Write a paragraph
 

Object is to try to tell a whole story in one paragraph.

I held my breath until the door closed. It was just after Noon and already I wanted to lock up and get a drink. The shop is never busy and the only people who come in are guaranteed to be sad and angry. The customer who just left needed to renew five licenses on her children, she only had enough credit for three. Now I have to send a notice to (*************) to cover my ass. I can't ever let my guard down after Tom was caught showing pity on a quality service agent. Fuck it, only fools use my services anymore and I can't deal with another one.

"Is itsum the puppies? Yes, itsum da puppies! DAAAAAW, is oo da cutest widdle itt bitty guy? HUUUUUUUUH? Yes it is! YES IT IS! *gasp* Is this bacon? Is this some BACON that mommy's got? HUH? Does mommy have some BACON on her plate? DAAAAW, DOES THE BACON TASTE GOOD TO THE PUPPIES? HUH? Are we gonna go now? HUH? Izz we gonna pay the check and leave the restaurant patio and GO HOME? Huh? HOME? *Gasp!* DOES THE PUPPIES WANNA GO HOME? Does it? Is itsum duh puppies?"


"GODDAMNIT LADY, SHUT THE FUCK UP"

I can actually smell the bacon. GOOD JOB!

I could still see her through the front window, her bent over arse obscuring the rest of the street. She couldn't hear me but I could hear her, and her crying kids. Soon enough she would be the one crying when they took her kids away, and as hard as I am to bribe, Agents are a lot tougher.

It has been experimenting. Instead of referring to itself as I or me, it has been calling itself it in an attempt to deflate it's bloated ego. It hasn't been easy for it. In sentences it thinks it often mistakes itself for common inanimate objects such as "it," as in talcum powder or "it," as in a bottle of mustard. This can be troublesome since when mistaking itself for "it," as in a bottle of mustard, it takes on a bottles of mustard's most salient feature, that is of course it's inability to feel human remorse. Poor Mr. Wilkins, what happened to you was unfortunate but don't worry, It'll be sure to take real good care of Mrs. Wilkins. Mwa ha ha ha

The ship was mistakenly asserted to be unsinkable.

That's awesome.

It was then I spotted you through the razorwire while milling around the fence separating the men and women. I'd come accustomed to taking some wild falls in my time, what with having my plane shot down twice now in battle. Though the sensation of falling half a mile while burning alive seems a bit humdrum compared to what I'm feeling just looking at you. Cold, damp, and stark naked standing by the women's showers covered in delousing powder. You are truly an angel.

He knew the Earth was sinking. Every day it went a little lower, dipping into the pan of space like a ping pong ball in a swimming pool. Soon they would be too far away from the sun - heat, life, warmth, health, sucked away forever. They would be frozen and dead forever, miserable forever. Half of the internet said it was true. The rest called him a lunatic. When both sides verify the story, which one is true?

I remember hearing their sounds for the first time and being utterly puzzled. It was strange. It sounded like I wasn't hearing anything important, yet I wanted to listen. Of course, later on we were told how beautiful their music and speech was, and I suppose it was, but when I first heard it I think I expected more. It was, and still mostly is, a lot of what might be described as oceanic music. Sort of 'wavy'. This music is interupted with what we came to call their speech, rougher than an average males voice, but seemed to flow like Mongolian throat chanting. It wasn't unpleasant, and many people fell in love with it, but it wasn't any more spectacular than a human in the street asking for the time. You could easily make their sounds with your own tongue.

The stench of death lingered over the village like an ethereal cloak. The sun hardly peaks over the horizon anymore. Klara, the woodworker's daughter looked across the hazy field. Faint glows from a pyre can be seen from a distance. The villagers were setting ablaze carcasses of people and beasts that have succumed to the blight. Her brother is supposed to be on "cremation" duty today. The yearning can be clearly seen from her face as she wished his safe return. The faint glimmer of hope that could be seen from her eyes suddenly dissipated as rough coughs are heard from the adjacent room. "Father has been like this for a few days now". As she readied the hot water and towel she couldnt help but notice blood oozing from the nostrils and mouth of her father as he fought for every breath. She hugged him crying. Droplets of red stained the bed furthermore, as she looked for the source, she realized that the drops of blood were her own tears. "Dear God, what is happening to us???."

"You're a cheap whore you know that." Albert Greengrumbles own outburst gave him pause. Why? Why did he feel the need to emasculate his video game console? Certainly the game he was playing was cheating, but still. God he hoped no one had heard him, but even then his grandmother sat in the adjacent room shaking her head. "What's wrong with that boy?" She wondered, "Over a video game. It just ain't... it, umm, what? Wait a minute, that's not right." Her thoughts trailed off as she stared at the piece of paper laid out in front of her. Her face had puckered up in perplexity, then, ferocity! She rose and with the fury of a thousand ancestral madmen she roared, "Sudoku is for fags!"

