July 19, 2007

Amorous George: Monkeyfilter Original Bodice-Ripper OK, I’m really intrigued by the idea of writing a collaborative, round-robin bodice-ripper (romance novel) version of Hamlet as discussed in this thread. If nobody else is, I’ll ask Tracicle to eek this thread and we’ll never speak of it again. Or, you can just tease me mercilessly about it for the rest of my life.

Here’s what I propose: (And, if anyone has better ideas, we’ll use those instead. It doesn’t even have to be Hamlet; I just figured that would be easier than coming up with an original plot.) 1. Everybody who’s interested chimes in here. 2. I’ll make a rotation list, so everybody knows whose turn it is (crossed posts wouldn’t be fun). I’ll post an updated list whenever someone new chimes in. 3. When it’s your turn, you write one scene. There’s a good scene-by-scene synopsis at http://www.compusmart.ab.ca/hamlet/ham_sum.htm Make your version as short or as long as you feel inclined. 4. Take is as seriously or as silly-ly as you want. As long as you’ve having fun, whatever you write is OK. 5. We post each new scene in the Creativity section of the wiki at: http://wiki.monkeyfilter.com/Category:Creativity to avoid clogging up the thread. The writing rotor, comments, and questions can go in this thread. 6. If a character, place, or event appears or is discussed for the first time in your scene, you get to name it and decide how it fits into the setting. Add chracters, scenes, and events as you see fit. I can write a sentence or two establishing a setting, just to get us started. 7. Don’t worry about the quality of writing and editing. This is just for giggles. 8. ….. 9. Profit! (Just kidding. No profit involved.)

posted by The Underpants Monster 17 years ago
  • My bosoms heave in transplendent anticipation.
  • This just screams SCA
  • (not that there's anything wrong with that)
  • I think Anonymonkey should have the honor of kicking it off, being the one that started all this. If he/she agrees, of course.
  • Do I have to wear pants for this?
  • the question is whose pants you have to wear, Nick...
  • I signal my wish for inclusion by exposing my manly tumescence.
  • (also, for sake of Mofi tradition only, I hereby express my extreme surprise in learning that we have a Wiki.)
  • I vote for the merciless teasing!
  • (cue chicago accent) Youzed needs ta get da ting started fors da rest a us tos get started on dis
  • You're a total shill for character actors who play cops and mobsters the exact same way.
  • I was in _Hamlet_ once. I played Dave Hamlet, the main guy's brudda from Scranton. Only I ain't appeared in the play too much on account of his old lady was a real pain in the aass about everyting. She was totally into me tho. Weird chick.
  • *experiences a frisson of excitement at the thought Yes. Yes. YES! I want it!!!
  • It is a dark and stormy night. See, the thing about it is, it IS a dark and stormy night. So there.
  • I purse rose-petal lips in a face lightly touched with effulgent wonder, satiny but yet somehow creamy as well bosoms quivering like two blancmanges on a platter of silver filigree (or, possibly, like two undercooked poached eggs on a greasy diner plate, ripe with salmonella) in anticipation.
  • Sounds fun. If someone wiki- and Hamlet-minded wants to create blanks for each scene within the Creativity category, then people can rip into it. So to speak. Or tell me how you want it set up and I'll do it.
  • I think you guys should forget Hamlet and go with Titus Andronicus.
  • I can no write but I can help with the wiki setting up bits too.
  • Gomi and I will work tumescently to burst forth the bulging...er...typing?
  • Man tracicle has been spending too much time in the bloated whale tongue thread.....
  • I'm in I'm in I'm in! And how.
  • If I may offer an alternative, having acted in a college production of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" (we're talking 1974, folks... my small role was as the father of one of the young lovers, yet I still had to wear tights - it wasn't pretty, believe me), I can vouch for the ease at which that Romantic Comedy can get seriously erotic/raunchy/tumescent (plus we can steal liberally from cartoonist Brooke McEldowney's dubious attempt to do it as a webcomic). I'd much prefer a Shakespearean Comedy to a Tragedy. And Hamlet doesn't seem to offer enough bodice-ripping opportunities... what do you want, Rosencrantz and Guilderstern making out???
  • *unzips*
  • what do you want, Rosencrantz and Guilderstern making out??? My alabaster decolletage quivers at the thought!
  • Hamlet doesn't seem to offer enough bodice-ripping opportunities... Only true if you don't allow cross-dressing... The project sounds challenging, literate, and intellectually engaging while at the same time allowing for potentially unbridled prurience. Not sure how the multiple deaths would work into the latter, however, unless one is hoping to engage the "snuff" audience.
  • Skull-fucks!
  • Well, Hamlet's kind of like the Pirate Code. It's more a sort of "guideline." Being transported to the Colnoies, losing one's inheritnace, and all sorts of other trap doors couls substitute for death.
  • Will there be boobs?
  • kit, you just made me choke/laugh/spit and my coworkers think I iz dying.
  • So if I understand this "whi-key" thing correctly, Tracy sets up the page, and then each writer would click on the "edit" tab to add his/her chapter?
  • Everyone knows that the only people who add content to the wiki are pustulent pimples of attention-seeking irritation, constantly suppurating their word-ooze over the unsuspecting eyeballs of the innocent.
  • You'll have to sign up as a writer, Nickganger, to ensure that the boobs-to-no-boobs ratio remains at optimum levels.
  • Nickdanger, that is. Nickganger is Nickdanger's doppelganger.
  • You are so getting a smack next time I see you quidster.
  • Well, I'm available from 5-9 August in a Japanese capital near you.
  • Wheeee! *polishes the paddle*
  • NickDanger: Please remember that boobs come in pairs. You can have either 2,4,6, or 8, depending on the species. Of course, alien boobs are a different story. Remember that joke where you held someone's hand and told them about being from a different planet? After telling them all about what the aliens looked like, the punch line was--And my sex organs are in my palm. Mine are in the >small< tags. That's right. You're lookin' at 'em.
  • The last time a Japanese Capital was near me was when I went to see a hockey game in DC and Yutaka Fukufuji was between the pipes.
  • The last time a Japanese Capital was near me was when I went to see a hockey game in DC and Yutaka Fukufuji was between the pipes.
  • Count me in! Don't let the velvety satin sails unfurl without me.
  • Looks like the list so far is: RalphTheDog Argh BlueHorse VeraGemini Pallas Athena StoryBored The Underpants Monster If that's not correct, I may be having a tough time distinguishing in-chimingfrom merciless teasing...
  • Coincidently, that is also the list for the upcoming mega-decadent bodice-ripping orgy meetup, "Mofi Gone Wild", set to take place in my imagination, nightly, tonight through Thursday. Try the veal.
