Dear ass-cannons and tard-bibs:
Today is Cramulus' birthday. If you would like to help him celebrate, please write a story starring him. Minimum length is one sentence. Suggested genre is Action.
For example:
"Cramulus," the old man gasped, "I'm dying."
Cramulus extended his hand, palm up, and said "Keys to the jet."
The old man tossed Cram the keys and promptly died. Cram jumped into the jet and vowed to avenge his death, but instead just spent an entire tank of jet fuel flying around and listening to "Rock You Like a Hurricaine" on repeat.
THE END
Cramulus sat at his computer, composing WOMP's of great humor.
As he clicked SAVE his door exploded inwards in a shower of splinters and testosterone. An impozing figure, clad in an off assortment of flowing coats and scarves. It leveled a long halberd at his head.
"Cramulus of the Cramularim. It is time."
"Ok, cool. How did you get that thing up the stairs?"
"Uh....", the figure stopped.
"I mean, that stairwel is one twisty bitch. That's seven fucking feet of wood and steel. Seriously, HOW!? I mean, we had to give away a whole COUCH because it wouldn't fit up there."
"Look, this isn't about my halberd!"
"Your therapist suggested otherwise."
"CRAM YOU DAMNULU....I MEAN...AH SHIT!", the enraged figure spoonerized and stuttered. "I'm here to fight you to the death, on your birthday, so you can draw confidence and justification into your remaining years, and you lay THIS on me?"
"Dude, I get more meaning out of a solid DUMP that a duel to the death. In fact, I can drop you where I sit."
"Bullshit."
"Watch."
So saying, Cramulus closed his eyes.
"I CANNOT SEE YOU. THEREFORE YOU DO NOT EXIST!"
The figure was gone when he opened his eyes. Whatever the reason, this definitely called for a beer.
Cramulus waited. The lights above him blinked and sparked out of the air. There were demons in the base. He didn't see them, but had expected them now for years. His warnings to Cernel Joson were not listenend to and now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway.
Cramulus was a space marine for fourteen years. When he was young he watched the spaceships and he said to dad "I want to be on the ships daddy."
Dad said "No! You will BE KILL BY DEMONS"
There was a time when he believed him. Then as he got oldered he stopped. But now in the space station base of the UAC he knew there were demons.
"This is Joson" the radio crackered. "You must fight the demons!"
So Cramulus gotted his palsma rifle and blew up the wall.
"HE GOING TO KILL US" said the demons
"I will shoot at him" said the cyberdemon and he fired the rocket missiles. Cramulus plasmaed at him and tried to blew him up. But then the ceiling fell and they were trapped and not able to kill.
"No! I must kill the demons" he shouted
The radio said "No, Cramulus. You are the demons"
And then Cramulus was a zombie.
:wink:
Gay Porn:
Cramulus stared straight into the camera, rubbing his ballsack provocatively.
In the style of Andy Warhol.
We see Cramulus' face. Nothing more.
:lulz: @ Cainad
Cramulus wakes up to celebrate his birthday. He stumbles over to the fridge for a screwdriver (hey, juice is good in the morning), but as he opens the door rocks fall. Everyone dies.
Cyberpunk:
MORPHEUS Unfortunately, no one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.
CRAMULUS How?
MORPHEUS Hold out your hands.
In Cramulus' right hand, Morpheus drops a red pill.
MORPHEUS This is your last chance. After this, there is no going back.
In his left, a blue pill.
MORPHEUS: You take the blue pill and the story ends. You wake in your bed and you believe whatever you want to believe.
The pills in his open hands are reflected in the glasses.
MORPHEUS: You take the red pill and you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.
Cramulus feels the smooth skin of the capsules, with the moisture growing in his palms.
MORPHEUS: Remember that all I am offering is the truth. Nothing more.
Cramulus opens his mouth and swallows the blue pill.
:lulz: these are great!
Action:
CRAMULUS
(looks at his watch)
Oh, God, it's late. Hey, thanks for the beer.
TYLER
Yeah, man.
CRAMULUS
I should find a hotel...
TYLER
What?
CRAMULUS
What?
TYLER
A hotel?
CRAMULUS
Yeah.
TYLER
Just ask it, man.
CRAMULUS
What are you talking about?
TYLER
Three pitchers of beer and you still can't ask.
CRAMULUS
What?
TYLER
You called me so you could have a place to stay.
CRAMULUS
Hey, no, no, no--
TYLER
Yes you did. Just ask. Cut the foreplay and just ask, man.
CRAMULUS
Wou--Would that be a problem?
TYLER
Is it a problem for you to ask?
CRAMULUS
Can I stay at your place?
TYLER
No.
Scifi:
CRAMULUS
Some of you may have figured
out that we're not home.
BRETT
What the hell.
CRAMULUS
Mother's interrupted the course
of the voyage.
Mother is programmed to interrupt
the course of out voyage if
certain conditions arise. They
have...
(pause)
We've received intermittent
transmission from quadrant points
QBR 157, 052. Somebody's gone
down.
BRETT
So what.
KANE
We're obligated under Section B2...
PARKER
Christ. We're a commerical ship
not some rescue team. This kind
of duty's not in our contract.
ASH
You better read your contract.
Transmissions received in non-
commercial lanes...
Cramulus gives Parker and Brett a look.
CRAMULUS
Fuck it, lets go back to sleep.
In A.D. 2009
War was beginning.
Cramulus: What happen?
Mechanic: Somebody set up us the bomb.
Operator: We get signal.
Cramulus: What !
