I don't have the old template

[MICRO FICTION: TRISOMY 21 EDITION No.2011836]

Using the provided picture (or not, you don't have to), write a short micro fiction in the theme of your post number.

Ending with:
0 - Over the top melodrama about a working class man
1 - The protagonist is a slice of cheese.
2 - Your plot must revolve around this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dancing_mania..
3 - The end of the story must finish in an orgy. Genre is your choice.
4 - The protagonist and antagonist are the same person as a result of time travel.
5 - Cheesy fan fiction of the last book you read.
6 - Grandiloquent poetry about a mundane object or topic (you get to choose!)
7 - Every single sentence must be an allusion to something sexual. Combine with another number of your choice.
8 - Something inanimate's observations of the world around it.
9 - The plot follows a man's life from birth to death. Must be under 300 words.

Doubles - Go to one of these boards: /x/, /adv/, /gif/ or /d/. Your story must be meta fiction of the top thread, with a tinge of morbidity.


Are you up to the challenge, /lit/?

[Anonymous No.2011838]

Of course I'm up to the challenge.

Thomas Chatterton sez: ROWLEY

[Anonymous No.2011840]

Rolling for doubles.

I could use some practice. I will be writing in Dutch though, probably translating it later for you lot.

[Anonymous No.2011848]

NO BECAUSE IT'S DISGUSTING ENOUGH WHEN THEY FUCK ON ME AND IT'S HER WHAT has the arse full of farts and I have to hear it going on thank fuck at least Mr Wilde made sodomy disreputable among Irishmen for a generation otherwise I'd have to hear him buggering her senseless no while he sings in that fine tenor voice of his because no that's right a mattress has nowt better to do than listen just as we listen to the sound of our own ticking but no dear christ on a bloody bicycle it's seeping through the sheet now no bugger me senseless what in blazes did he have to drink last night it smells like the piss of the duchesse de guermantes and no I said no you should never shit in your own bed and no it's horrid and no it's disgusting and no it's got the consistency of mashed seedcake only there's a fucking quart of it no soaking me no and then she'll wash me would I no and he'll say no my darling nora and first I contract my springs beneath them no and drew down under joyce no i can feel their shanty irish feet all cabbage no and the fart starts going like mad and no I said no I don't No.

Paris. 1922.

[Anonymous No.2011852]

rolling.

[Anonymous No.2011857]

O-Okay...

[Anonymous No.2011860]

i guess so!

[The Kenosha Kid No.2011862]

And we're rolling....

[Anonymous No.2011864]

Rollin rollin rollin, rawhide

[Anonymous No.2011869]

Reroll

[Anonymous No.2011882]

a quick game of starcraft first

[The Kenosha Kid No.2011888]

>>2011862
Mr. Strauss exited consciousness for the third time as the party entered its 72nd hour. You see, as the son of an A-list actor and celebrity, to say Strauss had money and time to spend would be to say that walking on the surface of the sun might give one a minor burn. As a result of his ever increasing fortune, Strauss had bought a penthouse apartment in the very posh Katsuya Building, on the corner of Hollywood and Vine, in an effort to drown his ennui in the drinks that common folk such as ourselves can only dream of affording.
Nobody is quite sure how the party got to where it was. Faded memories and grainy flashbacks display common elements: people, alcohol, drugs, music. Ah, the lethal combination. Drugs and music. At the beginning of the party, Strauss had put his "exercise mixxx" playlist on the stereo. As the debauchery grew and inhibitions shrank, the music grew louder, louder, louder even yet, and then -- subsided and repeated. Unfortunately, after about 40 hours of this, the speakers blew out, taking the eardrums of an unlucky group of sailors with them. This setback, however, did not hinder the enjoyment of a single attendee. Why? Because cocaine is one hell of a drug, and those who had enjoyed its use in the previous hours found themselves unable to stop dancing, or, in some extreme cases, to slow down their dances.
"So, do you wanna, like, you know, find a place a little more private?"
"All right!"
The solicitor, not soon after, though, ran out screaming in pain, having received quite the kick to the groin, which can be especially uncomfortable when the assaulter is wearing rollerskates.

