Oriphiel

Hold on a second... Yorkedaddy doesn't even post anymore, does he? I think he became one of those guys that pops up every now and then to say how pathetic everyone on MB is, and yet constantly lurks on the site anyway, somehow making him even more pathetic than us (if that's even possible). Well, whatever. How about...


Fuck! He's doing that annoying stalker shit too! God damn it, I don't mind writing shitty stories, but I'll be damned if they're not at least relevant and current shitty stories. Oh, oh! Wait! I got it!


It was a hot, summer Friday night. Everyone was getting laid. Even Batlord. Spencer was in his room, multiplying as usual, when suddenly... suddenly, he...

Fucking hell. I can't do this. It's too easy.

Gah! Why do all the interesting members have to be banned, or lurking in the shadows of MB whilst wearing a trenchcoat and covertly masturbating to our posts? Fuck it, I'm just gonna wing it.


So Goofle and elphenor were making out in the locker room, when suddenly Frownland strode in, wiping a towel across his forehead. "My," said Frownland, "that was quite a game of Sports."

Goofle and elphenor quickly pushed themselves away from each other, and pretended that they were having an argument, so that their secret love would not be uncovered. "Socialism!" yelled Goofle.

"Capitalist Stockholm Syndrome!" retorted elphenor.

Frownland chuckled. "Oh, you two rascals. Always at it."

As Frownland turned from them to open his locker, Goofle reached out and tried to hold the hand of elphenor, who hurriedly swatted his savacious paw away. "Later," he whispered.

"So," said Frownland, as he took off his sweaty clothing and replaced it with his trademark assless jumpsuit, "how comes it that thou doth fight in the locker room, of all places? Dost thou also partake in Sports? I never knew either of thee as an athlete."

elphenor was about to speak, but held his tongue. Though he wanted to, he could not tell Frownland the truth; that the musky scent of man that oft dwells in the locker room was an elixir of vigor for him and the object of his forbidden love. Sensing his mental distress, Goofle cleared his throat, and answered "Uh, yeah, we were just shooting some touchdowns. How 'bout you?"

Frownland laughed heartily. "Yes, indeed, I did partake in my fair share of Sports. However, I must admit, that much of the sweat that doth sparkle on my supple brow came from the celebratory post-game donkey show."

"Uh," stammered elphenor, "you didn't fuck a donkey, did you?"

Frownland laughed, and shook his head. "No! Of course I didn't fuck the donkey!" After elphenor and Goofle sighed, Frownland added "I was the donkey!"

After a moment of silence, Goofle shot elphenor a meaningful glance, as if to say 'Let's get out of here'. elphenor nodded lightly, and turned back to Frownland, saying "Oh, hey, yeah, that's great. Anyway, we've got to get going. We've got a... uh, picnic to get to. So, uh... bye."

Just as elphenor and Goofle were heading for the door, Frownland shot out a multitude of super stretchy extra arms from his torso, placing them on the shoulders of the two lovers and keeping them from leaving. He then slid over to them, and put his face quite close to elphenor's ear. "Did you say... a picnic?" he whispered/asked (or whasked, if you will).

"Uh..." replied elphenor.

Frownland smiled, his soft breath feeling very hot on elphenor's neck. "Because I love... picnics... and I would love to join you." He then parted his lips, and the unspeakable thing that lives in the darkest recesses of his soul slid a tentacle out of his mouth, which embraced elphenor's neck. elphenor glanced down at the tentacle, and saw the names of those whose souls had been claimed by Frownland engraved upon it in glowing letters.

UH..." replied elphenor.

Looking over at elphenor, and sensing the terrible danger he was in, Goofle quickly said "Yes! You should join us! It'll be great!"

Suddenly, Frownland was back in front of his locker, as if nothing had happened. Looking touched and surprised, he put a hand to his chest. "Aw, you want me to come with you? That's so sweet! Just gimme a sec to do my hair, and then we shall away."

