speaking of horse penis, when my fiancée and I first started dating, no, wait, don't stop reading, it's probably not what you think!
anyway, we went camping just south of Ocean City, Maryland where there are wild horses all about. They generally leave you alone as long as you don't leave food around (we did not leave food around). We were sitting around the fire when a few horses sauntered up and decided that they wanted our camp fire. So we retreated to our tent because they couldn't be moved. we're chatting quietly and look over towards fire and notice that the fire is casting a shadow on the side of our tent. The shadow of a very excited horse dong. That shadow swayed back and fourth upon us for well over an hour until the fire died out and the horses left.
When the Toastmasters changed their mission statement to "The fear of public speaking will be removed from you, like it or not" interest in the club increased… for various reasons.
TURBOHDREMIX: Now compatible with 4k displays in that you can display it on a 4k display just like the old one.
2. !caption Ketar
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of laughter, it was the age of stone-faced silence, it was the epoch of good will, it was the epoch of hate, it was the season of comedy, it was the season of tragedy, it was a dream come true, it was the end of the line.
3. !Filler DRAW Disruptedcapitalist
4. !caption MrMonroe
To this day I have failed to comprehend the nature of his betrayal of the working kitty cat and his decision to side with the Humanist faction. We were together on the steps of the Catstille, for God's sake, rendering cream and nip to the poor souls who streamed mewling out of those black gates.
Though I know in my heart I was correct to give his name to the commission, my stomach still turns at the memory of how I bayed for his head with the rest of the crowd... my friend... alone in his last moments... who was the real traitor that day?
5. !draw Platy
6. !Caption Munkus Beaver
Come now oh muse! Sing to me the serenade! Bring forth the juices of creativity! The love of the word to the brush on the canvas are now yours! Sing to me oh boy of blue! Oh cruel bell of bee! Sing oh dead spark, oh languished beam of sudden light! Sing!
At the beginning, Charlaeu knew that things were not right. It was an early Primidi morning, the first of the Thermidor, and he felt the watchful eyes upon him. He tried to reason with himself, that surely his contraband literature would not attract the attention of the Gallant Corps, those members of the revolution who had taken it upon themselves to fully enact the will of Enlightenment. Charleau told himself there was nothing to fear, that this would all soon be over and he would be drinking sweet milk with his family next Septidi. But this did not put Charleau at ease.
To his increasing vexation, Charleau was aware that he was a liar.
But how can one be a liar to himself? Charleau frequently took a nip of his favorite bud, and these had opened his eyes to the world. He was not he, from moment to moment. Every second he died, every second he was born. His future self was a stranger as his past self, he felt no continuum of his conscious thought. For the briefest second he would come into being, and then fade. Forced in that moment to experience what his unfortunate past had wrought on his innocent future. Why should he, who only knew that moment, be cursed to live in the prison built by his past? Why should he suffer because of some unconnected individual – who just happened to be himself – made these decisions? He had no part of it, he wanted no part in it. He just wanted his brief, momentary existence to be peaceful and at rest, and he was at constant odds with himself to achieve this.
Of course, once the nip had faded and he looked upon his thoughts with a sober mind, he realized that he only had himself to blame. His thoughts were connected again by the continuum of consciousness. He looked into the mirror and grimaced.
“You are a liar,” he told himself. “You deserve what is coming your way.”
But! He thought, I am innocent, why must I suffer from YOUR mistakes!
Always shifting the blame, he continued. You always try to ignore that it was you who caused this pain upon your life. You who spun rhetoric to inflame the masses. You who told them what they wanted to hear so they would tear down your oppressors. Well old friend, there is no bigger oppressor of you than thyself, and they come for you today.
There was a knock at the door. Charleau found himself unable to muster a response. The silence echoed for what seemed like an eternity as he held his breath. Was it the Gallant Corps at last? Was it a friend who came for a wellness check? Was it a neighbor who wanted to borrow a saucer? A sudden, sharp rapping at the door broke his train of thought, interrupting his inquisition of self and brought him back to reality. “Charleau?” an unfamiliar voice called out. “Charleau Calico, are you there?”
