The writing game

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The writing game

Postby cheeps » Fri May 13, 2016 8:39 pm

In this game you can write anything you want, three little paragraphs of nonsense is all it takes...
Here are the rules...
1. Your beginning must pick up (in some small way), where the previous writers stuff ended....even if it's just names used.
2. You must not write more than 300 words which is about what I wrote, each line is about 25 words if that helps.
3. The content can be about anything except derogatory shit about SS members.
4. You must wait for someone else to post before you can go again.
5. You do not copy and paste....you just post your contribution.

Ok....here's the start....

Well, me and my boy was busy at the strip club waiting on the boss. He said he'd only be gone a few minutes but we looked at each other in 15...some shit just don't feel right...ya dig? I sent shorty to get a sammich across the street at the happy belly deli ....sure nuff, a shadow went after his dumb self. Now....I can sniff shit goin down like a dog sniffs ass but my act was cool. I went to the door of the club and snapped my fingers. "Hey YO muthafucker....tell mr flash we need to be gone from up in here!"

I shifted my feet and spun to the right. He wilted, dude had real wide blue eyes...I give him that. Shorty's dead ass come streaking up....he's fast for a little white dude....(think spider without the red suit). Shorty called it like the Drs do....so it really WAS time to sprint.

Mr flash, his voice....from the front seat, "looks like y'all boys need a ride outta here!" Now I hate it when he sneaks around like that. Motherfucker was laughing when we dove to the floorboards....
10 yrs on methadone
Meth free 10/08
Back surgery 5/12/14
Knee surgery 9/19/14
Oxy free 12/06/14
2017 taper in progress
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Re: The writing game

Postby My_Distraction » Sat May 14, 2016 1:02 am

“You’re seriously slippin Shorty” I grumble while flinging pickles out the window.

“FUCK it! Here bitch, eat something for once.” I tossed my sammich at this hooker Flash had up on the bench seat.

“Since when you know me to eat pickles bro? You know you can’t get rid of that flavor!”

Shorty shrieks “You seriously talkin pickles right now?” as Candy chimes in “I lawke picklesss. You shooda lef dem on here.”

“HELL NO!” I protest “Stop the fuckin car, MAN!”

I jump out and rip the passenger door open and fling the hoe to the pavement, just like one of them pickles. I reclaim MY seat and shout out the window “You don’t talk with food in your mouth.”
And just as Flash was peeling outta there, I considered tossing a bill or two out the window for her time… but hey, I already fed that bitch and got nothing out of the deal!
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Re: The writing game

Postby cheeps » Sat May 14, 2016 1:23 am

Shorty was still apoplectic....he'd always watch dem hospital shows and get real upset when dem fuckers would die. I slid some leftover pickles in my pocket for later.

Mr flash had the radio on wide ass open, he crooned along with Barry white most of our days but today his sneaky ass sounded like smokey. He ignored the spittle shorty shot out in his tirade. Hell chillins....it was his fault we was driving out to the desert! Him being the boss and all was ok by me but we dint ever get no sleep, no money either.

A gas station materialized in the heat. It looked like 50 gas stations until you got up close...then...it looked empty as fuck and I got the shivers, a piece rolling down my nose.
10 yrs on methadone
Meth free 10/08
Back surgery 5/12/14
Knee surgery 9/19/14
Oxy free 12/06/14
2017 taper in progress
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Re: The writing game

Postby syd » Sun May 15, 2016 10:01 pm

All eyes in the car were fixated on the gas station. Mr. Flash was singing softly to Smokey, as we pulled in. A figure moved quickly across the window and disappeared. Mr. Flash, stopped singing right in the middle of Tears of A Clown. Well, well, he remarked as he gave us one of them real slow smiles that we instinctively understood.
As we started walking towards the door, a crow appeared out of nowhere. He kept hopping in front of us and stopping as if to keep us from entering the store. Did that damned bird know we were up to no good? Animals are funny and I dont like 'em one bit. We opened the door and entered to scope the place out. No sign of the man we saw thru the window. An old Uriah Heep song, The Magician's Birthday was playing softly on the sound system. The crow followed us in, but disappeared once we were inside. A voice from the backroom yelled, "Be with you in a minute".

I reckon this was the fucking Walmart of the Sonoran desert, cos this place had a little bit of everything...including a dimly lit bar off in the corner. You can guess where we headed. Behind the bar stepped a gentleman, quite small in stature, with piercing black eyes and an infectious smile. Since we figured we wernt gonna be payin anyway, we ordered 4 bottles of Del Maguey Tobala. We made small talk with the owner as the shots of mezcal, slid smoothly down our throats.