  • I was going to add my name to the list, but Ralph made me feel queasy.
  • I'll give it a go. Anonymonkey is also joining under the username "bodiceripper", as she preferred to keep her real username private, for obvious reasons.
  • I would also like to keep my username anonymous, and will post only under the pen name of "Ralph The Magnificently Chested Scoundrel".
  • Anticipated Scene: Tracicle: You realize, of course, that every post you have made on my site since the inception of your membership has enraged me to no end. Ralph The Magnificently Chested Scoundrel: Boo Ya! Tracicle: Take me. Ralph The Magnificently Chested Scoundrel: I will, just as soon as I rip open the bodice of this six-pack of Enflamed Vulva Imported Lager, the Beer of Manly Men Of Whom Women Have No Sense Of Moral Values. (he gulps). Tracicle: Take me. Ralph The Magnificently Chested Scoundrel: Okay, What's on the telly?
  • Well... according to the Radio Times - BBC1 - Kitfisto Does Dallas BBC2 - Deepfisto ITV - Naughy Nuns-a-Fisto Channel Four - Double Fisto College Girls Gone Wild Want me to set the video?
  • I'll give it a go. Also, please place my order for 1(one) each of the above videos. My bottle tops are included for payment.
  • Well, I'd certainly take orders for Naughty Nuns-a-Fisto... (boom boom!)
  • RTMCS FTW
  • The Underpants Monster RalphTheDog Argh BlueHorse VeraGemini Pallas Athena StoryBored Lara bodiceripper tracicle
  • Ooh, can I be counted in? I can participate as soon as I catch up on sleep. Hopefully by Monday I'll be caught u...zzzz.
  • I was going to add my name to the list, but Ralph made me feel queasy. Yeah, I hate veal, too. With a cast like this, I predict a money maker!
  • I predict a lot of amateur porn, personally...
  • some ideas: insistent tumescence burgeoning accouterments rigid virility followed in the next sentence with virile rigidity interrogating privities
  • Mmmm... amateur porn...
  • So....when do we start?
  • can't partake, but I REALLLLLY look forward to reading :D
  • I confess to being stumped by the whole wiki thing; I can't seem to fihure out how to add an article to the category, so somebody will have to do it for me. As soon as we get that I'll write the introduction and off we go!
  • But will Fabio be on the cover?
  • Oooo count me too please! I have many bodices to rip!
  • The Underpants Monster RalphTheDog Argh BlueHorse VeraGemini Pallas Athena StoryBored Lara bodiceripper tracicle mothninja I was going to just post the first installment right here in the thread, but I can't seem to do so. Must be some sort of size limit.
  • Ellsnor Manor, 1815 A bolt of lightning streaked the sky over the gabled roof of Ellsnor Manor. Horatio St. Francis, Bart. pulled the collar of his greatcoat up around his face to avoid the impending rain. It had been many months since his last visit to the Manor… under much happier circumstances. Their two families had been friends for generations; his own father had been one of Lady Gertrude’s many suitors when she inherited the duchy of Ellsnor. The belle of the Season and a duchess in her own right, she had had her pick of the bucks of the Town. She had settled on the elder of the Banbury brothers, and their son, Lord Hamilton, had been the boon companion of Horatio’s boyhood. But there had been another reason Horatio had spent every holiday from Oxforad at the manor – and that reason was at that very moment beckoning to him from the mullioned French windows of the library. Miss Bernadette Pettigrew blew out her candle as soon as she saw Lord St. Francis return her signal and head toward her. Her heart rose into her throat in anticipation, as it did every time the handsome baronet called upon the family. At first she had merely been flattered by his attentions – after all, she was merely Lady Gertude’s paid companion. But their mutual regard had blossomed into something much deeper in the ensuing months, as evidenced by the passionate embrace that ensued as he stepped into the library, his greatcoat and beaver hat dripping onto the Persian carpet beneath his gleaming Hessians. “My darling,” he breathed into her ear, “How have you borne it in this house the past few months?” “You’re here now,” she murmured against his strong shoulder. “I know everything will be all right now.” It seemed as if the ormolu mantel clock stopped ticking for an eternity as he held her close. She melted against his broad chest as he pulled her into a deep kiss. Reaching up into her cascade of ebony curls, he found the comb that held them in place and pulled it free, running his fingers thought the soft waves until they cascaded around her shoulders. He nearly felt his knees buckle at the heady scent of her, and they collapsed onto the divan, clinging tightly to one another. Her topaz eyes widened as she emitted a sharp gasp against his lips. He pulled himself away from her. “My darling, did I hurt you? I would never harm you for the world. If I forget myself..” She shook her head, her loosened hair shimmering in the moonlight. “No, no, my dearest. I merely remembered what I wanted to show you tonight.” She chuckled softly as his own eyes widened. “Wait here.” She rose, smoothing her black bombazine gown, and climbed up the library ladder to the top of a bookcase in the corner. Fumbling around at the top, she brought our a morocco-bound book. She clutched it to her ivory bosom as she came down the ladder and motioned him to the window. cont'd below
  • “His Grace – his late Grace, that is – that WAS, rather – entrusted this to me on his deathbed.” “I thought his Grace was taken suddenly.” Horatio’s long legs crossed the room in a few steps as he joined her by the window to look at the book by the light of the waxing moon. “He was still alive when I found him in the garden.” She bit her coral lip at the memory. “He had only time to ask me to keep the book for Lord Hamilton, and not to give it to Her Grace or to his brother.” “Then why are you showing it to me, my little goose?” “Lord Hamilton hasn’t arrived yet. And I was so frightened!” she cried. Indeed, he could feel her trembling limbs as she stood beside him. He put his arm around her petite shoulders and patted her hand. What a dear little hand – he longed to press it to his lips. She continued, lowering her voice. “The book is written in His Grace’s hand, but in some kind of code. I thought you might be able to decipher it. Lord Hamilton always said you were clever with languages. Perhaps it’s Latin, or Greek. I know it isn’t French. Please do look, my darling.” Able to deny her nothing, he took the book from her and opened it on the windowsill. IN an odd way, reading the deceased peer’s last words struck him with the feeling of seeing a ghost. He shook his lead. “I’m afraid it’s neither Latin nor Greek, my dear. Nor Arabic, Portuguese, nor any language I’ve ever seen or heard. I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until Hamilton gets here and see if he recognizes it. Probably some sort of secret code between father and son.” He pulled her close again, and they sat together until the moon sunk into the Surrey countryside. You're up next, Ralph!
