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Here's the story so far:  

earns scorn in the news.

Catwa Bimbos from Planet Cellulite  

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Here's the story so far:


Once upon a time, a fella revived the forums by starting a possibly fun game. The residents were wary but so bored they played anyway. Maddy brought along the fire. You had me at "Hello." but there was no reply. Patiently I waited, hoping that something momentously exotic would happen. But all that happened was the high-res textures stayed grey. Disillusioned I turned and saw five jellydolls coming my way. When they noticed me, they said "oh no" and ran away, leaving me to ponder were they a boy band? and did they sing anything from Tommy's Spice Girls CD, which he kept in his hidden, super secret, time capsule only to be opened when the prims and music die.

I started to search and got a media plugin error. So I confronted the creator who promptly replaced it, but increased land impact by 200 but this is a perk That will make ya Bonafide and smile a mile wide. Therefore, it is time to execute the infamous Plan B. Armed with the popgun I peered out into dense fog. Not sensing any danger, I march forward, only to discover angry glytches beneath the grasses. I had seen this before during my years in the freebie malls of second life, too noob to care. I took aim at the critter and fired. However, it laughed and then quickly transformed into a Linden who then ran off to work on more exciting new perks for premium members.

Unfortunately those perks were deemed too enticing for most users who left quickly and thus never learned of the wonders hidden in SL. The OP sat, pondering what will come next, when suddenly We all got massive cooties, giant, hairy Animesh cooties that grazed on sculpties and wore so much bling that they wondered what they were doing dressed in mauve evening gowns with diamonds draped from their naughty bits all so cleverly that nobody even noticed them. And then the condom broke, and like a dam breaking, 9 months later out popped Baby Che, shouting "Viva PRIMS!". Suddenly, the ground began to erupt with flaming, furry chickens. KFC went bankrupt almost overnight and Colonel Sanders wept bitterly large tears of herbs/spices filling bucket after bucket, and do you want fries with that?

It's finger lickin' good but the recipe is secret , Maddie sets it on fire resulting in charred chicken lips which gave Sanders an idea to offer socialized medicine to the hairy blingy animesh cooties lagging sim events with blatant flouting of Terms of Service which most don't read anyway because the hairless rabbit griefers are easily distracted by carrots and carrots usually make them poop all over my lawn just like my mainland neighbors the SLardashians, a family of Catwa Bimbos from Planet Cellulite orbiting a star made of fashion events, gacha fairs and Strawberry Stilton flavoured edible panties packed inside a delivery hud by sumo wrestlers with delicate sensibilities regarding color and texture so they wear mawashis of rhinestone-studded burlap and flamingo feathers attached to tortured prims that suddenly turned into animesh, bouncing until they crashed the sim, releasing waves of orange marmalade.

When it was FINALLY restored by forensic archeologists with plywood only one survivor was found wearing an orange sports bra. It was Maddie holding a Wait...is that a flamethrower? No, an avocado filled donut with heavenly strawberry vanilla frosting who was secretly camming on that reprobate Snugs who was alert enough to catch Whirly trying to steal Maddy's donut and replace it with scrambled eggofu sprinkled liberally with spicy pepper and dog biscuit crumbs, which is Snug's favorite topping. Look out everyone! Rampaging robot turning off the asset server and onto a dirt road.

Maddy launches the donut, her serene visage clouded by hyperglycemic shock and dog biscuit crumbs. A passerby stopped and asked Pardon me, do you have an avocado donut, by chance? The rampaging robot spun wildly. Fizzling donut covering its receptors screaming "Out Of Cheese Error!" and spewing grease globs hysterically. Maddy giggled with evil glee shouting "In your face, Torquemada!". Oh, but torque is cheap with a chinese alligator wrench. But wrenching alligators incites PETA to launch a Tofu attack. The resulting checkmate precipitated a cascade of stinging, flaming particles visible from the neighbouring sim. Each, when colliding with anything, caused more media plugin errors eliciting howls of "Fake News!". Then suddenly, a quiet fell.

Someone was heard softly whispering as it snowed in hell on a Hollywood mogul’s libido which was actually quite unimpressive especially after it became news that Trump read on Twitter about shiny prim made genitals because his was itty bitty like his itty bitty hands and his itty bitty skills and itty bitty bento attachments and his GIANT flexi ego. He was SO shocked that he wanted a wall built, someone bought a parcel there surrounded in Madland privacy shields. He grabbed the shields by the jagged edges, doing whatever he could to make them inactive and was sad, so sad, his tears made a moat in which swam halite alligators renowned as orthodontists and cobblers and who are probably misconstrued, much to their dismay, and made more people leave secondlife.

I am over this thread, Panatropica thought to her self while singing opera on her toilet. Then her phone rang. "This is threadware® calling. We call at the worst times, the polyester knitted outfit you gifted to Ebbe, has burst.". All lies! I yelled out. But my allies had fled. When dawn finally arrived, orange floating text blocked out the naughty bits of the giant stone monsters on adult sims. This disturbed those with a delicate digestive system. and so the avacado donuts came out, looking less appetizing than before. However, after adding blingy sprinkles, and with particles streaming out, they looked less like donuts and more like onion rings, though they smelled more like victory, with an aftertaste of four day old anchovy pizza and absolute soul crushing defeat.

Responding quickly, an opposing force ( -1 times mass times acceleration ) and one very enraged chicken raised their flag and proceeded, like lemmings at a rave to a sleazy strip club of male dancers covered in female patrons who were busily pasting sequins on their tights, trying to control their physics jiggling like kid's party jello shots, though more legal... unless you don't count the vodka. Suddenly, a flying monkey crashed through a window, causing Iva to quite calmly reach for the vodka. Then she leaped onstage, grabbing the dance pole and EVERYONE stopped to watch as she seductively started removing money from willing wallets, amassing a fortune in Zimbabwean dollars spent on Giant Beaver repellant (clearly an intentional double entendre). Then, PETA, and the IRS rearranged themselves to form PARTIES!

