Rather Outrageous Gathering Unclear on Everything
In an effort to establish clan unity and stir up a little friendly competition (as well as for her own personal amusement) Syn decided to start hosting weekly challenges. She tried to lure people into participating with the promise of Donator Points and a very angry looking hat that people have, for the most part, been too polite to say that they don't want.
The winner was the contestant who successfully wrote the best poem about the often maligned outpost of Squat Hole. Subjects could include, but were not limited to: Midget brothels, the Skronky Pot, 'Innit,' and complete disregard for personal hygiene, personal space, and property rights.
WINNER: Zephy
Entries:
A traveller by the river's blue Waves roaring white with untamed rage, Stopped a while, rested, asked it who Had angered it to this foul stage.
The river, wailing, told the man Of midgets filthy, foul and bad Who lived near the fine river's span And who had made this river mad.
Squat Hole, Squat Hole, that awful place, Squat Hole, how I abhor you! That home of our most ugly race Who'll cuss and rage and gore you!
These midgets, denizens of that Base cave of lust and rage and greed Will cut you up and steal your hat And watch you howl as you bleed
They're dirty fighters, one and all They kill the old and sick and frail How bad, you ask? Well, child small, Listen and I'll tell you a tale.
Squat Hole, Squat Hole, that awful place, Squat Hole, how I abhor you! That home of our most ugly race Who'll cuss and rage and gore you!
A midget dank, by squalid name Of Cussin' Screamin' Stabbin' Bill Did meet a woman, clever, tame, (no sexism here - I mean that the woman's kind and generous and such.) Pretty, and one he planned to kill.
But the girl knew of Bill's bad ways And tried to change him with her love She gave him gifts and love and praise 'Til on a cliff he gave a shove.
Squat Hole, Squat Hole, that awful place, Squat Hole, how I abhor you! That home of our most ugly race Who'll cuss and rage and gore you!
The Hole itself, that woeful spot Of sex and theft and killing With brothels, pots, and tempers hot It's grungy, sad, and chilling.
But this fine hat, of warmth and tax Is Squat Hole's inverse, innit? With this tale of Squat Hole's gross acts I truly hope I'll win it.
Being a Midget implies
A Height right betwixt ladies thighs
But what Midgets don't know
(Well, at least they don't show)
Is that the sight is not meant for their eyes
Oh beloved Squat Hole, the outpost of my soul!
Though I not a midget be, still it is the place for me.
First what hits you is the scents, the unwashed mass of malcontents!
That oder wafting on the breeze (strong enough to blacken trees)
speaks to me of simpler ways, and little folk unwashed for days.
Next, the sounds that carry far grunts and swears and slang bizarre.
Manners they will never learn, neither do they talk in turn.
All at once they squawk and mumble, scaring beasts out in the jungle.
(Use of “innit” loud and clear warns most folk away from here!)
Last approching is the sight, of midget brothels left and right.
A stubby gal with hairy arms tries to entice with all her charms,
And in a window 'cross the square, a male in soiled underwear.
(In short- the view of hookers here kills your libedo for a year.)
A side trip to the skronky pot, clears any mucus that you've got.
The snorting pays, though very slight, enough to buy “kabobs and shite”.
To recognize your food's a task- (its better if you just don't ask!)
And careful now to watch your packs, 'round pint-sized cleptomaniacs.
And so to Squat Hole, raise a cheer- that putrid mass, which we hold… dear?
(As soon as I have Req enough I'm taking off with all my stuff.
I'll battle beasties tooth and nail, desperate that my quest not fail.
And if I make it, hear my shout- “Oh Thank the gods that I got OUT!!!”)
This contest this week was searching for the person who could come up with the best motto or catchphrase for ROGUE. Something that summed the clan up in in a single line.
WINNER: Omega
Entries:
ROGUE: You won't see it coming.
ROGUE: Because we understand it just as much as you do.
ROGUE: At least we can admit we don't get it.
ROGUE: Just as crazy as your folks back home!
ROGUE: You get used to it.
ROGUE: Like your family reunion, only less awkward.
ROGUE: Yes, you just ate the Pope.
ROGUE: We will find your pen.
