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Suggestions & Requests / Re: Script for vehicles able to ram other vehicles?
« on: December 16, 2016, 10:23:17 PM »
Thanks, Greek. I was thinking about it earlier!
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Suggestions & Requests / Script for vehicles able to ram other vehicles?
« on: December 16, 2016, 09:25:50 PM »
I'm going to make a server based on Need for Speed, and I want the cars to be able to ram roadblocks and other cars without completely stopping. Is anyone able to do this, or is there already an addon for it?
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Add-Ons / Re: a cow lost its free will and the love of its fami to make this lasagna delicious
« on: September 17, 2016, 05:54:58 PM »now we need a garfielf playertype from the "Fist of the B0rf Star" seriesThis.
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Forum Games / Re: continue ad venture
« on: June 26, 2016, 05:14:24 PM »Congratulations!
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You are the 1,000,000th visitor to this site! this is not a joke.
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Forum Games / Re: Plot generator
« on: June 26, 2016, 05:03:59 PM »
Two Considerate Uncles Swimming to the Beat
A Short Story
by WOLOLO
Warwick Chan had always loved delicious in a potato with its puny, perfect potato. It was a place where he felt ecstatic.
He was a stupid, thoughtful, hot sauce drinker with curvaceous elbows and handsome spots. His friends saw him as a teeny, tasty Annoying Orange. Once, he had even helped a mushy Zastava Koral cross the road. That's the sort of man he was.
Warwick walked over to the window and reflected on his savory surroundings. The snow flurried like partying rats.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Pete Donaldson. Pete was a gracious pizza with sloppy elbows and slimy spots.
Warwick gulped. He was not prepared for Pete.
As Warwick stepped outside and Pete came closer, he could see the concerned glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want a Butterfinger bar," Pete bellowed, in a snotty tone. He slammed his fist against Warwick's chest, with the force of 5282 guppies. "I frigging hate you, Warwick Chan."
Warwick looked back, even more relaxed and still fingering the warped hat. "Pete, I'M A TOMATO NOT A POTATO AND I WANT A HAMBURGER," he replied.
They looked at each other with worried feelings, like two petite, powerless pigeons bopping at a very articulate Shark Week, which had WOB WOB DUBSTEP music playing in the background and two considerate uncles swimming to the beat.
Warwick studied Pete's sloppy elbows and slimy spots. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you a Butterfinger bar," he explained, in pitying tones.
Pete looked fuzzy, his body raw like a tender, terrible torch.
Warwick could actually hear Pete's body shatter into 2658 pieces. Then the gracious pizza hurried away into the distance.
Not even a drink of hot sauce would calm Warwick's nerves tonight.
THE END
A Short Story
by WOLOLO
Warwick Chan had always loved delicious in a potato with its puny, perfect potato. It was a place where he felt ecstatic.
He was a stupid, thoughtful, hot sauce drinker with curvaceous elbows and handsome spots. His friends saw him as a teeny, tasty Annoying Orange. Once, he had even helped a mushy Zastava Koral cross the road. That's the sort of man he was.
Warwick walked over to the window and reflected on his savory surroundings. The snow flurried like partying rats.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Pete Donaldson. Pete was a gracious pizza with sloppy elbows and slimy spots.
Warwick gulped. He was not prepared for Pete.
As Warwick stepped outside and Pete came closer, he could see the concerned glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want a Butterfinger bar," Pete bellowed, in a snotty tone. He slammed his fist against Warwick's chest, with the force of 5282 guppies. "I frigging hate you, Warwick Chan."
Warwick looked back, even more relaxed and still fingering the warped hat. "Pete, I'M A TOMATO NOT A POTATO AND I WANT A HAMBURGER," he replied.
They looked at each other with worried feelings, like two petite, powerless pigeons bopping at a very articulate Shark Week, which had WOB WOB DUBSTEP music playing in the background and two considerate uncles swimming to the beat.
Warwick studied Pete's sloppy elbows and slimy spots. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you a Butterfinger bar," he explained, in pitying tones.
Pete looked fuzzy, his body raw like a tender, terrible torch.
Warwick could actually hear Pete's body shatter into 2658 pieces. Then the gracious pizza hurried away into the distance.
Not even a drink of hot sauce would calm Warwick's nerves tonight.
THE END
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