Neverending Story [Game]

[IngerFjola]

That is fact all over the world.

[GAGAGO]

:crazy1: So now you are speaking for the whole world? Puffed up are you?

[GAGAGO]

What is up Doc? Where are we?

[Stratowarius]

You are in Honolulu, dressed like a Zulu!

Freckle is in trouble! Big blue ocean-trouble-boubble!

[eternity_strato]

you have to be too desperate to eat doro's pussy

[Stratowarius]

Have you really, really tasted it? HUH!

[eternity_strato]

No, polish skanks are only for shitolkki

poor viktoria. born of a cocksucker and a bipolar rot.

[Stratowarius]

Sorry, my lunch is over,so I can't develop this interesting chat. But I wonder a lot over your bigbig anger. It is entertaining in all it's exaggerations.

[GAGAGO]

Ignore that crazy idiot. He is not worth it...

[AGAG]

Who is the crazy worthless idiot?. Asked the man in the other room. "Ich sage euch.." danced the beetle, to the beautiful music "And there is a parallel fourth, on the second line. You must be the idiot. Yes YOU." But there was no time left for that. The beetle left and danced a little mid-air, he wasn't going to die tonight, oh no, there was too many things to dance to...

Where is the idiot? Asked the strutt-comander, in the other strut. "Spracht Jiesus zu Ihnen..." hummed the goats. "And there's hidden yeasts on the milk, second stable, the leftmost bucket. You must be the farmer idiot. IDIOT." But there was no time left for that petty things. The goat had already hopped into the grazing fields, she wasn't going to die today, oh no, there was to many milk to give. Too many fields to graze...

Where is the FUCKING fiddle? Asked the poet, in the other country. "Meine Geige, if möglich.." Sang the sub-acuatic light-monsters, by the tamed sea. "And there's sea-sand on your accordion. Oh, foolish sister. FOOL" But there was no time for that. The poet had to make another late-night meal, for her sister too, he loved her in secret. He wasn't going to die today, oh no, there was too many meals to cook. Too many sister to fiddle with...

Where is the fucking lunch? Asked the freckle, in the café. "Der mit Milch und Honig fliesset..." Mumbled her stomach, in the line. "And this is definitely not an acceptable average of composite carbohydrates. It leaves no doubt, this diet is shit. SHIT." But there was no time for that. Freckle had to take care of the plaits, comb and frizzle. She wasn't going to die today, oh no, there was too much plait for a lifetime...

Where is the FUCKING drummer? Asked everyone in stratoforum. "Was mein Jens will, das gescheh allzeit..." Said tolkki, while eating another pie, in front of the computer. "And there is not enough children in the world. We need to make More. MORE." But there was no time for that. Jens was playing bach in a church with his brother. They were not going to die today, oh no, there was too much beer to puke...

And the earth gave another turn in the eternal merry-go-round. Tonatiuh sighed while getting away from the underworld. And and...

[ÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖ]

She sighed and she sighed and she...

Welcome back, you son of disperse! But, but didn't you forget to tell us, what you have been up to, since Freckle waved you good bye at Helsinki airport?

My spy, the ubiquitous Pekka, has told me, that you almost lost your precious volador, when you tried to fuck a snappish werewolf-labrador in your hometown. But that you at the same time infected him with your not yet cured Clamydia severe and that he died a painful Clamydia-werewolf-death. HUHHUH!

But there are also happy things you could have told us. For example about your new book, "Greenbirds Two" that has become such a success. I quote one of the beautiful poems here, to give our readers some idea of your poetry.

Apegado a mis brazos como una enredadera,
Las hojas recogian tu voz lenta y en calma,
Siento via jar tus ojos y es distante el otono,
Boina gris, voz de pajaro y corazon de casa hacia dondo,
Emigraban,
Mis profundos anhelos,
Y caian mis besos alegres como brasas...

I will later give you the latest gossip Pekka has related from Seattle and Leeds. Juicy? Huh, that is only the first name. HUHU!

