plot generating website

[Anonymous No.6587970]

http://www.plot-generator.org.uk/

the world is DOOMED. some asshole will find a way to funnel this shit into .EPUBS and will then sell them on amazon for $0.99

[Anonymous No.6587988]

>A long, long time ago in a charming, charming galaxy...

>After leaving the cold planet Kubasulu, a group of robots fly toward a distant speck. The speck gradually resolves into a crowded, space skyscraper.

>Civil war strikes the galaxy, which is ruled by Forest Fish, a dirty pixie capable of decadence and even violence.

>Terrified, a curvy sprite known as Forest Parker flees the Empire, with his protector, Roger Butterscotch.

>They head for Skegness on the planet Epsilon Eridani. When they finally arrive, a fight breaks out. Butterscotch uses his charming gun to defend Forest.

>Butterscotch and Sprite Forest decide it's time to leave Epsilon Eridani and steal a bicycle to shoot their way out.

>They encounter a tribe of men. Butterscotch is attacked and the sprite is captured by the men and taken back to Skegness.

>Butterscotch must fight to save Sprite Forest but when he accidentally unearths a rural rock, the entire future of the charming, cold galaxy is at stake.


I've read way worse space operas.

[Anonymous No.6588033]

>Tony Giantbulb was thinking about Maureen Superhalk again. Maureen was an articulate dancer with pretty dick and tall pussy.

>Tony gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a longing, wry, red wine drinker with buxom dick and blonde pussy. His friends saw him as a pong, pickled poet. Once, he had even saved a squealing heart that was stuck in a drain.

>The sky teased like cavorting horse, making Tony horny.

>Maureen gazed with the affection of 4185 lovable few fox. She said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want licky licky."

>Tony looked back, even more horny and still fingering the elegant candle. "Maureen, i did ur mum," he replied.

They looked at each other with jolly feelings, like two round, ripe rabbit shagging at a very courageous wedding, which had waltz music playing in the background and two splendid uncles eating to the beat.

>Tony studied Maureen's pretty dick and tall pussy. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Tony in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't love you Maureen."

Holy fuck this is incredible.

[Anonymous No.6588053]

Oppressive Hong Kong
A Short Story
by Ki Sedai

Li Huong was thinking about Hau Zho again. Hau was a suffering from amphetamine psychosis, Lilith with fragile thighs and pale ankles.

Li walked over to the window and reflected on her ill-lit surroundings. She had always hated oppressive Hong Kong with its straight, silly skyscrapers. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel sceptical.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a suffering from amphetamine psychosis figure of Ki Sedai.

Li gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a jejune, repressed, imported buckfast drinker with emaciated thighs and skeletal ankles. Her friends saw her as a straight, silly Siddhartha. Once, she had even revived a dying, literature.

But not even a jejune person who had once revived a dying, literature, was prepared for what Ki had in store today.

The petrichor teased like crouching pigeons, making Li contrite. Li grabbed a partially dissolved typewriter that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers.

As Li stepped outside and Ki came closer, she could see the perfect glint in her eye.

Ki glared with all the wrath of 7036 narcissistic short screech owls. She said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want stories."

Li looked back, even more contrite and still fingering the partially dissolved typewriter. "Ki, where have you hidden the manuscripts!," she replied.

They looked at each other with melancholy feelings, like two fluffy, filthy foxes regressing at a very electric chance meeting at a noodle vendor, which had vaporwave music playing in the background and two vainglorious uncles resenting to the beat.

Li regarded Ki's fragile thighs and pale ankles. "I feel the same way!" revealed Li with a delighted grin.

Ki looked impious, her emotions blushing like an ice-dancing, impossible ink brush.

Then Ki came inside for a nice drink of imported buckfast.
THE END

[Anonymous No.6588063]

n a dungeon there lived a well-endowed, squidgy imp named Himli Hvitserk. Not a dirty solid, erotic dungeon, filled with vibrators and a sweaty smell, nor yet a pretty, ripped, hard dungeon with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was an imp-dungeon, and that means arousal.

One day, after a troubling visit from the orc Ralph Newsonn, Himli leaves her dungeon and sets out in search of three pulsing trousers. A quest undertaken in the company of huntsmen, youths and excited goblins.

In the search for the orc-guarded trousers, Himli Hvitserk surprises even herself with her screwability and skill as a whore.

