|
ing mistake and are forced into a series of humorous and/or otherwise uncomfortable scenarios that always seem to conclude and segway through extremely mundane doorways and/or plot devices. Best Regards, RG
|
#
?
Oct 27, 2014 01:54
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 19, 2024 11:05 |
|
|
RichardGamingo posted:ing mistake and are forced into a series of humorous and/or otherwise uncomfortable scenarios that always seem to conclude and segway through extremely mundane doorways and/or plot devices. The Quintessence of Chivalry 1000 words  sebmojo fucked around with this message at 22:53 on Oct 28, 2014 |
|
#
?
Oct 28, 2014 22:50
|
|
|
RichardGamingo posted:ing mistake and are forced into a series of humorous and/or otherwise uncomfortable scenarios that always seem to conclude and segway through extremely mundane doorways and/or plot devices. So... Mr Bean fanfic?
|
|
#
?
Oct 28, 2014 23:12
|
|
|
You think you are a genius writer, but you make a terrible writer
|
|
#
?
Oct 29, 2014 01:11
|
|
|
oh i see, it's like thunderdome but you didn't have to win you just made a prompt. cool, why didn't i think of this Spy Story i don't know how many words because i wrote it in the browser window. I am a genius spy, because i do smart things. Like once i had a gun and i shot a bad guy, but turns out that it wasn't the bad guy, but my own twin brother. OR SO WE THOUGHT. the queen thinks i'm not a very good at my job though. in a movie about my life, the queen would be played by dame judy dench, and i would be played by albert einsteen. one mission in particular is standing out to me right now, about my life as a spy. Panama, the year 2000: American forces are stationed on the aircraft carrier the uss barak obama. they are going to invade the island nation, but they are inspecting fierce resistence. "Captain, you have a lot of medals, but you don't know JACK loving poo poo about this invasion," chortles my twin brother, who is an american (but i'm not), and is also stationed on the boat. "if you lead us into this battle, we will all be kilt." "Soldier boy, that is a disobient order! I will see you in the brig. in 10 minutes though." The army police dragged off the twin brother of the main character, and they put him in boat jail. But it turns out (and other people dind't know) that he was also a spy in the united kingdom army. so really we aren't that difference, me and my brother. So he escapes out the round hole window that the army boat jail warden forgot to close, and it's a real tight squeeze, so his secret watch with the transponder falls off and he swims to shore. when he gets to shore he's met by his assitent, mrs. dollateetz, a black prostitue/american spy. "Oh agent holstein, if that is your real name. it's not, my name is Dick Trapy. he said. "ok agent trapy, what can we do now? surely the ivasion will go forth like a blight onto this tropical paradisal island, where the unsuspecting locals will bear the fruit of the military's labor." Don't worry, I have a plan," says my brother, Dick Trapy. He takes off his shoephone and givesm e a call, but he has to dial the country code, because I am still in england. "mitch, it's your brother dick." "My own brother? I thought you were killed." "No, i am deep undercover. there is a problem with the american invasion. it is necessary, but bad. but we are afraid that if we do not stop it, there will be too much bloodshed. oh, we is me and miss. dollerstits." "oh yeah i know here." "cool." "can you help?" "Yes, I'll be there soon." I hijacks a russion submarine, and sail to paname under the flag of a neutral nation. I take the little lift raft boat from my sub to the beach, where my twin bother has started an undercover beach bar with very reasonable drink prices. "Give me one rum