Make up a story using the words I spelled in this game of bananagrams

What is a swattit? :laughing:

Those aren’t connected, just arranged closely.

Don’t nitpick. Story time. I would also accept a heroic poem.

What’s the word (count) limit on the story?

I could write a really good porn piece with that vocabulary.

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Bad porn would be more of a challenge.

Tales of the Goblin - Hot Pry

A Drabble

by RickRoll

“It’s time for hot pry!” whispered the goblin that lives on my coat.

I looked at the game; it had a foul tit and sour penises. I loved Raccoon. I loved GunGirl. I did not want to take the game from them. Raccoon, especially, loved the movie.

I examined the fluffy job. I studied the triple ox, which been like a scrawny bear.

I remembered moan refined at the goblin’s will and knew I would comply again.

The rain made me tremble like peculiar mark. Suddenly…


The game was destroyed.

The goblin that lives on my coat been defeated.

Does it need to make sense?

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Why change the habits of a lifetime @RickRoll :yum:

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Mark had been on the job for eight hot hours, thanks to a coat too heavy for spring. He could sense his own foul smell, more sour than anything and coming up through a slit in the ox leather. The Southern Comfort didn’t help, and he’d had four triple-strength drinks. The last one had tasted more like peach than whiskey. Refine numero cinco with some real bourbon, he thought.

He picked at a zit behind his ear, working to pry off a days old scab. Her game could mean his defeat. He made a sudden swat at a spring fly. Don’t male flies have penises, plural? he wondered. No matter what happened, he loved her. Each tit of hers was perfect, and now he began to envy the fly. The moan came just as the scab lifted.


Susie Q, again, walked to the movies with her miserable ox. Once the foul beast had four penises. No more! It had been real popular with the ladies in those days. Oh, it was a real bull then. But then it all went sour. One day, Frank–that was his name–Frank the Bull then Frank the Ox–met a cow named–you guessed it–Betsy. She was a real peach of a cow. Frank, eyeing her hot slit, sidled up to her. “I don’t mean to pry”, he said, as he delivered a rude shove her way and unlimbered the biggest and most favored of his four penises, “but do you wanna play a game?” Betsy turned towards him. “Again”, she thought? “In 2019 I still have to put up with this shit?” She sent a vicious swat his way. That’s a hoof now. It caught him directly in his unlimbered penis and knocked it clean off. With an awful, plaintive moan, Frank headed down the road towards his only home, Susie’s ocelot farm. She made coats there. It was a pretty good job, and she was happy. But times on the farm were pretty tough after that. Frank was most disturbed by this sudden turn of events. I’m not a triple penis kind of bull was all he could think, again and again. Susie had no idea what to do with him. He became more and more violent. Once he kicked her in the tit. The stress made her break out, and her face was covered in angry red zits. She tried her best to save Frank’s remaining penises, but finally, she had to admit defeat. There was only one thing to do. And so now Frank is an ox. But no more refined for the loss.


I feel uncomfortable with so many penises :face_with_monocle:

There are a lot of penises, but I think it can be fairly called a “story”

It’s can be hard using penises. Or not, as I once learned on Soi Cowboy.

I expect @Dr_Milker will contribute something more favorable to the bovine side of things. We’ve had nothing less than oxen tragedy so far. Good luck with plural penises and singular tit, Doc. Not exactly suited to cows.


Well? We’re waiting!

Even better.