During her travels, Himli rescues a dildo, an heirloom belonging to Ralph. But when Ralph refuses to try blowing-off, their friendship is over.

However, Ralph is wounded at the Battle of the Great Orgy and the two reconcile just before Himli engages in some serious blowing-off.

Himli accepts one of the three pulsing trousers and returns home to her dungeon a very wealthy imp.

[Anonymous No.6588108]

The Ribbed Blade
A Short Story
by pepe
Reginald Gobble had always hated cold San Francisco with its unsteady, uninterested umbrellas. It was a place where he felt relaxed.

He was a virtuous, kind, beer drinker with sticky fingers and blonde lips. His friends saw him as a grisly, great giant. Once, he had even helped a grieving baby recover from a flying accident. That's the sort of man he was.

Reginald walked over to the window and reflected on his grey surroundings. The sleet rained like jogging donkeys.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Sophia Raymond. Sophia was a clever bear with brunette fingers and beautiful lips.

Reginald gulped. He was not prepared for Sophia.

As Reginald stepped outside and Sophia came closer, he could see the quiet glint in her eye.

"I am here because I want a kiss," Sophia bellowed, in an admirable tone. She slammed her fist against Reginald's chest, with the force of 7385 koalas. "I frigging hate you, Reginald Gobble."

Reginald looked back, even more concerned and still fingering the ribbed blade. "Sophia, I am your mother," he replied.

They looked at each other with cross feelings, like two silly, square snakes walking at a very selfish wake, which had trance music playing in the background and two caring uncles swimming to the beat.

Suddenly, Sophia lunged forward and tried to punch Reginald in the face. Quickly, Reginald grabbed the ribbed blade and brought it down on Sophia's skull.

Sophia's brunette fingers trembled and her beautiful lips wobbled. She looked unstable, her body raw like a nasty, numerous newspaper.

Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Sophia Raymond was dead.

Reginald Gobble went back inside and made himself a nice drink of beer.

THE END


wow.

[Anonymous No.6588193]

Albert Marchap looked at the solid fart in his hands and felt despair.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his meme surroundings. He had always hated dank Birmingham with its sleepy, scrawny shit. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel despair.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Belinda Dresden. Belinda was a farty squib with sunken vaginas and fallen phalluses.

Albert gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a brave, coward, old fashioned drinker with slim vaginas and farty phalluses. His friends saw him as a decaying, deadly demon. Once, he had even revived a dying, dead.

But not even a brave person who had once revived a dying, dead, was prepared for what Belinda had in store today.

The dank teased like standing beetles, making Albert fartyness.

As Albert stepped outside and Belinda came closer, he could see the broken smile on her face.

"Look Albert," growled Belinda, with a hallucinagenic glare that reminded Albert of farty dogs. "I hate you and I want death. You owe me 6548 denier."

Albert looked back, even more fartyness and still fingering the solid fart. "Belinda, It's all over now," he replied.

They looked at each other with truculence feelings, like two forgotten, funny flies idling at a very kekmaster funeral, which had classical music playing in the background and two lel uncles farting to the beat.

Albert studied Belinda's sunken vaginas and fallen phalluses. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I declared myself bankrupt," explained Albert. "You will never get your money."

"No!" objected Belinda. "You lie!"

"I do not!" retorted Albert. "Now get your sunken vaginas out of here before I hit you with this solid fart."

Belinda looked sadness, her wallet raw like a gentle, grim garbage.

Albert could actually hear Belinda's wallet shatter into 6548 pieces. Then the farty squib hurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of old fashioned would calm Albert's nerves tonight.

THE END

[Anonymous No.6588359]

Is this how Pynchon comes up with his plots?

[Anonymous No.6588369]

>The wind blew like thinking foxes, making Casper relaxed.

>They looked at each other with shocked feelings, like two obedient, odd owls swimming at a very stingy wedding, which had jazz music playing in the background and two optimistic uncles skipping to the beat.

[Anonymous No.6588375]

Caring Catherine Thomas
A Short Story
by Untitled writer
Catherine Thomas was thinking about Bob Gloop again. Bob was a hopeful rover with wide hands and ample elbows.

Catherine walked over to the window and reflected on her derelict surroundings. She had always loved grand Manchester with its ugliest, ugly umbrellas. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel anxious.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a hopeful figure of Bob Gloop.

Catherine gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a caring, patient, squash drinker with pointy hands and short elbows. Her friends saw her as a relieved, raw rover. Once, she had even helped a cruel deaf person cross the road.

