Remember these? Me neither. Here's some more.
21)Amanda McCurdy and the Japanese businessman locked eyes across the subway car. There was no one else aboard. They had gotten on at precisely the same time, on the opposite ends of the carriage, and now they stood locked in position as the train began to move. Squarley between them, with measurments so equal not even mathematics could help, lay a newspaper. It was folder over on a seat, hanging like some discarded piece of trash. Which, in truth, it was. However, it doubled as entertainment for the two stare-off-ees for the hour-long train ride, and only one of them was going to get to it. So they stood, waiting for the other to make a move. And then the Japanese businessman did. Thusly, so did Amanda. Time slowed, the world blurred, and the race was on. Footsteps were like meteories crushing planets, hands flat so as to slice through the air as swiftly as possible. Bags were dropped, hats let loose to flutter to the floor, and arms stretched. There was nothing for a moment. Only closed eyes, dripping sweat, and pulsing hearts. Amanda opened her eyes. In her right hand, clutched far too firmly, was the newspaper. Behind her, she heard the scream of a Japanese businessman.
22)Josh Charles laughed vividly and pulled the giant lever. The secret agent began to slowly lower towards the lava, the chain unravling one link at a time. "Have a good day, Mr. Thunder! I hope things don't get to hot for you!" and he let out another fit of guffaws. He climbed the metal staircase, his shoes clinking on the steps, and returned to his cool, air-conditioned control room. "Everything under control, Espo?" he asked of a short man in a white suit. The litte person turned and nodded, then turned back to the controls. "Good, good," said Josh, rubbing his hands together. We shouldn't have any more interuptions. You may disembark when ready," he again spoke to the little man, and walked to the lounge. Waiting for him was Areola Vixen, his saucy tempress. "Everything is going according to plan," he said with a smirk and the raise of a wine glass. Instantly, sirens began to wail. The room shuddered, and explosions and shouts were heard. Gunfire followed, then, with a crash, the rugged agent stepped through the doorway. The last thing Mr. Charles ever heard...Was the sound of Thunder.
23)Andrhea Unger held her breath, and struck a pose, holding as still as possible. It was a last resort, a plan that one could only laugh at, but she hadn't a choice. Flashlights flickered over the room, glancing off the smooth bodies and shiny heads of the mannequins, and unnoticed over Andrhea's bare skin. "Where did she go?" asked one voice. "Look," said another, and with a twinge of horror, a flashlight shown upon Andrhea's discarded clothes. "What in the world..." was all she needed, and with a most appealing round-house kick to one of the men's heads, a domino effect took care of the both of them. Andrhea stood shivering, and looked down at the robbers. "Perverts," she said, grabbed the bag of money, and made off, though not before she became clothed and removed the criminals' masks to see just how handsome they were. Which they were. Very. ...Handsome, that is. Indeed.
24)Zach Brastad leaned back in the wooden chair, rifle on his lap. The jungle 'round his person sqwacked and rumbled and roared and cawed, but still he managed to doze off in to a splendid nap. Soon after there was the snap of a branch, (far too close for his comfort!) and his eyes fluttered open like bothered butterflies. There stood a tiger! Nay, a lion! Nay, simply a large cat of a sort! His eyes focused, finally, and he found it to be such an odd creation! It had an outline, a harsh, scraggled outline, tho' it had been scribbled on some scrap of cloth! It moved with jerks and quick movements, sometimes, but sometimes it was slow, like a sloth or one of the elders. But oh it was an unusual sight, if not only because its parculiar style and movement, but because of the sounds of a dove which burbled from its maw! It approached, and the explorer could only freeze in his chair, watching upon its flexing shoulder blades and surging muscles. Then with a leap, huzzah! Zach awoke from his dream and fell face-first into the dirt, wah-wah!
25)Quint Chastain clicked away feverishly at his typewriter. He was in a small hotel room with one bed and bath, the shades were drawn, and the warm yellow glow of indoor lights filled the room. His eyes twitched to and fro, taking in what he was typing as though he had just forgotten he had written it, then quietly claiming to himself it was genius. Which it of course was, but that's no excuse for a big ego, now is it. Truth be told, though, he didn't have a big ego. He DIDN'T realize he had just written it. For you see, Quint had a unique ability to trasnfer the minds of some of the times greatest writers right through his own noggin, himself merely acting as a way to get them out on paper. "Briliant!" he gasped in wonder at one sentence that had just been written, and smiled, for it contained a pun, and he LOVED puns. A small hatch at the bottom of the door slid open, catching his attention. A tray with food on it was pushed through, and a voice said "Dinner time!" Such nice people these hosts were, Quint thought, letting him stay there...for so long.
