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The Story Game


Suicide Bomber

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Originally posted by Suicide Bomber@Jun 17 2005, 11:52 PM

Okay, so its a game where we all make a story like so...

 

I will start it off and then somone adds 1 word on and then somone adds another word on and it shall develope into something amazing...

 

first word.

 

Once

 

 

 

 

Im so bored...

 

 

ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH MASTURBATION??

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once my friend wanted me to pick up her shithead hippie friend to go to a party and i told her fuck no and then she got all butthurt and deicded she didn't want to go out anymore and so fucking Lens now gets to hit this party up by himself.

 

The End

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One time there was this ice cube outback of Dunkin Donuts and this motherfucker was just assraping this casette deck. So I roll through with my maroon aura and shit, give him a translucent bondage cream, and this nigga just implodes through the phosphoric ceiling pads. I figure that it is just a yo-yo so I bounced and went to my favorite mailbox spot. When I got there I stole a grip of mail hoping I could get some birthday money but all I got was a fucking bookmark. So I stuffed wit with apricot scrub and smoked that shit. The End.

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ONCE UPON A TIME I SPLASHED SOME SUBURB NIGGAS FACE OPEN WITH A RAZOR CUZ HE THREW A BEER BOTTLE AT MY BROTHER, THEN MY BROTHER STOMPED HIM TO PIECES, THE END.

 

 

ALSO, I GOT THE TOP 5 THREADS. I FEEL LIKE THE 50CENT OF THIS 12OZ SHIT NIGGA! IM BULLETPROOF NIGGA! WHAAAAAAAAAA I GOT IT ON SMASH. CHEA.

 

 

 

 

MEROOOOO

MLBCEEEEEE.

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Once upon a time I litigated hop-scotch players in form-fitting cybernetic suits. Then this one dude came up to me and asked me "Hey man where can I find the unicorn informant?" So I told him it's behind the lillypad at Lilly's pad. He said no I thought it was at Maxine's pad behind her stash of maxipads? I said you might be right, so I gave him phosphorus foam filled with asbestos crumb cakes while whales played frisbee while watching Boomerang staring Eddie Murphy. Then I he gave Eddie a murphy when he pulled his pants trying to dance in an afghan in Afghanistan. The moral of the story is never leave your oil-based aqueous stereo speakers in line of chlorine billiard venues.

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Thats just like the time that Wilbur reincarnated into a box of L.A Lights. He was speaking to me in his 3rd eye visionary lyrical scripts and I was buggin out cus he sounded like Darth Vader ripping ass. It made my ears bleed and drip through the tarp all the way down to the salt grain mines in Wikkitikkawa, Oregon where Arcel was conveniently fucking a goat. After all was said and done, I just glued a few noodles together with my impostulant ray-gun beam sealer and had a fresh ass necklace.

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I agree Gucci. It's very remeniscent of those corridor smugglers that lynched Jennifer Lynch on the corner of Jane & Finch. In Toronto where the obstacle was nocturnal while pink elephant gangsta rappers wore thermal underwear. Then the occupation tossed me a bananna clip with hair follicles at the telekenisis kinetic energizer bunny of Notre Dame. Man, that brings back memories.

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