xkcd

by **cjquines** » Mon Apr 09, 2012 12:07 pm UTC

Fixing the general mistake of the popular forum game 3 word story, this attempts to add more words, making the possible crazyness factor go up, and the factor of people staying on the topic higher, because of the 12 words. Copy and paste, I do not want to compile everything into one big post.

Example:
Joe: There I woke up on a Sunday night, head hurting, and world
John: There I woke up on a Sunday night, head hurting, and world swirling, life feeling like it is worthless. He did not want this,
etc.

I'll start:
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my

by **t1mm01994** » Mon Apr 09, 2012 1:44 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my
wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and

by **cjquines** » Tue Apr 10, 2012 6:03 am UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my
wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and
his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The one that flies. Oh yes.

by **Adam H** » Tue Apr 10, 2012 2:48 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my
wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and
his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The one that flies. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by

by **takaia** » Wed Apr 11, 2012 7:54 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my
wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and
his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The one that flies. Oh yes.
While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by
those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to

by **wingedocelot** » Fri Apr 13, 2012 6:45 am UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my
wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and
his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The one that flies. Oh yes.
While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by
those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to
the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the

by **felltir** » Fri Apr 13, 2012 10:21 am UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my
wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and
his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The one that flies. Oh yes.
While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by
those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to
the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the
wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come.

by **Plasma Man** » Fri Apr 13, 2012 11:20 am UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my
wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and
his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The one that flies. Oh yes.
While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by
those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to
the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the
wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come.
The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the

by **Adam H** » Fri Apr 13, 2012 3:13 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly,

(Edited slightly for grammer, and fixed the lines since this is a story not a poem...)

by **Snark** » Fri Apr 13, 2012 7:24 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy,

by **felltir** » Fri Apr 13, 2012 7:34 pm UTC

Damn you, ninja.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only

by **Adam H** » Mon Apr 16, 2012 6:39 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

by **felltir** » Mon Apr 16, 2012 7:37 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's

by **Wnderer** » Mon Apr 16, 2012 8:44 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and

by **Snark** » Mon Apr 16, 2012 8:48 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide

by **Wnderer** » Mon Apr 16, 2012 10:15 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as

by **cjquines** » Fri Apr 20, 2012 3:46 am UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am

by **Wnderer** » Sun Apr 22, 2012 3:52 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my

by **Adam H** » Mon Apr 23, 2012 3:26 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp

by **Sean Quixote** » Fri May 04, 2012 1:46 am UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand

by **Wnderer** » Sat May 05, 2012 3:00 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They

by **Sean Quixote** » Thu May 10, 2012 3:55 am UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano

by **[username]** » Thu May 10, 2012 4:53 am UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from

by **Adam H** » Fri May 11, 2012 9:24 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was

by **Wnderer** » Sat May 12, 2012 3:13 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious

by **Adam H** » Tue May 15, 2012 8:20 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious and the Horrible Housefly ate it all. My perturbed wombat cried out

by **Wnderer** » Sat May 19, 2012 1:04 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious and the Horrible Housefly ate it all. My perturbed wombat cried out, "Who would have thought that a housefly would like to eat shit?"

by **seanf555** » Mon May 28, 2012 2:24 am UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious and the Horrible Housefly ate it all. My perturbed wombat cried out, "Who would have thought that a housefly would like to eat shit?" I then remembered that my wombat whatches reality T.V. Explains a lot.

by **flicky1991** » Sun Sep 02, 2012 9:02 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious and the Horrible Housefly ate it all. My perturbed wombat cried out, "Who would have thought that a housefly would like to eat shit?" I then remembered that my wombat whatches reality T.V. Explains a lot.

The next morning, I woke up in bed with my wombat. He

by **Blackdomino** » Thu Sep 06, 2012 10:11 am UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious and the Horrible Housefly ate it all. My perturbed wombat cried out, "Who would have thought that a housefly would like to eat shit?" I then remembered that my wombat whatches reality T.V. Explains a lot.

The next morning, I woke up in bed with my wombat. He stretched then growled. Turned his head, squinted at me and said "Coffee?"

by **flicky1991** » Thu Sep 06, 2012 1:26 pm UTC

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious and the Horrible Housefly ate it all. My perturbed wombat cried out, "Who would have thought that a housefly would like to eat shit?" I then remembered that my wombat whatches reality T.V. Explains a lot.