please, but no umbrellas. i can take a little rain." I wink, and my brother recognizes it's me from the password we envented when we were child. we hug ferociously. He points out to the boat on the shore. "that's wher ethe americans are going to launch their invasion." I look around to see many panamanians camoflauged and hiding in trees with guns. "Oh no, it will be a slaughter." That's when I notice the little girl wandering on the beach. she is wearing a dress and is innocent, and I get a little teary in my eyes thinking about how innocent she looks. i would not like to see her get kilt. but i chock back my sadness because i am a spy, and i must present a unified front against terror. "We must kill the panamanian leader before the american army launches their battle attack," i said. right, brother. he says. we get the secret guns out from under the bar and sneak through the jungle to the presients house. "lets split up. if you find the president, make a bird sound." "ok twin brother." and my twin brother took his american pristitute assistant and went to find the president of panama, and i knew she would watch out for him. I snuck up behind a guard and broke his neck with a flip of my wrist. "You hav ea sore neck, now." I kept doing this, hiding and sneaking and taking out the enemies quietly until I got to the presidental oval office." I kicked down the door, and who should i see sitting in the seat than my own twin brother. "It seems you have discoveredmy secret," he says. "I knew you were too good to get kilt by my guards." "then why did you have those bad guards" "I hoped they would make you feel overconfident for our final fight." We kungfued, and my brother kicked my gun away and it skidded across the floor all twirly and stopped by a fountain. "I have been tired of getting treated like a nobody, when all i do is protect my country." "Brother, this is not the way," I said. "you know we don't do this for the money, but for th elove of england." "I piss on englands and the queen's grave." I do a double take at this thinly vieled threat. "You wouldn't." He pulls the blanket off of a missile launcher. "The new north korean missiles can shoot from panama to our home of england. and that's where the queen is RIGHT NOW" I drive for my gun and land on my belly. I snatch it up and spin onto my back. "die you turkey." I shoot at him and my brother gets hit in the head with a bullet. mrs. tittybucks jumps for joy. "you've freed me! I will be yours now." When i get back to england, news of what i did spread sthrough the secret circles of espionoge and dragnets. But the queen can never know my secret. because i'm a secret agent. she looks at me. "bellboy mitch trapy, you are the worst bellboy." "yes my queen, i say, knowing that once again some day, i will have to save her life. and she will neve rknow. genius.
|
|
#
?
Oct 29, 2014 05:52
|
|
|
This is one of your better works! Bravo! 7/6
|
|
#
?
Oct 29, 2014 14:50
|
|
|
The man who didn't know very many things at all because who he was dumb. did you catch the Hitchcock reference I'm so clever so there was like, this spy. He road a segue all the places and went VROOM with his mouth and everybody said "what a dumb and bad spy this man is", so the Russians shot him and killed him for trying to infiltrate the Kremlim while rising on his segue. then he came back as a ghost and shouted "BOOOOOO" and all the Russians died of fright and Ukraine said "hooray" and Vladimir Putin said "oh no, I am dead!" but then Vladimir Putin came back as a ghost also, and the dumb spy had to fight Vladimir Putin the the ghost world. They hit each other with their hands because you cannot kill a ghost with bullets. Mr Ghost Putin summoned a ghost bear! Oh no! But The dumb spy ran Mr. Putin over on his segue.
|
|
#
?
