ErsatzEmperor

Finish the Sentence, Create a Story

There once was a man, who is well known in his city. His name was John but on weekends it was Britney. On Sundays, his name was Carl. The rest of the time, it was 'dumbass'. And he has two things that always accompany him, a list of names and a worn-out red marker. It would surprise you to know that, while it went against the expected function, the marker was not for writing on paper.

Morning light filled the hospital, the smell of death hung in the air. The pale walls shone wetly. Above Dumbass's bed hung a portrait of the Quartermaster of the KSR, and by his nightstand was a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush. John had ended up with a broken hip after tripping himself at the stair. Or, at least that's what he told the Doctors had broken his hip. In fact, it had been something far more sinister; autohypnotic asphyxiation. Heading back home, he saw, that the mayor's car had been entirely covered in cling film. Confused by his misadventures, he decided that a live tentacle porn show was the next best option.

He proceeded to go to the fishmongers, and detail precisely what his plan was. The Fishmonger agreed,

"Fourty dollars for fifteen minutes sounds fair." Dumbass reached into his pocket to find that he had forgotten his wallet at home.

"Do you accept IOUs?" Dumbass raised two middle fingers and asked. As a result, he received a look of disgust and a kick in the nuts. Swearing revenge Dumbass crawled away, winded and bruised. On top of that, he was slightly bemused. However, he appeared to have the upper hand as, with a devious smile, he pulled a remote control from his pocket. He pressed the button, and cursed out loud. Then he saw something he could not describe. It was a horrifying, yet beautiful, visage of his old dirty dog named Lasagna. Lasagna looked like it was going to bite off his... well... it's a delicate place.That delicate place is his head, the dog jumped into the air holding a flamethrower and somehow seemed both willing and able to use it.

"Don't attack me,"

Finish the Sentence, Create a Story

@Scarescrow Right you are. Corrected.

Finish the Sentence, Create a Story

There once was a man, who is well known in his city. His name was John but on weekends it was Britney. On Sundays, his name was Carl. The rest of the time, it was 'dumbass'. And he has two things that always accompany him, a list of names and a worn-out red marker. It would surprise you to know that, while it went against the expected function, the marker was not for writing on paper.

Morning light filled the hospital, the smell of death hung in the air. The pale walls shone wetly. Above Dumbass's bed hung a portrait of the Quartermaster of the KSR, and by his nightstand was a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush. John had ended up with a broken hip after tripping himself at the stair. Or, at least that's what he told the Doctors had broken his hip. In fact, it had been something far more sinister; autohypnotic asphyxiation. Heading back home, he saw, that the mayor's car had been entirely covered in cling film. Confused by his misadventures, he decided that a live tentacle porn show was the next best option.

He proceeded to go to the fishmongers, and detail precisely what his plan was. The Fishmonger agreed,

"Fourty dollars for fifteen minutes sounds fair." Dumbass reached into his pocket to find that he had forgotten his wallet at home.

"Do you accept IOUs?" Dumbass raised two middle fingers and asked. As a result, he received a look of disgust and a kick in the nuts. Swearing revenge Dumbass crawled away, winded and bruised. On top of that, he was slightly bemused. However, he appeared to have the upper hand as, with a devious smile, he pulled a remote control from his pocket. He pressed the button, and cursed out loud. Then he saw something he could not describe.

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

@mdkThat's old news, surely? I thought that was why Wasserman Schultz resigned.

Wᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ Wʜɪᴛᴛɪᴇʀ

Name
Fletcher Blount

Appearance

Image

Side note: the image is used for illustrative purposes only, the context of the actor's role does not reflect its use here

Age
24

Gender
Male

Years In Whittier
21

Occupation
Dog walker and pet sitter

Room Number
1110

Personality
Positive Attributes: Thoughtful, upbeat, altruistic
Negative Attributes: Unfocused, anxious, clumsy

Small Biography
Fletcher was born in Seward, Alaska, to parents Jerry and Victoria, being of American and Swedish descent. He is the last of three siblings, ten years junior to his elder twin brothers Eddie and Joel. By the time they had had him, Fletcher's parents were approaching their mid-forties, his father working for the post office and his mother schooling his brothers from home. When he was three years old, his family moved north to Whittier, with the hope that a change of location might spark an improvement in their quality of life. Shortly after, Jerry was set up in a mail-sorting centre within Begich Towers. Whittier is the only home that Fletcher acknowledges, likely confusing much of his early memories.

