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CosmicPal
11-23-2004, 12:09 PM
Anybody have any?

Let's hear 'em....

ptlyon
11-23-2004, 12:11 PM
There was that one time that the turkey jumped off of the table and killed my little brother. :hmmm:

Bwana
11-23-2004, 12:16 PM
There was that one time that the turkey jumped off of the table and killed my little brother. :hmmm:

That ALWAYS sucks when that happens. ROFL

KC Jones
11-23-2004, 12:18 PM
I hesitate to post this as it will probably just bring everybody down...

20 years ago when I was 13 years old my mother died a week before Thanksgiving. I remember we were still all so shell-shocked that we went to some god awful buffet for our Thanksgiving meal. Nobody could get it together to plan the meal or cook.

Hopefully I will never have a worse Thanksgiving day in my life. Hopefully none of you will either. So, give thanks for your family, friends and espeically your moms' if you still have them around.

sorry :sulk:

FAX
11-23-2004, 12:20 PM
It was a dark and stormy night.

Mother had purchased a butterball from the local grocery the day before. That night, around 2:00 in the morning, a sound like the tearing of the fabric of the universe by demons spawned in hell awoke we children from our beds. Still sleepy and in an hypnotic, drowsy state we made our way to the kitchen never expecting what we would find there.

It was STUFFING MAN!

He had come to life somehow during the night. Reeking with the stench of broth, he attacked us with his cornbread claws and terrible celeries. After a bitter struggle in which we children were almost overcome by his demonic, paralyzing onion eyes, we were able to subdue him and return to our beds.

FAX

Lightning Rod
11-23-2004, 12:23 PM
Thanksgiving at the Phillips 66 last year. That was good

ptlyon
11-23-2004, 12:23 PM
and then what happened?!?

CosmicPal
11-23-2004, 12:38 PM
A few years ago, my oldest brother built his first house so he wanted the family to come to Virginia for his first Thanksgiving. My job at that time didn’t permit me to leave the day before, so I grabbed a flight on Thanksgiving morning to leave KCI around 5AM….certainly not the time I wish to be getting up, but it was the best option.

Since I don’t normally get up at 3AM, I must have hit the snooze a few times too many- thus, getting me to KCI later than expected. When I get to the terminal, I rudely discover all TWA flights have been cancelled for the day. I was told United would honor my ticket, but the flight leaves in ten minutes and United flies out of a different terminal.

By some miracle, I actually make it to the United terminal as well as the flight. However, I didn’t have time to contact my brother about not only the change of airlines, but the fact that I will no longer be arriving in JFK airport, and instead will be arriving in Dulles airport. I figured I’d contact him as soon as I landed.

A couple of hours later I land in Dulles. It was then I discovered I’d left my brother’s phone number and new address at home. No biggie I figured- I’ll just call information. One call after frantic call later, no operator was able to assist me. Doom set in as I envisioned having to get a hotel room for the night and spending Thanksgiving alone in a strange town…I was pissed! I picked up one of my luggage to throw it across the terminal, and that was when I saw the glorious face of my brother and mom walking down the terminal. I had no idea they knew about the flight change, much less the change of airports, but of course they called the airline when they arrived at RFK and nobody was there…

That’s all I really have….

FAX
11-23-2004, 12:42 PM
and then what happened?!?

Stuffing Man did not die.

Later, as the horrific events were still fresh in our minds and sleep was far from again taking us, a sound was heard outside the bedroom door. Like the scratching of Mr. Bob_Dole on the window sill of a house of ill-repute, the noise grew louder, louder, and louder still. We felt our hearts beating in our chests and we could smell the pungent, foul, carrotty breath of the monster just outside.

Then suddenly, with a fatal crash of splintering wood and the sickening splat of condiments falling from a great height, the door burst open. Terror gripped our throats choking out our screams of fear before they could escape our mouths. For this time, Stuffing Man had not come alone.

He had brought SWEET POTATO PIE with him!!!!

FAX

ENDelt260
11-23-2004, 12:43 PM
Nothing bad ever happens to me. I lead a charmed life.

Phobia
11-23-2004, 12:46 PM
When I was 17, I was playing pickup basketball the day before Thanksgiving. At one point, I jumped up for a rebound and my chin landed on top of a friend's head upon my descent. Unfortunately, also - my tongue was hanging out of my mouth because I guess it makes me jump higher. I bit all the way through that sumbitch.

