Emotional stories about things next to you.

[demondude]

Look to your right and pick up the first object that comes to your attention. Write a story about your adventures with that object and what it means to you.

To my right is a roll of toilet paper. When my nose was particularly runny, I found that I ran out of normal tissues, and so I procured a new roll of toilet paper from my house. In a way this is beautiful because I have saved him from a grim future - born and raised to clean the backside, he has found a new hope in my nose. His family, tragically, died two weeks ago, and he is the last remaining member of the pack. We help each other out a lot, because I secured him a hopeful and cleaner future, and he gives me softness, warmth, and some of himself to put down my trousers when I'm out.

I am not sitting on the toilet, btw.

This is a portrait photo of him.

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_T1d2ZFAQwCs/SffOdBaDfaI/AAAAAAAAACk/gKciffBzJT8/s320/toilet-paper.jpg

This was taken at his birthday party.

http://reichcomm.typepad.com/.a/6a00d83451bafe69e20134888994d8970c-300wi

I love this one. He's so shy!

http://www.originalplumbing.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/toilet_paper.jpeg

Now it's your turns!

[Parker]

My beer.

My beer is almost empty. He is like me in that regard, but he doesn't care about that. I found him in a closet of the house I'm looking after. Stored with 35 of his brothers for Christmas. Christmas last year. He was forgotten due to human distractions and problems he does not care to hear (his brothers, maybe 4 or 6 or 8 of them later, may have had to sit through tales of these kinds of problems, were they in another home). I chilled him, which pleased him. He exists for my enjoyment and he is best enjoyed chilled. I drank the last drops of him as I wrote this post and now he is gone.

[blackmage_nuke]

"My" stapler.

Once belonging to a fair and caring owner, this stapler had it's own little compartment on a stationary tray. All was well until the owner's evil brother came along and snatched it from the clutches of comfort. Now it has been thrown about, made to share living space with the filthy lesser stationary on my slum of a desk and lost under piles of books crushing it's body and it's spirit. How it yearns for the life it once lived but with no arms or legs it knows not if it will ever find freedom once more. It sits to the right of his new evil overlord, terrified of what terrible fate I will inflict on him next.

[Peegee]

I'm right handed with mice, and I bet most of us are as well.

That said, I have a water bottle! I'm going to smush zombies with it

http://gatoradewaterbottles.org/img/gatorade_water_bottles-1.jpg

as you can see the drinking spout is smaller, thus allowing me to grasp it with ease. It also makes the club side larger for smushing zombie skulls

You may wonder how a water bottle can kill zombies. I filled the water bottle with weights from my gym set.

http://i52.:bou::bou::bou::bou::bou::bou::bou::bou::bou::bou::bou::bou:/b4g6yg.jpg

You wanna mess? I'll bludgeon you in the nose! >: o

[Bubba]

"Reggie the deformed ornamental Giraffe"

Reggie's story is a sad tale. Most giraffe's enjoy a happy and playful childhood. Frolicking in the err... Jungle? The fact that Reggie was born as an ornament put him at an immediate disadvantage. None of the other baby giraffe's would play with him... mainly because he just sat there and never moved.

As you can see from the following picture, Reggie's general appearance is embarrassing at best... and patently obscene at worst. Let's forego the fact that his front and back legs are joined together... and go straight to distinctive red, green, blue and yellow spots... which are remarkable effective for camouflaging him against f*** all...
http://forums.eyesonff.com/webkit-fake-url://6151744D-261A-4F12-9BCF-710F24A7CA39/$(KGrHqN,!ksE2I4LseFQBN)t3ugfBg~~_35.JPG.jpg
To top things off, Reggie has been living in a student flat for the past 12 months. The constant aroma of Marijuana in the air has had a drastic effect on his eyes

...also the end of his nose looks exactly like the end of a penis...

But we still love you Reggie!

[Jiro]

My pillow

My pillow and I have had a lot of adventures. From the time we first met, in the bedding store, being served by the slightly insane cashier to the time we went camping in the yard and it was too cold, so I went back inside. My pillow is always there for me, no matter what, no matter where. His lovely blue colouring reminds me of my duties as a moderator each and every morning, causing me to curse, regret my whole life, and steal a few more sneaky Zs.

My pillow has often held onto wads of cash, protecting them from my brother who tends to pay for his drugs with my money. If only my pillow could kick him in the balls or something, to help a brother out some more.

My pillow is currently spooning with my iPod and they look like such a lovely couple.

[Martyr]

The Pile of Mail

Unnoticed. Untouched. The pile of mail grows and grows, but nobody takes interest.
Old bank and credit statements sit in the basket. Sometimes littered with assorted paper trash.
Envelopes that document my private information lie forever unopened.
My computer tells me all I need to know.
My computer erases the data on a screen; these papers only waste space.
My computer protects my secret numbers; they are a key to identity theft.
Between the day they are sent and the day they arrive, their usefulness fades away.
And one day, when I visit my ranch up the road, I shall burn them all in a bonfire. Their existence amounting to nothing but an annoyance, as I do not appreciate the black paper ash, the green flames licking the envelope plastic and the interruption between burning logs and cooking marshmallows over an open flame.

[Laddy]

There is nothing there, you jerk! :mad2:

[Pike]

The Pile of Mail

Unnoticed. Untouched. The pile of mail grows and grows, but nobody takes interest.
Old bank and credit statements sit in the basket. Sometimes littered with assorted paper trash.
Envelopes that document my private information lie forever unopened.
My computer tells me all I need to know.
My computer erases the data on a screen; these papers only waste space.
My computer protects my secret numbers; they are a key to identity theft.
Between the day they are sent and the day they arrive, their usefulness fades away.
And one day, when I visit my ranch up the road, I shall burn them all in a bonfire. Their existence amounting to nothing but an annoyance, as I do not appreciate the black paper ash, the green flames licking the envelope plastic and the interruption between burning logs and cooking marshmallows over an open flame.

This is exactly what's to my right as well. And it's completely accurate. Down to the letter.ba dum psh

[Madonna]

He stands there, nervous. He feels the sweat condensating on his skin; he knows what is going to happen. He knows it has happened today already once, twice, thrice times. He can feel the blunt metal against his skull and tries not to imagine what is going to happen, what is about to happen. He has seen the empty husks of the fellows with whom he was once encaged and he has deduced what is to come. He knows there is nothing to be done which can stop this, but he knows he wants it to stop at all costs. He wonders if his Creator meant this to happen and he thinks this is not what his Creator means to happen. He feels and thinks all of this, waiting for the end.

It comes quickly. Suddenly, he feels himself enveloped, firmly rendered immobile. The instrument which lay idle at his head then lurches to use, and he feels what amounted to a galaxy-sized hammer coming down. His body loses a hermetic seal, he screams and then he knows nothing.

He was a Coke can.