Log in

No account? Create an account
Improvised, Very Short Stories Daily [entries|friends|calendar]
Daily Very Short Story Improvisation

[ website | LardPirates.com ]
[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

Bilingual Frankie Anderson [26 Jul 2004|01:27am]

As seen on THE THING, a site everyone should see, enjoy, and have sex with.


Bilingual Frankie Anderson had always prided himself on the fact he could speak two languages, and used this fact as indisitnguishable proof at parties with an exceeding quantity of alchohol that he wasn't retarded, which anyone who's been to such parties knows is what is immediately thought about men such as Frankie.

You see, Frankie lacked the ability to do anything other than talk. His face had been removed as a child when it was discovered that that was the only way people could love him at all, because he was so incredibly ugly that, when he was born, his mother not only died immediately from shock, but came back to life the instant she died so she could put in her will the fact that if little Frankie wants to get money out of her death, his body has to disown his face and allow a much more attractive one to take its place.

Immediately, the face was removed and sent soaring into the sun, and then fished out to be sent into a few hundred more to make sure it was dead. Sadly, though, the man who was bringing Frankie his replacement face died instantly upon seeing a picture of the face he was going to replace, and The Federal Bureau of Face Delivery was then shut down due to a sudden realization that such a bureau was the most dangerous bearau ever created, because looks can, indeed, kill.

Frankie's life got harder after that, suprisingly. As a baby, Frankie got used to never getting what he wanted, because his lone father could not tell if his little head was showing emotion in one way or the other due to a lack of facial features. Finally, he gave up and just bought him Pop Tarts and one of those pens that show naked ladies when you click them and left it at that.

Frankie doesn't remember much of his childhood and teenage years due to the fact that new memories were constantly beaten from his head by every social class imaginable, because even emo-punk Jew goths with homoerotic haircuts were more socially acceptable than a kid without a face.

In his early adult years, Frankie discovered the only way to stop getting constantly beat up was by joining a social class that will only get beat up by members of his own social class (and, in consequence, be regarded by other social classes as a high form of hilarity). He would have to act retarded. Luckily, his bones had been broken so much anyway that he already walked like one, and all the people who weren't beating on him had already thought that anyway. After a while, only people with single-digit IQs hit him, and it was usually with their reproductive organs. Of course, everyone watched and laughed at the retards.

Time passed, and Frankie slowly grew tired of his false life. He wanted to actually do serious things, and eat at serious restaurants while going on a serious date with someone who doesn't try to eat her own farts with a side of gravy and a fistful of dead birds. He decided to reveal to the world he was not retarded by going to hip parties and telling hilarious non-retarded related jokes to whoever passed by until the word got out.

Of course, he just looked like a retard with no face wearing a party hat.

Finally, he gave up and learned to speak Spanish.

He went to parties and said arousing and deadly things to whoever passed by in a language that most people understood anyway, but it seemed to work.

However, everyone there was drunk, and it was impossible for them to distinguish any form of language from another.

Frankie, yet again, failed at life.

Some people say Frankie is better off without any face at all. Frankie would never in his life be two-faced.

He would instead opt to be bilingual.
post comment

[24 Jul 2004|09:53pm]

Three. Three of them. How the hell could I deal with three?


No, I'm ready. I am. I'm telling you.

Fuck you, man this is serious.

Get that out of my face.


Alright, fuck, let's go.

"Are you sure?"
"I said I'm sure, Jesus."
"I'm just making sure, man."
"Yeah, alright, let's go."
"We can't."
"You're wearing my pants."
"Oh, shit."

Tomorrow will be a better day.

The day of the suicidal break-ins. Robust, freelance suicide. If I wanted to kill myself, I would have done it by now. No, that's wrong. I would have done it naked. With puppets. Yes, that is how I would do it.