The next morning, I woke up in bed with my wombat. He stretched then growled. Turned his head, squinted at me and said "Coffee?" I kissed him and said, "Yes, thanks", hiding the fact that I

by **cjquines** » Sun Sep 09, 2012 11:54 am UTC

Spoiler:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious and the Horrible Housefly ate it all. My perturbed wombat cried out, "Who would have thought that a housefly would like to eat shit?" I then remembered that my wombat whatches reality T.V. Explains a lot.

The next morning, I woke up in bed with my wombat. He stretched then growled. Turned his head, squinted at me and said "Coffee?" I kissed him and said, "Yes, thanks", hiding the fact that I clearly am avoiding the ravidly terrible coffee the wombat makes. So,

by **flicky1991** » Fri Sep 14, 2012 4:08 pm UTC

Spoiler:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious and the Horrible Housefly ate it all. My perturbed wombat cried out, "Who would have thought that a housefly would like to eat shit?" I then remembered that my wombat whatches reality T.V. Explains a lot.

The next morning, I woke up in bed with my wombat. He stretched then growled. Turned his head, squinted at me and said "Coffee?" I kissed him and said, "Yes, thanks", hiding the fact that I clearly am avoiding the ravidly terrible coffee the wombat makes. So, after he left the room to make it, I sneaked out the

by **Vytron** » Fri Nov 09, 2012 12:06 pm UTC

Spoiler:

The next morning, I woke up in bed with my wombat. He stretched then growled. Turned his head, squinted at me and said "Coffee?" I kissed him and said, "Yes, thanks", hiding the fact that I clearly am avoiding the ravidly terrible coffee the wombat makes. So, after he left the room to make it, I sneaked out the back door, and got my decoy. I put it on the bed

by **flicky1991** » Sun Dec 30, 2012 8:37 pm UTC

Spoiler:

The next morning, I woke up in bed with my wombat. He stretched then growled. Turned his head, squinted at me and said "Coffee?" I kissed him and said, "Yes, thanks", hiding the fact that I clearly am avoiding the ravidly terrible coffee the wombat makes. So, after he left the room to make it, I sneaked out the back door, and got my decoy. I put it on the bed and ran outside, jumping into the first taxi I saw. My heart

by **Sean Quixote** » Mon Dec 31, 2012 6:01 am UTC

Spoiler:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious and the Horrible Housefly ate it all. My perturbed wombat cried out, "Who would have thought that a housefly would like to eat shit?" I then remembered that my wombat whatches reality T.V. Explains a lot.

The next morning, I woke up in bed with my wombat. He stretched then growled. Turned his head, squinted at me and said "Coffee?" I kissed him and said, "Yes, thanks", hiding the fact that I clearly am avoiding the ravidly terrible coffee the wombat makes. So, after he left the room to make it, I sneaked out the back door, and got my decoy. I put it on the bed and ran outside, jumping into the first taxi I saw. My heart may be cold and black, but my coffee shouldn't have to be!

by **Vytron** » Tue Jan 01, 2013 2:47 pm UTC

Spoiler:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious and the Horrible Housefly ate it all. My perturbed wombat cried out, "Who would have thought that a housefly would like to eat shit?" I then remembered that my wombat whatches reality T.V. Explains a lot.

The next morning, I woke up in bed with my wombat. He stretched then growled. Turned his head, squinted at me and said "Coffee?" I kissed him and said, "Yes, thanks", hiding the fact that I clearly am avoiding the ravidly terrible coffee the wombat makes. So, after he left the room to make it, I sneaked out the back door, and got my decoy. I put it on the bed and ran outside, jumping into the first taxi I saw. My heart may be cold and black, but my coffee shouldn't have to be!

I arrived to my destination, and the wombat was there, it said

by **Sean Quixote** » Tue Jan 15, 2013 9:47 am UTC

Spoiler:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.

Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.

A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."

Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious and the Horrible Housefly ate it all. My perturbed wombat cried out, "Who would have thought that a housefly would like to eat shit?" I then remembered that my wombat whatches reality T.V. Explains a lot.

The next morning, I woke up in bed with my wombat. He stretched then growled. Turned his head, squinted at me and said "Coffee?" I kissed him and said, "Yes, thanks", hiding the fact that I clearly am avoiding the ravidly terrible coffee the wombat makes. So, after he left the room to make it, I sneaked out the back door, and got my decoy. I put it on the bed and ran outside, jumping into the first taxi I saw. My heart may be cold and black, but my coffee shouldn't have to be!

I arrived to my destination, and the wombat was there, it said

"I have been waiting for you, my son," and I was like

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