The Scone
Okay, so, here's the deal. I'm not exactly... one of those writers who inspires wonder and awe with their awesome plots and incredible detail. Those writers are amazing... and I envy them. However, since I don't posses those abilities, I'm just going to start posting stories that are simple. I'm not going to worry about being grammatically correct, or if i should vary the sentence structure... whether it's cliche or cheesy... blah blah blah you get my gist. I'm just going to transfer the words and ideas from my brain straight onto the keyboard and hope I can get a good laugh out of it... and maybe make others laugh as well. Constructive criticism is welcome. So... here it goes.
The Scone
On one beautiful day, a scone was walking through a forest. This scone was called Herman. Herman, who was baked to perfection with succulent blue-berries mixed into his soft dough at a steady 400 degrees Fahrenheit had been made by a loving old lady. No, Herman was no crappy Starbucks scone. He was home-made. He strolled along a grassy roadway lined with oak-trees, admiring the puce-colored flowers.
From the distance, he heard a soft cry. Well, actually, cry isn't the word to use. It was more like the sound of... a convulsing guinea pig choking on a cricket with a disease that caused his voice to sound alarmingly similar to Clay Aiken. Hearing this, Herman was inclined to run away. However, he knew it wasn't the right thing to do, so he made his way over to the sound. He kept following the grassy road way towards the sound, and soon the soothing noises of a small trickling stream joined the sounds of the convulsions. Herman happened to glance to the left, and discovered that through the trees, about ten feet away, was a meadow. He saw the shadow of something large, and tall. The sounds were coming from the meadow. Cautiously, Herman took light steps toward the meadow.
When he entered the meadow, the first thing he realized was that the tinkling sound he had heard wasn't a stream. Oh no, it was in fact a female troll who had decided to relieve herself on a great rock shaped like a caterpillar. Herman had never met a troll before, but rumor around the kitchen had been that they were delicate, sensitive creatures who enjoyed reading Stephen Hawking and having karaoke parties. The troll then finished, and slowly turned around to face Herman. The troll was wearing a floral dress, and sunglasses that had probably belonged to Kim Jong-il at some point in time. Her skin was a thick, like an elephants. It was a deep purple color. This troll was the most beautiful thing Herman had ever seen. His mind went blank as he looked into her big chocolate brown eyes shaded by her thick, lime green eyelashes. Her long hair was also lime green, and it reached her waist. Only after a few seconds of admiring the... floral designs on her chest did he realize that the source of the odd crying was a strange creature clinging onto her stomach. The troll then smiled widely at Herman, and the crying ceased. Suddenly, everything went black.
TO BE CONTINUES
The Scone
On one beautiful day, a scone was walking through a forest. This scone was called Herman. Herman, who was baked to perfection with succulent blue-berries mixed into his soft dough at a steady 400 degrees Fahrenheit had been made by a loving old lady. No, Herman was no crappy Starbucks scone. He was home-made. He strolled along a grassy roadway lined with oak-trees, admiring the puce-colored flowers.
From the distance, he heard a soft cry. Well, actually, cry isn't the word to use. It was more like the sound of... a convulsing guinea pig choking on a cricket with a disease that caused his voice to sound alarmingly similar to Clay Aiken. Hearing this, Herman was inclined to run away. However, he knew it wasn't the right thing to do, so he made his way over to the sound. He kept following the grassy road way towards the sound, and soon the soothing noises of a small trickling stream joined the sounds of the convulsions. Herman happened to glance to the left, and discovered that through the trees, about ten feet away, was a meadow. He saw the shadow of something large, and tall. The sounds were coming from the meadow. Cautiously, Herman took light steps toward the meadow.
When he entered the meadow, the first thing he realized was that the tinkling sound he had heard wasn't a stream. Oh no, it was in fact a female troll who had decided to relieve herself on a great rock shaped like a caterpillar. Herman had never met a troll before, but rumor around the kitchen had been that they were delicate, sensitive creatures who enjoyed reading Stephen Hawking and having karaoke parties. The troll then finished, and slowly turned around to face Herman. The troll was wearing a floral dress, and sunglasses that had probably belonged to Kim Jong-il at some point in time. Her skin was a thick, like an elephants. It was a deep purple color. This troll was the most beautiful thing Herman had ever seen. His mind went blank as he looked into her big chocolate brown eyes shaded by her thick, lime green eyelashes. Her long hair was also lime green, and it reached her waist. Only after a few seconds of admiring the... floral designs on her chest did he realize that the source of the odd crying was a strange creature clinging onto her stomach. The troll then smiled widely at Herman, and the crying ceased. Suddenly, everything went black.
TO BE CONTINUES