Brittney wants your Valentine's stories. Don't disappoint her!
The Great Valentine's Story Contest
by Brittney
All right, you little goobers. The turnout for the Horrors of Fruitcake Story Contest was horrifically pathetic, and that does not make me proud! Our panel of judges declared the tales of Knight and PANSI to be the winners. The Cheesemeister loses because she brought that horrific fruitcake into the Netherworld Hotel.
PANSI doesn't read if she can help it, and both Knight and Mrs. Weirdso already have a copy of The Cheeesemeister/Lily Strange's and The Spooky Guy's book. So we'll have to come up with alternate prize for them.
Now, I need for you rotten little goblins to think up your ickiest, squishiest, most mushy Valentine's story that you can come up with. The one that is the most pukey sweet will win one prize. Conversely, the best anti-Valentine tale of terror will win a prize. The contest will end on February 15th, which just happens to be the unholy date of Cheesemeister/Lily's 43RD BIRTHDAY! Yes, she really is an old bat. First prize is, once again, an autographed copy of Lily's/Spooky's book. Or if you already own one of those gems, we will come up with an alternative prize for you.
Hey, we realize it ain't no 6,666,666,666 Quatloos. But what do you expect from a broke-ass wannabe writer and a dead guy who doesn't have anyone better to haunt than a broke-ass wannabe writer?
Maybe you think you actually have to have talent to participate in these contests. Hah--think again! Lily and Spooky wrote a whole book. What does that tell you? And if PANSI can write a story ANYONE can! So let's see 'em. Don't be a loser and make me open a can of Whoop Ass on you!
Wickedly,
Brittney
10 comments:
Something seems strange, I mean, I don't think people go to blogs to write them for someone else like they used to do with Indie. I've noticed that Lammy averages 107 hits a day, but they are going to the April archives where she was telling part of a story each day. Sort of like what Weirsdo does with Gone with the Captists. Seems like that is what you should be doing to show your talent and get people interested in your book.
The story contest is a hook to get people interested in the book. I think there are people out there who might like feeling like they're part of something. I could be wrong of course. I promise I won't let Brittney go psycho on you for not participating, though.
107 hits a day? Wow, I'm jealous!
I think Quorthon should write one.
Whenever my dear nephew Quorthon attempted to suggest material for the last book, my other dear nephew Spooky responded with a pie to his face. I think he has become leery of composing stories! But perhaps between the three of us we can come up with something suitably curmudgeony.
You people are all pathetic! I'll show you how a Crappy Times reporter gets things done!
Perhaps the most romantic time I've ever had happened the day I showed up on the set of the XXX movie "Jerkin' Jack Flash" last year. I heard that Spooky was so desperate for money that he was going to be in the movie. Well, that was a lie. It was actually Tom Thumb wearing a blond wig that reached down to his ankles, and he wasn't fooling anyone. I also heard that Mick Jagger himself was going to be in the movie, and I really wanted to see that and maybe get in on the action. But it was really just Oxy Moron after he had gotten a lip collagen treatment, and he was wearing a Beatle wig! I was so disappointed in King Smut! I mean, he has never been anything but honest in his pornographic presentations.
I was sitting there feeling ever so dismayed--betrayed by the world. After all, if you can't trust the Netherworld's biggest porn purveyor, who can you trust? Just as I thought I was going to have to go drink myself into oblivion alone at Ugly Grace's, along came Rodney Roach. Now many of you may say "ewwww, a cockroach," and to be honest, that was my first reaction. But Rodney was so kind and so concerned about my unhappiness that we went to Ugly Grace's for a drink. Rodney told me he thought that I needed a massage to calm me, and that his good friend Buzzin the giant alien fly gave the best massages in the Universe. Well, I happen to know that Buzzin gives good massages, having payed many a Quatloo for his services in the past. So I couldn't have agreed more, and I left with Rodney for the Netherworld Hotel.
When I got downstairs to the massage tables, I could tell that Buzzin had been drinking a bit by the multitude of empty jugs of Cuzzin Hildy-Bob's Yodelmaker Special Shine. Buzzin was buzzing out a tune from his three mouths that sounded like someone with a plugged-up nose playing harmonica, and Buzzoff, the giant alien bee-thing, was playing his bass. I really don't know what gives him the idea that he can play the bass because he plays it upside down and backwards, but it seems to work for Death Cheese, so who am I to say? Anyway, Rodney said that I needed a massage so Buzzoff buzzed off and went to practice with the other members of Death Cheese. I took off my clothes and Buzzin started working on me with his usual professional skill and humming hypnotically that I wanted to give him at least a 666-Quatloo tip for his services. I always tip Buzzin well, so that wasn't going to be a problem. So I started to relax and forget all about that lying sack of garbage King Smut and his F-list celebrities disguised as rock stars.
Suddenly I felt a thrilling tickle in my nether regions. I wondered if Buzzin had slipped since feeling up his customers isn't his style, unless you believe that he's the father of Lammy's kid, like Lammy claims. But I looked around and I could see and feel that Buzzin was working my shoulders. He wasn't doing anything out of line. So who was feeling me up? Suddenly I heard a little clicking whisper in my ear.
"Don't worry about it, Lyanne, just relax and enjoy."
Dawn was right--that Rodney Roach really knows how to please a gal! I think I came at least six times from the tickling of his six legs. Who would have thought it--a roach is the greatest lover in the Universe? Even though Buzzin is the greatest massage therapist I couldn't wait to pay him off and go upstairs with Rodney for a wild night of bliss.
Rodney and I dated for several months until I found out that one night he and Buzzin got really drunk and were fooling around over at the Wiggly Wee Wee. I was crushed! I wanted to crush Rodney too but then I realized he was probably better off with his own crawly kind. Still I will never forget the many nights of buggy bliss that he gave me before things came to an end. Rodney and I are still friends--and sometimes I wonder if we couldn't be friends with benefits?
Happy Valentine's day Rodney my love!
xxxooo,
Lyanne
Way to make me lose my dinner, Lyanne! And you call that romantic? It sounds like a Penthouse letter! Of course to you, a Penthouse letter probably is romantic. I guess this story of yours is sickening, although I certainly would not call it "sweet." And I suppose in its own way it is horrific as it will most likely give me nightmares. So perhaps you have succeeded after all in spite of your lousy hack writing skills!
It was Valintine's Day. Somone got Pansi a can of playdouh. The note was sined "Deer Miss Pansi, Pat this ontoo your head. Let it hardin. Bust it off with a hamer. You will look beutifull afterwards. Tuff love, your Secrit Admyrer." So Miss Pansi pat the hole can of playdoo on to her head. She coudnt brethe but that didint mater becuase her brane wasint the kind that neaded air. Then she wated for the playdooh to hardden. She hit it away with a hamer. When the last crumble had crummbled away she saw she her old head was gone and looked exackly like Mr. Indecincy!
Young man, I believe your story might win the contest. It horrfied poor PANSI so that she fainted dead away!
I didint meen to scair poor Pansi she is a nice ladie. i think it wuold be horable if that relly hapinned like in the story.
Grashoper Boy!!!! I am so FRITENED for YOU!!!!!
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