The Republic {US Team}

[CandyCranium]

STORY TIME

The Story of Christy
Debrikisha was found dead on Applezy Road. It was confirmed that Debrikisha was found with a bullet that went right through is temple. There was a gun in Debrikisha's hand. The security camera shows that Christy, his neighbor, broke into Debrikisha's house with a gun, and shot Debrikisha through the head. Christy put the gun in Debrikisha's hand as an alibi, but Christy was too stupid to notice, that there were security cameras set in Debrikisha's house. According to the security cameras, Christy escaped due east. The Police searched everywhere for Christy, to no avail.

Years have passed, 6 years to be exact, and Christy was still not found. He was now living in North Korea along with his friends, Ryan Tech and Booter Bailer. Booter was assisting 김정은 with his nuclear bomb, attempting to destroy all of America and its beings. Ryan was the head policeman of North Korea. Christy was an assistant alongside Booter. Every single memory of Christy's murder had disappeared. Until April 32, 2069.

North Korea was just about to test their Nuclear Rocket that was carrying a bomb in approxiately 2 hours. Little did Christy know, that he was still on the chase. Americans have arrived at North Korea's airport, disguised as North Koreans with tapes on their eyes, and yellow-painted skin. They were very well disguised; disguised well enough that the Asians could not tell the difference. The Americans then asked some people about where the great 김정은 worked. He was said to work at ChingChongLingaDingDongWu.

The Americans arrived at ChingChongLingaDingDongWu in search for Christy. News said that Christy was found in North Korea helping 김정은 as the only American to assist 김정은. The Americans stealthily sneaked into ChingChongLingaDingDongWu and soon found that North Korea was going to test the Nuclear Rocket in a mere 2 hours. The Americans found where Christy was, and caught him, strapping him to a poll in a dark and quiet room. The next mission was to capture 김정은. The Americans searched and searched everywhere for approximately 2 hours. Then, one of the Americans realized that the Nuclear Rocket was to be tested soon. They needed to stop 김정은. They were too late.

Just then, a minute before the testing was launched, Christy went into beast mode, killing 69 Americans. Only one American was left. That American, was named Kidziez. Kidziez was the leader of the Americans, and was now the only one left. Kidziez, gathering all of his courage, managed to fight Christy enough to tire him. Fortunately, Christy was standing right beneath where the Nuclear Rocket was launched 2 minutes earlier. Of course, considering North Korea's skill in making nuclear weapons, the Nuclear Rocket flew rapidly down, and smashed Christy to pieces.

All that was left, was Christy's still beating heart.

More to come.

 

[ChrisComedies]

More to come.

Oh god no!

 

[YoungWolfyy_]

More to come.

Chapter 2..

 

[michael harmon]

STORY TIME

The Story of Christy
Debrikisha was found dead on Applezy Road. It was confirmed that Debrikisha was found with a bullet that went right through is temple. There was a gun in Debrikisha's hand. The security camera shows that Christy, his neighbor, broke into Debrikisha's house with a gun, and shot Debrikisha through the head. Christy put the gun in Debrikisha's hand as an alibi, but Christy was too stupid to notice, that there were security cameras set in Debrikisha's house. According to the security cameras, Christy escaped due east. The Police searched everywhere for Christy, to no avail.

Years have passed, 6 years to be exact, and Christy was still not found. He was now living in North Korea along with his friends, Ryan Tech and Booter Bailer. Booter was assisting 김정은 with his nuclear bomb, attempting to destroy all of America and its beings. Ryan was the head policeman of North Korea. Christy was an assistant alongside Booter. Every single memory of Christy's murder had disappeared. Until April 32, 2069.

North Korea was just about to test their Nuclear Rocket that was carrying a bomb in approxiately 2 hours. Little did Christy know, that he was still on the chase. Americans have arrived at North Korea's airport, disguised as North Koreans with tapes on their eyes, and yellow-painted skin. They were very well disguised; disguised well enough that the Asians could not tell the difference. The Americans then asked some people about where the great 김정은 worked. He was said to work at ChingChongLingaDingDongWu.