By and by, the trio made their way to the lush forests of "Political Discussions For Adults". However, to their horror, they saw that Chula had once again burned it to the ground. They were about to complain about their foul luck, when all three remembered that they had bought matches and lighter fluid for Chula not five minutes earlier, for the laughs. Shrugging, the three wandered about for a bit, looking for a good spot for their picnic, when they settled on the sunny side of a quaint hill. "Ah, yes!" moaned Frownland as he stretched in the sunlight, and looked down at MB valley from his point of vantage. Taking in a deep breath of fresh air, he felt a song in his heart and an orexis in his cock as he was filled with vigor. Goofle and elphenor decided to just go with it, and began unpacking food.

The picnic was proceeding nicely, when all of a sudden Frownland lowered his sandwich, and glanced around like a gazelle that had just caught wind of something new. 'No,' thought Frownland, 'not new... that is the scent of something old.'

In a flash, a mysterious beast came crashing down on the picnic, and knocked the trio away as it began to greedily devour their food. "The fuck?!" yelled Goofle, as he tumbled down the hill with elphenor. Thinking fast, Goofle quickly scooped elphenor into his arms, protecting him from the various rocks along the hill as they both rolled onward. elphenor was moved by the display, and thought it was quite sweet, until he felt that the situation had given Goofle an erection, and then it was just kinda awkward.

Doing a sick somersault, Frownland landed on his feet, and looked up at the beast that had so rudely interrupted his outdoor adventure. To his horror, he realized that the monster was quite familiar to him. Narrowing his eyes, he looked into the eyes of the beast, and smiled. It was a gigantic robotic ant, with angry eyes and huge pincher pincer mandible thingies. "Well, well," said Frownland, as he pulled his mod squad emergency cell phone out of his jumpsuit. "Looks like JWB is finally back, and he brought his Alt-Ants." Putting on some sunglasses, just so he could take them off dramatically, he added "Looks like it's time to call... the exterminators."

To be continued in Part Two, coming the Spring of yesterday

__________________
----------------------
|---Mic's Albums---|
----------------------
-----------------------------
|---Deafbox Industries---|
-----------------------------

Zhanteimi

.

__________________
Zhanteimi

LetsTalkMusic

Oriphiel

asked Mord, as Frownland sensually caressed his balls. Leaning in close, Frownland whispered "You know what this is. Deep down, you've always known." And, as Frownland's eyes faded away, revealing portals to the essence of Pain, Mord looked into the void and shivered, for he knew it was so.

__________________
----------------------
|---Mic's Albums---|
----------------------
-----------------------------
|---Deafbox Industries---|
-----------------------------

Zhanteimi

.

__________________
Zhanteimi

LetsTalkMusic

grindy

I love you, ori.

__________________
A smell of petroleum prevails throughout.

Cuthbert

.

Oriphiel

__________________
----------------------
|---Mic's Albums---|
----------------------
-----------------------------
|---Deafbox Industries---|
-----------------------------

Oriphiel

Lady Batlord smiles wickedly as she scans the letter in her hands. "Dear Lady Batlord," it reads, "thou art cordially invited to the Harvest Ball of Exoskeletal Manor, in the estate of fair Lady Exo, to be held three nights hence. If thou is inclined to attend, then with all haste send thine stately reply. As with all such events, hosted and attended by noble Ladies, tis required that all guests doth bring a dish, crafted by thine own noble hands, to share with thine noble peers. And, though it doth pain me to do so, I nevertheless feel obligated to remind thee that, as I told thee a fortnight ago at the Autumn Gala, 'bringing the beer' doth not satisfy the requirements of a true noble dish, especially when thou brings but three cans of Steel Reserve. Regardless, I hope to see thee in attendance at the ball. With all sincerity, Lady Exo."

