This game, a quaking presence in my life for many years, must now be shared with all.
Ingredients: 4+ people. sheets of paper. writing utensils.
What you do is this:
Each person has a piece of paper. You write a sentence on the top of the page, a sentence that is going to become the first line of a story. You then pass your paper to the person on your right. You will now be holding a piece of paper with one sentence on it. Add a continuing sentence to your liking, and then fold the paper so the person you pass the paper to will only be able to see the most recent sentence(the one you wrote).
You continue this cycle until all the pages are filled up. Suddenly you have a group of hilariously blind, dream-like stories. The plot, characters, and worlds within each story ebb and flow as simply as the ocean.
This past weekend I played with my uncle, aunt, mother, father, sister and her boyfriend. Fueled by the insanity of lives, our production was one of a kind. Now take a look at 4 of our productions:
Bud or Bud Light? Travis couldn't decide.
One was his favorite but the other tempted the devil in his loin.
In the darkness he selected the evil one, so he pried off the nails and laced up his shoes.
He knew it was going to be a long night, so he filled his fanny pack with granola bars, batteries, and other things he might need.
On his way to the bus station his attention was diverted by the cabbie's rude but puzzling remark.
Did he know him from somewhere? Had they met before?
They locked eyes and then embraced as if they were long lost lovers.
In fact they were long lost lovers, reincarnated from their past as neighboring toadstools.
Sex as fungi was so unfulfilling, now as sentient beings with feelings and desires, their needs could ultimately be realized.
"Let's never go back to being mushrooms," they agreed happily.
At last! The crust was perfect and the guests were about to arrive.
Eagerly wanting to test his new confection on his friends, he lathered the haunches.
"C'mon, just try one bite!" he pleaded to them.
I admit the color is not appetizing, but the flavors! - You'll be impressed, I promise.
Feeling adventurous, Rhonda sniffed the peculiar looking blob and then chomped down on it.
A surge of memories filled her, of Tijuana on Christmas and jailbait through the windows; it was so damn delicious!
So she said "Yes! - bring it on big fella!"
Stan obliged in a way that caused them both to swear off such behavior hence forth.
Jameson felt violated.
He wasn't sure why Roger had just yelled at him!
It didn't matter, Roger was going down!
Drawing on his courage he slowly inched his way down into the well.
Thoughts of Janice filled his mind as he reached the bottom and started lapping up the contents.
But it just wasn't the same - a bowl of pudding couldn't fill the space she had left in his heart.
So he left town at sunset for spring break at Fort Lauderdale.
He took all the accoutrement he would need to ramp up his misbehavior, to max out on faux pas.
The first thing he did was go to a bar to hit on ladies inappropriately.
The books fell on the floor, the furniture rattled, and sirens rang as the tremor reached its climax.
Maude was relieved to be outside where nothing could fall on her.
Then, out of nowhere, a bird deposited its breakfast right on her shoulder.
Soiled, dejected, and confused, she asked a stranger for a cloth of any type.
A man with an anvil handed her his rinsing rag.
She didn't want to be impolite, but it looked too gross to use, "Um, thanks..." she said uncertainly.
Drawing on all her reserves, she blew her nose on the least soiled corner, then passed it on.
It began as a simple cold, but quickly progressed into a citywide epidemic.
That his lean chicken stock could be the cause pushed him into delerium.
The guilt and shame gave him no rest either day or night.
So he wasted into a frail tender.