Topic and Title

[Ataraxis]

The idea:

 

Hit me with a topic and title, and possibly (please) some keywords, and I (or someone else if they want to jump in) will write something around them. A short story, a poem, etc.

 

Most of the results are bound to be bad.

[Harakiri Tiger]

A small yellow tiger and a small black rabbit (both plush toys) want to go shopping at the local mall, but the door handle is too high to reach to enter and there are no automatic doors.

[Ataraxis]

Alright, I'm pretty dissatisfied with the result. But I mean, it's written, so...yeah.

 

 

Hello there, dear reader! In case you can't hear me, I am the disembodied voice of Sebastian Cabot. What? You're unfamiliar with that name? Oh dear. Well, I'm sure you know it - I was the narrator for the adventures of that wonderful little bear, Winnie the Pooh. Do you recognize me now? Yes? Good.

 

Now that we've set the (literal) tone for the following misadventure, allow me to introduce you to a new pair of adorable creatures; Tanya, a stuffed yellow tiger, and her friend Roger, a small black toy rabbit with a bit of a sour temperament.

 

We join our new friends during a situation that has them in a fair amount of distress,for you see, it's been an unusually longer winter, and they've found themselves in short supply of stocked goods. Have you come up with any solutions, Tanya?

 

Tanya: I'm afraid not, Sebastian.

 

And you, Roger?

 

Roger: ...

 

Haha, still giving me the cold shoulder, are you? Suppose I had a solution to offer, Roger; what then?

 

Roger: I'd tear out your vocal chords and read it for myself, human!

 

Oh Roger, what a silly thought! In case you weren't paying attention during the introduction, I did mention that I was disembodied. I'm not sure I qualify as human any longer, but I'm certain I've got no vocal chords, and furthermore, nothing to tear them from.

 

Tanya: Roger's desire to end you aside, what's this about a solution?

 

Ah yes, the solution...well you see, they've finally finished construction on that new strip mall. I'm certain you'd be able to find everything you need there.

 

Roger: You mean that rotten monkey mart that they plowed Flourishing Field for? That thing is the reason we weren't able to stock up enough in the first place!

 

Your delusions continue, Roger. Might I remind you that you're not a real rabbit?

 

Roger: Might I remind you that you're dead?

 

Tanya: Boys, boys...boys. Boys will be boys, I suppose. Oh well. To the mall!

 

And so, Tanya and a very belligerent Roger set out for the mall. We'll call it Granny's Cranny because, while that's an awful name for a mall, it's not important to the story.

 

---

 

 

After an exhausting journey through the spring melt, our friend Tanya, soaked all the way through, and desperately in need of a wash, arrived at the mall. Little did she know that her troubles were only beginning, for where the door was concerned, her height was lacking, and she could not reach the handle. As well, her appearance now suggested an unsavoury background, and so there was no help to be found from passers by. Roger was there, too!

 

Tanya: Surely this situation could be easily resolved by you, Sebastian. Just explain our circumstances to someone, and I'm sure they'll help us.

 

I'm afraid not. You see, as a narrator, my interactions are limited. In this case, I can only communicate with you and Roger, as well as making passing references to our dear reader. I'm entirely unable to assist in communicating with other characters, or with physical tasks.

 

Roger: You talk too much and help too little. Go away.

 

And so, holding the story back with my verbosity, I receded to the background.

 

Roger: Well, now that I've taken care of that situation, I guess you owe me one, Tanya. What say you figure out a way to open the door and we call it even?

 

Tanya: You know, he might have talked too much, but he was helping the story along. I'm sure he would have talked us to a solution eventually.

 

Roger: Ain't nobody got time for that. Besides, it's just a door. How hard could it be?

(How hard indeed.)

 

Tanya: Well, it seems to be in short supply of wizardry. So there's our first hurdle. It looks like our only option is to find a way to turn that handle.

 

Roger: I'd turn your handles.

 

Tanya: No.

 

Roger: No handles, no help. I mean, it's not like you can owe me two, right? Whoever heard of such a thing. You're so dumb, haha. Woman logic.

 

Tanya: Roger, what kind of animal are you?

 

Roger: Hai i'm a bunneh.

 

Tanya: And what am I?

 

Roger: You're just a toy; a vile creature of man.

