The Members' Creations Thread

This is where people can post their own creations: sketches, songs, stories, poems, whatever!

Preferably as silly as possible.

See below for my original post, and please try to keep things organised: i.e. post your creations as a comment at the top of the thread, and if you want to comment on someone's creation, comment underneath the relevant post.

I hope lots of people will contribute ... to paraphrase the lovely Dr Chapman: I may be going to put myself out there, but I don't have to go aloooone!

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Tanya_Birklid19: Hey! About time this got back on its feet! Anyway, I've written a rather silly, random story that I hope you'll enjoy.

Once upon a time there was a rabbit named Jeffery who had the power to grow twenty feet tall. Now, Jeffery was a different rabbit. Apart from growing twenty feet tall, he was secretly a Jedi master that fought large bowls of green Jello-O, as well as other foes like Darth Maul, Count Dooku, General Grievous, and Darth Vader.
One day he was minding his own business for a while until he sensed a disturbance in the Force. He quickly hopped his way to where chaos was ensuing. To his horror, he found a group of knights that were being threatened by a Richard Nixon impersonator, a pantomime horse, and the pantomime Princess Margaret. Jeffery hopped over creek and boulder to reach the knights, he jumped off a large boulder and flew into the air, screaming at the top of his squeaky voice. With the tail of his awesome Jedi robe flowing behind him, Jeffery pulled out his light saber, subsequently landing in front of the knights. The enemy struck an offensive pose and bared their teeth; Jeffery brandished his saber, the blue beam of light protruding from the hilt, he let out a growl, the fight continued on. After singeing several hairs off the opponents’ heads, Jeffery grew twenty feet tall. The Richard Nixon impersonator and the pantomime Princess Margaret hopped on the pantomime horse and rode away, swearing that they’ll be back. The knights thanked Jeffery for his services and galloped away, their squires banging two empty halves of coconuts together.
Jeffery smiled to himself and looked to the horizon. Suddenly he saw something in the distance, it looked like a moose. But this was no ordinary moose, whose bites can be pretty nasty. This moose was an evil mastermind that could take over the world only using a paper clip, a rubber band, and a piece of string. What was more evil about the moose was that he had a mullet and was a fan of Billy Ray Cyrus. Jeffery looked to the moose with disgust and charged after him. The moose used his jet pack to charge at Jeffery, but soon someone stepped between the two.
This person was more evil than the moose, it was Jeffery’s arch nemesis, DR. 94!!!!

And that's what happens when I get my hands on a packet of Skittles, I'm a bit sleep deprived, and I'm bored.

a_nervous_wreck:

I made this comic yesterday after getting back from my grandpa's. My mom actually framed it... *facepalm**shakes head* just sticking it on the fridge wasn't good enough I guess

Lvndr HppE: This is Mr. Praline with his pet halibut, Eric.

Lvndr HppE at 10:39 am April 15

Eric_the_halibut.jpg

J.Gambolputty: ('I've written a sketch!' *smack* No, it's a short story really...)

I leaned my elbows to the smoky pub’s desk and closed my eyes for a second. It had been a hard day and I could feel a headache coming. I sighed and took a mouth full from my pint.
The door was opened and shut again. Some ‘Good evenings’ and friendly ‘Hi’s’ were exchanged and then I heard the new customer’s footsteps close to me. I finally lifted my tired eyes from the pint and took a glimpse of the new customer. It was a man in his late forties wearing a red suit and a red scarf that had pictures of elephants in it.
I shook my head a little and preoccupied myself by staring at the half-empty pint.

“Good evening” said the man politely and sat next to me.

“Evenin‘ ” I muttered.

After ordering a lager he spoke again:

“Lovely those elephants. Good runners.” he said. “My, look at that one, ‘tis going to win that race, I bet you” he said enthusiastically and pointed at the pub’s TV screen on the side table.

I took a quick look at it and noticed that there was a derby on. I frowned to the man. What a loony. Elephants? Tsch, out of his tiny mind.