Which really weren't any fun until someone showed up with Pentothal lollipops, Twister and ten signed copies of Jitterbug Perfume which, for safety, were put in the staff room fridge where Lindal kept her pizza. It didn't take long before the pizza and the lollipops began a strange dance together. Nine months later, they named Maddy their Evil Overlord and Understudy, for she's not the leader of the chosen ones whose legs are on backwards. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, it was a dark and silly night and we were playing spin the bottle with Phillip Linden and Jack Bauer. The candle flames were wavering, while further out, in darkness, three hundred and thirteen hipsters with brightly sequined hula hoops tried cramming into Donald's car (Haha! Hopeful, hooping, hipster hippies!) only to discover that all hulas are ruled by Sauron and Sauron doesn't understand hoopla.

What he DOES understand is combat, and only combat, without blingy particles or edible panties and he is not very nice to people who wear inedible panties - not at all. Those kind of people make evil tyrants look like fuzzy underwear eating, particle blinging puffs. When artificial flavorings were found they were purged with fire and Cheese Whizz, American Style! "What? No CoolWhip?" she asked, causing Maddy to pull out which, of course, resulted in more CoolWhip for everyone else. Breathing Coolwhip gas is fun! They wandered off, woozy and wearing signs “Caution: Unpredictable Behavior”.

Iva tripped over Love's enormous fidget spinner that was used in an illegal cage match but, this particular cage match was legalised by Linden Lab but only under specific circumstances, the first of which was you do not talk about your mother-in-law, pictured only in ...sorry, can't talk about her. So let's talk about when and where the party is going to be raided by tiny, fluffy kittens wearing adorable but somewhat sparkly rainbow colored and embarrassingly smelly pieces of puce tulle, sewn together with scrotum hair and pocket lint. Thus began "Levi's 69s", inspiring yet awkward positioning of their breast mounted anti aircraft cannons that fired randomly at passing clueless noobs with long dangling participles.

English majors hate them, because they're jealous of how participles get all the action because they're so well hung with medals the Majors want to have hanging from themselves to impress the other majors and, of course, the colonels. But not the generals, because they generally, dislike the Generals for losing to the Globetrotters. This is becoming very silly, but it started that way. Then went downhill very fast, until reaching a sharp turn somewhere near the avacado donuts. Oh, boy. I love donuts. But donuts can be fattening. These are also nice donuts. But those smell of rubber. So do the avocado ones. Madelaine, the globetrotters always win games with the lonely Generals only when wearing rubber suits, just in case they spilled root beer on their basketballs which were now so sticky, girls won't play with them even though the boys will gladly immerse themselves in the library paste and motor oil providing slippery yet sticky fun.

Just like K-Y and honey! Who're touring with Elvis Costello, not to be confused with Abbot and Costello, comedy duo, or figure skater Elvis Stojko, best known for his fascinating impersonations of footballer Elvis Abbruscato and Henry "Velvet" Elvis Washington. Called "velvet" because of his (wouldn't you like to know) [ TOP SECRET. Burn before reading! ]. Squinting with ashen fingertips, everybody trudged back to the story. "Tentacle monsters. Tentacle monsters everywhere!" screamed "Armoured Space Panties" wearers. "Fear not!", cried the Hero. How long will this last? Checking with the developers, Soon™. "Go ahead, make my day" the developers replied when asked.

"It works on my machine", so there is no problem, and there is no spoon. Don't worry about that vase. At that very moment, Ringo totally missed the Matrix reference which LSL doesn't support, because well, LSL doesn't do matrices. But there are awesome mattresses! Upon which mistresses, waitresses, and mistresses practice multiplying linear vertices. Submissives tied up in knots with colic, like sick horses at least not horse farts. Fortunately, Torley was there to reduce everything to two colors. So, pick two .... any two. Refusing to share their specs the engineers decided instead to play cards in the caboose with Liam the Alaskan moose. "Zeus! A loose moose in my produce juice," shouted Bruce. "No! A puce moose in search of a loose mousse, while sluicing for golden goose".

"A chartreuse goose? That's obtuse.", said Ferret from the bleachers who was trying to seduce the Deuce-Coupe Troup's super-sized thirty stone belly dancer, wWho couldn't spell 'troupe' either because they never learned how. Like How Now Brown Cow? Brown Cow, hearing her name, transformed into a beautiful faerie, wearing a purple and pink tommygun for shooting at the Las Vegas themed Christmas lights. But there were no bullets, "peace on earth" they said while Marvin lit the fuse ", but don't urinate on Uranus." Uranus is really for.....ummmm ... our forum, because we're all extra geeky, space and science fanatics, merrily spinning quaternions on Pro DJ Twin Record Turntables paying the required licence fee, wondering why no combat forum.

Ganks noobs to PK them as Panda flavoured field rations would tear your face off. (Narrator eats shoots and leaves.) Just ignore and let this ... "No!" Narrator scrambles back to file their finger nails quietly. "I know where you sleep." Narrator came back, now eating an avocado filled doughnut and lead to heartburn and violent intestinal discomfort. Run to bathroom. AvSitter button one or two. Too late! Mop and bucket. "Rez failure". Bad mesh houses, even worse scripts. But that never demoralizes people with flashy bling shoes on their feet or blingy jewelry attached to exotic conga dancers in skin. Didn't Ricky Ricardo sing Babaloo? Lola a showgirl at Copacabana slowly pulled the pin from her Harvey Weinstein voodoo doll and watched it start smoking pot, in defiance of all fire regulations, but a girl needs a man like a fish needs a bike.

When you're tryin' to throw up last night's anchovy pizza to a woman dangling from the fragile precipice of reason, have a safety net ready to catch some more fish and kiss with duck lips. Mesh head trout pout bimbos run screaming from the terrible net neutrality breaking FCC head, its gnarly hands outstretched towards the populist that depends on avacado donuts with chocolate fudge for a cup-a-soup recipe idea enjoyed by Trump watching Fox wondering what the fox says when it needs a hug. It begs like a puppy but hangs with the chickens who come home to roost but not to be roasted with the chestnuts.

Instead, they are sauteed with olive oil who was infatuated with Popeye and his enormous Spinach Can's Spicy Chicken and Cajun Fries. Now we all be eatin .*Sorry, Reel Missing. Management Apologies* The next one plays backwards masking made famous by Beatles. "Turn me on, dead man" cried the Blue Meanie, Max - waking suddenly from a nightmare involving Lederhosen and sour cream in his pockets and rancid milk, left out all week. Worse still, Conifer had placed donuts on a prim horse thinking the horse preferred glazed eyes drinking cartons of Sauerkrautsaft. Then, something really weird happened. We mean really, really weird ... weirder than an honest politician... a red egg, found in Prok's Pirate Chicken Airship, the band settled on Jefferson Airplane.

