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Hi everyone!

I'd like to play a simple game for anyone interested: Let's write a story one sentence at at time. It can be as serious, or as silly, as we want. Let's also do our best to follow the rules of grammar and typography. I hope this will be a fun exercise for everyone involved.

Rules:

1. When posting, reply directly to the most recently posted message.

2. Avoid typos and grammatical errors. Do not post run-on sentences.

3. Do not edit your message after posting, unless you want to correct any typos or grammatical errors.

4. Wait at least one hour after posting a reply to let others have a chance.

5. Do not reply directly to yourself.

6. Adhere to the site rules and regulations (obviously).

 

I'll start:

John woke up early to start his Saturday morning routine.

Eggs, toast, coffee, and the news on the screen.

Then he brushed his teeth, all nice, white and clean.

John prided himself on his meticulous nature knowing that any misstep or mis-ordered action could lead his whole day into chaos.

Unfortunately, other ideas had his wife, Eos.

'Other Ideas' was the pseudonym of the government agent assigned to survey him through his laptop's camera.

Unbeknownst to John, he had met the government agent before despite not knowing the truth of Eos's whereabouts.

The agent, codenamed "Other Ideas", was in fact John's estranged six-year-old son, named Jason.

"How did a six-year-old end up a government agent?" You may be wondering

It turns out that the person who hired him has syphilitic insanity and thought Jason would be a great government agent at his age.

And despite the source of that insanity, Jason inherited it, this isn't that kind of sicko story.

"You gotta start them early," the father of the government agent's leader would say.

But those were his last words before the government assassinated him, as they didn't want the new agent to have any familial connections that could be used against him.

Well, the last of his own words, as he was in Australia, and was quickly reanimated by sentient spiders that have him continuing his regular government duties.

Contemplating the bizarre nature of his predicament, John started to plan how to get his wife, Eos, back home.

He finally finished brushing his teeth, spit, rinsed, and prepared to face the day.

Feeling a sudden spark of whimsy, he took a razor blade out of his back pocket and ran it lengthwise down his pretty wrists.

He then finishes up shaving his arms, now all shiny smooth.

He shaves his legs and the rest of his body, becoming completely hairless.

As he lay on the floor bleeding out from his wounds, he contemplated how nicely the blood worked as a shaving lubricant.

Then Eos walked in, started patch up his various wounds while saying, "You're batty, you know that? The spiders reanimated you so this is all just a waste of time. Now get your lazy ass to work at the government office."

"I hate spiders, they creep me out, " he exclaimed as he dragged himself off the floor, noticing as he stood up that it felt like millions of the tiny things were crawling throughout his body under his skin.

"It's just the anemia," he said aloud, to no one in particular.

Eos contemplated divorce after he said that dumb line.

Then she said to herself, "Well, he's Dutch, I don't know why I expect anything from him."

But she had married him for his preternatural artistry with earwax sculpting, not his brains or nationality; though some of the spiders animating him were wittier conversationalists than others.

The poor Dutch idiot savant picked himself up and stumbled towards his car, fearing the wrath of his wife should he choose not to go to work.

His vehicle of choice was a 2010 Kia Soul with a bright red chrome wrap and a bumper sticker that said, 'HOT GIRLS HIT CURBS'.

The spiders made him dyslexic, so he thought the speed limit in the school zone was 52.

Then he remembered that his car was so old that it didn't actually run, so he got out and started the long walk to work at the government building.

He got weird looks as he crawled upside down, but he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, that’s how he had walked his entire life.

There was a loud honking and the squeal of brakes ahead, and he looked up just in time to see an ogre being run over by a 2009 Toyota, driven by an admin of an obscure interactive fiction site.

He turned away and as he skittered into the building for work he thought, "What a horrible waste of a 2009 Toyota, there's no way that thing survives running into an Ogre of that size."

He wakes up with several burning needles in his brain, as he realizes that none of it was real, just an insane trip.

Preferring the strange fantasy over reality, because he worked at the DMV, he wondered what his life would have been like if everything in that acid was real.

Reluctantly, he made his way outside and into his actual car--a 2024 Lamborghini Sterrato.

Well it's hit car now, he sticks the pick in between the car door and the frame and brings it down on the lock mechanism sharply.

Suddenly a bright flash illuminated his surroundings as a meteor fell through the sky.

As it streamed through the sky, gloriously incandescent, John realized that the meteor was headed straight for him!

The object got closer, and John recognized it was not a meteor after all, but a spacecraft; Anticipation charged every cell of his being as he realized his dream of being abducted by aliens was coming to pass, and as the transporter dissolved his molecules he wished that the Ogre would also get the opportunity to share this experience.

When John woke up, he realized that he was cold -- well, mostly just his rear end felt cold -- and he was uncomfortable lying on his back on a cold, metal table with his pants around his ankles.

With his hands in restraints, he understood there was only one way to get free and began gnawing through the cords of flesh making up his shoulder, savoring his own metallic tang.

After that light snack he begins doing the only rational thing he can think of, he begins screaming penis at the top of his lungs.

Unfortunately for John, that metal table he was strapped to had an AI, and it interpreted his shouts as a command.

"You want a dick?" generated the AI in a metallic buzz of nonetheless, perfectly understandable English.

"You've been asleep for 400 years and the first thing you want is a dick?" The Ai continued with a strangely human tone, "I've been programmed to fulfill every request of the subject so I will comply to the fullest of my computerized abilities".

With a humming of electronics, a shimmering light coalesced into a hard-bitten man with a trenchcost and a five o' clock shadow, lit cigarette dangling from one hand and a magnifying glass in the other.

