Newgrounds.com — Everything, By Everyone.

---

In promising beginnings, fiery phlegm

keeps lips apart and forces on all eyes

a blinding glimpse of coyness. I condemn

a catalyst: the kiss whose woe end nighs.

For trees of candid love shan't ever grow

in soil disturbed and spoiled by fleshly ways,

and lumberjacks and saws shall likely flow

into the ugly woods of such distaste.

And yet, it's true: infertile forests get

not thick but cold, and naught but a gray, dry

branch lies under their snow. Should you it forget,

your soul, that twig, may never hear you cry:

"If You see once our fingers intertwine,

give sun that day to rest its glorious shine!"

Please opine and give me good advice, I put my trust into you, Newgrounds' community.

---

Don't let the title scare you off, Lucy (or whatever your name is). This is a non-fiction in the sense that this is not a story. It's an exploration of concepts that have been lingering in my beautiful mind for over forty minutes now. There's the concept of the four horses, the concept of the racist vixen fucker, and the concept of the bear who gave religion a chance because he thought he was to die soon. This is not merely an experiment. It is an endeavor. I endeavor to enrich your little short story reading brain with knowledge of how the world works and why it works this way. Your effort will be highly needed here: you will have to interpret me in the most charitable way. That is to say: I am more intelligent, more sophisticated and more charismatic than you, and I know my grammar. Don't think you know grammar better than me.

The Concept of the Four Horses
In a small village lived four horses: Annabel, Carol, Al-Hassim and Mouthy. They were all good friends, except everyone hated Al-Hassim for some easily conceivable reason. Carol turned to Annabel and politely asked her if he could perhaps ask her a simple question. "Sure. Go ahead." Said a smiling Annabel. "Where the fuck is my motherfucking money, bitch?" Asked Carol. Annabel knew that Carol was prone to fits of schizophrenic anger, so she decided to ignore him. Normally, Carol would simply accept being ignored and mumble some incomprehensible Bible verses before falling into a dementia-induced slumber. This time, though, the mental illness took precedence over Carol's usual behavior. He ate Annabel.

While he was eating Annabel, the pitchfork wielding imbecile named Clark tried to intervene, but Carol kicked him so hard that he flew forty miles away. After the horsing around (pun intended) was done, the village guards arrived and arrested Carol. He would have to pay the price of his actions.

Carol's attorney was one of the most well-known horse attorneys in the village. He pleaded not guilty on account of mental illness. As the trial drew to an end, the judge asked Carol "What do you have to say for yourself? How do you feel after what you've done?" Carol shamefully looked away and audibly muttered "Why don't you go fuck yourself with a shovel..."

Carol was hanged ten minutes after the trial.

The Concept of the Racist Vixen Fucker
Barney adored hangings. He, as per usual, assisted to the Carol hanging. There were three other Carol hangings that year: A witch named Carol who could calculate square roots without a calculator, another witch named Carol who claimed that Beethoven liked sixths as much as he liked octaves and, of course, Carol the demented horse. Barney giggled as Carol's soul evacuated his body and flew into hell.

"Wasn't that amazing!?" He cried, looking at his neighbor Jamal. "Oh... It's you, Jamal. I didn't mean to speak to you." Jamal grew tired of Barney's racism. "Why are you always racist Barney? You are close-minded and stupid." Barney couldn't believe his ears. It was the first time Jamal refuted one of Barney's arguments. "Well... You beat and rape young girls, you steal things and you kill people in gang fights." Said Barney. "Yes, but that's not how all black people behave." Responded Jamal. Barney was out of arguments. So he tried his good old, impossible-to-contradict claim: "You're not a human. You're just an animal." Jamal hanged his head and shamefully walked away, defeated.

Tyler solemnly stared at Barney. "My wife is black." He said. "And we have a kid. This proves she is not an animal as I can mate with her." Barney smiled. "That proves nothing! Any living being can mate with another living being! Just watch me."

