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Other Forum Witty (yeti wins)
- Thread starter internet
- Start date
can i change my prompt to the backstory behind https://www.reddit.com/r/cars/comments/54z4f7/will_pee_damage_tires/ this thread
legit next level
legit next level
RODAN: submission 1:
Yeti: submission 2: pupper!!!, walrein, somewhatoddish, jumpluff
shade: submission 3: RODAN
SomewhatOddish: submission 4: shrug
Walrein: submission 5: yeti
pupper!!!: submission 6:
jumpluff: submission 7: shade
yeti receives a grand total of seven points! shade, SomewhatOddish, walrein and jumpluff each receive one point.
the next prompt:
You're walking in the woods. There's no one around, and your phone is dead. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him...
Yeti: submission 2: pupper!!!, walrein, somewhatoddish, jumpluff
shade: submission 3: RODAN
SomewhatOddish: submission 4: shrug
Walrein: submission 5: yeti
pupper!!!: submission 6:
jumpluff: submission 7: shade
yeti receives a grand total of seven points! shade, SomewhatOddish, walrein and jumpluff each receive one point.
the next prompt:
You're walking in the woods. There's no one around, and your phone is dead. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him...
also wonderin if anyone could tell who all The People were in my submission
i voted 5 out of my own vanity, 7 was my next choice. sam thought it was 5 jpluff 7 walrein i think if i thought about it a bit harder i wouldve realized 7 was jpluff. thought i was supporting my thug 8[ i had the rest of them right though, 6 was the hardest to tell since pupper didnt have a r1 to compare to
i voted 5 out of my own vanity, 7 was my next choice. sam thought it was 5 jpluff 7 walrein i think if i thought about it a bit harder i wouldve realized 7 was jpluff. thought i was supporting my thug 8[ i had the rest of them right though, 6 was the hardest to tell since pupper didnt have a r1 to compare to
Last edited:
Thatsthejoke.jpg
To whoever made this prompt, Rob Cantor would be proud
just pull a round 1 rodan
“I'm the woodboy” you hear a faint voice from the shadow of a tall tree. “I'm the woodboy” it keeps repeating “I'm the woodboy, I'm the woodboy. I'm the woodboy” the voice getting louder and louder. When suddenly the noise comes from directly behind you. You turn, and see it – a man made out of sticks, maybe with a bag over his head who knows. Maybe he has oven mitts on? He reaches out for you, and grabs your face. Your screams are now muffled, nobody will find you here – this is woodboy territory. When you wake up you try to yell, but all that comes out is “I'm the woodboy”
He's been pursuing you since he sabotaged your tires as you were driving hours ago. On a night he knew you'd forgotten your charger and had been bored at a party, draining your phone's battery surfing on WiFi for hours. Your car tires spluttered sadly as they were punctured and air began leaking out, your car slowing to an uneven, jagged pace. You got out of your car to investigate and saw the string of nails across the road, glinting in the brief ray of moonlight that existed before the clouds covered it.
You moved to get back in to your car, but you sensed you were being watched. Something was... there. On the other side of the road. And in your car, you'd be a sitting duck. The kind of person who lays down booby traps in the dark for unaware drivers is the kind of person who brings something to break windshields. And now you're wishing you hadn't gone to so many liberal rallies at college and spoken out against the Second Amendment so many times, because if you'd believed in what it stood for, you'd have some way to fight back hiding in your glove compartment. But that just made you the ideal target. The young Democrat. So naive.
You're with her, huh? Well, where is she now? Nowhere near your undersized city of mediocrity. You're not important to politicians to tour. Nor are you intelligent enough to pay for night patrols of cop cars to lurk the lonely, sprawling back roads. But are they really back roads when they're the main ways from one rural house to the other, each falling into its own state of disrepair?
You briskly strode down the road, away from your car, away from whatever was lurking. You could sense it, somehow, exactly where it was right behind the first bushes. So away you went.
You walked for a mile, you must have! The crisp night air nipping at your exposed skin. You didn't take a jacket to the party because why would you, so many bodies in one room made for the small town America version of a sauna. But now you regret it.
And you heard the bushes rustling behind you. It was following you. Could you make a run for it? Maybe, depending on how old he was and how tall and how in shape. But again, the kind of person to set such a trap, is the kind of person who can finish it. You wouldn't be able to outrun him, you guess.
