Volleyball 2003 - for Writers

[Darb]

Anyone ever watch "Who's line is it anyway ?"

It's an improv show.

One of the schticks they do is having a few people act out an evolving scene ... and every few minutes, the genre gets changed on them, and they have to continue to run with it, using the new genre style.

It's a lot of fun.

Anyway, I thought it might be interesting to try a turn-based written version of that, where each person takes turns grabbing the story and running with it for a few paragraphs, using a different genre style.

It will probably get off to a slow start, but hey - it could be fun, or it could fall by the wayside and get ignored.

-----------------------------
Rules:
1) GENRE HOPPING: Just to make things interesting, each new post must switch to a different genre style (i.e, Sci Fi, Horror, Gumshoe Mystery, Romance, Fantasy, Juvenile, Comedy, Anime/Cartoon, Superheroes, etc.). You must announce that genre at the top of your post, before actually beginning.
2) CONTINUITY: A given post must end abruptly, in mid-story, with an elipsis (...) and the next person to post MUST pick up immediately where the previous post left off, using their new genre style - after that, all bets are off. You can steer the story wherever you wish, being as conservative, or as crazy as you desire.
3) TURNS: Participants are not allowed to respond to their own posts - after you post, you must wait for at least 1 other person to post before posting again. To avoid crossing posts, we'll use a 'token key' system - if the thread appears open, and waiting for a response, post "OK, MY TURN" ... after that, you have up to ONE HOUR to make your post. If more than one hour goes by, it's thrown open to all comers who wish to declare it's THEIR turn. However, if nobody else has claimed the turn by the time your delayed post is ready, then go ahead and post it.
4) EFFORT: Dont trivialize - put a little effort into making your post interesting & entertaining, otherwise there's no point in playing. Be as funny, or as serious as you like. The whole point is to have a little mutual fun bouncing around a constantly evolving plot - like a crowd with a beach ball.
6) LENGTH: There is no minimum or maximum length for any given post - provided you can write it in less than 1 hour.

Ok, anyone want to play ?

If so, claim your turn, and start typing.

[kiltanon]

Brad,

I REALLY Like this I would like to suggest a minor modification to rule 3] and one addition to the formal rules - Reject this last at your peril

1. GENRE HOPPING: Just to make things interesting, each new post must switch to a different genre style (i.e, Sci Fi, Horror, Gumshoe Mystery, Romance, Fantasy, Juvenile, Comedy, Anime/Cartoon, Superheroes, etc.). You must announce that genre at the top of your post, before actually beginning.
2. CONTINUITY: A given post must end abruptly, in mid-story, with an elipsis (...) and the next person to post MUST pick up immediately where the previous post left off, using their new genre style - after that, all bets are off. You can steer the story wherever you wish, being as conservative, or as crazy as you desire.
3. TURNS: Participants are not allowed to respond to their own posts - after you post, you must wait for at least 1 other person to post before posting again. To avoid crossing posts, we'll use a 'token key' system - if the thread appears open, and waiting for a response, post "OK, MY TURN" ... after that, you have up to ONE HOUR to make your post. If more than one hour goes by, it's thrown open to all comers who wish to declare it's THEIR turn. However, if nobody else has claimed the turn by the time your delayed post is ready, then go ahead and post it.
   n.b. - once you have grabbed your turn - for your post simply "edit" your turn lock. Dropped tokens will at some stage be edited out...
4. EFFORT: Dont trivialize - put a little effort into making your post interesting & entertaining, otherwise there's no point in playing. Be as funny, or as serious as you like. The whole point is to have a little mutual fun bouncing around a constantly evolving plot - like a crowd with a beach ball.
5. LENGTH: There is no minimum or maximum length for any given post - provided you can write it in less than 1 hour.
6. RATING: The forum is essentially PG13 - we will exercise some lattitude in this area - but if you wish to cross the line you do so at the risk of censorship!

rgds
Kilt

[Grilka]

You KNOW I like this idea!!

[Elongated Man]

Okay... LETS ROCK.

[Darb]

I will try to participate and the vaguaries of work, freetime, and ideas permit

OK, whower wants to go first, take it away

If you're a little nervous, just post something short and simple ... we can always get more verbose and elaborate as time and comfort level permit.

