Forum:Share your stories

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Note: This topic has been unedited for 3384 days. It is considered archived - the discussion is over. Do not add to unless it really needs a response.

Share any interesting stories you have.

Way back when I was just a little bitty boy, livin' in a box under the staircase in a house two blocks away from Jerry's Bait know the place. Well anyway back then life was fine and everything was JUUUUSSSTT PEACHY!! Except of course for the undeniable fact that ever morning, every single solitary morning, my mother would feed me a big bowl of sauerkraut for breakfast. D'aww... BIG BOWL OF SAUERKRAUT! EVERY SINGLE MORNING! HNT♥♥ Look at this|Look at that |now it's time to sit & chat 02:53, 10 May 2008 (UTC)

One day, I came over to your mom's house to watch movies. Then we had sex. Nine months later, you popped in. How weird is that? * Flumpa Quotes.PNG 04:24, 10 May 2008 (UTC)
Pictures or it never happened... --Sir DJ ~ Irreverent Icons-flag-au Noobaward Wotm Unbooks mousepad GUN 11:31, 10 May 2008 (UTC)
Once upon a time, some guy came over and tried to tell a "your mom" joke, which may or may not have been directed at me. Ever the progressive, I enlightened him of my unusual (BUT PERFECTLY OK AND ACCEPTABLE AND NOT WEIRD OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT...YOU FASCIST YOU THINK I'M WEIRD DON'T YOU) parental condition. In short, I have 2 dads. - Don Leddy the Crunch Fedora (Nyah, see, nyah!) 05:05, May 10
Once upon a time, I totally grew up in suburbia in the 1980s. Hard to believe, I know. It was wicked. This in no way conflicts with the "fact" that I'm a curmudgeonly 97 year old man. Facts are flexible, I find. I am too. If I bend over, I can touch my knees. True story. Sir Modusoperandi Boinc! 08:37, 10 May 2008 (UTC)
NO FUCKING WAY! YOU LIE! --Sir DJ ~ Irreverent Icons-flag-au Noobaward Wotm Unbooks mousepad GUN 08:40, 10 May 2008 (UTC)
It gets stranger. My suburbia was built way back in olden times (the 1940's or so), so the streets were on a grid pattern with no cul-de-sacs and each house was, get this, different than the one beside it. Weird, huh? Sir Modusoperandi Boinc! 11:20, 10 May 2008 (UTC)
I once edited a forum for storytelling without telling a story. Seriously. --THE 11:06, 10 May 2008 (UTC)
You want a story? I got a story that will blow your mind. Ever hear of marsupials? Marsupials got pouches, man. Pouches. Sir Modusoperandi Boinc! 23:19, 10 May 2008 (UTC)

Okay here's a REAL story for me. My dad met Richard Simmons once. He hugged my dad. And also he said he had an "evil moustache". I feel very, very bad for my dad.Either that or just jealous. HNT♥♥ Look at this|Look at that |now it's time to sit & chat 23:49, 10 May 2008 (UTC)

There are many challenges that come with being a zombie. Eating, for one thing. Zombies don’t really have to eat, except for the occasional snack once a week or so. There’s none of that “BRAAINZ” business going on, believe me. Brains aren’t the squishy, juicy things science makes them out to be. In fact, they’re quite tasteless, unless of course you’re eating the brain of a gay guy.

At any rate, if you’re going to look normal, you have to look like you eat. I was out at a restaurant by myself this particular Wednesday afternoon, attempting to disguise the fact that I wasn’t actually eating my hamburger and French fries by repeatedly dropping things on the floor. I think it began to get a little suspicious as the pile of fries slowly grew underneath my feet, but no one paid it much attention.

An old man hobbled over to where I was sitting and sat down across from me. I didn’t recognize him, but he looked like he recognized me.

“I know you,” he grunted just after a silence long enough to make things awkward. “You’re that doctor guy I saw on television. Performed emergency surgery on the two guys that crashed in the middle of the highway.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” I said modestly, making sure to knock over my hamburger with my hand motions. “That was nothing. The one guy had some bits of glass wedged inside him, and I gave the other guy a quick run through and he was fine. Except for the brain tumor. Figured I may as well get that out while I was there, and I had a spork handy anyway. Damn! Do you know how hard it is to crack a skull open with your teeth?”

