ITT we go to http://www.plot-generator.org.uk/ and have it c

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>>34045029
http://www.plot-generator.org.uk/?i=97fh84
im gonna poz u up

you know it's actually a nice title.

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>>34045695
I mean mine book.

>>34045706
post a link to the story friend :^)

or at least a picture

>>34045848
it's absolute shit, just like your thread.

>>34045029
Elliot Rodger was thinking about Stacy Wantschad again. Stacy was a courageous coward with sticky eyelashes and fragile ankles.

Elliot walked over to the window and reflected on his magical surroundings. He had always loved idyllic Isla Vista with its tricky, thoughtless trees. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel sad.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a courageous figure of Stacy Wantschad.

Elliot gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a funny, kind, whiskey drinker with solid eyelashes and short ankles. His friends saw him as a hurt, harsh hero. Once, he had even rescued a tame injured bird from a burning building.

But not even a funny person who had once rescued a tame injured bird from a burning building, was prepared for what Stacy had in store today.

The sun shone like walking badgers, making Elliot calm. Elliot grabbed an enchanted record that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As Elliot stepped outside and Stacy came closer, he could see the xanthocarpous smile on her face.

"I am here because I want justice," Stacy bellowed, in a clever tone. She slammed her fist against Elliot's chest, with the force of 4492 dogs. "I frigging hate you, Elliot Rodger."

Elliot looked back, even more calm and still fingering the enchanted record. "Stacy, let's get married," he replied.

They looked at each other with stable feelings, like two rapid, rotten rats thinking at a very sympathetic Party, which had piano music playing in the background and two brave uncles eating to the beat.

Elliot studied Stacy's sticky eyelashes and fragile ankles. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you justice," he explained, in pitying tones.

Stacy looked lonely, her body raw like a grim, gigantic gun.

Elliot could actually hear Stacy's body shatter into 2198 pieces. Then the courageous coward hurried away into the distance.

cont.

Not even a glass of whiskey would calm Elliot's nerves tonight.

http://www.plot-generator.org.uk/6yma3e/curse-of-new-computer.html

This was the first time I created a story with this website.

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loI

its a story blox

>>34046056

>with the force of 4492 dogs
kek

http://www.plot-generator.org.uk/fje1u1/big-benis-jew.html

>>34046306
kek, that's actually pretty good

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poor guy watched men murder eachother

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>>34046464
>Truro
>Falmouth

Do I smell a fellow Kernow-fag?

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>>34045029
In a basement there lived a qt, dank wagie named Pepe The NEET. Not a roastie wagie, /comfy/ basement, filled with fedoras and an autistic smell, nor yet an euphoric, NEET, weeb basement with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a wagie-basement, and that means mountain dew.

One day, after a troubling visit from the normalfag Wojack The Wagie, Pepe leaves his basement and sets out in search of three memetic new balance shoes. A quest undertaken in the company of roasties, chads and reddit betas.

In the search for the normalfag-guarded new balance shoes, Pepe The NEET surprises even himself with his smugness and skill as a NEET.

During his travels, Pepe rescues a katana, an heirloom belonging to Wojack. But when Wojack refuses to try shitposting, their friendship is over.

However, Wojack is wounded at the Battle of beta uprising and the two reconcile just before Pepe engages in some serious shitposting.

Pepe accepts one of the three memetic new balance shoes and returns home to his basement a very wealthy wagie.

this reads like a mad libs

Anon had always hated close-knit Town with its narrow, noisy neighborhoods. It was a place where she felt depressed.

She was a tactless, splendid, soda drinker with spiky thighs and chubby toes. Her friends saw her as a loud, light lonely person. Once, she had even brought an unkempt old dog back from the brink of death. That's the sort of woman he was.

Anon walked over to the window and reflected on her obnoxious surroundings. The cloud teased like walking cats.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Mom . Mom was a selfish sad person with dirty thighs and wide toes.

Anon gulped. She was not prepared for Mom.

As Anon stepped outside and Mom came closer, she could see the clever smile on her face.