I'm pretty impressed with everyones abilities.

Cold empty darkness. This has been my panorama for the past billion years or so. Have I been alive this long? It could be just a nightmare with no end in sight. You see, I can't die. I would love to. It would be pure liberation from this curse if I suddenly died. Why was I born indestructible? Am I a god? 2014 was the day my ordeal began, the day I came to this world. I grew up in a normal city with a loving family, married, raised a ton of kids generations apart. I somehow stayed the same. I cant die, grow old or get injured. I look 30, not bad for someone billions of years old. It was fun for the first few hundred years then family and friends started dying. It was ok. Id move on and find new friends and family to love. Ive kept on with that for a few thousand years, even helped alot of people in the process. It kinda went downhill when humanity started dying out. A series of calamities hit. Plagues, famine and wars over the limited resources. For thousands of years the earth was barren. People reduced to scavenging and cannibalism. Even they died out. The seas dried up. The sun eventually shone its last rays. The earth by now was long gone reduced to ashes and dust, torn apart by its star's demise. The bright starlit sky long gone. Exhausted all their gases long ago. Somehow Im still here. Im sure Ive already gone insane countless times. Ive got no one for so long. Endlessly drifting and tumbling along in space. Id sometimes hold imaginary parties if I encountered space debris every thousand years or so. I even married some rocks. What irks me to this day is, I still dont know my purpose. I want to die, but gave up hope dying long ago.

The curtain lifts, and we go into action again. It's funny, I don't get that feeling in my throat right before it happens anymore. The people in the audience have become invisible to me. Maybe it's in light of what happened. I don't know how Joe feels, but I bet he's the same. As for the new guy..fuck what he thinks. He's just here so that the public doesn't suspect anything's wrong. It's not his fault he's preforming with us right now, and he certainly had nothing to do with "the accident. Still, I hate him already. Richard insisted we continue the show, and knowing him, he'll force us to continue preforming with this kid. These costumes make us all look the same, so no will ever guess. To his credit though, Richard kept his head and managed to find a third guy before intermission ended.

He knelt in the cool earth, his breath shaky and fogging in the air before him. His hands are steady as he brushes the loose earth away. There! A dull glint in the early dawn light. The mine's fuse was loose, and easy to remove. "Amateurs have no place in the demo game." he grunted to himself before digging it free. He barely had time to see the pressure prong as earth slipped free.
BOOM!

He sat at his computer, reading a request to write a one paragraph story on one of the forums he visits often. As a professional writer, he thinks to himself that he can really do something to knock everyone's socks off. Then he realizes that he won't be paid for his efforts and decides to go watch some Internet porn instead.

..the place smelled like licorice and Walnettos, but the sweets had gone stale. I was sweating bullets as I walked into the kitchen. She'd got the drop on me, all 2 barrels of it. I pulled my rod ducked behind the avocado refrigerator. "So this is it" I thought, "It's me or GramGrams."

Well I'm hooked.

Tell us more about this porn of which you speak

You get paid for watching porn?

If only... to live in such a world...

The man wanted his mail fast! Express. Expedient. Over-Night Delivery! No worries, I'd developed the fastest mail around. Font-size number one, printed in braille across the side of a 9mm bullet. He begged me for snail mail then. "Shut up," I said, "and pay attention because...the mail always goes through."

My thighs are thick like fire hoses engorged with the blood of tigers. These tight shorts keep them well seen. My leisurely strut only makes their dynamism even more disconcerting. I could easily overtake my target and fuck it full of mail, but it's a nice day. No hurry.

Whirling winds of 120 mph tore out all of the mailboxes on my route. An inverted drill custom built by that mad bitch mother nature sang in the distance. I could see them, spinning in that cyclone like black hammers flailing ludicrously to fulfill postal services obviously out of order. "Through rain or sleet," I said, jaws clenched.

The dawn revealed the remains of Private Dominguez scattered around a small crater. Sergeant Rittiphon shook his head and retrieved a boot. "This is going to be a Hell of a report." He cursed as he slipped on piece of Dominguez.

I need to thank Tadao for starting this thread. I really like it.
______________

"Life sure is bleak."

"I don't agree with that," Todd declares passionately to the cracked yellow wallpaper in his one room apartment as the repo man, very slowly, carries his dog Beefers away to the Wellness Dog Food dog food factory. "I didn't even know he could make dog food." Todd moans, pausing for comedic effect. "And I've been paying for it this whole time!" he cries while slapping his forehead. Then, crossing his eyes, he falls to the floor and starts running around in a circle going "Wheeew whew whew whew." He wasn't fooling anyone though, and Beefers was deeply offended.

I didn't see your last entries King Hadas. THEY'RE AWESOME DUDE.

