Weird stories...

Hi new people. Well, I'm not from the Dark Tranquillity forum (I've posted maybe once there), but DT is an awesome band. Damage Done is one hell of a CD! Well, anyways, can you guys stay for tea?

We desperatly need to get this forum running again. Where the heck are Father Vic, Melancholia, and Rei Toi (sp?) at?
 
Theredintheskyisours said:
Where the heck are Father Vic, Melancholia, and Rei Toi (sp?) at?

aloha, i'm here :wave:
i'm sorry but i've been overwhelmed with life, work and whatnot, as of late, but i'll try to participate more actively in this forum, i promise :saint:

as for our beloved couple, i think they're simply busy with their everyday life and that they'll get back as soon as possible (ie. whenever they'll manage to find some time to turn the computer on :p )
 
Off-topic:


Is this the same Fathervic? Because there was a fan of Rotting Christ by the name of Father Vik who sent in a picture with Sakis Talis of Rotting Christ.

http://www.rotting-christ.com/pictures/misc/rcwacken3.jpg

Is it Fathervik!? The one on the right by the way.

Sort of back on-topic:

Life is one big shit sandwich (w/o the mayo). Each day, you take another bite. Some days you just cannot bear anymore, but in return, you just have to take another bite. Some days, the amount of shit taken in one bite will be greater than others, but rest assured, you'll always have to take at least a nibble a day.


Here's another story since I love breaking the rules, and I crave attention...badly.

This one day I was walking my dog outside. My dog did his doggy business and I decided to walk him around a little. My asshole neighbor told me that he would call the cops if he ever caught my dog in his yard again. So, I just decided to ignore him a little bit and walk away.

The next I took my dog out for a walk. This time, the old neighbor (who's also a Veternarian) carried with him a large stick. He then proceeded to chase after my dog and beat him with the stick. Well, seeing as though I had to help my dog, I tackled the old man and I knocked him out.

Then I paniced and thought for a second that I killed him. I checked his pulse and realised that he was still living.

So I grabbed the stick that was laying by his side, and beat him to death to finish the job. I then dragged his mangled corpse all the way into my house and layed him in the cellar.

I went back upstairs and grabbed the sharpest kitchen knife I could find. I went back downstairs realising I forgot to grab something. That something was a dress, make-up, and eyeliner.

Now that I have your imagination running at full-speed (or at least that was my goal), you can mentally try to fill in the rest of the story.

Isn't the human mind gruesome!?
 
Oh o.k.:cool:

Someones a hottie!

Anyways back to the stories:

I don't know if this stuff is allowed, but this is my attempt to write something random in script formation:

The characters are:

Me: Self-expanatory
Mom: My mother
Dad: geuss
priest: the drunken neghborhood Catholic Priest
Crackhead Chris: He's a crackhead. And he's pissed.
Bed Wetting Bill: Sometimes he drinks a little too much before bed
Asshole Andy: He's your local deausch (sp?). His sole goal in life is to piss everyone off.
Peter the Pedophile: The 60 year old man who has a thing for girls who are 10 times younger than he is. That would mean, he has a thing for 6 year olds. And t.v. dinners


Here we go:

I'm in my house online and my mom walks in on me.

Mom: I like tater tots.
Me: Uhhhhhh...I' not smoking weed mom, I promise.
Mom: I like beans with ketchup.
Me: Mom, I'm telling you the truth.
Mom: Say you got any of doe's biscuits and greavvay left?
Me: Mom, you know that I cannot live on my own!
Mom: *starts playing with a yo-yo*
Me: Fine, I hated living here anyways.

*opens the door and slams it behind him.*

Go to hell mom!

Mom: Good, now he's gone. Now I can get online and cheat on my husband!

*15 minutes later*
*dad walks in*

Dad: Whaaaa??? Hhhhhwhaaat in the hell are you doin'
Mom: *turns around in a frantic motion trying to cover up the monitor.*
I like tater tots.
Dad: What are you hiding behind that computer?
Mom: I want to go to haw-eye! Yaaaaayyyy!
Dad: Well, I can't be mad at your purdy face forever. I'm going to go grab a beer in the fridge.

