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Continue the story (Mack version)


Morgan17

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Alas, people quickly forgot about KidneyBeanBoy's poopy problem when Mack suddenly broke out into agonized screams, the realization of why these threads seem so loathed by many members dawning on him. When you create a community story without any overarching plot and don't set a minimum word limit, people make contributions that can be considered random at best, distressingly inane at worst. Nothing of substance ever comes from the threads, and to many of the older members the phrase Continue The Story may as well be useless space clogging up the Off-Topic section. It was all so clear!

 

Then Mack realized he was just thirsty.

 

After slamma jammin' a Mountain Dewski, Mack logged onto his account to check his Continue The Story thread, seeing that people will still posting their totally awesome 10 word responses and everyone was having a good time. Except that 23rd guy. Damn, that guy could be a real buzzkill sometimes. What was his problem? Determined to continue his radical shenanigans, Mack put his fingers back to the keyboard.

 

Ugh, this looks so passive aggressive. I'm sorry.

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Lord Battal, watching silently from his forum-viewing chamber, read through 23rd's post.  Agreeing with him, he decided to set out and create a deep, exciting plotline for the "Continue the story" thread.  After countless hours of studying, reading books, and downloading Adobe files from the Internet, Battal decided upon his new, improved storyline.  It would be an engaging storyline, one that got the blood pumping, one that inspired people.  It would be the story that people write stories about.  Battal was ready.  He sat down at his computer, and began to type.

 

This is the tale of Mah'ck, the ghost of a dream of a memory of a cyberkinetic warrior searching for his long-lost wife's cousin who was brutally murdered in a car crash and a war, so that he can infuse her spirit with a bicycle blessed with the power of the Seven Deities of Destiny, in order to resurrect a magical flying horse who will ferry Mah'ck into the next life so he may finally be free of his ghostly fate.

 

Our story begins in an undeniably peaceful creek.  If one had irrefutably high-quality eyesight, they would be able to see the faint glimmer of a ghost of a dream of a memory named Mah'ck.  Mah'ck was a cyberkinetic warrior with a vast array of skills and knowledge.  The creek was his favorite place to visit, as the trickling of the water soothed his cyberkitetic war-torn mind.  All of the sudden...

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I recommend a five sentence minimum if everyone wants to see more fleshed out content like Battal's posting. )

BarovSoap walked off into the sunset. "Lettuce!" he told himself, as he reached for the gun. "Why is there a gun in my pocket? How did I get here?"

Check out that plot twist.

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Barovsoap shook his head. Concentrating with great intensity, Barovsoap was successful in suppressing his delusional fantasies.

 

There was no gun. There was no sunset.

 

There was only Mah'ck, and he was dying.

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Battal slumped down in his chair, in shock and awe.  In a mere 3 posts, his story had been mangled.  Ruined.  Torn to shreds.  Unclenching his hands, he began to type a message.

 

Well gee, thanks for ruining my deep, exciting story.  What am I going to do now?  I spent so long thinking this thing up, and you just barge in and ruin everything.  What would you rather have seen?  A damsel in distress?  Intergalactic war?  Work with me here, you've given me absolutely nothing.

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Seeing Battal's message, Kidney came to a realization. This thread, this entire story, however mangled it was, is the shining example of the worst parts of Twitch Plays Pokemon, or rather, anarchism. Because most here, including me, have no intention of creating an actual story, no proggress will likely ever be made. Twitch Plays Pokemon was different, as there was no direct or easy way to completely destroy one's progress. But here, there is. Despite this fact, Kidney attempted to salvage the story by using the remaining excrement in his pants, which was apparently magic, to revive mack-I mean my cook-nope, mah'ck.

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Battal slumped down in his chair, in shock and awe. In a mere 3 posts, his story had been mangled. Ruined. Torn to shreds. Unclenching his hands, he began to type a message.

Well gee, thanks for ruining my deep, exciting story. What am I going to do now? I spent so long thinking this thing up, and you just barge in and ruin everything. What would you rather have seen? A damsel in distress? Intergalactic war? Work with me here, you've given me absolutely nothing.

Absolutely disgusted by Battal's blatant and clear use of plagiarism, Spinorex decided to bring some justice to this sort of cry for help by the forums.

"Battal, you cannot just draw up such carefully crafted statements from as great a game as the Stanley's Parable, as no mere mortal can just say the words without dragging the quote down with your ignorant speaking of said statement. I am sincerely appalled with your decision to even attempt to try and reach the magnificence from the narrator in the Stanley's Parable. I can just imagine so many other dear formers writhing in their graves at your foolishness. Also the reason they're writhing in graves is because the plagiarism you had the indecency to use had killed them. Congratulations. Really. We are all so proud."

You wanted complications, so you got complications.

And then Spinorex agreed with KidneyBeanBoy

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Absolutely disgusted by Battal's blatant and clear use of plagiarism, Spinorex decided to bring some justice to this sort of cry for help by the forums.

"Battal, you cannot just draw up such carefully crafted statements from as great a game as the Stanley's Parable, as no mere mortal can just say the words without dragging the quote down with your ignorant speaking of said statement. I am sincerely appalled with your decision to even attempt to try and reach the magnificence from the narrator in the Stanley's Parable. I can just imagine so many other dear formers writhing in their graves at your foolishness. Also the reason they're writhing in graves is because the plagiarism you had the indecency to use had killed them. Congratulations. Really. We are all so proud."

You wanted complications, so you got complications.

And then Spinorex agreed with KidneyBeanBoy

Battal chuckled to himself at Spinorex's statement.  He had been sure that the easter egg buried in his reply would go unnoticed, but it seemed at least somebody here had good taste in games.

 

"Well done, Spinorex.  You win the grand prize."

 

Everything in Spinorex's vision went black.  When the world came back to his sight, he was standing in a glimmering white chamber full of buttons.  An ethereal choice sang somewhere far away.  After a few days of standing there, he...

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...pushed a button. And then he pushed a button. And then he pushed a button. And then he pushed a button. And then he pushed a button. And then he-

-pushed a button, and then, he pushed a button, and then he pushed a button, and then he-

Battal looked down on him quite saddened with the result. He was slightly hoping that Spinorex would find the exit, the way out of this meaningless void. But he just pushed buttons, and pushed buttons hoping that one would be the answer. But of course they would not. The answer lied not in the buttons but the inner recesses of his mind. What a sad sight to see that Spinorex had no imaginative skills that he considered worth using in this horrible situation. So in a vein effort to escape this endless prison, he flew off on the most ridiculous plot breaking thing ever; a magickal flying pig pony dragon that flew on a cloud of fire bubbles. This was just enough he needed to break the story when suddenly...

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Battal, angered at Spino's escape, pulls out his vintage Eternity Inc Model 666 Poultynizer. He fires it at Spinorex's mount.  A feathery globe of magical death spirals out of the weapon's barrel at an incredible speed.  It is a direct hit.  Feathers begin to sprout all over the creature, and in seconds, it is nothing more than a mere chicken.  Spinorex falls into the infinite white void, the chicken uselessly flapping its wings all over his face.

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