[KiltanneN]

OK my turn

[Darb]

I was gonna go, but it was so beautiful outside today, during lunch hour, that I went for a long walk instead

/me pretends to snooze for 3 hrs, and wonders where kilty is with his post

Hey, don't go off and write a novella on us ... we're just lookin for a coupla paragraphs, bucko

[KiltanneN]

I /*thought*/ I was going to get a lunch today. I was sadly disabused of that inane notion. In fact - I have barely stopped in the last 6 ½ hrs

Kilt

[Gazoooo]

The birds were singing and playing tag amonst the tall imposing blue pines. Everything about the day was perfect, somehow too perfect. I wished the luch hour could go on forever, well, at least until the work day was over.

What a morning I had had. My new boss althought incredibaly sexy was also a first rate pain in the ass. Today she came into my office and actually asked me to................

[Elongated Man]

look over the new evidence the crime lab sent up on the Brown Hornet murders. Inside the folder was a color picture of a young women with blond hair, dressed in gymnast tights. The woman was in her early twenties, and would have been quite attractive if it weren't for the trident stuck in her chest.

"Same MO," I said, flipping through a report that didn't tell much more than the gruesome picture did. "The killer is still using ancient weapons."

The boss lady nodded and reached into a large manila envelope. "This time we have more than just a museum piece to go on. This was found next to the body."

She pulled her hand from the envelope and tossed a...

[Darb]

... a series of photos of what appeared to be a plaster cast of a footprint. If you could call it that.

My hackles stood up, and my stomach turned into a churning vat of acid. The birds singing so sweetly and carefree outside in the spring sunshine made my growing sense of disconnection seem even harsher.

"What the hell is that ?!" I demanded rhetorically, my ears already deaf to my surroundings, and my mind paralyzed with shock, fear, and a growing sense of dread, inevitability and recognition. The dimly remembered nightmares I'd been having for the last few years were suddenly and horrifyingly trying to intrude into reality !

A distant corner of my mind, still struggling to protect my ever weakening grasp on sanity, desperately insisted that the photo HAD to be a prank. However, aside from being drop dead gorgeous, my supervisor had one, and only one, other defining characteristic worth noting - she had absolutely NO sense of humor.

I reluctantly forced my eyes back to the photographs. It was a struggle to keep them there, because deep down, a primal part of me wanted to flee and never return. The only thing that stopped me was the sickeningly helpless realization that I had nowhere to go. How can I run away from my dreams, much less reality gone awry ?

It was no footprint that a same mind could find comfort in.

Judging by the ruler in the foreground, it was easily too large to be human ... knobby, scaly, and muscular, with elongated 'toes' of a sort that appeared to be joined with webbing, and topped with cruel looking hooked claws designed to rend. It was a nightmare, made flesh.

"Do you have data on how dense and hard-packed the dirt was where you took the mold ?" I asked, stalling for time. No such luck. With icy detachment, the boss lady nodded grimly, and wordlessly slid a readout onto the table, next to the photo. The nightmare deepened.

"Good God !" I gasped, "that thing would have to be at least 7 feet tall, and close to 800 pounds to leave a print like that !

Even as the question left my lips, the ...

[Darb]

RULES ADDENDUM:

2) CONTINUITY: Because of the radical genre hopping we're attempting, and the need to provide each subsequent poster with as much creative leeway as possible, we can be pretty loose about not having to keep track of (or maintain) any sort of long term continuity (of plot and characters) in our overall story. The minimum requirement is simply to continue the last sentence of the previous post, along with perhaps the overall flow of the previous post as a whole. That's it. Those who want to be a little more ambitious can draw on more than 1 of the previous posts for material while trying to be relatively seamless in their transition, or you can spin the steering wheel hard over and go off into laa laa land with only a brief glance in the rear mirror. Do as little, or as much as your whim suits.

/me whistles to resume play ...

"PLAY BALL !"

[Gazoooo]

Even as the question left my lips, the .............hem of my supervisors dress slip wantingly up her smoothly sculpured legs. Christ, how was a person supposed to think under these conditions. I grabbed the package she had laid out for me and took off for a walk in the park during lunch.

With my yhoughts returning to the present I found the once delightful sound of the birds driving me nuts.

"Shut the f*ck up !" I screamed to the utter astonishment of an older couple out enjoying the mid day sun.

Moving on to avoid their glarring eyes I found a bench to sit down and regain my thoughts. Having had no effect on the birds, I drove them from my mind with visions of my supervisor once again.