The Americans arrived at ChingChongLingaDingDongWu in search for Christy. News said that Christy was found in North Korea helping 김정은 as the only American to assist 김정은. The Americans stealthily sneaked into ChingChongLingaDingDongWu and soon found that North Korea was going to test the Nuclear Rocket in a mere 2 hours. The Americans found where Christy was, and caught him, strapping him to a poll in a dark and quiet room. The next mission was to capture 김정은. The Americans searched and searched everywhere for approximately 2 hours. Then, one of the Americans realized that the Nuclear Rocket was to be tested soon. They needed to stop 김정은. They were too late.

Just then, a minute before the testing was launched, Christy went into beast mode, killing 69 Americans. Only one American was left. That American, was named Kidziez. Kidziez was the leader of the Americans, and was now the only one left. Kidziez, gathering all of his courage, managed to fight Christy enough to tire him. Fortunately, Christy was standing right beneath where the Nuclear Rocket was launched 2 minutes earlier. Of course, considering North Korea's skill in making nuclear weapons, the Nuclear Rocket flew rapidly down, and smashed Christy to pieces.

All that was left, was Christy's still beating heart.

I don't think kidziez shouldo've lived

 

[EpicGamer102]

IGN:EpicGamer102
Age?:14
Donor?:Not ATM
Wins?:92 ( I have 250 on the hive )
TeamSpeak?:,yes
Do you have a working mic?:yes
Timezone?:EST
Past Clans?:#Destiny
Strengths?:strategy, FnS placement, fishing rod
Weaknesses?:being lit on fire, teams of 3 or more

 

[KingofGrapes]

APPLICATION:
IGN: KingofGrapes
Age?: 14
Donor?: Possibly Iron, or gold in coming days
Wins?: 83 (230 on hive recently switched back to MCSG, .33 win percentage on hive)
TeamSpeak?: Yes
Do you have a working mic?: Yes
Timezone?: EST
Past Clans?: #Destiny
Strengths?: Rod, FNS, Bow, Combos, Swords
Weaknesses?: Being Lit on fire, bowing in water, teams 3+

 

[dq]

I havent been on the thread for a while, but is Apzy owner yet?

 

[CandyCranium]

THE STORY OF FAT FUZZY

I didn’t even want a cell phone. My fiancee JustlThelPenguino got it for me when she renewed her plan.

I would have left it on the kitchen table and never charged it if she didn’t insist I carry it with me. What’s the point of having a phone at home if you’re going to make calls from the car, I argued unsuccessfully. She occasionally called under the guise of making sure I hadn’t forgotten to do this or go there, but we both knew it was really just to make sure I had the phone and to prove it useful. Even so, I still insisted I didn’t need it, so I never gave the number out or used it to call anyone but her.

That’s what made it so infuriating when people started calling.

The call wasn’t JustlThelPenguino’s office number or cell, and the prefix told me the call was from Danville, about an hour and a half from where we lived. I wasn’t going to answer but I figured something might have happened and JustlThelPenguino had someone calling me for her.

The caller was a woman, who asked for someone I didn’t know and whose name I didn’t pay attention to since it wasn’t mine.
“Wrong number,” I said.
“Oh, sorry,” she said. And we hung up.

The next time it was a male voice on the other end.

I laughed when I started getting calls from the Republic jail, always hanging up without incurring the cost of the call. Most times I didn’t answer, and since I didn’t have a greeting, sometimes people would leave a message. That’s when I realized I had been given someone else’s life. Through these errant calls and voicemails, I had access to all the previous holder of this cell phone number’s friends, and their desire – and his -- for their friendship.
“Call me,” a woman said sensually.
“Come pick me up,” a broken down friend pleaded from the side of the road.

There were invitations to parties, requests for rides to the store. Someone called seeking a shoulder to cry on. They all left messages, and I listened to them all with a shameful voyeurs’ interest and a chuckle, always thinking, ain’t happening. It wasn’t long before these calls fell away.

And that’s when she called.

The first few calls I didn’t pick up and the caller didn’t leave a message. But the calls kept coming, and she started leaving messages: “Are you there, Charlie?” …. “Why won’t you pick up, baby?” … “I wish you would pick up.” It got to the place I started recognizing the number. There was a pleading, placidness in her voice, and she sounded like an older woman, maybe even elderly – and that she was elderly was the only reason I didn’t just delete her messages and forget about it. My mother had died just a couple of years earlier, and I felt sympathy for this woman in a way I probably wouldn’t have felt before. I decided this was something I had to deal with, and finally I answered with the intention of telling her that she had the wrong number. And that’s just what I told her ... the first time … the second time … the third time … the fourth --.