[Arnold Layne]

I, Arnold, can attest to the fact that Pekka Fucking visited my flat in Leeds, England, where we enjoyed a light supper of bacon and seared-salmon sushi rolls. HAHAHAHA! You will find Pekka in critical condition in St. James University Hospital in Leeds, West Yorkshire, England. The goatfucking alien from excessa messed with the wrong guy, that's for sure.

I developed a deep hatred for illegal aliens ever since my job licking stamps at the post office was outsourced to India. They said I was not producing saliva at peak capacity anymore, BUTT I call it discriminassion. Pfft.

I am so happy that I took out Nurmi...I almost feel a poem coming on.... :jump2:

HUH!

Arnold Layne

[ÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖ]

I could hear how you hiccuped, Arnold, when I wrote about the juicy Leeds-gossip I had, and I understand that I scared the shit out of you. Didn't I? Haha!

Ja, Pekka has told me this and that. He is back from St James, and believe it or not. He is very angry at you for that fish. So I suggest you to hide in some lead-bunker, where his fucking X-ray-eyes can't see you.

He (Pekka of course, you ignorant fool ) forced me, with his gangsta-pistola, to tell this Forum about your new achievements. Huh!

Apparently you no longer are content with only women-wool-underpants and have developed your taste and are now more interested in men-not-wool-more-silk-briefs. You sneak out in the dark Leeds-parks, in the late hours, and make men undress under pistola-threat, and then hand over their drawers...

You are known ass the yodeling and happy-jumping, corpulent, close-fitting-pant-robber, Arnold! And the police know, that they are hunting high an low, for a discontent stamp-licker or plummer as the title is.

So don't push your luck, Arnold! I suggest that you move over to Germany and Karlheinz. He still pines for you, you know... Huhhuh. Germans...

[Arnold Layne]

To hell with Nurmi! I do not fear him anymore. I have lost five pounds through heavy breathing exercises and am in the best shape of my life....round. Bring on the russo-finnish farmer, he will find no fear in my fucking eyes.

And everyone knows a man of my stature cannot run, nor hide. Therefore, I continue to stay in my flat here in Leeds, eating boston cream pies and continuing my quest to lay an egg which will hatch into a powerful Nidhogg, to do my every bidding.

Jaja, I have already laid three eggs but after sitting on them for some time I find I can no longer locate them.

The bit about the silk-briefs is all propaganda (though the pistola part is true, jaja). Everyone knows I am a wool man.

Arnold Layne

[ÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖ]

Whatwhatwhat! Not afraid of Pekka? You must be crazy you ignorant fool! He IS a dangerous ALIEN and you have irritated him. You are in his fucking eyes, how incredible it may sound, a pathetic little GNATGNAT, and he could kill you with some FLYSWATTER any minute.

So for heavens sake look up a lead-bunker. NOW. You and your eggs must be safe. Could you please lay one for me?

[AGAG]

And so the leedsman got busy right away. He went to the nearest bathroom and there he laid a pink egg inside a garbage can. It was a 20 minute process of hard contractions and loud puffs. It was all a gift for the brisk golden-plaited girl since she had been nice to him and cooked really great food. She received The Egg with a big smile. All layne asked was that his high-fat egg was put into good use. And Freckle did it that very same night! It was a large one and the cooking process involved massive saucepans and two wheels of cheese, the resulting omelette was monstrous and thick and the girl ate it in one sit. But but, Arnold was not very pleased when he returned from the all-nighter french buffet wendesday morning..

"Why did you eat it?" cried Layne "It was not food, but a living creature, my offspring made of concentrated calories. You were supposed to care for it, keep it in your lap for it to hatch and bring you happiness. Now it is being digested and and... who on earth eats omelettes for dinner?" Layne began huffing. The girl just could be sincere "It was the best omelette I've had in my life..."

12 hours passed and Arnold laid a bigger egg. Weighing 14.5 pounds. This one came with a really strange blue-green pattern on the shell. Freckle had learned her lesson so she kept the egg on her skirt all day long to give the voluminous creature enough heat and love. Never thought of eating it. It grew and grew by the hour.

