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 Posted: Sun Jun 06, 2010 10:41 pm
 THE NEXT GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL ROLEPLAY But enough of that! It's.... F I E S T A T I M E ! ! !
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Posted: Sun Jun 06, 2010 10:43 pm
THE RULES
1. Please do not post in this unless you are Harxlily or Ixtaek. Or unless you have our permission to post as a Guest Unrelated Voice.
2. Do not break Gaia TOS/Guild rules
3. Uhhh other than that...NO RULES. AT ALL!
IN FACT
-smites this post-
burning_eyes burning_eyes burning_eyes burning_eyes burning_eyes BRING ON THE PIRAHNA PINATA PIRATES >D
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Posted: Sun Jun 06, 2010 10:44 pm
Welcome to Fire at the Faire,
Harxlily's and Ixtaek's long-running novel of utter nonsense.
There's no fire.
There's no faire.
It's a story of love.
Of war.
Of passion.
Of hate.
Of scratch-n'-sniff cupcake stickers and lampshades and revenge and fencers and religion and politics and Disney princesses and death metal and robot sharks and zombie peas and hippie bands and dead surrealism artists and mountain goats and tacos and vampire princes and plastic surgery and undercover ninja monks and normal, every day people just like you.
So take a deep breath...
And welcome to FatF.
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Posted: Sun Jun 06, 2010 10:45 pm
Ladies and Peas, may I introduce....The UNRELATED VOICES Who will make all your dreams come true~ 3nodding Lady HarxLady Ixy
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Posted: Tue Aug 03, 2010 8:18 pm
 LADY IXY Once Upon A Time…
There lived a world-champion fencer and his three wives: Yolanda, Shelby, and Marissa. None of the wives knew about the others. The first wife, Yolanda, believed herself to be married to a circus clown who could juggle flaming bowling pins. The second wife, Shelby, thought she was married to a rich and successful CEO who could buy her fancy clothes and shoes. The last wife, Marissa, thought she was married to a bum alcoholic who was cheating on her.
On the day of the fencer’s wedding anniversary (which all three were on the same day) Yolanda asked, as a present, that her husband would juggle some of his flaming bowling pens for her, since she had never seen him, or anyone, do this. Shelby asked for a million-dollar dress and matching pair of two-million dollar shoes (1 million for each shoe). Marissa did not ask for anything but instead went through the fencer’s belongings and found plenty of evidence of his cheating, including but not limited to an instruction manual on how to juggle flaming bowling pins and a three million dollar bill to a credit card in her name.
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Posted: Wed Aug 04, 2010 4:48 pm
~Lady Harx~ Due to some very ill planning, the fencer ended up booking a juggling gig at a fancy restaurant on the same night that he was taking Shelby out for a romantic anniversary dinner. Foolishly, he also invited Yolanda, so that she could see his world-renowned juggling act for the first time ever.
He did not invite Marissa, but she found reservations to Café Chat Noir in her bum husband’s dirty socks when she was doing his laundry.
She had had enough. It was time to confront him about his alcoholism and outrageous spending. Luckily, she was the daughter of a wealthy oil sheik, so she was not massively in debt from his occasional million dollar splurges, but still, ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH!
All three women showed up that evening at the fancy French café; Shelby decked out in fabulous jewels, Yolanda wearing her favorite purple blouse, and Marissa, seething in her fuzzy pink bathrobe.
Needless to say, they quickly figured out what was happening.
It was especially obvious when the Fencer showed up in a tuxedo coat and flaming clown pants while carting around his minifridge of booze.
The women were furious! They man they each loved had been cheating on them ALL. ALL ALONG.
They launched their attack, Shelby chasing after him threatening to stab him in the heart with her million dollar stiletto, Yolanda wielding a flaming bowling pin and threatening to shove it somewhere VERY uncomfortable, and Marissa, who was strangely a bit saner, chasing after him with a pistol.
Appalled at his horrible mistake and fearing for his life, the fencer fled the restaurant and exited into his private helicopter, to seek help from other than his best friend, the Dalai Llama.
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Posted: Wed Aug 04, 2010 7:11 pm
LADY IXY Unfortunately, getting an audience with the Dali Lama, even if one happens to be good friends with him, is very difficult. The Fencer was forced to spend three hours sitting in a metal folding chair with a squeaky left front leg in a tiny, crowded room while the 400 people ahead of him in line went in to discuss their problems with the guru. When the 398th person ahead of him went in, his three wives burst in with bazookas and blew him up, leaving only the folding chair with it’s sad squeaking leg behind.