When it started she would apologize and get off the phone. But later, there would be no response. No request to talk to anyone. No voice at all. She would just sit there. Occasionally, there would be the sound of a television in the background, but most of the time there would just be silence. And she never hung up. That would always be left to me after several unresponded to hellos.

Just to make conversation, I finally told JustlThelPenguino about it over dinner.

“How sad,” she said.

“Not at all,” I said. “That’s what happens when fat fingers meet bad eyesight.”

“Maybe there’s more to it than that,” she said. “Maybe she’s an older woman who doesn’t have any friends and is reaching out to someone; trying to find someone who cares or someone she cares about.”

That’s what happens when you marry the softhearted, I thought.

For another year, the calls kept coming – more sporadically, once or twice a month. There was no reason for me to keep answering. She seldom spoke, and when she did she asked for Charlie – and I wasn’t Charlie and couldn’t help her find him. I wanted to ignore these calls but JustlThelPenguino had shamed me enough that I just kept answering.

“May I ask your name?” I finally asked one evening into the sound of a news broadcast that served as background for the silence.

“I want to talk to Charlie?” she asked.

“May I ask your name I repeated?” I was trying hard not to sound perturbed.

“Booter Bailer,” she said, hesitantly. With that out of the way her voice was stronger as she said, “I just want to talk to Charlie.”

“Booter,” I said, “I’ve told you before this isn’t Charlie’s phone. You’ve got the wrong number.”

She continued to sit there in silence, like she was waiting for me to burst into laughter and say, “Hold on, he’s right here …” and then hand the phone to Charlie. But that wasn’t going to happen, so after a few more seconds of listening to the background of news, I hung up.

I wrote her name down. I wanted to tell my wife I had gotten more information about “The Lost Caller,” as JustlThelPenguino had dubbed her.

I forgot to tell JustlThelPenguino over dinner, and I didn’t give the scrap of paper I’d written the name on a second thought. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t long after that the calls stopped. It had been a couple of months before I even realized it.

Actually, I didn’t think about it again until one Friday night when my wife asked if I had heard from The Lost Caller lately, and fretted about her. It was only then that I remembered the piece of paper and got out of bed and went in search of it. I dug it out from the middle of a stack of papers on the end of the dining room table and brought it back to JustlThelPenguino, who set it on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

The next morning I found her at the computer in the guest bedroom when I got up to take my first pee of the day.

“I found her,” she said, her glaze locked on the computer.

What I had to do couldn’t wait, but she was still reading when I got back.

“Found who?” I asked. She was always talking about something and then acting like she had already told me but I hadn’t listened. I listened -- I’m sure she just wasn’t telling me all the stuff she claimed she was.

“Booter … Booter Bailer,” she said. “I found her. It’s her obituary. She died about a month ago.”

I stood over her shoulder and read. How she died and where wasn’t immediately mentioned, but it did say she was 69 years old, from Republic, and a secretary. That was as far as I got when JustlThelPenguino noted, “I found Charlie, too.”

She clicked the mouse and another window came up as she said, “He’s dead too.”

He was twenty-one years old and had died in a car wreck two years ago. It was a single car accident. He was speeding and hit a tree, just being reckless and irresponsible. Then again, that’s what young people are.

“Of course, I can’t say for absolutely sure … but I’m pretty sure this is them,” she said. “Right names; mother and son from the right area.” JustlThelPenguino looked up at me. There was nothing more to say.

If this was her, and this was them, maybe she died of a broken heart. No parent wants to bury a child and no parent really ever accepts it – you don’t have to have children to know that. Maybe now they are reunited; maybe before she died she found acceptance; maybe now she found peace.

Why had she decided this was the phone number of her son? Maybe it had been his. Maybe she had been calling this number hoping – wishing -- it would be his voice to answer one day. “Hey, mama,” I imagined she dreamed of hearing. “I’m on my way and I’ll be home soon.”