"Well that'll get me nowhere" I whispered to myself. Might as well pick up a copy of Playboy and head to a deserted island.

Pulling the envelope out of my jacket I flipped quickly through the package until I had the photo in my hand. Beyond the fact that I had no idea what could have made such an imprint there was something vaguely familiar about the overall shape of the print.

Where had I seen that before ? Suddenly it came to me, it was last year when I..................

[Darb]

... took a brief career side step into adult comics:



Yeah, I admit it ... I have an ongoing fantasy crush on my ice-maiden boss lady, not to mention a love for cheesy Godzilla movies by Toho corporation. But hey, it was great fodder for my x-rated comic series. Good thing I ghost-wrote that under a pen name, or people might think I was weird or something.

The old urges suddenly came rushing back ...

Oh, I desperatedly wanted to invite my boss back to my place, get her nekkid, cover her luscious body with tiny little break-away model buildings, don my beloved Godzilla suit, and then go on a massive rampage of mock-destruction through her City of Love.

(heavy breathing deleted)

Ok, so I admit it - I never outgrew playing with monster dolls and toy soldiers as a kid. Big deal. Plenty of guys have the same shortcomings that I do. One day, the right woman will come along ... someone who shares my boundless love of fully poseable military action figures, badly dubbed Japanese Monster movies, firearms, Charton Heston's long winded NRA speeches, and the like ... and when she does, I'll marry her so fast, they'll have to redesign the Mach speed barrier.

ANYWAY, the nightmarish plaster footprint in the photo I'd seen earlier just wasn't a match for the foot of the Godzilla suit hanging in my closet. Harsh reality, as usual, had rubbed my nose in yer another dead end.

I sighed heavily, tried to ignore the incessant throbbing of my wedding tackle, and rubbed my eyes ... hoping to stave off an approaching migrane. The mindlessly happy chirping of those birds overhead mocked my growing sense of helplessness, and panic.

Suddenly ...

[Gazoooo]

...........my Spidy sences started to tingle. It wasn't during my stint in the comics where I had seen that, it was during my hyatis at the Betty Ford clinic while I was recovering from twinkie withdrawl brought on by all night............

[Elongated Man]

...absinthe smoothies and cheap Samoan hookers.

The footprints were not left by a beast from this plain of consciousness. The beast that left those prints had to be from the astral dream world. But how, by great Caesar's ghost, did the beast manage to project itself into the real, corporeal world?

The boss lady, Captain Amanda Goodorbs, was not going to believe this at all but she has to know. I can't fight this thing on my own. I need backup, and only she can authorise the kind of fire power I need to take this thing down.

I rushed back to the precinct, hoping I could make Goodorbs believe me. When I got there, the Captain's office door was closed. I knocked but got no response. From the other side of the door I could hear a low mumble that sounded like a woman's voice chanting.

I opened the door and the scene that greeted my eyes stopped me dead in the doorway. Captain Goodorbs was standing on top her desk, clad only in her bra and panties. She stood there, writhing and undulating in lewd serpentine motions, chanting the words,...

[Darb]

... chanting the words to an old 1940's Andrew Sisters song that she was obviously listening to on a Sony Walkman:

... famous trumpet man from out Chicago way
He had a boogie style that no one else could play
He was the top man at his craft
But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft
He's in the army now, he's blowin' reveille
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B

They made him blow a bugle for his Uncle Sam
It really brought him down because he could not jam
The captain seemed to understand
Because the next day the Cap' went out and drafted a band
And now the company jumps when he plays reveille
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B ...

I dropped to my knees, in rapturous delight. My boss, the subject of so many of my idle fantasies and imaginings, was my dream lover after all ! At last, I'd finally found someone else besides me who loved 1940's vintage war songs ... and quite probably fully poseable action figures too !

I listened quietly, while she continued to shimmy atop her desk with her back to the door (and me).

... A-root, a-toot, a-toot-dooddelyada-toot
He blows it eight-to-the-bar, in boogie rhythm
He can't blow a note unless the bass and guitar is playin' with him
A-a-a-and the company jumps when he plays reveille
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B
He was our boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B ...

-----------------------------------

Meanwhile, just outside the building, the astral exploration cruiser Popyllol hovered invisibly ...

"REPORT !" bellowed the Commander. He was angry, because their first contact mission had been compromised ... and not just once, but repeatedly.