*Dad walks downstairs to the fridge* *Mom breaths a sigh of relief and goes back to doing what she does best other than making the best Meat loaf you can find. And that is being a total whore.*

*She is online to who she thinks is a 18 year old male. Really, she is talking to our favorite felon; Peter the Pedophile!*

Mom: *starts typing in the following* Hey hot stuff! I missed you so much! ^____^lol! I've been so lonely these last couple of weeks. My boyfriend cheated on me and I've been needing someone to comfort me.
Peter: *Becomes all of a sudden alarmed. He types in the following.*May I ask how old you are?
Mom: *she flat out lies* I'm 16 years old; why how old are you? ^____^
Peter: *Lies as well* 17 here. *He really is a 300 pound 41 year old man who is going bald*
Mom: Oh yes! We already have something in common lolz! ^____^
Peter: Oh yes, yes we sure do! *turns away from the monitor; winks and laughs out loud*
Mom: So where do you live hot stuff?
Peter: Livonia, Michigan
Mom: Lolz!!!!! Really!?????????!!!!111!!?!?!?!?! ^_____^ That's where I live! No way!!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!11111!!!!!!11111111111111111111111111111111
Peter: Bitch learn how to type.
Mom: Lolz, sorrrrryyyyy!
Peter: That's o.k.
Mom: So hot stuff, how about we get together sometime!? I'm dieing for someone to hold me in their arms!
Peter: *horny as all hell now*Wow, really? My dad might get pissed if I leave my house, because I am grounded. I was caught with weed the other day.
Mom: Oh really? That's just too bad! I love a bad boy!
Peter: You know what? I can sneak out of my house; who am I kidding, I never follow my father's rules!
Mom: So where do you want to meet up at?
Peter: You know that McDonald's over on the intersection of Grashed and Pontiac Trail? There's a tool shed and a woodland area right next to it. There's also a little alley way out behind it. Do you know which one I am talking about?
Mom: Yes!!!!! I do!!!!1!! How about we meet at 10:00 P.M. tomorrow night!?
Peter: *starts giggling* Oh you know I'll be there!
Mom: See you then...baby! ^____^


*The next night in Peter's toolshed at 9:15 P.M.*

Peter: Hmmmmm....now what chemicals do I mix to create Chlorine Gas again? Shit, I knew I should've learned this before hand. Shit!

*10:00 P.M. arrives. A black pick-up truck enters McDonalds parking lot. In it is Peter himself cloaked in complete black.*

Peter: Now the time is ticking down for you girly girl. Oh god, this is going to feel so good!

*Mom arrives at McDonalds in her SUV*

Peter: *thinks to himself* Damn, I bet I can make a fortune off this girl!

Mom: *get's out of her SUV and walks up to Peter's car.*
Peter: Wait....what the fuck, she looks like she is my age! Oh what the fuck, this can't be her. She's got a nice rack though.
Mom: Hey, hot stuff, let me in!
Peter: *opens the window and shoots a dart into Mom's neck. She instantly falls to the floor, and Peter get's out and drags her into the back of his truck.*




To be continued: It's just too much typing for me.
 
Theredintheskyisours said:
Someones a hottie!

Yes, I am. :) Someone is making a serious effort to keep this board alive, and especially making up nice absurd stories. It says a great deal about our friend theredin, and very little about my politeness. I will be back with some stories in short time!!!!! I swear!!!!


|ng (Shaking his fist!!!)


P.S: I thought my pic in the Parque Guell was chupi, but now I find that smile a bit scary...
 
I've been thinking. It is a wonderful way to spend time on, when you are daydreaming, imagining yourself in situations where something interesting might occur, and making up the way you would behave. But there are other ways of thinking, and some of them are really vexing at times.

These times you can't stop thinking, it is that simple. It is like watching a TV program that you can't turn off. Ideas haunting you, and the most amazing thing is that you let them do it, creating a chain of interdependence which brings a head ache in no time. That usually happens when you are worried about something, and your mind can't stop getting back to the same subject over and over.

Now, I'm trying to kill time. What? No way, it is not a violation of any law whatsoever. Since when self-defense is considered as a crime? We would be labeled as serial-killers if so. Personally, I do think this is a priceless loss, but I can't help it, I'm at work but there's nothing to do at the moment, so I'm just waiting for something to come up. The sad thing is that when something actually comes up, we regret it finally does and give us a chance to leave our contemplative life. Strange human behavior patterns...

However, time killing is not always an easy thing to cope with. It is a high-level sport where only skillful people are good at, yet it depends on the resources available (i.e: it is way easier to make a slaughter with time when you can access to the internet, so I'm playing at the beginner level right now). If you think there is nothing to do when you're trapped at work, think about this: with all the time you've killed over the years, why don't you speak chinese and know how to drive a Boeing 747 by now?

We'll be back with more stuff... ...later on...


|ng.
 
Unfortunately, upon entering the drawing room, the mysterious stranger was still there, a bathtub on his arm and upon his brow a chair.
Returning to the parlour, they found the captain talking of his adventures whilst perplexedly smoking on a fondent. Taking his newspaper, he marched into the sea, never to be seen again.
His watch was attended by the butler, who upon inspecting its surface sung the ides of march before returning to Avalon to inherit his father's pistol.
While this was happening, Lord Bortol was discussing affairs with Lady Dutchington. However, on finding that the Lords moustache was not his own, in despair she flung herself from the parapet.
At 4:00, there was still no news from the wall, despite the last cannon having been fired.
All in all, a most perplexing turn of events.
 