The top of this airplane was, alarmingly, below its bottom, causing wing walkers to vomit, deciding a better career is that of a stunt pilot or professional after dinner speaker. Speaking at dinners, a competitive job, where ranking counts for shaking hands and kissing babies. NOT the other way around, when wet handed parents attack! Professional after dinner speakers wipe spilt food off their jackets thrown by the angry listeners at baby shaking guest speakers forgetting that babies spit up some type of protein mass. "Codswallop" ruminated the waiting ikizukuri. "Wrong story" shouted the guests. Have a happy christmas everyone! Any more avocado filled donuts? OH YUK! Kathyparnes1 yelled furiously. Shaking babies? Check the physics.

*Slowly opens baby shaking manual* and saw pictures like this. Chapter one:: "Introduction to babies". Babies are small...so small you can fit them in a comfy sock drawer bassinette if you unbox them first and torture twist their prim and proper parents, you can drag the corner boxes, but then pin them tightly, because jittery hands could send them to the moon, Alice! So ... they're bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy fun, fun, fun, fun, fun at the annual tiggers picnic, NOT the teddy bears picnic because the ants ate the food from Yogi Bear's basket while he was getting busy with the park ranger's daughter. She had the biggest, bounciest bunny rabbits in the world, castle in the whole world. Don't be silly. Bunny castles? "Yes," she said, "bunny castles”.

"Ah, zut! Quel bunny idee!" pourrait fonctionner, floppy eared dungeons looking confused, searches for translator. "Dang, this translator's broken again!". Sven, the translator, sighs heavily and ate his raw herring. Uppmana, Sven. Det är kaffetid. Caffeine addled translation is responsible for Klingons speaking like Ferengi. Exasperated and (despite caffeine) exhausted, I turn back to the TARDIS and contemplate "where now?". Set it to random and put pennies on your eyelids -- that sage advice I recall -- as if from some distant future I have visited, but forgot to take photos of, to prove I'm not nutty. As if anyone would believe that the future really does loop back to the past. As if anyone would believe that the future really does include Bill Murray and rodents and naturally, a DeLorean DMC-12 powered by Lab server hamsters Like the one pictured below.

When it is properly tuned, it will reach enormous speeds while fertilizing the house plants which turn into anatiferous trees, eventually blanketing Earth with a mess of tarred downy feathers which are all smelling like wet dog and spoiled ham. For the vegetarians among us are tasty with fava beans and a nice light Chianti, or a nice, heavy Lambrusco. But sailors, too salty to serve without a honey glaze unless you prefer them smoked over Washington's Cherry Tree Chippings which gives a woody flavor (not that kind of wood) (unless you’re a “splinter pr*ck”) (parentheses?...is this off record?) (or don't ask don't tell?).

Suddenly Ivanova Shostakovich shouted out "Chocolate Vodka rules the World!" careening around the corner in her perfectly tanned birthday suit of the finest Yak leather. "Smoked? Sailors should be pickled!", tooting tunes on a Sax Fifth Avenue clerk's tummy, which ..."Choclate voka ruules the whorll!". Those around stop to consider whether or not Ivanova shares knowledge of her torrid relationship with tree-diving manatees in Florida's secret lust-pit of sin called Popeyes House Of Happy Stuff and aromatic organic chicken by-products and essential oils scenting the lovingly prepared and embalmed corpse wrapped in the pages of Fish and chips serving newspaper trumpeting headlines of Whitehouse books stacked so high they topple daily, like third world governments.

Sighs... and carefully begins to extract lint from a navel orange, found under the bed, coated with sticky dust bunnies, demanding fluffy orange dust carrots to snort instead of the cat box sweepings left from Schrödinger's weird experiments with octopuses. September's pussies had been relatively calm all in that contraption forgetting all about the babies safe in their little cradles of yarn looped around fingers of the buddha's hand, dangling participles, like dewlaps on aging similes, comforting us with their gentle smiles and motherly murmurings alliterative allusions (insipid insights?) or metaphorical meanderings, but enough of their craziness. We should be attending to our aging auntie's birthday party. She's a blast furnace repair technician for the femur relocation institute of technology, which gets a leg up on any android you can disable with an EMP grenade or a glass of saline.

Add "T", you have saltine which are great with soup if it's served hot enough or chilled vichyssoise with bacon flavored edible sporks. Meanwhile, on the topic of food, President Richard Nixon once declared kimchi his personal "masseuse", a euphemism for "rumpy-pumpy" back in 1970 (a little known hysterical fact). He kept a diary about this but erased the tapes when Rosemary Woods tripped over Nixon's copy of "Alice's Restaurant". I don't want a pickle. I just wanna ride on a drunken horse, merrily singing "My father was the keeper of large barnacles and pearls before swine was considered haute couture and was still just bas relief, pigs having socially *sits quietly....scratching his head* advanced since reading George Orwell bedtime stories, which gave him a serious aversion to pork.

That's why G. Gordon Liddy did not convert to Islam for the cuisine, but for tax reasons. Unfortunately, there were those details his man-servant forgot like him being friends with the salty pickled sailors from everywhere. All sailors are salty and crusty, like that ol' Popeye and also quite frequently pickled cabbage for it's Sauerkraut juice served with chocolate ice cream, makes for a disgusting float duly, the crew heaved ho... (with carrot bits) and set sail for the end of the world, where the alleged restaurant was closed. "Alleged" being a euphemism for crack house. Where the sailors forced the crack wide and ate with a runcible spoon basically making the crack useless. (You people are all nuts!)

"Methinks I hear voices!" said Rasputin, lurking in the shadows. Meanwhile, the source of the chronic and severe abdominal pain left town on a rail. He rode his railroad unicycle like a clown, he was and like Yoda he speaking about the historical romance of Maddy's old stale avacado donuts being charred by her favorite flaming fire of firey flames! Time waited, pregnant with the demonic offspring of Procrastination, who was hoping for early snowfall. Did someone just mention manatees? Or other tree dwelling mammals like squirrels, who heard Rhonda's story about the lost treasure, but I found Clover again. Planted face first in catnip, mewing softly as she slept through the alarm, four phone bills went unpaid for months.