But not even a caring person who had once helped a cruel deaf person cross the road, was prepared for what Bob had in store today.

The snow flurried like partying lizards, making Catherine relaxed. Catherine grabbed a solid kettle that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers.

As Catherine stepped outside and Bob came closer, she could see the wide smile on his face.

"I am here because I want love," Bob bellowed, in a sinister tone. He slammed his fist against Catherine's chest, with the force of 6014 snakes. "I frigging love you, Catherine Thomas."

Catherine looked back, even more relaxed and still fingering the solid kettle. "Bob, I admire your eyebrows," she replied.

They looked at each other with concerned feelings, like two gentle, greasy gerbils swimming at a very scheming engagement party, which had classical music playing in the background and two ruthless uncles dancing to the beat.

Suddenly, Bob lunged forward and tried to punch Catherine in the face. Quickly, Catherine grabbed the solid kettle and brought it down on Bob's skull.

Bob's wide hands trembled and his ample elbows wobbled. He looked ambivalent, his body raw like a strong, squashed sausage.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Bob Gloop was dead.

Catherine Thomas went back inside and made herself a nice beaker of squash.

THE END


i just pressed the random button.

[Anonymous No.6588384]

I am a complete idiot

>Whilst investigating the death of a local nurse, an analytic swordsman called Bertrand Russell uncovers a legend about a supernaturally-cursed, apathetic Tractatus circulating throughout London. As soon as anyone uses the Tractatus, he or she has exactly 75 days left to live.

>The doomed few appear to be ordinary people during day to day life, but when photographed, they look pickled. A marked person feels like a tiny ostrich to touch.

>Bertrand gets hold of the Tractatus, refusing to believe the superstition. A collage of images flash into his mind: a scrawny monkey balancing on a moist nurse, an old newspaper headline about a Heidegger accident, a hooded maggot ranting about balls and a drinking well located in an authentic place.

>When Bertrand notices his testes have ostrich-like properties, he realises that the curse of the apathetic Tractatus is true and calls in his bff, a fishmonger called Ludwig Wittgenstein, to help.

>Ludwig examines the Tractatus and willingly submits herself to the curse. She finds that the same visions flash before his eyes. She finds the scrawny monkey balancing on a moist nurse particularly chilling. She joins the queue for a supernatural death.

>Bertrand and Ludwig pursue a quest to uncover the meaning of the visions, starting with a search for the hooded maggot. Will they be able to stop the curse before their time is up?

[Anonymous No.6588392]

Steamy Foucalt's Bedroom
A Short Story
by Zizek
Thomas Pynchon looked at the large butt-plug in his hands and felt aroused.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his hot surroundings. He had always hated steamy Foucalt's Bedroom with its boiled, boiling brothel. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel aroused.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Michel Foucalt. Michel was a manipulative phallus with spiky genitalia and greasy abs.

Thomas gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a well-endowed, strong, orange squash drinker with sweaty genitalia and hard abs. His friends saw him as a boiled, boiling banana. Once, he had even revived a dying, old man.

But not even a well-endowed person who had once revived a dying, old man, was prepared for what Michel had in store today.

The moon shone like sodomising bulls, making Thomas humiliated.

As Thomas stepped outside and Michel came closer, he could see the loopy glint in his eye.

Michel glared with all the wrath of 7682 creepy many monkeys. He said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want a Banana."

Thomas looked back, even more humiliated and still fingering the large butt-plug. "Michel, I love you," he replied.

They looked at each other with anxious feelings, like two curious, curly cockroaches blowing-off at a very rude booty-call, which had jazz music playing in the background and two submissive uncles licking to the beat.

Thomas studied Michel's spiky genitalia and greasy abs. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Thomas in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't hate you Michel."

Michel looked surprised, his emotions raw like a blue, boiling banana.

Thomas could actually hear Michel's emotions shatter into 5641 pieces. Then the manipulative phallus hurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of orange squash would calm Thomas's nerves tonight.

[Anonymous No.6588403]

>>6588392
Butt plugs are for women, to make the vagina tighter/smaller.

Guys use prostate massagers or similar stuff.

If you're going to write erotica, at least know your shit.

[Anonymous No.6588404]

We were making Pepe stories at that site a few months back.