“Look, he won!” he shook my shoulder quite violently. “What did I tell you?” the man smiled.

He swallowed his drink in one go and ordered another one right after.

“Ever been to an elephant race before, lad?” he grinned.

“Sorry, no. Only horse ones…” I rolled my eyes secretively. The man clearly had had more than just the lager I had seen him drink.

He once again shook my shoulder.

“I’d say you should go. Nice events, I tell you” the man nodded three times. “Much nicer than derbies or dog races.” he said and tapped my head.

I was losing my temper. Someone needed to wake him up:

“Look here, you old loony, it’s a derby. Not elephants. Horses. You understand? There isn’t any bleedin’ races for bleedin’ elephants!” I almost shouted to his ear. “There are derbies, dog races, show jumping, dog shows, even bloody cat shows, but not. Elephant. Shows! Got that?!”

He looked at me and seemed more amused than shocked.
I looked around and saw that the whole clientele (couple of obviously regular comers, some passer-bys who were just looking for a shelter from the rain), were staring at me with wide eyes.

“There there, no need to shout, lad. I know. We all feel like that sometimes, when the world seems like a pile of shit and it rains through the day” the man tapped my shoulder. “Calm down, next round’s on me. Come on” he said comfortingly and ordered something.

I didn’t know what was going on. It was like no one understood what I was saying. There were no elephant races! I knew that… Or did I?
The TV was still on and I took a better look at it. It was the same channel and the same programme. A derby. Horses with long tails and huge ears and long trunks and…
WHAT!? Trunks!?
I cleaned my spectacles and put them back on. Can’t be. Just can’t. And so it seemed that the horses were now giant elephants galloping around the track. My eyes widened with shock. I’d become mad. Completely mad.

I slowly looked at the man next to me, watched at his smiling face for a while and then got up and ran out while shouting like a pig which is been slaughtered.
I just ran to the door, out to the pouring rain and in to the road. I panted heavily and looked around. An elephant was running towards me. It’s driver honked the elephant’s horn and shouted at me.
I just couldn’t move. I was mad. I had lost it, gone bonkers, become a madman…

*BANG*

Then I was hit by an elephant.

I died immediately.

*****

“Poor man. He just lost it in the pub.” the man in the red suit told to the police after they had taken me away from the road.

“Any idea why he ran to the road?” asked the policeman.

“No, none whatsoever. He just said something about elephants and shouted and then ran away.” he replied and frowned.

“Right. Well, thank you, Mr E. Phant. You’ve been a great help.” the police shook Mr Phant’s hand and walked away.

Mr E. Phant grinned and waited until the police were gone. Then he whistled loudly and an elephant ran out of nowhere to him. He patted it on its side and hopped on the saddle. They rode away and the elephant, who was by the way called Monty, made elephant noises happily.

Here Comes Another One: Here is a little story wot I wrote while I was majorly into Led Zeppelin and had also recently seen The Ring. It has nothing whatsoever to do with Python, but this thread doesn't really have to, so yeah. Enjoy!
****

HE WENT DOWN THE WELL LIKE A ...
Two days in the life of Led Zeppelin that did not really happen
- at least we presume they didn’t.

A new chapter in the history of the world’s greatest ever heavy rock band has unfolded for music historians. Kept secret from the world due to its sheer bizarreness, it was deemed strangely appropriate in the present context. The events took place in 1970, shortly after the famous Royal Albert Hall concert. Led Zeppelin were cooling off in a luxury hotel after the penultimate performance in a long season of touring, taking a well-earned two-day break before their final concert. Jimmy Page, lead guitarist, tall, lean, dark and handsome, though then very long of hair and ordinary of trousers, went for a walk that night, and returned apparently somewhat bedraggled and out of sorts, having been caught in the rain. When bandmate Robert Plant asked him if he was all right, Page replied: ‘I’ll be fine, mate, I’ve just got a bit of a cold.’ He certainly sounded it; his voice was uncharacteristically raspy. He spent the band’s short holiday drinking heavily and practicing hard, his head bent low over his guitar, stopping occasionally to cough.

