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The Drama Free Thread


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You dont belong here.

The best posters have names that can be easily abbreviated to initials and done so in a way whereas the abbreviation is immediately recognizable for who it stands.RR = RodReynolds? Randy Reed? Redundant Retard?Do you know who the following posters are?CWLGBGPROVE MY THEORY WRONG
this "universe having returned to normal" thing is fucking me off!!!- O8
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this "universe having returned to normal" thing is fucking me off!!!- O8
The birds are chirping or dead on the road.Men lie and women retreatFrom ties that bind and then slowly erodeIn Time and its chronic heat.Things have changed then changed again.Rested then raced, now at rest. Same as before except for the win;Resting as best of the best.Now the world of moving par.... wait, fuck composing, GIMMIE SOME clit-rocking DRAMA.
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I'm going to Lorawn this thread...lorax.gifAt the far end of townwhere the Grickle-grass growsand the wind smells slow-and-sour when it blowsand no birds ever sing excepting old crows...is the Street of the Lifted Lorax.And deep in the Grickle-grass, some people say,if you look deep enough you can still see, today,where the Lorax once stoodjust as long as it couldbefore somebody lifted the Lorax away.What was the Lorax?Any why was it there?And why was it lifted and taken somewherefrom the far end of town where the Grickle-grass grows?The old Once-ler still lives here.Ask him. He knows.You won't see the Once-ler.Don't knock at his door.He stays in his Lerkim on top of his store.He stays in his Lerkim, cold under the roor,where he makes his own clothesout of miff-muffered moof.And on special dank midnights in August,he peeks out of the shuttersand sometimes he speaksand tells how the Lorax was lifted away.He'll tell you, perhaps...if you're willing to pay.On the end of a ropehe lets down a tin pailand you have to toss in fifteen centsand a nailand the shell of a great-great-great-grandfather snail.Then he pulls up the pail,makes a most careful countto see if you've paid himthe proper amount.Then he hides what you paid himaway in his Snuvv,his secret strange holein his gruvvulous glove.Then he grunts, I will call you by Whisper-ma-Phone,for the secrets I tell you are for your ears alone.SLUPPDown slupps the Whisper-ma-Phone to your earand the old Once-ler's whispers are not very clear,since they have to come downthrough a snergelly hose,and he sounds as if he hadsmallish bees up his nose.Now I'll tell you, he says, with his teeth sounding gray,how the Lorax got lifted and taken away...It all started way back...such a long, long time back...Way back in the days when the grass was still greenand the pond was still wetand the clouds were still clean,and the song of the Swomee-Swans rang out in space...one morning, I came to this glorious place.And I first saw the trees!The Truffula Trees!The bright-colored tufts of the Truffula Trees!Mile after mile in the fresh morning breeze.And under the trees, I saw Brown Bar-ba-lootsfrisking about in their Bar-ba-loot suitsas the played in the shade and ate Truffula Fruits.From the rippulous pondcame the comfortable soundof the Humming-Fish hummingwhile splashing around.But those trees! Those trees!Those Truffula Trees!All my life I'd been searchingfor trees such as these.The touch of their tuftswas much softer than silk.And they had the sweet smellof fresh butterfly milk.I felt a great leapingof joy in my heart.I knew just what I'd do!I unloaded my cart.In no time at all, I had built a small shop.Then I chopped down a Truffula Tree with one chop.And with great skillful skill and with great speedy speed,I took the soft tuft. And I knitted a Thneed!The instand I'd finished, I heard a ga-Zump!I looked.I saw something pop out of the stumpof the tree I'd chopped down. It was sort of a man.Describe him?...That's hard. I don't know if I can.He was shortish. And oldish.And brownish. And mossy.And he spoke with a voicethat was sharpish and bossy.Mister! he said with a sawdusty sneeze,I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees.I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues.And I'm asking you, sir, at the top of my lungs--he was very upset as he shouted and puffed--What's that THING you've made out of my Truffula tuft?Look, Lorax, I said. There's no cause for alarm.I chopped just one tree. I am doing no harm.I'm being quite useful. This thing is a Thneed.A Thneed's a Fine-Something-That-All-People-Need!It«s a shirt. It's a sock. It's a glove. It's a hat.But it has other uses. Yes, far beyond that.You can use it for carpets. For pillows! For sheets!Or curtains! Or covers for bicycle seats!The Lorax said,Sir! You are crazy with greed.There is no one on earthwho would buy that fool Thneed!But the very next minute I proved he was wrong.For, just at that minute, a chap came along,and he thought that the Thneed I had knitted was great.He happily bought it for three ninety-eight.I laughed at the Lorax, You poor stupid guy!You never can tell what some people will buy.I repeat, cried the Lorax,I speak for the trees!I'm busy, I told him.Shut up, if you please.I rushed 'cross the room, and in no time at all,built a radio-phone. I put in a quick call.I called all my brothers and uncles and auntsand I said, Listen here! Here's a wonderful chancefor the whole Once-ler Family to get mighty rich!Get over here fast! Take the road to North Nitch.Turn left at Weehawken. Sharp right at South Stich.And, in no time at all,in the factory I built,the whole Once-ler Familywas working full tilt.We were all knitting Thneedsjust as busy as bees,to the sound of the choppingof Truffula Trees.Then...Oh! Baby! Oh!How my business did grow!Now, chopping one treeat a time was too slow.So I quickly invented my Super-Axe-Hackerwhich whacked off four Truffula