Her smile growing, Lady Batlord folds the letter up and sets it down upon a table. Stepping forward onto her balcony, she puts her hands on the cool metal railing and gazes upon her domain. The surfs below are wailing in misery as they harvest jagged batfruits, the sharp thorns of which are known for their painful pierce. Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, Lady Batlord takes in the beautiful ambiance, and thinks of the coming ball as she allows her imagination to take her mind on an endless adventure of possibilities. "Perhaps..." she whispers to herself, as she imagines a sharp batfruit placed under the cushions of every chair along Lady Exo's massive dining table. She shakes her head lightly, for while it would indeed be an amusing jest, it hardly suited a noble of her standing to repeat a joke. Her smile widens as an image of a punch bowl flashes through her mind. She sees a piece of fake (or maybe even real) excrement floating therein, and then a used condom floating in its place, only to have both fade from her mind as an eyeball plucked from one of her surfs falls into the punch bowl with a splatter. "Or maybe.."

This continues for some time, as Lady Batlord and her wicked mind dance passionately together to the sonata of debauchery, for Lady Batlord had long since wed herself to the art of trickery. Once a noble being of pure intentions and honorable merit, she had left her duties to wander the width of the world on a journey of self-cultivation. However, in her travels, she discovered that the construct of morality was as transient as the mortals that created it. Whether "good" or "evil", all things and all people race endlessly onward as the universe exhales, destined to return to the void when the cosmos hath no breath left to expel, and once more begins to take all matter within itself as the cycle of the eternal billows carries on.

However, that is not to say that Lady Batlord felt helpless in the wake of the void. In fact, it had rather the opposite effect on her. Knowing that her time was thusly limited, she no longer imparted any of her energies in pursuing that which delighted her not. And it was then that she fell in love with devilish trickery. Life was short, and people inept, set in their ways as they maintain their homeostasis, but in the heat of a trick, the spark of a prank, the false worlds around them shatter for but a moment, allowing them to see themselves and the world around them with the eyes of one who is unsure. There was a beauty in this, the forcible pulling of the curtain, making them question the world that they had found so irreproachable. In that instant of being fooled, all heroes become clowns, all kings become paupers, and all self-important blowhards become the scared children that they had hidden under layers of armor and weapons, that which we all try so hard to lock away in the cellars beneath our personas.

Lady Batlord laughs to herself, dreaming of wonderful schemes, and savoring the shocked expressions of the Ladies in attendance as they swoon, unable to bear such tremendous pranks as she had in store for them. Filling a crystal glass with batfruit wine, she savors the aroma of the thick drink before putting it to her lips. In truth, though she meant them harm, she loved the snobbish nobility. In fact, she loved most everyone, in an odd sort of way. While the virtuous toiled to fashion the world into a shape more pleasing to their noble ideals, Lady Batlord was perfectly happy to see it remain as it was, for she adored it. The love, the hate, the peace, the violence... it all served to make the exciting world that served as the perfect backdrop for her revelry. Everything about it made her enjoy life that much more, for it was an unpredictable adventure, sometimes pleasing and other times terrible and horrific, but an adventure nonetheless. And she dreams her frightening dreams as she forms her plots, ever smiling and ever laughing. For mischief was her religion, and pranks were her sacraments. Setting down the glass of wine, she claps her hands, summoning a servant to her chambers. "Send forth the child catchers to prowl the city streets tonight," she says, savoring every word. "For ere the next moon arrives and I depart, I shall bathe in orphan blood."


The heels of Lady Batlord's hellfire-red shoes crunch satisfyingly as she strides across the gravel road towards the entrance of Exoskeletal Manor, circumventing a large fountain upon which many young lovers sit, holding each other in their arms and reciting sappy poetry. With a stealthy movement of her hand, she drops a canister of tear gas as she passes by the starry eyed lovers, which quickly begins to spew it's noxious charge. As the cloud spreads, and the lovers frantically begin to run from the fountain, tripping over themselves as they gasp for air, Lady Batlord laughs to herself. "Ah," she says, "young love. It always has a way of choking me up."