Oct 30, 2014 02:40
|
|
|
Aye, Spy I was the world's greatest spy,, that is until I got caught at spying. "So," said Baron Guff, "the world's greatest spy is now at my mercy. What fortune! What serendipitous happenstance!" I struggled against my bonds to show my displeasure with the rpesent circumstances. My head was bleary from the chloroform. How had it come to this? I reflected on my previous, terrible spy mistake. It'd been a routine job: The Head Spying Office had narrowed Baron Guff's possible nuclear launch passwords down to one of the menu options at THAI FUSION SPICE pan-Asian cuisine. I'd strode in, well disguised in boat shoes and a transparent plastic visor. I'd come up behind the Baron, resplendent in his smoking jacket and loafers, just in time to miss the first part of his order. "Extra spicy," he was saying to the bored-looking cashier. I was behind him, but I could tell he'd winked at the cashier from how he tilted his head in a sort of exaggerated conspiratorial way Then he'd gone to wait in his usual booth. Thinking quickly, I stepped up to the register and said, "by golly I'll have what he had!" which, I thought the cashier would accept this, as the Baron was in loafers, and I was in boat shoes, and shoes of a feather have a tendency to flock together with regards to pan Asian fusion takeout food. I'd taken a seat where I could keep an eye on old Guff and his classy shoes. My plan was flawless: I would get the Baron's order off of my own receipt, and with it, the password to his missile silos. I hadn't counted on the fact that the cashier was in cahoots with him! The Baron received his order in a white takeout plastic bag, but curiously, he'd unwrapped it right there at the table. I thought I saw him glance my way as he used a fork to convey rice into his mouth. I pretended to casually inspect my boat shoes. Inevitably my meal arrived, also packaged in takeout regalia. I, too, tore off the plastic white takeout bag. I gingerly picked up a fork--I typically eat my Asian food with Chop Sticks--and took a hardy bite of the extra hot General Tsao's Gyoza and Rice--Extra Spicy. I had the code at last! But if I aroused Guff's suspicions, he'd certainly change the password to the nukes. The Baron took another bite. I took another bite. The Baron took another bite. I took another bite. Guff took another bite. I followed his lead and took yet another bite. His eyes flickering slightly my way, Guff took even further bites, so that I could barely keep up with his mastication. I began to feel a certain sense of urgency in my clandestine regions. A few minutes and more than a few bites later, I succumbed, and bolted for the men's room. Safely in the stall, I forcefully emptied one end of my body while gently filling the other end with Pepto Bismal. Pan-Asian Fusion had always sat well in my body; perhaps it was because I ate It with a fork this time, though, that my bowels were in such disagreement with the cuisine. Minutes later I had finished relieving myself, and went to the sink to wash my hands. Just as I was dispensing the soap in a lathery cloud onto my fingers, I felt a thick arm reach around and press a damp piece of cloth over my nose and mouth. ...Which brings me, or should I say brought me, to my present, or should I say past-tense-present, situation wherein I found myself bound to a chair, the aforementioned chair bolted to the floor. "So," said Baron Guff, "the world's greatest spy is now at my mercy. What fortune! What serendipitous happenstance!" "Mrrrmmhrmph," I said through the gag over my mouth. "No, Mr. Spy. I intend for you to die," explained Baron Guff. "Norph," I insisted. "Iavtopoo," I annunciated as best as I could. Guff chuckled. "Did you honestly think that the password to my hidden nuclear silos was the same as the order I place every day with a takeout restaurant? Bah! The staff are all my people. We new you were watching us, Mr. Spy. You and your...pathetic...Head Spying Office." "ohrgard," I said as the rest of General Tsao's Extra Spicy Gyoza had its way with my lower digestive track. "No. No, you've been the mouse in my cat game for some time. The takeout restaurant was simply a way to force your hand. A honeypot, if you will." A thing about spies with my organization is that we are each encoded with a Hulk Out phrase. The Head Spy Office aggregates a running catalog of words and phrases that are uncommon amongst the masses, but likely to be used by a nuclearly capable super villains. My Hulk-out phrase was honeypot. I burst out of my restraints with the brrraaaaap! of ripping duct tape, and lunged for the Baron. I would take the code by force if I had to! The whole world hung in the balance! I wrapped in him a muscley bear hug and growled, "give me the password. Now." Baron Guff laughed and burst into a cloud of bats, which flew into a nearby air duct. "To be continued," I groweled, shrinking back to my mundane form. Worst of all, my boat shoes were toast. Sitting Here fucked around with this message at 05:04 on Oct 30, 2014 |
|
#
?
