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15 Minute Stories

Old Thunder

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Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.
Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't really fuzzy, was he?

A bear in the zoo raised its voice -- "NO! I'm not fuzzy!" The small gathering of mothers and men watching the bear that day were even more bewildered than those who were just passing by and noticing the rare event within earshot. That bear, indeed, was Fuzzy Wuzzy, and he had just about grown tired of hearing his famed fable. "I know you all don't mean anything by calling me fuzzy," explained Wuzzy, "but haven't you ever considered what I really am?"

He got up and gestured in a most grandiose fashion to show off his pride. "I'm a bear. Bears are furry! I have fur! Who's ever heard of a bear with hair?" One girl raised her hand, and Fuzzy Wuzzy, immediately taking notice, gave her a stern glare. Well... she was very good at being polite, but she was not too keen about being honest. "You're only proving my point."

Fuzzy Wuzzy climbed up to the highest point within his fenced abode, a flat area on top of a large, rocky formation. It was smooth because his rather greedy brother had just finished taking a fish with him there, and after having finished eating it off the stoney surface, licked it to get the remaining seafood juices. Fuzzy Wuzzy stood up straight for all to see, and roared out in disgust, "For shame! I shall put an end to this dangerously annoying stereotype. I shall rewrite history! I'm going to escape from these darned fences one day, and I'll maul every self important children's book publisher, every one of them who dares to defy the laws of ursine nature. Who's with me?!"
For real though, what happens next???
 

Old Thunder

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I'm killing myself.

This decision did not come from any outside source. No one talked me into it. Somehow the idea just popped right into my head. POOF! Suddenly - there it was! And I liked it so much that I decided that I was gonna execute said idea. Brilliant choice of action, don't you think? Eh, what would you even care? You never did while I was alive. Well, maybe you did. My wife did. My kids did. Or so they said. They may have been lying. They may have been telling the truth. I don't care, really. Screw 'em. I'm doing this for my own peace of mind. Peace of mind. Well, there'll be pieces of mind splattered all over my room by the time I'm finished. But these things take time, y'know? I can't just rush through this. Gotta plan these events... calculate. Makes no sense in wasting your final act on earth in a shoddy bit that you can't reverse. No. I'm killing myself, and it's gotta be done right. First things first, I wish to leave my entire estate to Leslie O'Neil, a prostitute living in Santa Monica. I met her once at a party - lovely lady - and since I'm firmly in mind to screw up all my relatives, I feel the best thing to do is give the money to a most hated enemy. A prostitute. The last thing my wife would want to find (next to my dead body lying on her bed) would be that I was screwing another woman and that, subsequently, I've left all my money to that woman. And not just any woman. Not my secretary. Not my daughter's friend. Not my brother's wife. No. A prostitute. Ha! Joke's on her. I didn't engage in any acts with her. No. Just met her at a party. Fun. Yes. Well. Next order of business. I'm shooting myself through the temple. The temple is fun. It's where the root of your life's blood is located. You break that, blood will spurt out like a geyser. Lovely stuff. Reminds me of a trip to Yellowstone I took with my father, old George Brady Bryan Bratwurst Jacowitch. That **** was a worthless miser who I wish I had murdered, but no, my mother did him in instead. Pored toilet bowl cleaner in his martini. Cheap ****. Both my parents were fools. I enjoyed raping my mother after the funeral. Wonderful times. I miss them both. Nah, **** 'em. I'm glad they're dead. I wish my family was dead, too, but I guess I'll just **** them over from the afterlife. Yeah. I'll frame them. Make it seem like my suicide was a homicide. Bring in Lt. Columbo or some ****** detective to piece it together. The ol' wife and kids behind the crime. Ha! I hope they hang, like in the olden days. Nah. These days you gotta really **** up a lot of people to get murdered by the law. Weird. I think they should bring back impalement. People stuck on poles, sliding down onto it from the *** up, until it's gone through their internal organs and up through the mouth. Takes some fuckin' days, I here. That would be lovely. I hope my wife enjoys it. Aw, ****, I forgot, this is the 21st fuckin' century now. None of that medieval shite anymore. Well **** my old boots. Fuckin' fantastic. I'm just so grateful that my faux killers will merely spend a worthless existence in jail. Well I ******* hope they ******* rot. **** them. And **** me. I ******* hope I ******* burn in motherfucking ****. **** the devil. **** God. **** Jesus. **** my life. I'll sort them all out. ****, I'll beat the ******* stuffing out of motherfucking Jim Bradford, and that *****-*** mongrel is the size of King Kong's stepbrother. Yeah. Come on, you *******. EAT ME! I HOPE WHEN YOU FIND MY BODY IM STILL ALIVE TO TELL YOU HOW MUCH I HATE YOU I HOPE YOU ROT AND ******* DIE AOIFAGNASOUGHASRSGUAH;RGAUWY480TAHW4TG;PIA8WH T84 T240U5Q[30T8HGAY80T YA[TAHGW['0TY4THGPEAHR 'GA'AEG8RHG'AE8RHGAE8RG[HER80GH[ER0GHE'[RG08HAERG80AHRE[GHER[G0EHR[0EHG8ERGHE0GHER8GHRE0GH80YT4[8QH4T 7UTQU3TUQA39UAG9'ERPGH9UG Z'DEG Hagsae"t)hugaAW
GHARTGHAW8RGTHA;WORGHAORGHARGH

I'm killing myself. Try and stop me. *Click* Game over. :smile:

 

Froggy Fool

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Joined
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I'm killing myself.

