Describe/Predict the death of your father

POOPERSCOOPER · Post by **POOPERSCOOPER** » Wed Mar 29, 2006 8:24 pm

I was taken by these kidnapers while a 1000 miles away from home. I was scared and loosing hope since no one would know where I was. This will not be like anything in the movies, this is REAL. I hear the footsteps of the leader of the group comming towards the closet door that I was in, he grabs me by my ears and straps me face down on a bed with my pants around my ankles. I know whats going to happen next and I start screaming at the top of my lungs for help and trying to convince the kidnappers not to do it.

Just as the lead kidnapper was about to inject his penis into my butt, the door to the apartment explodes open and fly across the room slamming one of the kidnappers into the wall. Fog rolls out of the entrance and I see a familair man, it was....my father. He runs into the room and breaks the neck of one of the kidnappers and slams the body into the ground. My father seems to recognize the lead kidnapper.

"so we meet again, susan" my father said

Just as susan takes out his gun my father releases a giant fart the blows the gun out of his hand and onto the bed. Susan jumps head first at my father and plows him into the ground. They are wrestling and rolling all over the ground. My father rips off susan's ears and jam them into the guys nose. Just as my father thinks he has finished the evil kidnapper, susan unleashes his long thick toung and licks my fathers face. My father starts compulsing, the toung must have some type of poisonous power.

Susans hands around around my fathers neck and you can tell that he is winning. With all my might I break through the straps that were holding me down and I grab the gun and shoot susan in the head. My dad then kicks the body over his head and its breaks through the window and falls 10 floors.

I run over to my father and get down my knees while straddling his head. His face is melting from the slavia from susan the kidnapper. I'm sobbing and feel like jumping out the window. then my father speaks

"son, its not your fault. You did the right thing." he said
"DONT LEAVE ME DAD PLEASE!!!" I said
Then his last words were "pOoper.....scooper" before his head turns into a pool of sludge on the floor.

Nicolai · Post by **Nicolai** » Wed Mar 29, 2006 8:56 pm

Very epic.

Jesus Christ · Post by **Jesus Christ** » Wed Mar 29, 2006 9:01 pm

My father will never die.

Blargh · Post by **Blargh** » Wed Mar 29, 2006 9:28 pm

Predictions were for the past, my father is someone else.

baby arm · Post by **baby arm** » Wed Mar 29, 2006 9:56 pm

Your dad calls you pooperscooper? What a strange father.

Spazmo · Post by **Spazmo** » Wed Mar 29, 2006 9:58 pm

I step into the weed, wearing nothing but an ancient speedo. My enormous morning wood has long since ruined the elastic waistband and the tattered swimwear dangles off my antemeridian erect member like a foot long coathook. As I stumble past the counter towards the fridge, my boner knocks a jar of paprika off the shelf. Time slows to a crawl. At the same instant that the jar shatters on the black and white tile floor, I see the note on the fridge: "YOUR FATHER WAS HIT BY A TRUCK AND DIED -MOM." My erection instantly deflates and the speedo hits the floor with a wet slap.

"...How?" I mutter. The note continues: "IT WAS A FORD. BILL FORD MURDERED YOUR FATHER." My eyes narrow into slits of rage. I know what I have to do. I will murder Bill Ford.

My erection begins to return. Now, though, it is a murder-on. I strap on my battle-speedo in arctic camouflage pattern and jump through a nearby window, sending shards of deadly glass sprinkling onto the tundra below. I run into the shed and strap showshoes onto my feet and hands. Using my compass, I set my heading straight for the Ford Motor Company's Detroit offices. I begin to run at full speed on all fours.

As I run, I give a wild cry of rage and woe, summoning the beasts of the wild north to me. Soon, a pack of noble arctic wolves and a clan of proud polar bears is running with me. I will bring the full fury of the north upon Bill Ford. My fifth limb, now engorged with the desire for vengeance, carves a deep furrow into the snow behind me as I speed towards Michigan.

An hour later, I arrive at Bill Ford's corporate office/fortress, the place he calls Fordhold. The pack and I stop outside the great gates of the Fordhold and one of the guards at the top of the walls hails us.

"Who goes there?" says he.

"I am Spazmo, son of the Mighty Eskimo King," I bellow, "and I am here to claim my blood vengeance on Bill Ford."

"That's impossible," sputters the guard. "You cannot be--" He is interrupted by another guard who exlaims, "And yet! Look at the forces he has brought with him! Brother Bear and Brother Wolf only run with the trueson. Moreover, glance at his mighty member, which stands 'as a great obelisk casting a shadow on all the land', just as the prophecy predicted. Truly, he is the trueson!"

"No, no," moans the first guard. "My life for Ford! TO ARMS! TO AAAA--" his rallying cry is cut off as the second guard ends his life, plunging his spear deep into the first guard's ribs. "You are not friendless in this place, trueson. Go, and bring justice to the Lord of the Fordhold."

The brave guard opens the gates for me and I charge in screaming, the pack at my heels. A phalanx of the Fordhold Guard meets us in the courtyard and battle is joined. My war-member drinks the blood of many foes this day, but the battle eventually reaches a stalemate. I need to find a way to turn the tide. Finally, I see him: Bill Ford. He is standing with a group of his guards, directing the battle. He wears a thong covered in rhinestones and a smile. I must destroy him.

Gathering my rage and unleashing a fierce battle cry, I charge at Bill Ford and thrust with my battleboner. Suddenly, as though from nowhere, his sequined thong deforms to accomodate his own mighty appendage and he parries the blow. I assume the sixth stance of Master Nanook. The true battle is joined.