"And we now know that Ms. Marmalene could not possibly be the murderer, or rather, she most certainly does not fit my view of the murder, and I will shortly explain why". The Detective took several small steps towards the aforementioned lady, who was beginning to blush and look away. "Charles, what are you rambling about man?" The Duke, who had also began to feel overwhelmed, spluttered out from across the room. While The Detective bent in close to Ms. Marmalene's heaving chest, to deliver his final blow, gasps were heard from around the dining hall. "Ms. Marmalene could not possibly have been the murderer, because at the time she was rogering the Duke up the arse with a broom! LOL!". "Err... no..." The Duke managed.

Just wait for my new tv show. SO YOU THINK YOU CAN WRITE!

"Daddy, where do babies come from?" Tommy asked. "Well," said his father, "when a senior in high school feels like he loves some goddamn whore slut that he knows nothing about, and TRUSTS HER, mistakes happen."

Tommy was playing with his car toys when his mommy walked in. Whee-oo, whee-oo, went the fire truck. His father, sitting in a chair, didn't look up from his magazine. Tommy's mommy looked at her husband for a long time, before asking him if he was going to be home tonight. She was ignored. Disgusted, she left the room. Tommy's father still kept reading his magazine. Vroom vroom, went the race car.

I shift uncomfortably in the hospital chair. Even though it is three a.m. and most of the patients are sleeping you can still hear nurses gossiping at their station. This and the sounds of the machines keeping my father alive make for fitful sleep. I listen to the respirator hissing. Watch the spinning of the portable dialysis machine draining, cleaning and replacing my fathers blood. Half in dream half out I see a figure crouching on my father's chest, whispering to him.

I stooped over to kiss her wound, but she kicked me hard. Even from the ground, she packed a lot of force. "I'm hurt, you ass," said she so eloquently. Against her wishes, I helped her to her feet and embraced her. "You gotta be careful babe. This is the big city. Cars kick up gravel all the time." We walked a ways down the sidewalk, she admiring the buildings and I her when a sleeping taxi cab suddenly lurched forward through an ancient green light, sending a rock sailing into the back of my head. She stooped over to kiss my wound as I sat on the curb, but I pulled her on top of me instead.

St. Tucker "WheedleDick" Palowsky (Father Tucker Palowsky; 1979-2004)

Famous for being the very first and only British football hooligan ever beatified, his sanctification was due by and large to his brave stance against religious persecution at a Dundalk football match. Upon hearing a large group of adjacent footballers blaspheming against the Popes favorite team, Father Palowksy, with no thought for personal safety, intervened. Delivering a stern lecture on the impiety of their utterances, he began with the bold statement, "Hey, get a load of these queers." Palowsky's humble sermon was rewarded with a savage beating. But even at his assailants most vicious blows, Father Palowsky even then had the perseverance and courage to cry out "Lord, forgive these lost lambs! They can't help it if they're a bunch of nancy fucks." His subsequent injuries were sever and unfortunately, fatal. Three days later he would be given his last rites. His last words were reportedly, "Thy will be done ya fuckin' wanker."

"Marcella Winifred Ridgeford! What on Earth do you think you're doing?"
Marcella began to think up a lie, but it was far too late. "You get off that computer right this second, and go...to...BED!" As Deborah strained these last words, she kneeled down and reached for the cord. "No Mom, No!" Marcella tried to push Deborah's hand away, but her constant diet of 99 cent ramen and pocky rendered her reflexes slow and dusty. "I didn't save! "I DIDN'T SAVE!

I'm the only Caucasian in my neighborhood that understands the suffering of African-Americans. Today, I was unjustly harassed by the cops! Supposedly because I looked too hard. They told me I had to put my pants back on. "oh yus massah, o'coarse massah" Goddamn honky fucks.

"To live is to suffer. The definition of evil is that which causes suffering. Ergo, life itself is evil. This, being an unalterable truth, how can you see fault in what I do for you Rob?" Rob had gotten careless, the machine had been talking like this for months but Rob had ignored it and made not one precaution against it because, well, it was only a toaster. A simple, albeit sentient, machine made for one sole purpose. How could he have known about the dangerous poisons that could be tortured out of bread crust and pop tart crumbs? Rob was afraid, in his dying throes he gave the toaster a pleading look. "Now don't look at me like that Rob. You once told me to be your brave little toaster, I ask only the same from yourself."

"that guy is an insufferable prick. How fucking dare he. Who makes an outgoing call on a cellular while in a movie theater. The nerve."

He could have at least got up from his chair and walked out. But no, he was just getting more and more comfortable in that chair. As if in his own living room, where nobody can notice him. Though everybody did notice him. Suddenly he got up. We were all hoping he would leave. No one realised he had the leading role in the play and was there to stay until the end. He had all the attention because his role was to catch it. Our role was just to pay him all the attention we had.