Operator: Main screen turn on.
Cramulus: It's you !!
AKK: How are you gentlemen !!
AKK: All your base are belong to us.
AKK: You are on the way to destruction.
Cramulus: What you say !!
AKK: You have no chance to survive make your time.
AKK: Ha ha ha ha ....
Operator: Cramulus !!
Cramulus: Take off every 'ZIG'!!
Cramulus: You know what you doing.
Cramulus: Move 'ZIG'.
Cramulus: For great justice.
IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT
RANDOM BITS OF INDUSTRIAL DEBREE BLOWING THROUGH THE AIR
A BLUEISH STROBOSCOPE FLASHES THE SCENE--ITS SOURCE JUST OUT OF VISION
THE ATMOSPHERE IS CRAMPED WITH A PANICKED LACK OF TIME
EVERYTHING TIES TOGETHER HERE--BUT THE WORLD IS IN FREE FALL
A CAR EXPLODES
AN ORANGE CLOUD, JETS OF FLAME, THE BURNING CAR TIRE ROLLS AWAY
IN THE MISTY SMOKE ILLUMINATED BY THE STROBOSCOPE, A SILHOUETTE APPEARS
LONGHAIRED WITH A LONG TRENCHCOAT, FLUTTERING LIKE A CAPE
HOLDING TWO SLIGHTLY OVERSIZED GUNS
"THEY CALL ME ... THE PROFESSOR. AND THIS IS WHAT I'M PROFESSING"
BLAM
BLAM
BLAM
BLAM
BLAM
THE SCENE ERUPTS INTO CHAOS
EXPLOSIONS, GUNSHOTS, LEFT AND RIGHT
DIABETICS TEARING APART SPRAYING BLOOD ALL OVER THEIR PALE BODIES
OVERHEAD THE SOUND OF A HELICOPTER CAN BE HEARD
THE TRENCHCOATED FIGURE TURNS, GUNS STILL SMOKING
"CHLOE! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
A SPANDEX-CLAD FEMALE FIGURE CAN BE SEEN THROWING OUT A ROPE LADDER
THE PROFESSOR EFFORTLESSLY JUMPS THE 20FT DISTANCE FROM THE TOP OF THE BUILDING, GRABBING THE LADDER
AS THEY FLY INTO THE NIGHT, THE BUILDING EXPLODES, BURSTS INTO FLAMES AND CRUMBLES
Fantasy:
The Evil Overlord gave the helmeted knight an appraising stare as he entered the room. Even unarmed, he could still be dangerous. In particular, his armour meant he could still do terrible amounts of damage before being stopped. Holding up a hand, he bade the knight to stop, then motioned at his bodyguards to strip him of his protection. The helm came off first, exposing his flowing hair, the mark of a holy warrior. Then the curaiss, gauntlets and vambraces followed. Finally, with a look of pure venom, he allowed his greaves and schlynbalds to be removed.
"Are you satisfied I am unarmed now, Lord Vesper" he asked, in a curiously flat tone.
His lordship considered the question a moment. "Yes", he said at last, "I am. Now, shall we discuss the terms of your peoples surrender?" He motioned with his hand for the knight to read his proposals, set out on a table before him. The knight nodded, and moved to the table. Standing beside him, Lord Vesper looked over the terms of the treaty one more time. Yes, he thought to himself, this conquest would assure his control of the vital Cresslan Pass, and thus strategic control over the entire Erlan plains.
Then someone tapped him on the shoulder. Annoyed at an underling interrupting him, he turned, only to take a short sword in the gut. Reeling from the pain, he looked up, only to see long hair and the strange, black moustache. "C..Cra...Cramulus?" he at last managed, before spitting up blood. "B-but...how?" How had the infamous rogue got in here. He had to know, before he expired from his wounds.
Cramulus bent down and whispered in his ear. "I'm a level 20 character with 90 ranks in Escape Artist. Do you know what that means? According to the rules, I can fit through spaces of 2 inches or less. I got in here by hiding in my knight's anus. Now do you see why you should never fuck with a power gamer?" He then withdrew his word from the now expired lord's gut, and left without a word.
Happy Birthday, Cram!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V8x8S6n-uNc
<3 Suu
Cramulus wept.
Also, inspiration for my story comes entirely from 4chan, who figured out this...flaw, in the rules
http://4chanarchive.org/brchive/dspl_thread.php5?thread_id=921167&x=extremely+tight+space
:lulz: :lulz: :lulz: :lulz: :lulz:
I'm laughing my ASS off, guys - thanks
makes up for the fact that very few people IRL are even aware that it's my birthday
Cramulus hears a knock at the door.
Hesitantly, he hoists himself up off of the cold tile.
He looks through the peephole- nothing.
He opens the door, looks around- no one
On the floor, halfway on the doormat, there's a box.
He picks it up, brings it inside.
It's poorly packed, poorly taped, it opens easily.
Inside he finds-
(http://i44.photobucket.com/albums/f45/Squidoid667/CCgift.jpg)
Children scream, women faint, and Cramulus? He chuckles and tosses it out the window. There's an explosion, a fat guy yells "HEY!".
Cramulus takes a nap under a pile of kittens.
THE END.
This is probably the best idea for a birthday thread ever.