This decision did not come from any outside source. No one talked me into it. Somehow the idea just popped right into my head. POOF! Suddenly - there it was! And I liked it so much that I decided that I was gonna execute said idea. Brilliant choice of action, don't you think? Eh, what would you even care? You never did while I was alive. Well, maybe you did. My wife did. My kids did. Or so they said. They may have been lying. They may have been telling the truth. I don't care, really. Screw 'em. I'm doing this for my own peace of mind. Peace of mind. Well, there'll be pieces of mind splattered all over my room by the time I'm finished. But these things take time, y'know? I can't just rush through this. Gotta plan these events... calculate. Makes no sense in wasting your final act on earth in a shoddy bit that you can't reverse. No. I'm killing myself, and it's gotta be done right. First things first, I wish to leave my entire estate to Leslie O'Neil, a prostitute living in Santa Monica. I met her once at a party - lovely lady - and since I'm firmly in mind to screw up all my relatives, I feel the best thing to do is give the money to a most hated enemy. A prostitute. The last thing my wife would want to find (next to my dead body lying on her bed) would be that I was screwing another woman and that, subsequently, I've left all my money to that woman. And not just any woman. Not my secretary. Not my daughter's friend. Not my brother's wife. No. A prostitute. Ha! Joke's on her. I didn't engage in any acts with her. No. Just met her at a party. Fun. Yes. Well. Next order of business. I'm shooting myself through the temple. The temple is fun. It's where the root of your life's blood is located. You break that, blood will spurt out like a geyser. Lovely stuff. Reminds me of a trip to Yellowstone I took with my father, old George Brady Bryan Bratwurst Jacowitch. That **** was a worthless miser who I wish I had murdered, but no, my mother did him in instead. Pored toilet bowl cleaner in his martini. Cheap ****. Both my parents were fools. I enjoyed raping my mother after the funeral. Wonderful times. I miss them both. Nah, **** 'em. I'm glad they're dead. I wish my family was dead, too, but I guess I'll just **** them over from the afterlife. Yeah. I'll frame them. Make it seem like my suicide was a homicide. Bring in Lt. Columbo or some ****** detective to piece it together. The ol' wife and kids behind the crime. Ha! I hope they hang, like in the olden days. Nah. These days you gotta really **** up a lot of people to get murdered by the law. Weird. I think they should bring back impalement. People stuck on poles, sliding down onto it from the *** up, until it's gone through their internal organs and up through the mouth. Takes some fuckin' days, I here. That would be lovely. I hope my wife enjoys it. Aw, ****, I forgot, this is the 21st fuckin' century now. None of that medieval shite anymore. Well **** my old boots. Fuckin' fantastic. I'm just so grateful that my faux killers will merely spend a worthless existence in jail. Well I ******* hope they ******* rot. **** them. And **** me. I ******* hope I ******* burn in motherfucking ****. **** the devil. **** God. **** Jesus. **** my life. I'll sort them all out. ****, I'll beat the ******* stuffing out of motherfucking Jim Bradford, and that *****-*** mongrel is the size of King Kong's stepbrother. Yeah. Come on, you *******. EAT ME! I HOPE WHEN YOU FIND MY BODY IM STILL ALIVE TO TELL YOU HOW MUCH I HATE YOU I HOPE YOU ROT AND ******* DIE AOIFAGNASOUGHASRSGUAH;RGAUWY480TAHW4TG;PIA8WH T84 T240U5Q[30T8HGAY80T YA[TAHGW['0TY4THGPEAHR 'GA'AEG8RHG'AE8RHGAE8RG[HER80GH[ER0GHE'[RG08HAERG80AHRE[GHER[G0EHR[0EHG8ERGHE0GHER8GHRE0GH80YT4[8QH4T 7UTQU3TUQA39UAG9'ERPGH9UG Z'DEG Hagsae"t)hugaAW
GHARTGHAW8RGTHA;WORGHAORGHARGH

I'm killing myself. Try and stop me. *Click* Game over. :smile:

 

Cookie3001

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Joined
Oct 1, 2018
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Part of me wants to act out all these stories with puppets
 
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