“Listen to me,” the old man rasped, clutching his chest. “Doctor Skullthumper. I want you… to fix my heart.”

I paused for a few beats. Then: “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

“No! I mean, I need you to get inside me.”

“Quite to the point, are we,” I said flatly.

“No!” the old man repeated, more firmly this time. He smacked his forehead. I could hear the distinct sound of his decaying brain smashing against the back of his skull. Old people tended to fall apart like that, with bits coming loose and whatnot. “I need you to cut me open and fix my heart. All the doctors I’ve gone to say they don’t know what’s wrong with it, and I feel like I could have a heart attack any minute now.”

“Oh, I see,” I said. I picked up the knife and looked at him. “Do you want me to do it now, you know, get it over with?”

“What?!” the old man exclaimed. I thought one of his eyeballs would come out of his skull. Which would have been funny, you know, having an eyeball rolling around on the table. Maybe we would have played football with it, or stuck it in someone’s soup as the waiter passed by. Oh, the fun it could have been, but both eyeballs remained fully stuck in his head. “You mean now? Here? Don’t you have an operating table?”

“Well, I guess I could clear off the kitchen table.”

“What?!” That was another thing about old folks, they tended to repeat themselves. Poor fools. “You’re not a real doctor at all, are you?”

“Of course I am!” I said, insulted. “I charge ridiculous amounts of money to look at people inside and out. What else is there? I’ve even got a stethoscope!”

The old man considered this. “I suppose you’re right. Or you’re crazy, but you’re the only chance I’ve got.”

“Right on all three counts.”

“Fine. When can you operate on me?”

I gave him the location of my apartment. He wrote it down on a napkin and left.

Later that week, he stopped by my apartment to get the surgery done. My apartment isn’t much, just the standard things: Refrigerator, television, couch, bed, and a goldfish named Oliver who just wouldn’t die. I didn’t even have the tank anymore, and the thing was still flopping around. Sometimes it even woke me up in the morning. Stupid bastard.

“Come in, have a seat,” I invited him. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Not important,” the old man grunted.

“Well, Mr. Important, I’m very glad to be your surgeon today!” I exclaimed happily. “Hold on while I fetch my stuff.”

Not Important grunted a bit more as I grabbed some items from the kitchen. He seemed increasingly worried as I brought out more utensils and a small rectangular-shaped object covered in white cloth.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the thing covered in cloth.

“General anesthetic,” I told him. In less than a few seconds, I took off the cloth, grabbed the anesthetic, and applied it. Mr. Important only had enough time to say “That’s a bri – ” before it started working.

I went to work. I operated feverishly, only stopping for a brief hour to watch American Idol. After I’d got done shifting things around a bit, I looked at the heart.

It was a tired old thing, still pumping along somehow. It looked old and weary, much like its owner. If only it had a little spark of life in it.

Ah! That was the answer! Why hadn’t I thought of it before? Why do people get heart attacks in the first place? Because their hearts have lost the will to pump! I mean, it must get boring in there, in pitch-darkness, doing the same thing over and over again. So of course they get depressed, of course they give up eventually. And this one looked like it was about to. There was only one solution.

The next morning, I went out for a stroll. It was a lovely day outside. Well, it was pouring rain, but it was still a lovely day for the plants. No one else was around, at least. It would take a lunatic to be out in this weather.


Oh, bugger.


I turned to face the mysterious sound, and quite suddenly fell to the sidewalk. Something rolled out of my jacket.

“Oh, Cajek, what do you want?” I exclaimed. “What are you doing out on a day like this?”

“I wanted to talk to you, o’course!” the happy man explained. “I looked outside and said to myself, ‘Gee, what a horrible day. Only a lunatic would be out on a day like this. Hey! Skull must be out there!’ And here you are!”

“Yes, here I am, now where’s my new pet?!” I said testily, feeling around the wet sidewalk for the jar that slipped away from me.

“What new pet, Skull?”

“Ah, here it is!” I grabbed the jar and showed it to Cajek. “I’ve adopted a heart.”

Cajek looked inside the jar and squinted at the little beating red pulp. “That’s cool Skull, that’s real cool.”

“Yes,” I said, sitting up on the sidewalk. Cajek sat down next to me. “It’s from the body of a very old man. It seemed bored, so I figured it needed some time away from home.”

“Like a vacation!”

“Exactly, Cajek, exactly!”