After a long day of work
(http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb163/wompcabal/herb_cram_cheer.jpg)
Cram heads home disappointed that nobody remembered his birthday
(http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb163/wompcabal/wah_irl.png)
But he's got company coming
(http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb163/wompcabal/lmno_tutifruti.gif)
Cram hears a knock at the door so he puts on his best dress
(http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb163/wompcabal/crammonroe2.jpg)
Big Gay Cowboy action follows
(http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb163/wompcabal/cramlmnocowboy.png)
And a post-coitus victory outfit
(http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb163/wompcabal/CramBowie-1.jpg)
Sorry guys, you're too late
(http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb163/wompcabal/cain_icke.jpg)
:lulz:
:lulz:
:spittake:
:lulz: :lulz: :lulz: :lulz:
This whole thread rules.
CRAMULUS:
Tell me, Sir, why you stare so at my 'stache?!
THE BORE (staggered):
I. . .I...
CRAMULUS (walking straight up to him):
Well, what is there strange?
THE BORE (drawing back):
Your Grace mistakes!
CRAMULUS:
How now? Is't soft and dangling, like a lass' tresses?. . .
THE BORE (same play):
I never. . .
CRAMULUS:
Is it crook'd, like a punk's mowhawk?
THE BORE:
I. . .
CRAMULUS:
Do you see a tangle upon the tip?
THE BORE:
Nay. . .
CRAMULUS:
Or a fly, that takes the air there? What
Is there to stare at?
THE BORE:
Oh. . .
CRAMULUS:
What do you see?
THE BORE:
But I was careful not to look--knew better.
CRAMULUS:
And why not look at it, an if you please?
THE BORE:
I was. . .
CRAMULUS:
Oh! it disgusts you!
THE BORE:
Sir!
CRAMULUS:
Its hue...
Unwholesome seems to you?
THE BORE:
Sir!
CRAMULUS:
Or its shape?
THE BORE:
No, on the contrary!. . .
CRAMULUS:
Why then that air
Disparaging?--perchance you think it too large?
THE BORE (stammering):
No, small, quite small--minute!
CRAMULUS:
Minute! What now?
Accuse me of a thing ridiculous!
Small--my mustachio?
THE BORE:
Heaven help me!
CRAMULUS:
'Tis enormous!
Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know
That I am proud possessing such appendice.
'Tis well known, a big 'stache is indicative
Of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous,
Liberal, brave, just like myself, and such
As you can never dare to dream yourself,
Rascal contemptible! For that witless face
That my hand soon will come to cuff--is all
As empty. . .
(He cuffs him.)
THE BORE:
Aie!
CRAMULUS:
--of pride, of aspiration,
Of feeling, poetry--of godlike spark
Of all that appertains to my big 'stache,
(He turns him by the shoulders, suiting the action to the word):
As. . .what my boot will shortly come and kick!
THE BORE (running away):
Help! Call the Guard!
CRAMULUS:
Take notice, boobies all,
Who find my visage's center ornament
A thing to jest at--that it is my wont--
An if the jester's noble--ere we part
To let him taste my steel, and not my boot!
Too lazy to make up a story. Especially one that could not compete with the greatness of this thread. So...
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Quote from: Valerie on February 01, 2009, 07:45:25 PM
Too lazy to make up a story. Especially one that could not compete with the greatness of this thread. So...
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
I would like to point out that in your apology for being lazy you wrote more words than I did in my previous post. You have much to learn about the Slack.
Also, copypasta.
This is the best thread ever!
Quote from: Suu on February 01, 2009, 08:19:02 PM
This is the best thread ever!
Almost.
Do nevar forget: http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php?topic=16800.0
Cainad,
Goes back and reads that thread again every once in a while
Bumping up over all of Cainad's bumps so people can post moar stories.
Professor Cramulus snapped a pic of his glorious birthday turd and promptly flushed the commode. As he turned to leave a gurgle and a loud burp stopped him in his tracks. Slowly he turned to face the sound.
"Thank goodness!", the commode proclaimed, "Six days! I had nearly starved!!!"
Bewildered, astonished, but thoroughly pleased the Professor sat down on the bathroom mat to catch up with an old childhood friend.
Happy Birthday Cram. :D
and so begins a moustache tale of Cramulus
him among the rocky crags and valleys of the facial hair
left by Druids when they passed from one full moon to next
and gathered round a fire with offerings for the blessed
with the same familiar moustache passing from father to son
retold the tales of days gone by when the earth was born
and serpents slithered on the soil and fertilised the land
fish and birds fill sea and sky, fed from Cramulus' bountiful moustache
dark hairs arose from quarters far flung, of holy follicles mystic
their ancestors from magical strands of hairs evolved from the rustic
this prince Cramulus, a peaceful child, brought earth and sky together
and of his gifts the greatest was from the facial hairs conceived in heaven
and from his upper lip wisdom was born, hairs soft and pure were grown
so those who saw it immediately put aside all harsh words
and peace and wonder filled the hearts of everyone he met
until the legend of his moustache travelled through each continent
and touched a simple heart asleep on island far away from his
whereupon Chloe stirred from her dream as if awoken by a kiss
young woman had visionary powers inherited from mother's line
these she combined with diplomatic graces from oriental times
threads of moustaches were woven with tartan and celtic linen
such was the nature of the gifts of parentage to her given
when Cramulus' name was first spoken it rang a familiar chord
and knew all her life she'd waited for the moustache of that word
when she uttered his name in the shelter of her private rooms
it was if a multitude of angels came together and sang in tune
she softly called his name, 'Cramulus', and then repeated it over
recognizing his to be the only moustache she wanted to discover
she quickly wrote a note in fairy dust casting it to the winds
