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'It Was a Dark & Stormy Night' Bad Writing Contest- Try Writing One!
I can't believe I'm finally gonna break down and put Twitter on my phone, but such is my dedication to Trent that I absolutely must find out what Padraig is, uh, chirping, or twitting, or however you say it.
OK Ruby, this is your mission- and no, you can't refuse it. You're a Chief Inspector, time to earn your pay & your perks- It's up to you, use all your Casebook-honed detective skills and find out out what mysterious the Trent/Padraig/Trent Reznor connection is. Inquiring minds GOTTA know!
"Trent woke up and could immediately tell something was wrong. firstly his hand was attached to a torture machine and not a hungarian supermodel and secondly he hadnt been brought a cup of tea. Only coffee. And promises of certain death. He didn’t mind the death threats but the coffee was a bit much."
Like a couple of old boilers? Oh no, I understand - you mean you've had coals heaped upon you! I get it now...
Dave
Dave -I have one just word to say to you and that is peeowww the second is that I am certain that if Trent ever had the pleasure to meet Bunny and I, he would assuredly treat us both like 35,000euro mansions, or nice bookcases, and been had sex with us pronto without noticing that we were a couple of "old boilers"...because Trent is a just skrrrrkkk. So there.
And we will chopkick you if you suggest otherwise.
Dave -I have one just word to say to you and that is peeowww the second is that I am certain that if Trent ever had the pleasure to meet Bunny and I, he would assuredly treat us both like 35,000euro mansions, or nice bookcases, and been had sex with us pronto without noticing that we were a couple of "old boilers"...because Trent is a just skrrrrkkk. So there.
And we will chopkick you if you suggest otherwise.
In tandem.
Hi Ruby.
Should we treat Dave to our famous Synchronized Snapkicks?
OK Ruby, this is your mission- and no, you can't refuse it. You're a Chief Inspector, time to earn your pay & your perks- It's up to you, use all your Casebook-honed detective skills and find out out what mysterious the Trent/Padraig/Trent Reznor connection is. Inquiring minds GOTTA know!
...Ah...poetry...
Archaic
Archaic, you know this is a death sentence your inflicting on poor Ruby. Trent will kill before any connection can be made. I can can picture the scene, Ruby asks Trent "is that a gun in your pocket?".........next, before you can say "snap kick" Ruby will be lying face down on the carpet in a pool of undone bras and blood. And, Trent will care, not a jot!!!
.........next, before you can say "snap kick" Ruby will be lying face down on the carpet in a pool of undone bras and blood. And, Trent will care, not a jot!!!
Jason, ixnay!
Keep it under your hat... it's just part of my desperate plan to have Trent all for myself, capisce?
I'm more his type anyway
- Well, OK, so maybe I'm not a Hungarian supermodel... or even a secretary... hmmmm... will have to think my way around that seeming impediment...
Oh god I'm still in a state of ecstasy over (a) the prospect of being synchronistically modified by a chopkicking duo consisting Ruby and Archaic and (b) the concept of the undone bras scenario (two of them, or should that read four of them)...tremble....
"She stood on the edge of the precipice and thought « shall I, or shan’t I ? » On one hand all her family had just been killed, she was in huge debt, her husband was leaving her for a younger woman, and her home was about to be repossessed…but…but..the laundry basket was piled high, the dish washer needed to be stacked, and the stairs swept, and so, with a sudden insight into the importance of her life, she turned away and went home."
A shortishly tall, famously unknown, 28-year-old man in his early 40's turned up the astrakhan collar of his cutaway coat, straightened the brim of his wideawake sailor's top hat, before adopting the foreign appearance of a native-born Londoner and striding furtively into the mythical fog of future inaccuracy, determined that this night it would be a canonical rather than someone whose eligibility would be subject to endless debate by the mysterious anoraks of the future.
I'll try and do better - I mean worse - next time.
A shortishly tall, famously unknown, 28-year-old man in his early 40's turned up the astrakhan collar of his cutaway coat, straightened the brim of his wideawake sailor's top hat, before adopting the foreign appearance of a native-born Londoner and striding furtively into the mythical fog of future inaccuracy, determined that this night it would be a canonical rather than someone whose eligibility would be subject to endless debate by the mysterious anoraks of the future.
I'll try and do better - I mean worse - next time.
Regards, Bridewell.
Hi Bridewell. It's actually pretty good- I mean bad, but in a good way.
You covered quite a few bases, but I'm wondering if you can work in a line describing his "foreign" appearance, fair mustache, broad shoulders, and blotchy face?
A shortishly tall, famously unknown, 28-year-old man in his early 40's turned up the astrakhan collar of his cutaway coat, straightened the brim of his wideawake sailor's top hat, before adopting the foreign appearance of a native-born Londoner and striding furtively into the mythical fog of future inaccuracy, determined that this night it would be a canonical rather than someone whose eligibility would be subject to endless debate by the mysterious anoraks of the future.
I'll try and do better - I mean worse - next time.
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