Active Get the Cookie
- Thread starter Colonel Thunder
- Start date
I spring out of the pile of albums that I've been lost in for two years and steal the cookie.
"I, Colonel Thunder, demand you give me the cookie!"
"Sir he doesn't have the cookie. Crowbar has the coo-"
"Radar, grab the cookie from Crowbar!"
Radar steals the cookie from you and gives it to me.
"Ha! I'll put the cookie under this rock now, and then sit on top of it, that way no one can get it!"
>implying Radar would give it to you freely
> cookie.exe stops working from sheer force of implication
>deletes cookie32
>reboots
>last restore found with crowbar109
I have cookie once more.
D
Danny
Guest
Unregsistered User
I borrow the cookie.
nope.avi
My cookie
My cookie
The sky turns red and the air seems to ripple with a foreboding heat. With a bone-chilling crack, a great tear appears in the fabric of reality, releasing swirling energies and anguished howls. Through the tear, I emerge.
But this is not the Chickenspleen you once knew. Time and hardship have shaped me into a cold, remorseless killer. Scars adorn my body like ceremonial markings, remnants if many near-death experiences. My hair is tangled and unruly like that of a madman. I wear combat fatigues that have been torn and repaired multiple times, and keep weapons all over my body, be they blade or gun. Everything, my clothes, my skin, is stained in blood. Teal blood.
"Two years," I snarl, "Two years I lost in that hell of a future. It must be stopped. It must be prevented!"
With a bloodcurdling scream I rush at you, brandishing a sword crusted over with the blood of god knows how many. In merciless slashes and stabs I tear your flesh apart, new teal stains coating my body. As you fall to the ground in shock and pain, I drive the blade through your chest, pinning you to the floor.
All eyes are on me as, panting and cringing at the pain of old wounds, I pick something up off your body. It is covered in a thick layer of blood, but to all those gathered around, the small object is easily recognizable.
"My cookie."
But this is not the Chickenspleen you once knew. Time and hardship have shaped me into a cold, remorseless killer. Scars adorn my body like ceremonial markings, remnants if many near-death experiences. My hair is tangled and unruly like that of a madman. I wear combat fatigues that have been torn and repaired multiple times, and keep weapons all over my body, be they blade or gun. Everything, my clothes, my skin, is stained in blood. Teal blood.
"Two years," I snarl, "Two years I lost in that hell of a future. It must be stopped. It must be prevented!"
With a bloodcurdling scream I rush at you, brandishing a sword crusted over with the blood of god knows how many. In merciless slashes and stabs I tear your flesh apart, new teal stains coating my body. As you fall to the ground in shock and pain, I drive the blade through your chest, pinning you to the floor.
All eyes are on me as, panting and cringing at the pain of old wounds, I pick something up off your body. It is covered in a thick layer of blood, but to all those gathered around, the small object is easily recognizable.
"My cookie."
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Though my limbs are shredded and organs demolished, I muster the strength to wheeze out a soft laugh. It is not so easy to kill a god, and it falls to me to punish the hubris of those who would try. I grip the blade and pull upward; even with my muscles torn beyond repair, I have the strength to dislodge it, and teal ichor courses from the dilated wound. I grin. "And now, you lose a lifetime."
The flow of time reverses, but I keep the sword in stasis. My wounds heal and I regain my feet, the tear in spacetime closes, and the sky returns to normal. Bearing a weapon that should not - most would say cannot - exist, I pocket the cookie and wait for things to progress as normal, up to the opening of the hole. Then, I act.
Chickenspleen steps out of the rift, and is met with exquisite agony as his own bloodstained sword stabs through his eye and into his brain. The last thing the warrior of tomorrow sees before I slice his skull apart is a cold, confident smile. I heft the unrecognizable carcass and hurl it back through the temporal fissure, a warning to any on the other side who would dare to assail a deity.
Brandishing the sword, I take a glance around the bloodstained battlefield, still smiling. "Anyone else want to give that a shot?"