[Anonymous No.2011893]

Rolling,my story will only be 3-5 sentences long.

[The Kenosha Kid No.2011894]

>>2011888
Apparently there is no "writing mania", as I find myself succumbing to lack of sleep. G'nite, /lit/. If the thread is still here when I wake up, I'll see if I can finish it.

[Anonymous No.2011895]

>>2011893
Re-roll

[Anonymous No.2011899]

Rolling, I need to snap out of the writers block.

[Anonymous No.2011907]

>>2011836

here i go

[Veggies !!vpD52wGMhkz No.2011923]

>>2011921

Joe pointed at an extremely gorgeous woman walking their way. If this was Joe’s daughter, Ricky knew he had to find a way to work hard, keep his job, win over Joe and then hopefully, Joe’s daughter.
“Hi Dad”
“Hi Melissa.”
Melissa. Melissa. It was the only name in Ricky’s head. Melissa and Ricky. Ricky and Melissa. Melissa. Melissa.
“Who’s this?”
“This is Ricky. He’s an absolute fucking nightmare”
“Nice to meet you Ricky.”
“Pleasure to meet you Melissa.”
----

[Veggies !!vpD52wGMhkz No.2011921]

>>2011860
Not entirely over-the-top but I don't give a fuck.


Ricky stood on the corner of Alameda and First Street and wondered what he would do from now on. He had just been fired from his job as parking lot attendant for one of the more prominent art museums in Los Angeles. He was incredibly excited when he was offered the job. He called all his old friends who hadn’t dropped out of college like he had and found a way to casually bring up his new job.

“Well, it’s cool that you got a new dog after Lucky ran away.”
“He didn’t run away. He was run over.”
“Oh. Yeah, I’m sorry.”
“…”
“Where are you working again?”
“The Children’s Hospital.”
“Oh. I just got a job at the Museum of Contemporary Art.”
“Really? Are you a curator?”
“Well, something like that. I mean, I watch stuff.”
“What do you watch? The art? Are you a security guard?”
“Well, no, I watch cars.”
“Are you a parking lot attendant?”
“…Yes.”
“Oh. Then I guess you don’t really work for the museum do you.”
“Well… I park the employees cars sometimes.”
Today, Ricky had been fired after a rather unfortunate month of mishaps. This month, which was also his first month, he had lost two sets of keys, fallen asleep at his booth twice (well, he was caught twice), and also locked five sets of keys inside five different visitor’s cars.
Fortunately for Ricky, his supervisor Joe, a 55 year old man, was able to overlook all these faults. Ricky had one thing that most of Joe’s previous employees did not have: a high school diploma and citizenship. If there was one thing Joe hated, it was illegal immigrants. If there were two things he hated, they would be illegal immigrants with children who voted democrat.
“Ricky. I ain’t gonna lie to you. You’re doing shit work here. Ab-so-lutely shit work. I mean, for Christ’s sake, my daughter over there parked her car better than you could! And she's a woman!"

[Veggies !!vpD52wGMhkz No.2011925]

>>2011923
She came first. Then Ricky did. He lied down next to her and told her she looked beautiful. She said wonderful things about him that made him feel that he wasn’t so bad in bed and that his old girlfriend was just exaggerating to make him feel bad and that he was, as Melissa called him, “A champ.”
They fell asleep that night in each other’s arms. Then it happened. It happened like it had happened before when Ricky was living with Danielle. He shat himself. It wasn’t anything quiet either. It was loud. It was violent. It was messy. His shit rocketed out of his asshole and stained the sheets and Melissa’s legs.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!?”, she screamed out and Ricky woke up.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Yeah, I can see that asshole!”
“I’m so sorry!”
“GET THE FUCK OUT!”
Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, the lights in Melissa’s room came on and standing at the doorway, completely naked, was Joe.
“You live with your Dad?”
“He lives with me.”
“That’s a lame excuse.”
“At least I didn’t fucking shit the bed while I was asleep. Get the fuck out!”
Joe stood at the doorway, looked at them both, and unlocked the front door that Ricky walked out of.
“You can pick up your shit tomorrow.”
“What?”
“I mean, the shit at your station. Pick it up tomorrow and leave. I don’t want to see you again.”
“Oh.”
As Ricky walked out of the doorway, he thought about a lot of things. He thought about how tough his past few jobs had been. He thought about his old girlfriend and her shit stained bed. He thought about how he had lost his job at the museum. Then, he reached into his pockets and thought about how he could have been so stupid to leave his keys inside his car.