The night of the concert came, and apart from being a bit quiet, Page seemed normal. His bandmates took his subdued mood as him not being very well and didn’t bother him. They walked on stage as usual and Page was on fire. He gave a flawless, if a little unimaginative performance, and the audience cheered the fantastic solos he played. Plant couldn’t help noticing a lack of connection, and the performance certainly lacked in the almost telepathic call-and-response style that was half the fun of Zep in those days. Still, he reminded himself, his bandmate had been feeling a bit off-colour. So after the concert he suggested that they get some air, and they went for a walk in the nearby woods.

About half an hour along, during which Page had next to no conversation and Plant began to wonder if there was something seriously wrong with him, the attention of the latter was diverted by the unmistakeable sound of Jimmy Page’s guitar - but Page was standing next to him and there was no instrument in sight - was it a recording? Was it an imposter? There was only one way to tell. Despite his companion’s husky entreaties to the contrary, Plant was determined to get to the bottom of the matter. He followed the sound at all speed, coming to a well in the middle of a clearing. The sound was close now, and Plant began to follow it with his voice ...

‘MehmehmehmehmehmehMEH!’
And the guitar responded ... the Zep telepathy was back ...
‘MehmehmehmehmehmehMEH?’ Plant added, just to be sure.
But instead of the guitar, a voice ...
‘Robert, is that you?’
It was coming from the well! Plant hastened, bewildered, to its edge.
‘Jimmy?’
‘HELP!’
But as Plant looked over the edge he saw a fearful sight ... not his friend, but a girl in a long, white nightgown, face obscured by long, dark hair.
‘Aaargh!’
‘No, no, it’s me!’
The figure gave a monumental toss of its head, revealing itself, to Plant’s intense relief, to be none other than Jimmy Page (for who else but a close friend and bandmate would have been able to tell the difference between a normal Robert Plant vocalisation and a cry of shock and fright?) ... and the truth emerged ... but too late ...
‘Then who’s ...’
Plant turned around, and guess who was behind him?

‘AAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH!’
And Plant overbalanced, and fell into the well.

Oh dear ... how did Zeppelin recover from this one?
For a start, those familiar with the legend should know that a fall into this well is not fatal, but this is particularly true if there’s someone there to break your fall.

‘OUCH!’
‘Sorry.’
They took a moment to recover from Plant’s fall, looking up uneasily to catch a glimpse of their attacker, but there was no sign of her.
‘Are you all right?’ Plant asked.
‘Do I look all right?’ came the sarcastic reply. ‘I’ve been forced into a horrible dress by a decaying girl with evil supernatural powers, and made to stay at the bottom of a well for two days while she parades up and down wearing my best diamond-print tank top and ordinary trousers, and playing my guitar! And none of you useless bastards even noticed!’
‘She told us she ... you ... were ill,’ Plant answered lamely. ‘And you do look very similar with your hair like that, you know. Give us some credit. And she played the guitar ... well, almost like you.’
‘That’s the thing ... she’s been practicing like anything, apparently,’ Jimmy explained. ‘One of the TVs she was coming out of happened to be broadcasting a clip of us playing Dazed and Confused, late at night of course because rock bands don’t get peak hours of air time ...’
‘Never mind that, get on with it!’
‘All right, all right. Well, apparently the hair similarity made her identify with me and she liked my style of guitar playing. So she stole a guitar from one of her victims. She’d perfected being able to play just like me, and even moved her well to somewhere I was bound to come across it. Then she put her plan into action. She pushed me down the well, stole my clothes and dressed me in her nightgown, and then went around impersonating me.’
‘It was only our strange call-and-response shrieking technique that gave it away,’ Plant mused. ‘She just wasn’t quite the same.’
‘And it was only that which drew your attention to my whereabouts - luckily she left her guitar down here.’
‘But how are we going to get out?’
‘I don’t know, but we’ll have to think of something,’ said Page. ‘We’re used to spending time together in a small dark space, but this is no picturesque Welsh cottage with the odd psychotic sheep stealing our drugs. We may never get out of here alive.’
There was a long silence, during which both of them thought hard about a possible solution to their problem. Then at the same instant their heads snapped up and they shared a look of triumph.
‘Got it!’