  • “One cannot help but note that the moon is sinking into the Surrey countryside,” spoke Horatio, his long legs akimbo. “And to be blunt, my dearest, it is not as if this cock is going to suck itself.” Blushing, Bernadette took her cue. Horatio sat back as “little” Lord St. Francis slipped into a warm and moist nirvana. But Horatio’s mind could not help but wander back to the odd cipher that awaited Lord Hamilton’s arrival. Could it be a secret message, a warning of some sort? Or just another set of Sudoku puzzles, with difficulty levels ranging from easy to evil? And then there was the matter of the ghost. You know, the ghost? Hello! The ghost that the whole first act of this play centers itself on? Might not Bernadette have found a chance to utter just a word or two about the motherfucking GHOST???!!! Feeling somehow that this wagon’s wheels had already fallen off, Horatio, amid his requisite moans of pleasure, managed a simply query of his beloved: “No to be rude here, babes, but, you know, books with whacked out verse, well, that’s just fine. But didn’t you mean to tell me about Franky seeing, you know, a ghost or something? I mean, what are we going to be talking about for the next five scenes if there’s no fucking ghost?” (Take it away Argh)
  • Ahem...I believe the book takes the place of the ghost, delivering the message as if it were the ghost. Hence this passage: In an odd way, reading the deceased peer’s last words struck him with the feeling of seeing a ghost.
  • To much clever-clever! More PORN PLZ!
  • But will Fabio be on the cover? With a beginning like this, I'm afraid we'll have trouble getting Quid on the cover!
  • /me volunteers DIMMN to take the cover photo: quiddy, kit and the capt, locked in a passionate embrace, bodices ripped and torn, heaving chests glistening with sweat, hair streaming in the wind, possibly with a volcano in the background
  • I did be posting to wiki! Ripping Hamlet
  • How to post to wiki: 1. login 2. do search for page - RH part 3 (for example) It will say it does not exist and asks whether you want to create a page. You do! So click on that. 3. Bung text into page. 4. Preview - make sure it's readable. 5. Add this to the bottom after the text: [[Category:Ripping Hamlet]] 6. Save. You are done! It automagically makes linkies to the categories. If you are feeling brave you can edit the category page to show who wrote it.
  • I'm up for the front cover pic, as long as I'm in the 'dominant' role... *unzips*
  • We have a wiki?!
  • Thanks, gomi! Here's a link to the artice: http://wiki.monkeyfilter.com/Bodice_Ripper_Hamlet
  • Makes you wonder what we're wasting all that other brain matter on.
  • Ooops some confusion! When I set up the category I also already posted TUM's and Ralphs: TUM's RTD's If we stick to this format then you can access all the parts right from the main category page main category page
  • Arf.
  • Wouldn't it be weird if we finally ended up getting a wiki and then nobody knew how to use it?
  • *wakes up, looks around a.....wiki?
  • I wish I had time to play along, but I have yucky job writing to do ;) However, I look forward to reading, and maybe I can play when things get less crazy for me?
  • I am going to hurt the next person who asks if we have a wiki.....
  • No, but seriously. We do?
  • *ties kitfisto into a big know*
  • er knot....
  • A know is a cross between a knot and a bow. Look it up. I have come to the conclusion that boys don't get bodice ripppers, and also that they have cooties.
  • Show me what's inside your bodice and I'll show you my cooties...
  • The lovely Bernadette slunk around the door frame into the darkened library and stood quietly. The only sound she made was her frightened heart beating lub-dub, lub-dub against her heaving bosom. Horatio slipped into the room behind her, with plans of shortly slipping into her. "Oh, my little pigeon, how I've longed for your firm thighs." he muttered lustfully. "Shhhhh, my darling, they'll hear us!" she cried. Horatio crowed as he turned on the desk light, sweeping the litter of papers to the floor, "We're all alone in the house now, and you're tonight, you're mine!" Backing her up to the desk, he placed his meaty hands on her low-cut bodice, then ripped it downward, exposing her creamy white breasts. He placed his lips in the delectable cleft and blew. "Paaaarrrph." The lovely Bernadette shrieked, "Horatio, no, you're giving me teh cooties!"
  • boys don't get bodice ripppers he placed his meaty hands on her low-cut bodice, then ripped it downward, Frankly, no. I mean, perhaps in those backward ages, when zippers and straps and functional buttons haven't been invented yet, all this ripping business was necessary, but imagine it today? "Sorry, dear, I have nothing for you to rip tonight...' Damn.
  • Monkeyfilter: lub-dub, lub-dub
  • Flags, dammit! Will you PAY ATTENTION? We are writing A. Bodice. Ripper. Bodices must be ripped here.
  • Will you settle for lightly stained?
  • I demand ripping!!
  • I guess Horatio could bend down to pick up his silver snuffbox, and rip his tight pantaloons.
  • kit, keep your stains to yourself!
  • None of these seem to be ripped or stained. But suddenly, these pants are no longer comfortable.
  • MMMmmm. Those bodices. They has a flavor.
  • Argh, you still in? Shall we move on the GramMa?
  • Never, ever, ever ask a man if he's still in.
  • Shall we move on the GramMa? What does this mean? Am I in danger? Should I be afraid? *does old lady cringe while taking judo stance
  • It means the thread will hover over your august person, like a fluttering of angel wings on a mild April morning, with Debussy playing in the background.
  • Ahhhhhh. *straightens in relief, with look of beatific happiness spreading over wizened features *thread comes down like a net, trapping GramMa *shakes fist You lying, barstards!!!
  • Augh, so now it's a net-thread ripper?
  • So whose turn is it on this thingamabodice?
  • I'd take another turn, but I have been informed I have cooties, and am therefore in a huff.
  • Dead in the water already?
  • Nooo! If the wiki is daunting, maybe post here first, and someone can move the text over later?
  • New rotation - your turn, O Azure Equine One! The Underpants Monster RalphTheDog BlueHorse VeraGemini Pallas Athena StoryBored Lara bodiceripper tracicle mothninja Argh
  • *readies drink, dons pajamas, gets slippered feet up on stool*
  • Ooops didn't know I was in. Sorry, will be more responsible for now on *cracks a heineken and goes off to play desktop tower defense*
  • I can do the wiki updates OK - but it's probably best to send me the text at [email protected] so I can do it in a timely manner. Of course you are more than welcome to have a go updating the wiki yourself.
  • Sorry, will look for inspiration. Lust! Coming soon at a wiki near you.
