u can take them off line but tell me if u did here is mine




William Wobbles McGreet measured 3.4 feet, and yet he felt strong and tall and not at all small, his confidence you could not beat. Young William McGreet would every day eat ten bowlfuls of shredded, dry wheat and he felt that this habit was the reason, dangnabit, for his confident view of himself.



At breakfast the table, with Will very able, three bowls of the wheat were expertly arranged. Though clearly deranged, his father would muse, Will ate fast with his hands, no spoon would he use, till the bowls were as clean as shined shoes. His sister Rebecca, who lived in Tribeca, would visit from school every now and again and she’d watch all agape like a shocked and stunned ape at her dear younger brother consume one bowl then another of dry-as-a-bone, tasty-as-Styrofoam grated, minced, chopped, destroyed shredded wheat.



“I love this!” Will cried, very most satisfied, as he wiped his mouth clean with his sleeve. “I can’t wait till lunch when I’ll stuff me a bunch of this joyous wheat stuff down my throat,” Will did gloat. “And for dinner,” he said with a tilt of his head, “I’ll have three more big bowls of it, and I’ll sleep through the night ‘cause my tummy’s just right and I’ll wake the next day oh-so-ready to say, “Mommie, I’ll have me some yum-yum good wheat!”



Mrs. Greta McGreet turned white as a sheet as she went through the grocery bills. “Four hundred dollars just on shredded wheat?! For the love of Sweet Pete, what are we to do with this Will wackadoo?” she asked of her husband, whose name was Ballou.



“What harm can it do?” asked kind sir Ballou. “It’s healthy, and though we’re not wealthy, we can afford to keep the wheat business in business ‘cause he doesn’t like truffles or potato-chip ruffles, he hates filet mignon and detests Grey Poupon, New England clam chowder and milk chocolate powder he turns up his nose to it all; so let him have this, yes, it goes on for days but it’s surely a faze, these silly displays are just part of plain growing up.”



But this went on for months, this consistent exhibit till one day it all stopped at once. William’s Mommie had read in Mommie Magazine that abnormal behavior that goes on too long should be looked at and poked at and thought of and taught of and stifled and stopped, if you please, then and there.



So, in the midst of his play, his Mommie one day decided to say, “Now Willy McGreet, I don’t think it’s sweet to eat shredded wheat ten times every day without one drop of milk.” She threw all the wheat out and, boy, did he pout and he stomped his feet hard on the ground.



“Fine, be that way,” was all Will could say, “if milk’s what you think I should drink then I’ll drink ten bowls of that like a cat till I’m fittingly fat and my skin turns as white as a bunny. Laugh, I don’t care if you think that it’s funny, I’ll drink nothing but milk from now on

so you create a story? Or do you edit your story? And is there a prize (not that I want a prize).

This message is hidden because this person has been banned.

"June 18, 2012 8:50:23pm""GLVXEX" Wrote:  so you create a story? Or do you edit your story? And is there a prize (not that I want a prize).

either or and prize is 50 coins and 100k money

"June 19, 2012 12:27:43am""I See You" Wrote:  I am starting a book. I have made one before =D

I made this 5 minutes ago.


The fear of the Axis


Chapter 1:
The silence of the sands

The guns roaring in the background, the sound of German gun shells piercing flesh, the screams of agony coming from men I grew to know and trust as they die. I thought that Today Jun 6th 1944 was the last day I was going to be alive. My life flashing before my very eyes as I lay awaiting someone to get through the German defences. Then out of nowhere I hear a scream, I quickly turn my head to see Private McDonald rush towards the German bunkers. There was a silence then the sound of the German mounted machine guns blasting away. Private McDonald ducked behind barbwire. Out of nowhere a squadron of Luftwaffe fighter’s carpet bomb the beach. Private McDonald was right in the middle of the action and did not make it out alive. Sergeant Francis comes up to me and says that I am in charge, I felt a massive amount of pressure on me.

verry good

bump


William Wobbles McGreet measured 3.4 feet, and yet he felt strong and tall and not at all small, his confidence you could not beat. Young William McGreet would every day eat ten bowlfuls of shredded, dry wheat and he felt that this habit was the reason, dangnabit, for his confident view of himself.



At breakfast the table, with Will very able, three bowls of the wheat were expertly arranged. Though clearly deranged, his father would muse, Will ate fast with his hands, no spoon would he use, till the bowls were as clean as shined shoes. His sister Rebecca, who lived in Tribeca, would visit from school every now and again and she’d watch all agape like a shocked and stunned ape at her dear younger brother consume one bowl then another of dry-as-a-bone, tasty-as-Styrofoam grated, minced, chopped, destroyed shredded wheat.



“I love this!” Will cried, very most satisfied, as he wiped his mouth clean with his sleeve. “I can’t wait till lunch when I’ll stuff me a bunch of this joyous wheat stuff down my throat,” Will did gloat. “And for dinner,” he said with a tilt of his head, “I’ll have three more big bowls of it, and I’ll sleep through the night ‘cause my tummy’s just right and I’ll wake the next day oh-so-ready to say, “Mommie, I’ll have me some yum-yum good wheat!”



Mrs. Greta McGreet turned white as a sheet as she went through the grocery bills. “Four hundred dollars just on shredded wheat?! For the love of Sweet Pete, what are we to do with this Will wackadoo?” she asked of her husband, whose name was Ballou.



“What harm can it do?” asked kind sir Ballou. “It’s healthy, and though we’re not wealthy, we can afford to keep the wheat business in business ‘cause he doesn’t like truffles or potato-chip ruffles, he hates filet mignon and detests Grey Poupon, New England clam chowder and milk chocolate powder he turns up his nose to it all; so let him have this, yes, it goes on for days but it’s surely a faze, these silly displays are just part of plain growing up.”



But this went on for months, this consistent exhibit till one day it all stopped at once. William’s Mommie had read in Mommie Magazine that abnormal behavior that goes on too long should be looked at and poked at and thought of and taught of and stifled and stopped, if you please, then and there.



So, in the midst of his play, his Mommie one day decided to say, “Now Willy McGreet, I don’t think it’s sweet to eat shredded wheat ten times every day without one drop of milk.” She threw all the wheat out and, boy, did he pout and he stomped his feet hard on the ground.



“Fine, be that way,” was all Will could say, “if milk’s what you think I should drink then I’ll drink ten bowls of that like a cat till I’m fittingly fat and my skin turns as white as a bunny. Laugh, I don’t care if you think that it’s funny, I’ll drink nothing but milk from now on

what are we supposed to do? I don't understand anything. Should we edit your story?

no just make a new story

This message is hidden because this person has been banned.

bump