If I could only remember why I have no pants.
post comment

[08 May 2004|08:28pm]

my god this community rules. brilliant.

anyhow. onward with business...

franco smiled and removed his hat. he sat down and stared across the massive expanse of polished oak desk, placing his hands on his bony exposed knees. fingering his moustache, he reached over and extinguished his tiny cigarette butt in the ashtray; the goddamn thing was burning his tongue. he sat back in his chair.

the man on the other side of the table, this corporate CEO in all his office building glory, was tiny. dressed to the nines and a right prickfuck, his pretentious ivy league chortle already brewing in the back of his capuccino lined throat, the bastard. but franco grinned a mouthful of tobacco stained teeth in the motherfuckers orange direction.

franco's pocket contained three things. a white feather, a pencil and his wallet. grabbing the thing closest to the surface, he lunged at the prickfuck and thrust the pencil into the bastard's left eye.

"downsizing my ass", he muttered in a steven segal-esque mumble. he donned his hat, reached for another cigarette and stepped out of the office.
2 comments|post comment

What's your name? [07 Apr 2004|05:45pm]
'What's your name little girl?' said the tall man.
'Serina' said the girl, 'and no, I'm not getting in your car'.
The man was taken aback by this, and chose to ignore what she said.
'How old are you Serina?' he said.
'Piss off', said the girl.
'But I only want to talk' he said, seeming a little upset by this point.
'Then fucking pay me and we can go to a hotel and talk. Otherwise, sod off, because you're scaring away my real customers'
With that, the man shut the door or his car and drove off alone, leaving Serina on the corner alone.
post comment

[02 Feb 2004|10:31pm]

[ mood | happy ]

“i can’t really belive this! what happened?”
“well you know the works, we bust through our asses, try to find some scandels, get some money--”
“where did you get the money?”
“John knows this person that knows the guy that owns a huge hotel.”
“yeah, so he gave us a good deal”
“what deal?”
“he will lend us 3 grande...”
“as long as we get the owner at the strip club you saw me at, to negotiate with a deal”
“what kind of deal?”
“some business affiliation deal”
“yeah, pretty cool...”
“we’ve been friends for 10 years, and all you tell me is ‘yeah, i owe john 3 grand’ and you don’t “
“it’s no big deal really”
“it’s done. The 3 grande is good, so is the affiliation with the hotel owner and the strip club owner”
“why were you even in this, if it was only john that was involved?”
“it’s hard to explain really”
“explain what?”
“the friendship.”
“what about it?”
“it’s more like a partner ship...i fuck up, he helps. He fucks up, i help.”
“And when have you fucked up?”
“when i shot Kim Robert in the leg 6 months ago at that bar. You remeber that?”
“oh yeah”
“yeah, he helped me out with that”
“no he didnt, he allowed the Bar owner to kick your ass.”
“i earned it though.”
“jesus, what the hell is going on with you? He’s getting you into trouble!”
“no he’s not, i’m just finding out alot about him.”
l’ike what?”
“well, he’s in to this big massive drug deal somewhere else in Nevada”
“ok, this is where the conversation has to end.”
“you fucking tell me what’s going on, and why you never tell me these things. And why you have been hangin around with him for so long”
“it’s none of your business anymore.”
“you’re my best friend.”
“well there are somethings that just have to pass”
“you bastard, you lier, you ... you ass.”
“oh shut the hell up.”

to be continued.

post comment

Bob Feels Happy Again. [02 Feb 2004|09:16pm]

For the first time in years, I was happy. I mean really, truly happy. Sure, I'd smile sometimes, or laugh, and generally look happy. But I was never REALLY happy, y'know?

That's what it was like, true happiness.

I can't really explain it, I guess. I just sort of know it. Feel it inside. Like some great bubble had burst, releasing all this happy that had been stuck. Some really fucking thick bubble. Made out of snot and glue, because that shit is pretty tough. Not like that bubble shit you buy in the little cylinders. Hell no, I am talking some really hard, strong bubble that takes an awful lot of pressure to explode. And it felt really fucking good, I swear.

My first orgasm.

It ruled, guys, I fucking swear.
1 comment|post comment

Drop off a Cliff [02 Feb 2004|02:51pm]

Three minutes before liftoff, Clifford McPussy remembered why his last name is what it is. He wasn't ready for this, and no matter how many times he tells himself he is while buckled over a toilet with his cock in his hand in a balls-out frenzy to cap off in the restroom at Denny's, he never will be. With clenched fists, he attempted to grab the barf bag, but his fists were clenched so he sort of half-punched, half-caressed it. The old woman next to him gave him a weird look and went back to being senile.