Stepping inside the manor, Lady Batlord is surrounded by the sound of lush orchestral music, and the rich scent of freshly cooked food. A servant steps forward, preparing to bow his head, when he suddenly recognizes the identity of the guest before him, and takes on an expression of horror as he takes a step back. Quickly trying to compose himself, he bows his head lightly, saying "Welcome, your Ladyship. Please enter."

Lady Batlord tilts her head at him and gives him a devilish smile. "Now, now. Aren't you supposed to ask me for my contribution to the feast?"

The servant gulps. "Y-yes, your Ladyship. However, it isn't really necessary for you to..."

"Nonsense," interrupts Lady Batlord. Reaching into her purse, she pulls out a strange sort of crab.

"What on earth..." stammers the servant, as he takes another step back. The crab leers at him with comically angry eyes, and points his claws at the poor fellow with ominous intent. Luckily, the beast's claws are restrained by rubber bands, however the bands seem to be old and worn, on the verge of breaking.

Lady Batlord steps forward, and plops the beast into the servant's hands. "Now, you take that to Lady Exo, and tell her that I wish her the best on this most lavish of nights. It's a crab, fresh from the shores of Bat County, and I'm sure her chefs can make it into a fine bisque. I'd have cooked it myself, but batcrab really ought to be prepared immediately before consumption. Otherwise, it tastes like a rotten asshole, and that simply wouldn't do for such a fine event as this. Even though I'm sure such a taste is hardly foreign to the palate of our lovely Lady Exo..."

Having said that, Lady Batlord walks past the servant and enters the party. Behind her, she hears the faint crack of rubber bands snapping, and a cry of pain. She smiles, and swipes a glass of wine from the hand of a noblewoman just as she is about to take the virgin sip. Drinking half of the glass in a single gulp, she steps further into the party, and covertly pours the rest of her drink into the purse of Countess Norg. She then steps onto the dancefloor, and joins the ball in earnest, all the while scanning the party for possible jests.

"I like your dress," says Countess Norg to The Duchess of Chiomara. "What is it made of?"

The Duchess of Chiomara stretches out her arms, allowing her lavish gown to be seen in full blossom. "Nightmares," she answers, as a vision of fright flashes across the threads.

Raising an eyebrow, Countess Norg smiles and nods. Reaching into her purse for her kerchief, so that she might wipe the sweat from her brow, she discovers that the contents of her purse have been muddled in a quagmire of wine. Shrugging, she lifts up her purse and drinks deeply, for to a member of the proud Norg family, purse wine is better than no wine at all.

Elsewhere, a figure stands silent among the chattering nobility, peering at the dancefloor with a steely gaze. Catching sight of Lady Batlord, the figure notices the devilish look in her eye, and smiles. Unfolding her fan, Lady Frown cools herself as her mind begins to race, guessing the intent of Lady Batlord's visitation. At the last party, it had been a sackful of hobgoblins hidden amongst the pile of gifts, bursting free from their bondage and causing all the Ladies to swoon just as Princess Troll-Hart had begun to entertain the party with a fiddle solo (as Princess Troll-Hart is, as everyone knows, an expert at fiddling solo). Lady Frown wondered what trick Lady Batlord had up her sleeve for this night's event. And, though she was not yet sure whether she would oppose the devil's ploys or support them, she was certain of one thing; that tonight would be a night worth remembering.

To be continued in Part Two, coming to a Mesopotamian tablet near you in the Spring of 3,000 BC

__________________
----------------------
|---Mic's Albums---|
----------------------
-----------------------------
|---Deafbox Industries---|
-----------------------------

Lucem Ferre

All I read was "So Frownland was waxing his ball-hairs into a tiny moustache for his cock"

and I decided this thread was not for me.

__________________

Art Is Dead. Buy My ****.

Mondo Bungle

It is a very try-hard read

__________________