Trees at one smacker.We were making Thneedsfour times as fast as before!And that Lorax?... He didn't show up any more.But the next weekhe knocked on my new office door.He snapped, I'm the Lorax who speaks for the treeswhich you seem to be chopping as fast as you please.But I'm also in charge of the Brown Bar-ba-lootswho played in the shade in their Bar-ba-loot suitsand happily lived, eating Truffula Fruits.NOW...thanks to your hacking my trees to the ground,there's not enough Truffula Fruit to go 'round.And my poor Bar-ba-loots are all getting the crummiesbecause they have gas, and no food, in their tummies!They loved living here. But I can't let them stay.They'll have to find food. And I hope that they may.Good luck, boys, he cried. And he sent them away.I, the Once-ler, felt sadas I watched them all go.BUT...business is business!And business must growregardless of crummies in tummies, you know.I meant no harm. I most truly did not.But I had to grow bigger. So bigger I got.I biggered my factory. I biggered my roads.I biggered my wagons. I biggered the loadsof the Thneeds I shipped out. I was shipping them forthto the South! To the East! To the West! To the North!I went right on biggering...selling more Thneeds.And I biggered my money, which everyone needs.Then again he came back! I was fixing some pipeswhen that old nuisance Lorax came back with more gripes.I am the Lorax, he coughed and he whiffed.He sneezed and he snuffled. He snarggled. He sniffed.Once-ler! he cried with a cruffulous croak.Once-ler! You're making such smogulous smoke!My poor Swomee-Swans...why, they can't sing a note!No one can sing who has smog in his throat.And so, said the Lorax,--please pardon my cough--they cannot live here.So I'm sending them off.Where will they go?...I don't hopefully know.They may have to fly for a month...or a year...To escape from the smog you've smogged-up around here.What's more, snapped the Lorax. (His dander was up.)Let me say a few words about Gluppity-Glupp.Your machinery chugs on, day and night without stopmaking Gluppity-Glup. Also Schloppity-Schlopp.And what do you do with this leftover goo?...I'll show you. You dirty old Once-ler man, you!You're glumping the pond where the Humming-Fish hummed!No more can they hum, for their gills are all gummed.So I'm sending them off. Oh, their future is dreary.They'll walk on their fins and get woefully wearyin search of some water that isn't so smeary.And then I got mad.I got terribly mad.I yelled at the Lorax, Now listen here, Dad!All you do is yap-yap and say, Bad! Bad! Bad! Bad!Well, I have my rights, sir, and I'm telling youI intend to go on doing just what I do!And, for your information, you Lorax, I'm figgeringon biggeringand Biggeringand BIGGERINGand BIGGERING!!turning MORE Truffula Trees into Thneedswhich everyone, EVERYONE, EVERYONE needs!And at that very moment, we heard a loud whack!From outside in the fields came a sickening smackaf an axe on a tree. Then we heard the tree fall.The very last Truffula Tree of them all!No more trees. No more Thneeds. No more work to be done.So, in no time, my uncles and aunts, every one,all waved my good-bye. They jumped into my carsand drove away under the smoke-smuggered stars.Now all that was left 'neath the bad-smelling skywas my big empty factory...the Lorax...and I.The Lorax said nothing. Just gave me a glance...just gave me a very sad, sad backward glance...as he lifted himself by the seat of his pants.And I'll never forget the grim look on his facewhen he hoisted himself and took leave of this place,through a hole in the smog, without leaving a trace.And all that the Lorax left here in this messwas a small pile of rocks, with one word...UNLESS.Whatever that meant, well, I just couldn't guess.That was long, long ago.But each day since that dayI've sat here and worriedand worried away.Through the years, while my buildingshave fallen apart,I've worried about itwith all of my heart.But now, says the Once-ler,Now that you're here,the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear.UNLESS someone like youcares a whole awful lot,nothing is going to get better.It's not.SO...Catch! calls the Once-ler.He lets something fall.It's a Truffula Seed.It's the last one of all!You're in charge of the last of the Truffula Seeds.And Truffula Trees are what everyone needs.Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care.Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air.Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack.Then the Loraxand all of his friendsmay come back.

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The birds are chirping or dead on the road.Men lie and women retreatFrom ties that bind and then slowly erodeIn Time and its chronic heat.Things have changed then changed again.Rested then raced, now at rest. Same as before except for the win;Resting as best of the best.
This is great. I like the "ties that bind and then slowly erode" line.
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This is great. I like the "ties that bind and then slowly erode" line.
Though I am, remarkably, unimpressed with my own work, it seems to be well excepted already. Which pisses me off because that is the ANTITHESIS OF DRAMA.
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Though I am, remarkably, unimpressed with my own work, it seems to be well excepted already. Which pisses me off because that is the ANTITHESIS OF DRAMA.
concur. snore.
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"Anger is the last resort of a limited mind."Dabney Coleman in Modern Problems 1981
I said that to my wife yesterday. She got even more pissed and I said "see" that's what I mean. I like to push her buttons.
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I said that to my wife yesterday. She got even more pissed and I said "see" that's what I mean. I like to push her buttons.
Seems like you are doing all you can to save the marriage.
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