#askfreakinasheet

[askthejellyfishsisters-blog]

March 14th!! :3c

March - favorite color?

((Blue! Particularly pastels or shades with hints of green or purple.))

14 - what do you want to be when you grow up?

((It’s up in the air. I know I want to do something with sociology, helping others, and spreading information. So something like an advocate or consultant, according to my classmates in career class.))

[askthebreegull]

((@askatroopa @askbirdetta @askfreakinasheet))

[askthejellyfishsisters-blog]

DRAW ME, SLI-- err, punk!!!!

Lily: Back for round two, huh? (ง •̀_•́)ง 

[ask-smashed-blog]

Hey, This Is A Closed Recording Session! (Closed Interaction With AskFreakInASheet)

Samuel read over the script once more as he continued his voice acting. His afternoon was full of it. He would project his voice into the microphone as he brought out raw passion for the upcoming tournament. Normally Samuel would be there himself, and even though he wouldn’t be, they could jsut use already pre-recorded material for the tournament. However, the tournament would be themed and Samuel had already taken that time off to train with Spike. So here he was, in the recording booth, halfway through his day and halfway through his shout.

There was to be a nice break, however. As the company was open to the public, there would occasionally be school trips or public tours for the kids to wander about the massive complex; part of that being the recording studio. There the kids would meet bands that recorded songs for the game and tournaments and sound engineers working on sounds as the company needed it, and of course the announcer himself. Samuel would take a break to get ready for the kids who would most likely have a torrent of questions or requests from him, and he wanted to cool down and prepare himself for that.

He leaned up against the wall as he so often did when wanting to appear cool and look down at his watch, the tour guide was supposed to show up soon so he waited.

[puzzlingfever]

IC post under the cut. For serious.

((Mood music, if you want somethin’ to listen to while you read this.))

Doc swore, riding through a dark forest on a motorcycle, swearing loudly as he was hit in the head by yet ANOTHER low-hanging branch. “Why did I think it was a good idea take the ST1300 over the DeLorean for this,” he grumbled to himself, as he reached to turn up his music.

Every minute or so, he had to swerve to dodge a tree-- he wasn’t quite sure if he was even going the right direction anymore, before he saw a tall building a fair bit into the distance. He wasn’t too far off, he supposed, as he readjusted his course straight for Creepy Steeple.

Laughing as he sped ahead, there was a brief pause in laughing, as he noticed a large, green rock in his path. There wasn’t time to slow down, nor alter his path.

Screaming like a girl and slamming his right hand in front of him, as if he had a horn to honk(he didn’t), he careened through the air over the fence, losing his grip on his handlebars.

One could have blinked, and they would have missed it. Doc was lying face-down in the dirt, his vehicle lying beside him in unusable, but certainly salvageable condition.

After a few minutes, Doc groaned, getting up, brushing himself off and popping his helmet off, tossing it toward his ride. Clenching and opening his fists a few times as if checking something, arcs of blue electricity running across them, he sighed, taking a deep breath, stumbling towards the front door, knocking loudly and sternly.

[asktehdoopliss]

Goombrilocks and the Three Doops

((A story concept started by askpipsqueek, I present a classic tale with a twist. Appearances by moi, askfreakinasheet, askbedsheetdoppelganger, and askthegoombas’ Goombrianna.))

This is the story about a little Goomba who gets lost in the woods. Now, before this story can even start, the three Dooplisses must determine what their roles even are. There must be a Papa Doop, a Mama Doop, and a wee little Baby Doop.

 “Well, I’m the smallest and cutest, so I’ll be the Baby Doop!” askfreakinasheet insisted.

 “Well, I can’t argue with that logic,” agrees asktehdoopliss. “And since I’m the smartest and wittiest, that means I should be the Papa Doop.”

 “Now, wait just a minute,” retorts askbedsheetdoppelganger. “I’m the tallest, which means I need the biggest bed. I get to be Papa Doop!”

 “What? Who ever said the Papa Doop has the biggest bed?” asktehdoopliss argued back.

“He has the biggest chair. Therefore, his bed would follow suit!”

 “Hah! He’s got you there, beanpole!” askfreakinasheet snickered. “But I wouldn’t say he’s the wittiest. That title belongs to me!”