[Anonymous No.2011934]

>>2011925
>>2011923
>>2011921

poor ricky :(

[Anonymous No.2011939]

>>2011907


my mouth was dry, I was thirsty. I clasped my hands around the circumference of the glass tightly and lifted it up towards my red lips. Then I sucked, I sucked every drop of liquid from it.The glass was filled with a thick white cream that seemed to have become sour.
I then decided to take a hot steaming shower. I used the sensual creams for sensitive skin all over my body and rubbed myself in delight. it lubricated and smeared me well. Afterwards I sat down nakedly on the ridged couch that seemed to have a protruding hump that spread my cheeks aside and soothed my itching herpes.
The TV seemed to have been censored by the government, only the inanimate landscapes of mountains and their snow-tipped pinnacles could be seen, they stopped showing programs about the African bush and how they were drilling wells there, it was all much to sensitive for the viewership as they argued.
A Phallus banana was sitting upright wedged between two oranges in my fruit bowl in front of me. I then peeled open the banana and started eating it. My girlfriend entered with her mouth agape in astonishment. Never had she seen me eating my big banana before. I was highly embarrassed and quickly strayed to find a place to hide the banana. And so it was that I quickly jammed it up into my chocolate cupboard. Her mouth was falling further down gaping and spamming like an orgasm. Then I suddenly noticed the bandana wasn't a banana, but it was my penis that I wedged into my anal highway as I drove into the sunset.

Then I woke up from my freudian nightmare sweat drenched, Oh glory be to the morning! But I found myself to still to be smeared and lubricated with sensual creams.

[Anonymous No.2011942]

>>2011939
I forgot this:
>Combine with another number of your choice.

I felt my herpes itching again, but it was no herpes, it was a giant 12 inch cock, and I felt myself sucking from somthing that was no glass but anotrher cock. I woke up in an orgy!

[Anonymous No.2011949]

rolling

[Anonymous No.2011958]

>>2011899
FFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUU-

Lost my entry because I am a foolish faggot who needs to learn how to 4chan (id est, 'field too long').

[Anonymous No.2011961]

>>2011958


pretty sure you can just press back and get it all back

[Anonymous No.2011962]

>>2011958
Protip: Press "back"

[Anonymous No.2011965]

>>2011882
>>2011852

>It appears I am destined to write as a slice of cheese


I lay here, flat. A slice of yellow-brown turned golden, a result of the harsh pristine walls– but for what purpose? Though I search long for the answer, like how the Great Hunger hunts for me, I am eluded. Vague pictures flitter arbitrarily through my mind: I am a splurging forth from the unknown, ecstatic from the free felled exhilaration...
I was of a white, liquefied consistency then (I recall my reflection from the shiny metal on which I landed). It seems unlikely I am that way still; even when disturbed I do not splatter or splash about. All I know of myself is my colour, and that I am stuck beneath others like me. If only we could communicate.
A heavy weight presses down on me, indefatigable. Sometimes, it appears to alleviate, but that is just an illusion. The Beast, the Great Hunger, he fortunately does not appear to have a taste for me and my kin. But we are food – everything else here is, why would we be an exception? I have seen terrible things. The worst was when the ham was taken away by His great hand, only to be returned as half his old self, a bloody mutant that now seems to exist solely to remind us all of our own impending doom – I feel more attachment with the ham than the others that live, or rot here. It is a feeling of brotherhood, as though we share the same creator, or origin... I have no doubt that I share the same fate-
The wall is opening! Anxiety sparks my skin – the familiarity of what’s to come only heightens my terror; I am effervescent, longing to explode– what’s it doing? Oh Jesus, it’s coming for me! I scream and scream as it carries my home effortlessly from the – refrigerator? I’ve been living inside a refrigerator? What in the fuck – I guess it makes sense – oh my God this place is so huge –

