A-Mails (The Second E-mail Thread Collaboration): ROUND TWO!!

[daBurninator]

Heh. Oh well. It was fun to do something different, even if I only lasted one round. Congrats and good luck to the rest of you; I look forward to reading the next set of e-mails.

[potthole]

Wow, this was a close one.  It's a pity you didn't make the cut, B, you've always been a great writer, and I've always been a big fan of your works!

[Adam Adderly]

Okayokayokayi'mbacki'mbacki'mback *cough* *sputter* *wheeze*

Okay! Well, two people have yet to get their work to me, so I'll fire PM's off to them. Slugabouts.

Anyhow, I'll be ready on Saturday. Or Sunday. Bet on soldier. ImeanSunday.

[Adam Adderly]

Alright, fellows. This week, we have TWO people who could not get one into me: one of these people was the chap who didn't get it in the last time. If he doesn't get it in next time, I might just have to kick him out due to inactivity.

The other fellow, on the other hand, is safe, as is the fellow from before. But enough chatter from me.


The challenge this week was simple: The collaborators had to work the following phrase into the e-mail:

"Well, I can't understand why that didn't work. Did you try and twist the whatchamajigger into the thingamabob?"



Let's see if these four did it!

[Adam Adderly]

Email #2-1: Unintelligible, One

(Cut to Adam walking through his dull little home)

Adam: People who work in shoe factories have a lot of sole.

(Silence.)

Adam: Feel free to laugh when I make a joke.

(Silence.)

Adam: And I'll let you know in advance whenever this happens, I suppose.

Patricia: So, you're finally home. Finally. I need somebody to hit that won't hit back.

Adam: Can't you hit Horace?

Patricia: Are you daft? I nearly broke my hand on his lower intestine last I tried! That thing is like a bloody log!

Adam: Ah yes. And what are the gentlemen of the house doing today?

Patricia: No such thing, you twit.

Adam: (sigh) Fine. What are the male-gendered creatures of the house doing today?

Patricia: The Stupid One and the one slightly less stupid than you have been trying to convert oxygen into oil.

Adam: Well, good for them. If they succeed, we'll be filthy rich.

Patricia: I suppose you don't care that we'll be unable to breathe, then?

Adam: Well, who needs that when you're rich, what? I could hire some local lad to breathe FOR me!

Patricia: Prat.

Rob: ...Well, I can't understand why that didn't work. Did you try and twist the whatchamajigger into the thingamabob?

Horace: I did that in front of the Contessa of Russia once! I got the firing squad for that!

Adam: However did you survive?

Horace: Simple! I didn't!

Adam: Of course. Makes perfect sense. Well, it's off to answer another e-mail for me, what. Our reason for existing and all.

(Adam heads towards his ticking old computer)





Drea Aamd:

I raelyl lkei yrou traehd yuo. Aer fnuny! Ig bgr erd q h65 9 48 268g llllllllllllllg

Sincerely,
Gasdf nvpoc





Adam: Good lord, it's an emergency! All ancillery characters to your stations!

Patricia: We don't have to listen to a word you say, you nit.

Adam: Oh, but you do. As the namesake of this e-mail thread, I have the power to force you lot to follow me on my every hair-brained scheme. Read your contracts.

(They all pull out pieces of paper)

Rob: Blast! He's right, isn't he?

Patricia: I'm working for pay scale next time.

Horace (squinting): My contract was printed upside-down!

Tod: Ready to cast off the S.S. Funboat, Skipper!

Adam: Not you, Tod. Nobody likes you.

Tod: Lulubelle does! (pause) We're going to Guatemala! (he exits)

(the cast is now surrounding an operating table)

Patricia: Scalpel.

(Rob hands her the scalpel. She sticks it in his chest)

Rob: Look at all that LOVELY blood!

(He passes out)

Patricia: I'm slightly happy right now. It's making me ill just thinking about it.

Adam: All right, all right. Let's settle down. First we need to make sure the patient is dead.

Horace: Leave that to me!

(He pulls out the rifle and fires it repeatedly at the patient)

Patricia: What was that all about, you malingerous crump?

Horace: Well, now we're sure he's dead, right?

Rob (on the floor): Excellent logic. Brilliant. Superb. My, but I'm lightheaded.

Adam: Well, I suppose that there's nothing more we can do.

(Cut to a graveyard. A coffin is lowered into the grave)

Adam: He served his people well for over 1000 years.