You branched off the paved roadway, into the forest on the other side of the road. You figured, well, it's dark. You hadn't seen a flashlight from him yet, so with any luck, you could lose him in the woods. Hide behind a tree or duck into dense shrubbery. And he'll walk right past you or go the other way. Then, when it's daylight, you can go stand on the road and hope someone... sane... drives along.
Into the woods you went, being mindful to step behind the widest trees you could find to break any possible line of sight. To avoid stepping on branches or rustling leaves as much as you could.
You heard him enter the forest behind you, caring little if he made sound. Yet it didn't sound like he took two steps, it was almost a singular, continuous snapping sound as he moved over the forest debris.
You've been walking for an hour and he hasn't let up, or lost you. How? You've cut around so many trees yet you've continually heard him tracking you. Always at the same distance. Until you started getting tired, because you believe getting fit starts with kale chips and avocados, not a gym membership.
Now, he's closer. You lurk around trees and pause and still hear him coming, never sounding farther off. Always sounding nearer and nearer, the longer you wait. How can he know?!
He gets close enough you can hear a strange squeak, as if a somewhat-rusted wheel keeps turning. But what could he possibly be pulling behind him on one wheel?
You start running through the woods, because if he's closing in, you need to fix that. The squeaking grows louder as the wheel rotates faster. He's not falling behind you. Rather, he's still gaining.
You full out sprint, hoping to get away. Perhaps there's another road up ahead, or a house you can find shelter in. Something! Anything!
There's a downed tree you don't see. Your leading knee smacks into it, forcing the kneecap inward. You fall over it, smashing your face into the ground. You try to push back up on your arms but your leg gives out once you put weight on it. A tendon must be torn.
The squeaking grows to its loudest and then stops. You can feel his presence behind you. Hear as he steps onto the log and hops down. Landing on... all fours? You turn back to see a unicycle propped up against the log. You look into soulless, empty eyes, those of someone who is truly dead inside, engulfing you into a void of despair.
And then you see nothing more.
You come to face to face with a fire. A camp fire, almost comforting, if something wasn't just off about it. You realize you're tied up and naked, covered in some sort of liquid. It's sticky but fragrant, like your mother's kitchen. A glaze?
You're lifted off the ground and hoisted over the fire, suspended above it on a spit. You scream and someone sticks an apple in your mouth.
You look over as the flames begin to engulf you and you see the leader of it all, to whom you will serve as a main course to tonight. A sad, mournful looking thing, such a peculiar face. Green, flat skin, nothing to write home about. White eyes with black pupils that have given up on happiness. But this wasn't who chased you through the woods... Are you a sacrifice?
Then the fire is stoked and you lose consciousness, the tears streaming down your face evaporating in the air before they get close to the flames.
The next night in your hometown, the police set a trap for this fiend who has abducted so many for tribute to his leader. They nab him in the act. A report runs on the 11 o'clock news that night:
You moved to get back in to your car, but you sensed you were being watched. Something was... there. On the other side of the road. And in your car, you'd be a sitting duck. The kind of person who lays down booby traps in the dark for unaware drivers is the kind of person who brings something to break windshields. And now you're wishing you hadn't gone to so many liberal rallies at college and spoken out against the Second Amendment so many times, because if you'd believed in what it stood for, you'd have some way to fight back hiding in your glove compartment. But that just made you the ideal target. The young Democrat. So naive.
You're with her, huh? Well, where is she now? Nowhere near your undersized city of mediocrity. You're not important to politicians to tour. Nor are you intelligent enough to pay for night patrols of cop cars to lurk the lonely, sprawling back roads. But are they really back roads when they're the main ways from one rural house to the other, each falling into its own state of disrepair?
You briskly strode down the road, away from your car, away from whatever was lurking. You could sense it, somehow, exactly where it was right behind the first bushes. So away you went.
You walked for a mile, you must have! The crisp night air nipping at your exposed skin. You didn't take a jacket to the party because why would you, so many bodies in one room made for the small town America version of a sauna. But now you regret it.
And you heard the bushes rustling behind you. It was following you. Could you make a run for it? Maybe, depending on how old he was and how tall and how in shape. But again, the kind of person to set such a trap, is the kind of person who can finish it. You wouldn't be able to outrun him, you guess.
You branched off the paved roadway, into the forest on the other side of the road. You figured, well, it's dark. You hadn't seen a flashlight from him yet, so with any luck, you could lose him in the woods. Hide behind a tree or duck into dense shrubbery. And he'll walk right past you or go the other way. Then, when it's daylight, you can go stand on the road and hope someone... sane... drives along.
