There's no bore in collaborate.

*poke*
*dodge*
*counter-poke*
*triple sumersault dodge*
*flying poke to the nose*
*squint*
*faints*
*giggles*
*gurgles*
*dies*
oh dear
*shakes u*
dont die :/
*dies some more*
cheats!
u can only die so much
*dies completely*
oh dear
and such a big corpse too
what am i going to do?
hack it up into little pieces, and feed it to the pigs.
or, call in your Mr. Clean
*phones Cherrise's mom*
*beep* The number you have dialled does not exist. *beep*
oh ye
they moved
*sigh*
*calls in the sock elves*
Elf 1: Mmmm, I smell fresh sin!
Elf 2: Yesss, yesss! I smell it too
Elf 1: Must be another of those murders...
Elf 2: The last one was goood.... ten bucks says its over something stupid, like shares in a bristle cleaning factory.
Elf 3 has run away with Shaun's sock while Elf 1 and Elf 2 are arguing
Elf 4 (Singing): Clap your hands and then hold your nose! Bring the mops and the water hose!
Elf 3 (singing too): Grab a bucket! Grab a sponge! Take a bite before there's only grunge!
*maniacal laughter*
Elf 4 (Singing): Wash it down from ceiling to floor. Take the mess with us, out the door!
The elves disappear.
A faint humming can be heard in the distance, and then...
A loud scream.
*Curtain*
The crowd claps excitedly....
"ENCORE! ENCORE!" they shout as they rise from their seats
And as they stand, a shower of body parts comes crashing down along with the chandelier
The b-grade horror fliek ends. Only static remains.

A 3-pronged fork in the road.

The devil's fork. 3 prongs, barbed with evil intent. One prong, an extension of the rod. The other two are deviations, yet still attached to the same rod. Your hand always goes on the rod, not the prongs. Is one prong the extension of your handle?

The path beneath your feet. Why is the path smooth? How does a choice of three seem equal if the road you're on seems to carry through to one of the choices?

Your decision ability. Is your mind clear or clouded by frustration and its evil sister exhaustion? Is your will aligned with your feet and more importantly, your sense of smell? Are those the smells of fresh pastures emminating from the prong on the right? Or is the stench from the prong on the left overpowering your ofactory laboratory.

Your gut. Does it hunger for satisfaction. Does it whisper ancient and guiding wisdom. Does it feel lonely and forgotten. Does your gut tell you that the stench you smell is actually the mind playing tricks on you. Do you listen?

When faced with a choice of 2, isn't it a choice not to choose? Why don't they put a motel and a sleaze bar here at this junction. I could do with some stale beer and skanks.

Shaun "The walking penis" O'Connell

Do you see me drooling in public, like a terrier fascinated with a tennis ball? When you speak to me, do your see an amorous look on my face and fluffy hearts floating upwards from the vent in my skull?

When I ask you out to coffee are you really hearing me say: "Hey nice legs! Wanna fuck?".

ARE WE HAVING A COMMUNICATION PROBLEM HERE?!

I think I have a signal-intentions translation problem. I mean to ask you to coffee, and hey, if I like you more, and you like me too then we can talk about coitous, mmkay? But until that point, please be assured my intentions are honourable, even for a man.