[Anonymous No.6588429]

>>6588108
I'm kind of impressed

[Anonymous No.6588449]

Murder in Mason and Dixon line
A Crime Thriller
by Max Stirner

Mangled Fedoras have been turning up all over Mason and Dixon line and the inhabitants are scared. Ten murders in ten weeks, all committed with a V2 missile, and still nobody has a clue who the weird killer is.

Thomas "Pinecone" Pynchon is an unknown and recluse writer with a fondness for drugs. He doesn't know it yet but he is the only one who can stop the Paranoid killer.

When his meme friend, James Joyce, is kidnapped, Thomas Pynchon finds himself thrown into the centre of the investigation. His only clue is a postmodernist book.

He enlists the help of an asperger Meme called Foster Wallace.

Can Wallace help Pynchon overcome his Weed addiction and find the answers before the Junkie killer and his deadly V2 missile strike again?

Praise for Murder in Mason and Dixon line

>"Thomas Pynchon is the best detective ever. A passion for drugs and Weed is something we all can relate to."
- The Daily Tale
>"About as scary as a minute ant, but Murder in Mason and Dixon line does deliver an important message about the dangers of a V2 missile."
- Enid Kibbler
>"As always, an Asperger Meme makes the best sidekick."
- Hit the Spoof
>"I could do better."
- Zob Gloop

[Anonymous No.6588526]

The Cool Fart

A Short Story
by David Foster Memer

James Joyce was thinking about Thomas Pynchon again. Thomas was a dank memer with white anuses and intimidating hair.

James walked over to the window and reflected on his post-modern surroundings. He had always loved dank Memeiring Heights with its frantic, friendly farts. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel depressing.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a dank figure of Thomas Pynchon.

James gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a modern, romantic, pee drinker with awkward anuses and ugly hair. His friends saw him as a repulsive, ratty Redditor. Once, he had even brought a low /lit/ user back from the brink of death.

But not even a modern person who had once brought a low /lit/ user back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Thomas had in store today.

The rain hammered like memeing penguins, making James sad. James grabbed a cool fart that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As James stepped outside and Thomas came closer, he could see the gloopy glint in her eye.

Thomas gazed with the affection of 9189 gay damaged dogs. She said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want memes."

James looked back, even more sad and still fingering the cool fart. "Thomas, >mfw DFW is part of the meme trilogy authors," he replied.

They looked at each other with cynical feelings, like two tart, tasteless tigers writing at a very intelligent gathering of pseudo-intellectuals, which had post-techno reggaedustrial music playing in the background and two abnormal uncles reading to the beat.

James studied Thomas's white anuses and intimidating hair. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began James in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't love you Thomas."

Thomas looked lonely, her emotions raw like a mute, massive meme.

James could actually hear Thomas's emotions shatter into 2499 pieces. Then the dank memer hurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of pee would calm James's nerves tonight.

THE END

[Anonymous No.6588560]

Muhammed's Vampire
A Teen Vampire Story
by Salman Rushdie
There's a faithful new girl in Medina and she has everybody talking. Stunningly beautiful and devastatingly innocent, all the boys want her. However, Zainab has a secret - she's a infidel vampire.

Muhammed Bloggs is a glorious, jacked boy who enjoys praying. He becomes fascinated by Zainab who can stop cocks with her bare hands. He doesn't understand why she's so standoffish.

His best friend, a modest djin called Allah, helps Muhammed begin to piece together the puzzle. Together, they discover the ultimate weapon - the hard, long glorious dick.

When bodies start turning up all over Medina, Muhammed begins to fear the worst. The djin urges her to report Zainab to the police and he knows he should, so what's stopping him?

He may resist Zainab's bite, but can he resist her charms?

Will he be caught copulating with the vampire?

[Anonymous No.6588569]

Ya'll are novices at this.

[Anonymous No.6588614]

>>6587970
I hope I can make a niche in the teen fantasy world.

>Tempting the Solid Ham Vapire
A Paranormal Romance

>Slutman Male suspected something was a little off when his long-nails sexy sis tried to scratch the back him when he was just six years old. Nevertheless, he lived a relatively normal life among other humans.

>It wasn't until he bumped into the devilishly solid ham vapire, Dick Troll the III, that his life finally began to make sense.

>However, Dick proved to be hairy and seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with laundry. Slutman soon learnt that Dick had taken an oath never to stole his purity a human being.

>When Slutman's long-nails sexy sis is injured in an obect in rectum by tripping accident, Slutman realises his own life is at risk.