Docs don't stitch tongues. I was given a bottle of some awful tasting gel crap to ease the pain. It deadened every sense in my mouth. Thanksgiving dinner was a little bland that year.

Bwana
11-23-2004, 12:48 PM
Nothing bad ever happens to me. I lead a charmed life.

You have obviously never joined me on one of Thanksgiving day big game hunts of the past.

Lzen
11-23-2004, 12:56 PM
It was a dark and stormy night.

Mother had purchased a butterball from the local grocery the day before. That night, around 2:00 in the morning, a sound like the tearing of the fabric of the universe by demons spawned in hell awoke we children from our beds. Still sleepy and in an hypnotic, drowsy state we made our way to the kitchen never expecting what we would find there.

It was STUFFING MAN!

He had come to life somehow during the night. Reeking with the stench of broth, he attacked us with his cornbread claws and terrible celeries. After a bitter struggle in which we children were almost overcome by his demonic, paralyzing onion eyes, we were able to subdue him and return to our beds.

FAX

See kids? See what that stuff does to your head? Just say "NO" to LSD.

Baby Lee
11-23-2004, 12:56 PM
One time, on the Monday before Thanksgiving, my favorite team. . . Ugh. :Lin:

Radar Chief
11-23-2004, 12:59 PM
Remember the Thanks Giving Day that the Chiefs played Dallas?
Well, I couldn’t get out of going to Oklahoma for dinner at Grandma’s house, family tradition that couldn’t be broken if I wanted to remain in the family, so I got the bright idea to ride my scoot there and back.
So, around 2:00 I feel I’ve paid my respects and make a flying run home turning a 100 mile trip into a 1 hour freeze fest.
Braved 36 degrees, drizzling rain and Kansas’ finest, while doing an average speed around 110 mph, all to watch the Chiefs loose to Dallas.
Took till half time just to quit shivering.

badgirl
11-23-2004, 01:00 PM
I hesitate to post this as it will probably just bring everybody down...

20 years ago when I was 13 years old my mother died a week before Thanksgiving. I remember we were still all so shell-shocked that we went to some god awful buffet for our Thanksgiving meal. Nobody could get it together to plan the meal or cook.

Hopefully I will never have a worse Thanksgiving day in my life. Hopefully none of you will either. So, give thanks for your family, friends and espeically your moms' if you still have them around.

sorry :sulk:
know how that goes, my grandfather died the day before xmas eve and we buried him xmas day it really sucked :(but on a brighter note, my mom and the rest of the family came down last year and I had just moved into a small apt, it was so damn tight in there I felt like throwing all the food away and running them back to Tenn..I made 2 batches of dressing and they both got threw away, and I have never, ever, messed up my dressing or stuffing whatever you call it, before. :banghead:

Lzen
11-23-2004, 01:00 PM
When I was 17, I was playing pickup basketball the day before Thanksgiving. At one point, I jumped up for a rebound and my chin landed on top of a friend's head upon my descent. Unfortunately, also - my tongue was hanging out of my mouth because I guess it makes me jump higher. I bit all the way through that sumbitch.

Docs don't stitch tongues. I was given a bottle of some awful tasting gel crap to ease the pain. It deadened every sense in my mouth. Thanksgiving dinner was a little bland that year.

So you thought you were Michael Jordan, eh? "Like Mike.....I wanna be like Mike....if I could be like Mike.....

Speaking of hoops, we should arrange to play a game at next year's 37 Forever events. ;)

Phobia
11-23-2004, 01:06 PM
Remember the Thanks Giving Day that the Chiefs played Dallas?
Well, I couldn’t get out of going to Oklahoma for dinner at Grandma’s house, family tradition that couldn’t be broken if I wanted to remain in the family, so I got the bright idea to ride my scoot there and back.
So, around 2:00 I feel I’ve paid my respects and make a flying run home turning a 100 mile trip into a 1 hour freeze fest.
Braved 36 degrees, drizzling rain and Kansas’ finest, while doing an average speed around 110 mph, all to watch the Chiefs loose to Dallas.
Took till half time just to quit shivering.

