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Make me creative
14 years ago
Here's the dealio.
You give me three words, and I get to make them into a literary masterpiece. It may be a story, it may be a haiku, it may be a dirty limerick involving a handful of butter and your right nostril.
I guess you can try until you get something you dislike slightly less, just so long as you don't ask for two pieces in a row (i.e. someone has to ask before you give me another set of three words).
You give me three words, and I get to make them into a literary masterpiece. It may be a story, it may be a haiku, it may be a dirty limerick involving a handful of butter and your right nostril.
I guess you can try until you get something you dislike slightly less, just so long as you don't ask for two pieces in a row (i.e. someone has to ask before you give me another set of three words).
Imagine a happy family in a car, driving home after a movie. It's the weekly family outing, so that no matter how busy everyone gets, they all can at least spend a few hours a week together. Everyone's singing along to the radio as they drive home, off to enjoy a sit-down dinner together. What happens next in this story?
According to Brene Brown, 60% of people say car crash. Another 15% say something equally terrible: once, someone managed to work in a shark attack.
She credits our need to kill off the family to our need to numb, to pre-empt vulnerability. She claims we do this all the time - thinking of the worst things that can happen, so that we can avoid the feeling we get when we expect a good ending but get a bad one. It doesn't take ten years of research to realize that always expecting a bad result will tarnish the feelings you get from genuinely good outcomes.
She also claims to have found a solution: vulnerability. Ten years of research and thousands of stories...and she found the ones who didn't have to struggle for love and belonging were the people who thought they were worthy of love and belonging. Put a different way, the ones who found love were the ones who weren't worried about if they were certain enough, good enough, perfect enough...they were willing to take a chance and say, "I'm enough. And I will take a chance that someone else will think so, too."
They stop fixating on the extraordinary. They realize that the extraordinary can be amazing and worthwhilte, but they realize that the ordinary is important and special, too. Oxygen is pretty ordinary, but you sure as hell would miss it if it went missing.
As Brene put said, people just need courage in the original sense of the word: to be able to tell the whole story. It hurts to go from happiness to a less happy emotion - but if we live our lives in constant cynicism or disappointment or sadness, we don't just lose the hurt - we lose our happiness.
She says it takes effort to perfect ourselves, to hide vulnerability. When we get to where we stop worrying about our emotional armor and be kind to ourselves, be honest with our shortcomings and strengths (without underestimating or overestimating them), and admit we don't have full control of the situation when things go wrong - we can start doing the same with others, and learn to love the whole person for who they are.
I think I came to a similar conclusion a few years ago - nowhere near at thought out
And I say...
It's a lot easier, not worrying about myself. I know what I value, and I know I've chosen friends that care about me, whether I become head surgeon or a fry cook. I still have other things I worry about, but I don't have to worry (too much) about if my friends see me dressed up as a ninja, or in a dress, or as a giant blue otter.
I hold no illusions: people don't usually change with words alone. Despite my best friend and many others telling me I was annoying, it wasn't until I met someone as annoying as me to realize, "Hey, it really sucks when you pretend to know things." So I won't feel bad if no one has a major life-changing experience after reading this.
Nonetheless, I challenge you all: have the courage to be honest to yourself and others, to believe you're good enough for friends and love, and to never forget the ordinary.
This duck was on a mission, a dire mission. He was on a rooftop, twenty stories above ground, waiting for his target to wander by. A rifle was in his feathery hands, his sole partner throughout the decades.
Some questioned his choice in armament - he had owned the gun for literally decades, but had yet to score a solid hit with the weapon. Some said the gun was cursed to always miss, or otherwise be a bane to its owner.
Nothing more than a scrape alerted him to the somebody suddenly behind him - he spun around on his back and tried to take aim -
but another furson knocked the barrel of his gun away with a sword. Another wave, and the orange sword was coming down on him -
- the duck did a flare to get back on his feet. He had just long enough to see who was accosting him - it surprised him that the person he was trying to shoot was here on the roof instead of on the ground like he expected, but at the same time he wasn't entirely taken aback. For a few moments, the two sparred; each parrying the other's attacks, with the occasional shot being loosed from the duck's gun, always to do nothing more than graze his opponent's long ears. But suddenly, the duck saw his opportunity, parried yet another sword slash, and smashed the butt of his gun solidly into his target's upper chest.
His opponent fell backwards, off the edge of the building. But in falling, the dull edge of the sword caught on the duck's rifle strap, such that both of them fell off a different side of the building, this time toward a deep swimming pool.
To the duck, the shock of hitting the water felt like his body shattering into a million pieces. Both were stunned; the first one to recover would be the victor in this fight. All at once, the duck regained his senses and saw his adversary a foot or two below him. The duck took aim: the rifle was aimed point-blank at his target; no one was fast enough to dodge this in air, much less water.