Shaking his bones, he entered the room awkwardly, as if something would hunt him down and eat his guts until nothing would left lying on the floor. Everything seemed to be quiet, though, people working eyes fixed on their screens, hands writting furiously against the keyboard, in a fight that the latter had a great chance to lose. The sound that filled the room was static, nothing changed after entering, utterly ignoring him.

If all the clumsy situations in the universe would decide to have a big meeting, they surely would choose this precise moment and place to do it, or that was what Henry kept thinking all along the way. He arrived safely to the desk he was supposed to reach, and certain sense of half-relief knocked at the door of his chest, yet it was a shy knocking, timorous of something terrible opening the door and keeping it out in the cold.

Indeed, something beautifully terrible was expecting his relief to knock, basically to kick his butt out of his heart. A smiling and gorgeous woman was looking at him, awaiting for some sort of polite introduction on his behalf. So it was MrS Rodriguez who was leading that wing of the building, far away from the aged fifty man showing a moustache that he had formed in his mind. This meant trouble.

First thing that came up was silence, and silence is not a good sign when you are the one meant to start a conversation. It was not incontrovertibly bad, but your kindness is rapidly trapped in the sinking sand of doubt, and it is really tough to get out when a sucking ground is literally eating your reputation at the first eye contact.

She catched his uneasiness and tried to turn it into a real exchange of words that could lead them both to a flowered field of understanding and agreement, all by articulating a tender: "Hi, may I help you?". Unfortunately, this just made a big bunch of feelings knock simultaneously at the door of his heart, where only frightened relief was standing before. They all were claiming for endless love, otherwise every word would be kidnapped and killed, so no conversation would take place at all.

Victim of this sort of terrorism, Henry's hands moved forward to show what he was carrying, as another silent response to indicate that it was something to justify his presence, and refrain potential thoughts about him escaping from a psychiatric centre.

But before anything else ocurred, the phone rang, and when she took it, a metallic voice from the other side mumbled some words that he was unable to hear, due to the classic effect that takes place when your ear is not the one at the phone. Her face turned from her usual white-pink to pale grey in a matter of seconds.

"It is your self-confidence" .- she revealed - "He is asking why you abandoned him years ago. It is terrible what you did!!"

(To be continued)

|ng (The one at leisure after finishing with a meloncorp article)
 
O.k. so there's this guy from Montana right? So he goes to Idaho and says "Hey, your potatoes are lacking adequate efficiency." So the Idahoan looks confused and says something like "Kay?" And the Montanan says, "Oh you are one of "them"?" The Idahoan replies and says, "No senor, you are sadly mistaken, I am from Ireland. My brother, mother, and dog are all from Ireland and my dad was born here in Idaho."

So the Montanan becomes really confused and asks "If you are Irish, then how come you look and sound Mexican?"

"Oh that?" replies the Idahoan, "that's just because I have been practicing a play."

"A play about what?" says the Montanan.

"Stereotypes in America." replied the Idahoan.

"So that's why you suck at planting potatoes?"

"Exactly."
 
Hehe. Well, America has spoken and I don't want to offend those who voted for Bush, because it's their opinion, and one of our most important rights is the right to vote.

Although, in America that right is limited to basically two people, and Ralph Nader.


Wait, who the hell am I kidding? America is going to be Republican for the next 35 years. Our environment is absolutely screwed, and so is the rest of the world! Sorry Europeans. I hope you like McDonalds.


By the way, I am doing fine, how about you? Oh yeah, and I promised myself that I would never show my face online. Unless, it were a picture of me naked riding (no pun intended) a kiddie horsey scooter toy thing. Then, that's different.
 
@theredin: I'm a little bit american these days (which means that I'm screwed up a little, nothing that I can't manage to change at some point, either), and lacking of time to invest on this board. But I love this thread full of absurdiness absurd absurdity!!! :)


Because for something to fall, it has to be pulled down somehow. He knew it, so he was a representative image for the word "resignation", hung on that wall, doing nothing but breathing. Accepting one self is often related to accepting the conditions you live under, and he was living under a lot of conditions, actually, tones of them. It was like a big and thick wall plenty of others, hanging there at simple and plain leisure. Nothing had changed as far as his memory could reach, aside from the regular hurricane passing by every now and again.

Hurricanes were the every day meal over there. Nothing changed, though. Some of the people below him fell down, which led him to reckon about existential matters, you know, the usual stuff: what dwells beyond the line between life and death, what does it all mean, the classic sort of existentialism one could find in one of those how-to-live-a-fulfilling-life sort of book. But cosmical unanswered questions aside, his life might be rated as the most boring life in the world, no doubt. But he kept hanging there, unaltered, still and meaningless.