The following night, the chlamydia infested poet entered freckle's home. He seemed really worried "Freckle! dear Freckle!" He screamed "I have LOST Lassie. The large-tailed maltese I got acquainted with! It is the neighbours' dog and and we went out for a walk last night and and... What am I going to do?? We were having so much fun..." he searched every room and scratched a few fleas on his head.. Freckle was not home. He was extremely hungry from playing fetch with Lassie and saw a very big egg on the kitchen corner. IT was his chance! He could not miss the opportunity to make his very own cheese muffin frittatta with pee-leaves for freckle.

He got all the ingredients ready, including the pee cups. He was very excited to cook in freckle's kitchen. But! as soon as he cracked the eggshell with a metal fork, a weird blue glow came out from within the egg. The sound coming from the inside was terrifrying and all the poet's fleas and ticks fled from his head. "NO! friends, don't leave." screamed the poet. But there was no time. The creature had already hatched and and he said...

[Arnold Layne]

"I am Listerine the Nidhogg, son of Layne. Feel my wraith! But first, feel my sweaty palms. Do you feel my damp sweat? That is what we call a breeding ground for various harmful, perhaps lethal pathogens. I demand hand-sanitizer and a thorough cleansing of every square inch of this house. Though I may be great, I have a crippling fear of bacteria, microorganisms, and pathogens, ESPECIALLY fagocytes. Damn them!" The majestic pink dragon flapped her wings about in a display of power, before emitting a shrill scream at a small spider on the floor.

"I CANNOT do your every bidding under these conditions!! I have a union, you know...", Listerine Layne pitifully whined. "Now, Poet, I am here to do your bidding. But first, for fucks sake, get me a roll of floss!". Naturally, the poet farted in fear, causing...

Arnold Layne

[AGAG]

Listerine to huff and flap the wings just like his father would in sight of a triple cheese burger. Poet's fart roughly smelled of wet fur, microwaved dog-butt, and two day maltese ear crust when there's some rather broad chance of infection... Since dragons don't really have hands the smell was free to penetrate deep inside the lungs right away. "Huh, GREAT way to start life, isn't it stinky poet?" Said listerine, trying to dissipate the air "My my, UNION..."

But, but, oh boy, wasn't that freckle on the door? Holding her bag of late night groceries which included tooth paste and very soft mangos? There was very big chance she had also brought those spicy doritos Layne loved. "What is this?" she screamed in fear "Are you now fucking dragons poet?? In my home? Please give her this tube of thootpaste right away since her mouth looks like a haven for funny shaped spirochets... Hush hush! The kitchen is NOT a place to fuck, not when there's food. And get the fleas out too..."

Listerine was not tranquil and the fart was still incisive on her nose so she grabbed freckle by the arms and...

[ÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖ]

said in Dragonish (translated by Google).
"Non poet is going to fucka me, but I will now dragonfucka you. But first you must tell me your name, since I don't want to fucka no name no shame".

Freckle saw Listerines flaming lust and backed to the door, that in the same moment flew open. There he was, Pekka the alien, with the flyswatter in his hand.

"Where is that fucking Arnold?" he said and cracked with his dangerous weapen. "I shall give him for the red-salmon-sushi and for stealing my wool-pantaloons. I could have died in a bare butt". Swish, swish!

Listerine got fire-spitting angry.
"And who can you be, that interrupted my fucking with that freckled girl"?

"I am goatfarmer, Pekka Nurmi, and don't you play games with me. You look very much like, that goose I have unplucked here. Are you his child, so tell me where your father is. NOW"!

Behind a leadscreen in a corner they could see a butted butt stand out and Pekka swished his flyswatter on the big ass.

"Ayyyye, ayyyee. Please no! Ayyyyaie. I am pregnant!"

"I shall give you for pregnant", Swish, swish. The flyswatter sang his rap-song again.

But HUHU what was happening now. Egg after egg rolled over the floor, from Arnolds egg-laying-tube and Pekka was stunned.

"God Heavens Lord. He was pregnant after all, with those big eggs, coloured as eastereggs..."

Listerine spitted fire again.
"Leave my mother in peace, or I burn you to death. You are a bacteria Robusta, to me, and I always burn that sort, without compassion" Firespit, firespit...

"Jesuuus, Freckle, he is really inflammable. I think we better leave. And by the way your quadruplet-rex-babies are pining for you at my farm".