He squeezed the trigger.
However, his opponent raised a paw and plugged the barrel of the gun with his fingers. The resulting backblow caused an explosion at the rear of the gun, propelling the duck upwards and out of the water.
The duck flew up and landed on his back with a thud. The explosion had caused his facial feathers to be blown back, slightly charred but hardly noticeable - the black was mostly natural color, anyway. The duck rose and got to the pool just in time to see his target's ears swirl down the pool's drain. He let out a quiet, resigned sigh to the rabbit who had once again eluded him, words that he had uttered too many times in years past:
"You're despicable."
little little space raccoon, pouncing in the bars
little little space raccoon, know this till the end:
little little space raccoon, you'll always be my friend~
because the otter screamed in the shower
why did the kitten chew the sock
¯\(°_o)\_~wisdom~_/(o_°)/¯
because the otter is a silly boy.
why is the kitten up so late?
o(≧∀≦)o~insomnia~o(≧∀≦)o
DC three
Duck Otter, Fox.
a comma is missing
THREE FURS ENTER ONE FUR LEAVES
THREE FURS ENTER ONE FUR LEAVES
the combatants enter the dodecahedral death cage
THREE FURS ENTER ONE FUR LEAVES
THREE FURS ENTER ONE FUR LEAVES
burning avian blood upon the floor mixes with eviscerated otter entrails
resembling salsa which is really thai sauce
the sauce represents my love just so you know
ALL HAIL KING KRICKING GAYMOO
Ray the robot was busy watering his garden under the sun. He had a job, and robot with a job was a happy robot. His task was to keep all the fuzzy animals in their pen and keep them well fed. Sometimes, there was one bunny that liked to zoom out, and he'd chase it around before petting the rabbit and putting it back with his fuzzy little friends.
He had been programmed by his master to do this. It was Ray's responsibility to take care of the animals, and to protect them. There were dangerous people that wanted to steal the animals, his master said. To take them away and hurt them. So his master made the pen for the animals to live in, and put Ray in charge of keeping the animals safely inside the pen.
Ray had been doing this for a very long time, as long as he could remember.
A very long time...
* * *
"It's ok, mom, you tried your best."
The older rabbit sighed and got up after being thrown back over the fence into the pen. She and many other animals had been prisoners of the metal guard for as long as they could remember.
As a kit, the rabbit's grandpa had told her about how the metal guard used to be their protector, about another who stood on two legs that cared for the animals, years and years ago. About how the animals made a deal with the two legged Warden, offering the Warden secrets of the lands in exchange for protection from an invasion of poachers. But it had been years since the Warden last appeared, so, wondering what had happened they sent out a messenger up and over the fence.
But the metal guard patrolled the area - and quickly threw back animals that had jumped over, fulfilling its mandate to keep the animals inside the pen. The larger ones could barely make it over the fence, and didnt fare well at being thrown back. Even with multiple animals trying to escape together, the metal guard seemed to know where they ran, where they hid. The birds were the worst off: there would be a loud *crack*, and when the birds were thrown back, they'd be bleeding from a dozen holes.
Her grandpa had been one of the Runners before, trying to get the Warden's attention by climbing the fence and running beyond the reach of the metal guard. Back then, the memories of the Warden were still fresh - more people were Runners. But failed attempt after failed attempt led to animals being tossed in the air, and as the injuries grew, their morale fell.
Everyone grew upset over the injuries. Broken legs took months to heal, and required others to look after. Eventually, only her grandpa ran, until he landed head-first onto a rock. Broken necks didn't heal at all.
And yet she still ran. She would have to stop running soon, the mother rabbit knew - she couldn't run as fast as she could before. She only tried to inspire her children to run the same way her grandpa did, who broke his leg over a dozen times.
"Don't worry kids," she said in a voice pitched so those nearby could hear. "we just have to keep trying, we have to find the Warden and ask him if we can go home."
"Mom...just...can you stop? The metal guard is too fast, and it always catches up before you get a hundred paces."
In that moment, the mother rabbit saw doubt in her son's eyes. Her daughter had the same expression. She was dumbstruck. "What...but we have to find the Warden..." She tried to stand up, but realized her foot was broken when it refused to support her weight.
"No, there is no Warden, there's just us and the gate. You're only going to get hurt if you go out again, just like the stories you told of great-granddad. We have food and shelter here. We don't need to find any Warden. Just... stop."
The mother rabbit was dumbstuck. No one else believed her grandpa, and she remembered how cruelly he had been treated for questioning the authority of the metal guard. A crowd was starting to gather, and her children looked uncomfortable from the attention.
