Rialto banned from writing the last sentance.

Upon Rialto writing the last sentence for "Boom-Chicka-Wow-Wow," he or she is now banned from writing the ending of short stories. Below is the original sentence, prior to changing the grammar so it kind of made sense:

"Flipping the boomerang over to his obverse side and quickly dialed Queen Elizabeth (Monarch of Australia), who seeing that her subjects were endanged, ran out of her eye-doctoring lessons and jumped into a helicopter, because she late for tea with Bill Clinton, first lady of the USA."

A Stretch of the Imagination, or How I Boldly Faced the Devil the Night of the Bullwhip

By Kevin, Rialto, Jon (written 4/22/08)

Every creak of the floorboards echoed in the empty halls, bellying the stealthy confidence that the trio supposed they possessed. Chuck, Norris, and their Latino friend, Jesus, had decided earlier that day that the painful experiences they had experienced under the rodeo owner must come to an end.

The bullwhip, that dreadful bullwhip! With trepidation followed closely by defiant boldness, Norris reached up and laid his hands on that hateful object, remembering its disdain of human flesh. He did so carefully, aware that if the snoring devil below him aroused from his sleep, a hell would ensue that would be so awful just the thought of it caused sweat to bead on Norris’s forehead. As the sweat intensified, the beads formed a droplet which fell from the forehead of the kickboxing champion down onto the slumbering foe.

The rodeo owner awoke with the fury of a thousand recently castrated lions. Grabbing the other end of the whip, a great tug-of-war ensued; the whip itself stretched and pulsated like a bloody mass of muscle and tendon. As the titans clashed like the thunderous roar of an ocean of madness and misunderstanding, the bullwhip snapped in twain, and with a whirlwind of tenacity, the whip sheared Norris and the rodeo owner’s face off, leaving a literal bloody mass of muscle and tendon in its wake.

Newly Discovered Realm of Rhythm and Magic

By Jon, Kevin, Rialto (written 4/22/08)

A mysterious, dark figure stood clandestine in the shadows, waiting for the time to come…Fate shifted her weights and for a moment the impossible was granted a pass to the world. She took the thread, so long her responsibility to tend and eventually cut, and tie a neat little knot, restoring the life she had dutifully severed. Fate came by the way of a brazen grizzly bear, escaped from the nearby zoo, which picked up the scent of the figure in the darkness. Silently the figured reached out its proboscis and drank the bear, finding its gamey texture most unwelcoming to its other-worldly pallet.

“Stop!” screamed Fate, “That bear was my brother from another mother, and the only link to my mysterious past!”

As the deflated bear carcass flopped haplessly on the ground, Fate was exposed, no longer hiding behind the beast, with dagger in hand.

The stranger then, newly possessed of a supreme vigor, opened a portal to a realm of rhythm and magic, engulfing Fate and transporting them both to an unexplored land where the stranger removed his face. Frightened by the sudden burst of activity, Fate also removed her face, revealing a bloody pulsating mass of muscle and tendons; her face unfortunately was not designed for easy offness.

Boom-Chicka-Wow-Wow; or, Bone-Crushing Wonder Monkeys

By Jon, Kevin, Rialto (Written: 4/27/2008)

She was lovlier than the setting sun, fairer tan a sun bleached cattle skull recently devoured by the Gorlemet, and smelled like pickles, which was a turn off for all the boys her age in the tribe.

He often would attempt to catch her eye with a cleverly ornamented boomerang or some other craft he had made or feat he had accomplished, but she never seemed to notice.

For you see, her eyes were firmly attached to her brain via the optic nerve and nothing less than a scapel was going to pop those babies out. But that was all about to change, like a caterpillar transforming into a mosaic patterned butterfly or a cucumber into a pickle, for one day, his boomerang hit her in the face, severing her optic nerve. Now that he finally had her attention, he mustered up all the manly courage he could muster and asked Ouija out on a romantic outing through the bushlands.

Hours later, Ouija began to regret her decision to accept his decision; it wasn’t just the incessant games of “I got your eye…I got your eye,” but also the fact that the rival tribe of “Boom-Chicka-Wow-Wow” had set out after them, desperately desiring to make this one eyed beauty a pregnant housewife.

Despite her lack of depth perception and stench that makes donkeys puke their guts out, Ouija fled with the eye-wasting lad into the deep jungle which was full of fear and loathing—from the treacherous sand pits to the bone-crushing wonder monkeys. First things first, Ouija and her suitor had to defeat the wonder monkeys if they hoped to make it out alive; Ouija winked at Billy as he pulled out his boomerang again. Flipping the boomerang over to his obverse side as he quickly dialed Queen Elizabeth (Monarch of Australia), who seeing that her subjects were endangered, ran out of her eye-doctoring lessons and jumped into a helicopter, because she was late for tea with Bill Clinton, first lady of the USA.

Hot Pockets and Flaming Two-by-Fours do not a Gangwar Make

By Kevin, Rialto, Jon (written: 4/27/2008)

Gripping steel, Piotre glared over the placid waters reflecting the city skyline, and shed a tear into the dark shallows. His accomplice, Hammerdang, was sick and tired of Piotre’s glaring and angrily threw a homemade hot pocket into the microwave.

“You fool!” shrieked Piotre, “The appliances are rigged, hit the deck!”

Shrapnel, fire, and broccoli covered cheese bits rained down as they dove out into the waters. Hammerdang, obviously stupid, and righteously pissed about the demise of his homemade hotpocket, glowering, threw another hot pocket into the microwave.

“Death pockets,” muttered Piotre, as his pistol sentenced Hammerdang to a twenty-five cents execution.

Unbeknownst to Piotre, as Hammerdang’s blood pooled on the cold planks of the docks, the Mullfist gang surrounded the warehouse. The leader of the Mullfist Gang, Wrenchdang, saw Hammerdang’s corpse and screamed, “That’s my brother from the same mother!”

Enraged, and equally smart as his brother, Wrenchdang threw a hot pocket into the nearest microwave, offing all Mullfists but him. A look of insanity flitted briefly across Piotre’s face as he took hold of a burning two by four and charged Wrenchdang. Wrenchdang, unaccustomed to fire and rectangular pieces of wood, didn’t quite know what was going on, and broke into tears. Piotre, unaccustomed to gang rivals breaking into tears over flaming two by fours, dropped the blazing timber and tossed a hot pocket into the nearest microwave.

“Is that broccoli and cheese?” asked Wrenchdang, sobbing.

Piotre smiled, as he handed half to Wrenchdang. “Let’s never fight again.”