/lit/ - Literature

roll

they see me rawlin

Limp Bizkit

roll lol

Rollan'.

flowers smell like flowers

rollin

don't tell /lit/ what to write about...

0 get!

>>467717
>>467722
>>467726
>>467727
>Newfags to /tg/

Look here, children, we have a SPECIAL way of rolling here...

>>467726

Poetry: Here I goooo

These ageless things
These creatures.
They wait on the shores of their lives and their deaths,
Never moving
Those shells, like armor
Built from the souls and minds of everything
Everyone sees, but no one would know
No one would know the power of these creatures
Kept in this caged isolation,
Kept in this bitter refuge
They could fly if only they wished to
Restrained by an utter lethargy,
Fueled by their heartless surroundings
These ageless things,
They will die some day

>>467717

Stephen continues to polish the shells of the tortoises as the growing crowd looks on. It occurs to him how much he hates his job at the zoo and how much he would enjoy spitting in the face of his boss, Martha, and quitting on the spot.

--Hurry up, Stephen! comes Martha's voice from the employee's entrance to the tortoise enclosure. She stands there in her khaki uniform, smirking at Stephen as he continues to execute the menial task she has given him. It isn't even necessary. No one polishes a turtle's shell, thinks Martha.

--If you can't pick up the pace, I'm docking your pay, she warns when he doesn't polish the animals' shells with adequate speed.

Stephen turns around and looks her in the eye. She doesn't think the man has grown a spine, but the look in his eyes is strange. Its something she has never seen from him before.

At that moment, Stephen stands up, walks over to Martha, and spits in her face.

--I quit.

woot

Oh my, this oil is good!

I can slick my hair with it so I can look like a dude... I can polish the tortoises so I can see my face in their shells... I can lubricate the mechanism of the lock on this cage...

I can pour it all over those damned rubber-neckers beyond the the fence and strike a match...

And they'll never catch me, no sirree! I'm going to strip off this uniform and slick myself all over with the oil, just like a little greased pig...

>>467773
Goddammit, I wrote stream of conciousness when I was supposed to write romance. FUCK

Rollin'

r to the ozzo l to the lozzo

ohh shiny turtle, they come to see you from all across the concrete jungle, the wire thin steel, your barrier, no time to tarry here, you must make haste, no time to waste. you got goals and dreams and aspirations, waitin, for you to take um on your strong back accross the finish line.

not to horrible i think, any critisism?

>>467762

Couldn't decide if you were writing about the turtles or the spectators. Stimulating thought is a good thing! Given the prompt response, not too bad.

>>467787

That was the point, amigo :) It was supposed to be ambiguous.

Could no one stop the turtle death races?
- Trent thought, as he saw the turtles being prepped before the start line.

It was a cruel sport, leaving the hard shelled creatures with dynamite on their backs, betting on which one would blow up first.
Trent had enough.
He jumped over the fence, and clutched the tnt from the tortoises and jumped to the ground.

With his last second he said to the onlookers
-Fuck you assholes.

Then he exploded.

>>467782
Fikx polished the tortoise shells until they illuminated with the liquid.

-Look, it's growing! shouted a small lass leaning over the fence

As the shell of the old sage dilated to enormous size, the turtle sprouted wings from underneath of which were resembling of a goose.

-Come, have a see said the man to the child

-Really? Are you sure?

- Certainly he said, as he helped the girl over the fence. A crowd of bystanders had congregated by the two.

Feel free to continue my story.

>>467809

I LIKE it

>>467729
Thriller it is!

It was a gray Tuesday. Aged, brittle, worn - all was plagued by an archaic quality. I gazed at the overcast sky, looking more like a faded wallpaper than anything else, and pondered and the vulnerability of it all. A moment; an instant; a push; a spark, and it would all be gone - the universe was vulnerable in those ways.

And that's exactly how that sonuvabitch planned it all to happen. My thoughts, frenzied under the strain of the situation, could no nothing but direct hushed juvenile insults at the man who caused all this. I became aware of endless beads of sweat along my neck as I gazed at the notorious Professor Dobad: the perpetrator of this vile macabre act. After turning the entire world into a victorian-era photograph - fragile and dangerously flammable in its sheer age - he had planned to set ablaze all of reality, unless he was presented a payment of one billion victorian era dollars. His scheme: coat several turtles with kerosene and set them on fire. The turtles would then, slowly, rush in all directions through simple pain, fear, and confusion. Slowly, all would be consumed in hellfire.

