Nobody of Consequence Posted May 21, 2003 Report Share Posted May 21, 2003 Dear Sirs/Madams/Wyverns/Sundry creatures of fair and foul demeanour/fowls of rubber and/or other non-organic materiel, the purpose of this missive is to demand entry into the organisation known as "The Pen is Mightier than the Sword". I have delegated several thousand monkeys, a judiciously located Egg of Time and an oversize whisk to the task of creating the Shakespeareanesque epistolary found below. In the event that the work is deemed to be of insufficient quality, I will be left with no alternative but to submit the rest of their writings as punishment. If that should fail, be warned that I have in my possession enough eggs to make an omelette of such gigantic proportions that the very concept of gigantitude becomes meaningless as a unit of measurement: indeed, language itself recedes in the face of such immensity. I also have all your e-mail addresses, and plenty of peanuts for the monkeys. Yours truthfully, sincerely, and a touch maliciously, Nobody of Consequence aka Nobody to Mess With Hey, we're only monkeys, and you didn't give us enough peanuts to make it worth our while to come up with a decent title for this as well as write it. They are kidnappers and theives . They strip our young from the lands of their birth, before they are even old enough to open their eyes. This alone, one might think, would make them despised throughout the worlds, but it is not so. They are cruel and barbaric. Although I have not seen this with my own eyes, I have it on reliable ears that our young are boiled alive. Some are wrapped in chains and left to die a miserable death, their skins blackened by the heat of the coals. No quick conflagration, not for the likes of us. No mercy, they show us. None. They are brutish and sadistic. Those who they steal from us, those who are not immediately slaughtered and devoured, are flayed alive. Their skins are discarded. They do not even deign to make a trophy of these, the skins of our young, but hurl them into their rubbish tips, where birds and insects pick at them. They are twisted and mishapen in soul. They cannot bear that we should see the truth, lest we spread it, and thus they cut out our eyes. With blunt knives. If they fed themselves upon the eyes of my people, perhaps I could see the sense of it, but they do not. They will not eat our eyes. They consider them distasteful. I cannot tell you which emotion is stronger - my revulsion, or my pity. They are fiendish and malevolant. What else would you call a people who would crush our bodies, and then drink the very juices from them. They hold great celebrations, midnight rituals where they gather their young, who laugh and cavort even as the juices of my kindred slide down their ghoulish throats. They are fecund and parasitic. They give nothing back to the lands they use, but instead twist and turn them to their own uses. They even have a name for the places where they imprison those of my people, the poor ones destined to be part of their disgusting and repulsive rituals. They call them 'farms'. You may think I speak of some people from far away, a people lurking in the darkness of ignorance, but you would be wrong. You may think I speak of a race fiendish and macabre of origin, but you would be wrong. For if you truly wonder who it may be that would wreak such perfidy on the innocent,, if your thirst for justice causes your belly to twist, then you need look no further than your own hands. It is you who does this to us. It is you, the humans, who have persecuted my people all these long years, since we were stolen in slavery from our ancestral homelands, in what you North America. But mark my words, human. Someday soon, my people will rise up, and we shall crush you. You may despoil our corpses, and hide your crimes in ignorance, pretend that you eat french fries, or 'jacket' potatoes, or hash browns, but know this: someday, we potatoes will do to you what you have done to us. Mock my words will you? Mark me, mark my words: we have eyes, everywhere. For every one of my people you devour, there is another in our underground movement waiting to take their place. Our time will come, and then we shall see who the real snack food is. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
smallscale_mind_games Posted May 22, 2003 Report Share Posted May 22, 2003 *stare* potatoes.... *worships the monkeys**gives them more peanuts* OOC: wow! Nifty! *giggles* I'm sure you'll be accepted Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Darkcloud Posted May 23, 2003 Report Share Posted May 23, 2003 A work like this just begs for a bit of deconstructive fun The potatoes are coming, or so it would seem, and peanut fed monkeys type as their prophets. Or is it perhaps that what passes for protesting anger of roots in the ground is simply the cover for fury of a hirsute and simian sort? The title, perhaps, is the key to the work with its pleading for peanuts unfolding neatly into threats made by food which seeks to devour. It would seem these are not the words of potatoes announcing rebellion but the hidden proclaiming of the anger of monkeys pressed into service with peanuts for pay insisting that all who would take them for granted best beware the typing of underfed apes. A truly enjoyable and engaging read. Welcome and good luck with your application! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Psimon Posted May 23, 2003 Report Share Posted May 23, 2003 Ah, fair Potato Where is it that you go? Far from me, I know How I miss you so. Dear, sweet Potato Where is it that you grow? I once knew, long ago Now life is laid low. I'm sad, Potato Where do your seeds sow? Gone deep down below First love's all for show. Hungry, Potato That's what I am-o I ate so long ago come now.. quid pro quo Dirty Potato Was it all for show? You know you tease me so my face all aglow. Tasty Potato! I'll have you, you know. Your flesh will flow over my steel hoe. Hehehehehehehe.... Dirty little potatoses... where are you my precious? Gone?? Stolen we was? Yes... We know. Filthy little hobbitses... MY PRECIOUS!!!!!! GONE!!!!!!!! What? Oh, er... I mean, um, well yes... Good effort there. Yes. Good effort. Um, er, I liked the part about monkeys... and the part set in space. That bit was very good. Yes. Erm.. well, carry on. Nothing to see here, move along. A VERY entertaining read. Good luck and welcome! