Post by `PhiePhie~ on Sept 24, 2009 22:41:36 GMT -5
Fail Story of Fail.
Or
Why Phie hate's group work
Or
Why I should make the plot and other people should write it.
Or
This shit is why I am going to fail AP History tomorrow.
“Guys,” Greg proclaimed, standing proudly like a captain while his group of friends stared at him to continue, “I'm going on a quest, one that will change the world.”
His five friends stared at him, sharing a look of concern and confusion, wondering if he had been playing football without his helmet for the umpteenth time. His girlfriend was the first to come out of that slack jawed expression, adjusting her perfectly fitting cheer uniform before she could find the words to respond with. “Like, what? Are you, like, crazy?” was all she could come up with.
“No no no, baby, I'm not for serious!” Greg said, waving his hands in defense. “I just saw, like, a TON of Kung Fu movies back at my cousin's house, and I thought Hey, I could be that awesome. Just give me one of those zen master fortune dudes who are, like, made in China or something, and I'll be the next Bruce Lee!”
“Right,” she said flatly, eyes narrowing at him. It might be just in my best interest to humor him this time, she thought, folding her arms deep thought. “So how are you gonna find your Zen master fortune dude?”
“That's, like, the best part! Remember Wallowitz?”
“The kid you shoved in his locker the other day?”
“Yeah!” Greg nodded feverishly like a young child, “Him! He's the one who told me everything! He said that there was a karate master guy on Mt. Lamb, and he's smart and stuff, so it's gotta be true!”
Before his girlfriend could protest, and boy did she want to, he somehow got a set of mountain climbing gear out of his locker, and set out for the summit. “Don't worr bout me, baby!” He shouted before exiting, “Your boyfriend's going to be a Kung Fu masta!”
“...Idiot.”
Climbing the face of Mt. Lamb was harder than it looked. In fact, he spent days climbing the cliffs, falling, and climbing back up again. When he actually reached the summit of the mountain, he collapsed, manging to throw his fist into the air before his vision faded to black.
When he finally came to, he found himself in a dimly lit room, covered in oriental artifacts. Paper lanterns, mats made of straw, statues depicting different religions, most of which Greg had no clue what they were, the owner of the room had it all. Even though it looked like a set from a 80's action film, the teen still asked the obvious question, “Where am I?”
“You are in my temple!” A boy with a thick Chinese accent appeared, arms folded as he sneered at the teenager, “Why do you go collapsing on my sacred lawn?”
“I...I has a hard time climbing the mountain, Zen master kid.” He stuttered, his face growing slack jawed at the eight year old martial arts prodigy.
“What, you stupid? Why didn't you take the sacred stairs? It only cost nine ninety-nine!” He said, wagging his finger. “Now, why did you come up here?”
Greg swallowed, “ I want to be, uh, trained in Kung Fu, or Karate... or whatever HIYAH thing you do here, master dude! Can you train me, uh, please?”
The boy put his finger against his chin, a smug smile lining his lips. “Yes, yes, of couse,” he paused to pulling out a contract and a pen from his robe, “sign this, and then I'll test you.”
“Okay, dude!” He snatched the paper and scribbled his name on it, without reading it before hand.
“That's master dude to you!” the boy sneered and snatched the paper from Greg's hands. He gestered towards an open floor which had a pile of concrete bricks stacked in a pile, suspiciously prepared beforehand. “Break those bricks with your head, and then I train you.”
“But...don't I go through a training montage before I can do that?” Greg asked, fearing for his skull.
“Nope! Now go! Your trainer commands you!”
Greg let out a nervous sigh, moving as slowly as possible to the pile of cinderblocks. He had no clue how to do this, or, more importantly, how to survive this! If only he had his football helmet, if only he was back at school with his friends and his girls. Suddenly, he realized, mostly out of fear, that he was not cut out for this kind of thing. With a sense of pride, he proclaimed, “I don't want to do anything with your stupid tests anymore! I want out!”
The boy wagged his fingers. “Not so fast! You signed a contract, which was not a contract all by the way, it was a marriage liscense!”
The football player was even more dumbfounded than his friends a couple of days ago.“A what now?”
“Yes, you have to marry my sister! Serves you right, following stupid advice from a guy who hates you!” He snickered, referencing the nerdy boy who set up this plan.
“And that's how your mother and I got married...” A much older Greg said, finishing up his memoir to his son.
“Gee, Daddy, you sure are silly!” the child said, a giddy grin plastered on his face.