"What? What are you talking about now, Pekka? My Quatrup-rex...what is that?

[AGAG]

WOULDN'T you mind if I just enter through this window? and how nice of a window! Chiselled frames, good visibility, perfectly oiled hinges... one single window worth of a king! Good, good! If you would only let me flap a bit more, inside your perfectly pure air... And and wouldn't I be rather rude if I didn't immediatly present you the latest product in egg chopping blade technology made by GE? yes indeed!!, perfect handle, latest technology, stiffest crystal blade, safe for the children and dog... All you want! now you wouldn't even THINK of minding if I now flap and hover into your confortable reading chair made of oh, so soft velvet, and how it fits the back! Like fields of silk and cotton both at the SAME time! And I wouldn't even hesitate, not once!, to tell you that my name is Colgawow and I have been acquainted with this pink gentlemen here for quite a while. Say, one whole luteal phase, in which we were diddling around in the same high-fat albumen. This pink guy here, he is my brother and how he loves to diddle! And to spit fire ,sometimes, but that you already know of. My story is rather large like those juicy mangos you've brought with you today. Oh, but let's not bore all my friends with Layne's terrible geometrical knowledge! What's that? an egg wrapped in fresh placenta or a regular spicy turd after one bucket of extra-jalapeño burritos. Haha, we will just NEVER know. What we all know is, how hard it is to carefully crack eggs without spilling the yolk all over the goddamn place. So let me make this offer quick, an offer you wouldn't ever regret in your WHOLE damn life. Quick, fast and reliable, solar powered and clean, no need to clean it.. you will save 10 to 13 minutes every morning not cleaning that nasty egg residue you always leave crusting in the whole damn wall and roof. 14 payments of 99 per month. What an offer. Cash and no refund. What are you waiting for now? I am waiting for this chair to stop being so fucking soft but I won't wait for long! Daddy needs a new tweed jacket, Double XL. So get your checks out of your back pockets NOW.

Freckle was already writing the check. ninety-nine... BUT! wasn't that rex eating the very same...

[ÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖ]

No not at all the same! Freckle put down her check deep in her pocket.
"I am not paying your fathers tweed-jacket! I don't know him and I don't know you, flappers, so why should I? Colgawow? What for a name is that? Gary Colganow I presume? Enough of this now Gary, out you go, the way you came.

And she lifted the flapping Gary and threw him out through the broken window. "I only allow smirking green flappers into my virgin-chamber and you look more like a black crow so take your pink brother with you"!

She looked at the poet. "Did you know those two?

The poet blushed and bowed his head. "Yes they were two of Arnolds eastereggs and you have thrown out my friends. They only wanted a tweed-jacket for their father, Arnold Layne. He has nothing more than his underwears to conceal his fat, poor body with, and he needs some tweed":

"Huh, why didn't you say so? Those flappers confused me with their talk about soft chairs and and crack-eggs. Where is Arnold now? I thought he was in Germany with Challe".

"Yes he tried to go there, but the ferry-captain wouldn't take him in only wool-pantaloons, so he sits on a stone in Dover and looks at the white cliffs. He is sad and that is bad"!

"OK we have to go to Dover and rescue him. We can buy
some tweed on the way. And steaks...

But... but...

[ÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖ]

A little sad song from a meet and greet, on the blue sea.


I looked at you, and you looked at me,
On a ferry between Dover-Calais,
All our fears disapperad,
When we two hold hands,
Somewhere between Dover-Calais.

We stood there in silence and heard a big wave,
Roll at the boat in a calm atmosphere,
Dovers white cliffs in sunset would fade,
Drowning in the English goldengrey shade.

So I looked at you and you looked at me,
When we sailed on the ferry to Calais,
All our fears disappeared, when we hold hands,
Somewhere between Dover-Calais.

We stayed close together, when the wind blew hard.
We pined to love each other, like two retard,
And when the ferry steerd towards land,
Both our hearts were in hefty brand.

So I looked at you and you looked at me,
When we sailed on the bluegreen North-sea,
All our fear disappeared, when we hold hands,
On A ferry between Dover-Calais.