  • *crosses fingers, gets fan ready for face-fanning*
  • So, if this idea is dead, can I start teasing TUM? she likes that, especially when done with a boa feather and some drizzled otter bile
  • Bernadette carefully rose from the bed of her erstwhile lover, Horatio, who lay, sated and vilely snoring on their bed of lust. She looked contemptuously upon his naked bloated body wrapped in a feather boa as he lay farting and grunting in his sleep. Now that the swinish oaf had satisfied his vile salacity upon her sapid anatomy, she could complete her plan. Bernadette pulled the ripped shreds of her favorite expensive black bombazine gown around her, the gown she had paid for in the taverns of the town by repeatedly selling her pliable flesh, and surreptitiously tiptoed from the room. Carefully and quietly pushing the thick, rigid, swollen oak door into it's tight, swollen frame, she leaned against it after it was closed, her pink petals wet and sorely swollen from the forceful swiving given her by Horatio's insistent tumescence. She was sick of him. Sick of him using her for his immoral lust. Sick of his lusty immorality. Sick of his rigid virility. Sick, sick, SICK, unto death of his virile rigidity, of his poking and prodding of her tender flesh and shell-pink orifices. Sick of his guzzling otter bile before he forced his concupiscence upon her. Waddling as she Gently cradled her tender pussy, she crept on her little cat feet to her boudoir to change into a virginal looking high-necked grey gown before fading into the fog outside her French doors. Tonight she would seek her revenge for his casual use of her tender flesh and burgeoning accouterments. She called for the carriage to take her to her new lover. He was no buffoon. He would protect her. He was no less than the Comte del Foutre himself! Reputedly a cocksman, however, she alone knew the truth. All the woman he had pricked meant nothing, NOTHING! to him, for he loved her, and her alone. He was hers, as she was his. Dry or dripping, she was his. She would go to him now, and he would begin interrogating privities concerning Horatio's plot to overthrow the government. She would not be just a whore, she would be a heroine!
  • Not enough ghost.
  • Or, whoroine, if you will.
  • wow BlueHorse, that's....impressive!
  • Hell, RTD, I put the feather boa and otter bile in there with you in mind!!
  • Koko, FTW! Ralph, that's what I usually say about BooBerry cereal.
  • Dry or dripping, *disturbed but at the same time enthused, can't look away from that phrase*
  • I do believe I screwed up the wiki when I tacked my piece onto part 2, rather than creating a part 3. If anyone would care to correct this feel free. I'm not too wikisavvy. *fans self
  • Wiki fixed!
  • Don't you mean "wikifixi"? *snatches Blue Horse's fan *fans self
  • Bernadette glared out the window with the expression of one who had been sucking upon the unripened bounty of an entire lemon grove rather than merely the otter-bile scented effusions from the manroot of one traitorous (and unhygenic) boor. The carriage could certainly use new springs. She shifted her weight awkwardly from one hip to another, searching her memory for the location of the nearest all-night icehouse. No matter! They had arrived at the doorstep of the shadowy and decrepit tavern, above which her truest love made his current abode. She slipped a coin to the carriage driver and made her way into the alley, taking tiny mincing steps, as much in consideration for her bruised womanhood as of the many reeking puddles from carelessly thrown chamberpots that dotted the way. She raised one tremulously clenched fist to rap on the heavy wooden door. Nothing happened. Bernadette tapped one slippered foot against the stained and smelly stones of the alleyway. She knocked again, louder this time. Nothing. "Oh for the love of Pete..." She beat on the cruel, impassive door, that imposing slab of wood that knew nothing, cared nothing of the love a hot-blooded woman might carry for her man and her country, she slapped and kicked and punched at the callous, unyielding barrier, imagining all the while that it was Horatio's poxy buttocks she was abusing. "Ow! Fuck me!" She pulled her hand back, grimacing as she stuck her finger in her mouth. "I'fe got a thpwinter!" Just then a small section of the door slid aside, with a creaking sound. One eyeball, the color of a molded plum floating in a dish of three-day old cream peered out at her. A sepulchral voice pierced the miasma of the alley. "Get thee to a nunnery!" "Huh?" Bernadette raised her delicate marigold-hued eyebrows. The eyeball rolled. "Get thee to a nunnery!" "Nunner.. ooh, wait! Thereth thomth..." She pulled her finger out of her mouth. "There's something rotten in Denmark!" The door swung open with a sepuchrally annoyed creak, and Bernadette skittered through. She scampered up the rickety, winding staircase, pausing once or twice to catch her breath and wish she'd stopped at that all-night icehouse after all, but all other thoughts were driven from her mind when she reached the familiar door. Gathering her wits around herself like a warm, fuzzy, but somewhat moth-eaten blanket, her heart fluttering in her chest like an unattended pot of coq au vin, she turned the latch. "Del Fourte!" He hand flew to her mouth with a slapping sound, her eyes widened, and she felt the floor buck beneath her. "Bernadette! I can explain! This is so totally not what it looks like!"
  • Ah, heck, I have to fight my instinct to tagline every other line of those two chapters! The similies! THe metaphors! The molded plums! The Underpants Monster RalphTheDog BlueHorse VeraGemini Pallas Athena StoryBored Lara bodiceripper tracicle mothninja Argh You're up, Milady Pallas of Athena!
  • Whew! *wearing out fan I'll never look at doors in the same way again.
  • What does a guy have to do to get some ghost around here?
  • THE GHOST WAS THE BOOK!!!
  • Okay, Ms. All Caps Mad Person. You seen any book references recently? I'm just saying that if we are going to do Hamlet, we need some hardcore ghost action, or it ain't Hamlet. Furthermore, it is damn hard if not impossible to rip the bodice from a book. Let's get the ghost on, people.
  • OK, fair 'nuff.
  • We're all gonna need a trip to the all-night icehouse.
