This is a forum where I'm just gonna put all the random stuff I write, including poems, Allergreen stories, standalone stories, and terrible puns. Basically whatever I feel like.

Worlds boiled in a crimson sky
Clouds only fleeting glimpses of the unseen
Skirting past, life flitters by
Barely revealing it's polished sheen

I stand beneath a moonlight sun
And raise my arms to the tarnished stars
As the bloods of their fathers run
And slowly fill their glassy scars

Kubong, kubong, kubong kuri
Whichever world shall I ever see
Kubong, kubong, kubong kuri
To kneel the sword, the end to me

Life is a roller coaster. You get on, usually against your will, having no clue what to expect. On the way up, stuff's pretty calm. You start seeing more and more, and then you reach the summit. You're looking down, not sure what's about to happen, yet knowing exactly what. Then it drops, and you're catapulted through loops, corkscrews, and maniacal hills. Sometimes you want to just end it, and get off, but they don't let you, and you stay. Sometimes you keep your eyes closed the whole way, and you don't even notice it's over. Sometimes you actually enjoy it, the feeling of flight and seeing everything around you. But sometimes it's cut off early, and you never get to see what happens next. And nobody likes that. But then again, sometimes you manage the whole thing, and get off, either hating the whole thing or loving it. And you watch as the people who took the flat one the whole way, and how unaffected they are. For them, it was completely mundane. They could only watch the other people. Some people enjoy this. Some don't. But they had a choice between the two, and it's their jurisdiction. Either way, you both end up in the same place.

“People are just obstacles blocking all the dinosaurs in the world” -me in response to my friend saying I need people skills

Hey! Can I write here too? Make it like, the Lunatic Papers?

sure! lol. the more lunatics the merrier. and the more deadly. dont have too many lunatics.

pandasrule4ever wrote:

Hey! Can I write here too? Make it like, the Lunatic Papers?

hm. this quote function is quite odd if i do say so myself.

One time i decided to fall off a bridge to test my body's durability. little did i know that Nick Cage also had the same idea. so here we are, about to jump off, when i notice hes standing there. im about to shout “hi” at him, when, out of nowhere, Darth Vader drop kicks him in the back, sending him hurdling down a thousand feet into the mouth of a giant Narnian salamander, who promptly spits him out, screaming that his mom's tooth hurts too much for actors to be wearing lederhosen. Mr. Cage got extremely triggered by this. so much so that he punched a hole through space and time to grab the lungs out of Michael Jackson's body. he died right then and there, leaving the human race in immortal agony. he was telling the Cerberus a joke, one that would have knocked his socks off, thereby freeing him from the imprisoning gardens of Buckingham Palace, and bringing an end to the imperious rule of Sir Tomblepop XXVIII, known then at the time as “Rambo the Bodacious”. but no! he was killed then and there, and no one has been able to figure out the rest of the joke. anyways, Nick Cage realized just what a horrible thing he had done, and stabbed his spleen with Michael Jackson's lung, piercing his book-constructed bulletproof vest with the infamous weapon. every single My Little Pony screamed in a perfect B flat, which, coupled with the toasting of the sacred rye bread, guarded for thousands of years by the mighty Communist Bacteria, summoned the Dark Lord. his name is too terrible to mention. but well mention it anyways. its syllables dared not be spoken by human tongue. in english, they are rendered as: Justin Bieber. the Dark Lord burst forth from the depths of pulp fiction, killing every single son and daughter of Leroy Jenkins, fallen king and savior of Pluto, the 5,379th state of the U.S. the arms were gathered. the beacons were lit. the cupcakes were decorated. war was coming. with all its glory, and all its ballistic pumpkins. the legions of Parrotheads marched in their formations, bearing the ghost of Snapchat as their flag. war chants sounded through all the universe as they blazed a warpath of bad puns, annihilating the cyborg dinosaurs once and for all. nothing could stop the psychedelic tide. not even a mighty blast of the Trumpet of Van Halen. all hope was lost.