This is it, the older rabbit thought, slumping down. Her children looked around worriedly, and slunk off, leaving her alone. The mother rabbit's mind had gone totally blank, except for one phrase.
we have no hope anymore
The mother rabbit was busy tending to her broken foot. She didn't look up. "What do you want?"
"Who is the Warden?"
A spark lit up in the rabbit's eyes. maybe there is hope, after all.
"B-but Tai," the trepid monochromatic cat said, "I just need a little break - "
"NO." Tai slapped Sleet hard, sending the feline to the ground. "You've only worked EIGHTEEN hours today, there's still a good six left in the day!"
"Oww, that...that really hurt Tai," Sleet stammered.
"EDUCATION, madrepantalonar - it's tough love! You'll thank me later!"
Just then, a growl came forth: "What are you doing to poor Sleet-kun??" The lizard's scales rippled slightly with every move.
Tai barely spared a glance. "You have no business in this, lizard - back OFF."
"WHAT?!" Nobody speaks to me or Sleet-kun like that, you miscreant!" Trying to grab Tai in a bear hug, Tatsuki gripped at the otter - but no sooner would Tatsuki grab Tai then would the otter slip between his fingers, like a slick watermelon seed squeezed between fingers. Punches would similarly miss due to Tai's agility.
"Stop it guys, this is my cousin's kitchen!" Sleet ran up to the quarreling duo and interposed after yet another exchange between the otter and dragon. But both fighters were blind to anything but their opponent.
Grabbing a trout off a nearby counter, Tatsuki pummeled the otter. Tai took the hits like a champ, but Sleet got caught in the crossfire. Eventually, Tai had to let go and scampered off a safe distance away.
"You win today, Sleet," the otter said, "but mark my words - I'll be back when you're slacking off again! and yous gonna get whacked again"
And that's about how Sleet developed his phobia of otters assaulting him whenever he wasn't doing something productive. Sleet still smells funky to this day.
I thought this was gonna turn into an inappropriate fanfiction ;w;
Sleet gripped at green dogu's chest hair in vain, trying to get a hold of something - anything - as the blood rushed to his fingertips from being squished between Green Dogu and Fat Dogu. His strained efforts to escape were making him lightheaded; just when Sleet thought he was going to pass out, Fat dogu backed off.
Sleet stumbled for a moment before being caught by Fat Dogu. 'Haha,' Fat Dogu barked, "this cat could use a bit of meat on his bones.' He shoved the still dizzied Sleet over to Green dogu, who planted a heavy kiss on Sleet's muzzle.
"Make sure you don't break him, I need him for other things." Green dogu picked up Sleet, cradling him for the few steps it took to dump the cat on the bed.
Sleet was indignant. "H..Hey! This is MY party you you puta de madre!"
Fat dogu loomed over Sleet. "And what are you going to do about it?"
Sleet reached into his shorts pocket. "I have...the REMOTE!" Reaching into another pocket, he proclaimed, "...and the SNACKS!"
and then they watched zombie movies eating unhealthy amounts of salty corn chips all the while
wow
But for my next trick, I predict you'll be coming up to a certain Amurrican state soon - say within the next half-year?
I didn't mean to comment on your post, aaaa
who's there?
boo
boo who?
guess which one of your relatives i just made supine on the forest floor??
When you open the door to diabetes, you tend to get diabetes.
When you get diabetes, you have to take prescription medications.
When you take prescription medications, they're excreted when you pee.
When you pee prescription medications, they're flushed into the ocean.
When they're flushed into the ocean, jellyfish absorb your medications.
Proposition 90 supports a 5 cent pencil tax to help victims of diabetes pee.
Think of the jellyfish. Vote YES on prop ninedy.
some who like warm coke, some who have fursonas
but some fear some of who they are is just wrong
and if anyone knew they'd no longer belong
some act abstract while others pragmatic
this writer himself is afraid of some static
some pleasure in pain or are pained by their pleasure
two girls with one cup somewhere is priceless treasure
how many stop microwaves before they go beep?
or have some compulsion they must sate before sleep?
how many ask if they're allowed to ask a question?
or take some facet of life to an obsession?
logic ain't emotion both oft are at war
i've yet to meet someone who's "normal" so far
so embrace your weird buddies and don't mind their changes
we're all a bit weird - surrender to strangeness
measure the man
find yourself wanting
go at it again.
pleasure or pain
maybe confused
strange or normal
thats up to you
call it a jihad?
or a crusade?
most call it life.
we all get to play
thats what it is
and a little advice.
a pound per square inch
is half over two.
the key is simple
find one or a dozen
just as strange as you.
who wears collars bright pink and frilly
"Help yoself!" one remarked.
"Run free!" - but klimt barked:
"Me going unleashed? Dat silly."