"Trueson!" says Ford, yelling to be heard above the clamor of battle. "I destroyed your father with my mighty V8 hemi and now I will destroy you with my own flesh!"

"Ford. You will pay for all your crimes," I say. "Your tyrant's rule ends today!" I lunge at him and give myself over fully to the throbbing murderlust.

Some time later, it is all over. I am covered in the blood of my foe. Most of the Fordhold Guard have surrendered and the rest are being executed by the wolves and bears. My chubby of hate begins to recede, it's thirst for justice sated. At last, I am stricken by fatigue and the strain of the day's efforts. I sit on a nearby piece of rubble and gaze into the sky. I know that somewhere, the spirit of my father is proud of me.

POOPERSCOOPER · Post by **POOPERSCOOPER** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 12:09 am

That was one of the most incredible story I have ever read in my entire life.

Bravo, Sir Spazmo.

vx trauma · Post by **vx trauma** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 12:27 am

double-plus good thread.

saliva for the wounded mind.

ApTyp · Post by **ApTyp** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 5:19 am

I'm so high right now.

Jesus Christ · Post by **Jesus Christ** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 5:36 am

I have that effect on people...

baby arm · Post by **baby arm** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 10:25 am

I'm actually high right now, too. Our fathers must be so proud.

Nicolai · Post by **Nicolai** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 1:13 pm

A true tour-de-force.

S4ur0n27 · Post by **S4ur0n27** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 3:26 pm

I'm always depicted as a bad and disgusting guy

The Gunslinger · Post by **The Gunslinger** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 5:39 pm

What if you can't kill your father...or rather he can't die? Is there some kind of loop hole I could take? or am I perpetually screwed until old age takes effect?

Jesus Christ · Post by **Jesus Christ** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 6:51 pm

I might know sombody who can take care of that for you.

Megatron · Post by **Megatron** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 7:17 pm

It was a Saturday morning like any other. Quiet, peaceful...serene. I push my feet into pink slippers before shuffling downstairs, ready for good ol' fashioned breakfast just like momma used to make. Used to make, that is. I grab the hand-rail on the stairs and clutch at my chest, grimacing in pain. Yeah, now dad makes it. All damn day, every day. Forever. The weed beckons like the electric chair, I walk up to it in imaginary shackles of hunger ready to be executed at dawn.

Sausages roll in the grease like penises on ice, sizzling in the hot fat. Sitting at the table, I clench the fork so hard it curls around and stabs my fingers. Gritting my teeth I look at him, his head bobbling around like some kind of crazy nonsense I don't even know how to describe. He serves up the food, staring at me with his cold, dead eyes. His cold, dead hands offer me ketchup, which I refuse. Ketchup is for swell guy. His cold, dead body sits across from me, pouring drop after drop of the bullshit all over his eggs. I seethe with malice, stabbing a fork through the plate and scratching all along the table before swinging it through the air and throwing it out of the window.

He observes me without a pickle or a whisper, calmly placing an expertly cut piece of toast into his mouth. He eats toast with a fucking knife and fork. I scream, running to the pot of coffee and throwing it all over him before I run up and smash it in his face, twisting it as I do so. He falls on the floor as I grind the broken glass further into his skull, still screaming and pissing my pyjamas. He grabs my wrist and throws me against the ceiling without any effort, standing up and looking at me with his ruined face while laughing a hearty guffaw. Lighting a cigar he unclips the katana we keep above the fridge and throws it to me. "Son...I think it's time to move out. Take your katana and move on" he giggles, wiping at his face with a purple handkerchief he keeps for such emergencies.

I stare at the katana then back up at him. How can I forget those words he uttered when first giving me my legacy. "Son...only use this when blood is spilled on it." I nod, unfastening the rope he had kept knotted around the sheath. Standing in the classic stance I stand in, he stops laughing. "Son...what are you doing?" I light a cigar before swinging it around my head. "Father...remember the promise you made me make." He looks shocked for a second then starts to bleed again. I lunge forward, stabbing him through the ear. "Ouch" he mutters, punching me in the face and snapping my head all the way back. I look upside-down at the weed, feeling life ebb away from me like a favourite toy disappearing down the plug-hole. But with a final vengeful swing I slice half-way into his shoulder. He takes a few steps back, slipping on a banana peel and cracking his head against the sink. His brain flops out into the dirty dishes, he's dead.

I close my eyes and say a little prayer. "Like a teardrop in the sea, your soul means nothing." I murmur. I sit back down at the table and pull my head back the right way, before pouring myself a bowl of cereal. With a refreshing crunch, I close my eyes. Just like heaven!

POOPERSCOOPER · Post by **POOPERSCOOPER** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 7:34 pm

That was a very unexpected and suspensful way your father died. Keep up the good work, megatron.

Naked_Lunch · Post by **Naked_Lunch** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 10:47 pm

i wrote a story about my father's death in IRC but I'm to lazy to go into my logs so just pretend that I wrote a story okay?

Spazmo · Post by **Spazmo** » Thu Mar 30, 2006 11:41 pm

With that kind of sloppy attitude, you'll never become a part of that elite fraternity, the Guys on DAC Who Write Godawful Stories For No Good Reason. AND WE HAVE A TREEHOUSE AND YOU CAN'T COME IN BECAUSE YOU'RE A VAGINA.

Naked_Lunch · Post by **Naked_Lunch** » Fri Mar 31, 2006 12:57 am

Just ask Pooper for the logs, god. Now who's being the sloppy susan.