"Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. One of you will then write the first paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to reread what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely no talking and anything you wish to say must be written on the paper. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached." The following was actually turned in by two American students: Michelle (last name deleted), and Stan (last name deleted):
(First paragraph by Michelle) At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.
(Second paragraph by Stan) Meanwhile, Advanced Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Sky Lon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geo-station 17," he said into his Tran galactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.
He bumped his head and died almost immediately but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Sky Lon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel," Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things round her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian Mother ship launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dimwitted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through the congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret Mobile - Submarine headquarters, on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's blow 'them out of the sky!" He said.
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semiliterate adolescent.
Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of FUCKING TEA??? Oh no, I'm such an air headed bimbo, I read too many Danielle Steele novels."
In the beginning there was nothing. The SDM saw that it was very average, so he said to his evil partner TirpleM, "you know Tirple, I believe we can kick the arse out of the current dnb ahem 'forums', as they style themselves."
So on the first day he created a website. And the website was good. And so the SDM and TirpleM celebrated by rrrinnsing out a bassline or three. After a few drinks they were surprised by a knock at the door. It was Logikz, sans underwear.
SDM and Tirps had never seen a dutchman before, let alone a naked dutchman with a sock on his cock and copy of Twist Em Out in his hand. So naturally, they slammed the door in Logikz face.
He was so angry with the cheek of SDM and Triple Mac, he took out a can of petrol, some matches and an empty milk bottle out of the sock and preceded to make a drink for himself. That'll teach them pasty eating puffs, he thought quietly, just incase someone was recording with intention to use the thought for training purposes.
The effects of the gasoline drink mixed with rejection would be impossible to describe.
This is what it felt like: the color two flowed freely in text. the shape was high pitched, fluxuating in backgrounds. all right angles turned devisable by two left hands. time double clicked.
what sdm and triple m didnt realize was that that twist em out record and his own self was all logikz was able save when he awoke in the middle of a raging fire.
two years ago, hed been running ever since. running, on gasoline.
somewhere mesh was rubbing his sooty hands, looking at the money hed just collected from indi.
It very soon became apparent that Indi had double-crossed mesh into believing he had purchased a stolen, semi-naked dutchman, complete with a copy of Twist em Out. In fact Indi had left the price tag on Logikz' toe, thus enabling him to be returned for full store credit. And once mesh had his back turned, this is exactly what happened; with a 'YOINK!" Indi snatched the befuddled Logikz and his record and hauled him into the nearest Tescoes.
From there situation worsened, as The Panty Inspector was on duty in the pricing department ...
The Inspector was not happy. He'd been told of a lucrative position with plenty of development and his own office. Actually he was stuck pricing bags of chips in the frozen section (there was a vacancy now that Tesco Value had hit the bigtime with his uberlegend status on DOA).
Stuck among the mudane bustle of customers and frozen petite pois, TPI was lost. And not lost like the TV show, but lost like Robinson Crusoe.
Suddenly he heard something, something he had not heard in a long time. It was an eerie synth string in D minor. He began to walk towards the sound, picking up his pace as the sound grew louder, until he followed the sound into one of the freezer. Wandering amongst the ice and renegade french fries, he stopped at a bag. The sound was inside. He opened the bag and there it was.
He had found the missing 97 Source Direct mix inside a bag of Wall's sausages.
At that point he vowed never to turn his back on his quest to find and share dnb mixes, the one thing that made his life worthwhile. He was so excited, that he dropped the potato waffles he was holding and made a phonecall.
Dustek, the Master Subtitler and all-round greasy Pole, hit fame big time with his latest masterpiece, the cleverly titled japanese advert "I'm Gonna Fuck You Up, Knobhead"
Jetting around the world, seeing the rich and fucking the famous was all Dustek had ever dreamed of.
Arriving in the US, Dustek drove from JFK airport to his hotel, with many of his adoring fans lining the streets and throwing flower, g-strings and packets of Earl Grey and digestive biscuits at him.
As the motocade drove down Oswald Street, Kama was leaning out of the third floor window of the nearby Schoolbook Depository, aiming his rifle for that pefect headshot, just like he had done so many time playing CounterStrike online.
However, having just eaten a large chilli burger his concentration was distracted by teh stabbing pain in his lower gut. Hoping to reliev the pressure by sqeezing off a quick fart he was dismayed to realise to late that it was not a fart. Dustek never realised just how lucky he was that day....
Upon the whole maniacal situation of dustek's assasination attempt, The company thought it best to hide dustek away from the bustle of the general public (The streets were aswarm with earl grey teabags and digestive crumbs, and no one wanted to clear it up, no one could be arsed to)
The company thought long and hard about who would be able to protect our subtitle scribe. They came up with someone. Someone who knew what to do. Someone who could help. Someone who could lend a hand or fist if need be. Dustek was sent to CHUCK NORRIS!
Drinking whiskey and listening to back in the day jungle sets in Chuck Norris' mountain hut hideout, Chuck Norris and Dustek started talking about the quality of mixes available on the net as compared to commercially produced ones.
Chuck Norris was shocked to find out that the Panty Inspector had posted more and better mixes than himself...
Rage began to overcome Chuck Norris and the universe itself as one of the fundamental laws of the universe had been violated... in the words of Prof Heiderberg, "Chuck Norris ist immer der beste im Universum", i.e. "DNB=CN(squared)/DNBforum"
As the universe struggled to sort this paradox out (resulting in various freak occurances, such as Mesh appearing suddenly naked in SDM's bedroom, Clapples going on a date with James Blunt, Pendulum releasing a Morrisstep album, Andy C stopping mixing, some decent new tracks appearing in 2006, Indi dropping his world trip and opening a chippie in Croydon, Logikz joining a straight edge band and Prodigy producing some decent new songs), Chuck Norris prepared to eliminate the threat to reality...