The SCOURIES reader – for both fans and serious scholars…

Shitting_Bull said:

Don't forget the part about how Kat bought into a porn site and became the most prolific author on that website, posting stories under a plethora of award-winning alts. Of course, most of those stories received impossibly astronomical ratings that only her mother would believe.

This is truth is stranger than fiction, correct? Then I might point out that the closest Cloudy has ever gotten to a real Indian is watching the movie Gandhi.

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sweetsubsarahh said:

This post has been reported.

You couldn't brag on your stories without making racial attacks?

Pathetic.

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Shitting_Bull said:

You cloudy clones are friggin hilarious. Not.

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TxRad said:

This I want left up..... It points out just how little you read and comprehend....

Now go delete the rest of your crap but this stays for anyone who actually reads this thread. You twist words but you can't twist these....

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the_AntiKKK said:

Cloudy and my fellow authors & poets, don't let this guy get to you.

Have a nice evening, everyone.

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Avery_Reynolds said:

He Who Would Be King

In a land not too far away, a small band of jolly revelers lived. It was a small place but home to so many, always with more than enough of the necessities for any who decided to join in. The original band always welcomed the new with warm hellos and smiles, sometimes warning them of the few simple rules necessary to keep all happy.

"Never wear pink," one would advise.

"Don't use words of the bigot," another would say. Then they would smile and hold out their arms, accepting the new with a light heart.

It went this way for a while, though all was not always happy there. Occasionally the wicked and untrue would join the fold, sneaking in under the guise of legitimacy.

One such pretender became well-known in the land of the revelers, as well known as one could be due in whole to her lies. For she skulked in under the guise of a woman, but in his duplicity and stupidity, he didn't realize that women were born with two breasts, not the one that he'd given to himself. The first time he removed his cloak, his lie was revealed and he was laughed out of the land of the revelers. He ran, covering his single breast, a strange sound coming from between his lips that sounded as if he were screaming "gangbang".

Left behind were his long red wig – showing off his bald pate – and the girdle that he'd worn to hold in his burgeoning waistline. Those items the revelers displayed in the museum, along with a picture of the single breast, saggy and brown-nippled with three long hairs coming from the areola.

It was quiet for a while, though small spats would erupt upon occasion, short lived and oft soon forgotten. Then upon the horizon, a new and quite different matter arrived. At first the revelers thought to open their arms as they had to so many along the way, welcoming this new person though he was quite different than they.

The new one though, had his own agenda. He didn't wish to join in the usual chatting, nor did he wish to mingle among them. Instead, he decided that he wished to be King of the revelers and force upon them his own words and ideas.

The revelers loved to have their contests, which some joined while others sat back and watched, enjoying the camaraderie of the competition, giving critiques and encouragement, as well as pats on the backs. The new one, though, took things to a different level, criticizing each reveler's chosen toil and comparing it to his own. Lackluster and banal though his was, he considered himself brilliant and beyond compare.

Soon the revelers wondered if this man who had proclaimed himself Scours, a strange name that all found amusing considering its meaning, was little more than a jester, set to amuse them all by his strange and inane ways. His written words, that some of the more taboo of the revelers found interesting, soon proved redundant. To make matters worse, it was soon apparent that he was a bigot of the first order, writing racist, sexist and other bigoted slurs that upset even the most liberal of the revelers.

When he was called upon for his actions, Scours laughed, holding himself above all others, and placed a shiny crown of gold upon his head. He proclaimed himself King of the Revelers, standing upon a hill of his own words. The shocked revelers turned their backs upon the man, revolted by his audacity.

The self-proclaimed King hyped his own glory to all who would listen, ignoring any who would call him upon his words and prove him false. He claimed to be the most wonderful of lovers, spewing lies and libel to any who denied his words. King Scours took to his throne on his pile of wordy, moldy manuscripts, crossing his hairy bowed legs, his crown knocking askew what all had considered a beautiful head of golden hair.

"I shall remain king and you shall all worship at my feet, reading my words and no others. So I have said and so it shall be done."

The revelers stared in astonishment at the strange interloper, until one began to laugh, pointing a finger at the strangely tipping throne. More saw what he directed them too, and the laughter grew and grew.

Someone leaned upon the stack of manuscripts, weak from laughter, and it began to list more, toppling the self-proclaimed king of the revelers. He went down with a shout, unable to see as the wig he wore was pushed into his eyes by the weight of his crown. It fell from his head, landing upon the ground to roll to the feet of the revelers.

One picked it up, seeing a scrape in the gold. The crown, which had seemed golden and lovely from afar, was shown to be tin sprayed gold, the gems easily crunched and cracked. This set off another round of laughter, and the false king ran from the revelers, spewing curses and threats as well as his slurs and bigoted boasts.

He didn't run far, only as far as the next land, a place made up of hardworking revelers who only sought to better themselves by putting their work before their peers, asking for help. Scours stopped in their midst, straightening his wig and the cloak he wore. He dusted off the dirt and then stood tall. "My name is Scours," he said in a lofty voice.