 

Tanya: Oh Roger, you're so hopeless. Anyway, I guess the best thing we could look for is some sort of rope.

 

Roger: Yeah, then we can ambush a person, and tie them up and torture them until we get what we want!

 

Tanya: Or we could skip the middle man and use it to open the door.

 

Roger: What I want now is to torture some balding monkeys. If you plan on getting in my way, I won't hesitate to end you. Come at me, hoe!

 

(And come she did; Hell hath no fury and whatnot.)

 

Tanya: You know, you just aren't worth the effort anymore! I'm thinking ripping out your entrails and using them to lasoo that handle would be a good way to solve a couple problems at once. How's that for woman logic, you stupid rabbit?

 

(Tanya lunged towards Roger, who narrowly avoided the assault. The ensuing chase went on for hours, ending in the way that you'd expect an encounter between a rabbit and a tiger would. The pairing was kind of questionable to begin with, honestly. That's beside the point, however. As a result of the tussle, we find our loveable little tiger in tears.)

 

Now Tanya, I know it's not much consolation, but surely you know this is the natural order of things.

 

Tanya: T-that's not what has me so upset...

 

Oh? Well, if not that, then what?

 

Tanya: My plan was to use his intestines as a rope, b-b-b-b-ut he's just stupid stuffed bunny. All his insides are fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-fuzz!

 

That's truly unfortunate, but his departure is the reason for my return, and while keeping quiet, I was trying to come up with some solutions. I think I may have one.

 

Tanya: For reals?!

 

Well, that depends on whether or not anyone has actually read this far. You see, I thought we could leave a message, asking the reader for a solution. A rewrite, external to our existence, yet having a direct impact upon it. It's an appeal to madness, but it's all I could come up with.

 

Tanya: Couldn't you have done that before when I asked you to help?

 

Look, I'm just an extension of the author. If he didn't happen to have the idea at the time, neither did I. And it's not like I can edit the story or anything. I'm just a narrator.

 

Tanya: Wut...? Oh never mind, just do it.

 

Very well then. Well, dear reader, what do you say? Will you open the door?

 

 

I like my approach to solving story problems, at least.

[Bakuhatsu Pengin]

a bounce and a pounce

and a flop and a hop

with a quip and a flounce

they were off to the shop

 

the shop was a mall

and the mall was a dive

cause the doors were all real

and real doors are too high

 

too high for the tiger

too high for the bunny

too high was the doorman

who smelled kinda funny

 

woe is me oh how mean

no entry today

were far too short

and this doorman is gay

 

FOCK YOU said the doorman

who was very much queer

to the stuffed little critters

that gave him a sneer

 

dis shit so dank yo

im so trippin balls

dat tiger and rabbit

want into the mall

 

but dey nubs too short

n dey yellow n black

my supervisor said

beware yellow and black

 

just like the nob

he is far too high

to let us in

said rabbs to ty

 

so with a pounce and a bounce

and a flop and a hop

and a quip and a flounce

they busted the fucking kneecaps of that fucking doorman because hes a goddamn motherfucking chump

 

son of a bitch shouldve listened to his supervisor but he didnt and got gooked like a chinese dog

 

the end

[YUNG MASTERLESS GLENCOUR]

Hit me with a topic and title, and possibly (please) some keywords, and I (or someone else if they want to jump in) will write something around them. A short story, a poem, etc.

 

 

topic: Armored Core Last Raven

title: for a few credits more

keywords: explosion, power, breasts, warrior, tarmac, bottle, tree

 

topic: fantasy adventure

title: west side til I die

keywords: hammer, cake, magic, demon, hater, breasts, alcohol

[Ataraxis]

topic: fantasy adventure

title: west side til I die

keywords: hammer, cake, magic, demon, hater, breasts, alcohol

 

 

Flyin' high in the 'Lightning Unicorn,'

Drinkin' alcohol, flippin' through our porn,

These breasts so fine they be gettin' all the haters,

They're turning my crew into pro masturbators.

 

We've been searching for weeks just tryin' to save face,

Won't admit to the fact that we're lost out in space.

Feelin' so alone, no love for our pickles and hammers,

In need of some bitches with those west side manners.

 

Blind side shot from some punks out of nowhere,

Yellin' "Yo suckas, you go not flair!"

"Ah hell naw!" we yelled, "These bitches are dreamin',"

Little shits didn't know they just fucked with a demon.