A vixen was walking on the same street. Barney proceeded to ferociously copulate with the vixen. "Voila!" Exclaimed Barney as he was finished. "We'll have a baby in nine months." Barney's wife shook her head in shame and disappointment.

There was no baby and Barney died of vixen AIDS one year later.

The Concept of the Bear Who Gave Religion
a Chance Because He Thought He Was to Die Soon

The village suffered an AIDS craze after Barney died of the terrible disease. "He was a nice person and a great friend." Al-Hassim told the journalists. "Some people say he was racist. All I can say is that he was a very spiritually enlightened person and always held strong beliefs about the village's cultural development in our sometimes trite geopolitical situation. My soul shall miss his terse remarks on everything, ranging from moral dilemmas to debates about beauty, truth and goodness." Said Clark, the village idiot. "He was one racist motherfucker." Said Jamal.

Roddenberry, an obese and hairy homosexual, became terrified of the idea of AIDS and how it attacked gay men in their sleep. He decided to turn straight, so he went to the village church and prayed to God. God answered his prayers: "Roddenberry! My child!" Vociferated the great Yahweh. "I made you in my image. You shan't change your behavior because of AIDS." The obese and hairy homosexual shook with satisfaction. "So I won't get infected! Thank God (no pun intended)!" God stroke Roddenberry with lightning. "No, idiot! You will. That is the price you have to pay for being a fagot." Roddenberry was shocked (pun intended). "But... You just...
-Enough!" Yelled God. "You have blasphemed way past your share, you cock sucking, dildo loving, cross dressing cum dumpster! I am fed up with your ignorance of my holy book. I wrote it plainly: Thou shalt not have sex with other men, if thou art one. What the fuck didn't you understand? It's plain and simple. Ink on paper. Black on gray-white-almost yellow paper. It's almost yellow because it's old, Roddenberry. Don't you understand? Oh, and to hell with you!" Thus, God opened the gates to hell and the obese and hairy gay man flew right down into the eternal flames.

There he met Barney and Carol. They played video games and ate cheese puffs for eternity. It was the best eternity that anyone can imagine. Except Satan sodomized them once in every ten thousand years (not to say this displeased a certain obese and hairy homosexual, if you catch my drift).

The Long Awaited for Conclusion

Well, that's about it lads and gazelles. It's not like you learned something from this activity, but you shall carry the thought of Satan sodomizing Roddenberry for the rest of your life. It will always be lodged somewhere in your subconscious. Thirty years from now you'll have a nightmare of Satan sodomizing a bear-like man. This will probably make your stress level skyrocket. I'm sorry.

The End

---

I love it! Really funny and disturbing. I really like your humor. Sadly, I don't have any criticism as I am a script writer and not a big fan of short stories.

---

Title: The Meadow
Publication info: Never published.
Author info: It's my book.

Plot summary: A guy dies in a car accident.

It's really good though.

---

Two guys were best friends. Sadly, they begun beating the shit out of each other with hammers. One of them died. That's what happens when you beat the shit out of someone with a hammer.

Johnny was feeling captive in the boot camp. He could always feel another bite taken out of his soul. One night he had the idea. He made sure the rest of the potential soldiers were deep in slumber. They were. He subtly made his way towards the television. The television is the only television present in the whole boot camp. It is the only way to exit the boot camp and face the rest of the world. Johnny took a shit in his hand and applied the disgusting substance upon the screen of the television. Next morning, the potential soldiers were all awake and, as they yawned, made their way towards the television. They were all anxious to see Peter and Carl, their favorite show. They turned the television on. At that moment, they all realized the screen was covered in shit. Who has covered our television in shit? The fact begged the question. Johnny, dancing naked, sang the answer. It was him. The potential soldiers proceeded to take away Johnny's sight by ripping his eyes out and broke most of his bones. Then, all sad because the television was covered in shit, the soldiers took off towards their respective duties. The soldiers left Johnny to die alone.

As Johnny died he stared at the television. He didn't stare at the shit. He stared beyond it. There, he saw Peter and Carl beating the shit out of each other with hammers.