Mysteriously, no one else in the room was harmed.
Meanwhile, in the country of Kyrjakistan…
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Posted: Wed Aug 04, 2010 8:40 pm
~Lady Harx~ A lonely old dirigible builder sat in his workshop, watching his lovely neighbor across the street as she watered her begonias. He had been a bachelor all his life, and she was the kindest, prettiest, warmest woman he had ever met. She had four kids, but her husband had died ten years earlier. Every day, she brought the dirigible builder a freshly baked flan, which he loved. But all he could do was nod his head in thanks; whenever she was around, he found himself flustered and unable to speak.
He had never said a word to her.
Little did he know, his neighbor had some less than pure intentions with her flan…
You see, an evil cockatoo with human legs lived in her basement. He forced the young woman to bake magical crystals into delicious dessert, which was gradually stealing away the dirigible builder’s voice.
The cockatoo had already stolen the widow’s husband’s legs.
One day, the dirigible builder decided to make his move. He picked out the most beautiful fichus he could find at the market, and headed over across the street to her house.
Her 18 year old son, Dwight opened the door.
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Posted: Wed Aug 04, 2010 8:49 pm
LADY IXY Dwight was not sure why the dirigible worker across the street had lugged some fichus to his house, but he let him in anyway. After all, Dwight was afflicted with a rare disease that prevented him from ever slamming the door in anyone’s face. It was an absolute nightmare; door-to-door hairbrush salesmen and vampires were constantly getting in the house and destroying things and drinking all their soda. However, the dirigible builder was not exactly dangerous, Dwight reasoned, so no one would give him noogies for letting him in.
The dirigible builder went into the kitchen, where his beautiful neighbor was cooking another magical flan.
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Posted: Wed Aug 04, 2010 9:56 pm
~Lady Harx~
“My…my darling!” The dirigible builder stuttered. “I have a confession. I have been in love with you for the past eight years!” He sunk to his knees, offering the fichus up to his perfect neighbor. “And I think you feel the same way. W…Would you do me the honor of…becoming my wife?” He closed his eyes, preparing for rejection.
The widow, who was in fact, deeply in love with the dirigible builder, teared up, about to accept his proposal.
Just then, a terrible SQUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWK resounded from the basement.
THUMP
THUMP
THUMP
Something was running up the basement on human legs.
“YOU WILL NEVER BE FREE OF MEEEE SQUAAAWWWKKKK!” Cried the evil cockatoo with the dirigible maker’s voice. “WE ARE BOUND FOR LIIIIIIFEEEE SQUAWKKKK!”
The horrible creature advanced towards the widow, beak open wide, preparing to swallow her whole.
But suddenly, something large and multicolored crashed through the roof, landing hoof-first on the cockatoo.
It was a RAINBOW EXPLODING UNICORN FROM THE NEIGHBORING WAR COUNTRY Gryfreckistan!
“RUNNNN!” Cried the dirigible builder, grabbing the woman and slinging her and her four kids into a magical orange backpack he always kept with him.
He dived out of the house and ran to the Dirigible Emporium across the street, right as the rainbow unicorn bomb exploded on top of the cockatoo, ending his tyrannical rule over the woman forever.
Once they were safe in a dirigible, the builder steered them up and through the falling exploding unicorn bombs.
The widow, who had stepped out of the backpack, hugged her kids tightly before grabbing the dirigible builder and smooching him passionately on the lips.
“My hero!”
Thus, the new family was off into the exploding unicorn sunset and onto new and unexplored lands.
However, in a small town in South Dakota, Freckle Malone looked sadly at the empty ketchup bottle her boss had told her to wash. She hated this job. She hated this town. She hated how she looked in her stupid McDonalds uniform. She hated her stupid boss and her stupid name.
But most of all, she hated ketchup.
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Posted: Wed Aug 04, 2010 10:07 pm
LADY IXY Ketchup, however, did not hate Freckle. In fact, it would be honest to say ketchup, like the recently married dirigible builder, was silently yearning for Freckle’s affection.
Except, of course, ketchup cannot make a move. Because ketchup cannot move itself.
This is not the ketchup’s fault; after all, to learn to walk someone must teach you, and no one would ever take the time to teach ketchup to walk.
Therefore the ketchup had to wait for Freckle, in hopes she would sense its undying devotion and ask it out. But Freckle did no such thing.
Until the day that Harry Potter came to South Dakota.