I could not suppose what she was willing to give for the last two years to hear the voice she wanted on the other end: the rest of her life … die happy that moment? But, of course, that hadn’t happened. She had always gotten me … a stranger. And yet, she kept calling.

I didn’t know if I had done a service or disservice each time I answered. Before I would answer maybe she was enjoying a futile moment of optimism that this time she would hear the right voice? Or was I making her more morose when the call was picked up and she heard my voice, the wrong voice, the voice that confirmed to her that he was never going to answer again? I guess it doesn’t matter now.

It bothered me that my wife was right and that I had been so uncomforting – even if I knew there hadn’t been anything I could have done. I decided to go for a walk.

NOTE: If you didn't get featured in this story, don't worry. There will be more stories like this, and you will get featured if you ask!

 

[ITsMeTYL3R]

W

THE STORY OF FAT FUZZY

I didn’t even want a cell phone. My fiancee JustlThelPenguino got it for me when she renewed her plan.

I would have left it on the kitchen table and never charged it if she didn’t insist I carry it with me. What’s the point of having a phone at home if you’re going to make calls from the car, I argued unsuccessfully. She occasionally called under the guise of making sure I hadn’t forgotten to do this or go there, but we both knew it was really just to make sure I had the phone and to prove it useful. Even so, I still insisted I didn’t need it, so I never gave the number out or used it to call anyone but her.

That’s what made it so infuriating when people started calling.

The call wasn’t JustlThelPenguino’s office number or cell, and the prefix told me the call was from Danville, about an hour and a half from where we lived. I wasn’t going to answer but I figured something might have happened and JustlThelPenguino had someone calling me for her.

The caller was a woman, who asked for someone I didn’t know and whose name I didn’t pay attention to since it wasn’t mine.
“Wrong number,” I said.
“Oh, sorry,” she said. And we hung up.

The next time it was a male voice on the other end.

I laughed when I started getting calls from the Republic jail, always hanging up without incurring the cost of the call. Most times I didn’t answer, and since I didn’t have a greeting, sometimes people would leave a message. That’s when I realized I had been given someone else’s life. Through these errant calls and voicemails, I had access to all the previous holder of this cell phone number’s friends, and their desire – and his -- for their friendship.
“Call me,” a woman said sensually.
“Come pick me up,” a broken down friend pleaded from the side of the road.

There were invitations to parties, requests for rides to the store. Someone called seeking a shoulder to cry on. They all left messages, and I listened to them all with a shameful voyeurs’ interest and a chuckle, always thinking, ain’t happening. It wasn’t long before these calls fell away.

And that’s when she called.

The first few calls I didn’t pick up and the caller didn’t leave a message. But the calls kept coming, and she started leaving messages: “Are you there, Charlie?” …. “Why won’t you pick up, baby?” … “I wish you would pick up.” It got to the place I started recognizing the number. There was a pleading, placidness in her voice, and she sounded like an older woman, maybe even elderly – and that she was elderly was the only reason I didn’t just delete her messages and forget about it. My mother had died just a couple of years earlier, and I felt sympathy for this woman in a way I probably wouldn’t have felt before. I decided this was something I had to deal with, and finally I answered with the intention of telling her that she had the wrong number. And that’s just what I told her ... the first time … the second time … the third time … the fourth --.

When it started she would apologize and get off the phone. But later, there would be no response. No request to talk to anyone. No voice at all. She would just sit there. Occasionally, there would be the sound of a television in the background, but most of the time there would just be silence. And she never hung up. That would always be left to me after several unresponded to hellos.

Just to make conversation, I finally told JustlThelPenguino about it over dinner.

“How sad,” she said.

“Not at all,” I said. “That’s what happens when fat fingers meet bad eyesight.”

“Maybe there’s more to it than that,” she said. “Maybe she’s an older woman who doesn’t have any friends and is reaching out to someone; trying to find someone who cares or someone she cares about.”

That’s what happens when you marry the softhearted, I thought.

For another year, the calls kept coming – more sporadically, once or twice a month. There was no reason for me to keep answering. She seldom spoke, and when she did she asked for Charlie – and I wasn’t Charlie and couldn’t help her find him. I wanted to ignore these calls but JustlThelPenguino had shamed me enough that I just kept answering.

“May I ask your name?” I finally asked one evening into the sound of a news broadcast that served as background for the silence.

