Saturday, 8th December 2012, the Leeds chapter of NaNoWriMo held it’s TGIO (Thank God/Goodness It’s Over) party. We all had a great afternoon, it was good to have a final meetup for the end of the year, we had a new face too.
For a bit of fun we decided to pass around a notepad, with everyone filling in a line of a story. With ten of us, this was taking a while, (and getting quite violent story wise), so we started a second which was to be more smutty. Still, it wasn’t going round fast enough, so we started a third, with the rule that rather than full lines, each person could only add three words at a time.
I agreed to type these up, and have done so. I’m sharing them here so we can link back to them on the forums. There are 1,971 words (better than the daily NaNoWriMo target during November, so go us). I can’t guarentee I’ve captured them 100% accurately, so many different handwriting, but I’ve done my best and will correct as people point out my mistakes.
Hope you enjoy them.
In Chronological order of when we started them.
The Violent Story (TGIO Line by Line1)
“Duck!” Bob shouted.
“Don’t you dare,” Lucy replied.
“What the hell…?” said Jim.
“Why can’t we all get along?” bellowed Rupert.
“What. The. Hell?!” exclaimed Jim again.
Then Adam, Bob, clair, Darren, Eddie, Fred, George, Hellen, Indiana, James Bond, Karlo, Luke, Mike, Nick, Olivia, Polly, Quentin, Roger, Samantha, Tulip, Umbrella, Venison, Wendy, Xie, Yoreck, and Zod walked in all carrying guns.
Slightly shocked, Bob, Lucy, Jim and Rupert all got naked and put their hands up.
Jim laughed maniacally, pulling a Blunderbuss out rom under the table blasting away and sprayingclouds of glass shards around the room, eviscerating Venison, “Die you meaty bastard!”
“What on Earth is going on in here?” Polly and Quinten shouted out, watching a Jum shot more people with the blunderbuss.
Tulip and Wendy exploded. The bomb had detonated early, and not entirely successfully.
Polly had hung back from the violence waiting her time, and it was now, she pulled her twelve inch hunting knife and got ready to go to work.
Three years later.
The trout mounted on the wall shifted uneasily and gazed round the room, deep in thought.
So Jim shot it with his trusty blunderbuss. The trout sighe as the hail of biscuits flew towards him, and closed his eyes. Every biscuit missed!
25,000 years later.
They were all dead, but back to the action.
Polly looked at the at the knife, wondering if she should use it on the trout or Quinton, and in a moment of temporal indecision, leapt over the table, with an ululating war cry and attempted to stab the dumbstruck Mike.
Xie nook up behind Polly holding onto her top before plunging a blunt wooden spoon straight into her back, ripping her spleen and causing blood to spurt out of the hole.
The trout raised an eyebrow. Or it would have, if fish had them. It contemplates dinner.
Polly said her backs hurts.
Thank God her fairy Godmother appeared with a faint ‘plop’ and fired her fixed her spine until she was good as new.
However, due to the unfortunate laws of magic, the injuries were spontaneously transferred to the fairy Godmother and she died in instant agony, screaming in unending pain.
Polly sighed and stuck her knife back in her shoe, then left the room, because it was all getting a bit silly.
She limped a bit because there was a knife in her shoe.
Indiana noticed the limp and shot Polly in the leg with Jim’s blunderbuss.
Swinging away on his whip he took out Xie, Umbrella and Yoreck. “Hyah!” he cried, fresh in his blood-lust.
He swings towards the edge of the room but never made it. Bond had just finished his martini and shot Indy out of sheer boredom.
“The name’s Bond, James Bond motherfucker, and don’t forget it,” he exclaimed as Indy fell backwards through a table, his whip spiralling out wrapping Zod around the throat and unceremoniously throttling him.
Polly, always one for the underdog, cut through the whip around Zod’s throat. She tied it to her knife and swung it at Bond. It sliced into his neck, “That’s for last night, motherfucker.”
Bond in typically elegant style, died in a very fashionable crimson red pool of blood.
“I wonder who is still alive around here,” Polly wondered.
