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I made some of these CS templates and was given some by others so if you like one let me know and I'll send it to you











Hidden 2 yrs ago 1 mo ago Post by BangoSkank
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 mos ago Post by BangoSkank
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Vague Ideas I Should Make an RP About But Never Will

Multiversal Police Department of Karate Cops (Who Also Know Kung Fu)



Krouton "Darkness" Hellspawnen
Death Knight Supreme of the Hateful Metal Knights of New Genocidia.
Also he hates his dad for some reason.
Some kind of Dark Elf or Orc or something born from tragedy and evil and metal stuff like that.
Definitely not cringe.
Gets more pompous as fights go on but not any stronger.

Unforgiven but instead of being about a cowboy who is just about too old to be a cowboy it's about a cowboy who is fucking RoboCop just blasting the ever living fuck out of some scumbags
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Officer Bobo the HoboRoboPopo, also he is a Bonobo

Race: Monke
Age: Too Old For This Shit
Status: Retired

Blood and oil mixed in the streets of Old New Chinatown. Blood thick and red, oil thin and iridescent. Both reflecting the pulsing neon lights of a thriving palace fit for worshipping sin and debauchery and other fun weekend activities. The bodies had long ago been dragged away to be mulched up or buried respectfully or whatever exactly it was they did with dead hookers these days.

Damn shame. Them hookers. They'd been real lookers.

Large metal feet step slowly, melodramatically through the puddles of water in the alleyway. It had rained last night. Did most nights. More dramatic that way. Kind Film Noire like. That shit was cool.

One boot, neatly polished to a mirror shine. Black like the soul of the city. One metal prosthetic monke foot. Graphite Composite, ergonomic, comes with several different attachments to cover your prosthetic monkey foot needs whether you're chilling on the beach or going to a formal dinner.

Two chalk outlines gradually fading away. No one gave a shit about those girls. Just two more souls lost in this den of sin. The puddles were quickly eating away at the outer edges of the chalk. The oil wouldn't mix with the water. There was probably some kind of metaphor there about the nature of man and all sorts of high minded philosophical type shit. But Officer Bobo wasn't here to philosophize. He was here to solve a mystery.

The water and oil wouldn't mix, the water just crept around looking for a way in. That kept the blood isolated, but it was coagulating. It would be dried up soon and then the oil would cover it and the water would mix and soon this would just be another stained sidewalk outside a dingy bar and a massage parlor that would massage more than your back if you paid top dollar. Officer Bobo inserted a Robo-finger into one puddle of blood, sucking it up then screwing off the finger and putting it in his pocket. He reached into the other pocket, pulled out an empty Robo-finger and did the same with the other blood puddle. Gotta make sure not to confuse the two pockets. He was on thin ice after the string cheese incident.

Camera pulls up a little showing an isometric view of Bobo and the crime scene.

Bobo the HoboRoboPop Bonobo pulls a fedora out of another pocket. Them old timey detective coats are just covered with pockets. Dusting it off he places it on his monke head, his monke ears sticking way out still. Because monke.

"I'll find those bastards" he promises himself as he gives the puddles one last look. No one kills prostitutes in Bobo's district. Except that guy who killed those two dead prostitutes. But he would find them. He just promised himself.

Camera pulls further back and lowers a little so the scene is seen through an alleyway. Bobo. Puddles. Chalk outline nearly gone. Blood and oil and water all one now. A grim reminder of just how fa-

Oh shit. Bobo is jumping around splashing in the puddles. Well he is a monke.

*End Scene*

Suicide Deluxe

The rain pelted down on the neon-lit streets, creating a reflective sheen on the pavement that mirrored the grim reality of Simian City. The stench of corruption hung in the air like a thick fog, wrapping its greedy tendrils around everything it touched. Bareass Jimmy hadn't felt the weight of a case like this in ages, his fur matted and clinging to his sweaty frame as he trudged through the shadows, searching for answers in a city gone bananas.

The dame who walked into his office wore trouble like a second skin, and it clung to her like a banana cream pie in a monkey's paw. She had legs that went all the way up to her tail, a tail that could wrap around a monkey's heart and squeeze it until it begged for mercy. Her eyes were the color of a moonlit jungle, and they held secrets darker than the deepest pits of the banana mines. She called herself Lola Bananarama, and she had a case that could make even a seasoned detective like Jimminy Chimp peel back the layers of his own sanity.

"Mr. Chimp, I've got a job for you," she purred, her voice smoother than aged whiskey and just as intoxicating. "My husband, Don Banana, has gone missing. The last time I saw him, he was as slippery as a peeled banana in a monkey's hand. I need you to find him, Mr. Chimp. I'll make it worth your while."

Bareass Jimmy squinted through the haze of cigarette smoke that enveloped his office. The dame's story had more holes than a barrel of rotten bananas, but something about the way she said "worth your while" stirred a curiosity deep within him. He took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing like the last flicker of hope in Simian City.

"I'll take the case, doll," he grunted, his voice rougher than a tree bark rubbed the wrong way. "But this city is full of deceit, lies, and dirty monkeys. You better be straight with me, or you'll find yourself knee-deep in a cage at the city zoo."