Fletcher had always been a creative and studious child, but one whose teachers would often chastise for laziness and lack of ambition. When the time came to leave schooling behind, he chose a job he thought he could enjoy. Having grown up with pets around the home, he decided he'd become a dog walker, agreeing to escort some of his neighbours pooches on commission. Unable to move out on this meagre wage, he continues to live with his parents, who are all to happy to have company in the house, and someone to look after their own dogs when they're out.

While lacking any conviction or desire to put in any effort in progressing professionally, Fletcher possesses a feeling that something positive might just be around the corner. Something that might jolt him into activity. Who knows.

Relationships: Fletcher lives with his parents in room 1110 and has a close relationship with them. Will update this as and when and further relationships are made

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

it's not historical liscense,

@Andreyich

How not, sorry?

Finish the Sentence, Create a Story

There once was a man, who is well known in his city. His name was John but on weekends it was Britney. On Sundays, his name was Carl. The rest of the time, it was 'dumbass'. And he has two things that always accompany him, a list of names and a worn-out red marker. It would surprise you to know that, while it went against the expected function, the marker was not for writing on paper.

Morning light filled the hospital, the smell of death hung in the air. The pale walls shone wetly. Above Dumbass's bed hung a portrait of the Quartermaster of the KSR, and by his nightstand was a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush. John had ended up with a broken hip after tripping himself at the stair. Or, at least that's what he told the Doctors had broken his hip. In fact, it had been something far more sinister; autohypnotic asphyxiation. Heading back home, he saw, that the mayor's car had been entirely covered in cling film. Confused by his misadventures, he decided that a live tentacle porn show was the next best option.

He proceeded to go to the fishmongers, and detail precisely what his plan was. The Fishmonger agreed,

"Fourty dollars for fifteen minutes sounds fair." Dumbass reached into his pocket to find that he had forgotten his wallet at home.

"Do you accept IOUs?" Dumbass raised two middle fingers and asked. As a result, he received a look of disgust and a kick in the nuts. Swearing revenge Dumbass crawled away, winded and bruised. On top of that, he was slightly bemused. However, he appeared to have the upper hand as

Finish the Sentence, Create a Story

There once was a man, who is well known in his city. His name was John but on weekends it was Britney. On Sundays, his name was Carl. The rest of the time, it was 'dumbass'. And he has two things that always accompany him, a list of names and a worn-out red marker. It would surprise you to know that, while it went against the expected function, the marker was not for writing on paper.

Morning light filled the hospital, the smell of death hung in the air. The pale walls shone wetly. Above Dumbass's bed hung a portrait of the Quartermaster of the KSR, and by his nightstand was a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush. John had ended up with a broken hip after tripping himself at the stair. Or, at least that's what he told the Doctors had broken his hip. In fact, it had been something far more sinister; autohypnotic asphyxiation. Heading back home, he saw, that the mayor's car had been entirely covered in cling film. Confused by his misadventures, he decided that a live tentacle porn show was the next best option.

He proceeded to go to the fishmongers, and detail precisely what his plan was. The Fishmonger agreed,

"Fourty dollars for fifteen minutes sounds fair." Dumbass reached into his pocket to find that he had forgotten his wallet at home.

"Do you accept IOUs?" Dumbass raised two middle fingers and asked. As a result, he received a look of disgust and a kick in the nuts. Swearing revenge Dumbass crawled away, winded and bruised.

(High Casual) An Age Old Feud II

@HushedWhispers

Monday sounds positively delightful.

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

<Snipped quote by Dynamo Frokane>

Lmao. I know in addition to not being very smart you have a poor memory, but the subject is wolfenstein 2, not the old one. Additionally, you're still not providing a single point on what benefit to story or gameplay this particular deviancy from historicity provides.

Oh, and you want to swing at me for "insulting" you? Tell you what, I'll stop when you stop your own bullshit.

@Andreyich

Quite right. I was so glad, similarly, that when Sony decided to revive the long dead Crash Bandicoot series, they took painstaking care in ensuring that each mutant marsupial looked as authentic to their analogous creatures in the animal kingdom as possible, so not to offend them with a bipedal, orange, short-wearing caricature. Remember that the artist's true tool is the focus group, for how else is he to know exactly which form his creative process should take to be objectively acceptable for every possible viewer.

I suppose you would have preferred that for every story Charles Dickens penned in support of better living standards for those living in poverty, he write a contrasting one to advocate in favour of their suffering, for balance's sake.

Artistic Licence