But beautiful dreams often must end,
And you went to Paris to meet a friend,
So my sad sorrow grew second for secend,
When you stepped in land and said something grand,
I saw my dreams go to sand,
In the big waves between Dover-Calais-land

[AAAAAAAAAA]

And now....my sensitive side....

How I stroked your butt on the eurostar
Copyright 2012 LPS

I still remember- we were in the same car,
And I stroked your butt on the eurostar,
It was THEIR fault for having an open bar,
Which led to events most bizarre,
Such as me, stroking your butt on the eurostar

It was halfway between the english channel,
We were drinking beers, listening to Camel,
We weren't yet in France, but we were not far,
So i wasn't sure to say "bye" or "au revoir",
After I stroked your butt on the eurostar,

I was bored and didn't bring my guitar,
So I finished my beer and puffed my cigar,
And stroked your butt on the eurostar,

And when I did it, how you shreaked,
"unhand me now, you filthy freak",
I still don't understand your main critique,
My sweaty palms or my poor technique???

I feel the pain, oh please heal the scar,
From when I stroked your butt on the Eurostar,
Never again saw you, whoever you are,
As you fled from the country, to Myanmar,
All because I stroked your butt on the eurostar.

[J.S. Bach]

The POET saw the group of fleas that escaped from his thick manly mane. They recited two very weird poems of some cannal he hadn't ever heard before. Even the two fucking dragons were rather surprised at the sharp turns of the events in Freckle's home. They stopped fucking for a moment and stole a mango from Freckle's handbag. The poet was going to ask if Freckle knew about some French cannal called Dovais but there was no time for that...

A beautiful sound flooded all the room and hit the very center of everyone's cockleas. A moth started singing a Bach cantata in D minor and it was GLORIOUS. This one was a countertenor-moth with zero testicles. Not joking, not even one. And his voice was rather beautiful, getting all the high notes like a very cultured moth should do, dancing to the main voice that clenches the sins. Any moth who knows ANYTHING about the moth-spirit would sing and dance to Bach for in his composition there is the longing and the happiness of every moth in this whole world. So he continued to sing and the cockleas continued to follow, just like stiff divining rods would search for holy water.

BUT THEN...

[GAGAGO]

came Pekka with his flyswatter and swisch. Pekka hated verses, Bach and motts so...

[ÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖ]

And now....my sensitive side....

How I stroked your butt on the eurostar
Copyright 2012 LPS

I still remember- we were in the same car,
And I stroked your butt on the eurostar,
It was THEIR fault for having an open bar,
Which led to events most bizarre,
Such as me, stroking your butt on the eurostar

It was halfway between the english channel,
We were drinking beers, listening to Camel,
We weren't yet in France, but we were not far,
So i wasn't sure to say "bye" or "au revoir",
After I stroked your butt on the eurostar,

I was bored and didn't bring my guitar,
So I finished my beer and puffed my cigar,
And stroked your butt on the eurostar,

And when I did it, how you shreaked,
"unhand me now, you filthy freak",
I still don't understand your main critique,
My sweaty palms or my poor technique???

I feel the pain, oh please heal the scar,
From when I stroked your butt on the Eurostar,
Never again saw you, whoever you are,
As you fled from the country, to Myanmar,
All because I stroked your butt on the eurostar.

Sorry,sorry. I admit that I am a sneaky rhyme-thief. Huh! But I so hope, that you will see it as a compliment. I'm in some sort of rhyme-time-stress, you know...


Poem to Eurostar, that sails between Dover-Calais.

So it was YOU I met, in that damn car,
Where you stroked my butt, on the Eurostar,
You drank too much beer, in that fucking bar,
That was from your car, not so very far,
From us two in the Eurostar-bar.

We sailed to France, on the English channel,
And you wore pantaloons in some cotton-flannel,
A bunch of turks sat also there in the bar,
They practised to say good bye and au revoir,
At the bar, close to your car, on the big Eurostar.

There was also a fat,ugly guy, plaing guitarra,
But he was so envious of your big cigarra,
That he jumped from the deck of the big Eurostar,
To take a swim in the grey shark-fish-jar.