>Despite Dick's twisted tail and myopic cute, Slutman finds himself falling for the ham vapire. Only fate will decided whether he kills or protects him.

>One night, a yeti appears before Slutman and warns him of a darkness within Dick. The yeti gives Slutman the sharp feeeeelings - the only weapon that can defeat a solid ham vapire.

>Will Slutman find it in himself to kill the only creature who has ever made him feel truly constipated? (Hint: yes!)

[Anonymous No.6588671]

Most of them are near identical and nonsensical. You might be able to make some money off shitty ebooks but Amazon would quickly develop a way of catching nearly identical books if it doesn't already have one.

[Anonymous No.6588714]

>>6588569
This actually reads like something Lin would have written in like 2007

[Anonymous No.6588725]

/pol/ edition

[Anonymous No.6588768]

http://www.plot-generator.org.uk/imrzl1/conceptual-holy-grail.html

""I am here because I want to win the grail war," Emiya bellowed, in a powerful tone. He slammed his fist against Heroic Spirit's chest, with the force of 6749 ARCHER. "I frigging love you, Heroic Spirit SABER CLASS."

Heroic Spirit looked back, even more incredibly powerful and still fingering the conceptual the holy grail. "Emiya, I AM THE BONE OF MY SWORD," he replied."

[Anonymous No.6588774]

Max Stirner looked at the broken chair in his hands and felt perturbed.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his boisterous surroundings. He had always loved smoke-filled Hippel's with its soft, stale sidewalks. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel perturbed.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Karl Marx. Karl was an intelligent scum with gentle arms and pale legs.

Max gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a sturdy, hairy, wine drinker with stout arms and handsome legs. His friends saw him as a narrow, nutritious noble. Once, he had even helped a wide-eyed injured bird recover from a flying accident.

But not even a sturdy person who had once helped a wide-eyed injured bird recover from a flying accident, was prepared for what Karl had in store today.

The still teased like sitting mice, making Max distraught.

As Max stepped outside and Karl came closer, he could see the uptight glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want revenge," Karl bellowed, in a distant tone. He slammed his fist against Max's chest, with the force of 3131 cats. "I frigging hate you, Max Stirner."

Max looked back, even more distraught and still fingering the broken chair. "Karl, I own you," he replied.

They looked at each other with satisfied feelings, like two hot, heavy hounds thinking at a very motivated debate, which had piano music playing in the background and two sublime uncles reclining to the beat.

Suddenly, Karl lunged forward and tried to punch Max in the face. Quickly, Max grabbed the broken chair and brought it down on Karl's skull.

Karl's gentle arms trembled and his pale legs wobbled. He looked calm, his body raw like a tasteless, thirsty wine glass.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Karl Marx was dead.

Max Stirner went back inside and made himself a nice glass of wine.
THE END

[Anonymous No.6590152]

Tempting the Tall Goblin
A Paranormal Romance
by Anon
Eric Alexander suspected something was a little off when his Voluptuos uncle tried to rim job him when he was just six years old. Nevertheless, he lived a relatively normal life among other humans.

It wasn't until he bumped into the devilishly tall Goblin, Izaya Applebuam, that his life finally began to make sense.

However, Izaya proved to be stupid and seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with Murder. Eric soon learnt that Izaya had taken an oath never to dry hump a human being.

When Eric's Voluptuos uncle is injured in a Plane crash accident, Eric realises his own life is at risk.

Despite Izaya's large nostrils and Meth teeth, Eric finds himself falling for the Goblin. Only fate will decided whether he kills or protects him.

One night, a Reptilian appears before Eric and warns him of a darkness within Izaya. The Reptilian gives Eric the gay large dildo - the only weapon that can defeat a tall Goblin.

Will Eric find it in himself to kill the only creature who has ever made him feel truly Aroused? (Hint: yes!)

[Anonymous No.6590584]

>>6588725
>Bogdan Krkić
Zajebao si, Bogdane. Kada te lociram analno ću te silovati nožem.

[Anonymous No.6591640]

>>6588359
.. .plots? what plots?

[Anonymous No.6591694]

Two Tight-fisted Uncles Running to the Beat
A Short Story
by Tha Vidfow Stern Wallower
Tommy Pinch On looked at the meme'd teapot in his hands and felt mad.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his fedorad surroundings. He had always hated cucked /lit/ with its smelly, strong shitposting. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel mad.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Meme Master Joyce. Meme Master was a giving juggler with ugly elbows and vast ankles.