 “Idiotsayswhat!” asktehdoopliss blurted out.

 Askfreakinasheet cocked his head in confusion. “What?”

 “Hah! Gotcha!” asktehdoopliss responded with a snort.

 “Hey, that’s not fair, slick!”

 “All’s fair in love and war, and this certainly isn’t love!”

 “But it isn’t war either!”

 “But if this isn’t love, and it also isn’t war, then who’s flying the plane?!”

 “Enough!” askbedsheetdoppelganger screeched. “I’ll be the Mama Doop if you two would just please… Shut… UP!”

 Asktehdoopliss and askfreakinasheet exchanged glances, then gave a nonchalant shrug. “Fine,” they responded in unison.

Once upon a time, there were three Dooplisses living in a Steeple of the Creepy variety. Momma Doop and Baby Doop were busy watching their favorite soap opera, Days of Our Shys, when Papa Doop came in and said, "Hey numbskulls, I made some grub. Come get it before I eat it all myself.”

 “Not now,” said Mama Doop, “Shyamina is about to tell Shydude that she’s been cheating on him with a stump.”

 Papa Doop rolled his eyes and said, “Shyamina gets cold feet and doesn’t actually tell him. I already saw this episode leaked online. Now get in here and eat your damn food.” Mama Doop and Baby Doop grumbled as they rose from their seats, muttering words not appropriate for a children’s story.

 Entering the kitchen, the two ghosts were greeted with three bowls of some mushy, greyish substance.

 “The f@%k is this?” exclaimed Baby Doop.

 “Porridge,” Papa Doop replied. “Dig in.”

 Mama Doop grabbed his spoon and cautiously poked the contents of one of the bowls. The mush bubbled a little and let out a hiss. “… I think mine is moving. And I also thing it’s against FDA regulations.”

 “Oh really?” Papa Doop raised a speculative eyebrow. “Which one?”

 “All of them.”

 Seeing the look of abject disgust on the two Doops’ faces, Papa Doop threw up his hands in resignation. “Okay, fine, if it’ll make you two feel any better, we’ll give it some time to cool. Happy?”

 “Oh! Oh! I know what we can do!” Baby Doopliss shouted excitedly. “Let’s go prank someone!”

 Mama Doop rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Old Lady Gwendolyn down the street is having a garage sale. You all want to go there for half an hour, wander around aimlessly, move half the stuff, and then not buy anything?”

 “Sounds like a real hootenanny!” said Papa Doop. “Let’s go!”

At the same time as the three Doops were leaving, it just so happens that a small Goomba named Goombrilocks was walking through the forest.

 “Wait, Goombrilocks?” asked the goomba child, “I thought I was going to be Little Red Riding Goombs! I brought this red cape for nothing!”

 Pretty soon she came across a Steeple that was most creepy. She knocked on the door (like most little goombas are apt to do) and, when no one answered, she walked right in.

 “Breaking and entering? I like it. This steeple shall be the headquarters for my new empire.”

 At the kitchen table, there were three bowls of porridge. Goombrilocks was hungry. She tasted the porridge from the first bowl.

 “Ugh, this porridge tastes like death!” she exclaimed. “Obviously even though the first one tastes bad, the next two are sure to be different, right?”

 So, she tasted the second bowl.

 “Not too bad, but…” She spat out what looked to be some sort of bone. “Yeah, I‘m not eating anymore of that.”

 So, she tasted the last bowl of porridge.

 “Ahhhh, this porridge is incredibly mediocre,” she said contentedly, and ate it all up. “It’s like eating fast food; you do it because it’s easy, accessible, and cheapish.”

 After she’d eaten the three Doops’ breakfasts she decided she was feeling tired. So, she walked into the living room where she saw three chairs.

 “And what’s this? The full DVD collection of Days of Our Shys? Who watches this schlock?”

 Goombrilocks sat in the first chair to rest her feet.

 “This chair is too moist!” she exclaimed. “Seriously, when I sit down I hear a squelching sound. Yuk.”

 So she sat in the second chair.

 “And this one smells like mothballs!” she whined.

 So she tried the last and smallest chair.

