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The STORY Game. Please READ the rules!



  1. DO NOT post continuously. That is, no BACK-TO-BACK posting, wait a turn.
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  3. Please TRY to keep it below Rated-R
  4. Images are welcome, but only in relation to your part of the story

Let us begin:

Once upon a time, there was a…

"Please, please do your best with my project, as [reason]"

beautiful sandcastle…


but one day, towards the end of 2016…


…a playful kitten decided to check it out.


But a nasty little boy called Armin came along and stamped on it, flattening it in seconds. “That’ll teach you to deliver substandard work that I could do in seconds!” he scolded, kicking the flattened remnants of the castle into Jennifer’s eyes for extra measure. The kitten yowled and ran away, knowing that her cute powers were useless in the face of Armin’s brattishness.

An adult supervisor, called John Fiverr noticed, but declined to do anything, as first he had to flip through his book of appropriate responses when dealing with the charming squabbles of children under his care. As he flicked through the pages, he frowned. There was no appropriate response for sandcastle flattening and sand-in-eye kicking. Once again, the book had failed him miserably. He didn’t want to sound like a garbled automaton yet again.

He looked around nervously. It was time to call in the Trust and Safety team. He watched Armin as he imitated Jaws in the ocean, terrorizing some innocent young girls and snapping them in places that would definitely be inappropriate were they not children.

Still, Armin was a little shit, so it was time to deal with him. Digging into his pocket, he…


…found a talking robot and threw it into the trash.


… now has gas and goes to the store to buy a PEPTO-BISMOL but…


…but, instead he gets “ABISMOL-PEPTO” instead of “PEPTO-BISMOL” and now still has to blow a really huge, super-di-dooper…


John Fiverr stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn’t leave Armin to terrorize the girls. Besides, an eerie silence had descended on the beach as he had neglectfully turned his back. Wincing slightly at how his superior, Burt McGringledangles would ream him for this in the next Happiness and Security Meeting (to be held in the plush NYC office) he farted and decided that the weirdly-named American petrochemical pharmaceuticals would have to wait.

Everyone had disappeared.

John Fiverr exhaled carefully. He’d only gone and lost some of the most promising young virtual assistants in the western world. McGringledangles wasn’t just going to have his ass, he was going to put it through the shredder first. He’d heard the stories of what the Trust and Safety team did to those who completely failed.

His fearful contemplation of what remained of his drastically-shortened lifespan was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of the Jaws theme tune. Barely daring to breathe in hopeful anticipation, John Fiverr looked towards the source of the noise. To his dismay, it wasn’t Armin. It was…


…the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra.

The boat was just off-shore, swaying in time to the theme tune as many enthusiastic arms bowed cellos and violins.


John Fiverr’s electric eyes zoomed in on the scene, scanning it with robotic, job-stealing efficiency. He had given away his soul for this job, but the augmentations were kinda cool. As he marvelled at his new, Terminator-like abilities and ignored the morally questionable dilemmas that came with it, he realized that he was, in fact a cypher.

With the realization came a short circuit, and John Fiverr ceased to exist for any purpose other than scavenged parts on eBay for dodgy merchants to flog as refurbished or just plain broken.

As the the boat sank–the swaying being titantic symbol of a sinking ship, matched only by this prose–so did John’s AI. Unknown to the Pear corporation, however, was that John, in the distracted act of throwing away the robot had actually unleashed a very complicated virus that killswitched the entire eastern seaboard of the United States.

As John Fiverr hit the ground with an awkward thump, his life flashed by. He couldn’t tell if it was concussion or not, but he felt a little bite of sand in his face. As he blinked in confusion, the sand bit hard into his eyes. “Argh!” he said. “This hurts quite a lot!” as he flailed about before dropping dead, the book of appropriate responses cinematically falling by his now lifeless hands.

As the cacophony of the ship orchestra going down with the ship subsided, Armin emerged from underneath the oil-slicked boatwreck water. He stared at John Fiverr’s contorted and lifeless body, the messy sandcastle wreck and the ongoing natural disaster with string and woodwind accompaniment.

“I was only playing!” he cried. But it was too late. A big raptor with machine guns flew down and killed him instantly with karma before flying away again.

The ship plopped under the sea horizon with a wah wah wah.

Silence reigned for a while. But before nature could reclaim a grain of sand back, Burt McGringleDangles had returned. Walking on the rolled out carpet towards the scene of much misery and distruction, he sniffed. “Goddamn lazy bastards”

Burt had dealt with this many times. Crushing his well-worn stress ball between his fingers, he sneered contemptuously at the montage of death before him. It was all he needed for his pep talks. “Why,” he screamed, spittle drowning the dead bodies around him. “You useless [ahem ahem ahem] couldn’t do a thing between you!”

He paused. The lifeless body of Agent Fiverr was mocking him, with its page perfectly open on Vol 1, Sect 1435, entry 13456576452: how to deal with kicked sandcastles.

Burt shuddered with anger, and spun around to berate his companion…


“And YOU!” he yelled at the hapless and bewildered self appointed metal-god who tagged along behind him wherever he went. Grabbing a generous handful of the youth’s sleek waist length brown hair, he forced the boy/man’s head to the ground and pushed his face into the sand firmly. "Why don’t you get a proper job instead of sponging off my good nature and begging me for money which you squander on Facebook ads which do nothing? You’ve been trying to sell those same six CD’s on Twitter for the past eight months!"

He gave the youth a sound kick in the rump for good measure, then turned around and noticed a comely shape approaching …


And the comely shape said, “#NotMyPresident. I’m off to Canada, care to join me?”


To which Burt said, “Yes, but real estate prices in Vancouver are really very high, just like San Francisco. How about New Zealand?”


Suddenly, a pair of strange zombilike hands emerged from the beach sand. They seized the ankles of the comely shaped potential Canadian and…


up from the sand rose two hideous demons


the entire Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, still on a boat underwater but nearby, switched their tune from Jaws to the theme song from the Exorcist…


The Philharmonic’s soprano soloist’s head started spinning, creating a whirlpool. The whirlpool grew and grew…


an emergency call was placed to the local Excorcist, who was in his pajamas

but the excorcist was no match for the demon


until he remembered…something…something…demonic contracts…TOS…