---

A conversation I had with someone I would refer to as an "idiot".

Scene: 11:00 A.M. I am getting coffee at my workplace's coffee machine.

Me: Okay, this is my last one today...

Idiot: Hey.

M: (blankly staring at him) I'm sorry, do I know you?

I: Yeah, I'm working over there. (points) In that cubicle over there.

M: Okay.

Awkward silence.

I: So, what are you working on?

M: Well, now I'm on my break.

I: No, I mean-

M: I know what you mean...

The idiot blankly stares at me.

M: Boss gave me a special task to do.

I: Sounds like fun. The boss never gives me special tasks since I killed his cat.

A short beat.

M: I'm sorry, what?

I: The bastard stopped giving me special tasks since I accidentally killed his cat.

M: Accidentally, huh?

I: Of course.

M: I'm curious... How did this happen?

I: It was like eight months ago. Maybe eight months and a week or something.

I roll my eyes.

I: I had to come every day and feed his cat 'cause he was on some vacation or something. (laughs (with no real reason as you surely noticed)) So I forgot and he found his cat dead.

M: Oh...

I nervously sip my coffee. A long silent moment elapses.

I: You thought I did it on purpose, right?

I keep nervously sipping my coffee.

I: He also thought I did it on purpose.

M: Oh...

I: So I convinced him that I didn't do it on purpose and the bastard believed me.

M: Wait... You did do it on purpose then?

I: No, of course not.

M: Oh, okay.

He takes a large step towards me.

I: Are you trying to be a little detective? Leonardo DaVinci? (I have no idea what he meant by this)

M: Hey, pal! Seriously! Don't come closer!

I: Why?

M: You're freaking me out, seriously! Fuck off.

I: (smirking) But I'm just here, having a coffee like you are.

M: No, you're not. You just stood there and told me weird shit.

The idiot loses his smirk and takes a micro step towards me.

I: (provocative) What are you doing? You wanna fight me, mister Pewt? (What?)

I look around. No one.

M: What are YOU doing? I told you to step back, for fuck's sake.

I: I have a right! Maybe I don't have the right to be here, mister Pewt? (Again... Who in holy hell is mister Pewt)

M: Yeah, still, you should try not to be an asshole when you're living in society. You could go live like a fucking hermit in a forest, if you really want to-

I: (pointing abstractly) Fuck the forest! Tell me why I'm an asshole?

I stare at him blankly. He looks away, then looks back at me.

I: How am I an asshole? What did I do?

M: Well... For starters, you killed someone's cat.

I: That's out of context.

M: How is this out of context?

I: (leaving) Out of context, out of context, out of context...

He leaves.

M: Was there something wrong with him or was he just stupid?

I gulped my coffee and got back to work (by work I mean playing solitaire and watching porn, thank you very much!)

The end.

---

You should maybe learn to write the master's name...

---

Thank you very much for the review! I'll try posting more stuff if I write any.

---

I was having a weird monologue while I was talking with my roommate:

Why don't we leave,
Why wouldn't we go?
Walk and talk.
I'll talk, you'll walk.
I'll say:

We men
Are aesthetic creatures,
We love well drawn features.
What is beauty? What is truth?
Please, don't answer, friend.
It would only ruin me.

We men
Are aesthetic creatures,
We love hearing pictures,
Language is our tool,
our forgotten site.
Language is not a brick, friend.
It is a small stool.
A stool on which we should stand,
not sit.

He lied to me, to us, friend.
The one above the sky.
There is no beauty in his words.
He only strikes dissonant chords.
Frivolously I declare,
No beauty, then no truth.
God is not Shakespeare,
nor is he Bach, nor da Vinci.
I pity those who believed in him
in the days of yonder.
They shamed their brains,
now shame their graves.

Then I'll say:
Cinema! Look a theater.
Let us go inside.
And we will,
we will go inside.

Shush! My friend please,
do not speak now.
The theater is crowded,
with empty seats.
And a black cat would watch the movie.
I wonder if this cat
likes the movie.