As Lola Bananarama sashayed out of his office, leaving the lingering scent of her perfume hanging in the air, Bareass Jimmy knew he was in for a wild ride. The trail led him through the twisted alleys of Simian City, where shadows whispered secrets and every monkey had a tail to tell. He questioned low-life informants with names like Two-Timing Tony and Slippery Sam, hoping to peel back the layers of the mystery surrounding Don Banana's disappearance.

The city had become a jungle of crime, with corruption crawling through the branches like a plague of locusts. The streets were littered with the fallen, their bodies sprawled out like discarded banana peels. The deeper Bareass Jimmy delved into the case, the more he realized that the missing Don Banana was just the tip of the iceberg. The city's underbelly was teeming with greed, betrayal, and a thirst for power that would make a king cobra blush.

As he followed the trail of clues, Bareass Jimmy found himself entangled in a web of lies spun by a sinister figure known only as the Monkey Kingpin. This shadowy simian controlled the city's underworld with an iron fist, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Bareass Jimmy knew he was in deep, but he wasn't one to back down. He was a hotshot detective with a reputation for getting to the bottom of things, even if it meant swinging through the darkest corners of Simian City.

The tension in the air was thicker than a monkey's fur in the rainy season as Bareass Jimmy approached the Monkey Kingpin's lair. The rain had subsided, leaving the city glistening with the remnants of the storm. Lightning flashed in the distance, revealing the silhouette of a hulking ape perched on a throne of stolen bananas. The Monkey Kingpin turned to face Bareass Jimmy, a sinister grin spreading across his face like a monkey with a secret stash of stolen treats.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Bareass Jimmy," the Monkey Kingpin sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "You've been poking your nose where it doesn't belong, detective. This city belongs to me, and anyone who crosses my path ends up as monkey chow."

Bareass Jimmy squared his shoulders, his nerves replaced by a steely resolve. "I've seen my fair share of dirty monkeys in this city, but you're the filthiest of them all, Kingpin. Don Banana's disappearance is just the beginning. Your reign of terror ends tonight."

The tension in the air reached a breaking point as the two simians faced off in a showdown that would determine the fate of Simian City. Lightning flashed, illuminating the glint of a hidden blade in the Monkey Kingpin's paw. Bareass Jimmy knew that this would be a fight for the ages, a battle between good and evil in a city gone bananas.

As the first punches were thrown, the rain began to fall again, washing away the sins of Simian City. The streets would never be the same, but Bareass Jimmy had peeled back the layers of corruption and exposed the dark heart of the Monkey Kingpin. The city might still be a jungle, but at least the bananas were a little sweeter without the taste of treachery lingering in the air.

With the Monkey Kingpin defeated and the rain-soaked streets finally breathing a sigh of relief, Bareass Jimmy emerged from the shadows of the city, his fur matted and his fedora pulled low over his eyes. He had left a trail of chaos behind him, but justice had been served in Simian City. As he walked through the desolate streets, he couldn't shake the feeling that the city's troubles ran deeper than even he could fathom.

In the heart of the city, he stumbled upon a dimly lit alley, the kind that seemed to swallow the light whole. It was there, amid the flickering neon signs and the distant hum of the city, that Bareass Jimmy encountered a peculiar figure – Bobo The RoboHoboPopo Banobo. The metallic sheen of Bobo's limbs glinted in the faint light, and the whir of gears replaced the usual sounds of the urban jungle.

"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle. It's Bobo. You know these are my streets now. You were supposed to retire!"

BangoSkank

Of all the rundown prostitute bloodied back alleys he had to walk down this one. Bareass Jimmy. New monke on the beat. Big Time Bareass as they called him. Well as Bobo called him. When he was drunk in the BoboMobile. Parked along the river. In his underwear. Listening to Motley Crue. Solving the mystery of what lay in the bottom of a bottle. Another case solved.

"I'm too old for this Bareass, looks like you are too. Two dead tarsiers. Barely out of their teens. Tragic."

Bobo, the HoboRoboPopo Bonobo, gestures toward the rapidly vanishing remnants of the chalk outline as a few last flakes of still dry chalk are lifted up by the water, oil, and blood, and slowly become sodden and disappear beneath the surface.

"You wouldn't know anything about that would you, Jimmy?"

Bobo had been hearing rumors. The streets had ears. And lips. Not literal ones, it's a metaphor. Word on the street was Bareass Jimmy could be Bought in a Jiffy. That's a metaphor too. And maybe not true. It would be just like those lowlife local chimps to try and turn the department against itself.

Still. It was awful convenient. Bareass Jimmy happening upon this scene just now, just after Bobo had secured potential DNA evidence. Maybe he was meant to stop Bobo. Bobo narrowed his eyes and his monke ears flattened against the sides of his monke head.

"No evidence left when I got here," it was a fib and Momma Chee Chee ain't raise no fool and it just might save his tail, "Who you thinking? KongPin? Don Banana? Ol' One Paw? Hairless George? BattleChimp Potemkin?"

Babbling so, but also trying to gather intel, Bobo the HoboRoboPopo Bonobo tries to casually assess the scene. Dumpsters. Trash cans. Wet oily asphalt. Fire escapes. Lots of doors, probably largely locked. Pallets resting against walls. Lots of potential weapons. Lots of escape routes. If those two tarsier tarts were a little stronger they might have gotten away...wait...surely they could have...
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