Two hours later, the Led Zeppelin frontmen were climbing out of the well with the aid of a rope made from their hair, cut with Plant’s trusty penknife, which he always kept with him in case of being given a sealed packet containing some white powder.
‘Rapunzel, eat your heart out,’ they said exultantly, as their feet hit solid ground.
‘Not so fast!’ came a familiar raspy voice ...
‘AAARRRGGHH!’ went the metalmen.
‘You’re supposed to be down there for seven days!’
‘But we’re on a tight schedule, and even if there’s rock ‘n’ roll down there there is no sex and no drugs. So sorry, love, we’ll have to cut it short.’
And with those apt words from Robert Plant, they grabbed hold of Samara Morgan, nicked her tank top, and threw her down the well.
‘Yes!’
‘Quick, we’d better get back,’ said Plant, consulting his watch. ‘What are we going to tell Bonzo and Jonesy about our hair?’
‘We wanted to be seen,’ said Page, in a stubbornly decisive voice. ‘I for one will never allow my face to be obscured again.’

THE END.

Tanya_Birklid19: Here's a song I tossed up. It's to the tune of "I am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General" from Pirates of Penzance.

I am the very model of a major Monty Python fan,
I’ve quoted songs and sketches, and I know them all, as best I can.
From lumberjacks and flying sheep and spam, a Scotsman on horse,
You know it’s all absurd, I tell you this, and all of you, of course.
I bash myself about with bricks while croonin’ at big parties,
I cannot think of other words that also rhyme with parties,
But I know one thing and that’s for sure, this song is getting silly,
Just wait until I meet a guy and I shall call him Billy.

I know the names of all the men, and women too, there’s quite a few
But not enough I know only the names of only one or two.
In short, I know the songs and skits, I know them all, as best I can,
I am the very model of a major Monty Python fan.

I know the Inquisition and I know of their chief weaponries,
There’s fear, surprise, and ruthlessness and also nice red undies.
They cannot put me in the chair, I tell you why, and it’s because
It’s called the comfy chair, and I’ve been poked with the soft cushions, too.
I noticed that that last word did not even rhyme with because
Should I stop this song or should I have a grand, big long pause?
Or go on about this parrot that I got and that’s it’s dead,
I’ll hit the hay and say good night and I’ll go off to bed.

But wait minute, I’m not finished there’s a lot I’d like to tell,
About the tale of Arthur and his quest for . . . *spoken* oh bloody hell,
I don’t need to sing the entire song *sigh*
*sings* In short I know the songs and skits, I know them all, as best I can,
I am the very model of a major Monty Python fan.

I’ve seen the Holy Grail, and Life of Brian, MP’S MoL,
I’ve seen a bit of Spamalot, and also Not the Me -- *spoken* ah, forget it.
*sings* In short I know the songs and skits, I know them all, as best I can,
I am the very model of a major Monty Python fan.

END

Tanya_Birklid19: A haiku written by . . . . . . . a cat:
Meowmoeow maow meowmeow
prraow brrp meowmeow prrrrrr prrrr prrrrr
brrp prraow maow meowmeow.

a_nervous_wreck: (Scene: [i]A hospital waiting room. A nurse is seen leaning against the reception desk with a clipboard. A man enters and approaches the nurse.[/i])

Man: Hello, um, could I speak to Dr. Coen please?

Nurse: Dr. Coen is in surgery right now, is it urgent?

Man: Um, well yes and no. You see a few days ago I donated part of my lung to someone.

Nurse: Well that was very generous of you, but I'm afraid I still don't see what's the problem.

Man: Well, I'd like it back.

Nurse: Like what back?

Man: The piece of my lung. You see at the time I felt like a good samaritan, but now I realize that just giving your lungs away is dangerous, so I'd like it back before anything happens.