He brought himself up and straightened his collar. He took one last look in the mirror, at his tan whiskers that crossed his face and gave a sort of mischievous innocence to his guilty demeanor. He felt like he had aged 10 years in a week. His emerald eyes had faded to a cloudy sea-green, his once perky ears were now flat against his head. He thought he might be balding but, on reflection, he would not have to worry about that for long. The rapping had turned to a banging, they were trying to force the door.
“Who is it that comes to the door of Charleau Calico, orator of the people, bringer of enlightenment to the masses, that-“ the door crashed down, interrupting his soliloquy. It was just as well, he had run out titles and was about to start making some up.
“All right, all right, that’s enough of that,” said the dark haired one at the front. Charleau could not tell his age. The blue eyes sparked with life, but he couldn’t tell if the lines on his face were from his angry demeanor or from the years taking their toll. His whiskers were a bright white, but that was the common style for one of his breed. Charleau decided to name this one ‘Grumpy’. “We’re here because we’ve gotten reports from your neighbors that crimes against the enlightenment have occurred in this-“ he gestured sarcastically “-domicile.” Empty milk bottle littered the floors. Tin food cans left half eaten and discarded surrounded his bed like barricades against the armies of roaches that encroached upon Charleau’s sovereign territory. He kept his literature under the mattress. The hidden – the forbidden – literature that his accursed past self had brought. Grumpy was coming closer to the fortress of knowledge. Soon, Charleau’s Brobdingnagian sins would be discovered. “I’m surprised, to be honest, that they were able to smell it with all this filth in here. I was honestly expecting more rats.” Ah, the smell of the forbidden fruit. The rotten stench of wisdom was here, barely covered by the odor of despoiled meat and curdled milk. Maybe a nip more would calm his nerves, or at least let him die before he was killed. Grumpy leaned over and gingerly picked up his salvation, his one escape, and showed it to the rest of the Gallant Corps. “But I guess a criminal of your…calibre would be so brazen as to keep the offending material out in the open.” Charleau blinked as recognition screamed across his brain and he realized what he was about to lose his head over.
“That’s the reason? Nip is not illegal! It never has! Everyone-“ Grumpy cut Charleau off brusquely with a punch to his solar plexus. Charleau gasped and sputtered for air among the garbage on the floor. He vomited, unsure if it was from the hit or the sudden proximity to his filth.
“Everyone? No, oh Duke of drugs, nobody in the enlightenment uses such things to cloud their mind. The treatise of Messidor has made this a capital offense.” Messidor? Charleau had missed the past view meetings of governance the past month because of his paranoia, they must have passed a new proclamation in his absence. Charleau grinned as flecks of spit interspersed with his vomit. He wondered if his enemies in the enlightenment hated him as much as he did. Ah, said a rogue thought, but the difference is that they are willing to do something about it. Grumpy signaled to a corps member. He was grey, wearing the traditional Corps uniform: a knit cap with two black beads sewn into the top resembling eyes and a white fringe resembling teeth. A red vest signifying the blood shed for their movement, and the gold sash of revolution hung above his waist. He roughly picked Charleau out of his own sick and slammed him into the wall as two other corp members tied his hands together. “You have been found guilty and sentenced to immediate execution, Charleau Catnip.” He spat out the nom de plume. Charleau briefly wondered if this was how history would remember him.
“Revolution! Revolution!” the mob screamed. Their mews brought Charleau out of the trance he had been in, as he was brought before the guillotine looming large. His ears pressed down flat against his head as the Gallant Corpsman locked him into place. The last thought to pass through his head before the blade passed through his neck was thus: I hate primidis
7. !Draw DarkPrimus
8. !Caption Psykoma
Vile Orange Fat Cat
Children of Revolution
Guillotine the Rich
9. !filler DRAW bwanie
10. !caption spono
There comes a time in every young man's life when he must choose how to kill his father.
Furthermore, any halfway-decent contract negotiation needs at least one guillotine in the room.
11. !draw Xaquin
12. !filler CAPTION Dr. Flamingo
The Inquistor examined the weapons and devices hanging from the wall, weighing his options. The guillotine? No, the goal wasn't to kill the prisoner... not yet. Crushing stones? The small knives? No, there wasn't time. But then something caught the Inquistor's eye, the perfect method: a freshly ripe bunch of bananas. A grim sneer crossed his face. He always knew how to get the confession.
13. !Draw #pipe
14. !Caption godmode
"...And with this final morsel, m'lord's work is complete. There shall come a time of feasting the likes of which have never before been witnessed!"
