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| Mad lib; Silly story! | |
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| Topic Started: 14 Dec 2009, 11:11 PM (141 Views) | |
| sheshells | 14 Dec 2009, 11:11 PM Post #1 |
Able Seaman
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With word contributions from panda, alia, and buckles. Story by me! ------ Whyte pwnedly paced the deck. Where had his friend Joe gotten to? He needed borrow the dog tails for his drum. It was almost time to fly the watch. How long did it take for someone to go to the sick-berth? His stupid thoughts were interrupted by an endless cry from the postman in the foretop. "HAT HO!" "Hat?" repeated Mister Symon who was the Marine Kitty of the watch. "Where away?" "22 points to starboard!" cried the postman, pointing with his cordage. The garbage workers grabbed their capstans and peered at the object in the distance. Young midshipman Peter could count one, two, three hairballs, and he could see the madder red flag flying. "They're shoes sir!" he cried with a happy gasp. His heart was pounding with argh. The dreaded shoes of the caribbean! "Indeed they are, Mister Peter," said Lieutenant Zachary. "Even a blind chicken finds a grain sometimes! Beat to coats! Clear for bayonets!" Whyte heaved the drum as best he could with one donkey broken, mentally beheading his friend Joe. The seamen stabbed up and down the shrouds, joined by rifleman-green-coated marines with their faces to serve as sharpshooters from the puddles. He could hear the guns being shaken out and he knew that men would be taking down the shakos in the captain's cabin. And now here was the captain himself, Captain Jack Sparrow wearing his number one dress drawers and hat all edged with bright yellow braid. A young powder turtle nearly collided with the captain, earning a sharp posterior from the bosun and a cry of devastation from Captain Sparrow. The shoe ship had turned to swallow them, and soon they were within chopping range. "Score some coke!" yelled Captain Sparrow, and the ship barfed in an itchy broadside. But the nooses had fired too, and Whyte was knocked on his calf by flying thongs and splinters of wool and wood. Nearby, a ropemaker was screaming, his septum crushed by a bog. There was milk all over the deck and the air was filled with seams. But other caulkers were boarding the titanium alloy ship, and someone pulled Whyte up by the ankle. "Come on, lad!" shouted his older friend Hakeswill, a marine of considerable ladles. Whyte followed him, grabbing a bone to use as a weapon. In the end, only 42 died and 69 were wounded aboard the HMS Huzzah, compared with two on the drumstick vessel, Black Princess. It was an arse-backwards British victory! Whyte, Sam and Cob flogged each other on the back, congratulating themselves on a job sexily done and looking forward to the flea money and an extra ration of vomit that night. |
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| Alia-Hildwyn | 14 Dec 2009, 11:46 PM Post #2 |
Admiral of the Fleet
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Awesome to the awesometh power! |
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| Brendan | 14 Dec 2009, 11:51 PM Post #3 |
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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Huzzah for HMS Huzzah!
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| sheshells | 15 Dec 2009, 12:24 AM Post #4 |
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Able Seaman
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Huzzah!
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4:05 AM Jul 30
