I just saw one of the troll-type/spam threads. What the fuck? Those of us who write here take the time to actually work on the stories. And I don't know about you guys, but I take it fairly seriously. It's kind of saddening to see people doing this shit.
The thing I hate most is when they call their bull**** actual stories. It's not a story, and it's blatantly obvious that its pure existence is to irritate us.
Foxaii~ you know me. I was in Gensokyo. I shook your violently and yelled that you are an amazing writer. Whut troll thread are y'all talking about? I'm not in FF a lot...shiiii~ I'm not on pimd much anymore.
I was kicked too when I lost my ipod for a week. Lol and then I just didn't have the energy to rejoin.
Umm. This may sound a little embarrassing and shameless. Lol. But I want to make a little announcement. I believe I am better known as Eliza02, the author of 2011's Desperate. And I just want to say that I have decided to continue it. That's all. Haha. Nice to see old and new faces. It feels really good to be back!
There once was a little land. And on that land, a little rock. Beside that rock there was a little tree, filled with little leaves. A man was walking on this land, with the sun beating down on him. He spotted the little rock and tree, and decided to take a rest. But he was too tall, and the tree didn't shade him properly. So he kept on his way. A little later, a dwarf came by, and saw the little rock. He thought to himself "My, I could make a wonderful statue with that." He went over and tried to pick up the little rock, but found that it was porous and light, and easily crumbled at the mere touch. So the dwarf went on his way. The next day, a little gnome came by. It was hotter than the previous, and as we all know, gnomes aren't built for heat. So he stood under the little tree, sighing with relief at the shade, an picked up a small chunk of the porous rock with his delicate, nimble fingers. He was a wood-worker, and always had some tool with him. So be carved a little hole into the rock where it was solid, and made himself a little whistle to occupy his time. And he was happy, and took a little piece of the branch with him, to remember this spot. This is more a little tale about how everything means something to someone, if not to everyone. And I was just bored ._. So yeah
OH MY GOD THESE STUPID POINTLESS THREADS IN FF ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY I need help, there's just too many ;-;
I think imma expand on that story a bit .-. Now, when the gnome arrived home, he was, as always, greeted with much less enthusiasm than he expected or hoped. You probably wouldn't know this, but this particular gnome was actually quite famous in gnome circles, and just as popular as famous people tend to be. His name was Fitzgerald the Impressively Named. Now, the story of how he got his title is of no consequence, and pretty boring, so we'll skip on it. All you need to know was that be was Fitzgerald. Or Fitz, to his friends. Now, this particular evening when he arrived home, chest puffed out in pompous attitude, face filled with an egotistic smirk, just as always, he was greeted by his grumpy elven neighbour and friend with the customary ego-killer: "Haven't seen a frog around, have you?" This is also part of another long and boring story. It involves Fitz jumping and screaming like a little gnommette when a frog suddenly hopped on his head. Needless to say, this instantly deflated the chest and looked down, ashamed. "Good evening to you to, Loran" The gnome sighed, opening the door to his home. It was a rather impressive home, or so Fitz thought, with beautifully crafted hallways and doors, a nice polished stone floor, with decorations suiting a famous person. In reality it was rather shabby, with stained floors that hadn't been polished in years, insect-chewed walls and doors, and meagre decorations. The gnome wasn't exactly known for his taste in interior design, so nobody said anything, afraid to be rude. Most of his guests couldn't even fit inside the house, so they couldn't say much anyway. Above the fireplace in the centre of his living room hung a small staff, the end with a sharp metal stud bolted on. This staff was included in his journeys, and bored the scuffs and marks of many an encounter. Fitz gazed upon it fondly, stroking the remembered wood. The gnome into his comfortable little red chair that he kept close to the fire, after placing the branch of the little tree on the mantle. He drew the whistle he had carved and blew a few notes, producing a low, almost magical sound. Little did he know, tonight he was not going to rest comfortable, or sketch a future project. He was about to embark on another adventure, his most thrilling yet, without even knowing it. Until, that is, the three loud thumps were heard from his door Alright, so, I have no idea what this was supposed to be .-.