[Anonymous No.2011966]

>>2011949
Story of the Red Panda

Her vagina was a swimming pool of hot fudge possibilities. The doctor declared it the most difficult birth he’d ever performed. Shoulder deep in that Sarlacc of a trap, that moaning gash. At some point the vag grew a mind of it’s own, began talking with its mouth full (the doctors arm) “Ron Paul 2012, Ron Paul 2012.” Quite a way to start a life, not dissimilar from the way it ended.

[30 years later]

The homosexual red panda floats gracefully in the preterition of our earth, the cosmos. Broken stardust in between. The anal centric panda swims in tiny foot strokes, the all consuming black, the bright white specks; eyes closed and farting. It dreams of interaction ions in the simplest of forms; an order from burger king or the mutual masturbation of experimenting circus twins. The red panda takes notice: “in the twenty long and productive years I’ve spent orbiting the monstrosity that is greater Australia I have queefed away with a certain philosophical knowledge of our axioms. I have written an untranslatable treatise on buskering and lubrication and buskering lubrication. I can smell stronger than ever before and know with certainty that this olfactory phase will soon drift into an inability to smell at all, for my time in space has been too long and just right. Upon my return to earth the papers will ask the proper and presupposed questions regarding my thoughts and conditions in space, in my final months I haver ascertained my answers------I have read the work of Hegel and I have skimmed the work of Kant. I shall fart longingly in the preterition of me, my cock, and you."

[From the ground: Melbourne]

“Look Daddy, it’s a bird, it’s a plane, no it’s superman.”

[Anonymous No.2011967]

>>2011965

We come to the expanse of a truly monolithic construction, of what appears to be his throne, and enter. I black out from fear and the next thing I know I’m no longer inside my precious container, no longer safe between the skin of my brothers, instead I am on my back on what is admittedly a comfortable surface, and looking around I am one of many; my yellow brothers are strewn about this landscape with me-
I see the Great Hunger in all his terrible glory.
He consists of one mammoth expanse of flesh in his centre, from which extend four impossibly huge appendages that culminate in the hands that carried us. Dwarfing all this, however, is the gigantic hairy ball that sits atop this disgusting superstructure. Short, black, thick curly hair protrudes from the uppermost end of it. Black beady eyes sit lodged inside his skin, staring down at us. A wet tongue juts out beneath that, wet and salivating.
The end is nigh. I only hope to return to the black unknown from whence I came.
Great Hunger then does something unexpected – he turns around. The foul pink flaying of his hands into fingers grab the two masses of flesh that squash a crevasse between then, spreading them to reveal a gaping, hairy black hole in the centre. Great Hunger bends forward.
And as the jet of black sprays out from the hole and splatters across my defenceless being, my mind shuts down, for trauma has reached a critical mass, and all I can do is repress the memory of life itself.

[Anonymous No.2011969]

>>2011961
>>2011962
Ha, it worked! Thank you kindly, folks.

[Anonymous No.2011970]

>>2011969
no problem. go get em tiger

[Anonymous No.2011972]

>>2011899

1/3
>Doubles - Go to one of these boards: /x/, /adv/, /gif/ or /d/. Your story must be meta fiction of the top thread, with a tinge of morbidity.
>Thread about shadowlurkers
>using the provided picture

I should not have written this book. I should not have written this book. I should not have written this book.

The thought echoed through his mind, compulsive, persistent, like a sentence copied time and again during the long hours of detention. I should not have written this book. I should not have written this book. I...