Patricia: He allowed me to articulate how much I currently hate... tubes.

Horace: If it weren't for him, we'd all be speaking GERMAN right now!

Adam: Who did we just bury, you ask? The English Language, you ponce! You murdered him with that execrable keyboard vomit of yours! Are you happy? I hope you are! Was it worth slaughtering the most prolific tongue on the planet just to get your silly e-mail read by a few dozen internet surfers? Was it honestly?

Rob: ...I hate to interrupt this, but would somebody mind taking this scalpel out of my chest? On the plus side, the blood banks are giving me a fortune for this quality ichor!

Patricia: Oh, go bleed somewhere else. I utterly can't STAND O Negative.

Adam: Well, this is something of a bother.

(POOF! The annoying little Bother appears out of nowhere)

Bother: BOTHA! BODDA BODDA BODDA!

(He starts punching Adam in the arm)

Adam: This is Bother. He shows up from time to time and shows no real purpose.

Bother: Bother bother BOTHA!

Adam: Can't you say something else?

Bother: (pause) ...I'M A SOUL MAN!!! I'M A SOUL MAN!!

Adam: Go back to saying 'bother'.

Bother: (slugging Adam in the arm) BOTHA BOTHA!

Rob: Well, at least this e-mail can't get any more tasteless.

Tod: FORE!

(A golf ball hits Adam in the face)

Tod: Oh, sorry, Adam. How do you like these greens, huh? Cemetaries are the best putting ranges yet!

Adam: Ooh, I'm woozy. Perhaps I'll wake up on the set of a better sitcom, proving this was all a dream...

(He wakes up in his bed)

Adam: Oh, what a horrible dream.

Ann Robinson: Oh, try to get back to sleep, dear.

Adam: AIIIIEEEEEEEEE!

THE END...?

[Adam Adderly]

E-mail #2-2: Unintelligible, Two

(Cut to see Rob and Tod standing outside a window, looking in stealthily, crouching down out of sight themselves. Inside, Adam putters around his kitchen. He continuously makes sandwiches, then doesn’t eat them. Rob sighs.)

Tod: Soo…what’s up? I’m missing the Frog and Friends variety hour TV show!

Rob: Adam can’t make an email thread by himself. He’s too boring! He’s gunna need our help if he wants to succeed in this venture of his.

Tod: What are you gunna do?

Rob: The question is…what HAVE I done?

Tod: Ok.
(Pause.)

Rob: Well?

Tod: Well what?

Rob: Ask me what I have done!

Tod: Oh, sorry. What have you done?

Rob: I slipped a couple of “happy pills” into Adam’s skim tofu milk. That’ll make him exciting!

(Inside, Adam takes a sip of milk. His eyes widen and he begins bouncing around.)

Tod: Isn’t that dangerous? Slash illegal?

Rob: Yeah. Which is why I decided to put in a date rape drug to cancel out the happy pills.

(Inside, Adam stops bouncing, and falls forwards, hitting his head on the counter.)

Tod: That’s even worse!

Rob: Yeah, I know. That’s why I decided to take them both out and just slipped him caffeine.

(Adam stands up, dusts himself off, and heads outside. He sees Rob and Tod standing there.)

Adam: Hello there, friends. Nothing like a good, perfectly voluntary bounce session and a rousing fall-and-hit-your-head-on-the-counter to start the day, hmm?

Tod: …I’m gunna head off. I might be able to catch the Ribbiteers dance number!

(Tod flees. Rob sighs again.)

Rob: So…answer an email this week?

Adam: Why would I do that?

Rob: You know, ‘cause of the…email thread?

Adam: What email thread?

Rob: The email thread that YOU STARTED?

(Adam thinks for a moment.)

Adam: Are you sure you’re not thinking of Horace?

(Cut to Horace, sitting in front of a computer. He’s smiling toothlessly.)

Horace: UP AND AT ‘EM, YOU HOOLIGANS. TIME FOR A HORACE-MAIL.

(Horace lifts his arm with his other arm, and presses one key. His finger bone shatters.)

Horace: GOSH DANGIT-

(Horace falls asleep and begins drooling onto his chest. Cut back to Adam and Rob, the latter pulling out a tuft of his hair.)

Adam: If it makes you happy, Rob, I’ll go check my email. Though I stand by that I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.

(The two go inside. Adam brings up his email.)





Drea Aamd:

I raelyl lkei yrou traehd yuo. Aer fnuny! Ig bgr erd q h65 9 48 268g llllllllllllllg

Sincerely,
Gasdf nvpoc





Adam: Oh.

