orchestra, before ending on a gunshot, gurgle and thud.
Silence fell over the old office building. The eccentric orchestra had no doubt lost their music-sheets, and were now trying to find them by swiftly moving their flashlights back and forth.
I observed them from the barrel of my gun.

My name is megatron, I'm a London student. This is my story...

I woke up to the cold air and sunshine comming through my window. When I got up my erect cock tipped over the lamp on my nightstand. As I walked down stairs I see that the TV is on and my mom is sleeping on the makeshift bed with her bare feet sticking out of the blankets even though it was freezing cold. She was crazy in the head like the rest of my family. I had the timing down exactly, the milk man always threw the bottles of milk at our door making a mess and it should happen right about now...

*THUMP CRASH* at the door I heard. It was way more loud that it usually is and I could see dust comming from the ceiling because of the massive thump.

I go over to open the door and see a giant 300 pound man lying on the ground wearing a black rubber suit. He started mumbling...
"Megatron..."
"wut the fuck?"
I take off his mask to reveil is face. It was Marlon Brando, the legend, the hero, the man.
He was all like "It is time." He grabbed my shirt and pulled his face only a couple inches from mine like he was just about to give an oscar performance scene and goes "Stop the train it has a bomb in it." Then he dies.

I take off his rubber suit and put it on, it doesn't fit it's all loose because Marlon was just a massive man. I look like a kid dressing up like batman when I'm 5 years old god damn it.

I turn around and see my mom, and she looks me in the eyes and goes "you go get them bad guys." I HEAR THE SUBWAY COMMING FROM ABOVE, I DONT KNOW IF I CAN DO IT, I DON"T KNOW WHERE AM GOING BUT I FEEL THE URGE TO KEEP IT FLOWING. (Que that song from Dirty business where tom cruise is making loving on the train, it by that really popular guy that makes a lot of good songs and stuff)

I throw my batman bangarang with a wire on it to the subway train, it goes through one of the windows and wrapes around some guys throat and a pole. The speed of the train lifts me up in a matter of seconds. I climb the wire with all my might in the window. I see the wire only around the pole and the guys head cut off and lying on the floor.

I see a man in the corner of the cart lighting a cigarate. He starts clapping.
"Well done kid."
"Who the fucks sake are you?" I said.
"my name is ..... BLARGH"
Then he throws up bile all over the place and it burns everything with steam comming up. It gets on my face and starts burning threw the rubber mask. I tear it off and go...

"FALLLALALALALALALALA....LALALA....LA..LA.LAAAAAAAAAA" (like from sister act)

and it bursts all the windows in the train and blarghs face starts to bubble. Hes all like "OH NOES YOU swell guy, MY ACNE IS COMMING BACK. My child hoodmemories is resurfacing. Quick please get my Clearwipes, batman."

ANd I go "I'm not going to kill you but that doesn't mean I have to save you." Then blarghs face gets larger and larger till its the size of a sofa and he goes "never,never land."

I jump out of the window just as the bomb goes off and I spread my wings to fly like a bat...man. (Que batman forever soundtrack)

Fucked up POOPER.

So i was drunk, ok
then i visited some irc chans and the people were quite uppity and basically told m they were quite superior to me, which i didn't believe for a bit, and in fact ridiculed them for a fair amount of time until they decided that my further presence would be a hinderance to their inhuman agenda of gathering human influenche through the powerful ability of communicating via Internt at past 11:30pm when not drunk.

I hav failed their objectives by esposing their lying asses for what they are, goddamn space invaders! unfotunatly te pollice laughed and said thy'r too busy with the martian biodrome invasion plot so they'll let me go off with a warning

but i never gave up
here is my data
pooperscooper is a reliable agent
end of data

POOPERSCOOPER wrote:My name is megatron, I'm a London student. This is my story...

very patriotic, im lovin it

It was Geno's first day of american style college and he felt a little nervous. He had read all the guides about how to be a big shot on campus, but he still felt anxious about the whole thing. He shambled into his dorm room and sat on the bed tears started to well up in his eyes. If only his dog was here, good ol' dusty! But alas, only if you were blind or deaf could you have a dog. He reflected on his sorrow when his room mate walked in. Ignoring the guy sitting on the bed he slung his bag at the wall leaving a big dent! He then span round and stared at Geno through reflective sunglasses. "Listen up bitch, I don't like you and you don't like me. Deal with it for crying out loud!" He then walked into the bathroom and pulled his pants down to his ankles to take a piss. "My name is Darryl...the real Silver!"

Geno struggled through his classes and sat outside most days, not wanting to go back to his room. So far his room mate had stolen half of his possessions, masturbated while he was in bed and started playing Garbage really loud. He squinted at his book in the sun when it was suddenly blocked out by a shadow. "Come with me." Geno followed Darryl, worried that the huge asshole would give him a double whammy if he made him mad.

"Where are we going?" the nasally whine of Geno echoed through the alleys. "What I am about to tell you is top secret, I am going to join a secret gay mafia that runs the college and I need you to be my backup in case dogshit hits the fan." Geno nodded as Darryl handed him a piece. A piece of a knife! He winked at him and pulled him through a door.

"Do you accept the gay mafia into your life?" said the gay don of Canada. He placed a wafer onto Darryls forehead and poured wine into his mouth. The service went on for hours, with many oaths sworn and rituals taken place. Two mafioso held up a picture of the Virgin Mary and Darryl had to wipe his cock on her face. Finally it was done. "Salut" said the Don and raised a glass. All the gay mafioso laughed and slapped Darryl on the back while Geno stood in the corner. A large mafioso walked up to him and smiled. "You ever give a fat man a blowjob?" Geno screamed and slashed at his face with the knife, slicing open both his eyeballs. He ran wildly around, slashing at the homosexuals before one plugged him in the back with a machine-gun.

He thrashed around on the floor as they dragged him to the park. "Why did you do it you dumb shit?" said Darryl carrying a shovel. "Here should do." said the Don. The gay mafia started to dig a grave and threw Geno into it. "So long sucker!" screamed Darryl, bring the shovel down on his face. Geno felt his cheek shatter and splinters of bone stab through his eye. He screamed emptily as dirty was thrown onto him. After a few minutes he lay there, buried and squirming in agony. "You did good today Darryl, you showed true grit. I think you have what it takes to be a made man." whispered the Don through his cotton-balls. "Really?!" "Yes. Now suck my dick, swell guy." And the gay mafia rode off into the harsh wastelands of Canada, planning there next daring heist against the law abiding citizens of the world.