15. !Draw 3cl1ps3
16. !filler CAPTION SporkAndrew
You'll have to run this by me again, Macavity. There's a new human law forbidding feasting on unicorn poop? Specifically feasting? I never thought I'd say this but this whole situation seems too sexually charged for me
17. !draw JebusUD
18. !caption spool32
The title suggested this video was going to be an amusing Broadway musical in the style of John Paul Larkin.
When you pressed play, something far more revolting assaulted your eyes, but you were unable to look away....
19. !Filler DRAW Chall
20. !Caption sarukun
"This. Is. The. Absolute. Best. CGI. In. The. History. Of. Mankind."
"You're a real piece of shit, Stan."
21. !draw Mr Fuzzbutt
22. !Caption Noggin
Ubisoft’s Just Dance: Body Beast seems to have taken “beast” too literally.
23. !draw Mariisun
24. !caption Lucedes
"In my opinion, the greatest video game of all time has to be Just Dance: Beast Mode. With the pulsating eroticism of furred bodies moving in rhythm and the punishingly hard difficulty, it pushes all the right buttons to receive my personal high score." The salesperson in the store practically pushed the case into his hands, winking inappropriately as his sweaty mitts collided with James' slender, beautiful fingers for a brief second. James couldn't help but notice the thick, wiry hair that covered those giant hands. Disturbed and intrigued by these portents, he considered his impending purchase. The cover art, bright and welcoming, yet hinted of the lurking dangers within. Turning over the case, James noticed a thick and bulbous warnings section, warning him of potential dangers such as double epilepsy, invoking the wrath of a righteous God, and rectal bleeding, but they couldn't stop him. He couldn't read.
In his apartment that night, beneath the unblinking inhuman gaze of the motion sensor, James began to stretch his body into the shapes required for the ritual. The visuals thrilled and inspired him, and as he returned night after night, his body became increasingly toned and muscular, responding with greater force and precision to the commands of the game. His coworkers commented on the changes, admiring his firm thighs and toned abs, but he had eyes only for the screen, ears only for the music of the night. Long hours he worked, and long hours he toiled under the flashing lights, until one day he stopped showing up for work. Instead, he devoted the entirety of his day to the mastery of his craft, waving his body into increasingly complex shapes, moving down the track listing to select more and more intense songs. As he rose in the morning, he baptised his sweaty body with only water, eschewing soap, until his feral scent filled the apartment. He sweated, he pirouetted, he contorted into non-euclidean shapes under the tutelage of his obsession. A layer of fine, downy hairs, more and more each day, covered his swelling frame.
Neighbors began to complain of the stench, the constant pulsing of dance music, and the stomping and thumping of his mighty feet. One day the landlord knocked, but he received no answer, merely the sound of a heavy techno remix of Something There, from the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack. He knocked again, then began hammering on the door, but still received no response. A snow of discarded notices and unread religious recruitments littered the space around the doorframe. He turned the master key in the lock, bracing himself, but he was unprepared for the sight that awaited him.
James, the scrawny nerd who had rented the apartment, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a seven-foot-tall beast, more animal than man, pranced and cavorted in the midday sun as it peeked through the open door. The foul, musky odor of his efforts pervaded the space; the landlord nearly vomited beneath the fury of its onslaught on his nostrils. He beheld the dancing figure first with shock and horror, then disbelief, then homoerotic tension, then finally back to shock and horror. As the song wound to a close, the landlord had to admit to his battered senses that there was, indeed, Something There, and that it was what had become of James. The creature turned, looking upon the landlord with the gaze of a great predator, and he shivered.
"Have you heard," boomed the voice of the monster, injuring the tender, weak eardrums of the landlord, "about Just Dance: Beast Mode? It's the latest and greatest game in the Just Dance series, and it's my favorite." The creature that had once been James flexed, knocking the frail human over with the force of his animal intimidation.
"No... NO!" The landlord quivered, crawling backwards toward the door in an attempt to escape, but it was all in vain. One enormous, furred hand grasped his shoulder, dark claws scratching his skin through his jacket. The beast lifted him casually, then placed him in front of the screen. The motion sensor's harsh light indicated it was on as the beast scrolled through the track selection menu and ended up on a sweeping orchestral arrangement of Wolverine's Theme, from the X-men Origins soundtrack. The landlord wept quietly, to avoid provoking the creature any further. His doom was certain, in his mind; the only question was how it would happen, and what torments awaited him first. His mind raced, trying to think of a way out, but could find nothing.
