Never ending story (ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah)

[Soulnet]

It was a dark and stormy entrance to the small town. The cemetery was foreboding of what lay ahead.
There was something a little different about this particular cemetery - it was sentient. The townspeople were blissfully unaware of this fact, going about their daily lives while the cemetery watched and waited. Then into town came Sentient Cemetery Man, and things were never the same again.

Sentient Cemetery Man was a lot like other Cemetery Men of the time, and yet in many ways - he was different. He walked with a swagger - one that belied his unusually short limbs.

In medieval times, sentient cemetery’s were quite common, then, suddenly, inexplicably, they dropped out of existence, but, due to the recent Pharanx phenomena, were now back, … and raising hell with a vengeance.

The sentient cemetery man wore a long trench coat. Funnily he was neither Marc Hunter or Keanu Reeves. His name was, in fact, Keanu Hunter, and with him he held an enormous secret so big that the sentience of the cemetery would seem trivial by comparison.

A secret so awesomely and ridiculously complicated, yet at the same time so very simple…

He walked slowly in the pouring rain, and then came to a stop. Pulling his hat tighter down onto his head, the water ran down over the brim and over his jacket. “I hate this cold rain,” he muttered to himself, “just as much as I hate this oblivious little town and it’s dull minded people as to the horrors that are contained within their neglected cemetery. I’ll show them” he chuckled to himself.

Continuing his slow trudge in sodden clothes, his shiny leather boots squeaking and squelching, he scanned the main road looking for a quiet pub to dry off and plot his reign of terror.

Finding the only pub in town, he walked in and found the locals discussing the likelihood of a football team called Richmond imploding yet again.

Mr Hunter asked the barman “why the long face?”

The barman turned slowly to face Hunter, a sneer forming on his hideously deformed face as he reached underneath the bar. Groping around under the bar whilst never allowing his eyes to stray from the menacing form of Sentient Cemetery Man, he finally found his lucky signed Rolf Harris photo. Satisfied that his lucky picture was still in it’s place, the barmans sneer turned to a smile. “why the long face? Because I’m feeling a little hoarse” he croaked. Regardless of his answer, after seeing that photo of Rolf Harris, Mr Hunter thought it was important to mention that he is 25 years old.

[pazza]

It was a dark and stormy entrance to the small town. The cemetery was foreboding of what lay ahead.
There was something a little different about this particular cemetery - it was sentient. The townspeople were blissfully unaware of this fact, going about their daily lives while the cemetery watched and waited. Then into town came Sentient Cemetery Man, and things were never the same again.

Sentient Cemetery Man was a lot like other Cemetery Men of the time, and yet in many ways - he was different. He walked with a swagger - one that belied his unusually short limbs.

In medieval times, sentient cemetery’s were quite common, then, suddenly, inexplicably, they dropped out of existence, but, due to the recent Pharanx phenomena, were now back, … and raising hell with a vengeance.

The sentient cemetery man wore a long trench coat. Funnily he was neither Marc Hunter or Keanu Reeves. His name was, in fact, Keanu Hunter, and with him he held an enormous secret so big that the sentience of the cemetery would seem trivial by comparison.

A secret so awesomely and ridiculously complicated, yet at the same time so very simple…

He walked slowly in the pouring rain, and then came to a stop. Pulling his hat tighter down onto his head, the water ran down over the brim and over his jacket. “I hate this cold rain,” he muttered to himself, “just as much as I hate this oblivious little town and it’s dull minded people as to the horrors that are contained within their neglected cemetery. I’ll show them” he chuckled to himself.

Continuing his slow trudge in sodden clothes, his shiny leather boots squeaking and squelching, he scanned the main road looking for a quiet pub to dry off and plot his reign of terror.

Finding the only pub in town, he walked in and found the locals discussing the likelihood of a football team called Richmond imploding yet again.

Mr Hunter asked the barman “why the long face?”

The barman turned slowly to face Hunter, a sneer forming on his hideously deformed face as he reached underneath the bar. Groping around under the bar whilst never allowing his eyes to stray from the menacing form of Sentient Cemetery Man, he finally found his lucky signed Rolf Harris photo. Satisfied that his lucky picture was still in it’s place, the barmans sneer turned to a smile. “why the long face? Because I’m feeling a little hoarse” he croaked. Regardless of his answer, after seeing that photo of Rolf Harris, Mr Hunter thought it was important to mention that he is 25 years old.