“Believe me,” his words were flat, “I know.”
Or
Why Phie hate's group work
Or
Why I should make the plot and other people should write it.
Or
This shit is why I am going to fail AP History tomorrow.
“Guys,” Greg proclaimed, standing proudly like a captain while his group of friends stared at him to continue, “I'm going on a quest, one that will change the world.”
His five friends stared at him, sharing a look of concern and confusion, wondering if he had been playing football without his helmet for the umpteenth time. His girlfriend was the first to come out of that slack jawed expression, adjusting her perfectly fitting cheer uniform before she could find the words to respond with. “Like, what? Are you, like, crazy?” was all she could come up with.
“No no no, baby, I'm not for serious!” Greg said, waving his hands in defense. “I just saw, like, a TON of Kung Fu movies back at my cousin's house, and I thought Hey, I could be that awesome. Just give me one of those zen master fortune dudes who are, like, made in China or something, and I'll be the next Bruce Lee!”
“Right,” she said flatly, eyes narrowing at him. It might be just in my best interest to humor him this time, she thought, folding her arms deep thought. “So how are you gonna find your Zen master fortune dude?”
“That's, like, the best part! Remember Wallowitz?”
“The kid you shoved in his locker the other day?”
“Yeah!” Greg nodded feverishly like a young child, “Him! He's the one who told me everything! He said that there was a karate master guy on Mt. Lamb, and he's smart and stuff, so it's gotta be true!”
Before his girlfriend could protest, and boy did she want to, he somehow got a set of mountain climbing gear out of his locker, and set out for the summit. “Don't worr bout me, baby!” He shouted before exiting, “Your boyfriend's going to be a Kung Fu masta!”
“...Idiot.”
Climbing the face of Mt. Lamb was harder than it looked. In fact, he spent days climbing the cliffs, falling, and climbing back up again. When he actually reached the summit of the mountain, he collapsed, manging to throw his fist into the air before his vision faded to black.
When he finally came to, he found himself in a dimly lit room, covered in oriental artifacts. Paper lanterns, mats made of straw, statues depicting different religions, most of which Greg had no clue what they were, the owner of the room had it all. Even though it looked like a set from a 80's action film, the teen still asked the obvious question, “Where am I?”
“You are in my temple!” A boy with a thick Chinese accent appeared, arms folded as he sneered at the teenager, “Why do you go collapsing on my sacred lawn?”
“I...I has a hard time climbing the mountain, Zen master kid.” He stuttered, his face growing slack jawed at the eight year old martial arts prodigy.
“What, you stupid? Why didn't you take the sacred stairs? It only cost nine ninety-nine!” He said, wagging his finger. “Now, why did you come up here?”
Greg swallowed, “ I want to be, uh, trained in Kung Fu, or Karate... or whatever HIYAH thing you do here, master dude! Can you train me, uh, please?”
The boy put his finger against his chin, a smug smile lining his lips. “Yes, yes, of couse,” he paused to pulling out a contract and a pen from his robe, “sign this, and then I'll test you.”
“Okay, dude!” He snatched the paper and scribbled his name on it, without reading it before hand.
“That's master dude to you!” the boy sneered and snatched the paper from Greg's hands. He gestered towards an open floor which had a pile of concrete bricks stacked in a pile, suspiciously prepared beforehand. “Break those bricks with your head, and then I train you.”
“But...don't I go through a training montage before I can do that?” Greg asked, fearing for his skull.
“Nope! Now go! Your trainer commands you!”
Greg let out a nervous sigh, moving as slowly as possible to the pile of cinderblocks. He had no clue how to do this, or, more importantly, how to survive this! If only he had his football helmet, if only he was back at school with his friends and his girls. Suddenly, he realized, mostly out of fear, that he was not cut out for this kind of thing. With a sense of pride, he proclaimed, “I don't want to do anything with your stupid tests anymore! I want out!”
The boy wagged his fingers. “Not so fast! You signed a contract, which was not a contract all by the way, it was a marriage liscense!”
The football player was even more dumbfounded than his friends a couple of days ago.“A what now?”
“Yes, you have to marry my sister! Serves you right, following stupid advice from a guy who hates you!” He snickered, referencing the nerdy boy who set up this plan.
“And that's how your mother and I got married...” A much older Greg said, finishing up his memoir to his son.
“Gee, Daddy, you sure are silly!” the child said, a giddy grin plastered on his face.
“Believe me,” his words were flat, “I know.”
