Story Section - Winner!
The Story of Swudiwudipudipong, Part ONE
My name is Swudiwudipudipong. My current age is not so important, since you want to know The Story. Well, here goes.
I was born in a little shit hole during the World War Two. My mother, who had posed as a man to become a soldier, had suddenly shouted "OHMILORD" and screamed in agony. She gave birth to a little baby, and thus I was born. She named me Swudiwudipudipong before she got assaulted by a Japanese soldier who was shouting MUSHI MUSHI as he stabbed her eye. Of course, my mother, being one of a kind, squeezed between the soldier's leg, where it hurts most. The soldier "squealed so loud he coulda shatter glass", as the reporter nearby told the story to me later on when I was at the age of 6. The reporter explained to me that another soldier, a good friend of my mother's, had taken me back to the Batallion HQ, where I was christened Teriyakichickenhondatoyotamitsubishilancercivic konichiwatakashimyaparagoncalefare shizzlehizzledizzlefizzlenathanieldarkbladelol by some cock priest. Of course, the name never stuck and I was always refered to as Swudiwudipudipong, which is the best name in the world I think.
I was then sent to live with a poor old couple living around Hokkia, which is the birthplace of the language Hokkien. And they give me a single carrot stick a day. But I can't blame them, they are very poor, they have to support themselves. ARE YOU SERIOUS?! As they were so "poor", they could only afford abalone and steamboat and shark's fin for breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner, supper, late-supper, later-supper, sleepwalking-supper and wtf-still-eating supper. And they gave me a carrot stick a day. Sure, I can't blame them, the mudkip-raping bastards.
Of course, after a few years I became increasingly hostile to those two buggers. And you can't blame me! They had been resorting to violence, beating me whenever I told them to screw off. And so, one dark night, I had cunningly sneaked out of my cot. I had stolen a kitchen knife from the kitchen (duh), and I had held it in an ideal stance, getting ready to... cut some fruits for breakfast. They forced me to do this everyday. Then something fantastic happened. Lightning struck the house! It came through the chimney, ricocheted around, and finally landed with a bang smack in the middle of my chest. It all took about 0.0000000000000000000000000000000001 seconds. Speed of light, you know. And in that 0.0000000000000000000000000000000001 seconds, I saw my life flash before my eyes. It was really boring. Finally the flashing ended and I found myself having seizures on the floor. Then I thought, what the heck, why am I having a seizure? And I stopped having seizures and I got up. And I found out the the lightning had completely wrecked the house. I ran to my "parent's" room to find that they were both dead, their innards spattered all over the wall. And I thought, no, the lightning could not have done this. The lightning was just a coincidence, there is some unknown force at work here!
And so I vowed that I would solve the mystery. But of course, I had to find proper lodging and the basic necessities to survive. So I took up the rent offer of one Sam Fisher and took up a job as a road sweeper. And all this at the age of 10.
Just 5 years later, Sam Fisher got his brains blown all over the sofa. Apparently he had been listening to the radio when some unknown person or persons had brutally assaulted him an automatic shotgun. It seemed to me at the time that everyone I was around with got killed somehow. It was weird.
The day he died, I answered all the questions the police had for me and I took a taxi to find new lodging. Unfortunately, the taxi driver also met a gruesome death. A lorry had suddenly come out of a corner. The taxi's brakes were, for some reason, dead. The taxi driver shouted: NUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU I LIEK CHEEZBURGER before he his head went smack into some spike sticking out of the lorry's side. It was a horrible mess. And it had ruined my new suit as well. Just my luck.
The police called me in for questioning again. I think the chief inspector is getting kinda fond of me. Anyhow, I was not detained and I was set freeeeeeeee. I went to see one of those fortune tellers. There had to be something wrong with me. The fortune teller, some black dude named Daisy, told me that if I stepped into shit, the curse would be lifted. I immediately went to her toilet, ripped out the plumbing and started jumping about in the disgusting filth that was leaking out of the pipes. Then I came back to the table and the fortune teller was dead. I'm not going to tell you how she died, because it would just be sick. Oh heck, Daisy had tripped and fallen on her own gardening shears. I don't know why she was keeping them beside the table. Turns out that the curse HASN'T lifted. CURSES! I vowed never to see fortune tellers again. All they give you is a load of crap for your money.
P.S
sry is not vry funy