"I think you'll really enjoy it. Now, dance." The swollen and monstrous creature chuckled as it closed the front door, locking it securely so that no others could disturb the terrible, terrible dance.
Coming this fall to an Off-Off-Off-Broadway stage near you...
Pirates of the Caribbean 8: A Pirate's Booty Call or: Jack Sparrow does the Aristocracy
3. !draw Goose!
4. !caption gsm
There can always be a worse sequel.
5. !filler DRAW KetBra
6. !filler CAPTION Kristmas Kthulhu
Frank Brian Herbert's fully-illustrated children's book "Children of Dune (Re-Edition)" was not only physically massive, but a became a huge publishing success when the Disney animated 450 minute film came out.
7. !Filler DRAW Peen
8. !Caption ASimPerson
Money, fortune, fame... he'd finally eclipsed his father. But one question dogged Brian through it all: why are red carpets red?
9. !draw tynic
10. !Filler CAPTION Jedoc
"Hard to say, detective. The neighbors reported a god-awful noise last night, like someone was gutting a dinosaur. Unfortunately, they've made the same report every Friday night since they moved in."
11. !Filler DRAW see317
12. !Caption Mayabird
He looked in alarm at the Vice Squad at the door and knew two things:
1) They would be utterly overwhelmed, and
2) He would never, never be able to hide the body.
13. !Filler DRAW shalmelo
14. !caption Luiane
The roasting of the neighbor was nearly finished when the copper arrived.
15. !draw Deans
16. !caption Kupi
"Well, Max, it looks like we didn't get here in time to stop what I sincerely hope was the last burning at the stake this week."
"Whatd'ya suppose drove this bunch of backwoods villagers to incinerate someone in front of the town hall while the kids play, Sam?"
"Ignorance, fear, and hatred, Max. Same as it ever was."
"Really? Because I mean, the barbecued rat smells delicious. Can I have some before we go?"
"That's what's left of a person, Max!"
"My question staaaaaands~"
"Ah, you crack me up, little buddy. Tell you what, I'll get you a meatball sandwich from Subway. It's almost the same thing!"
17. !draw Alexandier
18. !Caption LuvTheMonkey
Drake's lawyers wanted to pursue LucasArts and Steve Purcell for debasing their client's reputation in the Meme Economy, however Drake declined any legal action due to his personal dedication to Slaanesh.
19. !Draw Tonkka
20. !caption Tef
Together we must abandon the Capitalist Lucas Arts Star Wars fantasy and embrace communist space Islam
21. !Draw miscellaneousinsanity
Original resolution:
Forum-hosted resolution:
22. !caption bendery it like beckham
Uniting the Proles by moon light
Seizing the means by day light
Knowing class war is the real fight
He is our Big Dick Daddy Marx!
The scientist thought to himself, "It might make it bigger. It might make it smaller. It might switch it with something else on his body. It might also turn it into something altogether different. In this guy's case any outcome will be an improvement, unless it ruins that expensive suit of his." He began the procedure.
3. !Draw Raijin Quickfoot
4. !caption JayKaos
He'd faced many hard and girthy challenges in his day, but even without the weighted training clothes, the seasoned geldsman quickly found himself outmatched and inadequate in the face of this beefy serpent.
5. !Draw Tofystedeth
6. !caption Nirya
Caption: GameFAQs, witnessing the success of DashCon, decided to get in on the action. The results went as expected.
7. !filler DRAW discrider
8. !Filler CAPTION Fishman
Attendee health and safety is of paramount concern to us in this post-pandemic world, which is why at this year's convention we recommend that attendees possess a map, locator beacon, and a three day supply of water to maintain optimal social distancing as you move between exhibits.
9. !draw Tallahasseeriel
10. !Caption Weaver
"Are you familiar with the ancient PAX legend of Bone Mountain? It's not a story the mods would let us post."
11. !Draw Joolander
12. !Filler CAPTION TheySlashThem
"I told Mr. Snugglekins that I would follow him to the ends of the Earth. I did not expect him to bring me to the end of time itself."