26)Micheal Sekac giggled vehemently and switched his eye patch to the other eye, proving finally that it was just for show. The other pirates around him wore fluffly pink shirts and tassled hats, and he himself was prancing around in a most unusual manner. "Teeheeheeheehee!" he cried again, and turned to the man tied to the mast, "Well if you won't tell us where the treasure is, we'll FORCE it out of you! Teeheeheeheehee!" The man only spat, to which all the pirates shriked and backed up. A large pirate, who wore a feather boa, walked boldy up to the man, and smacked him on the cheek. "Where is this story going?" he demanded, looking at the camera. Kalen, the author, didn't really know, and was shocked that a fictional character was speaking to him, so he just sort of shrugged, and left the computer.
27)Jay Averill wailed fiercly on the guitar, and the crowed bellowed back, swaying and churning before him. The final chord was struck, and like an explosion ripping through the building, the crowd became impossilby louder than previously. Hold up his hand, yet not his head, for he was too tired from rocking, he stumbled slowly from the stage. As soon as the stage door clicked shut behind him, a team of medics rushed up to him. They were shouting and pointing and heaved him onto a stretcher, and it was all sort of blurry to Jay. His mohawk had gone limp from the sweat, and now hung patched across his forehead, and it was bothering him, but he was too weak to brush it aside. As he thought of this, he realized he was now in another room, being hooked up to machinery, and now being submerged into a sort of liquid. It was cool and refreshing...so refreshing...that he..fell asleep....Outside of the tank, scientists and doctors studied readings and charts, stroking chins (sometimes each others) and furrowing brows. "This man..." said one, "...can rock so hard. Where does he get this powerful energy?" "It is almost super-human," said another one who wore glasses. There was a sloshing, and, turning, the white-coated chaps found Jay to be proped up via his crossed arms on the rim of the tank. "Well gents," he said, seeming to be in excellent health, "I am the God of Rock."
28)Jason Pitman shifted the baseball bat to his other shoulder, and leaned against the warehouse wall, waiting. In a moments time, a car pulled up, black with spookiness, and a man emerged. He was skinny and skeletal, with sunken eyes and a stove-pipe top hat. "Is this the place of aquisition?" he questioned raspily. "If you got the forms, pal," replied Jason nonchalauntly. The thin man produced some papers from his coat's breast pocket, and handed them over. Spaces filled, boxes checked, yep, looked good. The most important check was next to a 12. "A dozen huh?" "Yes," said the man. Jason started at him for a second, then with a clunk, opened the warehouse door. Zombies emerged. He smacked the about with the baseball bat, and when twelve had come out, he slammed shut the door. He kept them round up with the bat, but they didn't move much, so it was easy. "Gonna have a heck of a time fittin' em all in there," said Jason, motioning to the man's car. The man frowned.
22)Josh Charles laughed vividly and pulled the giant lever. The secret agent began to slowly lower towards the lava, the chain unravling one link at a time. "Have a good day, Mr. Thunder! I hope things don't get to hot for you!" and he let out another fit of guffaws. He climbed the metal staircase, his shoes clinking on the steps, and returned to his cool, air-conditioned control room. "Everything under control, Espo?" he asked of a short man in a white suit. The litte person turned and nodded, then turned back to the controls. "Good, good," said Josh, rubbing his hands together. We shouldn't have any more interuptions. You may disembark when ready," he again spoke to the little man, and walked to the lounge. Waiting for him was Areola Vixen, his saucy tempress. "Everything is going according to plan," he said with a smirk and the raise of a wine glass. Instantly, sirens began to wail. The room shuddered, and explosions and shouts were heard. Gunfire followed, then, with a crash, the rugged agent stepped through the doorway. The last thing Mr. Charles ever heard...Was the sound of Thunder.
23)Andrhea Unger held her breath, and struck a pose, holding as still as possible. It was a last resort, a plan that one could only laugh at, but she hadn't a choice. Flashlights flickered over the room, glancing off the smooth bodies and shiny heads of the mannequins, and unnoticed over Andrhea's bare skin. "Where did she go?" asked one voice. "Look," said another, and with a twinge of horror, a flashlight shown upon Andrhea's discarded clothes. "What in the world..." was all she needed, and with a most appealing round-house kick to one of the men's heads, a domino effect took care of the both of them. Andrhea stood shivering, and looked down at the robbers. "Perverts," she said, grabbed the bag of money, and made off, though not before she became clothed and removed the criminals' masks to see just how handsome they were. Which they were. Very. ...Handsome, that is. Indeed.