You can't do much when you're a little green thing hanging in someone's nose. Consequently, sucidal thoughts soak into your mind as water in a rainy day. The bad aspect of all this is how you can't commit suicide when you're hanging, because hanging yourself is ironically proven uneffective. He heard of people hanging there for years, and falling after their own self-counsciousness were long gone.

All of the sudden, something protruded into the cavity and took him out violently, so he felt exactly like unwanted shit in a shameless finger. However, his situation changed substantially just after being released, since he was mercilessly dragged over another wall. Tragic but predictable destiny for someone of his species...


|ng (Always talking rubbish...)
 
Oh I get your post! Your talking about how absolutism in England in the 17th were a precurser to the Bill of Rights being adopted in England in 1689 or whatever, right?


Anyways, here's my story (and I'm sticking to it by the way):


So I was talking to this girl on the phone the other day, right? And then her boyfriend gets on the phone and says, "Kid she's 54 years of age. You are way out of her league." I then cried and blamed it on god.


Or here's my more serious (not saying much) story:

It's nice to see that over 6 billion morons live on this earth. I mean kum on, they canknot spell, canknot think right, and fail to understand the true meening on the word to the Anglish. Stupid Canadians what will they think of next? Pastries that you can put in the bread toaster? Absurd.
 
I've heard someone begging for sense in his life. Sense back in his life, which implies that there was sense at some point in the past. Also implies that the sense is something one might find again, as far as there is nothing forbidding its return. So everything is reduced to the quest for that sense, vital yet undefined. This is just crap, I think we forget to involve our feelings in our rational thinking (rather irrational ramblings, as we see). What sense? Love can make sense out of a senseless life in a second, in fractions perhaps, and make it all turn from a scale of grey to colorful landscapes, no matter if there was any other change or not. So, what's the point in seeking for a rational planning of The Great Quest, when the quest unfolds and reveals itself all along the way? Do we have any power over this? Aside from the will of getting to the technicolor scene described above, of course, which is not an official requirement but an obvious insight advisable to bear in mind when living, right? You see, ramblings anyway, presumption of certainty, crap at the end.

Love is the shortest way to be happy, I'm sure about this. It is often compared with a state of drunkness (drunkness? Am I making the word up? Not sure...), with its due hangover after the love has gone, and the heartache replacing the headache as a physic symphtom of anxiety. Therefore, if the state of being drunk frees you from feeling cold (the proverbial state of grace it virtually provides), possibly love frees you from feeling pain (also virtually?). Okay, okay, this makes no much sense, but what the hell, comparisons are harmless up till now (right? no money for comparisons yet, yes?) and I'm way too bored to keep trying to fix this system anyway, so who cares?

However, I'm really eager to have a crush on someone, one of those where things fall into place by themselves and you just have to enjoy. The rollercoaster version of love: you sit, the thing sets up, and you simply feel it. I hate it when you sit and the engine is out of vacancy: your pretended counterpart thinks you're no longer inhabiting the universe, or tries to feed you throwing some peanuts in your direction because believes that you are a monkey. Maybe it is not so close to being drunk, after all, because you don't miss being drunk when sober, if you're not an alcoholic. But in a 99% chance you miss being in love when you're single. Maybe I am a monkey. Surely I am.


|ng. (Really busy in Lugo, as you can see)
 
Keys played violently, but deftly enough to make them sound completely structured, the sound floating around in a tapestry of melody. His hands ran all over the black and white pieces, touching them with precise pressure, making them sound either quick and brief or strong and maintained, like a pillar to keep up the music.

Knitting on a song with no name, the pianist plays for the same reasons he loves: he tries to experience, to feel.
 
Jeez |ng, it just struck me that your english has reached totally new levels, much higher than when i first knew you... :) And your writing is so nice.. It's really good to see you've improved so much over the years.
 
Thank you, sweetie, it's not that good (yet) anyway, but you're so nice. Thanks, I invite you to write your own absurd stories here, this is a place in need of absurdity. ;)


|ng.
 
This thread needs some more stories.
I'm sorry i didn't take your invitation all this time |ng, i would have loved to, but i have no inspiration. :/
Let's hope it comes soon, meanwhile someone should post.

*dances to the rhythm of "Under the Sea" from The Little Mermaid soundtrack while waiting*
 
@Siren: You should drop something yourself too, come on. It makes it harder when you're alone on the task of leaving the (daily? weekly? monthly?) dose of absurdity on your own, and no one plays along. A couple of lines, something that you think might be absurd and fun at the same time. I believe in you. :)


|ng.