In the darkness, it was easier to remember. On the verge of sleep, the odour of cigarettes and bodily fluids turned into a more innocent smell of damp chalk, the soft snores of the hooker beside him transformed into the sound of rustling paper.

I should not have written this book, the chubby, cowardly kid was copying over and over, I should not have written this book. I should not have written this book.

The illusion, as all glamours and charms, was not a lasting one. He awoke, sighed, turned over, clenched his eyelids.

Sleep would not come. The post-coital weariness, the whiskey, the reasonable explanations he had been repeating to himself like a frantic mantra - everything failed to invoke the smallest amount of tranquility.

[Anonymous No.2011973]

>>2011972
2/3

He opened his eyes - and almost managed to convince himself that the thickening, changing shadow in the corner of the room was a mere trick of the moon, yet another symptom of a writer's imagination, always too lively, the imagination he would sometimes refer to as 'an ADHD child on meth', much to his readers' delight.

A plain hotel room, he reasoned with himself, the explained to the child within him, the cowardly, chubby kid whose fear was so similar to shame, nothing unusual here, see? Bed, lamp, table, chairs, a primitive TV-set. Good God, there is nothing to be scared about, not even a damn mirror. A plain hotel room, a living and breathing person beside me. Not the stuff of horrors, so get the hell over yourself.

And yet, the cowardly, chubby kid would not listen. He rocked, back and forth, shaking his head and chanting the same sentence, time and again: I should not have written that book. I should not have written that book. I should not have...

[Anonymous No.2011974]

>>2011973
3/3

Alright, you wrote an autobiographical piece. So? It is no more personal than the others. Ever heard about a book that is not personal? Please. You wrote about your childish fears. About a Boogeyman following you around. About the burn scars on his face. About this desperate need of his to touch you. So?

The kid would have none of it. I should not have written this book, he replied, impervious to reason, to logic, to reality, to anything but fear, I should not have written this book.

Well, maybe I should not have mentioned his name, the man spoke, glancing at the stirring darkness, maybe I should not have told the world how he looks like. How he looked like. Maybe I should not have...

Written this book. Written this book. Written this book, he and the cowardly, chubby kid repeated in unison, as the thickening, stirring darkness took the shape of a man. I should not have written this book, he sobbed, feeling something warm and thick trickle down the back of his tights.

[Anonymous No.2011994]

rolling rolling rolling raaawwwwhide

[Anonymous No.2012009]

>>2011894
I kinda like what I saw, the narrative style, how conversational it is. It has a vague - very vague - resemblance to Thackeray, with the irony and the way you explain some things.

>>2011925
Haha. I like the punchline. Was the simplicity of language intentional?

>>2011967
Chapeau bas, well-written and witty. If you managed to make a theme like this interesting, you are awesome, as simple as that.

[Anonymous No.2012024]

>>2011967


>>2011965
>>2012009
here. thank you :)

[Anonymous No.2012027]

>>2012024

fucked up the post quotation there. but you know who i was trying to implicate and where

[Anonymous No.2012033]

>>2012027
Should have just written 'slice of cheese here', we would understand. ;)

Pic unrelated, but what the hell.

[Anonymous No.2012043]

>>2011994
TIME DARE

I'll let you know right now Mr. Wiz, sitting there reading your 21st century "webpage" wasting time on nothing while, unbeknownst to you, or most other people, the entire modern world is poised for collapse. Millions will die when the plagues first hit and then the wars and the camps. I didn't bother to pay attention in history class so I mostly know about it from the movies, but what I do know is that it gets better - a lot better. After all, here I am, passing through your century. I've been genesculpted since the day I was born to look perfect, feel perfect, and always act perfect. If you look at me in one light, I'm a complete stud of a man. In another, right out of a lingerie ad. I had a vagina installed for this trip back into the past, but I've had a penis too. For a few months I even tried both but it felt awkward, like the sensations were competing with each other.