Into the woods you went, being mindful to step behind the widest trees you could find to break any possible line of sight. To avoid stepping on branches or rustling leaves as much as you could.
You heard him enter the forest behind you, caring little if he made sound. Yet it didn't sound like he took two steps, it was almost a singular, continuous snapping sound as he moved over the forest debris.
You've been walking for an hour and he hasn't let up, or lost you. How? You've cut around so many trees yet you've continually heard him tracking you. Always at the same distance. Until you started getting tired, because you believe getting fit starts with kale chips and avocados, not a gym membership.
Now, he's closer. You lurk around trees and pause and still hear him coming, never sounding farther off. Always sounding nearer and nearer, the longer you wait. How can he know?!
He gets close enough you can hear a strange squeak, as if a somewhat-rusted wheel keeps turning. But what could he possibly be pulling behind him on one wheel?
You start running through the woods, because if he's closing in, you need to fix that. The squeaking grows louder as the wheel rotates faster. He's not falling behind you. Rather, he's still gaining.
You full out sprint, hoping to get away. Perhaps there's another road up ahead, or a house you can find shelter in. Something! Anything!
There's a downed tree you don't see. Your leading knee smacks into it, forcing the kneecap inward. You fall over it, smashing your face into the ground. You try to push back up on your arms but your leg gives out once you put weight on it. A tendon must be torn.
The squeaking grows to its loudest and then stops. You can feel his presence behind you. Hear as he steps onto the log and hops down. Landing on... all fours? You turn back to see a unicycle propped up against the log. You look into soulless, empty eyes, those of someone who is truly dead inside, engulfing you into a void of despair.
And then you see nothing more.
You come to face to face with a fire. A camp fire, almost comforting, if something wasn't just off about it. You realize you're tied up and naked, covered in some sort of liquid. It's sticky but fragrant, like your mother's kitchen. A glaze?
You're lifted off the ground and hoisted over the fire, suspended above it on a spit. You scream and someone sticks an apple in your mouth.
You look over as the flames begin to engulf you and you see the leader of it all, to whom you will serve as a main course to tonight. A sad, mournful looking thing, such a peculiar face. Green, flat skin, nothing to write home about. White eyes with black pupils that have given up on happiness. But this wasn't who chased you through the woods... Are you a sacrifice?
Then the fire is stoked and you lose consciousness, the tears streaming down your face evaporating in the air before they get close to the flames.
The next night in your hometown, the police set a trap for this fiend who has abducted so many for tribute to his leader. They nab him in the act. A report runs on the 11 o'clock news that night:
"Huh? What was that?" v said out load. He'd heard rustling in the bushes which made him jump, he was a nervous fellow these days. He knew it was probably nothing, maybe a fox looking for rodents or something. No people took this path at this time, they were all tucked up in bed without a care in the world.
He walked half a mile down the path, checking back behind him at every opportunity, he couldn't get that rustling out of his head. 'There's nothing there, Amir, you're just paranoid,' he reasoned, 'that weed was some pretty mad shit.'. There's nothing like a lonely walk home at night to bring out the weed paranoia. He sniffed his collar frequently trying to decipher if you could smell the weed on him, he didn't want his parents to notice he was this baked.
More rustling, only this time louder. His pace quickened. It was at this moment he noticed how unfit he actually was, panting whilst walking along the path. He couldn't stop looking back, he was certain he was being followed now. 'FUCK, maybe it's the feds following me', he panicked. They might have seen him pass the bag to his buddy and thought he was a big shot dealer - he is brown, after all.
On one of his regular glances back something caught his eye. It was staring at him, judging him, looking like it was ready to pounce any moment. Spikes protruded from its body like a medieval mace, its long nose sniffed the ground as it locked onto v's scent. His life passed before his eyes at this very moment, fearful of the pain this ferocious beast would cause as it devoured him. v didn't even try to run, he knew it was futile. The monster had four legs, the front two sporting large shovel like claws. Claws that v thought could dig right through his rib cage and puncture his lungs.
The beast stirred and leaped towards v. This was it, it was the end. "I LOVE YOU DAD," cried v as he cowered, waiting for the attack. No attack came, what was happening? The monster, a garden hedgehog, looking up to v and said "Don't do drugs.".
That was the last day v ever smoked weed.
He walked half a mile down the path, checking back behind him at every opportunity, he couldn't get that rustling out of his head. 'There's nothing there, Amir, you're just paranoid,' he reasoned, 'that weed was some pretty mad shit.'. There's nothing like a lonely walk home at night to bring out the weed paranoia. He sniffed his collar frequently trying to decipher if you could smell the weed on him, he didn't want his parents to notice he was this baked.
