When I was a Boyscout we would frequently go camping. Instead of telling ghost stories like most kids we would play this game called The Campfire Chronicles where we would make up our own story by each person adding different parts, picking up where the last person left off. I'm sure a lot of you are familiar with this game, just by a different name. When I was in boy scouts it was basically just a game of who can get away with the grossest story and/or push the line the furthest when it comes to swearing in front of parents. But I know for a fact that this board is both creative, funny and hammered at least 50% of the day. The only two rules: 1. If you post you must add to the story and only add to the story. Cluttering the thread with comments is annoying. Plus, not many people care what you think. We're not analyzing Othello here. If this is really a problem a second thread can be designated for it. 2. When you post you must post at least one paragraph but no more than three. It only gets good if a lot of different people each add to it. You may post in the thread more than once, but only one post per thread page. If this kills the thread then oh well. It has to be that way or else it would suck anyways. FOCUS: Suzy Sugartits woke up at 8:23 am in a bedroom she didn't recognize. She didn't know how she got there, but could tell there was some lingering shame from last night still in the air. She walked around the empty house looking for the owner(s) but the entire place was empty. As she passed by a mirror she noticed that she had some puke caked in her shoulder length brunette hair. Her breath and tongue also had the putrid taste and smell of 12 hour old cum. Not wanting to stick around Suzy ran back to the bedroom, collecting her purse, and making a beeline for the front door. As she walks outside she hears a man's voice to her right "Sandy! Where are you going?" "My name's Suzy." She replied before even making eye contact.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else," said the man, and he quickly turned away. "Excellent. The brainwashing session last night was a success," he thought to himself, chuckling. Suzy Sugartits, formerly known as Sandy Vaginadrool, was now a pawn of the World Humanitarian Organization Regarding Extreme Sex. Yes, She was now an agent for W.H.O.R.E.S.
Suzy hurried through town on her way back to her apartment, pausing to scrub down in the fountain in the market square, using handfuls of change from the bottom of the fountain. She tucked a quarter under each breast in case she needed change for coffee later on. As she was about to climb out of the fountain, she noticed a hotel room key glistening on the bottom. She picked it up, and realized she was outside the Hotel Menage A Trois. Something clicked deep within her washed brain, and she hurried inside to room 411.
Room 411, a room she was certain she'd never been in before, still felt familiar. From the orange shag carpeting through the fake wood paneling, the room was distinctly 70s, and since Suzy had been born in 1992 and had turned 18 just days before, she knew this couldn't be. Still more disconcerting to the young girl's frayed nerves were the couple sitting on the bed. The woman was stark naked and noticeably pregnant, but the most curious part of her must have been her asymmetrical bosom. One was at least a GG, and the other could have been no more than an A cup, as the A sat proudly atop her engorged stomach and the GG flopped to the side like a forgotten sock. The man, on the other hand could have been John F Kennedy reborn: perfect hair, perfect teeth, and a very pronounced Boston accent heard behind his plea of "Errr uhhh, sit down miss sugahtits, it's errr, nice to ahh, see you again."
As Suzy sat down on the edge of the bed, she felt her cellular phone vibrating in her pocket. The phone then began to ring loudly, and the naked woman gave Suzy a stern look. Suzy reached into her pocket and grabbed her phone, but didn't recognize the number flashing on the screen. She paused for a brief second, then jumped up, walked towards the window, and answered with a hurried, and nervous, "Hello?" A male voice on the other end of the line responded, "Yo Sandy, dis Lawrence. You know, LT. Girl, where'd you disappear off to? You know we gots some unfinished business."