  • You just wait till it's MY turn Ralph. You're going to see ghost-on-ghost action that will make your hair stand erect and turn white! *sets jaw with steely-eyed determination
  • Ghosts? I thought you said goats. *rips up manuscript*
  • "Do pardon my lateness. I came as soon as I could." Lord Hamilton was, as always, the soul of courtesy. "Oh, no bother, milord. Only next time, if milord could satisfy himself before friction burns appear, he would earn a humble servant's thanks." Hamilton finished doing up his breeches, reached deeply into the tight but oh, so willing passage of his pocket, withdrew a purse tumescently bulging with coin, and tossed it to his catamite Osric Osricsson in a graceful arc. "For your pains." Osric caught the purse nimbly, rolled off the bed, bowed and made a halting exit. Alone with his thoughts, Hamilton knit his brows. The letters he had lately received from his mother Lady Gertrude, the curt missive from his uncle, and most of all the darkly hinting lines from Horatio touching on his father's end-- they had all pointed to the same conclusion: he must return home, and soon. Thus he had left behind the erotic delights of Wittenberg University and embarked on the long journey northward, spending restless nights in shoddy wayside inns with only his wretched bodyservant Osric for company. At present, he calculated he was only a day's journey from Ellsnor Manor-- less if the weather favoured him. "The time is out of joint," he said aloud. Later, in the rattling carriage, Hamilton's sense of foreboding grew with each stride of his galloping team. Would dear lithe-bodied Horatio understand the changes that had come over him at Wittenberg? Would he feel as Hamilton did? For it seemed to him that all those golden afternoons spent under the expert tutelage of his beloved Professor Johannes Faustus; all those evenings carousing with strolling actors at the Withdrawing Dagger; to say nothing of those secret initiation rituals at the Wittenberg University Danish Society (here he thought with a twisted smile of his sponsors, Harald "Rosie" Rosencrantz and August "Gilly" Guildenstern-- as jocund a pair of perverts as ever swived); all these, it seemed, were mere dumbshows, prologues to the play that would be his reunion with Horatio St Francis, his ever-loyal companion and bosom friend. As the sweating steeds thundered towards the looming gates of Ellsnor, Hamilton wondered for the thousandth time whether Horatio would understand. And whatever was he going to tell Ophelia?
  • Tis wiki'd.
  • Biggest. Spit take. Evar.
  • touching on his father's end Oh Pallas, you have gone too far!
  • G. H. O. S. T. Is this so hard to understand?
  • MUST you be so LITERAL? ;-)
  • I gottcher ghost right here, Ralph. *makes rude gesture You'll rue the day, oh yes, my boy. You will.
  • me, I'm looking forward to some hot Ralph-ruing action. oh yeah!
  • Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him.
  • and apparently in the Biblical sense, considering the turn this novel is taking...
  • My my my my my...
  • My my my my my Good thing he's yours, because I don't want him. So it's StoryBored next? Oh, goody! *jumps up, claps hands
  • Not that we'll ever finish this one, but I think this should be our next monkeynovel:
  • What's wrong with Invasion of the Monk-o-maniacs? *taps foot, impatiently waiting for next installment
  • Wow, Jack Lord doesn't look very happy about the whole thing.
  • If we do Invasion of the Monk-o-Maniacs, I promise to write at least one chapter paragraph line of hot ghost-on-ghost action.
  • So.... In addition to your day job, you want to be a ghost writer?
  • It keeps body and soul together. Or not together. Or maybe "together"...
  • HOT BODY ON SOUL ACTION!
  • "Oooh," I moaned as Psyche animated my living flesh with thought, consciousness and immortality. "I am so glad I didn't sell you to Satan."
  • OMG, I've missed checking out this thread. Wow, great bodiciousness and ripperlingian prose!
  • Not only that, but it is YOUR TURN there, Storyboy.
  • *picks up riding crop, taps leg Well? We're waiting.
  • Gads, the pressure!
  • Home at last in the hallowed halls of Elsinor! If it were any other time Lord Hamilton would be sitting quietly by the mullioned French windows in the oak-paneled conservatory, reflecting on the turbulent twists of Fate and Fortune, the swirls and eddies of happenstance, the tumultuous kismet, the turmoil of clamor and rumpus. But for now, thoughts of living Destiny were rudely thrust aside like the loathsome tureens of rice pudding from his youth. For Horatio had just entered the room! As he approached, Lord Hamilton’s gaze fell upon his handsome friend's long legs, lithe waist and abundant hair. Here in the centuries-old ancestral haunt, hewn out of the living rock by the mythic Lord Cedric Flintstone, it seemed that the masonic monolith of history had resolved itself to this single moment. Lord Hamilton knew the truth of it: It would be He and Horatio. Horatio and He. And Ophelia too. ( For although his amorous tastes encompassed new territory, he was not about to relinquish the old.) "What ho, there Hammy!" said Horatio. Yes, thought Lord Hamilton. He and Horatio and Ophelia. All three of them in the bell-tower. Ringing each other's chimes. "I say, dashed good luck to see you." continued Horatio. Lord Hamilton rushed forward to boldly embrace his friend. "What troubles you Horatio, truest of friends? asked Hamilton. "There's something I must tell you" said Horatio, disentangling himself awkwardly. You’re running now, thought Hamilton. But wait until we’re all in the bell tower. Then we'll add that little minx, Bernadette. Bombazine va-va-voom! "How wonderful, i myself have revelations of deep portent" replied Hamilton, subtly thrusting his hips rhythmically in Horatio's direction. "Really? Imagine that. Spot on! Great stuff!" shouted Horatio, backing up.. "I've learned a lot since I've been away at school" suggested Hamilton, rotating his pelvis with an undulating circular motion. His bulging crotch suggested a volcanic lust barely contained. "Schooling is a marvelous thing. We should read more books and I’m definitely spending more time with parchment" "I'm not talking about books, my dear Horatio. I'm talking about the lingua franca, the nelly noodle, the peach pinata, the horizontal hoopty --" "Horizontal hoopty?" (ctd)
  • "Yes, I've learned many new skills. Would you like to see me balance this ormulu clock on my erect-" "Well, I always said you were jolly good at balancing but-" Before he had a chance to finish his sentence, Lord Hamilton leapt forward and pulled Horatio's pants down. "Wait!" shouted Horatio. "There is something you must know". Something in his tone froze Hamilton to the bone. "It's about your father". Hamilton eyes clouded over. His lust vanished instantly, as if a vapor. He fell back, as if struck. He mumbled incoherently, as if presidential. "You may not believe what I'm going to tell you" said Horatio, with his pants around his ankles. "But two days ago while Bernadette--" Bombazine! thought Lord Hamilton, but only for a moment. "--while Bernadette and I were strolling innocently along the windswept parapets upstairs. We saw something dashed peculiar. The moon was out and she was saying what bally bad luck with those subprime mortgages in Norway, what? When suddenly there's a whooshing sound--" "Yes? yes?" said Hamilton impatiently. "Oh my God!" Horatio's eyes widened in horror. Hamilton spun around. There, barely visible in the depths of the gloom, a murky cloud of white phosphorescence materialized before their eyes with a strange whooshing sound. Stunned, they watched as the cloud slowly took the shape of a beautiful bosomy maiden, cloaked in royal purple, with delicate alabaster features, swaying gently on her little cat feet. "I-i-t's your father!" whispered Horatio. "What?" said Hamilton. "It's your father. Speak to him." "That's not my father" "It's him!" hissed Horatio. “That’s impossible! Why, look at her, as beautiful as Spring’s first rose, as fair as the starry summer’s night yet whose visage proclaims the hidden presence of most furious passion! O to swoon and swive with thee! Speak, O nymph of my heart!” “Steady on, old chap” said Horatio. “Stand aside Horatio! I must woo her!” “Well-“ began Horatio. “Look, Horatio, I don’t appreciate your tone. And your insistence that she is my father I find most insulting. Your credibility stands at low ebb, you with your pants around your ankles.” “Have it your way” said Horatio. And with an annoyed glance backwards, he waddled out of the room. Lord Hamilton scarcely noticed, his attention riveted by the lovely apparition. “Now, that we’re all alone…” said Lord Hamilton. He moved toward her with volcanic bulginess.