Nurse: Well sir I'm sorry, but the transplant has already taken place.

Man: Well, couldn't you ask the man if he would like to give it back? Where is he?

Nurse: He's recovering now, but sir, your lung has already bee-

Man: Well couldn't we do a trade?

Nurse: A what?

Man: A trade. You know, like I give you another one of my organs and you give me my lung back.

Nurse: Sir, that's not how it-

Man: What about my appendix? I don't really need that do I?

Nurse: Well no, but-

Man: Well there you go then! Here. (lifts up shirt) Slice away.

Nurse: Sir, the man doesn't need a new appendix.

Man: Why? Has he already got his?

Nurse: Yes, and-

Man: Well then he can have two! You know, two heads are better than one and all that, I'm sure its the same with appendixes.

Nurse: Sir, I really don't think-

Man: Alright alright. Um... what about my tonsils? Couldn't he have those?

Nurse: No.

Man: Kidney?

Nurse: No.

Man: Stomach?

Nurse: No.

Man: Liver?

Nurse: No.

Man: Heart?

Nurse: No.

Man: ... Gall bladder?

Nurse: No.

Man: Regular bladder?

Nurse: No! Now sir I must ask you to leave the hospital if you're not on official business.

Man: Alright Alright, no need to get so testy. (pretends to leave but looks over her shoulder at the clipboard, then heads off to the recovery rooms)

Man: (Comes running down the hall a while later covered in blood and holding a patient's lung in his hand) VICTORY IS MINE YOU SAUCY BITCH!

Nurse: (looks on in amazement as the man runs out of the hospital with security following him) (faints)

Tanya_Birklid19 at 3:15 pm April 09

XD loved it!! "VICTORY IS MINE YOU SAUCY BITCH!" XD favorite line.

a_nervous_wreck at 4:25 pm April 09

Thanks Tanya :)

Here Comes Another One at 5:01 pm April 09

Haha, loved it. If it were Python I could see Eric as the man listing all the organs!

a_nervous_wreck: The gangs all here! I drew this in my design class, but I didn't have time to color it. :( Oh well. I'll just do it on Monday.

a_nervous_wreck at 11:32 am March 26

Oh for the love of...

Here Comes Another One at 3:18 am March 27

It's great! You always do Graham so well. He's so cute with his pipe!

a_nervous_wreck at 12:46 pm March 27

Aww, that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Thank you. And I just now realized that there's a ghost right above Mikey's head. 0.0 lol

Here Comes Another One: Don't ask me why, but ...

There once was a moose named Mustapha,
Who was sadly allergic to laughter,
But he looked so weird
People would laugh, he feared,
So he stayed home and ate cakes of Jaffa.

J.Gambolputty: I made new lyrics for the Finland song....

England, England, England,
The country where I long to be,
Playing cricket or cycling,
Or just watching BBC,

England, England, England,
It’s the country for me,

You’re so near to Scotland,
So far from Japan,
Quite a long way from Cairo,
Lots of miles from Finland,

England, England, England,
The country where I long to be,
Eating scones or black pudding,
Or fish and chips or baked beans,

England, England, England,
England has it all,

You love playing football,
And you’ve got lots of pubs,
Your old taxis are lovely,
So are your phone booths,

England, England, England,
England has it all,
England has it all

a_nervous_wreck at 12:07 pm March 20

Lol! Epic song JG, I totally agree with it :)

madasawetsporran at 3:34 pm March 27

love it even being a Scot! maybe they will use it instead of that awful dirge about the queen!! :)

Tanya_Birklid19 at 3:06 pm March 20

EPICNESS! WINNING!!

Here Comes Another One at 3:02 am March 21

Aww, fabulous! I agree with all of it except for the black pudding & baked beans. XD

J.Gambolputty at 5:43 am March 21

Thanks :)

HCAO: Me neither but it worked quite well in the song ;)

Here Comes Another One at 2:50 pm March 21

I have to say, it did. :-)

Mrs Attila the Hun 93 at 11:11 am March 21

Ugh! Black Pudding! Yorkshire Pudding ... Mmmmm XD

Oh, what was I saying? Oh yeah, this is amazing!

a_nervous_wreck: I made this after my mom said she saw her ex at the store. Ahem:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I still look nice,
What the hell happened to you?

