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Post by Invisible on Aug 3, 2014 23:06:22 GMT -5
I was either 8, 9 or 10 when I wrote this masterpiece. I can't quite remember, but I was most likely 9. Well, I certainly remember writing it. There are illustrations and everything! Katie and the baby troubleKatie was six years old. Katie was helping her Dad paint the spare bedroom "what colur shall we paint this room" said Dad "errrrrm pale rred yeah Dada" Katie stammered thinking about it. The next day at school Katie asked her friend Tony to come to tea after school. Tony's mum said yes but to go home at six o'clock. Katie said to her mum cook tea for four o'clock at tea Katie mum patted her tummy. "how long is it now Mrs Japperman" asked Tony "in a few months darling" said Katie's mum. Five months later and it was ready for the baby to be born. Katie Kept waking up early because Katie's Dad Kept going to work early. One day Katie's mum call a nurse "hello" "hello" said the nurse "could you help me I'm having a baby" "you want me take care of you" said the nurse. When the nurse got to Katie's house "Miranda how are you?" asked the nurse Katie's nodded her head "yes but tired and full" "well you're pregnant ern't you?" said the nurse "eeeeeerrrrm do you have children" "yes Katie six years old" "school?" "Apple Nutt School" said Katie's mum. An hour later Katie's was on the sofa Katie got a phone call from the nurse Katie's mum had a baby boy but it had a plobom she went to hospiatl "I've called him Ashly" Katie's mum said when Katie came to visit. Two years later Katie's mum was going to have twin Katie shook her head when she grew up she didn't want a baby. I must've been smoking pretty good salsa back in the early 00's XD
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Post by The Duchess on Aug 4, 2014 7:34:18 GMT -5
Plobom
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Post by Hermes on Aug 4, 2014 7:56:53 GMT -5
Yes, that was what puzzled me. It's a fairly coherent story otherwise, but what is a plobom?
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Post by Invisible on Aug 4, 2014 9:28:49 GMT -5
I meant problem! XD Lol I don't know what I was thinking, either. Must've been the dyslexia
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Post by Tryina Denouement on Aug 4, 2014 11:02:27 GMT -5
I'll try looking for my works that aren't Indonesian. They're mostly schoolwork and some short stories.
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Post by The Duchess on Aug 4, 2014 16:35:17 GMT -5
I don't have anything from my childhood right now, but next month I'm going back to my old home in my old country and try to find something.
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Post by Kit's tits kick ticks on Aug 5, 2014 2:14:40 GMT -5
I could maybe try to find something from when I just started to learn English
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Post by bandit on Sept 26, 2014 22:41:49 GMT -5
When I was little, I was given a typewriter for my birthday, and I liked to type things.
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Five friends, two new and three old, Sat on a cushioned sofa, talking over being bold One named johnny said loudly, "I think bold is stupid" Yet Sally whispered quietlym, "Being bold's like Cupid... You flutter aroudn, causing people great pain But what does this help of you? There is nothing left to gain And when the time comes to settle down a while What do you do but sit and crack a tiny smile Why is this smile there? Not a soul could possibly know Except for in the back of your head, you secretly QUIETLY GLOW But when I think about it the only one to blame is my being old And who is to blame for that? Sometimes I think, Cupid! But then I ponder more and think, no, that's really rather stupid So what do you think, my dear Johnny, about all that I've said? Or were you even listening or just chewing on that bread?" Johnny looked up and to his surprise, he was face to face with SALLY! And to even great mild surprise she wrote a little tally "This," she said, "is how much I love you." "Yet where," say Johnny, "could I buy my blue shoes?" Sally laughed a quiet laugh and looked around the table All the others simply stared at her for that was all they were able Augustine, the fat, and the pig wearing a pork pie hat Tried to sneeze a little, but instead what came was just a bite "Is it just me, or we talking about liberty?" said the happy pig Thus Sally snorted and retorted, "You stupid little cig." "Pardon me," the piglet said, "but that's me you're speaking