knowing if his moustache was hers, in time would meet their minds
she touched her upper lip and blew a kiss releasing it to freely travel
across the world to send her moustache to one that all did marvel
and through the ether vibrated the moustache from her heart
six full moons came and went while the moustaches were apart
across the wide Atlantic Cramulus set sail in his silver barque
and steered daily guided by sun, navigated stars in the dark
giant whales and pelicans helped his moustache stay strong and true
and faeries showed a way ashore through a bay of brightest blue
eagle of powerful wing did he meet, and a tribe in skin of bear
though he searched mountain and stream, found his bride nowhere
and on second moon he again turned his boat towards the south
touched land where sun-god worshippers spoke magic from mouth
condor spread its wings to span great shadows over cloudy land
warning Cramulus love was elsewhere, not among pan-pipes band
he shared moustaches with gentle souls who offered meal of corn
then farewelled them, this land was not where his lady was born
eastward he sped and by third moon reached a land of giants
rhinoceros and exotic giraffe grazed alongside grey elephants
he gently told his hosts his moustache's wish was not to be seen
and took up the challenge east towards another shore green
on fourth moon he heard a wondrous sound of melodic sitar
and in the lush and flowery facial hair was amazed at stripy tiger
but though the beauty and colour of all brought tears to eyes
nowhere was seen the moustache who'd fulfill what was prophesised
faerie folk beckoned, 'come, sweet prince' and off into the sea
blond prince followed seagull, heron and tern to hairs of mystery
where a fifth moon rose as the sound resonated with golden gong
silken robes, fans and jade were worn by women taming dragon
lady-love of blond Cramulus' dreams was still not to be seen
and south to the land of the fuzzy-faced men with beautiful queen
who welcomed him on the sixth full moon, in head-dress grand
and offered hospitality and goatees while dancing on silvery sand
but pacific palace was not the space where his true moustache was
so south again the prince set sail till the moon set beyond stars
and winds blew past a giant red centre, heart of an ancient rock
and carried his boat to a silver shore where faeries helped him dock
in a strange land of sideburns and sand Cramulus paced again
his head was full of moustache dreams, his heart a morass of pain
'where can I be, I've travelled the world, and still she's not here'
and faerie spirits whispered in comfort, 'soon she will appear'
he longed for a moustache the like of which his search had failed to reveal
a sudden decision thrust itself upon and before moon did kneel
'take me to the place I seek' was Cramulus' simple plea
through the air there came a sign, a dove of great mercy
at once the moustache of his mission became unfaltering goal
and on the dawn he set full sail towards an absent soul
faerie folk flew beside Cramulus, keeping boat from harm
mermaids waved, eased passage through rocks with magic charms
and on the eve of seventh moon, his true-love's name materialised
'Chloe' is the one who calls, and tears came to his dark eyes
he moored his boat on silver sand beside a wide crater lake
and as the seventh moon was seen an upward path did take
strange creatures were seen, dingos, koalas, kangaroos and lyrebirds
folk welcomed his moustache with didgeridoos, singing strange words
six moons had come and gone, each night prayers fell from his upper lip
while on the darkest night starlight and faeries guided prince's ship
beside the deep still water Chloe sat, her face patient and serene
as Cramulus took her outstretched hand he knew he'd found his queen
and so the story has now been told of fair Chloe and blond Cramulus
prince of earthly moustaches and maiden pure separated by great distance
Agent Cramulus walked into vault just in time to see Baron Greyface making off with all the world's supply of lulz, the most valuable and dangerous substance known to man or anything else. He called to the fiendish baron, "Halt, noblemen of nefarious nocturnal noises!"
Greyface turned and screamed, "That doesn't even make sense!" as he pointed his enchanted Sceptre of Storminess at Cramulus and let forth a bolt of evil green lightning. Cram dodged quite deftly, and unsheathed his dual revolvers.
"Eat lead you damned lead-eater!" he cried as he unloaded the pistols in a barrage of awesome, only to have Baron Greyface deflect them with his Cloak of Villainous Plot Armor.
Greyface cackled and said, "That's all of your ammunition, Agent. Prepare to die a death worse than any you've ever died before!" The baron advanced on our hero and prepared to cast his finishing spell, but Cramulus suddenly said, "Fool! You've forgotten my most potent weapon!" Agent Cramulus then proceeded to strangle Baron Greyface to death with his mustache.
(http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/Smileys/default/roglol.gif)
Quote from: Father Kurt Christ on February 02, 2009, 05:36:14 AM
Agent Cramulus walked into vault just in time to see Baron Greyface making off with all the world's supply of lulz, the most valuable and dangerous substance known to man or anything else. He called to the fiendish baron, "Halt, noblemen of nefarious nocturnal noises!"
Greyface turned and screamed, "That doesn't even make sense!" as he pointed his enchanted Sceptre of Storminess at Cramulus and let forth a bolt of evil green lightning. Cram dodged quite deftly, and unsheathed his dual revolvers.
"Eat lead you damned lead-eater!" he cried as he unloaded the pistols in a barrage of awesome, only to have Baron Greyface deflect them with his Cloak of Villainous Plot Armor.
Greyface cackled and said, "That's all of your ammunition, Agent. Prepare to die a death worse than any you've ever died before!" The baron advanced on our hero and prepared to cast his finishing spell, but Cramulus suddenly said, "Fool! You've forgotten my most potent weapon!" Agent Cramulus then proceeded to strangle Baron Greyface to death with his mustache.