The Chiefs didn't stop shivering until halftime either....

I had forgotten about that horror story. I went to that one with my ex-wife. If you've heard any of the stories about my ex-wife, further explanation is unnecessary.

Phobia
11-23-2004, 01:07 PM
So you thought you were Michael Jordan, eh? "Like Mike.....I wanna be like Mike....if I could be like Mike.....

Speaking of hoops, we should arrange to play a game at next year's 37 Forever events. ;)

Oh hell no. I haven't played hoops in years. I don't even know if I could make a shot anymore.

FAX
11-23-2004, 01:07 PM
Sweet Potato Pie was an immense, disgusting beast whose enormous, gaping mouth was filled with teeth the color of rotted marshmellows. As he moved, he left a moldering trail of decomposing heavy cream in his wake.

As he lurched his massive bulk toward us, he threw his great, swollen head back and howled a deafening, bone chilling shriek as if he were calling all the demons of Dante's hell down upon our beds.

Shivering with terror and utterly overcome with fear, we watched as he cast his gruesome and ghastly gaze down upon us and began to slowly move toward us step after desolate step.

FAX

badgirl
11-23-2004, 01:13 PM
Sweet Potato Pie was an immense, disgusting beast whose enormous, gaping mouth was filled with teeth the color of rotted marshmellows. As he moved, he left a moldering trail of decomposing heavy cream in his wake.

As he lurched his massive bulk toward us, he threw his great, swollen head back and howled a deafening, bone chilling shriek as if he were calling all the demons of Dante's hell down upon our beds.

Shivering with terror and utterly overcome with fear, we watched as he cast his gruesome and ghastly gaze down upon us and began to slowly move toward us step after desolate step.

FAXplease stop ,your scaring me :deevee:

Skip Towne
11-23-2004, 01:15 PM
When I was 17, I was playing pickup basketball the day before Thanksgiving. At one point, I jumped up for a rebound and my chin landed on top of a friend's head upon my descent. Unfortunately, also - my tongue was hanging out of my mouth because I guess it makes me jump higher. I bit all the way through that sumbitch.

Docs don't stitch tongues. I was given a bottle of some awful tasting gel crap to ease the pain. It deadened every sense in my mouth. Thanksgiving dinner was a little bland that year.
Damn, that's worse than catching a softball with your face.

ptlyon
11-23-2004, 01:16 PM
You're pretty good FAX - you could write children's stories

ENDelt260
11-23-2004, 01:17 PM
So... if you bite the end off your tongue, you just have a shorter tongue for the rest of your life?

ptlyon
11-23-2004, 01:20 PM
YA - AN II MATHES YOU TAWK WIKE THITH

Radar Chief
11-23-2004, 01:25 PM
If you've heard any of the stories about my ex-wife, further explanation is unnecessary.

I have, and agree it’s not necessary. ;)

Lzen
11-23-2004, 01:30 PM
Oh hell no. I haven't played hoops in years. I don't even know if I could make a shot anymore.

Heh, as if you could make a shot before. :p

So, you're just gonna stick to sissy sports like golf?

Ultra Peanut
11-23-2004, 01:37 PM
I hesitate to post this as it will probably just bring everybody down...

20 years ago when I was 13 years old my mother died a week before Thanksgiving. I remember we were still all so shell-shocked that we went to some god awful buffet for our Thanksgiving meal. Nobody could get it together to plan the meal or cook.

Hopefully I will never have a worse Thanksgiving day in my life. Hopefully none of you will either. So, give thanks for your family, friends and espeically your moms' if you still have them around.

sorry :sulk:
It was a dark and stormy night.

Mother had purchased a butterball from the local grocery the day before. That night, around 2:00 in the morning, a sound like the tearing of the fabric of the universe by demons spawned in hell awoke we children from our beds. Still sleepy and in an hypnotic, drowsy state we made our way to the kitchen never expecting what we would find there.

It was STUFFING MAN!

He had come to life somehow during the night. Reeking with the stench of broth, he attacked us with his cornbread claws and terrible celeries. After a bitter struggle in which we children were almost overcome by his demonic, paralyzing onion eyes, we were able to subdue him and return to our beds.

FAXWow. Talk about a one-post-to-the-next dichotomy.