of." But Sally snorted once again and looked to the sky above If only she could be up there, without that pig up in her hair With lots of beautiful clothes to wear and share with a bear Because she couldn't bear a chair that didn't talk and once upon a itme there was a littel man named Fred Who if you ask me, was quite inbred He had a rash on his caboose if you know what I'm inferring And not only that, but his father, poor chap, had to work at Spur CAPING! went the clock at the end of the hall, standing all tall Sally yawned and said, "I guess it's time for bed. "But the zebra stripes are really quite nice," said little johnny And I don't mean to be rude or anything but you really are quite YAWNY!" Sally gasped and smacked old Johnny, "That really IS quite rude!" And so Johnny sat with a dunce cap in the corner to quietly brood But Sally was not quite done with him, oh no.......... I"LL CUT OFF YOUR EAR, I"LL SNAP YOUR LITTLE TEENSY BIG TOE!" Johnny whimpered and tried to interrupt but then his mother came And my did she exclaim Sally what in the word do you think you're doing to my daughter? Freddie laughed and shook his long tangle of hair with a lfouris "I need no telling what to do from a stupid old hag like you!" Johnson was furious, as you could see in his eyes, And with a reckless rage he threw some chicken pies And if I might not mention, to the dear readers, what JOHNSON"S PIES ARE LIKE I might not mention it, but they really taste like sprite. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I can't tell what you're saying with all THOSE DOTS Even with those minds you've lost it's really no excuse I need to save a precaution for the time that I print And maybe drink for just a breakfast a little bit of ink "Cause what harm could it do to me? Being so invincible and pretty All I need to worry about ais maybe eating a tongue lout And my, what guresome things they are? Feeling on your tongue that terrible feeling And did you know that theyr'e related to Saturn? What I shock I got when I figured that out! After all, a LOUT! Who couldn't go without? 'Cause when you type as fast as you can with a pitch on ninenty ni Your mind really plays tricks on you like pretending your'e in a GOLD MINE! I need tod feed and i need to drink all that I can drink NOBODY CAN STOP ME I NEED JUST A LITTLE BIT OF GIN 'Cause nobody makes cotton better than him, I can tell you that EVEN HE IS A STUPID OLD LOUT, ALL SLOBBERY AND FAT that stupid old bat! And to the cow hes asimd, said he, "I think I need to power off." Even if the fahrenheit is really very hot. 'Cause when you ahve a store that sells stores, You're mind really plays tricks on you LIke makes believe that they're Osama bind Laden wit ha tick up t UP THEIR SLEEVE Buty what if htey don't have no sleeives, what then? I know exactly what then because I'm a hen and I d DON"T PRESS THE GREEN LIGHT, I BEG OF YOU!!!! please don't do it, or i'll throw this shoes!!!!!!! Do you still believe me that this is how the sotry goes? After all, if I was in my toes I would buy all the candy I could AND THEN DWHO KNOWS WHAT WOULD COME OF THAT? and then something really bad would happen because everything ends in tears!!!!!!!!!! OH, how many years have I been sitting hear? Diringk beer and listenfing to you? How many times dhawve I seen your shoe, looking at me? It 's mhas been way too many tiems I can tell you that Too many times to make me old oand fat I can tell you that nobdoy what When I go to your house I"ll KILL YOU!!! because thatd's what I doo Becaue turn up the music, because I've got words to say. gravy, gravy chicken al Excuse me sir, but do you know the way to Cambodia? I'm thinking of taking my wife there someday. Do you know if they asell goat horns there? Or am I thinking of somewhere else? Zimbabwe, perhaps? Oh, I know! It's what happened when that one man at too many hot dogs and fell on the floor gaspign and chockkong and nobody helped him because they thought he was on ecstasy. What a pitiful day, wasn't it? I'll never forget when they had to take him to the pit and throw him in because he refused to talk to the priest. I'm sorry, am I boring you to death? I'll try to think of a better topic. How about mathematics? I do believe i took a class on it a hundred thousand odd years ago. Well, as I remember form that day in the stuffy classroom, there was a man who always smoked and I hated it ever so much. He was a nice man, except for his green and red tie. Or did I already say that? Ahahahahaha, I'm every so sorry. I stayed up much too late last night playing a rubbish game of Monopoly with my three