13. !Draw Veldrin
14. !Caption Madican
Lou gazed with half-open eyes at the blazing sigil engraving itself into the air in front of him, resembling a bear claw imposed over a stone knife. He reached out to it with colossal, glowing, white-furred paws...but dared not touch it yet. Not while it was incomplete. Not while he was still incomplete. He had transcended his human existence and become the shape of his soul: a bipedal, muscular wolf with a glowing white aura. Most of his physical form now blanketed the room as flaming fog centered around him, growing thicker as his soul continued to burn away the lower half of his physical body to reveal the perfection that had always lain deep within. He smiled gently as the sigil of flame continued to etch itself into reality. The bear's claw that called to the wild soul. The stone knife that embodied the human mind. Soon he would share his gift with the world. And then everyone would be freed from their prisons of flesh, blood, and bone just like him. Soon…
15. !Filler DRAW Elaro
16. !caption Captain Inertia
Ain't no rules says a dog can't compete in Forged in Fire
17. !draw Knob
18. !caption Usagi
When Hobbes suggested furry knifeplay, this wasn't exactly what he meant.
19. !filler DRAW Cello
20. !Caption Mulysasempronius
"All Tigger could see was red. And all he had access to was the cutlery catalogue from IKEA."
21. !Draw Taya
22. !Caption DrZiplock
DrZiplock- EPYC Entry by DrZiplock
Sing to the tune of The Wellerman
There once was a cat known to you and me
Who wielded the power of cutlery
His knife was sharp, his tines were strong
Go Tigger-san go
Soon may the fornuft come
To bring his justice with bouncy fun
One day he will avenge
Those that laid him low
His family gone he wandered long
Through wide ailes and turnstiles
With a bag of blue and a heart so true
To aide him on his quest
Soon may the fornuft come
To bring the tools to fill your tum
One day when the eating is done
We'll regret those meatballs yooo
He bounced on in like a tigger aughter
With intent to save his long lost daughter
Senpai they cried during the slaughter
We'll tell you what we know
Soon may this Epyc be done
So we can see madness and have some fun
One day when the shame hits home
We'll hang our heads down low
With none spared 'cept for you and me
To tell the tale we did flee
So now we wander aimlessly
And fear his flatpacked creed
Now this this Epyc be done
I'll stop pulling lyrics outta me bum
One day after the game has run
we'll go back to cocks dicks lol
23. !draw Virgil_Leads_You
24. !Caption ChicoBlue
We are creatures of revenge, Christopher, and I believe the best revenge is a life well lived... by the sword.
Yes! Good job everyone. Especially @DrZiplock who turned my drawing into a song.
+12
Munkus BeaverYou don't have to attend every argument you are invited to.Philosophy: Stoicism. Politics: Democratic SocialistRegistered User, ClubPAregular
It's kinda impressive how team helpful got on cats, got off cats, got on Cats, and then made the Scats joke in two separate pictures
Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but dies in the process.
+28
3cl1ps3I will build a labyrinth to house the cheeseRegistered Userregular
Just truly incredible work all around, well done folks.
+10
KetarCome on upstairswe're having a partyRegistered Userregular
Cats & Executions: A Team Helpful EPYC.
+18
3cl1ps3I will build a labyrinth to house the cheeseRegistered Userregular
Posts
I’ve only seen 2/3 final drawings so far, but I can already assure you: there is nothing left of the original seed caption.
As is the way.
but it is done, and soon enough my shame will be laid bare
Wait the original drawers get a caption to work from?
I thought they just made something up.
What the fuck could that have said?