Turns out, the owner, whose name was Carlos, was a very entertaining storyteller. We're getting wasted, listening to Carlos tall tales, when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. There are 2 men sitting at a table, looking our way. It was so dark, I couldnt make out their faces, except that they both had white hair. Now we didnt see no other cars and the presence of these men might throw a monkey wrench in our plans. Shorty whispered to me, he was gonna go check em out. Next thing I know, we are pulling up a chair at their table. One was an old Indian, the other of European descent. The European fellow introduced himself as Sasha Shulgin and his Indian friend as Juan Matus, but we could call him don. I'm trying to figure out what his trip is cos Juan never said one fucking word, the whole time. But that Sasha feller was talking a mile a minute and sweating like a pig.
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Re: The writing game

Postby cheeps » Sun May 15, 2016 11:01 pm

'Here's what that fucker Sasha had to say....

"A long time ago i found the don here lying in the gutter, i ain't never seen such a thing; he cried like a baby when I turned him over. He had holt of this teeny box...it was gold and had shiny stuff on it."

We all swung our eyes west and looked at the don. His white hair twind back with leather; he had that geronimo look. The sumbitche's eyes never blinked, not the whole time me n shorty try to stare him down.

The whole time sasha talked that damn crow didnt squak none....but everytime he shut up, it went to cawing. Now....I hate a fucking bird...they give me the damn heebie jebbies.. I slid a look to Mr Flash. We needed our asses out of here.

I eased my stool back, stood up and fell right damn south. The last words I heard were,....
10 yrs on methadone
Meth free 10/08
Back surgery 5/12/14
Knee surgery 9/19/14
Oxy free 12/06/14
2017 taper in progress
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Re: The writing game

Postby My_Distraction » Mon May 16, 2016 11:25 am

“Quick, get them pickles from his pocket!”

Now my head is poundin and the crust is keeping my eyes from opening all the way. I went to rub em but my hands were halted by what felt like handcuffs. I know that feeling all too well! DAMN.IT.
A few squints and blinks later, even with shit still all blurry, I see it on the headrest above me…and almost wiggle out of my damn skin trying to escape that nasty bird’s eye!

WTF!?! WTF!?! WTF!?!

It hurts too much to think clear as I try to assess what the hell is happening. Not that I can with this fucking Squawker freakin the fuck out. I’m gonna have Shorty pull each feather from that little prick, one by one, while he squawks away…then he’ll be a fine live dinner for Thrasher!

I guess the dumb ass bird signaled my wake, because next thing I know this .38 come flailing over the seat, headed for my face like a hammer. [Lights out.]
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Re: The writing game

Postby cheeps » Sun May 22, 2016 12:36 pm

When I woke up I saw Sasha's face with my one good eye. He looked thin, smoked, gnarly, yet wise. My buds weren't in the same room but I could hear mr flash with his loon like laughter. Shit ran thru my conscious but nothing seemed ready to focus on. A fly stood on my nose. My fingers clenched knots. My back hurt welts. And that shiny motherfucking coin stealer was on my shoulder. It did happen on me that the CNS signals I could feel poked along slowly, that's when I decided I was really fucked.

Where in the blue moon was Shorty? The goddamned bird shit on my sleeve and the green slime hung there like a snot glob. Sasha laughed while saying, "there's no experience of this complexity without instances of difficulty".

What the fuck does THAT mean? That evil crow raised his wings if to fly...but crapped out another puke green blob of shit.
10 yrs on methadone
Meth free 10/08
Back surgery 5/12/14
Knee surgery 9/19/14
Oxy free 12/06/14
2017 taper in progress
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Feel free to change this shit!

Postby cheeps » Wed Nov 16, 2016 12:50 pm

Winter has come to the great country of America. The election is over and the book is closed. We can now get back to the story of the Planet as we know it. But what might that be?

Once upon a time in the land of the lost, crows cawed and geese honked. Squirrels taunted small dogs and cats mapped out squirrel paths. Moles and voles got dug up and eaten. Too many mice and snakes hid in the field. Soybeans have yet to be picked and cotton is being sucked up as we write. Next week the mice will over run the barnyard looking for corn that's not there. They will ingest poison instead and become withered and leatherlike, just the right mass for a small dog to roll on. The snakes will retreat to dark, warm places and large turtles will hibernate in the deep cold ditches.

Standing on a concrete block in a smelly dog pen, barking at nothing, is a little white dog. She was named during the last presidential election after a potential VP. The moniker does not fit her except that she barks continuously. As she yaps she jumps up on her house. It is a struggle but she pulls it off without interruption. She's as white as Alaska snow and would look funny wearing spectacles. Since she'd chew them up, she remains myopic. Perhaps this is why she woofs even when she doesn't bark. Hard to tell what this dog is experiencing unless you have studied dog.

In the distance
10 yrs on methadone
Meth free 10/08
Back surgery 5/12/14
Knee surgery 9/19/14
Oxy free 12/06/14
2017 taper in progress
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