The hardworking revelers spared him a glance before resuming their work, speaking softly amongst themselves. "Does this sound right?" "Should I change this sentence?" "How do I end it?"

Scours seated himself in the midst of them, watching what they did. This could be a good place for him, for the other revelers would be amazed and enthralled by his greatness and the glibness and wonder of his words. He began once more, building himself a throne, raising it even higher this time upon his self-inflated ego. He proclaimed himself a best seller, quoting ridiculous statistics, bragging and boasting while the hardworking revelers could only stare in disbelief.

He wrote his words, posting them upon fliers that were nailed into the walls. At first, most found his words amusing, believing that no one could seriously believe himself to be so wonderful. Others, who knew of his inflated ego and delusions of grandeur, did their best to try to humanize Scours, hoping he would realize that he was making a fool of himself and proving himself to be the pathetic and pitiful ass he'd been amongst the other revelers.

But Scours was determined. His greatness must be proclaimed. All must know of his inflated scores and the reviews and comments, most of which he'd written himself. He must prove to them all that he was the best of them, that the words that spewed from his fingers were profound and just, that the slurs and racists comments he made were no more than what was his right to say, for wasn't he allowed freedom of speech in this brave new land the revelers had created?

In his perverse wisdom, he decided that his words and only his words should be posted, and he attacked any who dared to defile his posts, arguing that their freedoms didn't compare with his own. He showed his bigoted and cruel side, spewing his venom at any and all that spoke against him. He hurled racial slurs, made lewd and perverse comments, and harassed any who stood up to him.

Those in this new land were not fooled. They knew him for what he was, a fool who would be king. And so, it came to pass that all the revelers turned their backs, taking away his power, removing him from their sight. They refused to hear him, no matter how vociferous his proclamations, until his voice faded and he became nothing more than an object of pity and ridicule.

Farewell to the "king".

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Avery_Reynolds said:

He Who Would Be King

In a land not too far away, a small band of jolly revelers lived. It was a small place but home to so many, always with more than enough of the necessities for any who decided to join in. The original band always welcomed the new with warm hellos and smiles, sometimes warning them of the few simple rules necessary to keep all happy.

"Never wear pink," one would advise.

"Don't use words of the bigot," another would say. Then they would smile and hold out their arms, accepting the new with a light heart.

It went this way for a while, though all was not always happy there. Occasionally the wicked and untrue would join the fold, sneaking in under the guise of legitimacy.

One such pretender became well-known in the land of the revelers, as well known as one could be due in whole to her lies. For she skulked in under the guise of a woman, but in his duplicity and stupidity, he didn't realize that women were born with two breasts, not the one that he'd given to himself. The first time he removed his cloak, his lie was revealed and he was laughed out of the land of the revelers. He ran, covering his single breast, a strange sound coming from between his lips that sounded as if he were screaming "gangbang".

Left behind were his long red wig – showing off his bald pate – and the girdle that he'd worn to hold in his burgeoning waistline. Those items the revelers displayed in the museum, along with a picture of the single breast, saggy and brown-nippled with three long hairs coming from the areola.

It was quiet for a while, though small spats would erupt upon occasion, short lived and oft soon forgotten. Then upon the horizon, a new and quite different matter arrived. At first the revelers thought to open their arms as they had to so many along the way, welcoming this new person though he was quite different than they.

The new one though, had his own agenda. He didn't wish to join in the usual chatting, nor did he wish to mingle among them. Instead, he decided that he wished to be King of the revelers and force upon them his own words and ideas.

The revelers loved to have their contests, which some joined while others sat back and watched, enjoying the camaraderie of the competition, giving critiques and encouragement, as well as pats on the backs. The new one, though, took things to a different level, criticizing each reveler's chosen toil and comparing it to his own. Lackluster and banal though his was, he considered himself brilliant and beyond compare.

Soon the revelers wondered if this man who had proclaimed himself Scours, a strange name that all found amusing considering its meaning, was little more than a jester, set to amuse them all by his strange and inane ways. His written words, that some of the more taboo of the revelers found interesting, soon proved redundant. To make matters worse, it was soon apparent that he was a bigot of the first order, writing racist, sexist and other bigoted slurs that upset even the most liberal of the revelers.

When he was called upon for his actions, Scours laughed, holding himself above all others, and placed a shiny crown of gold upon his head. He proclaimed himself King of the Revelers, standing upon a hill of his own words. The shocked revelers turned their backs upon the man, revolted by his audacity.

The self-proclaimed King hyped his own glory to all who would listen, ignoring any who would call him upon his words and prove him false. He claimed to be the most wonderful of lovers, spewing lies and libel to any who denied his words. King Scours took to his throne on his pile of wordy, moldy manuscripts, crossing his hairy bowed legs, his crown knocking askew what all had considered a beautiful head of golden hair.