  • my my
  • INDEED!
  • Monkeyfilter: I'm talking about the lingua franca
  • Hooooeeeeh! Two best lines ever: But for now, thoughts of living Destiny were rudely thrust aside like the loathsome tureens of rice pudding from his youth. He mumbled incoherently, as if presidential. OK, three: Would you like to see me balance this ormulu clock on my erect- Brilliant!! ACK! I'm next. How can I follow that?
  • Look, Horatio, I don’t appreciate your tone. I weep with verbal satiety. Perfection! You're up, Larababy!
  • Ooo, thanks for the compliments y'all. I am proud to stand erect among the pillars of bodiceousness. Gawd, this is much fun. I regret not adding a booberry reference but i couldn't work it in.
  • a booberry reference would have been rad, altho I for one was always more of a count chockula [sic??] fan.... and I have to say, Lara, that I personally have NO DOUBT that you will...shall we say *wiggles eyebrows* rise to the occasion. ahem.
  • Get your hands offa my boob-errys!
  • Oh, and to all you artistic Monkeys: I'm sure we'd all love to see some options for cover art!!!
  • Bombazine!
  • And cocks!
  • An ample serving of ghost, with a touch of whooshing and just a hint of phosphorescence. My compliments to the chef.
  • Ah, here we are. I've been falling down on the job: MonkeyFilter: My bosoms heave in transplendent anticipation. MonkeyFilter: My alabaster decolletage quivers at the thought! MonkeyFilter: Do I have to wear pants for this? MonkeyFilter: potentially unbridled prurience. MonkeyFilter: pustulent pimples of attention-seeking irritation, constantly suppurating their word-ooze over the unsuspecting eyeballs of the innocent. MonkeyFilter: I predict a lot of amateur porn, personally... MonkeyFilter: insistent tumescence burgeoning accouterments rigid virility followed in the next sentence with virile rigidity interrogating privities MonkeyFilter: Show me what's inside your bodice and I'll show you my cooties... MonkeyFilter: Those bodices. They has a flavor. MonkeyFilter: Let's get the ghost on, people. MonkeyFilter: We're all gonna need a trip to the all-night icehouse. MonkeyFilter: Would you like to see me balance this ormulu clock on my erect-" MonkeyFilter: I am proud to stand erect among the pillars of bodiceousness. MonkeyFilter: Bombazine! And cocks! These priceless gems must shine on! *strikes pose with erect... sword.
  • what the fuck does transplendent mean???????????? /laughing
  • wiki'd
  • Via BoingBoing: Bodice-Ripper Cover Parodies The Really Naughty Ones I think my favorite is OMG WTF! You're a Mer-man!
  • The skull makes it! I thought I'd die at those covers.
  • Looks like they're using Bill Bailey's head on the top of the Longmire pages.
  • Looks like I needn't have bothered with that fine-toothed comb I cast him out with on that rainy evening.
  • My favourite so far is "Defending Dildo Manor."
  • *taps foot waiting for next installment I'm waiting with baited breath.
  • Working on it now! I have to wait until everyone has forgotten StoreyBored's chapter.
  • Lara! Get crackin' sweetheart!
  • Sorry. I has been out of town and only having a few minutes here and there for the ole internets. Coming soon, I promise!
  • *twiddles thumbs*
  • OK, I'm gonna regret this, 'cause bodiceripper's up next and I'll have a REALLY tough act to follow, but can I trade places with bodiceripper? I've been working like 11 million hours a week, and I just can't find the time to do this (on a break during a 10-hour Saturday ATM build right now). Can I, can I, huh, huh?
  • I say yes, anyone working over 10 million hours a week automatically gets an extension.
  • Lara, your excuses mean nothing to us. What are your priorities, Girl!!!??? Get crackin' or we'll be sackin'.
  • I can swap places with you if you want Lara?
  • Yes, please! /hugs mothy /gets back to work
  • Great cover... but where's the ghost?
  • Hokay! /hugs Lara back Don't work too hard!
  • where's the ghost? Er, behind the flowerpot.
  • "... and as she gently stroked the motherboard of the ATM, it hummed to life, spreading a warm glow over its vacuum tubes. 'That's it, honey,' she purred as she firmly pushed a stack of twenties into its yielding cashbox... "
  • ...As the currency slid through the smooth and mysterious inner fjords of the money machine, her mind slipped back to the volcanic events of the prior evening. Yes, he had a beard but so what? Doesn't everyone? She resigned herself to the unvarnished truth --who but her would ever understand the deep secret passions of the Federal Reserve Chairman...
  • Now that's what I call Steampunk.
  • I'm confused. I didn't even know mothninja knew HOW to build an automatic teller machine. But, if it frees up Lara's writing time, I guess I'm all for it.
  • Another 12-hour day. Yay for the banking pr0n!
  • That mothninja has many hidden talents.
  • Lord Hamilton watched the retreating back of his friend - the strong rippling muscles under Horatio's silken shirt held no appeal for him now. "Man delights not me," Hamilton muttered under his breath, "No, nor woman neither..." His eyes rose to meet those of the ghostly apparition hovering in front of him. "But disembodied flesh on the other hand..." His body urged towards this new form of titillation. The apparition beckoned Hamilton towards her, a subtle smile playing on her pale lips. His britches still about his ankles, his manhood stirred to new heights of seraphic sensuality, he shuffled on his knees across flagstone floor until the glorious vision of empyrean femininity was but a breath away. She stared deep into his clear azure eyes, almost as if seeing into his very soul. Gone were his thoughts of handsome Horatio, and the ribald manly japes they had once shared; gone were all thoughts of Gilly, Rosie and all the other boys that once stirred his britches to such bulging buoyancy; gone too were all thoughts of beautiful, virginal Ophelia. Hamilton gave an unearthly moan, "Madam, I come before you!" The apparition spake, her ghostly voice brimming with the promise of rapturous bliss. "Mark me --" she began; but Hamilton needed no further encouragement. Thrilling to her dulcet, demanding tones, Hamilton's too too solid flesh melted, thawed and resolved itself into a dew upon her crinolined gown. As Hamilton shuddered in his solitary ecstasy, the ghost began to fade from view. She whispered in his ear, "If thou didst ever thy dear father love, revenge his foul and most unnatural murder! Adieu! Remember me!" The evidence of their mystical union still visible on the ethereal fabric of her purple gown - which, now that Hamilton thought about it, was rather blue in colour - she faded into nothingness. Groaning softly, spent from his exertions, Hamilton drew a hand across his brow; the sweat ran in cold tendrils down his high aristocratic cheekbone. "Murder?" he murmured, "Well, God-a-mercy." "My lord!!" Fair Ophelia stood in the doorway, backlit in the soft candlelight shining in from the corridor; her hair falling in tousled ringlets about her heart-shaped face as if she had just risen from her bed, her mouth agape at the scene that greeted her innocent eyes. But Hamilton heeded her not. His lust sated, his urges drained, he lay back on the cold stone floor. Perchance to dream, he slept.