"Madman!" I shouted. But my cries were unheard beneath the cheers of the public around me, ignorant of the grant scale of things and fooled into believing this was but a typical circus act. I would have wrung the bastard's neck right at that moment!

But I couldn't. My pre-adolescent, girly physique was not match for the waist-high fence placed before me. My struggles were to no avail. I could only perceive the ticking of some invisible clock; a countdown to the doom of all.

roll

>>467809
>Gothic Fiction
>Then he exploded.

I lol'd when I read this.

>>467809
>turtle death races
I wonder what will happen next...

>then he exploded

oh..

roll

Roll

rollan'

Romance it will be

Shawn rubbed the animals again today, as the people watched. Some mocked him, some laughed, some spit, and some thought that he wasn't even worth a passing glance. he did this day in and day out.

Shawn was an immigrant, he could not speak English, this was the only job that he could find. It paid next to nothing, but it allowed him to stay in the slums with his many other roommates. Even with his many roommates, Shawn felt alone, he could not connect with anyone. He like many immigrants in America, felt unloved. Shawn did not know it, but he was loved by a few.

As many faces mocked him, few looked back with love. The animals, without Shawn in their perspective, they would wander in their own filth, more so than they did currently. They stood silently, day in and day out waiting for Shawn, waiting to be cleaned. To feel the warm touch of compassion. Shawn was always kind to them, not many of the people were. Some mocked, some laughed, and some did not even bother them with the time of day.

The slums were ridden with violence, one day walking to work, Shawn was mugged. Not having but a few cents, the angry criminal took Shawn's life from him. Shawn was buried a few days after, no one was at his funeral.

The animals waited all day, and all night, but Shawn did not come. Soon a replacement was found. But he was unlike Shawn, he was rough, and angry. He sloppily rubbed a dirty cloth on them, and left his cleaning liquid on the others' backs. The animals miss Shawn.

So not really romance, more of a sad story. IDK, first timer.

>Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

In the depths of any animal's mind, there is the potential for sentience. Shylock knew this. The sentience in potentia was not always easy to bring about. He knew this as well. He did not care.

While the mobs laughed, throwing peanuts at the tortoises, he would whisper, "Soon, my children. Soon."

The zoo's patrons never expected it.

Rollin'

rolling

Goddamn it, I fucking hate /lit/ because of these creative writing threads. You're all a bunch of talentless pretentious lowlifes.

4chan is an IMAGEBOARD website.
Images =/= Wall of Text

The only thing that pisses me off as much as these threads are "post your bookshelves" threads. Hey, let's have a big old ego-inflating circlejerk! You're all a bunch of fuckers.

tl;dr: my face regarding bookshelf and creative writing threads.

roll

>>467955

You want pictures of books then?

>>467906
;_;

>>467962
If I wanted walls of text I'd go to the FUCKING TEXT BOARD /book/, which you can access under the title "/lit/ - Literature" above.

>>467980
>>467955

Hey. Fuck you, cap'n. If you don't like the thread, don't fucking read it.

>>467990
RIKER ISN'T THE FUCKING CAPTAIN, PICARD IS.
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

>>467954

Nicolas was always a reclusive boy, and always wore the same turtleneck sweater to school everyday. As a result, he got picked on in school a lot. They would be so mean to him, picking on him for being seemingly slow-witted, fat and bald. But he in fact boasted incredible muscle underneath that sweater of his, and he was wise far beyond his years.

There was one girl in the class who realized this. A young genius, she was also shunned by the class for being seen as 'nerdy' and 'a freak'. Which was true, to be fair. She was immensely cunning, and unlike her idiot classmates, she knew what Nic's secret was.

She knew he was part turtle.

And she lusted for his huge turtle cock.

>>467980

Defeats the purpose of writing about an image.

>>467948
OP Image/Page 1
Little Girl, speech bubble: [points at turtles] Hey! Look at that!

Little Boy, speech bubble: [is blind] What?