and then, one day, a hero stepped forth from the void. he lifted his sword in the air and declared: “I. AM. SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS!!!” and charged headfirst guns blazing into the oncoming cloud of nyan cats and Aztec Memelords. the war raged for centuries. thousands upon thousands of innocent dwellers of the Fortress of Solitude were slain. the two armies never gave up. the more killed, the more ushered onto the battlefield. even at the fourth down, they stood fast and kept pushing. 3-pointers and hat tricks did not deter Michael Jordan and his Merry Men. in fact, with every point scored, they raved harder and harder, the dubstep remixes of Dora the Explorer, sung in the native tongue of the Australian people, performed onstage every Saturday at precisely 2:00 on Main Street, Tanzania. it was a magnificent spectacle to every onlooker. and then, as suddenly as it had started, the war ceased. the party raged for 9,000 years, 327 days, 8 months, 2 weeks, 5 days, 3 hours, 1 minute and 20 seconds, as they drank and merrily sang Wrecking Ball, which had recently found to have actually been written by Gandalf the Grey, of whom plagiarized it from the original cast of Power Rangers. however nobody cared because they were all assassinated by King Henry VIII in 1937, the year Optimus Prime lead the anchovies to victory against the Beanie Babies, who apparently stole the Stargate from him, but nobody really knew for sure. actually, thirteen years later it was discovered that it was Mewtwo who stole it, and sold it on the black market to Bernie Sanders for the small price of a million Rupees. now, i know what youre all thinking. with all this random stuff, where in the world does Keemstar come into play? well, im here to tell you he comes in right now. Keemstar is the sole catalyst for every event so far mentioned. he hired Darth Vader and Grover Cleveland to drop kick Nick Cage. that is, until he found out Grover Cleveland's been dead for 40 years, and that the random head he had hanging from his windowsill is in fact not Robocop's but Cleveland's. suddenly Keemstar saw that everything now made sense. the universe unfolded like a game of chess with your state's top player before him, revealing every way in which his butt had just been wooped and handed to him on a cadmium platter. the world was his burrito, and he was not willing to let some random guy break into his gas station to steal it, no matter how big that guy's crush on that lady was.

for many years, Keemstar lived happily. the four nations were at peace. and then… then… THEN… THEEEENNNNN… then some dude from Serbia shot the duke of wellington and started the Persian Gulf War. and this whole process repeats itself, starting with the secret clone army manufactured by B.L.I. and Aperture Science going insane and forcing every citizen of Thailand over the height of 6 feet and under the height of 4 inches to wear duck hats with spirogyra covering them to every prom they went to for the rest of your life. not their lives, your life.

oh dear. it appears my chupacabra skeleton is done choking Sans. i guess i should go clean that up now. now remember kids: the next time a creepy man in a giant SUV tries to give you uranium, dont take it. instead, take whatever else hes offering, because uranium is bad for your respiratory system, especially if you dont have asthma.

Starsaurus wrote:

sure! lol. the more lunatics the merrier. and the more deadly. dont have too many lunatics.

pandasrule4ever wrote:

Hey! Can I write here too? Make it like, the Lunatic Papers?

hm. this quote function is quite odd if i do say so myself.

Thank you! It's gonna look really odd when I post this… wait for it… wait for it.

that is quite odd lol

What If

What If every story is an interpretation of an event in another universe
What If whenever you walk through a door, you're going into another dimension that is alike in every way to ours
What If every single action is the cause of every action after it
What If time is just an illusion
What If you die tomorrow
What If this sentence is false
What If time travel is real, and the fact that it isnt is simply a product of a time travel mishap

The Man with the Silver Pipe

It was a stormy day, in the middle of April. i was hustling down the cobbled street, collar up, hand on my hat, umbrella and packages in the other, when i ran into the most peculiar fellow.

“Here,” he offered, bending down to pick up the boxes i dropped in the collision. his voice resembled something out of a gramophone, deep, brassy, and slightly vibrato. i looked up at him, taking note of his face.

he had a kindly visage, old, worn, having seen many things in his time, but also strong and resolute, as was the rest of his likeness. he was smoking on a silver pipe that matched his sterling mustache and swept hair. he smiled as he placed the packages back into my arms. i nodded, trying to resettle them with each one he stacked. i quickly thanked him, then started hurrying down on my way. but then i stopped, realizing that the man had no umbrella. i turned around, about to offer him my own, at least until he reached his destination, when i found that i was in fact alone on the street, and there wasnt another soul in sight for at least a hundred yards. i tried to spot the man's silver hair, but all i saw were the black hats and domed umbrellas.

when i got home, i set my packages down on the table and sat down, trying to figure out what had just occurred. there was something about the man that was very strange. i hadnt noticed him at all when walking, but then again, i dont notice anyone all that often. then, i realized, the man was completely dry, without a drop of rain on him. who on this Earth was he?

i set aside the thoughts of the man and turned over to the packages to examine them for any breaks, when something was reflecting the small electric light into my eyes. it was a small metal disk, very much like a coin, made of silver. it had some odd, indiscernible writing on it, with nothing very indicative on either face. for some time, i know not how long exactly, i sat there, staring at the strange object. finding that examination provided no more enlightenment, i set the coin down and gazed absently out the window on to the street, with the people walking by and the black automobiles chugging along. i was just about to get up and head to bed, when i noticed a figured standing on the other side of the street. it was the man with the silver pipe again, standing in the same black coat, hands in pockets, smiling at me. people rushed past him as if he wasnt there. nearly everyone besides him was carrying an umbrella, and even the ones who were appeared drenched. but he didnt. i glanced down at the coin, then up again, but the man was gone. nothing remained of him.

i never saw this man again in my life, and, after inquiring my neighbors, discovered that, no one else had either. i still have the silver coin, in a small glass box on my mantle. some days i stare up at it, puzzling over that queer man with the silver pipe.