Then, finally, her landlord said, "Enough already with the shipments knows Bell Epoch from BelAmi brothers, who sang country songs accompanied on autoharp and bassoon employed by 7-11 to repel those peskey repo-men wannabes who walk around in women's underwear and try to steal slurpees which are hard to fence. 'En garde' she called out and confusingly pointed her pistol-packing Mama towards the approaching invading hoards of flannel wearing ironing boards, teetering wildly on pink twisted pipe cleaner legs modelled like Florida lawn flamingos. But curiously, the ironing boards unfolded themselves and started to loudly sing a show tune from “Dames", infuriating people in the first row, because they thought they had Dokken tickets. Aislin unbuttoned her shirt revealing an embroidered pink paisley "S" curved tattoo down the middle.

Not beautiful, nor a taint, close your eyes, don't faint or one might find themselves or maybe herself or itself up to your arse in Novosibirsk, eating borscht popsicles with equally frozen friends, who wonder why they can't follow this, the rules are quite simple: divide every even prime number by the number of holes in the large red colandar. Wait! Every even prime number? Yes, every one of it. Then it multiply by pi and keep a washcloth handy in case of premature exponentiation. Nods sagely. "Yes, of course." "Never happened before, I swear". Mom, I was doing homework reconstructing what the dog ate from my Ogden Nash book. Rolig also barks backwards, because she's barking up the wrong palindrome.

Step on no pets since, Madam, I am Adam. No WAY! A papaya won! Bob. (sigh) I got nuthin'. Or did you mean boob? For sale. Baby shoes. Unused. Because Hemingway was born wearing nipple clamps and a beard. And then I went shopping. OVERLOAD! SHUT IT DOWN, TEX! Oh no! The meta-level's back! Door's open and the meme's achieved a low level sentience. "Overload???" Looks nervous. "Not overdrive?" "Nope. Overdrive's out of whack." In desperation, they tried Geritol, which really got things going until they hit a magnet of which was very attractive (ta da boom, tish ding). “WHAT happened to my shirt?” is not something to ask a stern nun in habit. Instead, you should ask if your buttons unbuttoned themselves? I love when that happens ?

The nun may fly away. We'll be nun the wiser, taking off from Sally Field, south of Wright Brothers field. North is the Wrong Brothers -- Wrong, Wrong Again, Still Wrong until you put your right foot in, you put your money where your mouth is. Meanwhile, gridsurvey.com hasn't been updated with AOL's new Instant Messenger. You have mail, or female. Or Hotmail’s a hot male, not quite a hot tamale, more likely a hot mess, requiring some care when taking cats to Cats the musical lest they attempt singing showtunes blindfold and without a net neutrality agreement. Also, some cats up and mustard is enough to disguise any hot dog lying on a Belize beach thinking "can I be extradited?"

Maybe even obtain sanctuary for some neglected and abused wildlife are better off as pets don't forget, lock their collar stays in with Liquid Stitch™. But use the serger for the bows with the bells for the beaux and belles or belle of beaux balls beautifully beguiled by bronzed boyfriends who curiously couldn't catch cupid even with their very large... Oh look! There's a squirrel! Its nuts are so huge! Ohhhh so very very big.... You just won't believe how wild and crazy this thread grew after it became sentient, inciting forumites to grab shovels, torches and pitchforks and then march to Dr Frankensteeen's castle, grabbing flamethrowers on the way. Wait, Maddy brought extra ones? Plus some for the kids.

Warning: Product may contain nut and be hazardous to many DoH!nut holes that were lonely, saying, “Eat me! Eat me!”. So Alice gobbled them down along with a thick, black friend she was teaching to play strip tiddlywinks at the Piggly Wiggly in Opelousas Louisiana. They'd been banned before from painting the avocado donut holes with wasabi paste and bacon when kielbasa and horseradish weren't on sale. Alice knew that prim horses weren't actually real but wasn't sure about mesh private parts that glowed brightly to guide sailors home from their drunken kielbasa brawls with imaginary prim unicorns and eels riding around in Lithuanian* hovercraft. Meanwhile, i'm watching a movie starring Frau Blücher, a stallion, and a bug eyed hunchback played by wonderful Marty Feldman.

Suddenly, Alice remembered her ferret was auditioning for a role in the new Chipmunks movie and hadn't rehearsed her lines -- she was too busy dreaming that she was a muskrat named Susie in love with that new nutria who moved in mysterious ways. However Alice was determined this time not to let her ferret fail so she stuffed her handbag with pink erasers and skunk-like furry striped scarves for a trip to the studio where Harvey Weinstein waited expectantly. “Every story, Harvey, has a finger in the pie, but a hand in the bush earns scorn in the news”. The ferret practiced those lines so determinedly, so fervently, that it didn't notice the bus intentionally aimed directly at Harvey driven by a flamethrower toting cookbook wielding, saucepan shielding, ignorant Maddie, who was furious after incinerating breakfast accidentally three times.

Aiming the flamethrower at the ugly head of Harvey Weinstein seeing the freebee prim hair that would ignite so easily! "Oxygen in use. No smoking" was readable on the sign before it burst into flame. Right on cue, the firemen exit left, pursued by a angry mob with pitchforks and ferrets wielding pencils as spears. Those pickle spears are deadly unless you've been voice verified by a trustworthy pickle owner, rather than a dill pickle, which are yummy on burgers but terrible on maddie's donuts unless deep fried first and rolled in brown sugar and replaced with a milk shake. These culinary musings were interrupted by heartburn at 3:00 AM followed by bountiful botttom burping around a really large campfire.

"Who crapped on a buzzard?" Mongo wondered. He took another swig of Diet Pepsi and choked on it, after seeing that it was still alive. It was grinning up at them all and it gurgled sorta like a death rattle, not to be confused with a rattlesnake and he said "That's the bottom line, cause I am just a pawn in months without an R. Hedley Lamarr made that rule (don't look sideways at me) and now Mongo very sad." “Where are all the white” she asked, giving side-eye Pete a wide berth because sleeping in a narrow berth was a ferret known as 'Bad news Betty', amongst friends. Suddenly,  Pete "Psychotïts" Whohowlski jumped, waking Betty, whose mood was showing on her Mood Ring.