“No one!” yelled the trout, and laughed maniacally bullets firing from his eyes, and then produced a frying pan and batter.
The trout fried everyone – dead, alive, or somewhere in between – then ate them all.
“Everybody’s dead, Dave!” the trout yelled. That was when Jimmy, Jimbo, James, Jamie, Jim, Jimbob, Jammy, and Jane stepped in, brandishing swords, spears, bows, crossbows, axes, an scimitars.
The smell from the rotten fish made them all pass out instantly though.
They had very weird dreams. What’s more, they never woke up because the fish’s skin contained poison.
Tasty, tasty poison.
In a shared dreamstate they joined together in epic war…
Of trout versus mankind.
Cat pressed the button on the machine, “Today’s fish is trout a la crème,” please enjoy your meal.”
Trout took a deep fishy breath before jumping off the plate covered in the cream, it made a fishy noise as many cats started to run after it licking their kitty lips.
The trout pulled a catnip grenade from it’s belt, his last resort weapon. “Good night kitties,” he said pulling the pin.
Before exploding with a big ‘bang’, but it was actually trout’s clone, and up in the rafters, the trout noobled, “Another days work,” it said grinning. He considered frying and eating the cat entrails, but was full from eating all the people, no he went home for a nice cup of tea and a jammy dodger.
Then James Bond crawled out from under a burnt car. He was not dead. Until the piano fell on him finishing him off.
“Thank God indeed,” said the trout, and had another cup of tea, and another jammy dodger.
But James Bond crawled out from under the broken piano, he was not dead.
Just then a random vat of acid poured over Bond, a passing maniac had slipped carrying it to his lair.
And that was the final end of Bond.
But then James Bond crawled out from under the acid. “I am undeadable!” he cried.
However as much as he wanted t be, Bond was not undeadable and he promptly dissolved into a pile on the floor.
Luckily Q had a gadget that put Bond back together: The 007-Reconstituter.
The Smutty Story (TGIO line by line 2)
Chains hung from the ceiling, glinting in the moonlight.
Sarah struggled against the tight bonds in her hand, watching as Albert treaded lightly across the room towards her.
She felt scared but exhilarated as Albert advanced upper her. Her heartbeat began to race.
Sarah began to wonder if she was in a 50 shades of Grey novel.
Albert whipped out his throbbing blunderbuss… and began to laugh.
He laughed long and hard, but didn’t notice the dark, small silhouette standing behind him.
“There is a new master in town now,” a mysterious voice whispered in his ear, before striking him down until the only sounds in the room were Sarah’s sobbing and the rattling chains around her wrists.
“I’ve waited a long time for this Sarah,” the mysterious stranger said pulling out a feather duster.
The mysterious stranger pulled out a pair of pink rubber gloves, then, as he belatedly realised he needed both hands free to put on the gloves, stuck the feather duster between his knees.
“What are you going to do with that?” Sarah asked, before a pair of sodden panties was stuffed in her mouth and fastened with duct tape.
“I’ve not decided yet,” he said waving the feather duster threateningly. The stranger walked slowly towards Sarah. The feather duster in his hand was raised as if he was about to thrust it through her. Her inner goddess baulked.
Then Jasmine stepped in, “Don’t forget me!” she said.
“I need a drink bitches!” And with that, an imaginary crocodile appeared behind him and shot him in the head, a resounding ‘bang’ echoing round the marine life centre.
“I wonder why there are chains hanging around in a marine life centre,” Jasmine wondered out loud before turning to Sarah.
Sarah muffled a reply through the panties.
Jasmine peered up at the helpless Sarah, “Are you ok up there?” she asked inquisitively.
“Mmmm-mmmm,” said Sarah.
“Ah well let me help you out sweetie,” said Jasmine seductively.
Suddenly someone jumped through the window.
When Reg from Coronation Street appeared and told them they would save a bundle replacing the windows.
“I said you buy one, YOU GET ONE FREE!”
So I shot him.
“Zut alon!” shouted the person who been shot, “Je le déteste! Tu est trop stupide!”
