Thread games is a terrible sub-forum, and I like the lot of you better.
Rules:
1. The writing style employed must be consistent (i.e. grandiose and well, rococo if you will).
2. No quick endings or stupid fucking edits (example: as he was walking OH SHIT I TRIPPED AND FELD AND DIED THE END). Death is a fine subject, but you better rock the shit out of it.
3. Don't spend any more than 10 minutes on a piece (other than that, there is no minimum and maximum; quality above quantity)
4. Yes, this is supposed to somewhat be the classiest "gayest/most terribly well written thing" you have ever read.
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The Lonely Homo by Reginald Wet-Genitals
Not cat or dog nor cute cricetinae could stop the tears that fulled my boudoir. Woe is me! I cried, beguiling all the rage and furry that was available to my peremptory effeminacy. My hand rested upon my lap, just as his hand used to after the wild nights we would share at the deciduous gardens in Ramsdale. Now, instead of my passions roaming freely amongst those stoic annuals, I sat here perturbed and desidiose!
The phone rang, and rang some more. Finally, with the biting loneliness feasting on my inner thighs, and picked up the tail end of my blower and heard those words: Reginald, this is Bertrand. Please be respectful and mail me my jockies; it's not quite right for them to be in your ownership, and I assure you that my forgetting them in your powder-room was merely happenstance. Now pl- I couldn't help but interject Why have you made this a moot point? I must talk with you, we mu-
I will hear none of this! You know what transpired, and I shall not speak of it again!
All at once he was gone, and I - the blathering wreck, felt accosted once again.
Rules:
1. The writing style employed must be consistent (i.e. grandiose and well, rococo if you will).
2. No quick endings or stupid fucking edits (example: as he was walking OH SHIT I TRIPPED AND FELD AND DIED THE END). Death is a fine subject, but you better rock the shit out of it.
3. Don't spend any more than 10 minutes on a piece (other than that, there is no minimum and maximum; quality above quantity)
4. Yes, this is supposed to somewhat be the classiest "gayest/most terribly well written thing" you have ever read.
-------------------------------------------------------------
The Lonely Homo by Reginald Wet-Genitals
Not cat or dog nor cute cricetinae could stop the tears that fulled my boudoir. Woe is me! I cried, beguiling all the rage and furry that was available to my peremptory effeminacy. My hand rested upon my lap, just as his hand used to after the wild nights we would share at the deciduous gardens in Ramsdale. Now, instead of my passions roaming freely amongst those stoic annuals, I sat here perturbed and desidiose!
The phone rang, and rang some more. Finally, with the biting loneliness feasting on my inner thighs, and picked up the tail end of my blower and heard those words: Reginald, this is Bertrand. Please be respectful and mail me my jockies; it's not quite right for them to be in your ownership, and I assure you that my forgetting them in your powder-room was merely happenstance. Now pl- I couldn't help but interject Why have you made this a moot point? I must talk with you, we mu-
I will hear none of this! You know what transpired, and I shall not speak of it again!
All at once he was gone, and I - the blathering wreck, felt accosted once again.