Tommy gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was an understanding, cowardly, weed drinker with slimy elbows and scrawny ankles. His friends saw him as an old, outrageous ogre. Once, he had even helped a mashed pepe cross the road.

But not even an understanding person who had once helped a mashed pepe cross the road, was prepared for what Meme Master had in store today.

The snow flurried like hopping hamsters, making Tommy rad.

As Tommy stepped outside and Meme Master came closer, he could see the husky glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want control," Meme Master bellowed, in a violent tone. He slammed his fist against Tommy's chest, with the force of 9217 cats. "I frigging hate you, Tommy Pinch On."

Tommy looked back, even more rad and still fingering the meme'd teapot. "Meme Master, I am the absolute memester," he replied.

They looked at each other with sad feelings, like two high, homeless humming birds bouncing at a very brutal Walpurgisnacht, which had vaporwave music playing in the background and two tight-fisted uncles running to the beat.

Suddenly, Meme Master lunged forward and tried to punch Tommy in the face. Quickly, Tommy grabbed the meme'd teapot and brought it down on Meme Master's skull.

Meme Master's ugly elbows trembled and his vast ankles wobbled. He looked bad, his body raw like a beautiful, black blade.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Meme Master Joyce was dead.

Tommy Pinch On went back inside and made himself a nice drink of weed.

THE END

[Anonymous No.6591732]

Vampire in salo
A Teen Vampire Story
by E.B. Whittle

There's a firewood new girl in salo and she has everybody talking. Stunningly worn and devastatingly suicidal, all the boys want her. However, Margo Hemingway has a secret - she's a empathy vampire.

Tom Waits is a drunk, grizzled boy who enjoys philately. He becomes fascinated by Margo who can stop piano with her bare hands. He doesn't understand why she's so standoffish.

His best friend, a beast badgerfish called Space, helps Tom begin to piece together the puzzle. Together, they discover the ultimate weapon - the haggard, shagged shaver.

When bodies start turning up all over salo, Tom begins to fear the worst. The badgerfish urges her to report Margo to the police and he knows he should, so what's stopping him?

He may resist Margo's bite, but can he resist her charms?

Will he be caught fucking with the vampire?


> it needs some revision

[Anonymous No.6591749]

Fucking With the Vampire
A Teen Vampire Story
by E.B. Whittle

There's a nympo new girl in salo and she has everybody talking. Stunningly worn and devastatingly suicidal, all the boys want her. However, Margo Hemingway has a secret - she's a eczema vampire.

Tom Waits is a drunk, grizzled boy who enjoys philately. He becomes fascinated by Margo who can stop roadblocks with her bare hands. He doesn't understand why she's so standoffish.

His best friend, a beast badgerfish called SpaceWhale, helps Tom begin to piece together the puzzle. Together, they discover the ultimate weapon - the haggard, trimmed shaver.

When bodies start turning up all over salo, Tom begins to fear the worst. The badgerfish urges her to report Margo to the police and he knows he should, so what's stopping him?

He may resist Margo's bite, but can he resist her charms?

Will he be caught fucking with the vampire?

[Anonymous No.6591758]

>generate a horror plot
>it's literally just the plot of The Ring but with different adjectives

Whilst investigating the death of a local swordsman, a loving author called Randy Travis uncovers a legend about a supernaturally-cursed, damp piano circulating throughout Cornwall. As soon as anyone uses the piano, he or she has exactly 100 days left to live.

The doomed few appear to be ordinary people during day to day life, but when photographed, they look grey.

Randy gets hold of the piano, refusing to believe the superstition. A collage of images flash into his mind: a splendid toad balancing on a crumpled swordsman, an old newspaper headline about a flying accident, a hooded maggot ranting about fingernails and a drinking well located in a creepy place.

When Randy notices his eyes have ostrich-like properties, he realises that the curse of the damp piano is true and calls in his brother, a cleaner called Tony Gloop, to help.

Tony examines the piano and willingly submits himself to the curse. He finds that the same visions flash before his eyes. He finds the splendid toad balancing on a crumpled swordsman particularly chilling. He joins the queue for a supernatural death.

[Anonymous No.6591920]

>Peculiar Carla Nolan
>A Short Story
>by Dicks Minnesota

>Alice Randall was thinking about Carla Nolan again. Carla was a peculiar waifu with bubbly butt and pale nose.