“Can I play with it?”

I looked at the heart, then at Cajek. “Oh, I don’t know, Cajek,” I sighed. “It’s his first day out and about and I don’t want him getting too disoriented…”

“Oh c’mon Skull, I’ll take care of it! I’ll love it and feed it and take it for walks – well, maybe not for walks,” Cajek reconsidered. “Maybe more like ‘hops’. You know.”

“Yes, hops,” I murmured, staring off into the distance. Maybe giving Cajek the heart would be a good thing after all. What could possibly go wrong?

“Oh, all right,” I said finally, “you can keep him. But just for the week, mind you! And take good care of him!”

“Don’t worry Skull, I will, I promise!”

“Give him back to me next week! I’m sure he’ll be better by then.”

I went back home after that, shooed Oliver out of the old man’s still-open body, and sat down to watch some good, quality television. After a good hour of flipping through channels, there was none to be found, so I put in a DVD of Pinky and the Brain.

A week later, Cajek came bounding into my apartment, shouting, “SKULL! SKULL! SKULL!” as he tended to do.

“What? What? What?” I answered him back after my apartment had stopped shaking.

“I did it! I made the heart better! Oh, you should have seen it, Skull. We went down to the beach. We went swimming. I made sure I fed him every night, Skull. At first I tried chicken soup, but then I remembered that was for the soul. So then I was like, ‘hmm, what’s good for the heart’? And then this commercial comes on and it tells me Cheerios are good for the heart! So I fed him some Cheerios, and he’s looking a lot happier, he really is. It’s a happy heart now, Skull!”

“Fantastic, Cajek, you did it!” I took the heart from him. It was beating like crazy, hopping up and down inside the jar. “And now for the moment of truth.”

I unscrewed the jar’s lid and dumped the heart into Not Important’s body. It hopped right out again.

“Erm, that’s not supposed to happen,” I observed. I picked up the heart, put it back in, and it hopped out a second time.

“Skull, I don’t think it wants to go back,” Cajek said.

“Then we’ll make him go back! Stapler,” I demanded.

“But Skull!”

“Stapler!” I shouted.

“Skull, I loved that heart like a brother! You can’t staple him in!”


“Okay fine, Skull, you’re the boss,” Cajek said solemnly, handing me my trusty, manly-pink stapler. After a few quick staples, the heart was secured. I closed the man back up and tapped him on the head. Cajek looked on, his lower lip protruding.

“I’m awake, I’m awake already!” the old man rasped. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

“You’re on planet Earth, a blue-greenish planet inhabited by individuals that seem hell-bent on destroying it, even though I haven’t worked out what it did to them just yet,” I explained. “And you’re existing, that’s what’s going on. Seems to be the thing to do these days. Person’lly I think it’s overrated, but what the hey.”

“I… I feel better!” the old man exclaimed. “I feel better! You fixed me, Doctor! You fixed me!”

“Yes, I suppose I did,” I said.

“I feel like a little boy again. Oh!” the man said excitedly, holding a hand to one ear. “Is that an ice cream truck?”

Before either of us could stop him, the man bolted downstairs. He ran like lightning with his newfound enthusiasm. Cajek and I followed after him as we heard a screech of brakes and a thump. What met our eyes was a terrible scene.

“He got run over, Skull!” Cajek said. “Hey look! The heart!”

The old man’s heart escaped his body, bouncing around the road in joy. It beat off into the sunset. Cajek and I watched it go.

“I guess some hearts really are meant to be free,” I concluded, hopefully sounding philosophical and smart.


“Yes, Cajek?”

“If you take out my stomach, can I keep it as a pet?”

“No, Cajek.”

“Oh c’mon Skull! Stomachs make the coolest sounds. Like when it’s happy it goes gurglgurglgurgl and when it’s sad it goes grrrruuumn. We could learn to communicate, my stomach and I! That’d be fun!”

“No, Cajek. Go home. I’m going to go scare myself half to death.”

“How come?”

“Because I did what the fucking bastard asked, but then he had to go die on me! Oh, he’s not getting out of paying me that easily. No sir. Bastard.”

“How are you gonna scare yourself half to death?”

“Look at a picture of Zombiebaron, of course. I mean, have you ever seen that guy? His face is uuuuuuug-ly!”