The barman’s response was one of sheer surprise “Well I guess I won’t ask for your i.d. then. What would you like to drink - the first is on the house”.

[brem06]

It was a dark and stormy entrance to the small town. The cemetery was foreboding of what lay ahead.
There was something a little different about this particular cemetery - it was sentient. The townspeople were blissfully unaware of this fact, going about their daily lives while the cemetery watched and waited. Then into town came Sentient Cemetery Man, and things were never the same again.

Sentient Cemetery Man was a lot like other Cemetery Men of the time, and yet in many ways - he was different. He walked with a swagger - one that belied his unusually short limbs.

In medieval times, sentient cemetery’s were quite common, then, suddenly, inexplicably, they dropped out of existence, but, due to the recent Pharanx phenomena, were now back, … and raising hell with a vengeance.

The sentient cemetery man wore a long trench coat. Funnily he was neither Marc Hunter or Keanu Reeves. His name was, in fact, Keanu Hunter, and with him he held an enormous secret so big that the sentience of the cemetery would seem trivial by comparison.

A secret so awesomely and ridiculously complicated, yet at the same time so very simple…

He walked slowly in the pouring rain, and then came to a stop. Pulling his hat tighter down onto his head, the water ran down over the brim and over his jacket. “I hate this cold rain,” he muttered to himself, “just as much as I hate this oblivious little town and it’s dull minded people as to the horrors that are contained within their neglected cemetery. I’ll show them” he chuckled to himself.

Continuing his slow trudge in sodden clothes, his shiny leather boots squeaking and squelching, he scanned the main road looking for a quiet pub to dry off and plot his reign of terror.

Finding the only pub in town, he walked in and found the locals discussing the likelihood of a football team called Richmond imploding yet again.

Mr Hunter asked the barman “why the long face?”

The barman turned slowly to face Hunter, a sneer forming on his hideously deformed face as he reached underneath the bar. Groping around under the bar whilst never allowing his eyes to stray from the menacing form of Sentient Cemetery Man, he finally found his lucky signed Rolf Harris photo. Satisfied that his lucky picture was still in it’s place, the barmans sneer turned to a smile. “why the long face? Because I’m feeling a little hoarse” he croaked. Regardless of his answer, after seeing that photo of Rolf Harris, Mr Hunter thought it was important to mention that he is 25 years old.

The barman’s response was one of sheer surprise “Well I guess I won’t ask for your i.d. then. What would you like to drink - the first is on the house”.

“A Double Wobbleboard” replied Hunter, “on the rocks”.

[Soulnet]

It was a dark and stormy entrance to the small town. The cemetery was foreboding of what lay ahead.
There was something a little different about this particular cemetery - it was sentient. The townspeople were blissfully unaware of this fact, going about their daily lives while the cemetery watched and waited. Then into town came Sentient Cemetery Man, and things were never the same again.

Sentient Cemetery Man was a lot like other Cemetery Men of the time, and yet in many ways - he was different. He walked with a swagger - one that belied his unusually short limbs.

In medieval times, sentient cemetery’s were quite common, then, suddenly, inexplicably, they dropped out of existence, but, due to the recent Pharanx phenomena, were now back, … and raising hell with a vengeance.

The sentient cemetery man wore a long trench coat. Funnily he was neither Marc Hunter or Keanu Reeves. His name was, in fact, Keanu Hunter, and with him he held an enormous secret so big that the sentience of the cemetery would seem trivial by comparison.

A secret so awesomely and ridiculously complicated, yet at the same time so very simple…

He walked slowly in the pouring rain, and then came to a stop. Pulling his hat tighter down onto his head, the water ran down over the brim and over his jacket. “I hate this cold rain,” he muttered to himself, “just as much as I hate this oblivious little town and it’s dull minded people as to the horrors that are contained within their neglected cemetery. I’ll show them” he chuckled to himself.

Continuing his slow trudge in sodden clothes, his shiny leather boots squeaking and squelching, he scanned the main road looking for a quiet pub to dry off and plot his reign of terror.

Finding the only pub in town, he walked in and found the locals discussing the likelihood of a football team called Richmond imploding yet again.