 

West coast vengeance; we didn't hold back,

We raided their cargo, and smoked all their crack.

They blew their transistors while we popped some caps,

We slept with their sisters, and stole all their maps.

 

"Here's our way home, boys," I yelled to my crew,

They sang and danced on the corpses they slew.

"Punch in those coordinates, let's get this ship right,

We've got plenty of fuel, we'll taste pussy tonight!"

 

I hit that hyper-drive like a man possessed,

Thinking of home, and my girl, undressed.

Not concerned 'bout my boys or the money I'd make,

Just longing for Cali, and a big slice of cake.

 

But that earlier shot had results that were tragic,

"It looks like this Unicorn has run out of magic,"

I announced to the crew with a sigh,

"Peace out homies; west side 'til I die."

 

 

I'm so white.

 

Might tackle the other one later, though I wouldn't be subscribing much to any obvious influences.

 

Also fuck you nob that's way too better than mine.

[YUNG MASTERLESS GLENCOUR]

definitely white.

 

Flyin' high in the 'Lightning Unicorn,'

was clutch though

[poopscootsMcgee]

content removed. Edited July 28, 2015 by poopscootsMcgee

[YUNG MASTERLESS GLENCOUR]

That was fantastic. You should write actual fanfic.

 

Or anything really.

 

Some kind of fiction.

 

Know that I'll be checking for Zoa posts in this thread forever or until the story is finished. Whichever happens first.

 

Fuckin awesome.

[YUNG MASTERLESS GLENCOUR]

KEANU THIS DOOD BASICALLY JUST HIJACKED YOUR SHIT STEP YOUR GAME UP CUHZ

 

GOOD WORK ZOA I WILL READ THIS LATEST ITERATION NOW

 

In almost an instant, he is sucked under the train in an explosion of debris from his core like a semi hitting a retarded man.

 

THAT WAS SOME VERY RARE MICHAEL BAY SHIT MY GUY KUDOS

 

YOUR STORY MAKES ME WANT TO WRITE A LEGIT AC FANFIC AGAIN DAMN

 

THE OTHER FANFICS I WROTE WERE FUN SO MAYBE WHEN I FIND SOME TIME I'LL TRY

[poopscootsMcgee]

someone fucking suggest something

[YUNG MASTERLESS GLENCOUR]

topic: cyberpunk

title: monkey see monkey do

keywords: breasts, shine, warlord, intrigued, help, doom

[poopscootsMcgee]

keywords: breasts, breasts, breasts, breasts, breasts

[YUNG MASTERLESS GLENCOUR]

topic: cyberpunk

title: monkey see monkey do

keywords: breasts, breasts, breasts, breasts, breasts

 

I made the correction thank you

[poopscootsMcgee]

"Monkey see, monkey do"

 

 

 

The sun rose in an ashy sky over an ocean of concrete geometry. Hundreds, thousands of antennas with blinking blue and green lights dotted the cityscape, looking like a galaxy of stars suspended over a murky, twisted labyrinth of lines. They cast their signals into the air, and one could hear always a latent buzzing, and sometimes, the noise of errogenous signals, fading slowly in and out of audible range. Some of the antenni cast up large holograms, advertising cheap facial surgery, or real dogs. They flickered on and off.

 

The sun's rays, like fingers, wound their way around the sharp corners and streets of the city, stripping away the sheltering darkness and revealing the truth.

 

The streets were busy, like always. In a few hours, they will be so congested with traffic that many drivers will simply get out of their cars and leave - taking an airbus or some other method of transport to their destination. Junker crews would be along shortly to remove the abandoned vehicles and break them down into atomic genera.

 

The city was vastly overpopulated, and even at this early hour, the working class mingled with society's refuse on the black-top surface of the sidewalks. People roughly pushed eachother aside, some falling down and recieving not a passersby's glance. Visible on many of the pedestrians were white metal devices on the backs of their necks - slightly bumpy, each with two little antennas of their own.

 

Those devices were ushering in a new era. They were mandatory for many Central employees and were easily available to any citizen. Small wires ran from the device through the skull, and into the cerebellum. It was also equipped with a CPU, and powerful transmitters. It functioned as a network uplink, run by the bearer's own lower brain functions, creating a subconscious information exchange between the bearer and the Net. In a way, it provided its wearers with a modicum of "telepathy."