 “Ahhh, this chair is just right. I shall use it as my mighty throne, from which I shall-“ But just as she settled down to rest, it broke into pieces! “…I hate this story.”

 Goombrilocks was very tired by this time, so she went upstairs to the bedroom. She laid down on the first bed, but it was too moldy. She laid down on the second bed, but it was covered in too many piderwebs. She laid down on the third bed, and it was pretty bad too, but at this point Goombrilocks was so tired she decided that she’d stick with it and would find solace in giving the Steeple a bad review on AirBnB.

 As she was sleeping, the three Doops came home.

 “Man, that was priceless! You see how I switched the price tags around?” Mama Doop snickered.

 Baby Doop gave him a malicious smile. “Why, you would never do such a thing! On a completely unrelated note, I never knew I could get a full china set for 2 coins!”

 Mama Doop started laughing boisterously. “You think she was mad at all when we ‘accidentally’ dropped all that china after we bought it?”

 “Nah, I think she was more angry when we tried using spot remover on her dog.”

 “Hold up, gents,” Papa Doop eyed the bowls of porridge suspiciously. “I think someone’s been eating my porridge.”

 “Who in their right mind would do something stupid like that?” Baby Doops asked.

 “You might need to get a good lawyer,” Mama Doops added, “Because it looks like whoever it is was eating my porridge too! I swear, Doopliss, if you killed someone with your cooking…”

 “The idiot must’ve been really hungry, because my porridge is all gone!” Baby Doops’ face lit up. “Yes! Now I don’t have to eat that—“ Papa Doop shot him a withering glare. “I mean, uh, now I’ll starve. Oh no.”

 Mama Doops called out to the both of them from the next room. “Come in here! It gets worse!”

 Sure enough, the three Doops found further evidence of an intruder in the living room.

 “Someone’s been sitting in my chair!” said Papa Doop. “I can tell because there’s a small puddle forming where their tush imprinted itself in the cushion.”

 “Well, someone’s been sitting in MY chair!” exclaimed Mama Doop. “And they completely ruined the smell with… What is that… Strawberries?!”

 “Good news,” Baby Doop said. “No one was sitting in my chair.” Then his face turned a beet red and he pointed to a pile of wood and cushions on the floor. “They couldn’t have because the bastard maimed the f@$king thing!”

 All three jumped in surprise as a loud noise, much akin to a snore, emanated from their bedroom.

 “C’mon, gang!” Papa Doop shouted. “We’ve got some investigating to do!”

 The three Doops rushed into the bedroom and immediately inspected their places of rest.

 “The mold in my bed has been displaced!” gasped Papa Doop. “I had that stuff meticulously arranged!”

 “And someone scared off my piders!” Mama Doop cried out. “And just as I was about to make a treaty with the pider queen!”

 “Well, somoene’s been sleeping in my bed,” muttered Baby Doop, “And the little sh@t is still there!”

 Just then Goombrilocks woke up and saw the three Doops. She blinked in disbelief for a moment, before her eyes widened and she gave a nervous gulp. “Erm, uh, hello, you fine gentlemen, I’m visting your establishment today to see if you’d like to buy, uh… Goombscout cookies?”

 “Yeah right,” sneered Mama Doop, “That ain’t no uniform, kid.”

 “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here and eating my excellent porridge!” Papa Doop hissed.

 “Yeah! And breaking my chair!” snapped Baby Doop.

 “Tell us why we’d shouldn’t call the cops on you right now!” Mama Doop said, “Or maybe steal your identity!”

 “Or turn you into a pig!”

 “Or feed you more porridge!”

 “HEY!”

 Goombrilocks felt a nervous beads of sweat trickling down her face. How could she appease the angry Doops? “Wait! Um, there’s this old dude who lives down the street from me…”

 “Annnnd…” All three Doops leaned in, glaring daggers at her.

 “And he’s having a garage sale today! How about as a peace offering I’ll show you how to get there… Then we can bum around for an hour, ask him about prices of things that already have price tags on it, move things around, and then not buy anything!”

 The three Doops exchanged wary glances. Eyeing the door, Goombrilocks readied herself to bolt, but then the Doops nodded to each other before each putting on a pair of shades.

 “Let’s roll,” Papa Doop said.

 THE END