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Creative Writing A place for forum members to post their poetry, short stories and other creative writing.

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Old 04-22-14, 12:17 AM
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Explicit Content Warning. Like, Seriously, Dude. Not Even Funny

I don't know why I'm doing it. Another pint of diarrhoea, this time strangely sensible. I don't think I planned for it to make any sense...

Numerable deadmen walk along the shores of Eternity, and Eternity hates them. Despicable mongrel cabbage-men vomit their slime out of thousands of mouths covering their rotting bodies. Eternity has had enough. Genocide is long due. Genocide smiles with delight imagining the billions-worth carnage awaiting her soulless touch, growing and throbbing with ecstasy as her slimy body threatens to burst through her tightened skin. When Eternity sheds his skin and becomes Genocide, the stars shift, water becomes fire and metal becomes slime-infested maggotbirds from terrible dimensions beyond the universe's edge. In those dimensions Man is happy, peace reigns supreme, and little children have never heard of paedophiles, yet the moment a being of those realms enters our universe, it becomes a creature of ooze and rot, incompatible with our air, poisonous to this universe's molecular structure.

Shores of infinity enlarge pickpockets of threatening dullness, and we can but expire with delight at the sight of his humongous endowments, protruding in all directions, smiling with their little mouths, unraveling ginormous teeth, for the interiors of their mouths exist in a parallel reality. It is a sad truth that those benign creatures of mass death and gross destruction are left misunderstood, scorned, ridiculed by our aspiring middle-class. However, now at last they will have their say in the History of this world.

Kids are the future of genocide, carrying the torch of hate and violence to the next millennium, making their parents proud to no end. Their brains tapeworms, drinking up life force and giving nothing back, oozing faecal matter that pours out of all of their orifices, which they have in their hundreds of thousands. Cabbage-headed men mate with crab-handed women and bug-bodied third-sex people of BeetlecrapMZ49, producing a Massa Race of unprecedented beauty and valour, sure to conquer the entire galaxy and some more, spreading delightful death wherever they put their slimy feet, their death-cult, oh their beauteous death-cult, so refreshingly ghastly and morbidly delicious, genocidally romantic and utterly morally justified it will unite the universe in eternal, unanimous ecstasy of bloodshed and torture. So I have been told by those old, and wise, and learned in the scriptures of pain, and so it shall come to pass. Amen.
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Old 05-05-14, 02:37 PM
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Re: Explicit Content Warning. Like, Seriously, Dude. Not Even Funny

Yo, yo, my main man Cocaine is back in town giving autographs to all you players, even if you are player haters. Come and see his ginormously endowed belly buttons with their crispy tentacles, rotating jerkily. He keeps it real, brothers, fighting for emancipation for all Alpha-Centaurians on this here planet earth, fighting for our Cthulhu given right to eat humanoid aliens and mate with their sisters to produce semi-intelligent offspring that would drive our rickshaws so our fat *sses won't need to walk around on their 312 tiny little leglets, carrying around our 17 bodies and one and a half heads on a golden plate.

Liquor stores -- more, bigger and better -- are our other demand, so we can inject our eyebrows with all sorts of cocktails to prevent them from revolting and taking over our primary brains. A we all know, yet I will tell you anyway for the benefit of the voyeurs reading this in another universe, all our secondary brains have been derived from serial killers, and require constant supervision by a central processing unit in order to sabotage their constant attempts to summon the Elder Beings from the Bumsex Dimension, who will cause havoc in our world with their betentacled semi-real floating bodies built for interstellar travel at hyper-lightspeed, each as big as four average suns multiplied by 17\16.

Have faith in Cocaine our Lord and Saviour, who has returned from far away Bumtickle16FX, where he studied for centuries the secret techniques of zen drug trafficking under the tutelage of the famed Sodomite monks. He is strong and shrewd, he is vast and lewd, and he is always high on ludes, so that he can receive the sweet light of the Elder Gods in its most unadulterated form, straight from the depths of Helsinki. Amen.
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Old 07-03-14, 10:58 PM
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Re: Explicit Content Warning. Like, Seriously, Dude. Not Even Funny

"Tell me, Jeremy, what is the extent of your corruption?" I asked and stabbed him in the sphincter with a rusty pen.

"In the ancient days, in Golgotha," he said dreamily, caressing his chin gently, lovingly, "I fought the forces of good with great gusto. The stars would realign to form my name in ancient, otherworldly letters when I butchered holy men on the cursed mountain. The inhuman Roman overlords had ordained me as the Priest of Rot, a title that had been held in great esteem on the twin planets of the Romans.

The holy mountain was inundated with blood at the end of our battle, as beautiful as a ruby, and I stood triumphant on it's peak, the crooked crosses looming all around me. The unimaginable forces called upon during the fight tore apart the fabric of reality and sewed it anew in a bizarro fashion, so that things looked immeasurably huge that were far away, and so small as to be almost invisible that were right in front of you. All sense of coherent geometry was lost, and the forms, jumbled and blurry and restless, offended the very core of anyone's soul but the most degenerate heathens and ghouls. The very soil was poisoned: it seemed to close on you as if you were inside a great sphere of becrossed landscape, a self-contained world of execution that allowed a free pass inside – invisible from afar, where the mountain seemed just as usual."

By that time I had already sliced his right leg into many a thin slice with a rusty ceremonial knife, and had broken four of his fingers with my little hammer – three on his left hand, and one on the right. Sweat had been journeying down his face and dripping constantly onto his shirt, indistinct on it as the shirt was drenched in sweat all over. He was trembling slightly, and his face was contorted into a quiet expression of pain. His voice, yet, remained calm and calculated throughout, as that of a storyteller retelling a popular tale.

Last edited by Baal Moom; 07-03-14 at 11:14 PM..
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