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Hi everyone!

I'd like to play a simple game for anyone interested: Let's write a story one sentence at at time. It can be as serious, or as silly, as we want. Let's also do our best to follow the rules of grammar and typography. I hope this will be a fun exercise for everyone involved.

Rules:

1. When posting, reply directly to the most recently posted message.

2. Avoid typos and grammatical errors. Do not post run-on sentences.

3. Do not edit your message after posting, unless you want to correct any typos or grammatical errors.

4. Wait at least one hour after posting a reply to let others have a chance.

5. Do not reply directly to yourself.

6. Adhere to the site rules and regulations (obviously).

 

I'll start:

John woke up early to start his Saturday morning routine.

Eggs, toast, coffee, and the news on the screen.

Then he brushed his teeth, all nice, white and clean.

John prided himself on his meticulous nature knowing that any misstep or mis-ordered action could lead his whole day into chaos.

Unfortunately, other ideas had his wife, Eos.

'Other Ideas' was the pseudonym of the government agent assigned to survey him through his laptop's camera.

Unbeknownst to John, he had met the government agent before despite not knowing the truth of Eos's whereabouts.

The agent, codenamed "Other Ideas", was in fact John's estranged six-year-old son, named Jason.

"How did a six-year-old end up a government agent?" You may be wondering

It turns out that the person who hired him has syphilitic insanity and thought Jason would be a great government agent at his age.

And despite the source of that insanity, Jason inherited it, this isn't that kind of sicko story.

"You gotta start them early," the father of the government agent's leader would say.

But those were his last words before the government assassinated him, as they didn't want the new agent to have any familial connections that could be used against him.

Well, the last of his own words, as he was in Australia, and was quickly reanimated by sentient spiders that have him continuing his regular government duties.

Contemplating the bizarre nature of his predicament, John started to plan how to get his wife, Eos, back home.

He finally finished brushing his teeth, spit, rinsed, and prepared to face the day.

Feeling a sudden spark of whimsy, he took a razor blade out of his back pocket and ran it lengthwise down his pretty wrists.

He then finishes up shaving his arms, now all shiny smooth.

He shaves his legs and the rest of his body, becoming completely hairless.

As he lay on the floor bleeding out from his wounds, he contemplated how nicely the blood worked as a shaving lubricant.

Then Eos walked in, started patch up his various wounds while saying, "You're batty, you know that? The spiders reanimated you so this is all just a waste of time. Now get your lazy ass to work at the government office."

"I hate spiders, they creep me out, " he exclaimed as he dragged himself off the floor, noticing as he stood up that it felt like millions of the tiny things were crawling throughout his body under his skin.

"It's just the anemia," he said aloud, to no one in particular.

Eos contemplated divorce after he said that dumb line.

Then she said to herself, "Well, he's Dutch, I don't know why I expect anything from him."

But she had married him for his preternatural artistry with earwax sculpting, not his brains or nationality; though some of the spiders animating him were wittier conversationalists than others.

The poor Dutch idiot savant picked himself up and stumbled towards his car, fearing the wrath of his wife should he choose not to go to work.

His vehicle of choice was a 2010 Kia Soul with a bright red chrome wrap and a bumper sticker that said, 'HOT GIRLS HIT CURBS'.

The spiders made him dyslexic, so he thought the speed limit in the school zone was 52.