thousandth cousin four times removed. Back to the sotry, I do believe that the man who taught me math was actually a German spy. You do know what I mean, don't you? How summing it up (pun intended), sometimse mathematicians just seem like they're staring you down all the time, trying to figure out your'e biggest, darkest secret so they can inform Hitler about it. I mean, what would you expect form a man who lectured students all day and night about how D is the distacne traversed by the minute hand and d the distance traversed by the hour hand. If I'm not mistaken, in the ordinary garden variety of clock the hands move by little jerks. They stand still for an interval of one or two seconds, or even, in many, electric clocks, for a full minute. This is because when we say that a group of objects is countable or enumerable we mean that its members can be arranged in one to one correspondence with the integers 1, 2, 3, etc. THis series is infinite in extent, we can always write an integer larger than any given integer, but it is discrete. Between any two adjacent members of the integer set, as 7 and 8, lies a void, containg no other members of the set. An example of a countable set is the prime numbers. Although infinite in extent, the prime numbers are discrete. Between 31 and 37 lie no other primes. There is a higher order of infinity than is possessed by the inte gers. The class of all real numbers, both rational and irrational is not enumerable, for the reason that it is not discret.e And so concludes my case of how the man robbed the bank last Saturday night without absolutely anyone seeing him for even a glimpse even though he is a quite noticable figure, standing 6'4 and wearing an extremely large top hat that was the only one of his kind and at least omsone was sure to see.
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Post by Teleram on Sept 27, 2014 11:42:38 GMT -5
The first 17 lines and the last paragraph is actually pretty profound.
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Post by Charlie on Sept 28, 2014 2:17:50 GMT -5
Teleram is right. You were a smart kid.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Sept 28, 2014 2:46:42 GMT -5
wow
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Post by Tryina Denouement on Sept 28, 2014 6:50:25 GMT -5
Teleram is right. You were a smart kid. Yeah, some lindes did sound like L.S wrote it.
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Post by bandit on Nov 20, 2014 23:45:38 GMT -5
I'm not entirely sure I wrote this, but I found it in an old drawer and I can't imagine what else it would be doing there.
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Long ago in a not so far off town there dwelled a florist who wanted to make bread but didn’t know how. So she tried but she failed. One day this girl came in and her name was Sue and Sue was a bit of a butt head, and a little creepy at that. Sue looked at the flowers and was like “These are some butt ugly flowers.” And then the florist who wanted to make bread was like “I’ll have some better flowers if you can teach me how to make bread.” And then Sue was like “Sure because I was looking to find some flowers for my hubbie- luscious hubbie because you see he likes flowers, but all of yours flowers are just butt ugly.”
So the next day the florist who wanted to make bread went to Sue’s house and Sue opened the door and a reality show was up on full blast on the television. The florist went inside the door and into Sue’s house. On the walls were pictures of a poorly dressed man that the florist presumed was here hubbie- luscious hubbie and loafs of French bread with caked with fake blood and a prison shank protruding out of the top.
“Such a loverly house you have yourself here Sue,” said the florist staring at the offensive photographs.
“Thanks,” said Sue, smacking her gum while simultaneously stroking a picture of a man with a cigar hanging out of his mouth.
“Wells then, would you like to get started making that bread? I has a dinner party tonights and I was hoping that the bread would be a part of the main dish.”
“Sure, let’s get this over with,” said Sue obviously annoyed.
A couple of hours later the bread was rising successfully in the oven and the house began to smell of warm, golden brown bread.
“I’s is so excited to see this loverly bread creation Sue,” said the florist, trying very hard to make small talk with the nice woman that had agreed to help her.
“Yeah, yeah me too,” sighed Sue. “I just can’t wait for my husband to be home.”
“Not to be rude or nothin’, but why do you want your husband home so fast?”