 

I have a theory. My theory is that inanimate objects and systems have a will of their own- and they have their own masters. They crave their own evolution, and only a select few individuals can feed this desire. These select few see the world in a different way, and are fundamentally different from their counterparts. They see the world as a game, and this freedom sets their mind free from the rules and constrictions of normalcy.

 

I have my own neural transmitter- but it is quite different. It is composed of two high-functioning transcievers positioned on each side of my head, above and behind my ears, three CPU's, a connected control UI, and fiber optics running into my cerebrum. The fact that it is connected to my upper brain completely changes the device. It broadcasts it's own signal, either mimicking the Net waves or creating a dissonance- giving me the ability to hack signals and generally change them at will, and also overload other systems for some interesting effects. It looks like rabbit ears on my head. In fact, my friends colloquially refer to them as my rabbit ears.

 

I was on the roof of a commercial building in the most bourgeois part of the City, which stretched across the entire center of the former America, and far down the east coast into what used to be Mexico.

 

From my vantage point, I could see the brain of the whole operation, the Central Towers. There were four of them, twofold higher than any nearby structures, starkly contrasted in shadow against the bone-white sky. These towers were self-contained urbain biomes, the employees living and rarely if ever venturing out into the City, which was frowned upon. Underground, vast complexes formed the operational facilities under the towers, and these complexes stretched for miles outwards, literally thrumming with activity, which could be felt as vibrations through the sidewalks.

 

I made my way back down the tower to the ground level. The glass doors leading outside from the lobby slid open for me with a slight 'fwish' sound. Rain thudded dully on the carbon polymer streets, muffled thunderclaps like gods making war in the sky, and of course, the omnipresent buzz of electra. I consciously muted the sound of myriad footsteps of passersby via my transmitter, leaving me only with those sounds of our demented nature. I stepped out, but instead of being overwhelmed by the traffic, a simple signal I broadcast has those many with the uplink devices part around me. They wouldn't know why, but they unconsiously avoid me from about five feet, like I've got some kind of horrible mutating doom-plague. Unfortunately, this makes me extremely easy to pick out, but what can I say? I'm a diva at heart.

 

Close by, two blocks down the walk, and a sharp left into a dark alley, I descended one of those sinister-looking stairwells down the side of a building and faced a huge iron slab of a door. This is exactly the spot I was told to meet my contact. I waited.

 

Within a minute of waiting, I became aware of an independant signal interacting with mine. I immediately boosted my signal strength and tuned to absolute dissonance, locking into the foreign cast and shutting it down with grand overkill. I was not suprised, nor was I disturbed in any way. I continued waiting.

 

The door suddenly shot upwards. I noted it was silent as it was sucked upwards into the doorjamb with immense speed. My eyes took a moment to adjust, after which I made out the silhouette of an approaching figure. The whole room inside was dark, it seemed, and he (or she) was coming fast. My eyes narrowed and I prepared a signal blast that would make any regularly wired human comatose for thousands of years.

 

"You fucker!" The figure said, in a brogue. "I've got (I don't know what he is even saying here) bum-fucking maintanence!" He threw something at me, a small jumble of wires and metal. It hit me square in the tits and fell to the ground.

 

"Jamiroquai?" I asked flatly.

 

"I'll be fair, maybe I shouldnt've been poking around your signal, what kind of dumb bastard (once again I cannot understand what he is saying) and maybe, you stupid gam, this is expensive tech!"

 

"Don't fuck with my signal."

 

He glared at me and motioned for me to come inside.

 

"Alright you scummy twat, you're gonna get charged for that. Not that it was anything special. Oh, bollocks..." He had his back turned to me and was fumbling with something in the dark.

 

"Hahaha, you want to know about the generators, eh love? You're not the first. I used to be like you. Follow me." Apparently he had found whatever it was he had fumbled for, I heard a cheeping noise and a flash of light- another door opened on the far wall, but it was too bright immediately to see anything through it. The room we were in appeared to be some kind of follout shelter; old, with no visible signs of renovation within the last century.

 

"You'll be noticing the security. Not a single virabyte of misinformation can pass through here without me knowing. Found this place abandonded by the owners upstairs, I rent it on the sock for cheap."

