the Milk&Cookies one-word story!!
Person: George R. R. Martin
Place: Not the Moon
Thing: Bamboo (which may or may not be fully automatic, laser-guided, and reloading)
Once upon a weary winter's night in a small village in South Dakota, there lived quietly a rather dirty and old and masculine cow by the name of George. He lived in a verdant forest where he subsisted on pinecones and other succulent herbivorous objects. One fine winter's evening as George was just settling down to eat a particularly protesting pinecone arguing with George:
"Please! I am innocent! I only said that remark because your mother is a whore!"
George refused to relent.
"Poof!" poofed the very surprised pinecone, and suddenly in the spot where the pinecone had been there was a thing. I can't quite describe what the thing was, however I think it could maybe be--well, possibly--a little tiny bit of genie. "Genie?" said George, incredulously. "Why," replied the indescribably erstwhile genie, "when you threatened the pinecone, I stepped into this dimension in place of your victim in order to tell you a tale of remarkable wonder!" This delighted the cow who was hungry for both pinecones and tales, so he allowed the genie to begin his story.
"Winterfell was the greatest bastion of defense that had ever existed," began the genie. "It was a home of the great Lord Eddard Stark, who lived there with his wife and sons and daughters also. He had one bastard named John and many non- bastards named Robb, etcetera."
"Wait!" exclaimed George. "Why are you telling me this story so oddly? Everyone knows the story of the Song of Ice and Fire. Why, on Tuesday, I participated in a reading of this very classic tale, but in the dimension you come from, I suppose this story might have less following."
"Indeed," said the genie, "in my dimension it is as rare as bamboo!" "Funny you should mention bamboo," answered George, "for in my dimension bamboo is as common as Martin is as well. In fact, everyone's got the bamboo and the name of George R. R. Martin."
"Except me," said the genie.
"I don't really understand how." "You shouldn't understand everything," said the genie. "In my tale, everyone dies terribly including George R. R. Martin at the hands of his characters." "I don't think that's the way I heard this story," commented George.
"By the way," said the genie, "what is the name of everyone who lives here?"
"Oh," said George, "there is a vast epic name that everyone here goes by except me! It's (and I quote) end parenthesis!"
Soliloquized the genie, "What a wonderful--what story explains this name?"
"Well," said George, "it all began one fine winter's evening quite long ago when the first cow invented the printing press. This cow was never seen on Earth by anyone mortal. Blessed by the greatness of Lord Voldemort, our Lord and Savior, printed only copies of the story of lords' exploits known to mortals and others less mortal. But his death gave everyone else the opportunity to print other things such as George 'R' close-quotations."
"George R. close-quotations?" queried the puzzled and bemused genie.
"Where did they come from?" asked George R. R. Martin.
"Not the moon!" exclaimed the genie. The cow throttled the otherworldly genie and ate the poor but deserving pinecone. The end.
The moral of the story is: George R. Closed-quotations.
heehee...Elisabeth apologizes, though Mike is just highly amused. It started off so well...
Place: Not the Moon
Thing: Bamboo (which may or may not be fully automatic, laser-guided, and reloading)
Once upon a weary winter's night in a small village in South Dakota, there lived quietly a rather dirty and old and masculine cow by the name of George. He lived in a verdant forest where he subsisted on pinecones and other succulent herbivorous objects. One fine winter's evening as George was just settling down to eat a particularly protesting pinecone arguing with George:
"Please! I am innocent! I only said that remark because your mother is a whore!"
George refused to relent.
"Poof!" poofed the very surprised pinecone, and suddenly in the spot where the pinecone had been there was a thing. I can't quite describe what the thing was, however I think it could maybe be--well, possibly--a little tiny bit of genie. "Genie?" said George, incredulously. "Why," replied the indescribably erstwhile genie, "when you threatened the pinecone, I stepped into this dimension in place of your victim in order to tell you a tale of remarkable wonder!" This delighted the cow who was hungry for both pinecones and tales, so he allowed the genie to begin his story.
"Winterfell was the greatest bastion of defense that had ever existed," began the genie. "It was a home of the great Lord Eddard Stark, who lived there with his wife and sons and daughters also. He had one bastard named John and many non- bastards named Robb, etcetera."
"Wait!" exclaimed George. "Why are you telling me this story so oddly? Everyone knows the story of the Song of Ice and Fire. Why, on Tuesday, I participated in a reading of this very classic tale, but in the dimension you come from, I suppose this story might have less following."
"Indeed," said the genie, "in my dimension it is as rare as bamboo!" "Funny you should mention bamboo," answered George, "for in my dimension bamboo is as common as Martin is as well. In fact, everyone's got the bamboo and the name of George R. R. Martin."
"Except me," said the genie.
"I don't really understand how." "You shouldn't understand everything," said the genie. "In my tale, everyone dies terribly including George R. R. Martin at the hands of his characters." "I don't think that's the way I heard this story," commented George.
"By the way," said the genie, "what is the name of everyone who lives here?"
"Oh," said George, "there is a vast epic name that everyone here goes by except me! It's (and I quote) end parenthesis!"
Soliloquized the genie, "What a wonderful--what story explains this name?"
"Well," said George, "it all began one fine winter's evening quite long ago when the first cow invented the printing press. This cow was never seen on Earth by anyone mortal. Blessed by the greatness of Lord Voldemort, our Lord and Savior, printed only copies of the story of lords' exploits known to mortals and others less mortal. But his death gave everyone else the opportunity to print other things such as George 'R' close-quotations."
"George R. close-quotations?" queried the puzzled and bemused genie.
"Where did they come from?" asked George R. R. Martin.
"Not the moon!" exclaimed the genie. The cow throttled the otherworldly genie and ate the poor but deserving pinecone. The end.
The moral of the story is: George R. Closed-quotations.
heehee...Elisabeth apologizes, though Mike is just highly amused. It started off so well...