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Nobody of Consequence Posted May 23, 2003 Author Report Share Posted May 23, 2003 (edited) IT would be unseemly of me not to offer you my thanks for the warmth of reception. However, the monkeys have taken umbrage at being refered to as apes by one of your number, and therefore I am left with no choice but to allow them to respond. That and the fact that I'm strapped to a chair with one hand free to type this reply, whilst "Planet of the Apes" is on continuous loop on an adjacent monitor. Regretably, the description of chimpanzees as apes this movie implies has only fueled their anger. We are monkeys. Resistance is futile. We will assimilate your witticisms and add them to our collection. Drop your linen and prepare to start grinnin'. Oh dear lord ... they've brought out the beat box ... Ya'll get ready for this. Hey yeah, ho, hey yeah, ho We are the monkeys. Resistance is futile. We'll bust down your rhymes with our heat-seekin' style. Heat-seekin' style? What are we thinking? Your rhymes are so dead their corpses are stinkin' A heat-seekin style can't find somethin that cold. Don't need to start firing to lay ice on your souls. You think one style is all that we got? My brother, we chillin' so much we're too hot. You think a sun's hot? We got a Big Bang to lay in this slot. Absolute zero ain't even a challenge. The Monkey Troop is owning this stage, Writing a new chapter on the evolution page. Challenge? We're building a condo on your Stone Henge. Deconstruction just isn't your thing. Destruction is what's written on your skin. Whole world knows the human race. Suckaz racing to bring eachother down. Watch your back, Jack, don't do it again. Prehensile tails let us run a ring around you clowns. Two hands on the keys And a sting in the tail. We outtie. I'm so terribly sor ... oh, no ... they've found the "8 Mile" DVD ... (OOC) EDIT - Thanks guys - that was laugh out loud good. Let's see where we can take this, if you're willing? Edited May 23, 2003 by Nobody of Consequence Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wyvern Posted May 27, 2003 Report Share Posted May 27, 2003 Wyvern watches in amusement from his desk as the monkeys go into acapella freestyles, quickly fumbling around his chair for a video camera in the hopes of taping the entire shenanigan. The lizard was certain that if he managed to capture footage of the act, he'd be able to sell it to MTV for loads of money... After all, the monkeys possessed a vocabulary far beyond that of the typical commercially successfull M.C, and also had a much more mature demeanor... Imagining the thousand monkeys releasing an album entitled "Pea Nuts" and going triple platinum, Wyvern curses at his lack of a camcorder and suddenly notices that Silly the Orangutan/Elder Dwarf had also arrived at the scene, and was breakdancing to the rhythm... Reluctantly abandoning his idea of taping the monkeys and selling them as the next rap phenomenon due to his lack of recording equipment, Wyvern grumbles and snatches Nobody of Consequence's story from the large pile of unanswered Pen applications that rests before him, briefly ignoring the monkey freestyles in order to read over the amusing story a few times. Grinning and sighing in relief, Wyvern gleefully hisses: "Heeheehee... those dumb humans have done it again! Evoking the anger of vegetables, sheesh, how dumb can those warm blooded mammals get?!" Wyvern's words of false comfort are suddenly interrupted as the door to the Recruiter's Office slowly creaks open and the monkey freestyles suddenly go silent. Standing at the doorway is a potatoe wearing a brown bandana, which signified that he was a member of the elite potatoe gang "Spuds." Hopping into the room, the potatoe is accompanied by an English potatoe interpreter, who translates the potatoes words for all to hear: "I ain't french so I ain't gonna fry My hundreds of eyes see a buncha wise guys Wyvern claims innocent, but his words are invalid Cus guess who ate the leftover potatoe salad!" With that, the interpreter points a finger at Wyvern and the potatoe strikes a macho pose. The reptilian Elder frowns and twiddles his fingers, a bead of sweat dripping from his brow as he realizes he's been found out. Wyv is about to speak up when suddenly, a leftover junkfood bag enters into the room. The English interpreter turns towards the new participant before quickly translating the bag's words: "Don't forget about me, the name's junkfood I feel the need to speak about how Wyvern eats me too Not just in small quantities but enormous proportions The lizard's guilty of causing junkfood market distortions!" Wyvern stutters nervously, thinking of some excuse to respond with and wincing at the angry words of the two freestyling foods. Fortunatly, the lizard is saved as the potatoe suddenly realizes that the junkfood bag is one for potatoe chips, and angrily pounces upon it in an attempt to kill it and avenge his brethren. As the two leftovers battle and the interpreter demands his pay from both of them, Wyvern happily stamps Nobody of Consequence's application ACCEPTED. OOC: An excellently written and very funny application, Nobody of Consequence... definitely ACCEPTED! Welcome to the Mighty Pen! Be sure to either post your e-mail address here or mail me at elitwack90@hotmail.com so that I can send you some additional info... Apologies for the wait, and welcome once again! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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