The flow of time reverses, but I keep the sword in stasis. My wounds heal and I regain my feet, the tear in spacetime closes, and the sky returns to normal. Bearing a weapon that should not - most would say cannot - exist, I pocket the cookie and wait for things to progress as normal, up to the opening of the hole. Then, I act.
Chickenspleen steps out of the rift, and is met with exquisite agony as his own bloodstained sword stabs through his eye and into his brain. The last thing the warrior of tomorrow sees before I slice his skull apart is a cold, confident smile. I heft the unrecognizable carcass and hurl it back through the temporal fissure, a warning to any on the other side who would dare to assail a deity.
Brandishing the sword, I take a glance around the bloodstained battlefield, still smiling. "Anyone else want to give that a shot?"
"Hey, uh, Tirin?" I say, walking up to Tirin. "Can I see the cookeie for a second? I'm here to, uh, fix it! Yeah! Fix it."
I eagerly await receipt of the cookie.
My cookie?
I eagerly await receipt of the cookie.
My cookie?
As TC finally makes contact with the cookie, a distant echo is heard. A quick scan of the horizon yields a large dust cloud that slowly grows, the details of its source hidden behind heat waves. As it grows the rumble of a V8 slowly becomes more defined. Soon the sound of funk overcomes the rumble and the figure begins to take on detail. It's a convertible, in its driver seat is a young man, his hair flowing in a luxurious mane behind him. Continuing its approach the car reveals a second passenger dressed in a suit of sorts that could only be described as flamboyant and fabulous. Their chariot now in clear detail is a big white Cadillac, trim made of what appears to be pure gold which transitions over into the large flat grill. On it, letters in silver spell out, "Mach Entertainment"
TC, completely absorbed in the approach of the new duo, stands there as the small gap between him and the grille of the V8 Caddy quickly dissapears. The boat of a car plows onto TC and comes to an abrupt stop on top of his body, his arm sticking straight up into the air holding the cookie. The vehicle backs up and with a growl slowly accelerates forward and alongside the flattened man. The driver, grabs the cookie and eyes the remaining group through his aviators as a sly smile forms on his face. His his is suddenly thrown back and a hearty laugh bellows from within him. With a deafening roar the vehicle lurches forward, kicking up a blinding sandstorm of dust. As the dust clears the back of the Caddy reveals a vanity plate bolted to the trunk reading, "RCN-mstr," on its egress from the group. Soon the sound of funk all but fades out, the only signs that they had been there being a dead TC and tire tracks.
My and prince's cookie.
TC, completely absorbed in the approach of the new duo, stands there as the small gap between him and the grille of the V8 Caddy quickly dissapears. The boat of a car plows onto TC and comes to an abrupt stop on top of his body, his arm sticking straight up into the air holding the cookie. The vehicle backs up and with a growl slowly accelerates forward and alongside the flattened man. The driver, grabs the cookie and eyes the remaining group through his aviators as a sly smile forms on his face. His his is suddenly thrown back and a hearty laugh bellows from within him. With a deafening roar the vehicle lurches forward, kicking up a blinding sandstorm of dust. As the dust clears the back of the Caddy reveals a vanity plate bolted to the trunk reading, "RCN-mstr," on its egress from the group. Soon the sound of funk all but fades out, the only signs that they had been there being a dead TC and tire tracks.
My and prince's cookie.
I fondly remember the great times I had trying to get the cookie back on urealms. My imagination runs wild with the ridiculous scenarios we all conjured up together, the hilarity and brutality a creative highlight of simpler times for me, back in high school.
I hop in a nearby fridge as I call in a nuclear strike on RM's Caddy.
The missile detonates, wiping clean the slab of Earth that once existed below it. At ground zero, I open up the fridge door, clearing my throat quietly, listening to the distant echoes of funk. I wander for a few minutes, until I see a faint glow underneath a pile of rubble. The prize.
My cookie.
I hop in a nearby fridge as I call in a nuclear strike on RM's Caddy.
The missile detonates, wiping clean the slab of Earth that once existed below it. At ground zero, I open up the fridge door, clearing my throat quietly, listening to the distant echoes of funk. I wander for a few minutes, until I see a faint glow underneath a pile of rubble. The prize.
My cookie.