ROGUE: We will get it eventually.
ROGUE: No, it's not like the X-wing squadron.
ROUGE: Actually spelt ROGUE, damnit!
ROGUE: Trees taste like wood.
ROGUE: Enter the AWESOME.
ROGUE's do it from behind.
ROGUE: We put the fun in dysfunction!
ROGUE: Don't be vague. Ask for ROGUE!
ROGUE: We don't make chaos. We make chaos better!
ROGUE: Eight out of ten dentists recommend ROGUE.
ROGUE: When time is out, ask for ROGUE!
ROGUE: Outrageously so!
ROGUE: Grues for sale!
This week we were looking for who could come up with the best matching outfit for Harvey
Winner: Wylan
The outfit is wild enough to match the hat itself, when you gaze upon it you are greeted initially by two live, fierce badgers that are sewn onto the raw rookie-hide leather of the full body coat. They hiss angrily, having been sewn down in a manner as not to harm the face of the wearer, but cause plenty of damage to those that get close to him. Sewn into the rest of the coat are various other animal furs in a patchwork fashion, almost like a very moldy earthy rainbow of random animal fur. Claws are used to fasten up the front of the jacket, long curved claws that latch into eyelets of actual bone. At the bottom of the coat, dragging along the ground silently are various tails, likely of the same animals butchered horrendously to make the rest of the coat. This is a man's coat. A man that lives to hunt. A man that's here to kick ass and chew bubble gum, and he's all out of bubble gum.
You open the box with Neeip’s submission. My god, that is one Ugly fucking Outfit. Lets start with the first abomination, shall we? The Fur coat. You suppress your urge to vomit. Barely. The first thing you notice is the smell. The second, is the fact that it appears to have been thrown together with the worst dregs of Diseased Animal Scum the isle has to offer, fur mismatched in colour and thickness. It looks like its been fucking stapled together. And it has. You find several sticky staples come off on your hand as you examine it. … You’re also pretty god-damn sure that all the meats supposed to be cleaned off the inside of the Fur too…. Is that pocket Fucking Moving!?!?!? You place the jacket aside, after applying liberal amounts of Industrial grade hand sanitizer and Prayers, adding ‘incinerate the hell spawn of clothing’ to your To do list for today. You really wish that that was the first time that’s appeared on there… Next Up! Gloves. Yeeeaaaahhh…. Lets just put the box down carefully, and not open the box. Do not, open, the box. IsaiddontopentheFUCKINGBO- “WHAT THE HELL NEEIP?!?†<Sighs> Told you. After hurling a fair amount of your breakfast into the nearest waste container, you steel yourself to opening the boxes of horrors. Shoes. You fearfully peek into the box to find… A pair of handsome, well made dress shoes. Huh. You pull them out, examining them. Well crafted, Looks brand new… You tip them inside the box. <Thud-thud> … Feet. The. Fuck??? No blood even… in fact, the feet don’t even have any marks on them?! What the-“FUCK!†One of the boots bit you. You hurriedly close the lid on the box, stabbing it with a knife until the moving stops. You incinerate the next few boxes immediately. Neeip walks up to you as you throw them into the flames. “Uhm…. Yeeeaah… so I’m not much with clothing, as you can guess…†He catches your look, and swallows nervously. “Uhm…Sorry?†After holding him close enough to the flame pit to catch Fire, you toss him back towards the clan halls.
Designing for a chubby audience is a challenge, and this `iis`i a weekly challenge.. so Gen took on the task with much gusto. Before you is a tiny, plump, gummy model, it is essentially an exact duplicate of H.R.H herself, upon it is the outfit in question. It is a lovely little suit with an outdoorsey feel, enforced by the large, black, steel-toed boots and huntsman's jacket. The Jacket is made of soft, luxurious chinchilla fur with a high collar and polished sliver buttons, the pants are a lose leather, with a grey snakeskin belt. The pants are tucked into the top of the boots. The shirt under the vest is a simple white button down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The Jacket is a vest, with a grey satin backing and is slightly cinched at the waist to show off the model's curves. The pants, their smooth leather texture and slightly loose fit, accentuate the models fine bum. The boots are for kicking.