Rob: I think the first part says “I really kick your head out. Rawr fluffy. Big bread” and I give up.

Adam: Why would Gas-duh-ff Ennvipoch send me such a random email? He was a smart guy back in grade school.

Rob: Maybe your computer is broken.

Adam: Golly, Rob, I think you are correct. There’s only one thing we can do now.

(Credits begin to roll, with generic music playing in the background.)

Rob: Whoa. No. Gimme thirty seconds.

(Rob walks off. Twenty-nine seconds later, he comes in wheeling a cart with three computers in it.)

Adam: How did-

Rob: I have my ways.

(Cut to Patricia, Tod and Bother standing together on a sidewalk. Patricia is holding a spoon, Tod is holding a half-eaten donut, and Bother is holding a blank piece of notebook paper.)

Tod: Boy did we get the good end out of that deal! Rob is such a sucker. Oh, wait. Crap. That’s my second computer he’s conned off me this month.

(He looks at Bother’s paper.)

Tod: I’ll trade you.

Bother: BOTHER!

(He squishes the donut against Tod’s chest, eats the notebook paper, and runs off.)

Patricia: Yeah. I’d comment on how much I hate you all, but that’s what you’re EXPECTING, so I’m just gunna go dye my hair black.

(Back to Adam and Rob…)

Adam: You traded an entire spoon for one of these? You are such a sucker, Rob.

Rob: Just shut up and try one.

Adam: Oh. Right.

(Adam unplugs his computer and knocks it onto the ground. He plugs in the first computer, checks his email, and still can’t read it. The second and third computers reap the same results.)

Rob: Well, I can't understand why that didn't work. Did you try and twist the whatchamajigger into the thingamabob?

Adam: Oh, right.

(Adam leans behind the final computer and twists a knob labeled “whatchamajigger” in the direction of an arrow labeled “thingamabob.” The computer turns on, and a new email appears on screen.)





Dear Horace,

Look out! Those foreign flamingos are here to enslave our children and steal our jobs! Fight them all for the good of America! By the way, all my friends agree Horace-Mails is the best email thread out there.

Sincerely,
Gas-duh-ff Ennvipoch.





Adam: Oh, it wasn’t even for me.

(He suddenly jolts up, grabs his chair, and beats Rob senseless with it. He runs at full speed into a wall, smashing through it, does a double back flip, and lands doing the splits in his front lawn. He stands up, then looks around confused.)

Adam: Ah, dang. I must’ve consumed some caffeine earlier. Mama always said it had a bad effect on me…

[Adam Adderly]

E-mail #2-3: Unintelligible, Three

(Cut to Adam, who is walking into his computer room. He sits down in front of the computer.)

Adam: I better check my computer for somebody who wants to talk to me.

(Adam turns on the computer, and checks for email. The computer comes up with nothing.)

Adam: Oh. Nobody wants to talk to me. That's... a relief.

(An email appears.)

Computer: You've got mail, coincidentally enough.

Adam: Strange timing. I suppose I have to check it now...





Drea Aamd:

I raelyl lkei yrou traehd yuo. Aer fnuny! Ig bgr erd q h65 9 48 268g llllllllllllllg

Sincerely,
Gasdf nvpoc





Adam (printing a copy): What in the world? This isn't addressed to me! This is Drea Aamd's email! Hm... that sounds pretty foreign. And who is better with foreigners than...

(Cut to Horace's house.)

Horace: And wha's more, if I evah find any of yah danged Soviets, you can bet yer Red Squares I'll make yah comrades with a corpse!

Adam (strolling casually towards the house): Hi, Horace! What're you up to?

Horace: I'm defending the front lines, m'boy! Got myself a severe case uh the nationalism.

Adam: Thanks, Mr. Nexus. Say, I was wondering if you could help me figure something out.

Horace: Is it troop movements? I am a master of trench warfare.

Adam: Maybe another time. Look at this.

(Adam hands HORACE the email)

Horace: Good gracious triple entente, boy! You've intercepted an enemy message!

Adam: Really? What does i(t say?

Horace: Well, it's encrypted. Yeh gotta crack the code!

Adam: Can do!

(Adam runs outside, and almost immediately bumps into Rob)

Adam: Ow! Oh, hi Rob. What are you doing out here with those flamingos?

Rob: Oh, uh, I'll tell you for five bucks.