>Alice walked over to the window and reflected on her chilly surroundings. She had always hated hilly Amsterdam with its precious, purple plant pots. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel gay.

>Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a peculiar figure of Carla Nolan.

>Alice gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a stingy, energetic, virgin discharge drinker with unskinny butt and girly nose. Her friends saw her as a kindhearted, kind krazy kat. Once, she had even jumped into a river and saved a fragile hatsune miku.

>But not even a stingy person who had once jumped into a river and saved a fragile hatsune miku, was prepared for what Carla had in store today.

>The sexy teased like hugging bear, making Alice horny. Alice grabbed a post-modern object 1 that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers.

>As Alice stepped outside and Carla came closer, she could see the queasy smile on her face.

>"Look Alice," growled Carla, with a clever glare that reminded Alice of peculiar metabear. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want dank memes. You owe me 5360 dollaridoos."

>Alice looked back, even more horny and still fingering the post-modern object 1. "Carla, i want to be you," she replied.

>They looked at each other with hype feelings, like two mushy, mighty mechabear searching at a very modest taxes, which had pre-nixonian minimalistic raggamuffin music playing in the background and two brutal uncles bravelying to the beat.

>Alice regarded Carla's bubbly butt and pale nose. "I don't have the funds ..." she lied.

>Carla glared. "Do you want me to shove that post-modern object 1 where the sun don't shine?"

>Alice promptly remembered her stingy and energetic values. "Actually, I do have the funds," she admitted. She reached into her pockets. "Here's what I owe you."

>Carla looked fast, her wallet blushing like an odd, oily object b.

>Then Carla came inside for a nice drink of virgin discharge.
>THE END
wow
o
w

[Anonymous No.6593191]

Two Patient Uncles Partying to the Beat
A Short Story
by Writer Unknown

Mathias Bogtrotter was thinking about Brad Thornhill again. Brad was a stupid bear with squat legs and red ankles.

Mathias walked over to the window and reflected on his creepy surroundings. He had always loved deserted Falmouth with its tense, talented tunnels. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel ambivalent.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a stupid figure of Brad Thornhill.

Mathias gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a considerate, callous, tea drinker with wide legs and wide ankles. His friends saw him as an empty, early elephant. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for a wrong injured bird.

But not even a considerate person who had once made a cup of tea for a wrong injured bird, was prepared for what Brad had in store today.

The rain hammered like rampaging maggots, making Mathias worried. Mathias grabbed a peculiar torch that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As Mathias stepped outside and Brad came closer, he could see the unlawful glint in his eye.

Brad gazed with the affection of 6976 thoughtful scary snakes. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want a wifi code."

Mathias looked back, even more worried and still fingering the peculiar torch. "Brad, yabba Dabba Doo," he replied.

They looked at each other with unstable feelings, like two fried, fresh frogs singing at a very patient dinner party, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two patient uncles partying to the beat.

Mathias studied Brad's squat legs and red ankles. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Mathias in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't love you Brad."

Brad looked stressed, his emotions raw like a many, motionless map.

Mathias could actually hear Brad's emotions shatter into 1861 pieces. Then the stupid bear hurried away into the distance.

Not even a cup of tea would calm Mathias's nerves tonight.
THE END

[Anonymous No.6593351]

Sad Randy Newman
A Short Story
by ding

Randy Newman had always hated deprived Australia with its raw, robust red. It was a place where he felt shocked.

He was a sad, tactless, water drinker with moist mouth and wide abs. His friends saw him as a great, good god. Once, he had even revived a dying, aunt. That's the sort of man he was.

Randy walked over to the window and reflected on his dirty surroundings. The wind blew like singing buffalo.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Mandy Muse. Mandy was a splendid jew with skinny mouth and chubby abs.

Randy gulped. He was not prepared for Mandy.

As Randy stepped outside and Mandy came closer, he could see the grated smile on her face.

Mandy gazed with the affection of 6743 deranged raspy rabbits. She said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want revenge."

Randy looked back, even more unstable and still fingering the ribbed guillotine. "Mandy, oh hi," he replied.

They looked at each other with angry feelings, like two smelly, spotless skunk humping at a very thoughtful funeral, which had rag time music playing in the background and two considerate uncles chasing to the beat.

Randy regarded Mandy's skinny mouth and chubby abs. "I feel the same way!" revealed Randy with a delighted grin.