That's the fun, seeing how one caption becomes E̡̦̳̳̭̯̱ͩ̈̊̂̏̐̎͗ ̯̯̲̭̩̩̝̰̤̂̂̑̀͐̌̎͋̕͢V̨̙̠̽͐ͧ̔̈́ͮ̚ ̵̴͓̻͓̠̪̈̒ͩ͌ͬ͋̽Ë̸̯̗̹̞̙̣̤́̊̍̆̉̐̓ͭ͐ͅ ̷̮̻̳͈͉ͪͭ̄ͬ̓̈́ͩR̠̰͓̖̝͖͎̻̊ͦͣͨ̋ͫͥ̊́ ̛͎̩͖ͩ̃̏̒̿̅͑Yͧ̀̃̎ͨ͡͏̸͍̣̰͈͔ ̡̺͇͕̼̑ͩ́͞Tͮ̎̇ͫ̊ͦͦ̑̉͏̙͖̙̻̣͙͝ ̡̪̝̗̭̅͋͑̿Ḩ̋̓͌ͬͮ̏̀͆҉̸̩̱̜̙̫͓̣ ̮̪̳̼̗̟̣̃̅ͭͪ̾̐̐ͨ̄͜I͂͋̉͆͏͓̻͉͈̩̗͔̝̱ ̹̖̝͖̯̤̹͔̟̉͛͒̃͒̌̋́́N̢̛͙͈͔̩̩̥ͤ̅ ͍̊ͬ̎̐̈́͋̉͐͢G̜̩̣̙̼͂ͨ͛ͦ̂̏̈͑̀ͅ
yeah all the first drawers get the same caption
D3 Steam #TeamTangent STO
The slivers of repressed horriblenes, associated with that name, are sliding past my internal defenses and they promise nothing good.
Dead Dove (mildly nsfw?)
D3 Steam #TeamTangent STO
that's his penis
anyway, we went camping just south of Ocean City, Maryland where there are wild horses all about. They generally leave you alone as long as you don't leave food around (we did not leave food around). We were sitting around the fire when a few horses sauntered up and decided that they wanted our camp fire. So we retreated to our tent because they couldn't be moved. we're chatting quietly and look over towards fire and notice that the fire is casting a shadow on the side of our tent. The shadow of a very excited horse dong. That shadow swayed back and fourth upon us for well over an hour until the fire died out and the horses left.
Seed caption:
Though I know in my heart I was correct to give his name to the commission, my stomach still turns at the memory of how I bayed for his head with the rest of the crowd... my friend... alone in his last moments... who was the real traitor that day?
At the beginning, Charlaeu knew that things were not right. It was an early Primidi morning, the first of the Thermidor, and he felt the watchful eyes upon him. He tried to reason with himself, that surely his contraband literature would not attract the attention of the Gallant Corps, those members of the revolution who had taken it upon themselves to fully enact the will of Enlightenment. Charleau told himself there was nothing to fear, that this would all soon be over and he would be drinking sweet milk with his family next Septidi. But this did not put Charleau at ease.
To his increasing vexation, Charleau was aware that he was a liar.
But how can one be a liar to himself? Charleau frequently took a nip of his favorite bud, and these had opened his eyes to the world. He was not he, from moment to moment. Every second he died, every second he was born. His future self was a stranger as his past self, he felt no continuum of his conscious thought. For the briefest second he would come into being, and then fade. Forced in that moment to experience what his unfortunate past had wrought on his innocent future. Why should he, who only knew that moment, be cursed to live in the prison built by his past? Why should he suffer because of some unconnected individual – who just happened to be himself – made these decisions? He had no part of it, he wanted no part in it. He just wanted his brief, momentary existence to be peaceful and at rest, and he was at constant odds with himself to achieve this.
Of course, once the nip had faded and he looked upon his thoughts with a sober mind, he realized that he only had himself to blame. His thoughts were connected again by the continuum of consciousness. He looked into the mirror and grimaced.
“You are a liar,” he told himself. “You deserve what is coming your way.”
But! He thought, I am innocent, why must I suffer from YOUR mistakes!
Always shifting the blame, he continued. You always try to ignore that it was you who caused this pain upon your life. You who spun rhetoric to inflame the masses. You who told them what they wanted to hear so they would tear down your oppressors. Well old friend, there is no bigger oppressor of you than thyself, and they come for you today.
There was a knock at the door. Charleau found himself unable to muster a response. The silence echoed for what seemed like an eternity as he held his breath. Was it the Gallant Corps at last? Was it a friend who came for a wellness check? Was it a neighbor who wanted to borrow a saucer? A sudden, sharp rapping at the door broke his train of thought, interrupting his inquisition of self and brought him back to reality. “Charleau?” an unfamiliar voice called out. “Charleau Calico, are you there?”
He brought himself up and straightened his collar. He took one last look in the mirror, at his tan whiskers that crossed his face and gave a sort of mischievous innocence to his guilty demeanor. He felt like he had aged 10 years in a week. His emerald eyes had faded to a cloudy sea-green, his once perky ears were now flat against his head. He thought he might be balding but, on reflection, he would not have to worry about that for long. The rapping had turned to a banging, they were trying to force the door.
