Collective Proza

The story so far:

Whether it was a good idea to go back into the woods, I still don't know. However, the events of that day taught me never to trust advice given in haste. My fate was sealed by people quick of opinion yet hollow of concern, and my only consolation was the belief that they would truly meet their reckoning that day...if not by my hand then by that of the Beast. And then I remembered, "If it wasn't for my horse, I would not have spent that last year in college."
I was walking slowly, looking in every direction, listening carefully - was someone there, in the thick of the woods? Darkness was falling softly but fast and soon the shades of the trees were not distinguishable from those of other creatures anymore. I had to find the cabin I had left early in the morning - I had to find it before I was found. The ground was moist - mud squeezing between my bare toes - and the air was filled with the scent of decay. And then it happened. The bomb went off. The engine of my imagination set a drilling pain inside my head, trying to reach those parts of my mind responsible for rational thinking. Over and over, I could see the face of my childhood therapist silently mouthing the sentence I could not bear to hear, and now I screamed to shoo away the horror I was beginning to understand. I started to run, hitting my head on low branches - I could not pay attention to which direction to take, but suddenly, there it was - the cabin. I ran towards the door. As I neared the porch I saw it--them--in the dim light of the lanturn I knew I had turned off the night before. I freaked out when I saw the face of a man I didn't know walking towards me. His face was gaunted like a man thats has not eaten, where had i seen him, met him or known him ?. I have never fully appreciated the company of women, nor had I ever felt close to any man...but this was different. As I looked into his face, I knew at once what my purpose was. Slowly and carefully I raised my hand. With my other hand, i reached into my pants toward my throbing shlong. When I say shlong of course, i mean my shlong branded 21" subwoofer!. All of a sudden, my pants ripped at the front, esposing my purple-headed, nine inch wang. its mushroom head erupted with a pile of pink coloured sprog. I took my nine inch purple headed wang out and began to point at the place on the map where we would head to. It would soon be dark, and we had much ground to make before then. Suddenly, I began to make a sandwich. A sandwich like no other before it. The withered man began to stare, almost in horror-- he had clearly never seen anyone make sandwiches with as much verve (or mayo, for that matter) as did I. "What are you trying to do?" he asked. "Define the purity of the universe in the form of food...do you deny it?!" I emoted. Challenging him to respond quickly, I added even more mayo. He saw I was challenging him and pulled out the Mustard and Ketchup. I coughed, nodded and started slicing my wang with a swiss army knife. Out of it came little green hairy aliens, I was terrified. I tried to stuff them back inside. But the bastards were huge as hell...and smelled like "pão com chouriço"!. That was when the withered man took out the shotgun, which he appearently kept around for just such an occasion, and filled my wang with lead; it hurt, but with the kind of pain that I now associate with salvation. In his own way, the man was an angel. An angel with a jar of mayonaise. Mayonaise? I was always wary of such things but considered that the man was so beautiful that either way i would more than enjoy this addition to any meal. The old man spoke without moving his lips "this shall be my last sandwich...i'm dying of mayonaise psychosis you see...". Then, before the eggy puss could hit the floor, he was as dead as narcoleptic on a bilge pump. The puss lump seemed like just the ingredient I needed to make egg salad sandwiches, which I made in the withered man's honor, while pouring YooHoo on the ground in memory of my homies. Suddenly and without warning, my dead homies started sprouting from the yoohoo puddles on the ground, but something was amiss, they seemed much more explosive than i recall. "Four hits of acid was too much," my dead homies cried out. I agreed, we made a pact never to drop acid on a tuesday again, there was also a hidden clause for all of us to join the Navy! So we did, not knowing that it was a pact...with death!. OK, given, death is a bit of an exaggeration, but "a pact with the mildly unpleasant" just doesn't sound as impressive. my face started to desintigrate, however my nose stayed put, as it was a indesentigrateable nose. The captain of the HMS 'Certain Death' glowered down at the nose floating above my neck and bellowed, "get your self in order lad, we can't have seamen with no faces representing her majesties navy", i groped at the floor for my face, but it was difficult without eyes. I felt like King Lear. Lear, I remembered, rhymed with ear. And my ear then fell off. I felt like Van Gogh. only hotter. Than my right ear fell off!. soon after my ear fell off, my left testicle also dropped to the floor. Thankfully, there were no hungry dogs nearby. I reached down to grab my testicle and when I looked up a fat cat was staring at me. "Man," I thought, "I hope this cat is a vegarian cat!". Good thing the monkey was there to help me out. However, there had been no need to fear, as the cat actually WAS a buddhist and so vegetarian - he was the boddhikatva of equanamity, and thus he spake: "Hold the mayo.". I looked at the cat in awe as I hid the mayo from his judging eyes.

Please check the sentence below you think that would be the best candidate to be added to the story above and click the submit button

comment_1
by Tonja
This is fun!

comment_2
by Nino
Great idea - I love it!

Great
by Hans-Peter
So simple and yet so good..

proza online
by web man
serbian proza on adress: http://zoja.topcities.com

Terrific!
by Beth
I love this game! I used to play this story game with my kids on long car trips. It's great for passing the time, and really works their imaginations.

comment_6
by Kaiser_Sma
a prize to the next person to succesfully insert bilge pump into the story!

neato
by cobbler
what a neato game