On a completely un-related note...
Game reclines in his seat and flips open the paper, reviewing the events of recent days past. A stewardess stopped next to him with a cart. "Can I get you anything, sir?"
Game glanced at her for a second, and then said with a grin, "Your number?"
She frowned and angrily pushed her trolley further down the aisle. Game grumbled something about his unprecedented bad luck with women, and then glanced out the window of his thread. They were flying several thousand feet above the story forum, going at a steady clip of about 250 miles per hour. Through breaks in the clouds Game could glimpse two impressively ornate buildings: The Story Discussion and the Official Biography Stickies. Scattered around the rest of the country were smaller threads ranging from cottages to larger houses, as well as an academy or two.
Game turned away from the window and glanced at the occupants of the various other seats in first-class. There were various personages, but one caught his eye. He was a scruffy-looking chap of about 30, with shifty brown eyes that seemed to be sunk back into the skull. His scrawny frame trembled slightly as his spindly fingers nervously strummed across the armrest. He seemed uneasy, which made Game more-so.
Without warning, the man plunged his hand into his bag and withdrew a Magnum .44. Waving it around unsteadily, he stood and began screaming obscenities. Among the crude words Game could make out a rough sentence.
"YAHHH MY #*@! NAME IS SMURFIE ##@!&* BLURFIE AND $@*!@ DON'T FORGET IT $*!!)@! I'M HIJACKING THIS $*#@*@ THREAD AND THERE'S $*@&^&* NOTHING YOU CAN $*#(@)!) DO ABOUT IT! $*@*!^*(()&%!"
Doing what any self-respecting author would do, Game screamed in fright and sprinted to the lavatory. Crouching meekly on the toilet, he racked his mind for a plan.
TO BE CONTINUED.
DUN DUN DUANNNN
05-Oct-2007 01:37:57
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