 

"I'm not here for a story. Tell me about the generators. What is their connection to the Net? What is their true purpose? That's all I came here for. You tell, I pay."

 

His face, acne-scarred, with deep laugh lines, a wide nose, and a broad, masculine forehead was dramatically contrasted in half-light, half shadow.

 

"Aye love, you'll pay. Haha. Follow me."

 

He led me in to the lit chamber beyond.

 

 

 

Edited February 18, 2014 by OrbulonProtocolZantarx

[Nomrah]

Man that was great. Everything gradually came into focus so smoothly. I liked the description of the antenna's.

 

Although sounds like lots of fools get there vehicles scrapped on a regular basis. And I kept waiting for breasts.

 

-----

 

Topic: Complicated friendship and interpersonal conflict in a hostile world.

Title: Indefinite Silence

Keywords: tears, memories, suspense, bloodshed, ladder, darkness, sound

Edited July 20, 2013 by Nomrah

[poopscootsMcgee]

thanks. im trying to keep it short but its not done yet. i still need to use breasts. breaaaassstsssssssss

 

also, i would like to try that "indefinite silence" one as well. i like the idea a lot.

Edited July 20, 2013 by OrbulonProtocolZantarx

[YUNG MASTERLESS GLENCOUR]

good start so far, you're so dope

[poopscootsMcgee]

so, ive thought about the "indefinite silence" title, and i am genuinely sad to say i can't do it, because, and i shit you not, i am completely incapable of relating the topic to my own life. so i have absolutely no basis from which to write this. sorry. i like the idea a lot though.

[The Talentless]

Topic: Complicated friendship and interpersonal conflict in a hostile world.

Title: Indefinite Silence

Keywords: tears, memories, suspense, bloodshed, ladder, darkness, sound

so, ive thought about the "indefinite silence" title, and i am genuinely sad to say i can't do it, because, and i shit you not, i am completely incapable of relating the topic to my own life. so i have absolutely no basis from which to write this. sorry. i like the idea a lot though.

 

I got this.

I'll have it done by tomorrow night. At the latest.

[YUNG MASTERLESS GLENCOUR]

hell yeah

 

eager to read that

[Nomrah]

so, ive thought about the "indefinite silence" title, and i am genuinely sad to say i can't do it, because, and i shit you not, i am completely incapable of relating the topic to my own life. so i have absolutely no basis from which to write this. sorry. i like the idea a lot though.

 

Don't sweat it man, I can understand. I guess I really narrowed it down to a specific feel with my suggestions. Can't write if you can't relate, and I admire your honesty!

 

I got this.

I'll have it done by tomorrow night. At the latest.

 

Damn right, Jackson's Topic Title debut! I am excited.

 

 

EDIT: Just checked out Zoa's edit, he's really got something going here. How long is it going to end up?

Edited July 22, 2013 by Nomrah

[The Talentless]

I have this problem where I can't write unless I write in the same way I talk in person. So its like a choppy first person narrative. Feel free to call it shit.

Also the words suspense and bloodshed didn't make it in directly. Is that against the rules? Also, the title Indefinite Silence isn't fitting of the story I wrote. Someone could/should do the whole concept better than me.

 

 

 

The sudden honk of a car horn snaps me back into reality. I’m not entirely sure where I am, though, let alone how I got here. Looking down, I see my best friend lying sprawled out on the ground in what looks like an uncomfortable position. He doesn’t seem to be awake. Headlights from passerby cars flashing quickly illuminate crimson pools around my feet. I’m covered in this red, too. I think it’s blood, and the source appears to be from him. My hand is also clutching something weighted, like a bat. My eyes start to well up with tears. My best friend is dead, and I might have been the one that just killed him.

But that can’t be right, can it? Why would I want to kill my best friend, Pauley? Let me think back here for a second. We were headed out to dinner. Were goin’ta meet up with some of our other friends we hadn’t seen in a while. He started a conversation about something from the past. Some stupid, insignificant issue about never letting him know when I was out with these friends. Not my fault he could never relate to them about anything and stuck out like a sore thumb. Neither did I, very well, but at least I made an attempt. I tended to not let him know when I was out and about ‘cause I’d be the one responsible for whatever silly shit he did or said. I’d look bad by association. I didn’t want that.