"Look Anon," growled Mom, with a rude glare that reminded Anon of selfish birds. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want for her to recover. You owe me 8532 dollar."

Anon looked back, even more tired and still fingering the crumpled piano. "Mom, I'm sorry," she replied.

They looked at each other with afraid feelings, like two damp, drab dogs bopping at a very thoughtless Christmas, which had trance music playing in the background and two controlling uncles talking to the beat.

Anon regarded Mom's dirty thighs and wide toes. "I don't have the funds ..." she lied.

Mom glared. "Do you want me to shove that crumpled piano where the sun don't shine?"

Anon promptly remembered her tactless and splendid values. "Actually, I do have the funds," she admitted. She reached into her pockets. "Here's what I owe you."

Mom looked stressed, her wallet blushing like a boiled, brawny banana.

Then Mom came inside for a nice drink of soda.

Filthy Helsinki
A Short Story
by John Doe

Sam Johnson looked at the hard phone in his hands and felt horny.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his ugly surroundings. He had always loved filthy Helsinki with its healthy, homely houses. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel horny.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Adam Breuer. Adam was an emotionless gorilla with ugly toes and hairy butt cheeks.

Sam gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a sexy, chubby, vodka drinker with slim toes and tall butt cheeks. His friends saw him as an alert, angry autist. Once, he had even rescued a vivacious normie from a burning building.

But not even a sexy person who had once rescued a vivacious normie from a burning building, was prepared for what Adam had in store today.

The smoke teased like stealing cows, making Sam scared.

As Sam stepped outside and Adam came closer, he could see the bulbous glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want money," Adam bellowed, in a depressed tone. He slammed his fist against Sam's chest, with the force of 5141 nigers. "I frigging love you, Sam Johnson."

Sam looked back, even more scared and still fingering the hard phone. "Adam, I don't hate you even though you're a ni*ger," he replied.

They looked at each other with aggressive feelings, like two mushy, mutated monkeys killing at a very stupid school shooting, which had earrape music playing in the background and two autistic uncles driving to the beat.

Sam regarded Adam's ugly toes and hairy butt cheeks. He held out his hand. "Let's not fight," he whispered, gently.

"Hmph," pondered Adam.

"Please?" begged Sam with puppy dog eyes.

Adam looked numb, his body blushing like a deep, damp dildo.

Then Adam came inside for a nice shot of vodka.
THE END

>>34045029
>no Neo noir option
Come one, those are the best robot tier movies

Anna Carlson looked at the shiny couch in her hands and felt angry.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her cheap surroundings. She had always loved big Wal-mart with its frantic, fried floors. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel angry.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Amelia Bekker. Amelia was a stupid dog with ugly breasts and hairy toes.

Anna gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a mean, grumpy, wodka drinker with muscular breasts and soft toes. Her friends saw her as a sturdy, screeching superstar. Once, she had even helped a scrawny duck recover from a flying accident.

But not even a mean person who had once helped a scrawny duck recover from a flying accident, was prepared for what Amelia had in store today.

The snow flurried like drowning butterflies, making Anna depressed.

As Anna stepped outside and Amelia came closer, she could see the wooden glint in her eye.

"I am here because I want money," Amelia bellowed, in a strange tone. She slammed her fist against Anna's chest, with the force of 3757 hamsters. "I frigging hate you, Anna Carlson."

Anna looked back, even more depressed and still fingering the shiny couch. "Amelia, I want to kill you," she replied.

They looked at each other with uncomfortable feelings, like two terrible, tense tigers screaming at a very disturbing party, which had black metal music playing in the background and two weird uncles jumping to the beat.

Suddenly, Amelia lunged forward and tried to punch Anna in the face. Quickly, Anna grabbed the shiny couch and brought it down on Amelia's skull.

Amelia's ugly breasts trembled and her hairy toes wobbled. She looked confused, her body raw like a plain, powerful pillow.

Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Amelia Bekker was dead.

Anna Carlson went back inside and made herself a nice drink of wodka.

THE END