FAX
11-23-2004, 01:46 PM
As he neared our beds, Sweet Potato Pie lowered his massive, rotted head over us and opened his revolting maw showering our trembling bodies with his loathsome drool.

Then, just before the monster could engulf us into his corrupt maw, our wits returned and we rolled out of bed making our way as fast as we could through the putrevied leavings of the beast, across the bedroom floor and through the broken remnants of what had been, just moments before, our doorway.

As we ran through the hall, our screams were like knives cutting through the night and behind us we could hear the gargantuan, repellant shufflings of Stuffing Man and Sweet Potato Pie in pursuit of our lives.

FAX

FAX
11-23-2004, 01:53 PM
Wow. Talk about a one-post-to-the-next dichotomy.

No offense at all intended to Mr. KC Jones, Mr. Psicosis. I was merely sharing a Thanksgiving horror story per the thread title.

Mr. KC Jones' experience is unimaginable.

FAX

Ultra Peanut
11-23-2004, 01:55 PM
I was merely sharing a Thanksgiving horror story per the thread title.And it is, indeed, quite horrifying.

Phobia
11-23-2004, 01:57 PM
So... if you bite the end off your tongue, you just have a shorter tongue for the rest of your life?

I'm sure that a doc will stitch an amputated tongue, but not one that is merely bitten through.

FAX
11-23-2004, 01:58 PM
And it is, indeed, quite horrifying.

Yes, but is it loathsome enough? I always thought that good Thanksgiving horror stories should contain at least some loath.

FAX

Saulbadguy
11-23-2004, 01:59 PM
1. Brother got in a car accident thanksgiving morning. Ejected from the vehicle, wasn't wearing a seatbelt. He turned out OK though.

2. Pumpkin soup. My aunt makes this every year now. Its some nasty shit, but everyone else likes it, or at least claims to.

FAX
11-23-2004, 02:02 PM
1. Brother got in a car accident thanksgiving morning. Ejected from the vehicle, wasn't wearing a seatbelt. He turned out OK though.

2. Pumpkin soup. My aunt makes this every year now. Its some nasty shit, but everyone else likes it, or at least claims to.

I think that I shall add Nasty Pumpkin Soup to my story.

FAX

Phobia
11-23-2004, 02:02 PM
Another Thanksgiving horror story = rutabagas

If you think cabbage farts are awful....

ENDelt260
11-23-2004, 02:03 PM
I'm sure that a doc will stitch an amputated tongue, but not one that is merely bitten through.
When you said, "I bit all the way through that sumbitch." I read that as, a chunk of your tongue was separated from the main portion.

Saulbadguy
11-23-2004, 02:04 PM
I think that I shall add Nasty Pumpkin Soup to my story.

FAX
Take it. Its yours.

Phobia
11-23-2004, 02:06 PM
When you said, "I bit all the way through that sumbitch." I read that as, a chunk of your tongue was separated from the main portion.
Nah - I had a hole I could have stuck a Sharpie through right in the middle.

ENDelt260
11-23-2004, 02:07 PM
Nah - I had a hole I could have stuck a Sharpie through right in the middle.
Ick.

tommykat
11-23-2004, 02:09 PM
I was newly married.....23. So I get this great idea I'll cook Thanksgiving the first year. OK, I am a good cook..........but back then? Was, but went to take the turkey out of the oven....You got it, dropped it on the floor as it was to heavy for me. I called my Mom crying to beat all. Grease everywhere etc. She told me to put it in the sink wash it off and through it back in for awhile........the washing was to get the cats hair off.....:deevee::deevee: All in all it went great, years later I told everyone and they laughed so hard. All those tears for nothing. ROFL

KC Jones
11-23-2004, 02:14 PM
No offense at all intended to Mr. KC Jones, Mr. Psicosis. I was merely sharing a Thanksgiving horror story per the thread title.

Mr. KC Jones' experience is unimaginable.

FAX

No offense taken at all. It was just the first thing that popped into my head and I felt like sharing. I almost didn't because I was afraid it would kill the levity of a fun thread. I'm glad you didn't let it.

:thumb:

It was a long time ago, and despite how much it sucked it made my whole family so much closer and we all became better people for it. It's all good. :)

Braincase
11-23-2004, 02:15 PM
I was 19, and I was in for my first knee reconstruction. ACL, MCL. Back in the good ol' days before arthroscopy.