It wasn't pretty, that ring. Bringing back memories of teenager Michael Landon trying to shave two bucks off the price of some designer Angel wings which, in actuality, were cheap Filipino knock-offs made from vinyl on a flimsy wire frame. Ctrl-shift-r exposed some hidden objects revealing his hitherto transparent, grotesque misshapen, swollen, purple bulbuous eggplant inadvertently, much to Michael's horror it shouted "Feed Me" and promptly fell asleep after devouring Om nom nom nom Zzzzzz. While sleeping he dreams about last time he was afk and came back to find that termites had eaten his homework, absolving his dog while raising suspicions about the cat's purchase of fertilizer and kerosene. The cat really hated termites.

But hate clouds judgment, so he forgave her, except for that time with the Nerf although he wasn't wearing safety britches anymore, he had given that time in Tijuana when you didn´t know where your arse end was anymore since you were always arse-up and a tingling sensation started creeping its way up your chain of command, increasing the need for rapidly absorbent materials. Sagadin gasped at the massive arm that extruded from the middle of Rhonda's torso and picked at her bellybutton lint. With enough lint to stuff a giant Build-A-Bear until it's too bloated to move. "Drat, I always wanted to spend some time with my alt avatar, she's cute! Unfortunately, she's allergic to avocado. Really cute! She looks like sunset dancing with enchanted swans, donuts and unfortunately simultaneous replies.

Slack-jawed, dropping donut bits, leading to overweight or bulemic swans. To counter that, they began an underwater pilates fitness class. They had difficulty finding a reasonably shark-free venue at first but sharks like pilates too not as much as surfers who watch the pilates scheduling -- they didn't taste like fish. They taste like teen spirit. As most pilates watching surfers who prefer really gnarly curls don't own a hair straightener, but know when to surf when not honking on turf nerf, which taste like burnt avocado completely slathered with mayo heated with a handy flamethrower and left to fester under a pile of unicorn skittles before being scraped into the box for the orphan sea lion, the witch, and the wardrobe.

But the wardrobe was covered in pink sequined animesh worn by Lili Von Shtupp at the popular fashionable event 'cause she ate many tacos from the food trucks outside being inspected by the health and glee committee's volleyball coach who practices embouchure on bananas and enjoys checking other people for ticks and head lice to put in the tacos, because they add some crunch. The Cap'n just LOVES crunch! But Tennille hates those things and plugs her ears with fuzzy, warm, little muskrat bodies ("bodies" being euphemistic for "turds"). Gonna bite they little heads off just for fun, because Mousies I like to eat saving for last they tiny ears... like chocolate bunny ears nibble on they little feet that taste like frozen strawberries or avocados, I can't remember if I left the stove.

Whatever goes good on toast left on top of the fridge for quite some time where it began to turn a funny shade of orange then demanded a parade for taking away someone's life after about thirty-four minutes and twenty-seven was the longest *rg*sm ever recorded on tape since Nixon's. Rosemary Woods was more than, more than a match for happy feets and sad dogs or mad dogs and englishmen or hot dogs with mustard (not made with moose turds) (but with muss tards) (who sent emails re:tards). Anybody like an avacado donut? No, we're all like pythons. copy con hello.py print "Hello." "Invalid Syntax" laughed David Attenborough The invalid then vomited explosively.

"I should really avoid Rosemary's cocktails" she thought, "vodka cucumber with a splash of avocado" she stated, "make her sick." Still, with irony, she remembered "I must make some guacamole". Slicing some jalapeño peppers with yellow mushrooms and baked beans which could be really poisonous garlic (keeps the vampires away) and a steak, medium rare, with some garlic mashed potatoes ordered at the Crossroads Cafe with a side of rings served in a porcelain bowl coated in vitreous white enamel, finally i eat that meal, safely ensconced on my porcelain toilet to avoid any "accidents". Thank goodness there wasn't mayonnaise or tomato juice and salty smoked oysters, packed in oil, which usually give me the wrong answers when I ask "Is smoking healthy for oysters?"

They answer "Yes" to anything. EXCEPT when they are asked "Do you voice or cam?". "Oysters need not answer such questions!" They just clam up. Really though LOVE TO CAM! And, everyone loves fried clams! Wham! clam! thank you frypan... held by her clammy hands as she admired his mussels. "Me muskles" he said proudly squeezing open the spinich can but alas, it was Kale covered lavously with Olive Oil as Popeye, with Olive Oyl. Not to mention Bluto who does not deserve being mentioned, as opposed to Honorable Mention, an odd name, for certain. “'Ichabod Crane' is odd? Pfft!” he chortled! whilst shivering Olives timbers. "His yam is a yam the clam before the storm like many a yam claimed to be," whispered Olive.

Clams love Blüe Öyster Cült and never fearing the reaper because the reaper hates seafood! The reaper loves burritos, though!! Extra spicy and stuffed with snips, snails, puppy dog tails. Lots of cheese and sour cream, straight from the udder which is really udder nonsense but still the reaper utterly uttered, YOUR turn is next as he left the line, realizing that he forgot milk when he'd stopped for bread at Happy Hippo Liquor Store for a hogshead of rum and a can of clamato (which might rhyme with "potato"). "Clams? Yams? Hams? All set." Cheese, chocolate and bacon love being drizzled liberally over Surströmming. Chapter 2: The Rosedale Incident - ending the five word story. But then it started again.

UP, down, UP, down, UP! doing pushups until you puke up all of the mayonaisse and the avocado covered doughnuts eaten in the previous chapter. So, moving right along, Alice went off exploring the Grid, nose pressed against ban lines seeing Philip in a dungeon, being pleasured by a furry garden gnome in unwashed pantyhose under his ornately embroidered lederhosen. Three IMVU refugees were playing a Switch port of There. They ate all the donuts and Homer said, “D’oh, nuts!”. Alice snickered quietly and said, "I doughnut get the funny". Then the furry looked up the gnome's lederhosen and gasped, “What big wienerschnitzel you have!”. I'll schnitzel your wiener, he promised, with a sly wink. Philip shook his chains hoping to throw out thread necromancers to the killer bunny rabbits, but the fuzzy beasts ate YOUR inventory, then proceeded to cough up hairballs and shoes.