The security officer stared intently into his trans-astral thermal imaging surveillance monitor, watching the heat signatures of the two of the humans through the window of the building below. "The female appears to be performing some sort of ritual. The male we've been tracking just entered her office, and has assumed a kneeling position."

"Kneeling ?!" the contact specialist blurted. She hurried over and settled her tiny and lithe 793 lb body down next the hulking security officer, and eyed the monitor intently. "Commander - this may be the cultural breakthrough we've been waiting for ! It is now obvious from my research into this planet's cultural database that the female must be some sort of high priestess, and that the male is a religious accolyte."

"You've already botched three first contact attempts, Kraelia. It's time to clean up this mess to prevent further cultural contamination and head home." He reached for the firing stud on his command console.

"Commander, NO !"

The commander thumped his tail angrily on the deckplates, causing Kraelia to bare her fangs in a genture of meek supplication. "I meant no disrespect, Commander - it's just that a we may be on the verge of a breakthrough. We've tried everything else we can think of ... even stimulating their beta wave brain patterns during their sleep cycles. Our only remaining hope of establishing contact is the old fashioned way - direct physical contact, and universal pantomime !"

"I disagree. You've tried that three times already, and our orders regarding failure are that anyone who sees us must be either vaporized or mind wiped. You couldn't even do that properly - you used your trident instead of your blaster, and you even left the damn trident at the scene of our contact attempt, along with footprints that were subsequently studied by the people we're monitoring. You are hopelessly incompetant. This mission is offically over !"

The commander targeted the building, and promptly pressed the firing stud.

"There, that solves everything. Navigations officer, set course to Vega 7"

-----------------------------------

Patrol Officer Diane Wilson was contentedly sipping her coffee, and contemplating her next donut when the building next to her squad car suddenly ...

[Grilka]

... started glowing a vivid tangerine, then lifted off the ground, spun around twice and abruptly disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Diane looked back at the Krispy Kreme she'd painstakingly selected, then again at the empty spot next to the car. Sparkles sifted gently across the hood, but the car itself was undamaged.

As casually as possible, she shifted position so her back faced the window and kept on eating. Hey, it's a chocolate frosted!

But by turning her back, she missed the enormous...

[Gazoooo]

.............bottle of "Duff" beer that landed softly on the grassy nole in the middle of the parking lot. Suddenly she saw an enormous man wearing only primary colours go rushing through the door of the doughnut shop.

The door whisped around and smacked him on the backside. "DOH" she could hear the cry through the window.

The man ran to the beer bottle as quickly as he could waddle. "Mmmmmmmmmm, BEEEEEER " she heard the exstatic cry.

"What the hell was that ?" she puzzled shaking her head. Her surroundings were split. Half the shop was cartoon, and half was the living world, a door led to each world.

Paying her bill she stood and promply headed out the nearest door........

[Elongated Man]

only to be knocked on her ass by Speedy Gonzales, who needed his morning fix of coffee and jelly donuts.

Diane picked herself off the sticky linoleum. "Damn it, mouse! When you disrespect me, you disrespect the law!"

Diane pulled her pistol from its holster and fired at the sombrero wearing rodent. Before the bullet could find its mark, Speedy zipped to the other side of the room. Again Diane fired, only to miss the mouse a second time. In a sugar induced rage, Diane began to fire randomly around the shop, hoping one of her bullets would hit the little bastard.

The exploding succession of shots sent bits of cruller and glass flying around the shop liked deadly shards of sweetened shrapnel. Morning patrons, cartoon and human alike, took cover in booths and under tables. Charlie Portnoy, the local postman cowarded behind a newspaper rack. Linus VanPelt took a flying leap into the ladies room, hoping the door would shield him from the stray bullets.

"Senorita," the mouse mockingly addressed Diane, "I do not theenk you can heet me. I beat the Flash at the 94 Oleempics."

Out of bullets, Diane pulled another clip of ammunition from her belt. Little did she know, however, another woman of the law was coming up from behind her. This woman was the Princess of Paradise Island though, the woman the world knew as Wonder Woman.

"Put the gun down," the gorgeous Amazon ordered. "Put it down or I'll...

[Darb]

... Suddenly, the eyes of the Amazon Princess locked with those of Speedy Gonzales.

Centuries of battle-hardened experience, along with a deeply ingrained warrior's code, went out the window as the ancient and primordial fear of mice washed over her, and shattered her composure like a storm weakend dam.

