Humor
The Samhain Chronicles: Ch. 16
As Danny walked back to his chambers, huddled once more in the blanket Mother Abigail had given him, he avoided speaking to the other nuns he passed. Nothing could prevent him, however, from hearing the whispers circulating around him as he walked by. One snippet of conversation between two of the younger sisters made him pause in his tracks and listen in. He knew eavesdropping was rude, but his curiosity temporarily outweighed his sense of decorum.
By Natalie Gray4 years ago in Fiction
Tinder
I have never been one to search for a significant other online. I have also never been one to go out to bars or parties much. As adults it’s harder to meet new people. When you’re a teenager you meet people at school, go to roller rinks, skate parks, arcades, all kinds of places. As an adult you mainly meet new people at work, a bar, a party, or online. I try my best to keep my love life and work life separate, so I turned to tinder. Setting up my profile was super easy. For my name I wrote “Penny Rose”, short for Penelope Rose. I allowed my profile to show that I'm 24 years old, and live in a town called Willow Falls. For the little description of me I wrote "I'm here because I don't get out much. Trying to meet new people and explore new things." Than I uploaded three selfies that I thought best showed off my hazel eyes and short, curly, red hair. The concept of the app seemed pretty simple. Swipe left if you're not interested in the person it shows you, swipe right if you are. The first couple of guys shown to me seemed pretty basic, not really my type. Than I swiped onto a profile that showed a picture of a mans chest. The name on the profile was SM. The description said "The SM stands for Squirt Master. Get ready to squirt like you never have before. If you've never squirted before, I'll make you squirt 10 times. I don't do relationships. Only swipe right if you're looking for a satisfying night." My eyes started watering, and I laughed uncontrollably for about five minutes. A couple swipes to the left later, I seen a guy flexing so hard in his photo that it looked like he was trying to take a hard poop. The uncontrollable laughter started again. Finally, a guy who caught my attention popped up. His name was Mason. Mason was 26 years old, has bright blue eyes, a cute smile, short light brown hair, and lives about 20 minutes away in a town called Huckleberry. I swiped right, it was a match. What seemed like only seconds later, I received a message from Mason saying “Hello there beautiful! What are you doing on here?” I replied “Just meeting new people, how about you?” “I’m doing the same thing. How is someone as beautiful as you single?” “I guess I just haven’t found someone that I connect with.” Mason and I spent the rest of the night talking about our dreams, goals, and priorities. Right before falling asleep, we added each other on Snapchat. I didn’t notice Mason had sent me a selfie on Snapchat that said “goodnight beautiful” until I woke up the next day. Waking up to that made me smile, and even blush a little. I sent a selfie back that said “good morning handsome.” Three minutes later I received another picture from Mason. This time it was a selfie of a woman that said “this is his wife.” Mixed emotions of embarrassment, anger, and a little bit of sadness flowed through me. Than I explained to his wife how I had met Mason on tinder, and that I had no idea he was married. Apparently I wasn’t the only person she had caught Mason flirting with.
By Jasmine Rose4 years ago in Fiction
His Divine Itchiness
You know that itch you get right as you’re trying to nod off to sleep? The one that you’re not sure existed even after you’ve scratched the offending area? The one that springs up again on another part of your body when you’ve settled back in, snug under the covers? That’s me. Some may call me silly names like the Itch Fairy, but I prefer to think of myself as The Immortal God of Itchiness. You may call me Your Divine Itchiness. In my opinion, I am an essential, natural force in the world. Which would make me a god in the vein of Boreas, Notus, Zephyrus, and Eurus. (For those of you that never took Classics, I pity you. Those are the Four Winds of Greek Mythology. Though I never particularly liked them much, too flighty. Couldn’t nail them down in an RSVP for any party.) Plus I’ve never died, so there’s Exhibit A for immortality. Perhaps the only argument against my divinity is the fact that I feel the need to explain myself. But not being able to hold myself back is part of my highly endearing personality, so I think it’s fine.
By Mark (Mitch) Weil4 years ago in Fiction
Bird Poo Flu and the Pink Sombrero
No matter how many times he saw those things, he never got used to them. He blamed them for his adult-onset Tourette’s syndrome, which tended to flare up at the most inopportune times: at shops, at bars, and at job interviews. Those things — those obnoxious cranial accessories — came to represent everything that was wrong with the world. They were symbols of deception and propaganda, giant beacons of a collective aversion to critical thinking, and ubiquitous reminders of a blind compliance to authority. Those oversized, obnoxiously garish monstrosities had single-handedly transformed a once-functional member of society into an Underground Man: a venomous, misanthropic recluse. They were cumbersome. They were pink. And they housed zombie brains.
By J.C. Finnegan4 years ago in Fiction
Why is the Wind Sword Patriarch blindfolded?
It is said that Bibidong re-election of the seven clans is the animal world, which is either leopards or antelopes, and bees and elephants, almost all of these martial spirits are animals, only the Wind Sword Sect people like a person. Why is the Wind Sword Sect so special? Obviously the animation is its consideration, the animation of this clan is not only a special martial spirit, look strange enough, the patriarch's eyes were blindfolded by cloth, this operation in the end because of what? It is difficult not to be the patriarch is blind?
By Bo Fu Long4 years ago in Fiction
Twisted Tales for Toilet Time: Volume II, Part III
Midnight Once Upon an Hour of Time… At Midnight during the middle of the night, a large dark barn owl swooped down from a branch and dug its claws into a small field mouse that was scurrying across the ground. The owl returned to its branch and began offering pieces of the mouse to his fellow night owls that shared the tree. All kinds of reasons and excuses came out of their beaks.
By Savannah K. Wilson4 years ago in Fiction
