Argyle Sweater Weather or How to Unlock Your True Sense of Being But Not Really

Prequel to Mr. Bear or How to Ignore Your Problems and Become the Beast You Always Feared You Were but you can read it out of context.


Men stumbling aimlessly through the streets at night alone can be seen as romantics despite the likely inner turmoil, but for a bear to do the same is anything but.

Bears are carnivorous vile killers that devour us so they can lazily slumber through a cold winter, as if we are a luxury to them.

It was a bear that wandered the streets alone that fateful night, and the city slickers who passed by were fortunate that this bear was in a dour mood for to see a bear often signals death and last rites and such.

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The Wizard Who Knows All Forms of Magic But Prefers to Make Dramatic Well-Thought Out Entrances and Whoop Ass Instead

Direct sequel to this but this works out of context.


Wizards are a fragment of popular cultures and they are known for one quality: being wizardly.

It would be bereft of me however to discuss the topic of what it means to be a wizard. I, as the author, assume your knowledge of wizards and such lore, and request to proceed forward with our story because first off, this is a story about no ordinary wizard and you might as well throw all your expectations out the window. But it is important to be reminded of their lack of proper wizarding, and because this is a tale of comedic blunders and scuffles, and for the pacing to come out correctly, I apologize, but the first thing to be banished from this piece must be the discussion of proper wizarding.

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The Forgotten Tarrey Town (a Legend of Zelda fanfic)

One hundred twenty shrines, nine hundred Korok seeds, four Divine Beasts, and many nights spent running away from Stalchildren instead of sleeping, and Link still found himself getting pummeled by Calamity Ganon.

Dead-eyed, Link bounced up and down off the floor as Ganon swung his fists into our mighty hero. The pain ricocheted through his body, splitting each nerve end, bones crumbling to dust. Yet all the while, Link could not bring himself to summon Daruk, the Goron Champion, to come to his aid and shield him from Ganon’s terrifying wrath.

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Mama Mia! (an existential Mario fanfiction)

“Alright, we need to get this done quick and easy. No foul-ups.”

Waluigi cackled as he coolly pulled up the collar to his trench-coat, leering at his brother, Wario.

Wario smiled, twirling his mustache, as he gazed at the Poison Mushroom Gun a shadowy figure had just handed him.

“You got dat?” the shadowy figure wheezed.

“Oh yeah!” Wario cheered. Waluigi laughed softly under his breath and offered polite applause for his brother.

“Good,” the shadowy figure smiled, lazily tossing a Poison Mushroom Gun to Waluigi. “Let’s ice this pesky plumber.”

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Tell Me a Tale (a Kim Possible fanfiction)

Ron was man of principle: he liked grease. He liked grease whether he could put it. Falling into his mouth, sliding around in his tummy, dripping down his hands, and in his most private moments, hanging onto him behind the ears.

Every night he would enter his lab and create the unstoppable grease ball: A homemade Naco.

Beans and beef and cheese crammed into a fried tortilla. But let’s not forget the piece de resistance, a handful of nachos jammed into the taco, rupturing the tortilla.

The Naco.

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Mrs. Dogbutt or How to Make Wild Assumptions About Green Tea Lattes That Put You in a Bad Spot in Life

 

“Three little maids from school are we, Pert as a school-girl well can be!” Mrs. Dogbutt sang as she sauntered down Gazelle Stampede Avenue, pitching her voice like a southern belle. Wrapped up in her silk gown with only one shoulder, high on her heels, and a floppy hat shielding her from the vicious sun, the tiny cat skipped about, scoffing at the poor animals living on the street.

She raised her golden chalice into the air, the light reflecting off of it, blinding many of the crying wino rhinos who had nothing better to do than stare at her.

“Aaaaaaaah!” they screamed, writhing on the roadside as the light blinded them.

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The Old Wench and the President

I had been standing beside my mother for hours, saying nothing as her tattered cloak wavered in the wind. We stood on a cliff that overlooked the endless plains of dead earth. I heard from the mystics in the mountains that this sacred place once housed many chain restaurants, including a whopping three Wendy’s.

But everything changed after the Disturbance.

“Mother,” I said breathlessly.

She didn’t react. Like a statue. Mother had always been like a statue to me.

“Old wench,” I said in a steely voice. Mother’s head turned ever so slightly towards me. I flinched at this, a pain shooting through my heart, for I did not want to use the name so many others used for my mother. But it was all she knew now.

“I think it’s time you tell me about the Disturbance,” I added on nervously.

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The Evilest Guy Around

Fun fact: Carl the Mercenary in this story is the first fictional character I ever came up with.  He was my character in these Lego RPG games I played with my friends when I was 10.  Anyways, the prompt was “Central power.”


“Hey, dude, can you not smoke that around me?” Grondar the Wretched said after waiting two long minutes of cigarette smoke wafting pass his big dumb face.

“Why?” Carl said, trying to play these unfortunate circumstances off with a shrug; he had been waiting for Grondar to confront him about this the whole time.
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