“Who is it that comes to the door of Charleau Calico, orator of the people, bringer of enlightenment to the masses, that-“ the door crashed down, interrupting his soliloquy. It was just as well, he had run out titles and was about to start making some up.
“All right, all right, that’s enough of that,” said the dark haired one at the front. Charleau could not tell his age. The blue eyes sparked with life, but he couldn’t tell if the lines on his face were from his angry demeanor or from the years taking their toll. His whiskers were a bright white, but that was the common style for one of his breed. Charleau decided to name this one ‘Grumpy’. “We’re here because we’ve gotten reports from your neighbors that crimes against the enlightenment have occurred in this-“ he gestured sarcastically “-domicile.” Empty milk bottle littered the floors. Tin food cans left half eaten and discarded surrounded his bed like barricades against the armies of roaches that encroached upon Charleau’s sovereign territory. He kept his literature under the mattress. The hidden – the forbidden – literature that his accursed past self had brought. Grumpy was coming closer to the fortress of knowledge. Soon, Charleau’s Brobdingnagian sins would be discovered. “I’m surprised, to be honest, that they were able to smell it with all this filth in here. I was honestly expecting more rats.” Ah, the smell of the forbidden fruit. The rotten stench of wisdom was here, barely covered by the odor of despoiled meat and curdled milk. Maybe a nip more would calm his nerves, or at least let him die before he was killed. Grumpy leaned over and gingerly picked up his salvation, his one escape, and showed it to the rest of the Gallant Corps. “But I guess a criminal of your…calibre would be so brazen as to keep the offending material out in the open.” Charleau blinked as recognition screamed across his brain and he realized what he was about to lose his head over.
“That’s the reason? Nip is not illegal! It never has! Everyone-“ Grumpy cut Charleau off brusquely with a punch to his solar plexus. Charleau gasped and sputtered for air among the garbage on the floor. He vomited, unsure if it was from the hit or the sudden proximity to his filth.
“Everyone? No, oh Duke of drugs, nobody in the enlightenment uses such things to cloud their mind. The treatise of Messidor has made this a capital offense.” Messidor? Charleau had missed the past view meetings of governance the past month because of his paranoia, they must have passed a new proclamation in his absence. Charleau grinned as flecks of spit interspersed with his vomit. He wondered if his enemies in the enlightenment hated him as much as he did. Ah, said a rogue thought, but the difference is that they are willing to do something about it. Grumpy signaled to a corps member. He was grey, wearing the traditional Corps uniform: a knit cap with two black beads sewn into the top resembling eyes and a white fringe resembling teeth. A red vest signifying the blood shed for their movement, and the gold sash of revolution hung above his waist. He roughly picked Charleau out of his own sick and slammed him into the wall as two other corp members tied his hands together. “You have been found guilty and sentenced to immediate execution, Charleau Catnip.” He spat out the nom de plume. Charleau briefly wondered if this was how history would remember him.
“Revolution! Revolution!” the mob screamed. Their mews brought Charleau out of the trance he had been in, as he was brought before the guillotine looming large. His ears pressed down flat against his head as the Gallant Corpsman locked him into place. The last thought to pass through his head before the blade passed through his neck was thus: I hate primidis
Children of Revolution
Guillotine the Rich
Furthermore, any halfway-decent contract negotiation needs at least one guillotine in the room.
When you pressed play, something far more revolting assaulted your eyes, but you were unable to look away....
"You're a real piece of shit, Stan."
In his apartment that night, beneath the unblinking inhuman gaze of the motion sensor, James began to stretch his body into the shapes required for the ritual. The visuals thrilled and inspired him, and as he returned night after night, his body became increasingly toned and muscular, responding with greater force and precision to the commands of the game. His coworkers commented on the changes, admiring his firm thighs and toned abs, but he had eyes only for the screen, ears only for the music of the night. Long hours he worked, and long hours he toiled under the flashing lights, until one day he stopped showing up for work. Instead, he devoted the entirety of his day to the mastery of his craft, waving his body into increasingly complex shapes, moving down the track listing to select more and more intense songs. As he rose in the morning, he baptised his sweaty body with only water, eschewing soap, until his feral scent filled the apartment. He sweated, he pirouetted, he contorted into non-euclidean shapes under the tutelage of his obsession. A layer of fine, downy hairs, more and more each day, covered his swelling frame.