Surgery was Wednesday morning, and it hurt like a bitch. Thursday, I get a call from my mom and dad. Nurses are delivering turkey dinners, and I get one of those oh so pleasant hospital hot plates.

Mom & Dad came to the hospital Friday to take me home. None of my teammates came to visit. I was about as blue as I've ever been.

That's what happens when you take your Division III talented ass and try and compete at Division I. Oh well -

FAX
11-23-2004, 02:21 PM
With Stuffing Man and Sweet Potato Pie mere inches behind us and our breath coming in desperate, frightened gasps, we ran as fast as we could down the hall and in the direction of the kitchen. Behind us we could hear the shambling smack of the monstrosities' feet as they attempted to catch us and we could even feel the revolting stink of their breath on our necks as we turned the hall corner.

Then, suddenly, before us, lying on the floor, was a monster of such utter and complete repugnance that it defies any mortal description. It appeared to be an emmense amoeba comprised of nothing more than stagnent putrescence that lifted itself from the floor and confronted us with eyes like bloody orbs connected to a rippled, jell-like head by tubes of oozing slime. Our tortured breath was at last completely taken away for this was an even greater terror ... Nasty Pumpkin Soup.

FAX

|Zach|
11-23-2004, 02:26 PM
There is nothing horrible about this story but it has always struck me as funny. Every single year it seems like our family (extended family included) forgets to bring out one of the dishes for the meal. It never fails...we will finish a very fine meal and walk over and there is a plate wrapped up, or something sitting in the oven. Quite amazing...

My cousin Carli...is pretty young and last year as everyone was passign around the gravy she decided to yell to the whole table that "She did NOT want syrup on her mashed potatoes" ROFL

Saulbadguy
11-23-2004, 02:29 PM
Here is a thanksgiving horror story all should appreciate:

Going to someones house for thanksgiving that "doesn't care for football.."

So what do you do after the meal? FVCKING CONVERSE WITH EACH OTHER.

:cuss:

|Zach|
11-23-2004, 02:30 PM
Here is a thanksgiving horror story all should appreciate:

Going to someones house for thanksgiving that "doesn't care for football.."

So what do you do after the meal? FVCKING CONVERSE WITH EACH OTHER.

:cuss:
I would not wish that on my worst enemy.

ENDelt260
11-23-2004, 02:37 PM
Going to someones house for thanksgiving that "doesn't care for football.."

WTF? What did you do, go celebrate Thanksgiving in Afghanistan or something?

cadmonkey
11-23-2004, 02:41 PM
Nothing bad ever happens to me.


You're still living in the "if it happened in a drunken stuper, and I don't remember it, then it never happened" fog aren't you?

cadmonkey
11-23-2004, 02:42 PM
WTF? What did you do, go celebrate Thanksgiving in Afghanistan or something?


ROFL

Phobia
11-23-2004, 02:42 PM
Here is a thanksgiving horror story all should appreciate:

Going to someones house for thanksgiving that "doesn't care for football.."

So what do you do after the meal? FVCKING CONVERSE WITH EACH OTHER.

:cuss:

Last year. Went to my mother-in-law's sister's house. They were watching a fugging musical instead of football. These people live in a $750k home on The Champions golf course in Houston and have one.... ONE directTV connection. I went out back and wished I were golfing.

ENDelt260
11-23-2004, 02:44 PM
Last year. Went to my mother-in-law's sister's house. They were watching a fugging musical instead of football. These people live in a $750k home on The Champions golf course in Houston and have one.... ONE directTV connection. I went out back and wished I were golfing.
They didn't even have a second TV with rabbit ears on it or something?

Wile_E_Coyote
11-23-2004, 02:48 PM
George W Bush shows up at Chiefs training camp & pardons the National Thanksgiving turkey early(Chiefs D)...now we have to live with it

KC Jones
11-23-2004, 03:27 PM
Last year. Went to my mother-in-law's sister's house. They were watching a fugging musical instead of football. These people live in a $750k home on The Champions golf course in Houston and have one.... ONE directTV connection. I went out back and wished I were golfing.

Nouveau Riche no doubt. I mean what else can explain someone who is so wealthy being so barbaric.