Mr Hunter asked the barman “why the long face?”

The barman turned slowly to face Hunter, a sneer forming on his hideously deformed face as he reached underneath the bar. Groping around under the bar whilst never allowing his eyes to stray from the menacing form of Sentient Cemetery Man, he finally found his lucky signed Rolf Harris photo. Satisfied that his lucky picture was still in it’s place, the barmans sneer turned to a smile. “why the long face? Because I’m feeling a little hoarse” he croaked. Regardless of his answer, after seeing that photo of Rolf Harris, Mr Hunter thought it was important to mention that he is 25 years old.

The barman’s response was one of sheer surprise “Well I guess I won’t ask for your i.d. then. What would you like to drink - the first is on the house”.

“A Double Wobbleboard” replied Hunter, “on the rocks”. The barman quickly mixed the drink and pointed him towards the deck outside.

[Yossarian]

It was a dark and stormy entrance to the small town. The cemetery was foreboding of what lay ahead.
There was something a little different about this particular cemetery - it was sentient. The townspeople were blissfully unaware of this fact, going about their daily lives while the cemetery watched and waited. Then into town came Sentient Cemetery Man, and things were never the same again.

Sentient Cemetery Man was a lot like other Cemetery Men of the time, and yet in many ways - he was different. He walked with a swagger - one that belied his unusually short limbs.

In medieval times, sentient cemetery’s were quite common, then, suddenly, inexplicably, they dropped out of existence, but, due to the recent Pharanx phenomena, were now back, … and raising hell with a vengeance.

The sentient cemetery man wore a long trench coat. Funnily he was neither Marc Hunter or Keanu Reeves. His name was, in fact, Keanu Hunter, and with him he held an enormous secret so big that the sentience of the cemetery would seem trivial by comparison.

A secret so awesomely and ridiculously complicated, yet at the same time so very simple…

He walked slowly in the pouring rain, and then came to a stop. Pulling his hat tighter down onto his head, the water ran down over the brim and over his jacket. “I hate this cold rain,” he muttered to himself, “just as much as I hate this oblivious little town and it’s dull minded people as to the horrors that are contained within their neglected cemetery. I’ll show them” he chuckled to himself.

Continuing his slow trudge in sodden clothes, his shiny leather boots squeaking and squelching, he scanned the main road looking for a quiet pub to dry off and plot his reign of terror.

Finding the only pub in town, he walked in and found the locals discussing the likelihood of a football team called Richmond imploding yet again.

Mr Hunter asked the barman “why the long face?”

The barman turned slowly to face Hunter, a sneer forming on his hideously deformed face as he reached underneath the bar. Groping around under the bar whilst never allowing his eyes to stray from the menacing form of Sentient Cemetery Man, he finally found his lucky signed Rolf Harris photo. Satisfied that his lucky picture was still in it’s place, the barmans sneer turned to a smile. “why the long face? Because I’m feeling a little hoarse” he croaked. Regardless of his answer, after seeing that photo of Rolf Harris, Mr Hunter thought it was important to mention that he is 25 years old.

The barman’s response was one of sheer surprise “Well I guess I won’t ask for your i.d. then. What would you like to drink - the first is on the house”.

“A Double Wobbleboard” replied Hunter, “on the rocks”. The barman quickly mixed the drink and pointed him towards the deck outside. Mr Hunter decided against going out because, as mentioned earlier, it was raining outside and he had entered the bar to dry off, so he remained at the bar. Besides, he had something very important he wanted to ask the barman.

[Soulnet]

Oh yeah, I forgot about that!

[Deckham]

It was a dark and stormy entrance to the small town. The cemetery was foreboding of what lay ahead.
There was something a little different about this particular cemetery - it was sentient. The townspeople were blissfully unaware of this fact, going about their daily lives while the cemetery watched and waited. Then into town came Sentient Cemetery Man, and things were never the same again.

Sentient Cemetery Man was a lot like other Cemetery Men of the time, and yet in many ways - he was different. He walked with a swagger - one that belied his unusually short limbs.

In medieval times, sentient cemetery’s were quite common, then, suddenly, inexplicably, they dropped out of existence, but, due to the recent Pharanx phenomena, were now back, … and raising hell with a vengeance.