"Aieeeeeeeeeee ... A MOUSE !"

The Princess instinctively sought the tactical advantage of higher ground ... in this case, the nearest desk.

Momentarily stunned by the unexptected turn of events, Officer Wilson and Speedy Gonzales both paused in their dance of death, mouths agape.

Officer Wilson stirred first ... she re-holstered her service revolver, grabbed the Amazon's magic lasso, and hurled the business end towards the elusive mouse. The enchanted lasso flew true, and looped around the speedster, even as he turned to flee.

GONZALES WAS SNAGGED !

Regaining her shattered composure, Princess Diana hopped down from the table, looking somewhat abashed, and took custody of the well-trussed speedster from the quick thinking patrolwoman. With a flick of her wrist, the lasso recoiled, reeling Gonzales into her waiting hand like a yo-yo.

"Good work, Officer. What was your name again ?"

"Diane ... Officer Diane Wilson."

"Really ? What a coincidence. Mine's Diana. Let's interrogate our prisoner, shall we ?"

The Amazonian turned her steely blue eyes on the trapped mouse. "The power of the lasso prevents you from lying, Gonzales."

Gonzales struggled mightily to resist the compulsion, but it was futile.

"Ok, first question ..."

[Grilka]

..."What's up with Pepe LePew? Why the hell can't he tell the difference between a skunk and a cat?"

"Oh, that's... eeesy - hee's an... hee's...," Speedy began, fighting every word, sweat dripping from his tiny brow. Beady little eyes peered up, filled with anguish at what he was about to reveal.

"Hee's...

[Elongated Man]

... A TOONOSEXUAL! THERE! HAPPY?"

The Mexican mouse wilted beneath his golden bonds. Perspiration matted the brown fur over his eyes.

"Oh no," Gozales lamented, hiding his face in his paws. "I can't believe you made me out poor, poor Pepe. If this heets the presses, he may never find work again. But alas, eet is true, Senoritas. Eet does not matter what thee species. If eet is a toon and has female parts, Pepe will geet buzy with eet. Why juss last week, I walked in on him and Storm from thee X-Men. They were, you know, bumping uglees in Scrooge McDuck's hot tub."

Diane and Wonder Woman looked at each other, both turning green with sickening disgust.

"Don't get me wrong," Diane finally said. "I'm as open minded as the next cop but...

[Grilka]

...but... Wonder Woman? Are you okay?" The busty figure was suddenly looking a little down in the dumps.

"Scrooge McDuck's hot tub..." she whispered, and Diane saw her eyes start to glisten. "That was our special place. That bitch!"

In a jealous rage, Wonder Woman snapped the whip away, sending Speedy flying... right into the waiting mouth of Sylvester. The cat giggled as a wiggling tail stuck out of his mouth and tickled his cheeks. Diana turned and stormed off, presumably to confront Storm. Diane shook her head, baffled. Either Wonder Woman was having some sort of breakdown, or she was some kind of clone. Or perhaps, Diane herself was...

[Darb]

... was just high on caffine, sugar, and too much estrogen combined with too little sleep.

"Well ..." chimed in a thoughtful looking student standing behind the donut counter. "... it may be that Pepe's not so much a toonsexual as he is a color fetishist. Think about it - he obviously has a 'thing' for dark women with white stripes in their hair/fur. Female skunks are all black, and have a natural white stripe down their back/tail. Storm of the X-Men is black, and often wears her white hair in a long mohawk down her back. That female cat you referred to was black, and had a white stripe painted down her back. It seems to fit to me. I think he's just taking the ol 'Black is Beautiful' maxim to it's natural and logical destination. "

Diane blinked in disbelief at the hair-brained idea.

"If I want your opinion, citizen, I'll beat it out of you with my nightstick !" Diane drew and gave her PR24 "prosecutor" a test swing to demonstrate, and then turned and poked the business end into Sylvester the Cat's stomach ... allowing Speedy to escape his toothy cage and flee.

"Move along people. There's nothing to see here." The collective silence collapsed, and people resumed their daily routine, right on cue - as if scripted.

After pausing for a long satisfying sip from her rapidly cooling cup of half-caffe "Kopi-Luwak" diet mocha-java expresso latte, Diane returned to her patrol car, finished her book on the "Bensalem Witch Trials", and awaited the end of her shift. Several hours (and a long snooze) later, the police radio suddenly barked to life ...