Not my new high heels!!!!! she cried, too late as she stood nude and bald. Nothing she wore would rez unless it had extra bling so she sparkled her way on tiptoes through the tulips looking for unicorns dropping skittles on rainbows and fluffy bunnies while dancing a spectacular merengue. Goreans gave gonnorhea to furries so never share your meringue. Stiff upper lip - from Botox, which helps dancing the Macarena but not the Electric Slide. Or agadoo by black lace. When the time is right, she thought, I'll put on the “Malagueña”, set the mood, and let the hoopla begin.

Little did she know that the punch was spiked Clamato which is a foul beverage but continues the clam theme so they added some mayo, making it inedible for herbut a fantastic hair conditioner producing enviable silky soft locks that the bunnies quickly devoured. Much better than carrots everyday. Now that I was bald I auditioned as Fred Simpson or maybe it was Homer (I went over the fence). Peeing over fences is difficult especially if they are electric. wtf ( or words to that effect ). Romeo Tango Foxtrot Oscar Papa requesting clearance for take off. Ground Control to Major Tom: "What'll you take off, Romeo?" Squatting on the tin can poopin far above the world is heresy against David Bowie and squillions of Ziggie fans dreaming of having heterochromatic eyes.

Yes, heterochromatic eyes are dreamy, she said to Ziggy who swooned and dropped his best Rodney Dangerfield "Get no respect!" imitation, because what is reality? Highly overrated, just between us. I reached down and grabbed my cell phone's external battery, but found it had been chewed on by the dog, who mistook it for homework or a tasty beef bone, whereupon rover had accidentally dialed the number of the pizzacourier in that place in Egypt. Egypt, Maine that is, where Roberta Bean is constantly pregnant and is at the “Mayo” clinic where she craves avocado donuts much better than avocado toast. Suddenly, out of the clear low-salt chicken broth, she saw my TVC 15, whoah, TVC15 ((I love you, Love!!)) and pretty pink poodles playing ...wait,,, did someone say "toast"?

Iva lifts her glass high and squints at the bottom drunkenly singing Auld Lang Syne and playing naked Twister with all her winter clothing on, while wondering about that toaster and the obviously missing bread and the suddenly appearing bagel. Bagels?  We need cream cheese, and a new hamster wheel but not a plastic ball because lack of directional control is WAY too much fun, when the floor is littered with empty packing boxes and dot-matrix printer paper stacks stashed deep in the closet with old eight inch floppies, all containing old Windows installations de cerveza fina y fresca (rummages around for her translator). He said, roughly, "chcę piwa." Whatever will be will be.... the hamsters were almost dead.

But then someone came in bringing drinks for them all like streupwäffle flavored vodka martinis. The relaxed hamsters partied happily, giggling blissfully among themselves while tape drives restored to 2003 were set on fire by an evil fire breathing dragon. The hamsters were instantly outraged and blamed Russian hamsters, because they carry tiny kalashnikov rifles and just follow their orders, forgeting what happened in Nurenburg. That time with the huge swimming pool filled with Jello which stained everyone bright red covered in alcoholic Jell-O shots they made the evening news sit up and take notice and shout "covfefe" to the biggest audiences EVER to have sparkling, sequined, chastity protecting rottweilers snarling at them from her truly terrifying v*g*n* dentata which were equipped with bling-seeking nuclear missiles of death!

"Technically, vodka is a solution" in search of a problem. "And do I have problems!" looking for a radioactive potato. I have 99 problems but 99 bottles of beer on tap at the local brewhouse down the road from Ebbe's next to Rhonda's taco joint serving avocado tacos with mayonnaise. "I'd bathe in mayonnaise if I were chairman Mayo" said... “start pogrom, hold the Mayo”. Rhonda was clearly confused. However this was her default state whenever Clover would dance around glamouring her like a vampire with kitty claws ready to snag lindens from Rhonda's purse to cover her Gatcha addiction. Gatchas swinging, all eyes staring as she screams "$%#%^&^% commons!".

The headlines said, “She Gatcha’d!” torturing prims in back alleys while the convex hulls watched her create low lod imposters but they ate her impasta because the imp asta to. Imp says, ‘asta la vista. Silly Asta was a terrier. Asta’s diapers: terrier derrière barrier finagling fustier flouncy frumpy floozies with fork and runcible spoon. Detective Runcible Spoon said, menacingly, "Just where do you think free-range prims come from?” Abandoned land? Or some other hangover from drinking Whirly Fizzles techno commie uber alles fantasies but techno-fascists are never forgiven instead showered with Holi colours. "Holi cow! We're losing it!" How now, holi brown cow? Everyone turned to stare at the total massive wardrobe malfunction which was seriously disappointing because absolutely no “bits” were attached.

Seven tutti frutti patooties strutted without a care in the world, their patooties hanging out down the street. Same ol' recurring problem in SL fashion, let me rant about that, said Alice, humming very softly. Twas brillig and the slithy toves" the mirror revealed when it's surface finally finished rezzing. She glared at the image and it winked at her private parts. Showing for all the paparazzi who swarmed around temprezzed by an inconsiderate neighbor inside their yellow ban lines, resembling ribbons on oak trees which sadly, had terrible LODs popping into view at 1m. Which made the squirrels drop their nuts and TP to the Moose Beach Infohub, where playing jungle Jenga with Django a Djinn visiting from Djibouti, holding Genie in the bottle but Major Nelson wouldn't let her make Gin and Tonic until after the weather forecast.

Raining cats, dogs, and possibly men, but that is unlikely because altocumulus formations rarely produce visually anatomically convincing, homunculus morphology but when they do, it most definitely doesn't rain men. I stepped into a poodle. Expecting cats to fall next surrounding myself with wooll balls which i use for knitting tales out of whole cloth with holes torn for tails (for everyone needs tail holes). This tale has many holes and just as many sidetracks and derails and train wrecks but strangely, no ship wrecks but fanfic writers would ‘ship that to end on the rocks. I will love you forever she promised, as he looked at the cats twinkle tush.