:mittens:
I've been busy scraping by, so here's your late birfday present:
Cramulus fell out of bed that morning. It should have been something to laugh off as a "bad omen," like most people would do when overcome with violent sneezing fits. But Cramulus insisted on sleeping in Wombicle™ which wasn't designed for sleepwalking nasal attacks or for ceiling suspension. A hyena started cackling from the other room. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, SPAGOLYN!" Cram barked as he picked pieces of what was his level 3 Frobnosticator out of his armpit. I need to stop feeding that thing the prototype, he thought, squinting his eyes furtively. It was at that point that Cramulus Spagulinus III noticed the ninjas.
Quietly, they drew their archaic weapons from their sheaths and glided towards him. Cram scrambled to his feet into a low, wide stance and pressed two biomagnetic nanobuttons located underneath his tongue. Nothing happened, and the black-clad assassins were about to strike. Fucking buttfaced bioengineers, it's not working! He used his fingers to press the buttons but the ninjas were already slicing his flesh. Cram felt his head falling towards the ground when the buttons finally activated an enmeshed nanostructure in his cells.
His dismembered body parts rearranged their DNA in a fraction of a second, releasing a cloud of foul-smelling gas and a burst of light. Cram's head turned into a miniature pterodactyl before it hit the ground, beating its scaly little wings furiously. Before the first ninja knew what hit her, Cram's beak tore through her cloak, stomach and viscera in a splatter of intestines and partially digested food. Cram flapped to the ceiling near Wombicle™ before doing a barrel roll and dive bombed the remaining ninjas. With a frayed artery in his wing-claw, he chased the survivors into his laboratory and released Spagolyn, the one ton hyena.
Here, Cram realized that his Pterodactyl DNA implants were more sophisticated than he had ever imagined. While Spagolyn mauled the rest of the ninjas to death, Cram found his other body parts had turned into Pterodactyls as well and were grooming themselves inside Wombicle™. "Sweet. Merciful. Fuck." He said in a tiny, squawky voice, "Pterodactyls." This wasn't supposed to happen, but it was better than being several pieces and dead.
Cramulous woke up in his own bed the next morning. His head was throbbing. He turned over heavily, and noticed that the bed was curiously, and nausiatingly, damp. "Chloe!" he called out.
She opened the bedroom door. "What?"
"What the hell happened last night? Did I piss my pants or something?"
"Don't you remember? You didn't piss your pants... Everybody else at the party pissed your pants."
"Sacred pubes of the Blind Io,
I unleash thy sturdyness.
Curly locks of Offler's tongue,
I unleash thy loopyness.
Lucious armpits of Om,
I unleash thy fuzzyness
Nuggets of the cunt,
I unleash thy whateveritisyouhaveinsideyou.
\
CRAMPOWAH, ACTIVATE!"
\
:cramstipated:
And with a flash of bonk and a dash of donk,
our hero slices through the noobs and delivers the lulz once more, thus earning himself a place among the eternals and legends.
Happy birthday from this plane! May you fuck all the apples you desire.
This has never been bumped. That makes me sad.
And then they peed their pants. The end.
Cram awoke, from a dreamless, but sweaty slumber, to find someone had disabled that part of his brain, that distinguished things that were Cram, from things that were not Cram, thus, totally discramulating him.
Of course, he was aware of having an identity, even of having a very close up, and personal relationship with it. He just couldn't remember any of the details. If he had retained the memories of his previous existence, he could not remember what he had done with them.
Naturally enough, this whole state of affairs, began to puzzle him, and if he had any frame of comparative reference at all, he may have thought something like "Looks like it's going to be one of those days". But he didn't. Couldn't, in fact. All he could manage, was a blank faced, stare, that to the casual observer, might have suggested some form of severe catatonic amnesia. (which, in fact it was)
All this, however, lasted for only a second or two, before everything came flooding back. The sudden impact of reCramulation removed the psychological block he'd had, on recalling the trauma, the fear, the utter helplessness he had experienced that fateful day.
The crushing assault that had intruded on his peaceful, but hitherto uneventful existence. Relentless, all powerful, and unstoppable, he had been physically helpless against it's relentless barrage of almighty force.
The nameless horror, the unspeakable trauma, had been so severe, that his mind, had no other option, than to retreat in self preserving numbness, and oblivion.
It took a long time, for the being that we've came to know as "Cramulous" to sublimate this horrific experience, but sublimate it, he did.
With the pain, and fear of the whole event, effectively blocked forever, the fog and haze of his morning hangover lifted away, quickly dissipating the few seconds of alcoholic amnesia, leaving only a dull thud, thud, thud, in his poor, dehydrated head.
His mind slowly started to re-boot. He called this echo of post traumatic defence, his,. . . . . . almost there, . . . . . his, yes, . .his Birthday! That was it! It was his Birthday!
Those first ten seconds of every day, were always the worst. Happy Birthday Cram.
baaahahahahahahhaha!
Thank you, that was a hell of a thing to begin the day with!
:mittens:
Cramulus.
The End
Dear rim-monglers and fuck-cushions:
Today is Cramulus' birthday. If you would like to help him celebrate, please write a story starring him. Minimum length is one sentence. Suggested genre is a buddy-cop film (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buddy_cop_film) starring me and you.
For example:
(http://robmadeo.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/brimley1.jpg)
| Cramulus and Wilford Brimley ducked behind the barricade.
"Listen you shitty old man," said Cramulus, pulling slightly on the handcuffs which bound them together, "I don't want to hear a single peep out of your bloated old oathole."
"You're going to have to trust me," said Wilford. "We diabetics have a way about things."
"Oh christ, here we go," said Cram, rolling his eyes.