More rustling, only this time louder. His pace quickened. It was at this moment he noticed how unfit he actually was, panting whilst walking along the path. He couldn't stop looking back, he was certain he was being followed now. 'FUCK, maybe it's the feds following me', he panicked. They might have seen him pass the bag to his buddy and thought he was a big shot dealer - he is brown, after all.
On one of his regular glances back something caught his eye. It was staring at him, judging him, looking like it was ready to pounce any moment. Spikes protruded from its body like a medieval mace, its long nose sniffed the ground as it locked onto v's scent. His life passed before his eyes at this very moment, fearful of the pain this ferocious beast would cause as it devoured him. v didn't even try to run, he knew it was futile. The monster had four legs, the front two sporting large shovel like claws. Claws that v thought could dig right through his rib cage and puncture his lungs.
The beast stirred and leaped towards v. This was it, it was the end. "I LOVE YOU DAD," cried v as he cowered, waiting for the attack. No attack came, what was happening? The monster, a garden hedgehog, looking up to v and said "Don't do drugs.".
That was the last day v ever smoked weed.
You're walking in the woods. There's no one around, and your phone is dead. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him: a man stumping along in a great big overcoat, tugging at the fuzzy beanie on his head with one hand and scratching at his five-o-clock shadow with the other. You accidentally nudge him in the shoulder as he walks by, and he turns around and gives you the evil eye.
“’Ey, buddy, waaatch it, I’m waaaaaaaalkin ‘eeeeeeeere!”
Suddenly you realize that you’re not actually in the woods and that you don’t have a phone. In fact, you are an anonymous panhandler in the middle of plying their trade in the streets of New York City.
Another hustling New Yorker brushes past you, uttering a nasal “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” before continuing down the sidewalk. You realize you’ve been standing up for too long and that someone might take your spot, but as you swivel back towards the street corner where you’d been sitting, you accidentally bump into another pedestrian.
“’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” Mumbling an apology, you step back, but bump into a pair of cops, who utter “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” in unison and advance towards you, smacking their billies into the palms of their hands menacingly. You stagger off deeper into the pedestrian flow, setting off a furious chorus of “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s as you struggle against the surging mass of overcoats and knit caps.
“’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”
Between the drone of the “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s you think you can here the “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s of the cops from earlier growing closer and closer as they edge through the crowd towards you. In a desperate attempt to escape a night in the city jail, you drop to your belly and begin crawling through the crowd.
Down at sidewalk level, the forest of legs and arms (???) is so dense sunlight does not reach the ground. At this depth, the “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s from above are muffled by the sheer density of flesh, sounding more akin to some distant riot rather than an ear-shattering wall of sound. You flounder forwards through the inky blackness, buffeted by hundreds of Timberlands as you struggle in the general direction of your street corner.
In the distance you see tiny flashes of light in between the tangle of limbs. You’re getting closer--!
Bruised and battered, you stagger into your corner. Rubbing your back, you look around for you beloved cardboard mat and change jar. Seeing them safe and sound, you leap back onto your cardboard and huddle in the middle like a castaway. Immediately the gap in the crowd from which you leap fills up, accompanied by a couple of “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s. You shiver and brush some scraps of newspaper and rat flesh off of your skin, watching the rushing river of New Yorkers pass by with something approaching a sense of relief. You don’t know how you ended up all the way down the sidewalk daydreaming like that, but you’re lucky you made it back to your street corner in the midday high tide, before night had fallen.
The moon climbs its way into the sky, and as the sky darkens the flow of New Yorkers grows more and more dangerous. The briskness of their walks, the juttiness of their shoulders, the intensity of their scowls, all reach critical levels, and the sidewalk begins frothing at the edges, spitting up small animals, unprepared tourists, and spare tires into your corner. As usual you put down your change can and frisk the dazed tourists before pushing them back into the slipstream. The tires you add to the pile behind your cardboard mat. The small animals…well, people gotta eat something, don’t they?
You gnaw on the haunches of a teacup pig as you watch the sunrise, right arm resting on your tire-pile. The sound of the crowd has become less frenzied, with certain individual “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s becoming distinguishable amidst the constant drone of “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s of nighttime. You count your loot: three Chihuahua, a teacup pig, four wallets’ worth of change (sadly one held only Zimbabwean dollars) and three tires. A good night, even for the Big Apple.