The sentient cemetery man wore a long trench coat. Funnily he was neither Marc Hunter or Keanu Reeves. His name was, in fact, Keanu Hunter, and with him he held an enormous secret so big that the sentience of the cemetery would seem trivial by comparison.

A secret so awesomely and ridiculously complicated, yet at the same time so very simple…

He walked slowly in the pouring rain, and then came to a stop. Pulling his hat tighter down onto his head, the water ran down over the brim and over his jacket. “I hate this cold rain,” he muttered to himself, “just as much as I hate this oblivious little town and it’s dull minded people as to the horrors that are contained within their neglected cemetery. I’ll show them” he chuckled to himself.

Continuing his slow trudge in sodden clothes, his shiny leather boots squeaking and squelching, he scanned the main road looking for a quiet pub to dry off and plot his reign of terror.

Finding the only pub in town, he walked in and found the locals discussing the likelihood of a football team called Richmond imploding yet again.

Mr Hunter asked the barman “why the long face?”

The barman turned slowly to face Hunter, a sneer forming on his hideously deformed face as he reached underneath the bar. Groping around under the bar whilst never allowing his eyes to stray from the menacing form of Sentient Cemetery Man, he finally found his lucky signed Rolf Harris photo. Satisfied that his lucky picture was still in it’s place, the barmans sneer turned to a smile. “why the long face? Because I’m feeling a little hoarse” he croaked. Regardless of his answer, after seeing that photo of Rolf Harris, Mr Hunter thought it was important to mention that he is 25 years old.

The barman’s response was one of sheer surprise “Well I guess I won’t ask for your i.d. then. What would you like to drink - the first is on the house”.

“A Double Wobbleboard” replied Hunter, “on the rocks”. The barman quickly mixed the drink and pointed him towards the deck outside. Mr Hunter decided against going out because, as mentioned earlier, it was raining outside and he had entered the bar to dry off, so he remained at the bar. Besides, he had something very important he wanted to ask the barman.

“Soooooo, tell me, you ugly muthafuker - what brings a stinking bag of shiite like you out this way?”
Sentient Cemetery Man did not mince words.

[Reboot]

It was a dark and stormy entrance to the small town. The cemetery was foreboding of what lay ahead.
There was something a little different about this particular cemetery - it was sentient. The townspeople were blissfully unaware of this fact, going about their daily lives while the cemetery watched and waited. Then into town came Sentient Cemetery Man, and things were never the same again.

Sentient Cemetery Man was a lot like other Cemetery Men of the time, and yet in many ways - he was different. He walked with a swagger - one that belied his unusually short limbs.

In medieval times, sentient cemetery’s were quite common, then, suddenly, inexplicably, they dropped out of existence, but, due to the recent Pharanx phenomena, were now back, … and raising hell with a vengeance.

The sentient cemetery man wore a long trench coat. Funnily he was neither Marc Hunter or Keanu Reeves. His name was, in fact, Keanu Hunter, and with him he held an enormous secret so big that the sentience of the cemetery would seem trivial by comparison.

A secret so awesomely and ridiculously complicated, yet at the same time so very simple…

He walked slowly in the pouring rain, and then came to a stop. Pulling his hat tighter down onto his head, the water ran down over the brim and over his jacket. “I hate this cold rain,” he muttered to himself, “just as much as I hate this oblivious little town and it’s dull minded people as to the horrors that are contained within their neglected cemetery. I’ll show them” he chuckled to himself.

Continuing his slow trudge in sodden clothes, his shiny leather boots squeaking and squelching, he scanned the main road looking for a quiet pub to dry off and plot his reign of terror.

Finding the only pub in town, he walked in and found the locals discussing the likelihood of a football team called Richmond imploding yet again.

Mr Hunter asked the barman “why the long face?”

The barman turned slowly to face Hunter, a sneer forming on his hideously deformed face as he reached underneath the bar. Groping around under the bar whilst never allowing his eyes to stray from the menacing form of Sentient Cemetery Man, he finally found his lucky signed Rolf Harris photo. Satisfied that his lucky picture was still in it’s place, the barmans sneer turned to a smile. “why the long face? Because I’m feeling a little hoarse” he croaked. Regardless of his answer, after seeing that photo of Rolf Harris, Mr Hunter thought it was important to mention that he is 25 years old.