Wilford pulled out a syringe, dripping with insulin.
"What the fuck," said Cram in disbelief, "are you going to shoot up right in front of me you crusty addict?"
Wilford made a heaving noise as he stood up, threw the syringe directly into a terrorist's eye, then ducked under a hail of bullets.
"Sweet merciful fuck, old man!" said the Professor, "You've got some moves!"
Wilford winked.
|
"Are you sure this is going to work?" Cramulus asked dubiously, strapping himself into the metal contraption.
"Of course it will," LMNO admonished. "I have a phd!"
"But, it's not in--" Cram's protests were cut off as the glass cockpit sealed shut. Panic set in briefly, but he gripped the controls and prepared for the countdown. Deep within the machine, strange engines rumbled to life.
"5...4...3..." the metallic voice echoed across the intercom. LMNO rushed back behind the barricades, where the women watched with equal parts admiration and anxiety. One thing was for sure: if Cram survived this one there would be plenty of pussy to go around. An otherworldly humming permeated the air as the engines worked up to speed, the tone screeching higher and higher.
"2...1..." Something inside the machine started glowing, the brightness increasing with the tone of the maddening whine of titanium and graphine pushed to the limit of physical laws. Cramulus silently cursed any gods that might be paying attention, for good measure. Let's see what you bastards got.
"0." The machine shot up off the concrete floor, spun violently in all directions simultaneously, then turned in a direction that cannot be pointed to, and was gone. All that was left was a crater the size of a school bus.
"Did it work?" Nigel asked, picking herself up off the floor.
"I don't know," LMNO admitted. He shook his head, dislodging concrete dust from his hair and attempting to regain his bearings. "It obviously did something, but he might have just --" A second sonic boom ripped through the hangar, knocking everyone back on their asses.
"Cram?" LMNO peeked above the crumbling barricade.
The machine had reappeared, dented and bloodstained. The cockpit began to open, then shuddered to a halt. A swift kick finished the job, and a slightly older and distinctly better dressed Cramulus climbed out. "I got him!"
Behind Cram, a mustachioed Serbian scientist eased his way out of the machine.
Cram, put a point in conjuration. Use it to summon familiars for half magicka.
Quote from: Queen_Gogira on February 01, 2012, 03:18:53 PM
"Are you sure this is going to work?" Cramulus asked dubiously, strapping himself into the metal contraption.
"Of course it will," LMNO admonished. "I have a phd!"
"But, it's not in--" Cram's protests were cut off as the glass cockpit sealed shut. Panic set in briefly, but he gripped the controls and prepared for the countdown. Deep within the machine, strange engines rumbled to life.
"5...4...3..." the metallic voice echoed across the intercom. LMNO rushed back behind the barricades, where the women watched with equal parts admiration and anxiety. One thing was for sure: if Cram survived this one there would be plenty of pussy to go around. An otherworldly humming permeated the air as the engines worked up to speed, the tone screeching higher and higher.
"2...1..." Something inside the machine started glowing, the brightness increasing with the tone of the maddening whine of titanium and graphine pushed to the limit of physical laws. Cramulus silently cursed any gods that might be paying attention, for good measure. Let's see what you bastards got.
"0." The machine shot up off the concrete floor, spun violently in all directions simultaneously, then turned in a direction that cannot be pointed to, and was gone. All that was left was a crater the size of a school bus.
"Did it work?" Nigel asked, picking herself up off the floor.
"I don't know," LMNO admitted. He shook his head, dislodging concrete dust from his hair and attempting to regain his bearings. "It obviously did something, but he might have just --" A second sonic boom ripped through the hangar, knocking everyone back on their asses.
"Cram?" LMNO peeked above the crumbling barricade.
The machine had reappeared, dented and bloodstained. The cockpit began to open, then shuddered to a halt. A swift kick finished the job, and a slightly older and distinctly better dressed Cramulus climbed out. "I got him!"
Behind Cram, a mustachioed Serbian scientist eased his way out of the machine.
hah! :lulz: :lulz: :lulz:
Cramulus woke up in a dumpster. Again. Someone was hammering on the side of the damn thing, and yelling "DETECTIVE CRAMULUS, WAKE UP!" He attempted to move, but had the distinct impression that someone had stolen his legs.
"Get me out of here, and call the police! Someone's stolen my fucking legs!"
"We ARE the police", the voice said.
"What a coincidence. So am I."
Two uniforms hauled him out of the dumpster, wincing at the smell of trash, vomit, and nougat that emanated from Cram. "The Captain wants to see you", the tall one said, "He said we'd find you here, sleeping off the victory party you threw for yourself for cracking that insulin-smuggling ring."
Cram vomited, and passed out again.
He woke up propped up in a chair in the captain's office. "Are we feeling a little more human?" said captain asked him.
"Um, yes. I feel great."
"You ought to, we gave you a full blood replacement, and some rookie's kidneys. Look, great job on that sting last Wednesday, but there's a problem."
"What NOW?"
"Wilford has escaped, Detective Cramulus, and he's sworn revenge on you."
To be continued.
that fucking diabetic fuck!! I am going to strangle his bulgy neck until he shits snakes and shit
The warm golden glow slowly ebbed away as Cramulus stood voer the bloody pile that had once been a quill rat. NEw horrible potential pulsed through every fiber of his being.
30 levels, millions of minor pixelated bits smashed to get here, but it was finally time.
He opened his skill screen, the point counter straining like a polyuraeic obese man outside a too-small porta-potty, tabbed over to the "Poison and Boner" skill tree and begna to click....
