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Thread: Indian John and the waffle of antidisestablishmentarianism

  1. #1
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    Default Indian John and the waffle of antidisestablishmentarianism

    It was a cold November night, when the mysterious fellow slithered out of the shadows into the barely lit alleyway, holding a small carcass. His footsteps echoed off the walls, with glittering moonlight spitting over his body. His footsteps continued towards the melodramatic door, his mind deep in thought and his face sunken in a peculiar shade of grey. Neared to the door he went, each step shocking him with fear. He knew this could well be his end, but it was too late to turn back; he had sealed his fate a long time ago and he was tired of running. Nearer to that foreboding dull red door. He wondered how that first day had led onto all of this, yet relief flooded through him remembering it. That first god damn day... With the door now in reach, he sighed with remorse and reached outwards onto the glowing red handle. Slowly, fearing what was on the other side, he turned the handle until he heard a click and swung it open.

    An assortment of waffles and other batter-based bakers goods flew into the air with the astonished Indian chef standing there by the door holding a child-sized gingerbread man. Groups of people wandered over to the clueless man shouting illegible phrases and words. Waffles surrounded him like a prison, yet he was glad to be isolated from the crowds of sugar-addicts. His mustache then began beeping and reminded him that he needed to kill them all. Of course, he didn't want to, but it was that or play cricket against his home team and bring shame to his family including possible grand-children. He sighed. From out of his pocket, he slid a rocket - yes that's right, he had a pocket rocket - and started working on the control mechanism needed to make it explode when a certain level of pancake mixture was detected in it's near by radius. Being fairly confident with his rocket science, he got out his lighter and lit a Cuban cigar, wishing he became a brain surgeon like his brother. The smoke circled him and reminded him of all the people about to die and he laughed, because his phone was vibrating and he always found it ticklish. He quickly set off the rocket and watched it flare through the waffle barrier and into the middle of the room before disappearing beneath the constraints of the waffle prison and answered his phone only whispering "It is done" before ending the call and eating a whole into the waffle near where the door was. He wasn't particularly hungry, but everyone can eat their weight in waffles, because they truly are the snack of angels and are truly scrumptious. The gap widened and he could see the door. Quickly, he slipped through the whole and dashed to the door and slammed it quickly as the sound of exploding batter battered against it.

    More to come with time... Hopefully...
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  2. #2
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    Default

    Huh? Wait, here. Have a cookie.

    Anyway, great story, apart from the pocket rocket thingiemajiggywhatchamcallit. Hah. Longer words than yours.

    Persoally, if you could change the font, add a couple more paragraphs in it, I might be more willing to read it, but it is a pretty good story.

    Cookie > Waffle
    [QUOTE]<GoF`> oh no its Raymooond
    <Raymooond> Heya
    <GoF`> is it ray or some other ray?
    <LeeLokHin> No idea
    <LeeLokHin> Raymond, what's the game you like the most?
    <Raymooond> Runescape
    <-- LeeLokHin has kicked Raymooond from #srl (Faker.)[/QUOTE]

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