Oct 30, 2014 04:57
|
|
|
Rupert Tambly-Goggins, spy extraordinaire, puttered into the White House Situation Room on his Segway with the insouciance of a man who had the quality of being insouciant; lack of care or concern; indifference. "My name is Rupert Tambly-Goggins, spy extraordinaire" he ejaculated. His voice was husky, like an ear of corn, and he had chiseled good looks that were beyond description: a Mediterranean complexion, cornflower blue eyes that were perhaps just a few centimeters too close together, and dark brown mid-length hair (stopping below the ear, but above the neck), as well as a romanesque nose. Everyone in the room nodded and saluted. Only one question remained: was he a bad enough dude to save the president? A man in a black suit and completely unnecessary shades given that they were in a well-lit room in the middle of the day cleared his throat. "We think the president is in a heavily fortified bunker on the coast of Beirut" he said. "Air force intelligence suggests we're dealing with at least 30 combatants, all armed and highly trained. We want to drop you deep behind enemy lines via a high altitude low opening parachute jump, where you will secure weapons and additional intel on-site. We can't provide any backup. They say your the best, Rupert Tambly-Goggins. And right now we need the best." "gently caress that' said Rupert Tambly-Goggins, huskily.
|
|
#
?
Oct 30, 2014 06:19
|
|
|
"I'm going to become a master spy. The next James Bond!" said Black Jesus. One of his followers raised his hand and spoke. "Black Jesus, er'one know who you are!" Black Jesus turned him into a turnip. "Anyone else wanna give the Son of Man some sass?" Everyone shook their head. And that's how prayer came about.
|
|
#
?
Oct 30, 2014 16:54
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 19, 2024 11:05 |
|
|
Incredibly Subtle "...and that, gentlemen, is why the European economy will shift favorably for us in the coming months. Any questions?" The lecture hall was vast, too vast for the small group of well-dressed men and women, and the Joaquin Tourtelle's deep, pleasant voice seemed to boom like the voice of God Himself. The others occasionally raised hands and challenged his points, but the lecturer had an answer for every question, smoothly addressing every query in detail. Even though I was sent to kill this man, I found myself nodding along with what he had to say: he was just that good. "Mr. Tourtelle," said an older woman in a smart blue suit, her soft accent marking her as German, "you have more than assured us of the surety of our investment, but what of the authorities? What contingencies do you have in mind should any of us come under scrutiny?" Joaquin merely smiled. "When I told you I would put your money to good use, I meant it. Do you know how criminally underpaid their inspectors are? They have families to feed, children to educate, houses and cars to buy -- and I am a kind man with generous friends. Dangerous friends as well, should generosity fail. Beyond that I would rather not say; discretion is key, you understand." Another man got to his feet, and judging from the severity of his attire and the harshness of his expression I could see this was a man who brooked no foolishness. "You promised us absolute control of the Europe's gold market, Tourtelle. That seems-" With a raised hand, Joaquin signaled for silence. "It seems we have a mole in our midst." He turned toward me and frowned, his lined, worn features wrinkling further with the action. I had hoped to carry out my mission stealthily, to make Joaquin Tourtelle's death look accidental, but God had other plans for me today. "MOTHERFUCKER, I'M A BEAR!" I roared as I leapt from my seat, sharp black claws sinking into Joaquin's parchment-like skin. My ferocious teeth tore out his jugular with ease, and I tasted the coppery tang of blood while he futilely pushed at my enormous furry bulk. "WHICH ONE OF YOU FUCKERS INVITED THE BEAR?" I heard someone scream. "SERIOUSLY, WHO EVEN DOES THAT?" "I invited myself," I replied as I released the twitching corpse of Joaquin Tourtelle to the ground. I ambled out of the hall on all fours, yawning. While I had failed in my secondary objective, Joaquin Tourtelle still lay dead, and the European economy was saved from his further meddling. My superiors would reward me well with honeycombs, nuts, and berries, and the thought made my stomach rumble even as I crawled into my Ferrari. "Jet mode, activate," I rumbled, and the car sprouted wings. With a twist of the key, I took off into the sunset. I am a bear, and for the most, I am incredibly subtle.
|
|
#
?
Dec 15, 2014 19:13
|
|