“I just love him that much,” said Sue. “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and check on your bread creation.”
“Ok-dokey then, that loverly bread is smelling mighty fine right about now.”
“Sure is! You better go and check on it to make sure it doesn’t burn!”
“Correct-a-mundo you is Sue!”
“Oh, and leave the oven on because I am going to be cooking something later and I don’t want to have to take the time to pre-heat the oven again. The thing I’m cooking is going to be pretty fresh and I don’t want it to have to sit there.”
“Suuuuuuuuuuuue! The bread isn’t rising properly! What did I dooooooooooo?!” cried the florist. The florist looked back to see Sue and a very unattractive man standing creepily in the doorway. They were both clutching knives.
“Are those knives to cut the bread with Sue, because this bread is really hard.”
“No, these knives are for something a little more, shall we say, delicious.”
“Well, have you been cooking something I don’t know about because the oven has been taken up by this bread of mine.”
“No, I haven’t cooked anything yet. But I will soon.”
“O-kay-dokey then!” let’s get going on this bread of mine. I don’t want it to get stale.”
“Alright, but first things first,” said Sue waving the knife nonchalantly. “WE EAT YOU!”
Sue and her husband lunged for the florist, grabbing her by the shirt collar.
“Babe, hand me the bread,” Sue instructed to her husband.
“Sure thing baby-cakes,” he replied as he handed over the extremely hard bread loaf.
“What the heck to yous think you ares doing to me?” asked the florist, who was greatly surprised by Sue’s cannibalistic outburst.
“It’s just feeding time!” cried Sue, her eyes filled with evil and craziness.
“What do you mean?!” the florist screamed as they tied her to a chair.
“You should’ve known you stupid girl, so young, so young.”
“But I’m ten years older than you!”
“No you’re not sugar,” said Sue slyly as she stroked the florist’s face with the dull side of the knife.
“What do you mean?”
Suddenly, there was a blood-curling scream coming from the door way.
“Honey, what’s wrong!” cried Sue, rushing over to her withering husband’s side.
“I….I…”
“SPEAK TO ME!”
“I…. I can’t wait!” whispered Sue’s husband, struggling for words.
“Of course Fernando!” said Sue stroking her husband’s face gently.
“Get the meat! Get the meat!”
“Ok! I’m going to get it right now baby!”
Sue took the knife once more and started to shuffle towards the florist.
“Looks like your time is up sweetie!” screeched Sue.
“Please! I’ll do anything! Just don’t eat me!”
“Have to,” said Sue nonchalantly, waving the knife in a circle. “Or else the love of my life over there will die. You see, Fernando is not human. And for him to stay alive, he must eat human meat. And right now, Fernando is hungry, aren’t you Fernando?”
“YES!” screamed Fernando, as he tried to stop the fountain of green liquid that was coming out of his mouth.
“That is why, florist, you must die, oh! Look at that loaf of bread!”
“PLEASE!”
Sue picked up the loaf of bread and bounced it in her hand.
“Insanely hard,” she judged as she ripped a piece off of the loaf. “And stale too.” Sue walked over to the florist, took her chin, and flung open her mouth.
“AHHHHHHHWHASASYISDOSNTOMS!” cried the florist as Sue shoved the loaf down the florist’s throat.
“Just stuffing the turkey!” cackled Sue.
“I NEED THE MEAT!” screamed Fernando.
“HOLD ON SWEETIE!” cried Sue in a desperate wail, “It’s almost ready!”
“NOW!”
The florist’s face was turning purple as bread crumbs mixed with tears trickled down her face.
“OK HONEY!” screamed the florist as she gave one last heave on the bread. The florist’s eyes went blank. All of the color drained from her face. The florist was dead.
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Post by Teleram on Nov 21, 2014 1:04:31 GMT -5
that was a story- luscious story
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Post by Tryina Denouement on Nov 21, 2014 6:56:06 GMT -5
Well, I didn't expect her husband to be the one needing the meat of the florist. I always thought it was her who was going to consume the florist?
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