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The Quest to become the Titanium Chef begins! |
| [Introduction]
HEY! YOU! YES YOU! YOU WANNA BE KING OF THE PIRATES!? Well too bad, cause this ain't the place. This is a random story, about becoming the Greatest Chef in all of Khasachasistan. Rules! Randomness is allowed, but let's not get crazy. Humor is good! Funny additions earn Brownie Points! 500~1000 Word Limit. This is going to be a faster paced Campfire, as those seem to work better. Obviously large additions are going to burn you out, so keep it simple. Only a Few writers are needed, about 5 proboley, with new writers needed for withdrawels from the lineup. Creativness is mandatory! I want your character to have, well, Character! Make them fun! And humans are just the tip of the iceberg, the Country of Khasachasistan contains all sorts of mystic creatures, from Pixies to Werewolf/Vampire/Zombie Hybrids. Ready? SET? CHEF BATTLE!!! *~*~*
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| One late Friday afternoon a figure was seen walking down a dusty road into a deserted town. His name was Cliff McTanium, and obviously, he was alone, because that's how all stories in Khasachasistan start. He gazed at the empty place once called the village of Guthnerag, and just watched and looked at nothing. He was deep in thought, and barely noticed as the last of his cigar crumbled away into nothing. He finally smirked and said with a great pride, "This, is the place! My Titanium Institution of Cooking, or TIC, for short! This is where chefs from all of Khasachasistan will gather, and battle each other to become, The Titanium Chef!" From nowhere in particular, thousands of bulldozers, heavy cranes, contruction equipiment, and workers emerged from the forrest and began building. It would be done in seven days and seven nights. |
Burgess Makeawish was lying in his bed half-asleep when a horrible noise awakened him. "My Gid!" he complained. "I moved to Khasachasistan for the silence. What the hell is going on.?" Throwing open his shutters, Burgess gazed across the snow-covered desert to where in the far distance there was a blaze of lights. From that direction came the sound of heavy machinery. "Bloomey!" Burgess said. "They be building somethin' big over there! My little piece of paradise is ruined!" For the next seven days Burgess could not get a good night's sleep at all, what with the lights and noise, until finally on the eighth day silence once more descended on the fog-enshrouded desert like a sopping wool blanket tossed from a dorm window by an angry frat boy getting revenge on his prankster roommate by dropping a soggy blanket on him from a second-story window, thus enveloping the prankster in silence, just like the silence now draped over Burgess Makeawish's little piece of paradise. "Ahhhh!" Burgess said. "I can sleep again!" |
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