24)Zach Brastad leaned back in the wooden chair, rifle on his lap. The jungle 'round his person sqwacked and rumbled and roared and cawed, but still he managed to doze off in to a splendid nap. Soon after there was the snap of a branch, (far too close for his comfort!) and his eyes fluttered open like bothered butterflies. There stood a tiger! Nay, a lion! Nay, simply a large cat of a sort! His eyes focused, finally, and he found it to be such an odd creation! It had an outline, a harsh, scraggled outline, tho' it had been scribbled on some scrap of cloth! It moved with jerks and quick movements, sometimes, but sometimes it was slow, like a sloth or one of the elders. But oh it was an unusual sight, if not only because its parculiar style and movement, but because of the sounds of a dove which burbled from its maw! It approached, and the explorer could only freeze in his chair, watching upon its flexing shoulder blades and surging muscles. Then with a leap, huzzah! Zach awoke from his dream and fell face-first into the dirt, wah-wah!
25)Quint Chastain clicked away feverishly at his typewriter. He was in a small hotel room with one bed and bath, the shades were drawn, and the warm yellow glow of indoor lights filled the room. His eyes twitched to and fro, taking in what he was typing as though he had just forgotten he had written it, then quietly claiming to himself it was genius. Which it of course was, but that's no excuse for a big ego, now is it. Truth be told, though, he didn't have a big ego. He DIDN'T realize he had just written it. For you see, Quint had a unique ability to trasnfer the minds of some of the times greatest writers right through his own noggin, himself merely acting as a way to get them out on paper. "Briliant!" he gasped in wonder at one sentence that had just been written, and smiled, for it contained a pun, and he LOVED puns. A small hatch at the bottom of the door slid open, catching his attention. A tray with food on it was pushed through, and a voice said "Dinner time!" Such nice people these hosts were, Quint thought, letting him stay there...for so long.
26)Micheal Sekac giggled vehemently and switched his eye patch to the other eye, proving finally that it was just for show. The other pirates around him wore fluffly pink shirts and tassled hats, and he himself was prancing around in a most unusual manner. "Teeheeheeheehee!" he cried again, and turned to the man tied to the mast, "Well if you won't tell us where the treasure is, we'll FORCE it out of you! Teeheeheeheehee!" The man only spat, to which all the pirates shriked and backed up. A large pirate, who wore a feather boa, walked boldy up to the man, and smacked him on the cheek. "Where is this story going?" he demanded, looking at the camera. Kalen, the author, didn't really know, and was shocked that a fictional character was speaking to him, so he just sort of shrugged, and left the computer.
27)Jay Averill wailed fiercly on the guitar, and the crowed bellowed back, swaying and churning before him. The final chord was struck, and like an explosion ripping through the building, the crowd became impossilby louder than previously. Hold up his hand, yet not his head, for he was too tired from rocking, he stumbled slowly from the stage. As soon as the stage door clicked shut behind him, a team of medics rushed up to him. They were shouting and pointing and heaved him onto a stretcher, and it was all sort of blurry to Jay. His mohawk had gone limp from the sweat, and now hung patched across his forehead, and it was bothering him, but he was too weak to brush it aside. As he thought of this, he realized he was now in another room, being hooked up to machinery, and now being submerged into a sort of liquid. It was cool and refreshing...so refreshing...that he..fell asleep....Outside of the tank, scientists and doctors studied readings and charts, stroking chins (sometimes each others) and furrowing brows. "This man..." said one, "...can rock so hard. Where does he get this powerful energy?" "It is almost super-human," said another one who wore glasses. There was a sloshing, and, turning, the white-coated chaps found Jay to be proped up via his crossed arms on the rim of the tank. "Well gents," he said, seeming to be in excellent health, "I am the God of Rock."
28)Jason Pitman shifted the baseball bat to his other shoulder, and leaned against the warehouse wall, waiting. In a moments time, a car pulled up, black with spookiness, and a man emerged. He was skinny and skeletal, with sunken eyes and a stove-pipe top hat. "Is this the place of aquisition?" he questioned raspily. "If you got the forms, pal," replied Jason nonchalauntly. The thin man produced some papers from his coat's breast pocket, and handed them over. Spaces filled, boxes checked, yep, looked good. The most important check was next to a 12. "A dozen huh?" "Yes," said the man. Jason started at him for a second, then with a clunk, opened the warehouse door. Zombies emerged. He smacked the about with the baseball bat, and when twelve had come out, he slammed shut the door. He kept them round up with the bat, but they didn't move much, so it was easy. "Gonna have a heck of a time fittin' em all in there," said Jason, motioning to the man's car. The man frowned.