TheRealGilliamFan at 8:48 pm March 20

LOL!!!!!

Lvndr HppE at 10:59 pm February 23

lol. I like that!

Tanya_Birklid19: A haiku about . . . nothing.

It is a blank space
A vast open white space.
Basically nothing.

And now: something

Once upon a time there was a rabbit named Biggles. He was an extraordinary pilot and flew around the world twice! Biggles had a certain pocket watch, it was a magic pocket watch that could transport oneself across the time space continuum, but one should always be careful when traveling. Anyway, moving on, one day Biggles awoke to find that his pocket watch has been stolen!! And just about sneaking out of the window and onto his magic automobile to nip around to the local coffee shop and get himself a scone or two was none other than the notorious (and quite foppish) Jedidiah Weasel!! Oh, this person was a cruel man, but in a very foppish way. I like the word foppish, just the way it sounds it just *BANG* I'm sorry about that, but I always tell the stories. *continues reading* And for the record, Jedidiah Weasel is not a fop. He's a cruel, ill tempered animal!! *BANG* (program announcer voice) Well, that concludes our . . . children's story for today, tune in next week when a rock meets a piece of grass.

J.Gambolputty at 11:08 am February 10

:DD Wonderful

Here Comes Another One at 4:42 pm February 10

LOL! Good one! XDD

Here Comes Another One: My latest little verse, about my mother's round gravy-boat. I think you can sing it to 'The Money Song,' actually.

ODE TO A GRAVY CORACLE
Well I have to strain my gravy into something,
And there's not enough to warrant a whole boat,
I don't need a big cruise liner
Or a sailing ship to China
But a coracle will keep my meal afloat.

l_wojcik at 3:02 pm February 08

I did sing it to The Money Song! I love it!

Here Comes Another One at 6:47 pm February 08

Thanks :-D

Mrs Attila the Hun 93 at 11:12 am February 10

It works really well with The Money Song! Excellente!

a_nervous_wreck: We have to make limericks in English class today, and I'm feeling kinda morbid, so I made one about Gray:

There once was a show about six men,
Who were funny till the very end.
Then one of them died,
The five men cried,
About the death of their dearest friend.

Here Comes Another One at 12:42 pm February 08

Aw, no, that's too sad! :~-(

a_nervous_wreck at 12:46 pm February 08

I know, but my sister's grandma just died, so I was feeling kinda bad for her, so I wrote a sad poem

the_thina at 12:23 am February 11

hang on... if she was your sisters grandma, wasent she also your grandma? sorry if Im insensitive now, but... I had to ask.
Im sorry to hear that, death is never fun and my brother was extremely close to dying in november (and he is only 39 so that was a BIG shock)

a_nervous_wreck at 11:43 am March 26

Sorry I'm just now replying to this. No, she's only my half sister actually, so I'm not related to any of her family

Here Comes Another One at 2:11 pm February 08

That is sad. I'm not surprised you thought about Graham.

the_thina:

not the most well-drawn thing Ive ever done, but what they hey, if we are sharing I might as well too

TheRealGilliamFan at 8:20 pm February 08

i LOVE it!

the_thina at 4:59 am February 10

oh, thank you hun! :)

Here Comes Another One at 9:54 pm February 07

Love it!

the_thina at 3:24 am February 08

thanks. :) and oh, in case someone is wondering. "till makten" is swedish and means roughly "for president"

a_nervous_wreck: My useless haiku:

Haikus are useless,
but they don't have to make sense,
Sometimes bread grows mold

Here Comes Another One at 6:24 pm February 04

LOL! Love it!

Lvndr HppE at 7:45 pm February 04

lol!

a_nervous_wreck at 12:12 am February 05

thank you, thank you. I'm here till 2012, don't try the veil, its nasty