A Note on the Previous

this was a story that was originally supposed to be a poem, but could never quite find the right rhythm or words. so i resorted to prose, my OTHER best friend. im not sure where the idea came from, to be perfectly honest.

If fate is real, then how can you deify it, how can deifying fate be your fate?
If someone from the future time traveled, and talked to their past self, wouldn't they already know how to time travel?
If I fell out of a tree when I was little, and died, is this all a dream I'm having as I die?
If aliens come to earth, and view us as ancient, imagine how embarrassing that'd be?
Just thoughts.

Everyone is always time traveling, at a fixed rate of 1 second per second.
(thats not actually an original thought but who cares)

So our technology hasn't advanced since the beginning of time? Wow. I'm disappointed in humans..

Some things to think about:

say tomorrow a visitor from another planet (avoiding the word alien here. think of how insulting that is to someone simply visiting) comes to Earth to check us out. now, before we get into the nitty-gritty of exobiological societies, lets just assume they have the same basic guiding principles as humans. now say they came here, and took a look at our current state. and think of what they would see, neer before knowing the human race, their first, most prevalent reaction. now say they landed. think of our reaction and their reaction.

Story “I am Epok”, draft one, part one

The wall blew out a song I barreled forward, unable to see, or, at least, unable to comprehend what I see. I kept charging forward, knocking down whatever was in my way, just trying to get out of this wretched place. They were shooting at me. I could feel their bullets hitting my skin. They were everywhere. Lights were everywhere. Sounds were everywhere. I had no clue what was going on. I could only scream and flail my massive arms around as I run as fast as my short legs could carry me. They formed walls of themselves, but I broke through easily. Then something's caught my leg and I fell, slamming into the ground. More bullets. Sirens screamed in my ears as I tumbled down, ever down, slamming into rocks and trees and everything. It all hurt. I couldn't see what was going on. I don't know what's happening. I…

I woke up half buried, hardly able to see. Where was I?

Food. I want food. Where is food. I want food.

I got up, stumbling forward. Food. I need food. Where is food.

I spotted a creature in the dark of the forest. Food. I need food. I put up my hand towards it, and a flash of light broke my vision. Food. Food. I need food, food food food. The creature fell. I stumbled towards it. When I finally reached it, I grabbed it with my large hands and pressed it towards my chest. Light came out of my body as the creature slowly started to disappear.

Ok this isn't working




Notes on what “I am Epok” is to be:

“I am Epok” is meant to be a futuristic version of the Frankenstein story, told from the view of Epok, the “monster”. Spoke was created by the Apex Corporation as a war machine. He is about 8 feet tall and and has very large arms, and short legs. His body is encased in a sort of climate-control suit, his head fitted inside a hemisphere of a helmet.

At the beginning, Epok is dazed and confused, having zero experience of the world and only capable of basic thoughts. As time progresses, he learns more, becomes smarter, eventually moving on from feral raids on stores and homes for food to hunting on his own and stealing only when necessary.

In the dark, morning
I rise out of bed, alone
Sleeping house, bare streets

No annoying sisters
I can do what I like now.
For a little while.

I am at peace here.
Sitting at my desk, online
No one to bug me.

I need this moment
To be alone, but not really.
Times like this are rare.

Yknow, they need to make a movie about aliens who come to Earth and are good, not bad. and i mean a serious movie, like Aliens/Predator/a good version of Outlander-type but the aliens are very smart and good, not bad, like people always show them to be. it would be really interesting. i think that might be what District 9 is about but i havent watched that yet so

Starsaurus wrote:

Yknow, they need to make a movie about aliens who come to Earth and are good, not bad. and i mean a serious movie, like Aliens/Predator/a good version of Outlander-type but the aliens are very smart and good, not bad, like people always show them to be. it would be really interesting. i think that might be what District 9 is about but i havent watched that yet so

Yes! Like they come to Earth and, seeing all of our problems like, hunger, war and poverty they work with us to solve them. I hope that actually happens someday.