"Dracko, I resent the implication that I'm worth paying for."
shrugtheironteacup (1954-2011), more widely recognised and feared in the literary underground for ghost-writing every single one of James Dickey's novels - and never having gotten a dime for it, such is his monstrous pride - is also responsible for the world's shortest - and untitled - epic poem, which up until its first print in 1993 by a small self-publishing business owned by his uncle, was the sole claim to fame of James Joyce's lost magnum opus, Cowley in the Rye. It is also the only known instance of a written work having a genuine, identifiable effect on a reader, as its central hero later found himself enacting, word for word, the events as written, one drunken Summer's evening, thereby saving the life of one Tim Rogers (For which he profusely apologises for and has since left civilised society in self-imposed exile).
No publisher dared touch any of shrug's own efforts, for fear of instant litigations and beatings. However, his old university newspaper, short of a few couple of words for its page layouts to function elegantly, allowed him to print his musings. A few conditions were set unfortunately, namely that it would have to be titled The Island of Dr. Quandry. This never set well with shrug, and to this day, he refuses to have it brought up in the public sphere, famously ending interviews if so much as a nurse is found present anywhere near the premises. On a monthly basis then, shrug's tale was chronicled in 50 word chunks. Readers would have to wait over 17 years however for the final part to see the light of day, when after a deluge of irate phone calls, shrug finally handed it in by way of resignation.
He has since cast sights on politics.
shrug for district attorney!
tl;dr version: Forum in-joke, and I get to be the butt of fanfic for the first time since high school. :(
Here's a dramatic recital:
Dracko ungirded his sword belt, letting it drag his heavy pants to the dust. "Soon the desert will take us. It does no good to deny ourselves past tonight. Come, and let the stones speak to the vultures of our passion."
Churippu sighed, kneeling, her trailing hand stirring the sand.
---
Dracko raised his pants, rebuckling his sword belt with a yawn. Churippu looked at him quizzicaly, her tongue worrying at the film on her teeth. "Umm... " She began, paused.
"Yes?"
"What about me? If we're going to die... "
"Right, about that." He winked, pointing past her shoulder. "Oasis."
---
Churippu watched Dracko dance on the shore. She had not left the water since they arrived, but his pale, naked body grew ever more red in the sun while his genitals waggled hypnotically. Soon the sun would set and the cold would shrivel them to nothing.
Are these tears?
---
Sword belt his only protection. At last Churippu spoke: "Maybe you shouldn't have left your clothes at the oasis."
Dracko scoffed: "You licentious wobbledypuss!"
He did not use his sword. His scorched penis beat out the rythm on her skin. It really did hurt him more than it did her.
---
He dragged her for countless days, coupling with her dry, cracked mouth at need, seeking that lone house at the edge of the desert.
km came at the knock. "Meet Churippu," Dracko rasped, hauling her body onto threshold with his final breath.
How quickly his shock turned to joy.
---
Dracko regirded his sword belt and strode out into the fields at Elysium where Winker strode towering above everyone, rivaled in splendour only by Apol's immensity, and to this latter clung icycalm, tenacious in the mist. A distant robot thundered by.
"f- oh GOD I think I might be GAY, that would explain my latent homophobia," Dracko rasped and drew his beaten sword.
---
Rythmic grunting drew Dracko to the ravine. A lone man sat deep within, awash in a sea of dolls, oblivious to their dig into his flesh as he thrust into his lolicon body pillow with violent glee.
Dracko's sword stained with Chuplayer blood, the second sun erupted in the sky.
---
Dracko's sheathed sword held at arm's length: ever since it merged with Chuplayer it had been trouble. He poked the tumbling mass of TDS and Patsy before him over hills, through valleys. Ahead the thunderous wet footsteps of the robot. Why was digi they only one who got a ride?
No publisher dared touch any of shrug's own efforts, for fear of instant litigations and beatings. However, his old university newspaper, short of a few couple of words for its page layouts to function elegantly, allowed him to print his musings. A few conditions were set unfortunately, namely that it would have to be titled The Island of Dr. Quandry. This never set well with shrug, and to this day, he refuses to have it brought up in the public sphere, famously ending interviews if so much as a nurse is found present anywhere near the premises. On a monthly basis then, shrug's tale was chronicled in 50 word chunks. Readers would have to wait over 17 years however for the final part to see the light of day, when after a deluge of irate phone calls, shrug finally handed it in by way of resignation.
He has since cast sights on politics.
shrug for district attorney!
tl;dr version: Forum in-joke, and I get to be the butt of fanfic for the first time since high school. :(
Here's a dramatic recital:
Click to viewDracko ungirded his sword belt, letting it drag his heavy pants to the dust. "Soon the desert will take us. It does no good to deny ourselves past tonight. Come, and let the stones speak to the vultures of our passion."
Churippu sighed, kneeling, her trailing hand stirring the sand.
---
Dracko raised his pants, rebuckling his sword belt with a yawn. Churippu looked at him quizzicaly, her tongue worrying at the film on her teeth. "Umm... " She began, paused.
"Yes?"
"What about me? If we're going to die... "
"Right, about that." He winked, pointing past her shoulder. "Oasis."
---
Churippu watched Dracko dance on the shore. She had not left the water since they arrived, but his pale, naked body grew ever more red in the sun while his genitals waggled hypnotically. Soon the sun would set and the cold would shrivel them to nothing.
Are these tears?
---
Sword belt his only protection. At last Churippu spoke: "Maybe you shouldn't have left your clothes at the oasis."
Dracko scoffed: "You licentious wobbledypuss!"
He did not use his sword. His scorched penis beat out the rythm on her skin. It really did hurt him more than it did her.
---
He dragged her for countless days, coupling with her dry, cracked mouth at need, seeking that lone house at the edge of the desert.
km came at the knock. "Meet Churippu," Dracko rasped, hauling her body onto threshold with his final breath.
How quickly his shock turned to joy.
---
Dracko regirded his sword belt and strode out into the fields at Elysium where Winker strode towering above everyone, rivaled in splendour only by Apol's immensity, and to this latter clung icycalm, tenacious in the mist. A distant robot thundered by.
"f- oh GOD I think I might be GAY, that would explain my latent homophobia," Dracko rasped and drew his beaten sword.
---
Rythmic grunting drew Dracko to the ravine. A lone man sat deep within, awash in a sea of dolls, oblivious to their dig into his flesh as he thrust into his lolicon body pillow with violent glee.
Dracko's sword stained with Chuplayer blood, the second sun erupted in the sky.
---
Dracko's sheathed sword held at arm's length: ever since it merged with Chuplayer it had been trouble. He poked the tumbling mass of TDS and Patsy before him over hills, through valleys. Ahead the thunderous wet footsteps of the robot. Why was digi they only one who got a ride?