“I want to talk to Charlie?” she asked.

“May I ask your name I repeated?” I was trying hard not to sound perturbed.

“Booter Bailer,” she said, hesitantly. With that out of the way her voice was stronger as she said, “I just want to talk to Charlie.”

“Booter,” I said, “I’ve told you before this isn’t Charlie’s phone. You’ve got the wrong number.”

She continued to sit there in silence, like she was waiting for me to burst into laughter and say, “Hold on, he’s right here …” and then hand the phone to Charlie. But that wasn’t going to happen, so after a few more seconds of listening to the background of news, I hung up.

I wrote her name down. I wanted to tell my wife I had gotten more information about “The Lost Caller,” as JustlThelPenguino had dubbed her.

I forgot to tell JustlThelPenguino over dinner, and I didn’t give the scrap of paper I’d written the name on a second thought. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t long after that the calls stopped. It had been a couple of months before I even realized it.

Actually, I didn’t think about it again until one Friday night when my wife asked if I had heard from The Lost Caller lately, and fretted about her. It was only then that I remembered the piece of paper and got out of bed and went in search of it. I dug it out from the middle of a stack of papers on the end of the dining room table and brought it back to JustlThelPenguino, who set it on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

The next morning I found her at the computer in the guest bedroom when I got up to take my first pee of the day.

“I found her,” she said, her glaze locked on the computer.

What I had to do couldn’t wait, but she was still reading when I got back.

“Found who?” I asked. She was always talking about something and then acting like she had already told me but I hadn’t listened. I listened -- I’m sure she just wasn’t telling me all the stuff she claimed she was.

“Booter … Booter Bailer,” she said. “I found her. It’s her obituary. She died about a month ago.”

I stood over her shoulder and read. How she died and where wasn’t immediately mentioned, but it did say she was 69 years old, from Republic, and a secretary. That was as far as I got when JustlThelPenguino noted, “I found Charlie, too.”

She clicked the mouse and another window came up as she said, “He’s dead too.”

He was twenty-one years old and had died in a car wreck two years ago. It was a single car accident. He was speeding and hit a tree, just being reckless and irresponsible. Then again, that’s what young people are.

“Of course, I can’t say for absolutely sure … but I’m pretty sure this is them,” she said. “Right names; mother and son from the right area.” JustlThelPenguino looked up at me. There was nothing more to say.

If this was her, and this was them, maybe she died of a broken heart. No parent wants to bury a child and no parent really ever accepts it – you don’t have to have children to know that. Maybe now they are reunited; maybe before she died she found acceptance; maybe now she found peace.

Why had she decided this was the phone number of her son? Maybe it had been his. Maybe she had been calling this number hoping – wishing -- it would be his voice to answer one day. “Hey, mama,” I imagined she dreamed of hearing. “I’m on my way and I’ll be home soon.”

I could not suppose what she was willing to give for the last two years to hear the voice she wanted on the other end: the rest of her life … die happy that moment? But, of course, that hadn’t happened. She had always gotten me … a stranger. And yet, she kept calling.

I didn’t know if I had done a service or disservice each time I answered. Before I would answer maybe she was enjoying a futile moment of optimism that this time she would hear the right voice? Or was I making her more morose when the call was picked up and she heard my voice, the wrong voice, the voice that confirmed to her that he was never going to answer again? I guess it doesn’t matter now.

It bothered me that my wife was right and that I had been so uncomforting – even if I knew there hadn’t been anything I could have done. I decided to go for a walk.

NOTE: If you didn't get featured in this story, don't worry. There will be more stories like this, and you will get featured if you ask!

Wat

 

[Hydrarealms]

Sorry guys i have been recently been banned on MCgamer and will be like at for another week (If ban dispute is not looked over) so if there is any way to tell the mods that i was not hacking that would be swell but until then i will not be on the ts. <3

 

[TheKidz101]

Sorry guys i have been recently been banned on MCgamer and will be like at for another week (If ban dispute is not looked over) so if there is any way to tell the mods that i was not hacking that would be swell but until then i will not be on the ts. <3

You could talk to Auroraty...she is a mod... kristier12

 

[Hydrarealms]

You could talk to Auroraty...she is a mod... kristier12

All right