The Chief looked up from his desk. He studied the thing before him as though it were his first time seeing it, and what he found he did not approve of at all.
"Glad you could make it in, Professor," he said the last word like it was as synonym for crotch rot.
"Yeah Chief, I saw the note on my desk."
The Chief nodded.
"It said 'The Chief would kindly like to request your presence in his office at your convenience.' Seems Cheryl is nice-ing up your messages again. Lucky I also saw the e-mail you sent about me getting my 'useless mentally deficient dick face' in front of you."
"Look shut the fuck up," The Chief said. "You're in here because your new partner is waiting for you. He's standing next to the door you came in through. You didn't see him because you were expecting a birthday cake or something." He gestured to the alleged person sitting precisely where he mentioned. The alleged person hadn't been sitting there a moment ago, but hurriedly moved to that spot in order to prove The Chief retroactively correct. "That's Eater of Clowns."
The young man was only an alleged person because he also might have been a puppet. In fact, it might have been the reason Professor Cramulus looked over him entirely when entering. He might have simply assumed someone had given him another gangly assed puppet for his birthday.
"Now as to your birthday," The Chief said. "Congratulations, you're one year more of an asshole. Now both of you get the fuck out of my office."
Cramulus hesitated before leaving. He wasn't sure if this Eater of Clowns might need an arm up the ass in order to move about properly. Ultimately deciding against it given his previous mistake in precisely this kind of situation, he shook the alleged person's hand and walked back to his desk. Eater of Clowns stood in a not entirely un-puppet like manner and followed.
"So, you've been assigned to help me catch the Greyface Killer, eh," Cramulus said as they arrived at his desk, "well what makes you think you're...person...enough to do the job? I've been through some great partners in the last few months, all of them full of these high ideals trying to uncover Greyface. Then they blather on like a bunch of ninnies about following the message in the fnords and trying to find significance in the number five. So what makes you different eh, rookie? Not that I'm unwilling to take your help, I just want to know if you're here to help or if you're here to shout 23 skidoo at me every time we make a break. Tell me about yourself, Eater of Clowns."
"Actually, uh," the alleged person began, "I was here to deliver some cupcakes." He gulped. "A woman named Cheryl ordered them, Professor." He paused. "Happy Birthday."
"Oh," Cramulus said, embarassed. "Thank you." As Eater of Clowns turned to go he said, "Wait!" The possible puppet stopped. "Why did you stay around so long?"
Eater of Clowns shrugged. "I was coming to put the cupcakes on your desk and that chief yelled for me to get my 'deranged puking scum neck' into his office. He's uh, he's a rather terrifying man."
Cramulus nodded knowingly. "Well, since you're here, I could use your help. I've got a lead on the Greyface and I'm going to follow it."
"I don't think you're getting it. I don't know how 'Cupcake Delivery Man' is a difficult concept to get in this office, but I think you and the chief and that man who confessed to a bunch of boring murders are managing to miss the point. I deliver cupcakes," he pointed in exasperation to the white box on the Professor's desk. "Cupcakes delivered. Goodbye."
"Wait, what!? Confessed to a bunch of boring murders!? When did this happen, what did he look like, where did he go!?"
"Yes I thought that was strange. I wasn't even at the station yet, I'd just been walking down Center St. and he stopped me."
"Five twenty-three center street," Cramulus asked him.
"That sounds about right, wh-" but Eater of Clowns could not finish as Cramulus grabbed his arm and dragged him out the door. "What? What are we doing? I'm a cupcake delivery man!"
"You're right," Cramulus stopped and turned. He picked up the white box on his desk and thrust them into his new partner's hands. "And you're going to deliver these to the Greyface Killer. And first we're going to find him."
This thread is the best thing ever. Better than the other best thread ever. Also pie.
When Cramulus woke up that morning, someone in Longyearbyen, Svalbard slipped on a banana pee as a result.
Rumckle gagged as he entered the room, the smell of blood and decaying bodies was thick in the air. The sight of the freshly killed bodies arranged in compromising poses with bodies that had been dead for months turned his stomach.
"Having problems there, rook?" asked Cramulus as he strolled into the room.
"It's a bit unsettling, I guess you're used to it though?"
"Heh, after you've seen the aftermath of a diabetic in a blood sugar rage nothing gets to you anymore," Cramulus replied, "Anyway, you better get yourself sorted out, I need you to get fingerprints off those bodies."
"I don't think you can easily get fingerprints off bone and skin, but I gue-"
"Hey, who is the Professor here?" Cram interjected.
"Uh, you are," Rumckle replied sheepishly, he'd heard about the Professor's legendary rage, and did not want to be subjected to one of his feared WOMPs.
"That's right, and don't you forget it," Cramulus seemed to have calmed down, "Oh, and I'll need a semen sample."
"How do you know there'll be semen here?"
Cram looked puzzled, "I wasn't talking about the crime scene, I get a semen sample from every new recruit."
Quote from: Richter on February 02, 2012, 12:47:18 AM
the "Poison and Boner" skill tree and begna to click....
:spits coffee:
THOSE ARE THE EXACT SKILLZ THAT PAY THE BILLZ
Quote from: Eater of Clowns on February 02, 2012, 02:18:10 AM
"I don't think you're getting it. I don't know how 'Cupcake Delivery Man' is a difficult concept to get in this office, but I think you and the chief and that man who confessed to a bunch of boring murders are managing to miss the point. I deliver cupcakes," he pointed in exasperation to the white box on the Professor's desk. "Cupcakes delivered. Goodbye."