Man In Hat: [smiling, he looks at the turtles as well. He ignores what his daughter just said.] Sweetie, they ain't doin' a thing.

Boy With Hat Pulled Down: [smaller text for this, he's whispering] C'mon, let's skip town. I don't care what your parents think.

Young Woman Who Is Smiling: [smaller text as well] I do. [she is smiling, keeping on a mask] I care.

Casey: [polishes turtles, with intent look on face. He knows what will happen to the young couple. They will elope, he will beat her, she will shoot him in front of their two sons. The little girl will die of polio, the little boy won't, the man in the hat will always resent him for that.]

Page 2
Textbox: It is another bullshit night in the Windy City. Filled with micks and polacks, there is nothing of worth here. The zoo? People go there and mock the animals, pretending they aren't in their own kind of captivity. I just polish the turtles, saying nothing. It will all be over soon, if my dreams are truthful.

Textbox: If they are, we won't have to worry anymore.

They see me ROLL

Might as well...

Ooh yes, Cody murmured as he rubbed the turtle's shell. "Faster!" he heard the turtle whisper as he continued to rub, "Faster!" Cody was a German immigrant from Canada, staying until he makes enough money to send home to his Jamaican parents. He plans to open a cat stretching business and train his cats to do showbiz. However, one day, the turtles ate him. And he liked it.

Rollin'

Rollin

turtle literature roulette, how fitting

>>468137
oh man stream-of-consciousness how unlucky, i was hoping i'd get to write turtle science fiction or something truly awesome, now i'm writing this nothing little thing and i can't even keep the picture open to look at it while i write, what a waste of a roll, i'll roll again i'm sure, i feel bad for trolling rape victims in that other thread but it was too hilarious to pass up, also i can't swear for lent, even though i'm not catholic, should i be a unitarian universalist or is that a cop-out? and this post had nothing to do with the picture, out of sight, out of mind, as it were.

>>468150
h no! no ninja turtles! reroll!

>>468032
Might as well continue this. >>468025

Page 3:

Textbox: [different colour to show different speaker] "He was such a nice lad. A bit odd sometimes, but nice. A lieutenant in the army, had plenty of shiny medals and ribbons to show his mother. Not like my Henry, mind you."

Textbox: "Nice? Cass was not nice. He was just quiet, did whatever you told him. Went completely batty after the war. Didn't have enough things to kill, I suppose."

>>468157
o_0 feedback loop. rerollin'

They hatin'

*does a barrell roll*

>>468162
Textbox: "Cass Jones? Yeah, you believe in the Tooth Fairy? 'Cause, Jones is just like that. He ain't real. Just some story made up by the krauts to scare themselves. There ain't no man alive who can do the things they say he did. Ain't no man who can rip the life from you and give it away to someone else."

Rolls Royce Nuclear Reactor.

This is a very embarrassing confession actually but I'm going to come out of the closet today february.1.2010 what i have to say is weird...i have this strange turtle fetish...i get very aroused when i see small turtles i just get so turned on i just want to put the turtles down my pants and let there oh so smooth shell rub my penis...I'm not just just horny when i see small turtles it's much more then that i had a dream of doing kinky things with turtles...the dream went like this...it started off in a chamber of some sort and there they were 15 small turtles chained up to the wall they were wearing name tags that were ever so sexy like "daddy" and "bitch" ect. and there i was wearing a leather suit with a whip and i was whiping the turtles and they were making these little snapping sounds i don't know where it came from but i was very aroused by the end of the dream me and the 15 small turtles were in bed and some were on the pillow and some were down there..rubbing my penis...I'm glad I've got that off my back.

rolling

>>468188
Godfuckingdammit. I am tired of getting this.
>>468025
>>468162
>>468179

Textbox: [back to original style] I never did all the things they said I could do. Just isn't ethical.

Man With Gun: How the devil did I miss? [his brow is furrowed.]

Cass: Guess I got lucky. [there is a ghost of a smile on his face.]