The barman’s response was one of sheer surprise “Well I guess I won’t ask for your i.d. then. What would you like to drink - the first is on the house”.

“A Double Wobbleboard” replied Hunter, “on the rocks”. The barman quickly mixed the drink and pointed him towards the deck outside. Mr Hunter decided against going out because, as mentioned earlier, it was raining outside and he had entered the bar to dry off, so he remained at the bar. Besides, he had something very important he wanted to ask the barman.

“Soooooo, tell me, you ugly muthafuker - what brings a stinking bag of shiite like you out this way?”
Sentient Cemetery Man did not mince words.

“15 years ago my 20 year old twin brothers disappeared, and one was later found to have been buried alive in the cemetery up the road” said the barman, with a tear rolling down his hideously scarred cheek from his one good eye.

[Soulnet]

It was a dark and stormy entrance to the small town. The cemetery was foreboding of what lay ahead.
There was something a little different about this particular cemetery - it was sentient. The townspeople were blissfully unaware of this fact, going about their daily lives while the cemetery watched and waited. Then into town came Sentient Cemetery Man, and things were never the same again.

Sentient Cemetery Man was a lot like other Cemetery Men of the time, and yet in many ways - he was different. He walked with a swagger - one that belied his unusually short limbs.

In medieval times, sentient cemetery’s were quite common, then, suddenly, inexplicably, they dropped out of existence, but, due to the recent Pharanx phenomena, were now back, … and raising hell with a vengeance.

The sentient cemetery man wore a long trench coat. Funnily he was neither Marc Hunter or Keanu Reeves. His name was, in fact, Keanu Hunter, and with him he held an enormous secret so big that the sentience of the cemetery would seem trivial by comparison.

A secret so awesomely and ridiculously complicated, yet at the same time so very simple…

He walked slowly in the pouring rain, and then came to a stop. Pulling his hat tighter down onto his head, the water ran down over the brim and over his jacket. “I hate this cold rain,” he muttered to himself, “just as much as I hate this oblivious little town and it’s dull minded people as to the horrors that are contained within their neglected cemetery. I’ll show them” he chuckled to himself.

Continuing his slow trudge in sodden clothes, his shiny leather boots squeaking and squelching, he scanned the main road looking for a quiet pub to dry off and plot his reign of terror.

Finding the only pub in town, he walked in and found the locals discussing the likelihood of a football team called Richmond imploding yet again.

Mr Hunter asked the barman “why the long face?”

The barman turned slowly to face Hunter, a sneer forming on his hideously deformed face as he reached underneath the bar. Groping around under the bar whilst never allowing his eyes to stray from the menacing form of Sentient Cemetery Man, he finally found his lucky signed Rolf Harris photo. Satisfied that his lucky picture was still in it’s place, the barmans sneer turned to a smile. “why the long face? Because I’m feeling a little hoarse” he croaked. Regardless of his answer, after seeing that photo of Rolf Harris, Mr Hunter thought it was important to mention that he is 25 years old.

The barman’s response was one of sheer surprise “Well I guess I won’t ask for your i.d. then. What would you like to drink - the first is on the house”.

“A Double Wobbleboard” replied Hunter, “on the rocks”. The barman quickly mixed the drink and pointed him towards the deck outside. Mr Hunter decided against going out because, as mentioned earlier, it was raining outside and he had entered the bar to dry off, so he remained at the bar. Besides, he had something very important he wanted to ask the barman.

“Soooooo, tell me, you ugly muthafuker - what brings a stinking bag of shiite like you out this way?”
Sentient Cemetery Man did not mince words.

“15 years ago my 20 year old twin brothers disappeared, and one was later found to have been buried alive in the cemetery up the road” said the barman, with a tear rolling down his hideously scarred cheek from his one good eye. Have you seen him?

[BLOODSTAINED_DEVILS]

Chapter Two.

Jenny used to be a good girl, if her parents could see her now, ski mask & sawn off shotgun in hand, they would simply not recognise her, … because she had a ski mask on…

[brem06]

Chapter Two.