Why the hell am I even thinking about that at a time like this? I need to get the hell out of here. Call for help or something! . . . Except I’m covered in what is probably Pauley’s blood. Probably. Like there’s any doubt that it is. The humming sound of an air conditioner up above a couple stories is calming. My eyes, though watery, have finally adjusted to this darkness. It’s obvious I’m in an alley between two apartment buildings. Our argument was getting pretty heated. More stupid memories kept getting brought up.

That’s right. He started talking about Ashleigh of all things. Still wasn’t over the fact that she only dated him to get back at me. Can’t believe we even had an all out brawl that one night in our drunken stupidity. Everyone around the bonfire started cheering us on. No one had the decency to break us up and tell us we were fighting over a girl neither of us was ever going to date again. Yet here he was tonight, talking to me like she was the one.

Jeez. I’m starting to sound pretty bitter here.

I finally take a step back, only to hit my head on something. It was a ladder; ladders you pull down for a fire escape or whatever. There’s blood on it, too. Hitting my head on it made a pretty loud bang that echoed through the alley. If that’s the case, was Pauley’s death loud? Was it violent? Was he screaming or shouting for help? Someone would have had to hear that. Also makes me wonder if anyone saw us walk back in here. How long has it been since he died? A minute? Five? Did I do it? I still don’t think so. Why else would I be getting emotional with these tears if I wanted him dead?

I keep half-expecting him to suddenly get up and make a reference to one of our silly inside jokes, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. Just the other night he spoke out about some embarrassing shit that I certainly didn’t want the broad I was hitting on to hear. His lack of subtlety or restraint always astounded me, always pushing my buttons, whether he realized it or not. There was the time in late high school where he blabbered to a mutual friend that I wanted to bang her, and the time he insinuated me ‘n him were gay with each other around my grandparents I rarely see, or the time he ran into my boss and told him all the complaints I have about work and said boss.

You know, now that I think about it, I’ve always figured that I’d feel guilty if I tried to stop being friends with him and move on, ‘cause who else would he have? No one. And me? I could become better friends with everyone else I knew. He’s been holding me back for years, making people dislike me because I had to be best friends with him.

And now here he is. Lifeless. Not making a sound. I think it’s starting to sink in. Never again are we going to talk about the latest nerd shit, play a video game together, talk all night about all our life troubles, get into a fight over a girl, get angry over conflicting interests. Never am I going to have to sit through his idiotic sermons on what anime is best in public gatherings, hear how he disproves of the people I try to hang with other than him, bail him out of one of his small financial crises, force him out of my apartment at 3 in the morning when I want to go to bed.

I doubt these tears are from any sadness. Pauley can lay here for now. That’s mostly all he's been doing as of late. Me, I better get to that dinner date. After a change of clothes, first, of course. The bat is still in my hand. I’m tempted to leave on the side of the building, but I think I should take it with me.

I’d sure like to know the guy that killed Pauley, though.

 

 

 

This wasn't even my first idea. If I gave the first idea more thought I bet I could make better, but oh well.

Edited July 22, 2013 by The Talentless

[Nomrah]

You are a talented man my friend, couldn't ask for anything more from the request I made. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this. The depth, you went right ahead and captured the deep feelings of the proposed topic perfectly. You painted Paulie and the protagonists position in befriending him damn well. Major Highlights

 

"Were goin’ta meet up with some of our other friends we hadn’t seen in a while. He started a conversation about something from the past. Some stupid, insignificant issue about never letting him know when I was out with these friends. Not my fault he could never relate to them about anything and stuck out like a sore thumb. Neither did I, very well, but at least I made an attempt. I tended to not let him know when I was out and about ‘cause I’d be the one responsible for whatever silly shit he did or said. I’d look bad by association. I didn’t want that."

 

"You know, now that I think about it, I’ve always figured that I’d feel guilty if I tried to stop being friends with him and move on, ‘cause who else would he have? No one. And me? I could become better friends with everyone else I knew. He’s been holding me back for years, making people dislike me because I had to be best friends with him."

 

That's gold. You can't be taught to be able to write this sort of thing, you just gotta know it and know how to express it.

[The Talentless]

I'm surprised it's actually what you were looking for. I've had a love-hate relationship with it since I wrote it. Cept instead of love its tolerate.

I'd be up for doin another one, though. I haven't wrote anything for fun in like, over three years.