Textbox: Bets, of course, are outside of the realm of morality.

rolling to bowl

ROLL

>>468164

He rubbed the turtle. The turtle turned and smirked. His fingers pressed the oily cloth firm, he slipped and rubbed that cloth across the hard, dry shell. The turtle turned it's smirk away. He polished that shell, the cloth now sticking to his palm through the gel and the sweat. The sun beat down. The hours passed, inch by inch the shell began to gleam. He tugged his wretched body, every joint numbed or aching with dull pain, up and knelt before the next turtle. He placed more gel upon the cloth. The turtles turned and watched. He slapped the cloth on the new shell and began his work again. The sun beat down. His back was giving out but still he polished the shells. The hours passed and now children come to watch the man grimacing in pain, toiling over turtle's shells in the evening heat. The turtles turned away, each hiding their smirks.

ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-check it out
wh-wh-wh-wh-what's it all about
r-r-r-r-r-roll it out
and turn this turn this party out

Rollan. Pow.

I could make a transformation as a rock and ROLL star

Rollink, ja.

ROLL

Reload

>>468241
So I guess this is it. My retirement.Well I guess I don't have much to complain about I mean Janey got reduced to her composite particles and Lou well, hampsters don't have that long a life expectancey. I guess I should be happy. I'll live out my life here, probably live a hundred years or two, I get my shell polished up all nice and maybe I can piece together what is happening in the outside world from eavesdropping on visitors.
Who am I kidding?
This is hell. I'm a turtle. This is where my career took me, my PhD, all those years working my way up that fucking ladder. Grinding my soul away in a laboratory in fucking nowhere, squeezing every good contact I ever made for grant money, all those nights away from the kids, these last three years of fucking toil, painstaking research and for what? What will the world ever know? The scientific community will forget me in a decade, but why should I care? In the end it took all this for me to realise how futile my life has been. Why did I care so much about science, about knowledge and understanding the universe? In the end I never stopped to ask myself, what did the fucking scientific method ever do for me? I can answer that now.
It made me a fucking turtle.

rolling for creativity! ARS GRATIA ARTIS!

>>468243

They saw each other every day.

It was something he was still growing used to, as was the concept of a "day". Before, he had simply been; sometimes she had been there too, and sometimes not. How long each lasted didn't matter, it was as it was, as it always had been.

At night, he thinks about her. If he didn't, he would think about himself instead, about what they've done to him. What must he shell look like now, he sometimes wonders, dented and scratched and stained with words and designs that have never quite been scrubbed out? Sometimes he thinks that she must hate him, trapped together with such an ugly old wreck for so long.

He wonders what she thinks of her own shell, and hopes she doesn't feel as ashamed as he does. She is beautiful. She was always beautiful.

The days the spend together in the hot sun, being jeered and pointed and laughed and gawked at. Sometimes one of the pink things mounts the fence to draw on one of them; it's become something of a tradition. The first time it happened, he felt he would die rather make her look at him anymore. She had rested her head against his, and stayed there until the evening when they were shut away again.

Sometimes, he felt grateful to the pink things that held them captive. He saw her everyday, and that finally meant something.

>>468284

HOLY BONERS did I ever jump tenses. Ignore that please.

test

>>468290
>Ignore that please.

ABSOLUTELY NOT YOU ARE A FLACCID FAILURE OF A WRITER WHO SHOULD FEEL BAD.

>>468284
Beautiful. I didn't actually expect to find anything moving in here. Please, keep rolling!

>>468298

BUT I TRY SO HARD PLEASE TEACH ME TO MAKE WORDS GOOD

Rollin' again, this is fun.

>>468303

I'LL TEACH YOU TO MAKE THIS COCK GOOD N' HARD.

ROLLercoster.

>>468234
jesus fuck really
fine
stupid no Italics

The zoo was, on off days, a place of interminable squalor and aching boredom; when the clouds hung particularly low, as it is wont to do in wintry New England, the park was nearly empty. It was places like this that piqued an interest that was near compulsive of me, as if I could feel the *realness* of the place. It was a particularly wind-swept Thursday when I made my trip, walking with a coat wrapped about me, huddled with all my might.
The zoo was quiet, with none of the bustling of school children on a bright week-end, though, to my surprise, it was not completely abandoned. While the elephants and giraffes had all been penned up, I found the most people gathered around the turtle enclosure: I edged in to catch a glimpse of the ponderous reptiles.
The true exhibit, I suppose, was not of the turtles-- or tortoises, as I was rightly corrected-- it was of their keeper.
He wore rather prim and straight looking attire, and his hair was combed back, giving him a sharpened look that was queer for his activities: he was polishing, one by one, the great domed shells of the tortoises. A little girl released a pent-up giggle every so often, while a woman to my left stood with a beaming grin.
So struck was I that I blurted out: "Why are you polishing the turtles?"
The man stood up, placed the polish upon one of the beast's backs, and walked to the fence of the enclosure.