:mittens: that whole story was hilarious, and is making me want to open a detective agency....
you write good dialog, you know that?
Quote from: Waffle Iron on February 02, 2012, 03:57:07 AM
When Cramulus woke up that morning, someone in Longyearbyen, Svalbard slipped on a banana pee as a result.
grosssss
:sexybeast: .. :sexybeast:.... :sexybeast: _____ :sexybeast: __ :sexybeast:___that was my attempt at emoting "banana pee", but you might not be able to see the yellow. So be careful, don't slip!
Quote from: Rumckle on February 02, 2012, 04:33:31 AM
"That's right, and don't you forget it," Cramulus seemed to have calmed down, "Oh, and I'll need a semen sample."
"How do you know there'll be semen here?"
Cram looked puzzled, "I wasn't talking about the crime scene, I get a semen sample from every new recruit."
:lulz: :lulz: :lulz:
it's for my "collection"
Next week on Cram Scene Investigation:
Rumckle: It looks like someone has replaced this guys insulin with ticks.
Cramulus: I guess he must be a diabeTICK
(http://i374.photobucket.com/albums/oo185/Rumckle/cramyeah.gif)
PREVIOUSLY, ON CROUCHING CRAMULUS, HIDDEN ZERO:
Processor Cramulus flipped his disintegrator gun back to its safety setting, labeled MEDIUM RARE, and put it back into his holster.
He took a few steps forward until he stood in de middle of the smouldering crater. The ground felt pleasantly warming to his feet. As opposed to the rest of the--wherever he was. What in the bloody cunting hyperfuck was up with the sky, anyway?
"The sky. Yes, sorry about that. It's this, you see ..."
Triple Zero held up a dark-grey box. A remote control?
"Battery's dead. Now it got stuck on a dead channel, but it looks kind of funky don't you think?"
Cramulus turned towards the figure, who seemed to be dressed in orange. Seemed. He seemed to be dressed in orange so much, it really hurt his eyes, in some sense. But he wasn't wearing any orange, he was just seeming it, seeming it real hard.
Processor Cramulus blinked. It didn't help.
"ANYWAY, with that taken care of ... maybe you can tell me what in the name of anti-gorilla pancake mutilation I'm doing here?"
Cramulus frowned. He was known for his colourful language use, priding himself on the fact that nobody ever heard him use the same curse twice. But this one was really out there, even for his standards.
Triple Zero appeared to be making a note. No, he actually was taking a note. Processor Cramulus blinked again, just to make sure. Didn't help one bit.
Triple Zero looked up from his clipboard.
"Yes, about your business here ... could you please hand me your duck for a moment?"
"But you already have a duck!", Cramulus protested. It was true, Triple Zero was cradling a black duck, with the word TIME written in white lettering on one of its wings.
"Correct, but I need to have a pair."
Cramulus looked at his own duck. It was white, with the word SPACE written on one of its wings in black lettering.
"Well okay... But I don't understand, what use could anyone possibly have for a TIME and SPACE pair of ducks?"
As Processor Cramulus handed over his duck, Processor Cramulus appeared behind Processor Cramulus and raised his disintegrator gun.
"WELL DONE, Processor Cramulus!", said Triple Zero.
"Umm thanks?", said Processor Cramulus.
"Sure thing.", said Processor Cramulus, adjusted his disintegrator gun and pulled the trigger.
Processor Cramulus flipped his disintegrator gun back to its safety setting, labeled MEDIUM RARE, and put it back into his holster.
He took a few steps forward until he stood in de middle of the smouldering crater. The ground felt pleasantly warming to his feet. As opposed to the rest of the--wherever he was. What in the onion-blazing turdsquiggles was up with the sky, anyway?
"The sky. Yes, sorry about that. It's this, you see ..."
Triple Zero held up a dark-grey box. A remote control?
"Battery's dead. Now it got stuck on a dead channel, but it looks kind of funky don't you think?"
Cramulus turned towards the figure, who seemed to be dressed in orange. Seemed. He seemed to be dressed in orange so much, it really hurt his eyes, in some sense. But he wasn't wearing any orange, he was just seeming it, seeming it real hard.
Processor Cramulus blinked. It didn't help.
"ANYWAY, with that taken care of ... maybe you can tell me what in the name of electronic leek genocide I'm doing here?"
Cramulus frowned. He was known for his colourful language use, priding himself on the fact that nobody ever heard him use the same curse twice. But this one was really out there, even for his standards.
Triple Zero appeared to be making a note. No, he actually was taking a note. Processor Cramulus blinked again, just to make sure. Didn't help one bit.
Triple Zero looked up from his clipboard.
"Yes, about your business here ... could you please hand me your duck for a moment?"
"But you already have a duck!", Cramulus protested. It was true, Triple Zero was cradling a black duck, with the word TIME written in white lettering on one of its wings.
"Correct, but I need to have a pair."
Cramulus looked at his own duck. It was white, with the word SPACE written on one of its wings in black lettering.
"Well okay... But I don't understand, what use could anyone possibly have for a TIME and SPACE pair of ducks?"
As Processor Cramulus handed over his duck, Processor Cramulus appeared behind Processor Cramulus and raised his disintegrator gun.
"WELL DONE, Processor Cramulus!", said Triple Zero.
"Umm thanks?", said Processor Cramulus.
"Sure thing.", said Processor Cramulus, adjusted his disintegrator gun and pulled the trigger.
TO BE CONTINUED
:lulz: :lulz: that was extremely creative. I thought I was going crazy for a second!