:)

JimNasium
11-23-2004, 03:38 PM
Our family dog died one Thanksgiving. :(











Man was that thing tender. It's amazing what a pressure cooker will do when properly utilized. :p

CHIEF4EVER
11-23-2004, 03:53 PM
There I was, knee deep in Hand Grenade pins. Nothing left to fight with but a plastic C ration spoon and a pine branch. Wait a minute, that ain't a Thanksgiving story, never mind.

Ultra Peanut
11-23-2004, 04:08 PM
There I was, knee deep in Hand Grenade pins. Nothing left to fight with but a plastic C ration spoon and a pine branch. Wait a minute, that ain't a Thanksgiving story, never mind.ROFL

FAX
11-23-2004, 04:21 PM
Like Mr. SNR caught between three homosexuals on a dead-end street, we were trapped.

Behind us, and coming up fast, were the awful hulking monstrosities of Stuffing Man and Sweet Potato Pie. Before us, lolling in a sickening sway of amorphous slime, was Nasty Pumpkin Soup. Too late, we realized, there was nowhere to turn.

Suddenly, out of the ethers came Mr. Iowanian who, dressed in a tartan kilt and a Harley jacket, was carrying a large, yellow sofa cushion in his right hand.

"Be thankful!” he cried. And, with that stunning pronouncement and with equally astonishing speed, he fell into the horrific trio of epicurean fiends with a fury. In a whirlwind of punishing blows, Mr. Iowanian pummeled each revolting behemoth with his lily-colored pillow forcing them one by one into the kitchen. Having contained their repellent freakishness in this manner, he lept into the kitchen himself and, with a flourish, slammed the door behind him.

For tortuous minutes we listened to a titanic battle taking place behind the kitchen door. Thunderous shouts, deafening crashes and thuds, and the pitiless screams of the monsters combined in a savage symphony of seemingly endless struggle as we huddled in the hallway.

Then suddenly all was quiet.

FAX

RedNFeisty
11-23-2004, 05:23 PM
Like Mr. SNR caught between three homosexuals on a dead-end street, we were trapped.

Behind us, and coming up fast, were the awful hulking monstrosities of Stuffing Man and Sweet Potato Pie. Before us, lolling in a sickening sway of amorphous slime, was Nasty Pumpkin Soup. Too late, we realized, there was nowhere to turn.

Suddenly, out of the ethers came Mr. Iowanian who, dressed in a tartan kilt and a Harley jacket, was carrying a large, yellow sofa cushion in his right hand.

"Be thankful!” he cried. And, with that stunning pronouncement and with equally astonishing speed, he fell into the horrific trio of epicurean fiends with a fury. In a whirlwind of punishing blows, Mr. Iowanian pummeled each revolting behemoth with his lily-colored pillow forcing them one by one into the kitchen. Having contained their repellent freakishness in this manner, he lept into the kitchen himself and, with a flourish, slammed the door behind him.

For tortuous minutes we listened to a titanic battle taking place behind the kitchen door. Thunderous shouts, deafening crashes and thuds, and the pitiless screams of the monsters combined in a savage symphony of seemingly endless struggle as we huddled in the hallway.

Then suddenly all was quiet.

FAX

What? You stop the story there? You can not do that to a reader. See if I ever spend the time to read all of your posts in a thread again! :harumph:

FAX
11-23-2004, 05:26 PM
What? You stop the story there? You can not do that to a reader. See if I ever spend the time to read all of your posts in a thread again! :harumph:

It's not the end, Ms. RedNFeisty. Just had to stop and work for a while.

FAX THE THANKSGIVING HORROR STORY WRITER

FAX
11-23-2004, 06:23 PM
The silence in the hallway was immutable.

After a few moments of fervent listening and with no sounds being perceived save the shudders of our own feverish breathing, we were at last able to gather sufficient courage to approach the kitchen door. Our hands trembled with fear as we gradually pushed back the door to reveal a sight of such unspeakable horror that it haunts our dreams to this day.

There, on the floor, with the yellow upholstered weapon under his head, lay Mr. Iowanian, his body covered entirely in a medley of revolting side dishes.