“Warum sprechen wir jetzt foreign?” Jasmine asked, not really understanding any German herself. She went to the body, started removing the trousers, and underwear. Her hands then busied themselves with taking off his shirt he was wearing, her eyes widening as she took in his sculpted body.
Sarah pouted watching in confusion at the scene below her. She how well the glue was holding. But after all it was No More Nails.
She freed herself and went down to distract Jasmine.
Jasmine was only too happy to comply.
After all she was a robot – ad all robots comply by robot law.
Of course she did, but her brother didn’t, and he jumped in through the window with a pair of pistols in his hands, stopped, smiled and wondered off singing “Automatic Electronic Harmonic,” by Steam Powered Giraffe.
Jasmine removed her corset seductively.
“You’ll need to do better than that love,” he said gesturing with his gun.
From the cleft of her buttocks, she pulled out something small and silver, a bullet…
“Maybe this will distract you,” she smirked loading it into the gun she pulled out from her ass as well, loading it and shooting Jasmine’s brother in his robot nads.
He shrieked an electronic mixture of pleasure and pain and somewhere shut in his mother’s basement, Skrillex wept at the sheer beauty of the sound.
As the sound washed over him systems began to shut down. One by one the vision and the torch began to fail as the boss washed through him, within his metallic bones he felt the music as he fell, fell down into oblivion.
Then Jasmine, corsetless, returned to Sarah.
And touched her boob.
“What a nice boob you have,” she said.
Sarah smiled and looking wantonly into Jasmine’s eyes, stepped forward slowly.
“That’s not all,” she said smiling seductively.
Unfortunately just then Jasmine’s batteries ran out. She stared at the ground, officially dead, or devoid of electrical energy.
Then the sun exploded.
And everyone died.
IT WAS THE END, THE END HAD COME, AND THERE WAS NO MORE SARAH NOR JASMINE NOR TROUT NOR JAMES BOND NOR FRENCH NOR GERMAN AND MORE NOTEPAD OR PENCIL AND THE WORLD EXPLODED KABOOM AND EVERYTHING ENEDED.
But then James Bond crawled out from under the end of the world. He lived happily ever after.
The Zoo Story (TGIO 3 words at a time)
The Zoo Story
Three feet underground lived a trout who liked to tickle small hedgehogs then feed them gumdrops, liquorice and blunderbusses. They did everything threateningly and softly, with joy.
Trout pouts wantonly.
The hedgehog knows that life can have happened twelve beers later but then I walked down the street and edging sideways walked into a tonelessly yodelling crocodile.
I shook my bum at him. He fell off his high horse and hit the sidewalk dying. “I can’t yodel like a Geordie crocodile!”
Just then a very tiny but huge thing threw his cake at the trout on the Eiffel Tower. Yelling “Stay off or the kippers will go wrong!”
The trout wobbled, all wibbly like, then fell off, opening its parachute, but the parachute was a chicken, the chicken flapped, a truncated dodo proved its survival.
All Parisians stared gormlessly like coffee at the beginning of the end of the middle of the start.
“Where am I?” “You are here!”
The trout blinked. And blinked again.
Then a salmon smoked a pipe. “A TREASONOUS IMAGE!” shouted the cat, then grinned, wickedly, “For that I shall jump up on the stomach of this mongoose.”
“No!” screamed Monty.
“Yeahwroof!” barked Woofsalot.
Hedgehog sat confused. Under the moonlight polishing his quills.
A passing owl burped. There was complete food in his feathery belly.
Batman came along singing Bananamen’s theme, while eating banana’s and nose-picking enthusiastically. “Yum yum yum.”
“Is this the Magna Carta, John?”
“Yes it is.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
Then something extraordinarily upsetting about confirming did not make sense blg33oxewgsyr.
The end of the story.
Or is it?
Yes it is.
Or is it?
It bloody is!
Very true indeed.
And here are the culprits, (or most of them, three managed to escape the room early).
|From NaNoWriMo Leeds 2012 TGIO|