Jenny used to be a good girl, if her parents could see her now, ski mask & sawn off shotgun in hand, they would simply not recognise her, … because she had a ski mask on…

The decision to use sawn off shot guns in the biathlon had caused controversy at the time, and the deaths at the Thredbo Winter Olympics of 2038 had almost seen the removal of the weapons, but just 12 short years later, significant improvements in gun safety were starting to reduce Olympic related deaths.

[chilly_b]

Chapter Two.

Jenny used to be a good girl, if her parents could see her now, ski mask & sawn off shotgun in hand, they would simply not recognise her, … because she had a ski mask on…

The decision to use sawn off shot guns in the biathlon had caused controversy at the time, and the deaths at the Thredbo Winter Olympics of 2038 had almost seen the removal of the weapons, but just 12 short years later, significant improvements in gun safety were starting to reduce Olympic related deaths.
Suddenly the phone rang, and a voice on the other end said " is this 8675309?"

[Yossarian]

Chapter Two.

Jenny used to be a good girl, if her parents could see her now, ski mask & sawn off shotgun in hand, they would simply not recognise her, … because she had a ski mask on…

The decision to use sawn off shot guns in the biathlon had caused controversy at the time, and the deaths at the Thredbo Winter Olympics of 2038 had almost seen the removal of the weapons, but just 12 short years later, significant improvements in gun safety were starting to reduce Olympic related deaths.
Suddenly the phone rang, and a voice on the other end said " is this 8675309?"
“This better be important Tommy, I’m in the middle of competition here”
“well” said the voice on the other end, "i just called to say…

[Soulnet]

Chapter Two.

Jenny used to be a good girl, if her parents could see her now, ski mask & sawn off shotgun in hand, they would simply not recognise her, … because she had a ski mask on…

The decision to use sawn off shot guns in the biathlon had caused controversy at the time, and the deaths at the Thredbo Winter Olympics of 2038 had almost seen the removal of the weapons, but just 12 short years later, significant improvements in gun safety were starting to reduce Olympic related deaths.
Suddenly the phone rang, and a voice on the other end said " is this 8675309?"
“This better be important Tommy, I’m in the middle of competition here”
“well” said the voice on the other end, “i just called to say…I used to work on the docks, Union’s been on strike, I’m down on my luck, It’s tough, so tough.”

[Chris_1993]

Chapter Two.

Jenny used to be a good girl, if her parents could see her now, ski mask & sawn off shotgun in hand, they would simply not recognise her, … because she had a ski mask on…

The decision to use sawn off shot guns in the biathlon had caused controversy at the time, and the deaths at the Thredbo Winter Olympics of 2038 had almost seen the removal of the weapons, but just 12 short years later, significant improvements in gun safety were starting to reduce Olympic related deaths.
Suddenly the phone rang, and a voice on the other end said " is this 8675309?"
“This better be important Tommy, I’m in the middle of competition here”
“well” said the voice on the other end, “i just called to say…I used to work on the docks, Union’s been on strike, I’m down on my luck, It’s tough, so tough.”

Jenny was startled “Have you got the right number tommy, I think you will find Gina is 5319”. Tommy laughed “Ohh, my mistake. Well if you ever need anything Jenny, I’m here for you…alllllwayyyssss”.

[Soulnet]

Chapter Three.

Once upon a time there was a knight named Francis.

[Yossarian]

Chapter Three.

Once upon a time there was a knight named Francis. Sir Francis was a knight in a once great kingdom that had fallen on hard times after the prince was deceived by a diabolical alchemist, the result of which saw the prince become an outcast and many citizens leave.

[chilly_b]

Chapter Three.

Once upon a time there was a knight named Francis. Sir Francis was a knight in a once great kingdom that had fallen on hard times after the prince was deceived by a diabolical alchemist, the result of which saw the prince become an outcast and many citizens leave.
Damn that faulty gate latch…

[Soulnet]

Chapter Three.

Once upon a time there was a knight named Francis. Sir Francis was a knight in a once great kingdom that had fallen on hard times after the prince was deceived by a diabolical alchemist, the result of which saw the prince become an outcast and many citizens leave.
“Damn that faulty gate latch.” said the diabolical alchemist. “It’s as though you need to be shot in the head before someone comes and fixes it”.

[Soulnet]

Just a suggestion, can we make sentences that give the next person a chance to continue the story? Ta.