Neighbors began to complain of the stench, the constant pulsing of dance music, and the stomping and thumping of his mighty feet. One day the landlord knocked, but he received no answer, merely the sound of a heavy techno remix of Something There, from the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack. He knocked again, then began hammering on the door, but still received no response. A snow of discarded notices and unread religious recruitments littered the space around the doorframe. He turned the master key in the lock, bracing himself, but he was unprepared for the sight that awaited him.
James, the scrawny nerd who had rented the apartment, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a seven-foot-tall beast, more animal than man, pranced and cavorted in the midday sun as it peeked through the open door. The foul, musky odor of his efforts pervaded the space; the landlord nearly vomited beneath the fury of its onslaught on his nostrils. He beheld the dancing figure first with shock and horror, then disbelief, then homoerotic tension, then finally back to shock and horror. As the song wound to a close, the landlord had to admit to his battered senses that there was, indeed, Something There, and that it was what had become of James. The creature turned, looking upon the landlord with the gaze of a great predator, and he shivered.
"Have you heard," boomed the voice of the monster, injuring the tender, weak eardrums of the landlord, "about Just Dance: Beast Mode? It's the latest and greatest game in the Just Dance series, and it's my favorite." The creature that had once been James flexed, knocking the frail human over with the force of his animal intimidation.
"No... NO!" The landlord quivered, crawling backwards toward the door in an attempt to escape, but it was all in vain. One enormous, furred hand grasped his shoulder, dark claws scratching his skin through his jacket. The beast lifted him casually, then placed him in front of the screen. The motion sensor's harsh light indicated it was on as the beast scrolled through the track selection menu and ended up on a sweeping orchestral arrangement of Wolverine's Theme, from the X-men Origins soundtrack. The landlord wept quietly, to avoid provoking the creature any further. His doom was certain, in his mind; the only question was how it would happen, and what torments awaited him first. His mind raced, trying to think of a way out, but could find nothing.
"I think you'll really enjoy it. Now, dance." The swollen and monstrous creature chuckled as it closed the front door, locking it securely so that no others could disturb the terrible, terrible dance.
Pirates of the Caribbean 8: A Pirate's Booty Call or: Jack Sparrow does the Aristocracy
1) They would be utterly overwhelmed, and
2) He would never, never be able to hide the body.
"Whatd'ya suppose drove this bunch of backwoods villagers to incinerate someone in front of the town hall while the kids play, Sam?"
"Ignorance, fear, and hatred, Max. Same as it ever was."
"Really? Because I mean, the barbecued rat smells delicious. Can I have some before we go?"
"That's what's left of a person, Max!"
"My question staaaaaands~"
"Ah, you crack me up, little buddy. Tell you what, I'll get you a meatball sandwich from Subway. It's almost the same thing!"
Seizing the means by day light
Knowing class war is the real fight
He is our Big Dick Daddy Marx!
Sing to the tune of The Wellerman
There once was a cat known to you and me
Who wielded the power of cutlery
His knife was sharp, his tines were strong
Go Tigger-san go
Soon may the fornuft come
To bring his justice with bouncy fun
One day he will avenge
Those that laid him low
His family gone he wandered long
Through wide ailes and turnstiles
With a bag of blue and a heart so true
To aide him on his quest
Soon may the fornuft come
To bring the tools to fill your tum
One day when the eating is done
We'll regret those meatballs yooo
He bounced on in like a tigger aughter
With intent to save his long lost daughter
Senpai they cried during the slaughter
We'll tell you what we know
Soon may this Epyc be done
So we can see madness and have some fun
One day when the shame hits home
We'll hang our heads down low
With none spared 'cept for you and me
To tell the tale we did flee
So now we wander aimlessly
And fear his flatpacked creed
Now this this Epyc be done
I'll stop pulling lyrics outta me bum
One day after the game has run
we'll go back to cocks dicks lol
(Yes, I know by posting this I just screwed it up but WHATEVER)
It's pretty amazing.
HIVE (S)CAT MIND
Your submission is just *chef's kiss*.