With a contented sigh, you lean back on your tire-pile and drift off into dream-land, this time with your feet duct-taped to the ground. One accidental excursion onto the sidewalk was enough for a lifetime, and you don't plan on leaving your street corner again anytime soon.
“’Ey, buddy, waaatch it, I’m waaaaaaaalkin ‘eeeeeeeere!”
Suddenly you realize that you’re not actually in the woods and that you don’t have a phone. In fact, you are an anonymous panhandler in the middle of plying their trade in the streets of New York City.
Another hustling New Yorker brushes past you, uttering a nasal “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” before continuing down the sidewalk. You realize you’ve been standing up for too long and that someone might take your spot, but as you swivel back towards the street corner where you’d been sitting, you accidentally bump into another pedestrian.
“’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” Mumbling an apology, you step back, but bump into a pair of cops, who utter “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” in unison and advance towards you, smacking their billies into the palms of their hands menacingly. You stagger off deeper into the pedestrian flow, setting off a furious chorus of “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s as you struggle against the surging mass of overcoats and knit caps.
“’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”
Between the drone of the “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s you think you can here the “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s of the cops from earlier growing closer and closer as they edge through the crowd towards you. In a desperate attempt to escape a night in the city jail, you drop to your belly and begin crawling through the crowd.
Down at sidewalk level, the forest of legs and arms (???) is so dense sunlight does not reach the ground. At this depth, the “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s from above are muffled by the sheer density of flesh, sounding more akin to some distant riot rather than an ear-shattering wall of sound. You flounder forwards through the inky blackness, buffeted by hundreds of Timberlands as you struggle in the general direction of your street corner.
In the distance you see tiny flashes of light in between the tangle of limbs. You’re getting closer--!
Bruised and battered, you stagger into your corner. Rubbing your back, you look around for you beloved cardboard mat and change jar. Seeing them safe and sound, you leap back onto your cardboard and huddle in the middle like a castaway. Immediately the gap in the crowd from which you leap fills up, accompanied by a couple of “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s. You shiver and brush some scraps of newspaper and rat flesh off of your skin, watching the rushing river of New Yorkers pass by with something approaching a sense of relief. You don’t know how you ended up all the way down the sidewalk daydreaming like that, but you’re lucky you made it back to your street corner in the midday high tide, before night had fallen.
The moon climbs its way into the sky, and as the sky darkens the flow of New Yorkers grows more and more dangerous. The briskness of their walks, the juttiness of their shoulders, the intensity of their scowls, all reach critical levels, and the sidewalk begins frothing at the edges, spitting up small animals, unprepared tourists, and spare tires into your corner. As usual you put down your change can and frisk the dazed tourists before pushing them back into the slipstream. The tires you add to the pile behind your cardboard mat. The small animals…well, people gotta eat something, don’t they?
You gnaw on the haunches of a teacup pig as you watch the sunrise, right arm resting on your tire-pile. The sound of the crowd has become less frenzied, with certain individual “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s becoming distinguishable amidst the constant drone of “’Ey, buddy, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!”s of nighttime. You count your loot: three Chihuahua, a teacup pig, four wallets’ worth of change (sadly one held only Zimbabwean dollars) and three tires. A good night, even for the Big Apple.
With a contented sigh, you lean back on your tire-pile and drift off into dream-land, this time with your feet duct-taped to the ground. One accidental excursion onto the sidewalk was enough for a lifetime, and you don't plan on leaving your street corner again anytime soon.
finally updating. Sorry guys, I still don't feel so good.
RODAN: submission 1: yeti shade pupper!!!
Yeti: submission 2: Somewhatoddish shrug
shade: submission 3:
pupper!!!: submission 4: RODAN, walrein
RODAN wins and recieves 4 votes, yeti and pupper!!! recieve 2 votes. Jumpluff recieves -2 votes for not voting.
Shrug jumpluff Walrein and Oddish. also highlighting these people.
The next prompt is the following picture:
RODAN: submission 1: yeti shade pupper!!!
Yeti: submission 2: Somewhatoddish shrug
shade: submission 3:
pupper!!!: submission 4: RODAN, walrein
RODAN wins and recieves 4 votes, yeti and pupper!!! recieve 2 votes. Jumpluff recieves -2 votes for not voting.
Shrug jumpluff Walrein and Oddish. also highlighting these people.
The next prompt is the following picture:
you wanna fight
1v1 challenge cup best of three