"What's the magnifying glass for?" John asked, innocently.

“Just a little snack, smoking makes me hungry,” the man replies.

He ate the magnifying glass.

Then, putting out his cigarette by grinding it into John's moist eyeball, he said, "Let's cut the crap and get down to brass tacks."

While holding back a cry of pain from the cigarette thing, John reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of brass tacks, saying, "Here you go!"

He crunches down on them while saying, “Not what I meant, but thanks anyways.”

A voice in a tongue unfamiliar speaks loudly over an intercom interrupting the operation.

Immediately following the voice, John could hear the sound of a very long, wet, machine-gun style fart.

John rolled to his side, trying to keep his balance, and also tried to avoid the mouse he spotted out of the corner of his eye; unfortunately, this caused him to roll right off the table and onto the floor with a crash.

And right on to some brass tacks too, that guy was sure a messy eater.

John rolled over, winced in pain, but scrambled to his knees ignoring the additional tacks; but was surprised to find that suddenly he was alone in what smelled like and appeared to be some kind of medical examination room.

"You're not alone here, John," the spiders assured him.

The animated spiders were real...or perhaps it was just a wild hallucination induced by the aliens?

The spiders were definitely real, that was way before he started on the Triptocaine.

John got back to his feet, pulled up his pants, and headed for the exit, completely ignoring the spiders that may or may not exist.

He saw a door labeled 'Airlock,' and began to open it.

That door, which was set into his abdominal cavity, creaked open releasing his intestines which shot like streamers across the room.

The screen turned red and GAME OVER appeared; you honestly were surprised you lasted so long with John, and turned your attention to the next character, Bob.

The main difference between John and Bob is that Bob is equipped with a shotgun and a small fluffy dog.

John looked around, hoping to find eggs, toast, and coffee.

The spiders remember that eating toast, coffee, then eggs was the cheat code their older brother used for John to turn him into Bob.

The trick to playing Bob is that you have to use the dog in these weird sort of puzzles, to retrieve shotgun shells from various improbable locations on the map.

But if the dog dies at any point during the game it's an instant GAME OVER.

And the Klan will come after you in real life, Petros.

Petros quickly gulped down the coffee, tossed the bread to the dog, threw the eggs on the floor, loaded the shotgun, then said to the dog, “Let’s go, John-Bob, time to play.”

Then he realized he didn't have any ammo yet because the dog had not retrieved any, and felt awfully silly for not reading well as he pulled up the minimap for the nearest quest marker.

The quest marker lead to a nearby town called "Buhmfuqnoeware."

Realizing he was an idiot and that the dog was way smarter than he was, Bob showed the map and marker to the dog and instructed, "Fetch!", and to his surprise the smart little dog immediately opened up a portal and hopped through it, returning almost immediately to drop a shotgun shell at his feet.

Looking at the dog, John, Bob, Petros, or whatever name the horde of spiders aping a human took began to salivate imagining all sorts of Korean and Vietnamese delicacies.

His belly button then promptly squirts out a stream of straight 고추장.

He pulled up the mini map again to find his next destination.

After a brief look at the map, John-Bob decided that the safest place to go to was the nearby city of Detroit.

The dog, being infinitely smarter than Bob and knowing that Detroit is a place that no intelligent being ever goes to willingly, began to bark incessantly in a desperate attempt to stop him from pursuing this course of action, but luckily for the both of them, Bob was as clumsy as he was stupid and in his effort to calm the dog down he accidentally initiated the travel to destination feature of the map which indicated traveling in the opposite direction from Detroit; the dog stopped barking and began wishing that someone at some point would have given them a name. 

"That's silly, Petros," Bob exclaimed to his dog, setting the map marker back to Detroit, "didn't we already decide on your name?" 

Yeah, it’s Snoop, remember. You’re Snoop the dog

The dog looked at Bob with absolute disdain, confused as to why he could not just come up with one simple name, and after a moment of consideration, the dog decided that Bob was unworthy of naming him, and that it would be much better to just be called "Dog", so as soon as this was decided, Dog took off at a run in pursuit of the next marker on the map to retrieve more ammunition for Idiot Bob expecting the stupid human to follow him.

With no other rational course of action, the oxygen-deprived Bob followed the fluffy, majestic, and genius Dog to the last place anyone would expect to find a shotgun shell in Detroit.

He looked up when the dog stopped, wagging its tail, and realized that he was a Taco Amigo, a brand new food truck.

Indeed, a recent update had given Bob the ability to turn into a food truck at will.

With the newest update installed, it would mean that safe passage through Detroit was almost guaranteed.

He believed this because he knew nothing about Detroit.

The Taco Amigo truck headed east on Woodward avenue, the bell on top ringing much quieter than the various gunshots coming from all directions.

Bob suddenly remembered his real name was Will much to his surprise.

Geez, these Detroit people sure are friendly for giving him his real name back, Will thought.

"Hey Will," an earnest little boy said to him while riding a scooter and dodging bullets, "My name is Will too!"

Realizing the boy had read his mind, Will the Food Truck Formerly Known as Bob realized that crackheads and gangbangers would be the least of the dangers here, and floored the gas pedal.

As the truck slowly accelerated, there was a squeal of tires and the sound of a siren as the police car pulled out behind it.

"Shit, they found me!" the boy yelled, zipping away on his scooter a bit faster than should be humanly possible as the police began broadcasting a warning about telepathic shapeshifters and warning civilians to shelter in place.

The boy dove for the sewer and turned into a medium-sized alligator as he slipped through the grate.