We men are aesthetic creatures,
Look, friend, look at the screen,
Try to see farther than your nose.
Don't you see?

No, it's not reality!
Or if it is, I surely can't see it.
I only see a beautiful distortion.
I love how that character says
the exact same words all over again.
He must be making a point,
or maybe is he acting?
Or maybe is he reenacting...

Then it's over and I'll say:

Wasn't that beautiful
how they spoke of autumn leaves?
Is Art our savior?
Is he God?
Or is science better?
Shouldn't we laugh at Art.
Isn't Art a dream?
Isn't the filmmaker the craftsman of a dream?
W should laugh.

I'll start dancing, laughing, crying, laughing again,
and you'll scratch your chin and say:
How weird you are, my friend, today.
And I will say that everyone is equally weird.
I just show it a tad more.

And we'll walk back home.
Sadness in the air.
We will travel far.
No Odyssey, thank you.
I am no hero.
Not brave, nor as smart as my reflections.
Not sensible enough
to feel the world's complexions.
But soon.
And soon,
I'll tell you what my favorite movie is:
it's like a dream, a girl and in the end
two instruments play. She and he.
And their guitars.
It was a dream.
A dream on my computer.

Which I illegally downloaded...

I hope you enjoyed this "short" poem. Review if you wish and share your thoughts, please.

---

At 2/19/13 05:19 PM, Sevkat wrote: I reverse-searched the image, and it originates from a Russian porn site.
On top of that, the Russian porn site is exclusive to members only.

Generic pornstar anyway, why such interest?

Because she looks exactly like a girl that I knew in high school. But if she's Russian, it's not her so nevermind.

---

http://www.sexxsexx.com/teenclub_movies/2071761/bc10201.html

Please, help.

---

Eh? Eh? No one knows?

---

http://www.sexxsexx.com/teenclub_movies/2071761/bc10201.html

---

Could someone review, please?

---

I should have treated this sudden strike of tiredness with more care. As people keep living their lives, I crept and shall forever creep in loneliness and pain. It had all begun at the sound of bells...

Church bells to be exact:

The twelve thunderous strokes fill my head with dull pain and a buzzing sound in my left ear. Last night, I had drunk way past my share and fell asleep five hours into my normal bedtime. And now, these damned church bells keep pushing their cloudy racket into the inmost depths of my mind...

At last, the church bells terminate their deed and silence befalls upon the outside world. As I struggle to rise and shine, I hear a loud knock on my door. "Who is it?" I yell, perched on my bed. On the other side of the frame, a raucous and deep voice utters an unintelligible sentence. I decide to stand up and open the door. But as I am about to turn the handle's lock, I decide to ask: "I didn't get what you just said, could you please tell me who you are?" I hear no answer and decide to open it...

My eyes strain at first. Deciphering the messed up picture that lay exposed before them was no easy deed. A pale and wrinkled face, a black top hat, a white mustache and a gray goatee, a long black cloak covering everything underneath the neck, white gloves on his shaky hands and a gnarled, mystical walking stick. A frail old man stood before me. It is not his being that prompts such an uncanny fear in me but how he merges with the hallway behind him. It is as if his faintness, in the stead of contrasting with the corridor's bright lighting, dimmed down the latter into an abominable and horrific state of lifelessness...

He hands me a letter. "I am a testament executor. As of yesterday, your uncle Yaroslav is no more. In his will, he left his house to..." My body twitches as he speaks my name. "Why me? So many sons and daughters, nieces and nephews, descendants and other family members! Why me?" The pitiful look of the frail old man's face tells me everything: it is not a choice, it is an accident. Pure lucklessness that will shatter my life. How? You shall understand...

It is a long ride until Yaroslav's house. He, a rich yet infamous writer, lived in seclusion. His house is far out of my small hometown and as I am way too poor to possess a car, I am getting there by bus. As the sky gets darker and darker, I glance outside through the window. A soporific and colorless forest is spread alongside the bus' path. As lifeless as it is, it is a beautiful sight. It seems eternal and grand. Suddenly, the bus stops. The driver glances at me and gestures "get out". As I set foot on a pebbly path I see it for the first time of my life. The eternal forest ends right where the terror begins. The horiffic house stands tall and mighty, and it's powerful ardor is calling me...

