Road Trip postcards: Death by Cliché

StoryG27

Miss Behave
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Anything could be a mass hallucination. For all I know, AW doesn't even exist and I'm just typing away on my oversized calculator, thinking I am surrounded by many online friends.
 

StoryG27

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And you.



This is almost bleak and twisted enough to belong here in scriptedness.
 

Unique

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Well, of course I have 70 mill in my bank account - I'm the guy making the film!

Now gettha beelpin'-bleep outta my office!

fine! be that way.

Well, you guys need to agree amongst yourselves what constitutes a muffin and just what muffins you'd be willing to give up. Or not.
!

muffin, schmuffin! I thot U wuz mai muffin, chris. <snif>

lies. it was all lies. wherez that cucmber muffin sg?
 

StoryG27

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lies. it was all lies. wherez that cucmber muffin sg?
She's been drinking again. Cucumber muffin. Poor, sad, silly girl, I know not what thou means.
 

Ol' Fashioned Girl

Hand? What hand?
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Now... back to me.

Where's Gerry? Where's my customized dressing room? Where's my caterer?

And, more importantly, where's my lawyer?

What's my part? Where's the script? I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Work!
 

SpookyWriter

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Just 'cause they're invisible don't mean they're inaudible. Them bastids get loud when they get ticked off.
Would they be nervous ticks?

The Nervous Tick

His eyes bulged, terrified, from the pressure I placed on his spine. He gulped, I know he did -- although I couldn't be sure -- and then took a deep breath as I squeezed tightly. A droplet of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

He twitched again. I felt him.
 

Haggis

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*waits impatiently at bus stop*

Where the hell's the bus? We're supposed to be leaving now.

*paces back and forth*

And where are we going, anyhow?

*looks at sign*

shitseeing.jpg
 

Robert Toy

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*waits impatiently at bus stop*

Where the hell's the bus? We're supposed to be leaving now.

*paces back and forth*

And where are we going, anyhow?

*looks at sign*
Don't forget, right to left.
 

clockwork

In the zone...
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Now... back to me.

Where's Gerry? Where's my customized dressing room? Where's my caterer?

And, more importantly, where's my lawyer?

What's my part? Where's the script? I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Work!

I'm sorry. I don't think this movie idea is going to happen. I'm just gonna have to cash the seventy mill and put it to good use myself.

Don't feel bad, these things hardly ever get made. Next stop: development hell!!! (aka Poetry)
 

clockwork

In the zone...
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GASP!

Jon's in Dublin?!! That's barely 140 miles from me!

*cranks siren and initiates standard Grandpa drill...

"Everybody into the basement!!"
 

Haggis

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I'm sorry. I don't think this movie idea is going to happen. I'm just gonna have to cash the seventy mill and put it to good use myself.

Don't feel bad, these things hardly ever get made. Next stop: development hell!!! (aka Poetry)

Poetry? But I can't rhyme.