Adam: For the safety of the front lines, I'll do it, to make sure you aren't being untrustworthy.

(Adam hands ROB five dollars)

Adam: Okay, now what're you doing?

Rob: Putting this money before in my pocket.

Adam: No, what were you doing before that?

Rob: You'll have to give me five bucks for that information.

(Adam gives Rob five more dollars)

Adam: So, what were you doing?

Rob: Conning you out of five dollars.

Adam: But you got ten dollars.

Rob: I'm just lucky, I suppose.

Adam: Before I leave you with these flamingoes, can you tell me what this email means?

Rob: I'll tell you for five bucks.

Adam: (sighing) Fine...

(Adam hands ROB a third fiver.)

Adam: So, can you tell me what it means?

Rob: No.

Adam: (Groans) Oh, man. I gotta get outta here before I lose more money.

Rob: Oh, don't worry. I doubt you're going to lose any more money.

Adam: Thanks, Rob.

(Adam walks away.)

Rob: (holding Adam's wallet) No problem. It's hard to lose money when you don't have any.

(Cut to Tod and Patricia.)

Patricia: No, not at all.

Tod: Well, I can't understand why that didn't work. Did you try and twist the whatchamajigger into the thingamabob?

Patricia: Look, I just don't think that you can get a tree frog to putt a ball through a miniature windmill.

Tod: Oh, well a tree frog. That's a different story. What you do is-

Adam (walking up): Hey, are you guys good at secret-code-talk?

Tod: So by the sixth hole you should be-

Patricia (taking the email): what is this?

Tod: The tricky part is if you can't make par on hole nine, since that could demoralize a frog quicker than-

Patricia: What is this crap? I can't make out any of the last part, and the first part is an obvious lie. Gaahhh, I hate people who can't type correctly! They're just mindless, lazy jerks who can't be bothered to look down at their keyboards, since the only advantage to doing so is being understandable by normal human beings-

(Bother walks up and takes the paper from Patricia. He then reads it.)

Bother: NO! It Can't be true!

Patricia: And not only will I do that, I'll take an avocado and- Huh?

Bother: There's no time! I gotta go!

(Bother runs away)

Adam: Well, I guess that solves that problem.

Patricia: One of these days, you should solve a problem yourself.

Tod: And while you're at it, find me some lines that aren't crap.

[Adam Adderly]

E-mail #2-4: Unintelligible, Four

(cut to Adam, staring blankly at his computer screen. It's off.)

Adam: I can wait...

(The computer remains off.)

Adam: (sighs) Alright, you win again.

(Adam turns on his computer. An email pops up.)





Drea Aamd:

I raelyl lkei yrou traehd yuo. Aer fnuny! Ig bgr erd q h65 9 48 268g llllllllllllllg

Sincerely,
Gasdf nvpoc





Adam: (squints) Wow. I mean, I can see the symbolism, but where's the imagery? I'd better print this one out and see what I can make of it. Or maybe what I can make it into. Like...a paper hat.

(Cut to Adam and Bother standing in front of a desk. Adam is holding a magnifying glass and looking down at the printed-off email.)

Adam: Alright...looks like I'm going to have to do some serious "reading between the lines" here. Bother, you're on lookout. I don't want anyone stealing my magnifying glass, and I can't trust myself.

(Adam stares at the email.)

Adam: Well...it's definitely on paper...that's a start...

(Bother taps Adam on the shoulder. Adam turns around and notices that Bother has run off. He turns back to the email and realizes his magnifying glass is gone as well.)

Adam: Oh well...that was just made out of an old bottle of jam and some string anyways, so there was very little "magnification" involved. I should go ask Patricia what the email is all about. I mean...she speaks English AND I think I saw her fly one time.

(Cut to Adam in front of a door. There is a large "Do Not Disturb" sign visible.)

Adam: Hmm...I think this is one of those online IQ tests you hear about. No internet is going to tell me what to do!

(Adam bursts through the door and walks in. Patricia stares blankly at him.)

Patricia: What do you want?

Adam: I-

Patricia: Not gonna happen.

Adam: But I need you to tell me what this email is about.

Patricia: If there's one thing I hate, it's stuff printed out on paper.

Adam: Come on. Please. Come on. Please come on, please.

Patricia: ...Fine.

Adam: Yeah, like I'm going to show it to you. Get real.

(Adam walks off.)

Cut to Adam on Horace's lawn. Horace is wearing a bowl on his head as a helmet and holding a rolled up newspaper

Adam: Hey Horace...since you used to be a scientist, I figured you could tell me the meaning of this here email.