"I shall remain king and you shall all worship at my feet, reading my words and no others. So I have said and so it shall be done."

The revelers stared in astonishment at the strange interloper, until one began to laugh, pointing a finger at the strangely tipping throne. More saw what he directed them too, and the laughter grew and grew.

Someone leaned upon the stack of manuscripts, weak from laughter, and it began to list more, toppling the self-proclaimed king of the revelers. He went down with a shout, unable to see as the wig he wore was pushed into his eyes by the weight of his crown. It fell from his head, landing upon the ground to roll to the feet of the revelers.

One picked it up, seeing a scrape in the gold. The crown, which had seemed golden and lovely from afar, was shown to be tin sprayed gold, the gems easily crunched and cracked. This set off another round of laughter, and the false king ran from the revelers, spewing curses and threats as well as his slurs and bigoted boasts.

He didn't run far, only as far as the next land, a place made up of hardworking revelers who only sought to better themselves by putting their work before their peers, asking for help. Scours stopped in their midst, straightening his wig and the cloak he wore. He dusted off the dirt and then stood tall. "My name is Scours," he said in a lofty voice.

The hardworking revelers spared him a glance before resuming their work, speaking softly amongst themselves. "Does this sound right?" "Should I change this sentence?" "How do I end it?"

Scours seated himself in the midst of them, watching what they did. This could be a good place for him, for the other revelers would be amazed and enthralled by his greatness and the glibness and wonder of his words. He began once more, building himself a throne, raising it even higher this time upon his self-inflated ego. He proclaimed himself a best seller, quoting ridiculous statistics, bragging and boasting while the hardworking revelers could only stare in disbelief.

He wrote his words, posting them upon fliers that were nailed into the walls. At first, most found his words amusing, believing that no one could seriously believe himself to be so wonderful. Others, who knew of his inflated ego and delusions of grandeur, did their best to try to humanize Scours, hoping he would realize that he was making a fool of himself and proving himself to be the pathetic and pitiful ass he'd been amongst the other revelers.

But Scours was determined. His greatness must be proclaimed. All must know of his inflated scores and the reviews and comments, most of which he'd written himself. He must prove to them all that he was the best of them, that the words that spewed from his fingers were profound and just, that the slurs and racists comments he made were no more than what was his right to say, for wasn't he allowed freedom of speech in this brave new land the revelers had created?

In his perverse wisdom, he decided that his words and only his words should be posted, and he attacked any who dared to defile his posts, arguing that their freedoms didn't compare with his own. He showed his bigoted and cruel side, spewing his venom at any and all that spoke against him. He hurled racial slurs, made lewd and perverse comments, and harassed any who stood up to him.

Those in this new land were not fooled. They knew him for what he was, a fool who would be king. And so, it came to pass that all the revelers turned their backs, taking away his power, removing him from their sight. They refused to hear him, no matter how vociferous his proclamations, until his voice faded and he became nothing more than an object of pity and ridicule.

Farewell to the "king".

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cloudy said:

He's not, sweets. He was amusing for a split second. Now it's just boring.

...and, thank you, you too.

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Shitting_Bull said:

So which one of your 27,766 posts do you like the most?

(Hint: get a fucking life.)

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Jenny_Jackson said:

ROFLMFAO...Another Alt... And sooooo apprpriate too.

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lloyd_5 said:

Guys, this is the Story Review thread, not the bacchanalian riot of the AH. But I guess Scurvies and his straggling band of Alts haven’t got the courage to show their face there. They’ve seen the warning signs, ‘There be writers ahead’. Like most cowards, picking off small groups instead of facing full fire is what bullies do.

Dare to you scouries – start a thread on the AH asking for critical reviews of your writing, if you can take the vituperation.

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Scribbled said:

Whose crack are you smoking? All the big shits from over there on AH (Asshole Heaven) have made an appearance over here and paid homage to scouries, have they not?

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scouries said:

[size=+2]

1-Lloyd5
2-Shitting Bull
3-Avery Reynolds
4-the AntiKKK
5-Onida
6-AnonymousTroll
7-4glory6
8-Scouies_
9-Scribbled
10-caprine
11-CallistaLynae
12-ColleyJen
13-Tink4Fairy
14-Dale Arden
15-BarbarouSevil
16-floweringbella​

[/size]

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lloyd_5 said:

Guys, this is the Story Review thread, not the bacchanalian riot of the AH. But I guess Scurvies and his straggling band of Alts haven’t got the courage to show their face there. They’ve seen the warning signs, ‘There be writers ahead’. Like most cowards, picking off small groups instead of facing full fire is what bullies do.

...
The fact that he cannot get into the top 500 of the most smutty, stroky site on Lit just shows his limitations. Don’t ban him, boycott him, he stinks.

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scouries said:

And your Just contrary that way simply highlights one of the major problems facing America these days – women who haven’t been brought up correctly and who have too much free time on their hands. Flatulent???

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