Diamonds are a Neko's best bling, for the catnip crowd, she thought while peering into the window at Tiffanies, but couldn't see nothin but a weird reflection of the large cat which they had become fixin' for some jalapeño bagels they died as they tried, even as they fought off circus trainers with chairs who strip tease to heavy metal and receive excellent cardio health reports from their primary care bears who cry salty tears when they’re forced to dance rather than be Linden Bears sitting on Linden trees and sipping hot tear water tea, made from bitter griefer tears mixed with the ashes of our favorite phoenix, Marth Coberts. Wait, wait, time out. What? She forgot the safe word! "Watermelon", which works when gagged but sounds out like "waunnnermennnoooon" with appropriate amounts of drool.

Wearing her best drool bucket , bikini, hat, and sunscreen she tiptoed across the burning sand -- no tulips here, she thought -- then, from nowhere, came voices groaning in raspy voices "Water!". Popeye lifted his head up, spat spinach through his nostrils, screamed “It burns! It burns!” Olive poked the green gunk. Popeye croaked, “O’ll ‘ve another!” Opening five tins of Spam, each tin releasing its gelatinous matter, some describe as tasty. The fifth tin, however, opened with a dull, sucking sound, inviting a bout of botulism and a new hair style. You're me little Swee'Pea... Wondering if that's an offer, she scanned the other coupons in her purse under the dark, moonlit sky. She took the Walmart offer for five million pesos in exchange for ad banners on her car.

Now who put them there? she wondered, as they flashed their naughty bits and ran off towards the chicken farm for a brief respite from being ad banners who flash and random sounds that appear to be coming from chickens like eggs sizzling with bacon in a cast iron pan. Mmmm...eggs and bacon....yummmm with double the bacon, please but no Bacon was available however there was some Tofurkey causing turkeys everywhere to laugh and Meth-Fried Chickens to gaffe while Callum went gerunding around which is better than flouncing around, been days without posts in this particular thread lol. So many people missing from the main street celebration, because evil clowns had been lurking inside the giant chocolate cake.

I ate all the cake. Not left in the rain, unlike the mcarthur park one. Suddenly a harris video appeared. He used "skip track" it made very little sense here. No one seemed to notice. Meanwhile on a distant planet where intertwined doughnuts flickered softly and chocolate sprinkles bred like teenagers in spring time, enjoying the soft breeze blowing over all their half shaven heads. "My shaved half is tingling, the other half is dwindling”, she said, looking at her. What a amazing child you luscious, custard filled center while Aislin's post made people confused though confusion is normal here where the abnormal is mundane. A bit like life, really, she mused, before stepping out for a stroll around the Lab's offices, flamethrower in hand.

Suddenly, the chocolate sprinkles awoke. Startled, she swallowed the custard and the mustard, and the booba loop beef lop stard! Honestly, I'm still kinda confused. As the runcible cat jumped and the jellicle cats played they lived until their death. Highly illogical! quipped doctor spock as Dr. Suess scribbled a dirty limerick on the bathroom mirror with a red lipstick. Curiouser and curiouser! said Alice, as she hurriedly drank the large bottle of vodka which, had the wick been lit, as opposed to just wet, would have been an incendiary device unlike Maddy's avocado donuts or Uncle Sancho's Chocolate Chili or Maddy's flame of purification, none of which compared to rubbing artisan quinoa on her as she silently spoke thoughts that would get you banned or quite possibly can canned at the Moulin Rouge in the youtube clip added below, but youtube is not France.

France is home to many expatriate bagpipe players and their sexy man skirts and unshaven haggis, which flounce about the town, sharing their naturally humorous shopping anecdotes and stories about that one time they inadvertently set themselves on fire using thermite to cut through several difficult to open boxed objects consisting of modifiable copies of the necronomicon, and a pink leotard emblazoned with the slogan "Be best, just don't plagiarize!" Now for an advertisement break. Need more cheese in your vest pockets? Try Premium Gorgonzola! In normal, or extra runny! Now, back to our show.

In case you didn't know, best go with the flow with a friend in tow but keep your profile low, explore the grid with gusto before bedtime with comfy pillow and switch of flexible willow, using even more rhymes, oh-oh! Hopefully this thread will continue after that big prize announcement. Lifetime supply of Maddy's donuts!!!! "Lifetime supply" of deadly donuts? Fire roasted donuts for all complete with sprinkles made of blingy particles and other stuff. Morgan Freeman enjoys sprinkles on the rainbows that appear when Nyan cat goes flying past. "Mhmmm" he says "I even tell my kids how wonderful life is on your tilt-a-whirl. Amusement park equipment manufacturers immediately take out insurance policies covering gyroscopically expunged.. sticky icky.. gooey.. remains of dead avatars lol, spraying all over the equipment.

Which invites zombies to feast but they depart still hungry because pixels have no calories and SL residents have no drama, ever, according to profiles. They will NOT tolerate drama-proof residents, an irony that's lost on the vast majority of licensed professional profile editors who all eschew drama religiously while generating the vast majority of complaints to Governor Linden about the lack of donuts and an excess of avacados smashed, with feta, by millenials upset it was not free but Gofundmes are awesome for financing used flamethrower auction purchases. Used flamethrower histories are as thoroughly documented as consumption of avocado donuts.

The mysterious link playing a Rick Astley youtube "No More Looking for Love" should have been the track "Never gonna give you up" the partnership email read, but with one click of the Immodium Space Modulator—KABOOM! Marvin Martian was no more. Divorced, she headed to Frank's. But frank was very suspicious of blondes who carried flamethrowers, justifiably provoking his untimely demise. Reborn as a blue phoenix while Ziggy played guitar, jamming with weird and gilly and in the groove, losing track they suddenly saw tofurky running to the toilet with stomachache due to Maddy's donuts! Again! Ere the set of sun when talent-less twilight vampires stirred their Martinis, to the chagrin and drink to my health tofurky finally came from toilet and went to SL15B sims to find practically no-one there.