It was, however, not the culinary aspect of his form that caused the terror to rise within us with such galling and tumultuous force. Rather, it was the realization that, during the battle with the gastronomical fiends, Mr. Iowanian's kilt had been ripped from his person displaying a scarcity of undergarments that repulsed our mortal natures into a state of utter and blinding agony.

After recovering our senses to the point at which we could endure a cursory investigation of Mr. Iowanian’s condition, we determined that he was breathing, but barely so. Then, with no warning, Mr. Iowanian began to speak in a rough whisper that could be discerned only by virtue of the most intense effort. As for the words themselves, we found them completely strange and, by no method known to us could we immediately understand their meaning.

“RedNFiesty.” he said. “RedNFiesty”.

FAX

FAX
11-23-2004, 07:12 PM
“RedNFiesty.” “RedNFiesty”.

These were the strange words spoken by Mr. Iowanian who had entered our world in some unknown way and for equally unknown reasons. Yet, immediately upon seeing the cuisine fiends, he had attacked them without hesitation and with extremes of voracious ferocity. Now, it appeared, Mr. Iowanian had been both seriously wounded and partially disrobed.

“I have fallen from a tree stand, haven’t I?” The words escaped from Mr. Iowanian’s lips in weak whispers. “Did I get the bastard?”

“We think so, kind stranger.” This was the only reply that we could muster in response to this strange pillow-slinger from godonlyknowswhere.

“RedNFiesty,” he said again, “you have to find her.”

“How?” we said, discretely retrieving a dishrag to cover the pillow-slinger’s disturbingly small private parts.

“With this. It’s the only way,” he breathed, and reached for something hidden in the pocket of his black leather Harly jacket.

FAX

yunghungwell
11-23-2004, 08:49 PM
“How?” we said, discretely retrieving a dishrag to cover the pillow-slinger’s disturbingly small private parts.

ROFL Oh, this is too much!! Had I been enjoying a tasty beverage at the time I read this my computer monitor would be short circuiting right now!!

FAX
11-23-2004, 08:51 PM
The Pillow-Slinger was dangerously weak.

That much was clear to us, at least. Yet, with an effort, he was able to retrieve the object he sought from the pocket of his Harley jacket – the object that would somehow locate the “RedNFiesty”. Chills of abject horror cascaded up our spines, first because the Pillow-Slinger’s movements threatened to dislocate the dishrag now covering his kiltless groin, then because we were finally able to view the appalling and terrible thing that the Pillow-Slinger was now holding in his hand.

It was a cylinder approximately 12 inches long and with a diameter of some 3 inches which duplicated the shape of a human male reproductive organ. Undoubtedly carved by a tormented and demonic whittler in the late stages of irredeemable madness, the object had holes on both ends and several down one side and looked like a cross between a clarinet and a dildo.

“You must play a tune on this instrument,” gasped the Pillow-Slinger, “RedNFiesty will come.”

“Not us,” we said in unison as utter revulsion completed its migration to our very souls.

“Then I will,” breathed the Pillow-Slinger, “when she hears this, she will come.” And, he brought the dildonet to his lips, filled his wheezing lungs with air, and began to play.

FAX

Hydrae
11-23-2004, 09:27 PM
Ow, what is that infernal racket coming from this thread?

Inspector
11-23-2004, 09:37 PM
I bought a turkey who overpowered me, stuffed me and sent me to the oven at 350 for 10 to 15 minutes per pound.

Took all day to cook me.

But I sure tasted good. mmmmm. good inspector...

FAX
11-24-2004, 10:49 AM
The sound was grotesque.

Our faces grew pale and we quaked with fits of uncontrollable nausea as the Pillow-Slinger coaxed an unspeakable and utterly confusing cacophony of jarring squeaks and whines from the dildonet. Then, the playing ceased.

Suddenly, we were brought to our knees in complete repulsion as a blue cloud of noxious vapors and venomous fog appeared just behind the Pillow-Slinger. The cloud grew and billowed, threatening to overcome and remove what infinitesimal sanities our minds yet possessed. Then, the fumes began to dissipate as, from within the corrupt and pestilent haze of hateful mist, emerged a being of such stunning and spectacular beauty our breath was completely removed from within us.