Cliff's face must have been really pale, because it certainly wasn't bucket yet, and he was ready to shovel to the door, scoop the handle, and let the vacuum release, sending dust up behind him as his body jet-dried out the door.

Cliff had never been on an airplane before in his life. Neither have most people, but it was coincidently his first time in one as well. His obvious lack of comfort must have gotten to the old woman next to him; she seemed to eye the passengers of the Indian persuasion, but she could have just been racist. Cliff didn't take the time to care about it, his feet started to melt and his arms became rubber. The ulcers in his stomach burst, and his face erupted in a fit of screams.

Then he farted. It was hilarious. Everyone laughed, and suddenly, everything was alright.

Three minutes later the engine exploded upon ignition, killing everyone within a half-mile radius.
3 comments|post comment

[01 Feb 2004|10:54pm]

"i saw you"
"shut up"
"i saw you with that ass hole"
"shut UP!"
"ok, you tell me the truth. did you, or did you not, go to the strip club with him."
"....i did"
"oh you ASS"
"you told me to tell you! You should'nt get mad"
"i didnt say i -wouldn't- get mad"
"i know, but it's this unspoken rule-"
"shut the hell up and tell me why you went with him"
"god! you know he's my friend!"
"I dont care, he's an ass hole! he owes you 3 grand, and your off covering his ass at a STRIP CLUB"
"You don't understand"
"i think i understand enough seeing the situation you are in"
"you what?"
"I want you to know something."
"know what"
"he doesnt really owe me 3 grand"
"well, you see, it started out as this: We were in Las Vegas once, and we played some cards with these guys named Buck and Bill. They were pretty bad ass in the area. Well, John cheated at the game and Buck pulled out a pistol."
"They said we will have to give them 3 grand in a week or they will kill us. So, in a way, they spared us our lives for a week"
"what the hell did you get yourse-"
: to be continued.
1 comment|post comment

Chase The Moon: Chapter Paranoia [01 Feb 2004|08:05pm]

*This story is based on some thoughts that popped into my head for a possible story about really weird people*

There were two women who hadn't seen each other since college which was about 5 years previously and wondered how life had treated them since they left.

The older lady told a tale about meeting her long lost aunt who asked her if she would go with her on a travelling research project. Her old crazy aunt wanted to live her days driving/flying/and sailing around the world every day, never seeing the night come, always moving along when the sun got to a certain position. She didn't understand why, and when she finally asked, her aunt replied, "So I can party my 70 year old ass all day and never sleep! Muhahaha!" The woman decided after a month she didn't want to do it anymore and went back to a regular lifestyle.

The younger lady thought that was the silliest but funniest thing. Then she told her story. "My husband was always spending money like crazy, he would even try to dig in my coats so he could go out and spend. I thought maybe he was either gambling or cheating, but to my surprise, he was only satisfying his fetish for Japanese netsuke figurines that he kept stored in the attic. I didn't mind because I thought it couldn't hurt anything.
"I still hid most of my money in the most unlikely place I thought I could...a pack of Kotex pads. I would put rolls of hundreds into each wrapper and put it back in, and he wouldn't look there, so I thought it was ok. One day, to my horror, he comes bursting out of the room with an armful of money: 'Honey, we're rich!' He had found my stash after looking for a new razor underneath the sink and one roll fell out. Luckily he only thought it was a lucky pack and didn't get to spend it, because I said, 'What money?' and had him committed to an asylum."
After each having told their embarrassing stories, they nodded awkwardly and said goodbye, never to see each other again.
1 comment|post comment

Yedetara togechatta! [01 Feb 2004|11:09am]

[ mood | bored ]

Double Scrambled Top Secret Agent, Calvorca Lakeside, geared up in her white, leather catsuit and proceeded to slink into the back door of the local 7-11. She knew that, as cordial as the situation seemed, this would be her most perilous mission yet. As she creeped from aisle to aisle, assuring that the store was empty, she bugged the place with an array of seemingly innocent omelettes (her trademark), but their true purpose was that of destruction with a dash of chaos (not too much, for chaos does not go well with certain variations of ham omelettes, but if too little chaos is present, there is a bad aftertaste that even a yak would disprove of).