>>468351
"They're tortoises, sir."
"Yes, yes, tortoises. Of course... but why polish them?"
Upon closer inspection the man was as well-groomed as he seemed, his eyebrows plucked and combed, and his face of pearly smoothness. His eyes were filled with strange vigor, as if he held back some unsurpassed fury.
"As this zoo's owner and Chief Manager, I personally tend to the polishing, feeding, and grooming of the tortoises. I would put the duty in no less trustworthy hands."
"Well why? Are they special tur-tortoises?"
"Quite. They are a rare species of carnivorous tortoise, which only our zoo keeps."
"And you feed them yourself? Well what do you feed them?"
A grin drew across his face that could be described in no other way than *sinister*: his eyes gleamed a little.
"A very special kind of meat."
I nodded, and the man turned back to his tortoises.

sweet scifi
--------------------------------------------------
the turtle had no idea what was going on. it wasnt like this of their masters to show this much affection. They looked at each other, their slow bodies almost creaking as they turned to give that silent regard to each other and to their master for his tireless task.
"Hey Edna, why do you think they're doing this? cleaning isn't usually until next week."
"I really cant say, Dave. Although is really quite nice of them."
"Yes, it is nice. have you ever wondered, though, what it would have been like if they never evolved this far? If we, for instance, developed bipedal movemnt?"
"I imagine it would be just like this, except maybe we would be on the other side of that fence, gawking at them."
" think it best not to dwell too much on it. we're here, we're the ones relaxing, getting out every need fulfilled, i'm just going to enjoy it."
"I suppose you're right, Dave."
and they resumed the silence. only they knew that they had talked. the onlookers just stared in wonder of the majestic creatures before them.
"Mommy?" a little one said, "what do you think they talk about?"
"we may never know honey, it's best not to dwell on these things for too long. we're here and we're the ones relaxing. enjoy your self."
------------------------------------------------
not bad. i sorta got lost in the middle.

>>468310

Oh for fuck's-

Okay. God.

They gathered together whenever they could, slipping away in the high heat of the day to congregate far from the water's edge. There were people there, sometimes, and they decided indulging them was worth the chance to work together on what they'd discovered.

"You must be like sand," said the sensei.

He was the oldest of the lot of them, at a mere 70 years, and it had started with him. He'd wandered far from the water's edge to watch the people move, and had found a group of them, soft shells coloured bright white, gyrating strangely on the beach.

He'd listened. He'd understood.

"The sand is hard beneath the fins, and it keeps us up and solid. But it flows over our eggs, around them, keeping them safe. Be like the sand. Take whatever shape you need, and don't yield once you've found it."

A bit of oil slipped into his eyes. He ignored it. All in pursuit of enlightenment.

>>468372

wat

rollertoaster

Rollin'

Rolling for real.

>>468369

Good job! I liked it!

>>468284

Damn. Who knew emotions came from turtles. I wonder what else those sneaky bastards are hiding...

(Great work. Most give up when they roll Romance or can't work with it.)

>>468277

>what did the fucking scientific method ever do for me? I can answer that now.
>It made me a fucking turtle.

This is win.

>>468369

prtty good lol

1/1

Bert had endured a long, tiring day. But he never revealed it. Any man under Mr Karas' employ eventually became a stoic; men who worked hard without grumbling, men who kept their uniforms neat and pressed and their hair brilliantined and combed every day. Mr. Karas demanded it, and his rigorous standards had formed a modicum of pride. The pay was generous as well, which did its part.

After six, it was his responsibility to polish the turtles, a task which he secretly enjoyed. He relished transforming the dull, craggy surfaces into gleaming shells of rich dark amber-black. The turtles seemed to enjoy the polishing as well; as he rubbed their shells vigorously, with large, circular movements, a low humming moan could be heard somewhere below where the ancient scaly head was, yet it always managed to cease when he paused to listen. He had finished polishing Neptune, Uranus and Jupiter and was now working on Saturn, the second largest and his favorite. She was this simply because he reminded him of one of the cows he used to milk back home, she chewed her food slowly and contendedly, taking all the time in the world. He shared Saturn's approach towards food.; growing up during the war had made him no stranger to hunger, and as such, every meal was taken gratefully and slowly, enjoyed to the fullest.