If you’re wondering what an international superstar was doing in a Dakota so bad its call South, let your mind be at ease. This was not The Boy Who Lived. This was the unfortunate middle school principal by the same name, who was fleeing from those who might mistake him for a wizard. Seeing as South Dakotans don’t have an exceptional reputation for being big readers, he decided this would be an excellent place to hide out.
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Posted: Wed Aug 04, 2010 10:28 pm
~Lady Harx~ Unfortunately, Principal Harry Potter was a very unlucky man.
The same day that he arrived in town, JK Rowling, author of the world-famous books also arrived to promote literacy in South Dakota. And what better way to do that than to hold a book signing!
Potterheads flooded the tiny town, dressed in cloaks and robes and Quidditch uniforms and all sorts of other freakery.
The McDonald’s that Freckle worked at became swamped with wannabe muggles, all frothing at the mouth for JK’s godly signature.
Principal Potter couldn’t be more horrified. There were at least 16 clones of the fictional boy wizard in the McDonald’s he was eating at alone.
He couldn’t take it anymore!
He fantasized about pulling out a machine gun and gunning down every last bloody one of them, but realized that would be pretty impractical.
Instead, he left the McDonald’s and headed for the City Hall to get a name change to something more normal; Edward Cullen. It was perfect. Sophisticated, elegant, inflected with a bit of Irish flavor… Sadly for Mr. Cullen, this was the year 2001. Nine years later he would end his own life by jumping off the Eiffel Tower, but that is another story for another time.
As Freckle wiped up Mr. Potter’s dirty table, she noticed something on his tray. The ketchup had been formed into the shape of a heart.
Freckle was a very emotional, negative person. She hated everything and everything hated her.
This was the first sign of love from anyone she had ever received.
“K…Ketchup?” Her heart fluttered in her chest. What was this strange new feeling?
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Posted: Wed Aug 04, 2010 10:47 pm
LADY IXY “I HATE KETCHUP!” The feeling was only heartburn, caused by eating too many burritos. Freckle viciously knocked the bottle to the floor, making it crack open and splatter onto the unsuspecting Potterheads in the restaurant.
“I QUIT! I’m MOVING TO PARIS!” With that, Freckle Malone stormed out of McDonalds forever. As she walked down the street she bumped into a nice guy named Paul, and they ended up getting happily married, having three kids named Bob, Hugh, and Sally, and living out their years in North Dakota, which is just like South Dakota but Northern.
Meanwhile, the head of the CIA (the Country Idiots Association) issued a decree that Sept. 3rd was National Play-Bluegrass-So-Loud-It-Annoys-Your-Neighbors Day. Unfortunately, country idiots are illiterate (most lived in South Dakota), so no one could read the decree.
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Posted: Fri Aug 06, 2010 10:42 pm
~Lady Harx~ Fortunately, it was September 27th when the decree was finally posted, because of the inadequacy of the Southern Bureaucracy Of Bluegrass Sign Postage.
On that same day in the far off planet of Dartavia, a young dressmaker named Mina Baclava stared out her window at the setting purple sun, dreaming of something better. Something better than the endless days she spent at the sewing machine, working her fingers to the bone over some spoiled princess’s 800th dress.
That night, when Mina was walking home from the factory to her cottage in the middle of the woods, she found a small Nerfwimp on the side of the road. In Earth terms, a Nerfwimp is like a tiny kitten with wings. They are very rare, and if fed whiskey, they are known to grant wishes.
And so, Mina scooped up the small animal and cradled it in her arms all the way home. She didn’t drink, so there was no whiskey in her whole house.
Instead, she fed it a slice of raw Frellikma, unaware of the dire consequences that would follow.
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Posted: Sat Aug 07, 2010 9:13 am
LADY IXY The Nerfwimp grew to ten times its original size, sprouted fangs and spikes all over its body, and gained a rather nasty sounding wheeze-roar.
However, the Nerfwimp was still, on the inside, thinking it was as cute and cuddly as it had once been. It just didn't realize it now had the strength to turn over the average ten-story building. So when it rubbed innocently amid the legs of Mina's Fafbl (which is rather like an Earth table except its a living plant and eats your leftovers so you don't have to), it shredded them to bits. And when it nipped playfully at Mina's toes, it took all 8 of them off. When the poor thing leaned up against the window to look out at the Dartavian wingless sytlas, it broke through it and tumbled into the street, upon the heads of the unsuspecting Dartavians below.
The Nerfwimp tried to meow pitifully, but it sounded a whole lot like it was roaring that it would bring about the doom of the planet. Everyone began to panic, jumping in their jubtuvsi and driving off of yeffivd in their crazed attempts to escape.
Naturally, the army was called in.
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