Mandy looked shocked, her emotions blushing like a sweet, stale sandwich.

Then Mandy came inside for a nice drink of water.
THE END

[Anonymous No.6593629]

A long, long time ago in a top kek, top kek galaxy...

After leaving the ebin planet Pluto, a group of witches fly toward a distant speck. The speck gradually resolves into a normies, space mill.

Civil war strikes the galaxy, which is ruled by nice meme, a REEEEEEEE ghost capable of adultery and even mutilation.

Terrified, a tumblr ogre known as simply eric flees the Empire, with his protector, epic meme.

They head for Truro on the planet Dune. When they finally arrive, a fight breaks out. meme uses her top kek knife to defend simply.

meme and Ogre simply decide it's time to leave Dune and steal a van to shoot their way out.

They encounter a tribe of robots. meme is attacked and the ogre is captured by the robots and taken back to Truro.

meme must fight to save Ogre simply but when she accidentally unearths a pleb piano, the entire future of the top kek, ebin galaxy is at stake.
THE END

[호박 !TRapART6v6 No.6593680]

>>6591758
I just read Ring last week and made this same connection.

[Anonymous No.6593721]

The Curse of the Beaten Carton Of Cigarettes
A Horror Story
by Sagte
Whilst investigating the death of a local sweeper, a reluctant whore called Orestes Bloggs uncovers a legend about a supernaturally-cursed, beaten carton of cigarettes circulating throughout Flagstaff. As soon as anyone uses the carton of cigarettes, he or she has exactly 5 days left to live.

The doomed few appear to be ordinary people during day to day life, but when photographed, they look pixelated. A marked person feels like a monolithic wolf to touch.

Orestes gets hold of the carton of cigarettes, refusing to believe the superstition. A collage of images flash into his mind: a dull ram balancing on an obtrusive sweeper, an old newspaper headline about a gastral accident, a hooded hart ranting about teeth and a drinking well located in a dwarven place.

When Orestes notices his nostrils have wolf-like properties, he realises that the curse of the beaten carton of cigarettes is true and calls in his sister, a laundrist called Elektra , to help.

Elektra examines the carton of cigarettes and willingly submits himself to the curse. He finds that the same visions flash before his eyes. He finds the dull ram balancing on an obtrusive sweeper particularly chilling. He joins the queue for a supernatural death.

Orestes and Elektra pursue a quest to uncover the meaning of the visions, starting with a search for the hooded hart. Will they be able to stop the curse before their time is up?

kek

[Anonymous No.6593729]

>>6587970
>some asshole will find a way to funnel this shit into .EPUBS and will then sell them on amazon for $0.99

Thanks for giving me the idea.

Hope you like my Dollar Dreadfuls series.

[Anonymous No.6593736]

Thoughtful Polly Trescothik
A Short Story
by Untitled writer
Chris Thornton was thinking about Polly Trescothik again. Polly was a thoughtful gamer with dirty hands and pretty eyebrows.

Chris walked over to the window and reflected on his derelict surroundings. He had always loved damp Newton Abbot with its zany, zesty zoos. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel active.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a thoughtful figure of Polly Trescothik.

Chris gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a sympathetic, admirable, tea drinker with pointy hands and chubby eyebrows. His friends saw him as an embarrassed, empty elephant. Once, he had even saved a yellow baby that was stuck in a drain.

But not even a sympathetic person who had once saved a yellow baby that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Polly had in store today.

The moon shone like boating toads, making Chris puzzled. Chris grabbed a tattered map that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As Chris stepped outside and Polly came closer, he could see the repulsive smile on her face.

Polly gazed with the affection of 6951 brave brief blue bottles. She said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want some more Twitter followers."

Chris looked back, even more puzzled and still fingering the tattered map. "Polly, eat my shorts," he replied.

They looked at each other with sparkly feelings, like two doubtful, dripping dogs running at a very understanding funeral, which had flute music playing in the background and two sympathetic uncles chatting to the beat.

Suddenly, Polly lunged forward and tried to punch Chris in the face. Quickly, Chris grabbed the tattered map and brought it down on Polly's skull.

Polly's dirty hands trembled and her pretty eyebrows wobbled. She looked relaxed, her emotions raw like a silent, squiggled sausage.

Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Polly Trescothik was dead.

Chris Thornton went back inside and made himself a nice cup of tea.

THE END

[Anonymous No.6594071]

My fucking sides oh god