This is my face when I'm rolling.

>>468824
2/3 (sorry)

Bert's arm was starting to get numb and in switching to his left, he heard Saturn's low contented hum. His chuckle had caught in his throat when he heard voices approach; it was Mr. Karas and his family. Bert visibly stiffened, kept his movements quicker, more efficient; the grin on his face replaced with an expression of intense concentration. His heart began to pound as he polished. From the corner of his eye he had seen that Mr. Karas had brought his wife, his two children and the reason for his racing pulse: Melanie.

The presence of both Mr. Karas and Melanie had brought forth feelings of anxiety mixed with elation; Bert held his breath in order to slow his heart, which seemed to be on the verge of exploding; the last thing he wanted was to die in front of his boss, his family, and the love of his life, slumped over a moaning turtle.

Anise and Bertram, Mr. Karas’ two children, began giggling. Bert couldn’t see what they were laughing at, which revealed itself when Mr. Karas spoke, a baritone hundreds of townfolk were familiar with, yet a voice now tinged with humor, something rarely heard.

“Good Lord, Bert. You’re polishing a turtle, for goodness sakes. If half my men took their jobs as seriously as you do, perhaps I’d have more hairs on my head.” Mr. Karas bent down and picked up young Bertram, to whom Bert had the good fortune of sharing a name, and plopped him on his shoulders. The child giggled once more and pointed at Bert. “Why are you so red Bertie?” “He looks like a beetroot,” added little Anise, “Beetroot Bert”.

Everyone laughed gaily at that, Bert included, Melanie’s soft laughter doing little to slow the thumping in his chest.

>>468832
3/3

“I don’t mind the work, Sir,” he answered, doing his best to keep his eyes from hers. “They seem happier when they’ve been polished well, Sir.”
Mr. Karas nodded amiably. “Yes, I’ve noticed that lately. I have a feeling they’ll do well at the races later this month.”
This was news to Bert. “The races, Sir?”
“That’s right,” Mr. Karas replied.
“The young master here and Anise have proposed that they hold a little race between Saturn and Jupiter here, seeing which is the faster.” Bert looked down at Saturn. Mr. Karas, noting the look of concern on his face, said: “Oh, don’t worry, my boy, it’s only a trip from here to the end of the pen for a cabbage or two. It’s only part of the game in which we all play. Exercise does every living thing good.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Mrs. Karas gestured towards Uranus, who was ambling about in a circle. “Uranus seems to be getting bigger by the day.”, she said in a low voice to her husband. “Are you sure we’re feeding him appropriately?” She smiled up at Bertram, who was playing with his father’s hat. “I’m sure he is.” Mr. Karas said, he turned back to Bert who had almost completed Saturn’s polishing and was noticeably calmer in his movements. “How is Uranus’ feeding? What did the doctor say?”
“I’m not quite sure, Sir. Doctor Schmidt has been...unwell.”
“Ah, yes.” A frowned clouded Mr. Karas face. “That poor man.”
“Is it Rudi’s identity crisis?” Melanie spoke up, her voice tinged with concern. Bert glanced over at Melanie at last; God, she is even lovelier than in my dreams, Bert thought.
Mr. Karas nodded gravely. “Yes. He seems quite unsure as to who he is.” He ruffled little Anise’s hair, pondering. “Who is he today, Bert?”
“Doctor Kashmir.” Bert replied. “Today he is Doctor Kashmir.”
Honest critique, please :D

rollin

daft punk vibe

Rollin', rollin', rollin'.... Keep them doggies rollin', rawhiiiiide!

>>468827

Dear God when I joined the military and they told me I'd be going to faraway places and doing exciting things I thought they meant it, and the Galapagos sounded like a perfectly good place to go to me. They told me I'd be working with heavy armor, the kind that keeps innocent lives protected from those that would do them harm. They told me I'd be vital to the success of the mission. Fuckers.