As she neared the counter, still undiscovered by the man of apparent Middle Eastern decent standing there, she switched a switch, just to look important. But that switch didn't really do anything. Well, it did send a signal to her house and opened the laundry room door so that her cat could eat supper. Snuggles was a very healthy cat, and was not allowed to eat his food before 4:00pm, but he had to eat it before 7:00pm so that he wouldn't retain calories that would just fatten him up overnight.

All of a sudden, a yelp was heard from beneath the slurpie machine, a figure jumped out and faced Calvorca with a menacing grin upon it's face. It was her archenemy. Well, not THE archenemy. It was probably about third in line, but dayum! That's close to being THE archenemy, ya know?

It was non other than Retractable Third Leg Pooch, the very dog who had killed Calvorca's mother by punching her in the stomach and giving her a malignant stomach ulcer. Terrible, HORRIBLE, dramatic, black and white flashbacks with crying and stuff danced their ugly dance in Calvorca's mind, and before she could attack, the dog punched her in the stomach, causing Calvorca the VERY SAME FATE that had occurred to her dear/dead mother.

And that's when the Tamago Agency put that ad in the paper about a new agent. I applied, but I haven't gotten a call back, yet. I hope I put the write social security number on the form. I always mess that up.

2 comments|post comment

Detroit Cock Titty [29 Jan 2004|07:25am]

I'm tired, this sucks.


An hour ago I found out my dog has an extra leg three inches below its right rib. One of them, anyway. It's not a very big leg, it's retractable, so you don't notice until my dog is either bored or wants to scare the shit out of you.

I decided to play a prank on my mom, so I told her to come to the kitchen, that I needed her help. I grabbed some milk and poored it in a glass and screamed "OPERATION: ZUCINI: GO!" and my dog stood on its hind legs and punched my mom in the stomach with her extra leg. I thought it was hilarious. My mom got a stomach ulcer and now she's in the hospital.

You'd think I feel guilty, but I don't, because it was just too goddamn funny. The look on her face was priceless.
post comment

Three Goldfish, A Bar, And A Local Brothel [28 Jan 2004|04:15pm]

The following is the story that spawned this community. Two random people decided to add me to their friends list, so I decided the best wy to get back at them was to write a totally improvised short story every day. This was the first.


So one time I was cleaning a fishtank at the local bar so I could pay for my enourmous bar tab when I got bit by several small goldfish. I cursed loudly, flung my arm at a 90 degree angle, farted, and came to the conclusion that my fart sounded hilarious. I then left.

Three days later, I returned to the bar after an unusually horrible day at the local brothel, and bought several rounds of beers for me and any of my close friends. Since I have no close friends, I drank their beer for them.

I looked around in a drunken haze and saw three goldfish swimming in my beer. At first I thought I was just horny, but that would be stupid, so I must be crazy. I reached my hand in my beer and screamed aloud, "GIT DIS FUCKIN' CANDIES IN MY MOUF." But that made no sense, and no one cared or seemingly noticed. My hand then got stuck in my beer glass, I farted again, laughed, and left with my hand stuck in a beer glass with three goldfish, a big headache, and the ability to not walk.

I took a liking to the goldfish. I have no idea how they survived the three day ordeal without water or food or how they ended up in my beer, but I must have misjudged the little dudes, because they told awfully good jokes and enjoyed orgies on occasion. They were fun to watch. I bought them beer.

Years passed, and the goldfish stuck in the beer glass stuck on my hand were happy, and I was happy, and there was no wars and people who pissed on eachother apologized. Even farts smelled like roses. My house smelled like roses.

Three days after our anniversary, my goldfish died. I just woke up, began preparations for the daily orgy, and discovered three lifeless masses swimming in my now 200 proof hand of beerglass. I was stunned, shocked, and full of gas. I farted and went to the bar to drink my depression away. I then told the bartender what happened.

"YOU HAVE THREE WISHES, GOVERNOR!!" he replied while spanking his own ass.

I must be drunk.
post comment

[ viewing | most recent entries ]