  • Hamilton's too too solid flesh melted, thawed and resolved itself into a dew upon her crinolined gown. homminahomminahommina
  • Never since Ghostbusters I've been this aroused. Bravo.
  • The Underpants Monster RalphTheDog BlueHorse VeraGemini Pallas Athena StoryBored mothninja bodiceripper tracicle Lara Argh Ooh, the next chapter'll be done by a professional!
  • that's what I say when on the plane to Las Vegas...
  • *high hat*
  • (Prior warning: I won't be able to take part. Too much going on right now and my brain, she has the dumb.)
  • /cheers /gasps /faints
  • 'Bashi, if things calm down for you at any point before this mo-fo is finished, say the word and jump back in.
  • that's what I say toward the end of my stay in Vegas...
  • Sorry, ghostsex just does not satisfy. It's like eating Chinese.
  • Just imagine the savings in laundry bills, Gramma!
  • And besides, I hear the ghost of Christmas Past was hung like a racehorse.
  • Or hung like a reindeer.
  • *standing ovation for mothninja*
  • So...when do we expect that bodiceripper will unveil her ripping?
  • /applauds the proseninja
  • ...which is precisely the problem. Can we either light a fire or send this proj on to Lara or Argh?
  • (this time with actual content) "bodiceripper has posted 0 links and 0 comments on MonkeyFilter since July 17, 2007." ...which is exactly the problem. Can we please light a fire or move this along to the next monkey in line?
  • "bodiceripper" is an alias for a Monkey who wishes to remain anonymous - he/she will be sending his/her bit via tracicle. I vote that we wait a few more days; after all, there was a gap of a few weeks between the last post and the one before it.
  • there was a gap ... Unbeknownst to the Monkeys, the lust-obsessed Ralph decided he had to exploit this. Later, after the thread was quiet and everyone was about their business, he slipped back to the thread with lecherous thoughts on his mind. First checking to see if there was anyone to witness his vile, rapacious deed, he then savagely ripped his gloves off his hands, and forcefully inserted his thick, meaty fingers into the gap! His fist clenched as he grasped and twisted, and he threw back his head. The moonlight through the window revealed his sweating face, contorted with the intensity of his evil desire. After satisfying his lust, he smoothed back his pommaded hair and buttoned his vest before carefully checking no one would see him. He left the fragile broken thread gap weeping, and nastily kicked the preview button out of his way as he left. Oh, how I hope that this evil deed will come back to HAUNT HIM!!
  • What perview button?
  • We got a pervert button? Well, we'll need one before this story's over!
  • Another change in the list?
  • Yeah, I think so. Let's hear from Tracicle!!!
  • I thought she bowed out due to other committments.
  • Yep, you're right; I forgot that. So it's your turn, Lara.
  • Yay Lara!
  • I thought Lara was working 11 million hours a week? HAS NO ONE TIME FOR LITERARY PORN ANY MORE???!!!
  • I'll get to it. I'm down to 8 million hours a week, so I should be able to do it. Hold onto your hats, or bodices, or whatever...
  • *holds on to ass hat with both hands
  • With her reduced workload, Lara can also do all our tax returns. Great stuff, Lara. You're the best.
  • *lines up smelling salts, burnt feathers, fan, and corset-loosening monkey on dressing table in anticipation*
  • Can I apply for the corset-loosener position?
  • If you had a million monkeys loosening a million corsets, would you eventually get the Great American ___________________?
  • Mr. George W. Bush?
  • Monkeylove Republic?
  • Sigh?
  • * taps microphone* Is this thing still on?
  • Maybe when winter passes, passions will bloom again and the writers will find inspiration. *leaves to take cold shower*
  • Mothy, you wanna write the next installment? At first I was all, we gotta take turns so there's no cross-posting and shit, but now I'm all like, bring on the disordered purple prose.
  • I was last to go TUM... Do you want to do another bit to get us going again?
  • This is as good a place as any to ask everyone -- is the plural of "vagina dentata": a) vaginaS dentata, b) vaginaE dentata, c) sumthin' else? Thanky thanky!
  • You've seen more than one? *faints*
  • Sigh. There are a lot of people here who want serious, bodice-ripping prose installments. This is what they want, this is what they come here for. They do not want vagina questions. They know all they need to know about vaginas. If you have vagina questions, please go to the vagina questions thread. I am not pleased that, once again, a thread has been disrupted by the vaginally uninformed.
  • Capt. I think that would be vaginae dentatae. The adjective is declined to agree with the noun.
  • zut! something ate my preview button.
  • I thought that might be it. We never got that far in Latin class. We sorta ran the teacher out of town...
  • I had some time and no talent, so I added a chapter. I think there's some, um, heaving, and thrusting, and maybe some laving?
  • *cheers wildly, fans self* Maids and maidens and Little Lord Hamiltons and oh my, oh my... Hurrah for BodiceBashi! Her dear demented father's incorrect syntax would be his downfall, tra la la! *diez and iz ded*
  • You have restored my faith in flimsy bodices, and inspired in my snowy bosom a passion for the fine art of serene twittering.
  • My only regret is that I did not move the story forward in any way whatsoever. But I don't think this is a major concern... That was fun! I want to do more! *brain tumesces*
  • Well ripped, BodiceBashi!
  • Ah, to think of all those virtuous women, lost to the void of licencioustess licentiousness licenssounces sin, due to some syntax confusion... Monkeyfilter: delightfully silky
  • I've unilaterally decided to add Next and Previous links at the end of each page because that's the sort of nerd I am. Er, that is, I've taken liberties with your bottoms.
  • Ooh, you cheeky monkey!
  • You want to meddle with our backends, roryk, at least ask for permission first. Ouch!
  • Whoops, vicar!