As she appraised the scene with her dangerous green eyes, we could see that she was dressed in a black leotard with countless chains of shining silver draped across her torso, shoulders, and hips. Her hair was a bright red. The color of roses. Or blood. She appeared somewhat breathless and her cheeks were flushed a ruddy pink color as if from recent exertion, and the mounds of her magnificent white breasts, which were clearly visible above the tightly fitting leather leotard, were heaving rapidly up and down.

“I am RedNFiesty,” she said, “and, I just came.”

FAX

FAX
11-24-2004, 02:51 PM
The silver chains chattered as she crossed the room.

Quivering with terror and weak with unutterable desolation, we watched helplessly as the black-clad figure of the woman known as RedNFiesty approached the motionless body of the Pillow-Slinger.

“He needs Beaver treatment,” she said, under her breath. Then, she turned and demanded huskily, “Get my bag.”

Summoning the courage that must only come from final, mortal despair, we were able to recover a large black bag in the area where the ghastly blue mist had recently formed. This, we handed to RedNFiesty just moments before the mere recognition of our abominable and fearsome circumstances caused our unconsciousness.

From the purse, RedNFiesty removed a large, violent animal with enormous, snapping, blasphemous teeth and a large flat tail and, striking the beast three times harshly upon its face, loosed the now furious thing upon the defenseless, prostate form of the Pillow-Slinger.

The animal raged. Biting and ripping with its frothing teeth and talonic claws at the Pillow-Slingers hands, arms, and legs with uncontrolled ferocity, it gave every appearance of desiring to consume the stranger then and there.

Then, the disgusting, savage brute turned its violent attentions to the dishrag covering the stranger’s pitifully diminutive member. With a scream that defies human description, the Pillow-Slinger suddenly rose from his position, grabbed the creature by the throat and, using his bare hands, throttled the very life from the beast.

“Damn,” the Pillow-Slinger said, “good thing I’m tougher that boiled owl scat, or that bastard would have had my weenie.”

With shock and unconditional stupefaction now our only protection from consummate madness, we then watched as the Pillow-Slinger turned toward us and said, “Looks like we're gonna need your help, young ‘ens.”

FAX

ENDelt260
11-24-2004, 03:09 PM
"pitifully diminutive member"

ROFL Harsh.

Clint in Wichita
11-24-2004, 03:18 PM
You do realize that RedNFeisty is my wife, right?

Obsess much?

FAX
11-24-2004, 03:24 PM
You do realize that RedNFeisty is my wife, right?

Obsess much?

Oops.

Please forgive me, Mr. Clint in Wichita. I had no idea that, A) Ms. RedNFeisty was married or B) that she was married to you. I am, after all, a N00b (sp?) and, at this moment, both flabbergasted and ashamed.

By way of explanation (not defense), Ms. RedNFiesty had indicated her displeasure that the story was incomplete some posts past. As a result, I elected to weave her into the story as compensation for her inconvenience.

However, it is fictional work, nonetheless. Shall I change the name of her character? If so, whom should we use?

FAX THE EMBARRASED

cheeeefs
11-24-2004, 03:44 PM
One thanksgiving we realized all to late that the pillsbury dough boy had died of a yeast infection.

FAX
11-24-2004, 04:36 PM
“Looks like we need your help, young ‘ens.”

These words had, no doubt, catapulted what had remained of our sanity into the black, limitless hell of permanent and complete dementia. What could the Pillow-Slinger mean? Our complete senselessness and the utter vacuity of our mental faculties must have been betrayed by dumfounded expressions for, as our mother’s dishrag dangled from the stranger’s bantam phallus, he continued to explain, at least in part, his meaning.

“Stuffing Man and the rest of them are heinous apparitions from our world,” he said. “We’ve come to kill them and find the Evil One who has unleashed their horrors upon the universe.”

“Now, you’ve seen them,” he continued, “and, you’ve made contact. You’ll have to come with us to confront the Evil One to be cleansed of their touch.”

These revelations were beyond our ability to comprehend and, in fact, the only reality within our pitiful grasp was the heavy and horrible beating of our hearts as we convulsed with grievous tremors of disbelief and fear. Yet, somehow, we were able to inquire as to the identity of the “Evil One” referenced by the stranger.

“You’ll know him when you see him,” the Pillow-Slinger replied. “His name is BOB DOLE. Now, come on, we’ve got work to do.”

FAX