Do you know how utterly fucking depressing it is to know that these turtles will outlast me by a good century and a half? An inexplicable amount. My tour is set to last three years... that's two and a half more years!... and all I do every day is get dressed up in my dress greens and polish turtles. If each of these slow-moving bastards lives two hundred years and keeps getting wax jobs from the army for the rest of their lives, there'll be more than 65 interchangeable assholes like me whose entire time in the service will be spent "working with heavy armor". Shit.

And these gawkers. How did these guys even get on base? I hope that little girl knows that these things can bite. And hard. Scratch that. I hope she doesn't know and her hand gets bit off. At least that shit would be entertaining for a change. Turtles aren't even fun to work with. They just sit in the same place every day and wait. Wait for me and wait for food and wait for wax. And I come. Every damn day I come and bring them food and polish them.

Not tomorrow. Tomorrow they die. Tomorrow they all die.

>>468840
Little did the tortoises know that the darkoil being used to polish their shells would soon mutate them into ass-kicking anthropomorphic ninja turtles that would inspire generations of young children and furfags worldwide...

>>468824
>>468832
>>468835

I love it. Good, solid writing. Kept me interested all the way through.

rollin' again, because i simply cannot get enough of these threads

>>468827
>>468887
>>468937

Srsly? Rolling again, and hoping it won't be 7 this time.

lets roll...

>>468920
Thanks man. :)

rollin

>>469006
rerollin

rollin

mubop

bumpblox

...tentatively rolling.

roll

and thus the gallons of human sperm were rubbed upon the tortoise shells, leaving a beautiful shine.

The End

rllin

rolling, will try to deliver.

>>469405
No no, that won't do at all. Re-rolling.

>>469455
Oh what is this bullshit.

>>469442

The audience watched as the magister worked.

"Oiling 'is machines, love," Mum said. Dad looked at Mum, smiling for a second, and then back at the turtles. I climbed up onto the fence, itching to get a closer look. Brent followed me, but he wasn't as tall as I was, back then. His elbows nudged my knees. I kicked him back, lightly, and started to pool my saliva, thick-like.

Pop scowled and hit me upside the head with his paper.

The magister - a boy, not much older than me, then - finished up spotting off the last turtle, then stood up and turned around, looking at us. We looked back at him, into his eyes, and he seemed to wince, then smile. He saw me, dazzled up in my Sunday's dress, and winked, a wink meant only for me.

"Alright, now - who wants to see a show?" We let out a general murmur of agreement that yes, we did want to see a show, and could he make bunt 'em extra hard, please.

He kicked the turtles in the behind, one after the other, and they flew off into the skies, leaving us behind. As the last one sped off, the magister went over and picked up his container. He shook it, and when he seemed satisfied that there wasn't any left, he flicked it over the fence and into my greedy hands.

AIR LUBRICANT, it said, and golly me, did it sure help win the war.

Rolling!

>>468887
>>468277
>>468113
>>468002
>>467906

best IMO

>>469536
Walking stones gathering moss,
lumbering
gauche and inelegant
behind a fence we don't need.

The tiger family in the cage next door
maybe
are making fun of us,
and the birds,
because we cannot take off with them
intro the sky.

Let 'em all laugh, say the turtles,
this is nice work if you can get it,
that's what I think.

That's what you think?

It was ancient China, I think,
that someone had a job like this,
but, maybe not a lot like this.

There'd have to be someone
to hollow out the flesh,
smash the shell,
read the cracks
and see the future entire.

It'll be a good harvest this year.
There'll be a flood this year.
Next year come the Mongols,
the river breaks its banks,
but rain in the north-east brings a new love,
so come on, all you Yellow River Delta boys,
say the turtles' shells,
open your umbrellas!

I'm not here to crack the future,
though,
just shine their mottled backs
thumbprint-asterisked, colours of moss
and carrying the weight
of all possible worlds.

So I'm shining,
with the tigers next door,
and the people laughing,
but I do it all the same
and I never worry about falling
through the cracks of this world,
because

it's
turtles
all
the
way
down.

rollan rollan rollan

Re-rolling and hoping to God I don't get a six again.

>>469547
poor, juvenile taste

>>469715

What were your favorites?

Step One: Roll