Horace: (glares at Adam) First of all, I have no idea what you're talking about. Secondly, I'm busy. These here lawn flamingos are after me, I know it.

(Adam turns towards the lawn. Horace's flamingos are spread out over the lawn in various positions.)

Adam: Uh...huh. Well, you can be weird anytime you want, but I only have a few hours before I lose interest in this venture. So make with the translations.

Horace: Oh...fine. But here, hold my position. I need to go inside for a second and check the back entrance. You can never be too secure, unless you're not secure to begin with.

(Horace hands Adam his newspaper and walks into the house. Rob walks up to the lawn and begins rearranging the flamingos.)

Adam: What are you doing?

Rob: This is called marketing. You should either learn about it, or buy this pamphlet on it. And considering I'm out of pamphlets, I'll just send you a bill.

Adam: Good idea.

(Rob walks off. A few seconds later, Horace walks back out.)

Horace: Egads! The flamingos!

Adam: Yeah...and...uh...considering this newspaper is from about 20 years ago, I figure you're not exactly up to date. I'll see you later.

(Cut to Adam walking along with Tod. Tod is holding the printed-out email.)

Adam: So do you have any thoughts about this whole "I don't understand" thing?

Tod: Have you tried a dictionary?

Adam: Are you kidding me? Words are one thing, but a book about words is another.

Tod: Well...what about an online dictionary?

Adam: Whoa! That could work. I mean...who doesn't like pop-ups?

Tod: Yeah...and it's all really easy to use, too. Frogs can do it, so...you might even be able to also!

Adam: I'm sure it will be fine.

(Cut to Adam's computer room, ten minutes later. The computer is completely wrecked and lying on the floor. All that's left on Adam's computer desk is the keyboard.)

Tod: Well, I can't understand why that didn't work. Did you try and twist the whatchamajigger into the thingamabob?

Adam: Yeah, and I just got another error message!

Tod: Right. That's why I don't own a computer.

(Tod walks off. Adam sits down and types on his keyboard despite not having a monitor.)

Adam: Anyways Inquirer, I don't really know what to tell you, so I'll assume you're email was about my job. So...long story short, I do indeed work in a shoe factory. Thank you, and goodnight.

[The Red Dragon]

I'm a little disapointed that not everybody wrote one, but hopefully they'll make it next time. The ones that that did get in are really good, and it was hard deciding which to vote out. I already can't wait to see who got out/read the next batch!

[Inf]

Doesn't it seem kind of unfair that the people who didn't write anything automatically get through to the next round?

[Mr. Teatime]

I was actually thinking the same thing. One person who actually took the time to write is going to be voted out, while two people get an automatic pass because they couldn't be bothered. Doesn't seem entirely fair to me.

But the people who entered in stories were all good. This is quite a tough competition!

[Goombazoid]

I think if the people who didn't write stories had a good excuse (being on vacation all week or something huge) then they should be allowed to pass through automatically. But if they just didn't feel like writing one, it's not really fair.

[The Red Dragon]

I might have to agree. I mean, you could just skip a hard challange by skipping it...

[that_lufis]

Would you rather me kick someone out of the competition because they had a US AP History paper to do? No? Don't question my motives.

Sorry, but one person was loaded down with homework, and another has been on vacation. Sure, next week, if the one person who didn't get it in two times in a row doesn't get it in, he goes anyway. Would you rather me not give someone a chance? Because, if the populace are going to be picky about this, so will I. I will not have this competition ruined because of the ideas of some people.

I'm sorry if that was harsh, but I, to, and some who has a lot of work to do. I have three days a week where I can check the forum for sure, and half the time, that isn't even guarenteed.

Also, I still want people partcipating! This was something people wanted! I started this, and I want to see this through to the end. I'm sorry if I have a vision for this thread. If granting amnesty to a couple of people helps this thread not become a quagmire of arguing and such, then I'm more than happy to appease. This is about writing. This is about experienceing the e-mail thread experience. This is about determining who YOU, the FORUM, thinks the best e-mail threadist in the forum is, and NOT just a few people.

I could go on all day about this, but I won't. Suffice it to say, either  say you won't stand for it, or move on.

-Luf

[that_lufis]

Sorry for the double post, but this warrants it.

Jjcd7, the fellow who was out twice, has IMed me, requesting to be taken out of the competition. We are now down to five participants.