But you scared the hell out of me, and gave me soul-scar,
When you stroked my poor butt, like a freaky brute tsar,
You could not understand, that you got too far,
With your bad technique and your big-big cigar.

It was I that felt pain in my poor butt,
That you stroked like a silly nut-mutt,
I will never again take a trip on the big Eurostar,
And I think I will stay here in Myanmar,
Where I don't risk to meet, some butt-stroking Baltazar-blare...

[AAAAAAAAAA]

Once in a land not so far,
A butt was stroked on a car,
So she shot him with a Pistola,
And then she fled to Angola,
And that was the end of their spar...

[Stratowarius]

JAja.

There was never an au revoir,
For the stroker that was so bizarre,
His car was a van,
Driven on green bhutan,
So she took it and drove to Mayanmar...

[ÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖ]

So where were we? Among singing flapper-mots on our way to Dover?

The Gary Colgawow, flapped his dragon-mot-wings outside the window, and the poet couldn't resist to let him in, since he (the Colgawow of course ) had a green feather on his dragonhead and a greenish mouth, with greenish teeth.

"So you will fix some tweed, to my freezing father", he said and held back his greenish gasoline. "Let us go to Dover, there seems to be fun in the Eurostars bar, even if a dusky Buttstroker lurks around and stroke butts".

"I know, I know", said Freckle. "Not so long ago I happened to be buttstroked by him, and he was so wild, that I had to run to Myanmar, in Angola, to come enough far. He had a bigbig cigarra, that he puffed on, when he stroked butts, so he was both a nicotinist and a buttstrokist. Huh"!

"But, but", interupted the Poet, "Let us first go to Harrods in London and buy some tweed for Arnold".

"Jaja",exclaimed the greenish flapper, "Papa will be so happy, if he got some clothing to hide his flannels".

Said and done! The trio went to Harrods and scared the hell out of the shop-assistants, in the tweed-department, when the greenish flapper started to sing with his castrato-voice.

It sounded like hundreds of gnatgnats and gave blisters in everyones ears. So they got an extralargelargelarge tweed-jacket for almost nothing. And on the way out they grabbed some steaks.

But, but, when they came to Dover, the last Eurostar for that day had gone. With Arnold onboard! He had borrowed a tent to hide his flannel-pantaloons and tricked the captain.

So there they were, with four steaks and a extralargelargelarge tweed-jacket, that was a pure bargain...

But and but..

[AGAG]

But the poet had one obscene headache that comes every once in a while while you're doing your phallus-shapedmusicalinstrument presentation. He didn't understand a single word and he just stared listless at the muffins while freckle ate sticks. Onion-sticks with garlic, her favourite. But she couldn't eat that many sticks and they brought the 2 meter wide gift to arnold in his pension.

"Ah! this was what I needed in this moment precisely" Said arnold "Look at this stake. 2 meter wide! Thick and solid, all the unnecessary fat a man would need, great rolls, incredible texture. I could eat ten of these and I would still want more." He started to salivate. The dragon Listerine and Colgawow were happy to see their father eating so they flapped and hummed a tune in mid-air.

Then the castrato moth came in with two castrati freidns, filling the room with incredible music. Now he was singing Matthäus passion in B double-flat with no acomm-painment. Just 3 gray moths circling the room like clocks and impostating the voice like a remarkable group of castratos.

But Ogagao didn't like music so he called Pekka with a Green electrical net to carbonize the testicle-less flying animals. The poet protested profusely "I like music sometimes. I will not let this Pekka scoundrel make another scroundleness" He picked 7 extra=large waterbottles and threw them at pekka. And boy, was he shocked. He felt a discharge of 125 electronvolts, nearly carbonizing.

So now there were 5 flyling animals. Moth 1: Rusell. Moth 2: George and Moth 3: Fyodor. All counter-tenors. And of course, Colgawow and Listerine, who gave the rhythm. "Didn't you use to sing? In the dragon church..? " Asked Listerine "Haha, oh no, that was long ago, I wouldn't dare to interrupt this glorius castration melody with my thick grainy voice." "But but! You have a beautiful Bas, don't let me remind you of that time when you hit that low B-flat on the shower. It felt like russian. So now don't be shy and sing along."


The poet had to...