Just then a rift opened in the space-time continuum, and out popped a short, rotund, hairy little man. "Get down Sandy!" Screamed the fat man as he hurled his naked body at JFK. Sandy crouched behind the bed as the naked troll judo-chopped JFK in the throat. The pregnant woman reached for a gun hidden under her large breast, but she moved too slow, the naked man pounced on her with a banshee scream. He quickly dispatched her with a kick to the crotch. The woman's groans were imediately stifled by the sound of her neck snapping. As the fat man stood triumphantly over his handiwork, he extended his hand to Sandy. "I'm here to protect you, come with me if you want to live." Sandy looked up into his kind eyes, and for once that day knew everything would be alright. "Uhhh, LT I'll have to call you back." "You can call me, Ron. Ron Jeremy. "
He took her to the street. Ron gave a knowing wink, raised his hand in the air, snapped his fingers and a solid gold limosine driven by Bono appeared five seconds later. He donned a sequin-shrouded Adidas sweatsuit and Reebok Pumps. "Where to, Mr. J?" said Bono in a douchey-Mick accent. Ron shook his head with embarrasment in front of his new company. He smacked his man-servant upside his head. "To the office, potato-brain. You haven't done SHIT since Actung Baby, just to remind you. AGAIN." The Limo jumped to 80 mph. Inside, Ron was doing rock-star lines of blow with a supreme court justice wearing a ski mask and what appeared to be Steven Perry of Journey twanging away on a sitar in the back seat. He told Suzy that's where his "journey" had taken him. It smelled of stank Afghani hash and fuck fumes in this phenomenally over-flashy car, reminding Suzy of fondly of grade seven when she was a rodeo clown groupie. She drank a bottle of perscription cough syrup in one pull and smashed the bottle over her head, cackling like a demented schoolgirl. Then, a throwing star flew through the windshield with grim accuracy. "Damn ninjas again" says Ron. Hold on a sec'. He lept though the sunroof and before you know it, in seconds it was over. Ron stood in his blood-soaked sweatsuit alone in the killing fields, laying at his feet were six attackers, a neighbourhood dog and the retarded kid who delivered Pennysavers. Ron raised his head, and nodded to Bono: "Hey Mr. No-Nobel! Plan's changed. First, I'm gonna fuck me some bitches. However, LT's on the warpath and we need some party favours to help us come up with a PLAN. Take us to Darryl Strawberry's.
The limo continued to rocket through red lights as the sun grew red and low in the sky behind it. Soon they were on the outskirts of town, climbing upward on a steep grade up a craggy cliff side highway at breakneck speed. Ron grinned menacingly in his seat, guzzling champagne from the bottle, he quickly launched from he seat and leaned forward to Bono, smashing the bottle of booze over his head. "Here fuckhole turn here!" the short pudgy porn-performer screamed as he smashed the bottle against the rock star's head and with a yelp of pain from Bono as blood streamed down his face they turned and bounced up the dirt road road to a dark looming shape on the distant summit, lightning crackled against its roof. As they approached the saw the gates swung apart, like a whores legs and a man strutted out decked in a 1970s retro white suit topped off with a gaudy hat adorned with a peacock feather, twirling a golden bat on his shoulder. The limo slowed. "Hello beautiful, I need help, fast. LTs on it again" said Ron from the window "Mr. Kevorkian is working as quickly as he can, Ron. Just a few more volts and MJ should be fully re-animated. He's so excited to take him for a spin" Replied Strawberry with a sly grin.
Suzy was confused "LT? I know MJ is Michael Jackson, but who is LT?" Both Ron and Darrel stopped in their tracks and stared at silly suze in incredulity. "Michael...Michael Jackson?" Strawberry chuckled condescendingly, "This is why women should never play major league baseball. No, it's 'Mary Jane'? Spiderman's girlfriend? We've got Stan Lee locked up in the basement reanimating her as we speak, we just call him Kevorkian because it pisses him off and makes him piss his pants. Especially when we juice the electrodes wired up to his nuts, we've already blown the left one. It's how we colored MJ's hair." Even Ron was giggling now. Giggling like an elf. An elf on cocaine with a huge penis "Pff, Michael Jackson? Why the hell would we animate him? He's not even alive." "A...and LT?" asked simple Suze meekly. "Liza Monelli-Terminator. She's a hyper advanced ninja assassin robot lounge singer from the future to kill the future father of the son who will doom all robot kind to lounge singing. We should really go inside and prepare for her arrival. But more importantly, we should really go inside so we can put you safely in the kitchen while we do man work" And with that strawberry picked Suzy up by her left tit and carried her to the kitchen.
Suzy found herself alone in the kitchen, she pondered the events that had took place, things were definitely getting too complicated, she felt that the she needed to clear her head, she needed a fresh start. She opened the kitchen window, luckily the kitchen was on the ground floor. Suzy climbed out of the window and walked to the street. Suddenly, from behind someone shouted "Hey, you! Come back here!." It was Ron Jeremy, he was running up to her, as fast as his short, stubby legs could carry him. Suzy quickly studied her surroundings, conveniently, a black London style taxi was driving by, she hailed the taxi, got in and told him to drive. When the taxi reached the city, she told the driver to drop her off at the nearest cafe', since she didn't have any money to pay the fare with, Suzy and the taxi driver decided that Suzy would flash the driver and they would call it even. Suzy took off her top, to reveal her double D tits, before putting her top on, she removed the change she had hid under her breasts back in the fountain, now she had enough to buy a cup of coffee. The sight that greeted her when she entered the coffee shop wasn't a pretty one. Suzy had done some depraved things, since turning eighteen a few days ago but she had never met a group of people like this, a banner on the wall proudly declared, in bright red lettering "Where intelligent discourse and depravity meet." A dark, handsome man walked up to her. "Hello, we've been expecting you," he said "they call me, Chater"