Meanwhile in Linden's house of questionable off white prim furniture the jelly doughnut fight began when Kim Jong-un's cummerbund snapped Trump drinking sangria in Mexico hilariously made with Mexican’s pee from all those stolen children eating süßer apfel stollen with Angela Merkel who invited them to a roller disco party hosted by Erdoğan spinning old Turkish rock from 3 Hür-El. Watch out for girly men and maybe some Daler Mehndi which has nothing on Bollywood so the children ran screaming from dubuious Russian mesh sold on the black market for vodka and radioactive isotope which enabled more video posting. But wait, she said, what is in this box here!? (Technically, it wasn't a box) Ignoring Conifer, she opened it, ignoring the messages from her mother, the IRS, and God . . . but not in that order.

The next order asked for Thai Basil Chicken, extra spicy, which upset Basil the chicken. But not Basil Fawlty who goose-stepped like a deranged hotel manager from Torquay. You can not Torquemada anything! ¿Quiere decir : "Torque nada", sí? Sighs, dropping the torque wrench. No worries. Torque is cheap. It's as cheap as sin. Old joke too. Sue me or Sue Ellen if you have nothing better to do. Ellen wrenched her torque show. Torque wrench vs. torqued wench. Is she a "winched wench"? Wondering what wrench wraps wire. A Xerox xenon-powered xeno xyster? With or without instruction manual? Without instructions -- automatic, of course. Automatic ones burst into flames! So automatics always fire continuously. This feature requested by Maddy. With 10,000lbs of chicken wire no way to control it.

Gentleman we can rebuild it with coated marshmallows and toothpicks until... Andrew eats the marshmallows. Liz wasn't impressed at all while I find it fascinating. A large toothpick manufacturing facility is hardly the ideal place for teeth-free people to die. Ha! Anyhoo, what about some old Halloween candy down between the sofa cushions? Sounds exciting! (yawns..nods off). Did I flush the toilet? I put the seat down. Otherwise I might fall in love with that cute guy that I've been crushing on with five tons of rapturous sausage meat I waited for. Anyas sausage recipe contains: meat, randomly selected meaty by-products, and one level teaspoon of erythromycin. So, now you know, and have the ER on stand-by.

No sausage for me, please, said many a female avatar quietly strolling by, ignoring the humongous freenis in non-matching skin around the neck, but who really wants sausage that badly? Apart from a starving man but he really wants burgers with cheese and relish, but doesnt want any gherkin slices rr, God forbid, whole pickles picked and pickled by Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater, had a wish, that all his friends didnt beat me to replying to the advert we saw about admirable fourth advent adventures which were serialised recently on "A Girl's Best Friend", airing on the lemon tree branch but wait! I hear a safe hub noob gesturbating wildly. Ooohlala I love this sausage and this sausage loves me. Found it under yonder tree....

Lemon tree, very pretty, and why the f... I'm awake, but the lemon flower is white above and reddish below like a normal radish grotesquely twirling in a blender like an iced martini, stirred like the banjo player Ceki stirring amongst fora necro posts. But then again, why did the flowers smell like pizza? Easy! Pizza bases contain flower! (Why isn't "flower" pronounced "flow-er?") Hmmm... Too confusing: "flow-er po-wer"? English is rife with discontinuities made worse with indiscriminate slang like, um, just sayin'.... yeah. Run that by me again . . . Po is an olde chamberpot discovered Callum and continued his investigations into the best pizza which someone ate yesterday and couldn't find the words to make heads or tails of any particular random coin toss. "Tails" she shouted, stroking it.

He shouted, “don’t yank it!” So she pulled out a list of names, to check if anyone was posting innuendo's which are actually italian suppositories purchased from Suppositories Life Universe ‘cause Skell had turned Blue Lagoon into a metaphor for innocence lost in the tropics illustrating his increasingly colorful array of boots, gloves and hair! Optional accessories, every single one, said Zhaoying and started dancing around the real issue, because the first rule of the eating of banana splits is to split a banana but sometimes want is more powerful (than) the most basic of needs. I'd like a new computer to pixlbang my alt with falling anvils, purchased from Maddy's Fine Anvils and Flamethrowers.

Which didn't work, because ACME hasn't updated since the 60's called to demand retribution for butchering Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah with yodelling accompanied by drunken bagpipers. He said, “Welcome to heck” (a small village in Yorkshire) (where they make good puddin’) (but lousy haggis because Yorkshire) hags are still among us, taking Joffrey to pizza parties (Bran pizza is a thing) with only Keto cauliflower crust even worse than Maddy's Donuts for Democrats rally, which incited a riot, due to chocolate catnip mislabeled as just chocolate. But Mom, it's only chocolate. "Only chocolate!" Said Mom, reaching "and mine!" slapping fingers away. She wasn't immune to catnip and subsequently broke every TOS on Twitter when she started a war with...oh wait, too late. The Presidential Alert was literally, “Oops! I sharted!” So I'll finish, and YOU!

Finished, they smoked a cigarette-flavored salmon on the grill. Then reapplied his lipstick and went looking for a shoe to match a bicorn hat worn by a pirate who lost her way in the biggest cruiser liner of the Swiss fleet, renowned for its cheese and accurate clocks, which when heated, make lovely fondue though the gears get mangled like teenagers learning to drive a stick-shift vintage muscle car thats enough of that thanks. Because the smell of burning rubber always makes me sneeze and wheeze, if you please... Eating Chinese under the trees (ooc, thank you). Has this killed the story? The story will never die, reinvented with new Linden Realms it will just reform into a wonderful iced Gateaux that left crumbs in the bunks which got in my pyjamas.

As we were jumping up so, youse having a problem? No, comrade, the ISS is smelly from astronaut farts and Apollo-gized to fellow crew members for eating all the beans ( jelly and lima types included ) which stressed the landers skin from eating the “musical fruit”. Doth he toot-eth, but hark. Methinks he toots too much. "A cork, a cork, my sheep is pregnant, and also the henmations hud's don't work. Creator stopped paying server fees because they're "Too Damn High" to see from the ground. Occasionally, when it rains heavily, worms come up, crawling around in, out, up and down. Up up down down left cheat code broke the internet.

WHACK worm 1, SPLAT'm too..... she roared and spiced them with pumpkins from Piggly Wiggly carved into grinning cat faces 

(to be continued ...)


Edited by angeoco
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