I step inside and shut the front door behind me. I can only describe the house as dimly gray and mysteriously familiar. It is, of course, a giant house. So many rooms and floors, I cannot count them all. As I explore the house, I step into a small and quiet bedroom. For no apparent reason, the room is cooler than the rest of the house. My attention is seized by a closet. I hear a whisper coming out of it. Strangling both fear and reason, I swing the closet doors open. No living creature, simply a twisted game of my confused brain. Yet, there is a hole. A small, negligible hole. I look behind me: the bedroom door is slightly open. I take a deep breath and look into the hole...

In the hole, I can see the adjacent chamber, another bedroom. It is unlit and empty, and as I stare at it, vigor is drained from my body at an incredibly fast rate. I glance at my watch: 9:38 P.M. I am hungover, hungry and exhausted. I lay myself upon the cold, hard bed and close my eyes...

As my eyes open, morning lives outside. But the bedroom remains gray and sad. Again, whispers come out of the closet. I get up and swing it's doors open. Nothing. I put my eye close to the hole and I see...

The frail old man. He stands there in the middle of the previously unlit room, which is now starkly bright. My heart barely stops pumping and a dizziness strikes me. My legs support my body only by a hair. The horrid, spontaneous sight makes me whisper an unintelligible sentence. The frail old man swiftly turns his head towards the hole. His eyes...

I let out a deep, short scream, turn around and run towards the door. I can't dare to look behind. I was on the second floor, so I run downstairs and as I am about to kick open the front and final door, run outside and never enter this horrible house again...

A young lady grabs me by my arm. She wears a purple dress and is of a much beautiful sight. My body is vacillating between heart attack and total relaxation. Smiling, she says: "You can't go outside. No more. You can go outside no more." I ask her why and she answers: "Everyone who enters this house must die. You knew that before you came, didn't you?" I silently nod. I feel the frail old man standing behind me. I am awaiting a sudden death. The fear is too great for me and as for a couple of seconds nothing seems to happen, I decide to grab my destiny by it's horns: with all my remaining strenght I jab the smiling lady on the cheek, jump out towards the front door and look behind me. The frail old man. His face and its everlasting memory still incite a fearful creature to chase me in the darkness of my dreadful, unspeakable nightmares...

Outside, I run. I run towards the forest. In this peaceful sanctuary I shall always live in safety, yet my desire to live shall be drained each morning as I shall remember...

As I enter the gray and lifeless abyss, I feel miserable and loathsome. My ear buzzes, my head is on the verge of exploding, the distant sound of bells remains a vile reminder of how this day began, my heart aches, my youthful strenght is gone and my life lost its previous meaning. I shall rove in this forest in constant loneliness and pain. I shall creep away and draw my final breath in solitude and contempt for life. As I turn around, I see no beginning, no end, only gray trees. Nothing moves, everything is dead. I am here, imprisoned in the eternal forest, for good.

---

Also, I found a picture of the game. And I was mistaken, you don't fight a Jelly at the beginning but an octorok.
Here is what the game looked like: http://sess.net/flash_games.php?proj_id=1359 .
I went on the site and clicked play, but it was another zelda flash game (unrelated to the pic).

Thanks

---

Hello newgrounds,

I submitted my first audio three weeks ago and it's still not on for public viewing. I read the audio section on submitting and I know I gotta wait, but I didn't get the "BitTesters" info. Do I have to invite one, for my audio to be fully published.

Plus, I'm searching for a game I played on newgrounds, like, eight years ago. It was called something like Mario and Link and first you started out as Link (from LoZ) and then you fought in a battle screen with a Jelly. You could walk around the world (it was in 2d and it was Link from Adventures of Link, so it was a side scrolling game). You had random battles. I remember a boss battle with a spider.

Thanks for reading.