My mission, in this here year 2011, had been to fuck a man named Dick Cheney. My blockmates and I were engaged in a game of trivial pursuit: time dare. So far the game had lasted 4 years of objective time and if I pulled it off, I'd earn my yellow and final piece. It hadn't been hard really, the mission or Dick's dick. After the deed had been done, I laid back next to the old man. He smelled of decay in a way only people from your time can. His breath heavy even in sleep, sweat collecting on his wrinkled pourous body, the uncomfortable sounds of digested food rumbling from his stomach.

The door flew open. I saw myself and knew that something bad was about to happen.

"Move!" I yelled and I obeyed just as a the rumbling from Cheney's stomach grew into a crescendo. The hot shit slapped against my thigh. "FUCK!"

[Anonymous No.2012050]

>>2012043
Haha! A bit slow at first, with the explanations et caetera, but picks up a rapid tempo near the end, which is great. Me gusta.

[Anonymous No.2012058]

>>2012050
>>2012033
>>2012009
>>2012033

stradlater?

[Anonymous No.2012062]

>>2012043

really enjoyed this, lol'd at the end

[Anonymous No.2012068]

>>2012058
Nope.

[Anonymous No.2012079]

>>2012068

damn.

i miss him

perhaps you could be stradlater 2.0?

[Anonymous No.2012106]

I'll give it a shot, but I probably won't write it until tomorrow or later in the week.

[Anonymous No.2012250]

bump

[Anonymous No.2012277]

come on c/lits/. why haven't YOU done this edition's micro fiction?

[Anonymous No.2012278]

>>2011966
any notes /lit/?

[Anonymous No.2012286]

>>2012278

I liked it, but found the ending line weak. Giggled throughout, though, and found the prose engaging and clever.

[Anonymous No.2012353]

I'm on board with this

[Anonymous No.2012395]

>>2012353

February 5, 1953

I suppose today was alright, I simply woke and went on with the routines of the later 3 years of my life. However today was a bit different. Janice, Bill Chaunders' intern, was flirting and making movements towards me a tad stronger than usual. I never was much to look at, and since childhood I was a bit of a bore to be around. Could she see something in me that I don't see in myself? No bother, I'll simply see where it goes.
Aside from that, the U.S.S. Liberty's eighth annual reunion is tomorrow. Seeing as I haven't attended the past three I am quite excited for how this one will turn up. Some said I appeared distracted at work, perhaps dwelling on the memories of my navy days was the cause.

February 10, 1953

Just as suspected catching even but a wink of sleep last night was out of the question. The anticipation for tonight was too great (for good reason, too. But I'll get to that). You see, my day started off regularly, went to the diner, got breakfast, the same as usual but getting ready for the reunion I began to get the shakes. Thinking about what if they didn't remember me, or if they would think I was peculiar now, etc. But when I got there, I walked in on the unthinkable.

[sage No.2014164]

bump

[Anonymous No.2014193]

I'll bite.

[Anonymous No.2014198]

There once was a fellow named Porgy
Who had his mind set on an orgy
He picked up his girl Bess
It was a smashing success
As they were joined by her great-uncle Georgie.

... Well, that was lazy.

[Anonymous No.2014242]

I'll bite

[Anonymous No.2014260]

Roll

[None !TOD33vFX8s No.2014305]

>>2011836
rolling

[None !Z6Af3DmfPo No.2014306]

>>2011836
roll, ill give it a try

[Anonymous No.2014308]

rollroll

[Anonymous No.2014312]

>>2014308

reroll already wrote about cheese

[None !Z6Af3DmfPo No.2014316]

>>2011836
using the picture as stimulus for grandiloquent poetry:

Hush vibrations under the sheets, nothing in-
comparable.
I dare say not to take a bit of this peach.
Utter temptation, Prometheus refrain!
Nay, the stark declination from his ulterior motives-
Spawn a horrible, horrible most horrible scent.
My god the fire was truly stolen from the Gods. Dear Prometheus,
What hath you done!?
Retract the sheets! Reveal your sin!
You disgusting, rotten, scornful pig!

[Anonymous No.2014317]

Aw, why the hell not?

[Anonymous No.2014383]

none of you fags ever commit