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Diplomacy / End of Mod RP thread (autism is encouraged)
« on: April 19, 2016, 08:28:48 am »
It was the best of times
It was the worst of limes
A battle between Freedom and Fascism was being fought in the garnished village of Nova Amere.
Between exotic oak timbers and anuses, the curdles of blood could be heard squirting like popping zits all over the skirmishing parties. Severed Leg ManTM wailed in the distance, as were his ways.
Little did these brave men and manchildren know, this was to be the last battle between the two factions, an abrupt end to a ten year long struggle snuggle.
Deltah lay prone on a roof, hiding wrapped in the flesh blankets of the enemy team's healing tent. The great warrior Miley had struck his larynx with the shaft of his axe and rendered him limp. With guile and subtlety Deltah hung onto his coattails and was dragged to the healing tent with him. Miley did not take notice, for he was too busy bearing the burden of carrying his team. However, some say it's just because he had a soft spot for the Ass Prince. Deltah watched in silent terror as the next events unfolded before his very eyes and ears.
As abrupt and chaotic as is to be expected in battle, a bus that may or may not have been literally on fire, shouted a dark word from an ancient redneck language. A just god smited his voice temporarily as he was bid to by ancient contract. Then, both sides began to shout the dark, melanin enrinched word into the sky like a creamy chocolate wind. At first they did this in jest.
All of a sudden the sky was alight with a wretched purple flame. The poor souls of this battle had angered a lesser deity with their mob like behavior. Purple hellfire descended from the sky, banishing those who offended her to the shadow realm. The men on both sides were startled, but could see straight through this horse shit. They shouted the dark word louder and louder, in protest to the violet deity that kidnapped their comrades. The deity was struck by such defiance and couldn't contain her flatulent boypucci as she queefed purple bolts of discharge across the lands, mulching the brave warriors like orphans in a wood chipper. Then, a bright golden light appeared in spite of the purple plague. But even he, the god of logic and reasoning, could not contain the vile rage of the purple one. Even his bright light was snuffed out like a candle in the night, a sign that the great Derp truly had forsaken the realm.
The aftermath was bloody and sticky, kind of like afterbirth.
Sperglords cried calls of racism, for they did not want their wive's sons to be tainted by the dark speech of the NCAA.
The surviving autists of Sodomy grew loud and unruly, for their true and just god died that day at the hands of she who should not be named.
It was a sad day, and the final one in the history of many great warriors.
This event was forever to be known as The Great Queefening.
It was the worst of limes
A battle between Freedom and Fascism was being fought in the garnished village of Nova Amere.
Between exotic oak timbers and anuses, the curdles of blood could be heard squirting like popping zits all over the skirmishing parties. Severed Leg ManTM wailed in the distance, as were his ways.
Little did these brave men and manchildren know, this was to be the last battle between the two factions, an abrupt end to a ten year long struggle snuggle.
Deltah lay prone on a roof, hiding wrapped in the flesh blankets of the enemy team's healing tent. The great warrior Miley had struck his larynx with the shaft of his axe and rendered him limp. With guile and subtlety Deltah hung onto his coattails and was dragged to the healing tent with him. Miley did not take notice, for he was too busy bearing the burden of carrying his team. However, some say it's just because he had a soft spot for the Ass Prince. Deltah watched in silent terror as the next events unfolded before his very eyes and ears.
As abrupt and chaotic as is to be expected in battle, a bus that may or may not have been literally on fire, shouted a dark word from an ancient redneck language. A just god smited his voice temporarily as he was bid to by ancient contract. Then, both sides began to shout the dark, melanin enrinched word into the sky like a creamy chocolate wind. At first they did this in jest.
All of a sudden the sky was alight with a wretched purple flame. The poor souls of this battle had angered a lesser deity with their mob like behavior. Purple hellfire descended from the sky, banishing those who offended her to the shadow realm. The men on both sides were startled, but could see straight through this horse shit. They shouted the dark word louder and louder, in protest to the violet deity that kidnapped their comrades. The deity was struck by such defiance and couldn't contain her flatulent boypucci as she queefed purple bolts of discharge across the lands, mulching the brave warriors like orphans in a wood chipper. Then, a bright golden light appeared in spite of the purple plague. But even he, the god of logic and reasoning, could not contain the vile rage of the purple one. Even his bright light was snuffed out like a candle in the night, a sign that the great Derp truly had forsaken the realm.
The aftermath was bloody and sticky, kind of like afterbirth.
Sperglords cried calls of racism, for they did not want their wive's sons to be tainted by the dark speech of the NCAA.
The surviving autists of Sodomy grew loud and unruly, for their true and just god died that day at the hands of she who should not be named.
It was a sad day, and the final one in the history of many great warriors.
This event was forever to be known as The Great Queefening.