The end.  Sir Skullthumper, MD (criticize  writings  SU&W) 00:19 May 11, 2008

Thank you for your submission to UncycloPublishing. Although we enjoyed reading your story, we are regretfully unable to accept your work for publishing at this time. Please accept this consolation mint. -- §. | WotM | PLS | T | C | A 00:40, 11 May 2008 (UTC)
Once upon a time Dr. Skullthumper wrote a story, this story was just too long for a lazy person like me to read and.. um.. they all lived happily ever after. --Sir DJ ~ Irreverent Icons-flag-au Noobaward Wotm Unbooks mousepad GUN 01:58, 11 May 2008 (UTC)
...Feature! - Don Leddy the Crunch Fedora (Nyah, see, nyah!) 02:40, May 11

Cajek, a friendly hermit and part-time caveman, was tired after a relaxing night of Uncyclopedia. After carving on the cave wall for so long, he finally finished an idea for a story and how to whore it. Grunting and squeeling, still missing his little heart friend, he lumbered over towards the fire and turned on the plasma television.

"I'm here with Mr. Skullthumper, a local doctor-" the newslady said.

"Actually, I changed my name legally to DOCTOR Skullthumper," the nice looking young man in a labcoat beside her said.

"Doctor Skullthumper, can I call you Skull?"

"Are you my mom?" Dr. Skullthumper angrily said.

"er, no..."

"Then no. ...Dumb bitch."

"Uh, anyway, I'm here with Doctor Skullthumper, who just saved an old man's life. How did you do it?"

"If I do say so myself, I AM worthy of an award. I operated on that old geezer right there in the restraunt."

The little pictures on the screen fascinated Cajek, and he recognized one of the pictures.

"Oog, oog, Skull!" he grunted, noisily eating his mongoose. Throwing animal parts at the screen, he only got more excited. "OOG! SKULL! ME CAJEK! LOOK!" he yelled in his pigeon English, but to no avail. As he threw the meerkat's- or whatever it was- blood at the television screen, and on his monocle and top hat by accident, he paused in astonishment, his monocle falling to the floor.

The picture of Dr. Skullthumper on the screen, talking about the intricacies of heart transplants, held up a photograph of Cajek's little friend, the old man's heart.

"RAWR! YAARRR! OOG!" He grunted and squeeked. Cajek hopped about the cave excitedly, memories of all the good times he had with the heart rushing into his tiny, tiny brain. He remembered the day at Busch Gardens with the little heart at his side, and the time they took on that mastadon.

"GOOD TIMES." Cajek grunted.   Le Cejak <May 11, 2008 [3:11]>

...Also feature! - Don Leddy the Crunch Fedora (Nyah, see, nyah!) 03:14, May 11
Jeez, are you and Skullthumper working on the script for Too Long; Didn't Read: The Movie or what? -- §. | WotM | PLS | T | C | A 07:15, 11 May 2008 (UTC)
The book was longer... --Sir DJ ~ Irreverent Icons-flag-au Noobaward Wotm Unbooks mousepad GUN 07:27, 11 May 2008 (UTC)
I prefer the Manga version. More giant robots. Sir Modusoperandi Boinc! 07:38, 11 May 2008 (UTC)

The Story of <insert name here>

One day, a sensual person named Dyllon "<insert name here>" Kenan went to the toothpick and admonished TheLedBalloon on Isle of Man to get the job of television writer. He instantly said WHORE 85 times. - RougethebatAdmiral Enzo Aquarius-Dial the Gate SonicLivesPicture 03:34, 13 May 2008 (UTC)

Woo! /me is famous. - Don Leddy the Crunch Fedora (Nyah, see, nyah!) 03:35, May 13
Creepy. I finally got tricked by {{USERNAME}} - because the {{job}} came out to be "doctor" and {{verb past tense}} was "felt"...  Sir Skullthumper, MD (criticize  writings  SU&W) 03:39 May 13, 2008
  • One day I stepped outside. At first I didn't think it was too bad, except for the squinting part. Then it started to feel like I was burning, so I closed the window and went back to my desk. ~ Tophatsig 13/05/2008 @ 03:43

The Story of Dyllon the television writer

One day, he went to a toothpick convention and were assailed by a television writer! It was most clammy. Luckily, he admonished the guy back and everything was clammy again. The preceding unsigned comment was added by Heck no techno (talk • contribs)

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