  • Okay, I have no clue as to how to post an installment to the alleged wiki, so "ll just drop segment #9 right here and let you wiki monkeys enjoy the magic. Here we go.... RIPPING HAMLET, PART NINE “The story is this,” said Ophelia, in a tone that betrayed no amusement. She was not surprised to see Horatio’s now flaccid, wet member hanging sadly from the hem of the women’s undergarment that he now wore almost daily, always proudly. Her attention was instead drawn in disbelief to the remainder of Horatio’s feminine attire. “The story is that you, Horatio, have wounded me deeply.” His lips crimson, his eyelids indigo, and his man-boobs still heaving, Horatio replied with a falsetto laugh. “And how might I have caused such a wound, my lady? For as you can well see, my truncheon is spent, and spent on another.” “It is not your love weasel of which I speak, Horatio. It is of your gown. Your garment.” “Is the lady intimidated by my décolletage, of my deft choice of colour, or of my perfectly-selected accessories?” “It is of none of those, Horatio. None of those. It is of what I see upon you that is so familiar to me. Of what is mine. Of what you have taken from me, no doubt after rummaging through my armoire.” Again, Horatio giggled wildly. “Oh, just say it, my dear Madame. Say it! You know you must!” “I will say it, Horatio, for you have taken what is mine, and I shall demand its return in haste. You have done this, this unspeakable act…. YOU HAVE RIPPED OFF MY BODICE!”
  • or, maybe not.
  • I liked it.
  • *puts that on resume*
  • Monkeyfilter: almost daily, always proudly
  • I liked it as much as TUM.
  • I liked it too! *applauds, cheers, whistles*
  • Also the correct pronunciation of "bodice": BOE-DEE-CHEEE (after the famous Italian artist Bodicelli). e.g. 'you have ripped off my BOE-DEE-CHEE'. And not, 'you have ripped off my BODICK-E' as I've heard many say it.
  • I'm sorry, Italians have no standing in Gothic romance bodice rippers. Unless they cater.
  • I thought it was bod-iss.
  • I would just like to point out that, in nine chapters: 1. I have issues with the lack of ghost-related prose. I know, I have beaten this dead horse, so I will not reiterate. But you people know who you are, and I am not happy. 2. I have read nothing of cleavage, heaving bosoms, or turgid members. (Haven't actually checked for this, am too lazy. But I am sure there could and should be more.). 3. It took nine chapters and a pun to actually get a bodice ripped. Can you people not keep your eyes on the prize? For fuck's sake! 4. We have a wiki? 5. Is the gay badinage simply a thinly-veiled effort to let Cap'n Renault know that we support his lifestyle choice, or is the entire project being edited on the sly by kitfisto? 6. Ralph Nader, what are you thinking???
  • Hey, maybe the dead horse is the ghost.
  • I putted on wiki.
  • I thought it was bod-iss. It is. I was just hoping to mess up the other monkeys' minds. Heh heh.
  • *rolls eyes at own gullibility*
  • *pokes thread, rips bodice encouragingly*
  • What's going on here?? Just discovered this thread. Is this still going? Perhaps I could be persuaded to withdraw my impressive implement of besmirchment from its warm valley of disuse and cause it to deflower yonder virgin parchment. Or not.
  • Please do!
  • Go kamus go!
  • Le woot!
  • OK but obviously I'll need time to get up to speed.
  • Probably not as much as you think!
  • I think the only think you have to know is that THE BOOK IS THE GHOST!
  • Yay kamus!! I can;t wait to read the next gripping installment!
  • OK, it seems that expectations are unaccountably running high. I'm warning you- I've never actually read neither a real BR nor Hamlet (I know, for shame) and since the previous contributions have set a high bar indeed I would instead prepare for soul-crushing disappointment instead as befitting my rank amateurhood. Just with ripped bodices.
  • But add some fucking ghost, my man. It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that...thing. Oh, and breasts.
  • Don't forget the bombazine.
  • Monkeyfilter: I'll need time to get up to speed
  • I haven't forgotten about my pledge to further abominate this collective tale. I know many people can scarcely breathe until I produce my semi-gripping installment but an unusually heavy workload has slowed me down. That and the need to do hands-on field research on the subject of bodice ripping. My wife is pretty hacked off over the number of her blouses I've already trashed.
  • I'm not sure you can get good raw data from a modern blouse - you'll have to invest in something with bones and laces. IIRC, I directed the amorous couple in my play to pose "like the cover of a bodice-ripper." HE knew what I meant; SHE didn't.
  • *continues holding breath, begins to turn purple*
  • I directed the amorous couple in my play to pose "like the cover of a bodice-ripper." HE knew what I meant; SHE didn't. That defies conventional wisdom, I would think.
  • Well, 'tis the theatah, you know.
  • Oh. I see! *light bulb goes on, finally*
  • Update: Still sitting on my fat ass but gradually absorbing the "story" thus far. Worrying a bit about maintaining the "high standards" established by the previous "authors" . I have some extended travel ahead which will involve me sitting around airports waiting for delayed or cancelled flights. I intend to use the opportunity to extend our "literary" saga at that time. I'm sure it won't be worth the wait so please spend the interim drastically lowering any expectations of either quality and/or mirth accordingly- that is, if you had any to begin with.
  • "Lowers" his "expectations".
  • Monkeyfilter: lowering any expectations of either quality and/or girth mirth
  • Tip: include ghost.
  • Kamus: just a note. We've been waiting since MARCH FREAKIN' 20th. This better be good, dammit!
  • Ralph, THE GHOST IS THE FREAKING BOOK! Tip: include hilarious euphemisms for parts of male anatomy
  • Good idea, i.e.: "The mere sight of her loveliness caused my lara to grow hard and long, and my thoughts lingered only of my desire to fill her, to fill her with my lara, and to hear her cries of delight. Sadly, my excitement led to an unfortunate incident of premature underpantsmonster.
  • Hehe, Ralph said "tip."
  • Maybe we should introduce a character Kamus into our great bodice ripper. Then inside the story, we can have him do all sorts of things in teh airport etc.
  • Just a periodic announcement affirming my world-class procrastination chops. And hey, don't rush me- you wouldn't want some slipshod, half-baked piece of ill-considered drivel when you could have a deeply satisfying tale, aged-brewed to perfection and conceived through some arcane process that even I am not permitted to understand. I'm fully confident, that when my inspired utterances finally pass the final quality control hurdle, you will burn your copy of those other considerably weaker installments, hoist me on your shoulders and proclaim me your King. I may accept, if I am in the mood.
  • *totally falls over from holding breath for THREE FRACKIN YEARS* You still there, kamus?
  • Does kamus rhyme with vamoose?