MADNESS.

shitpostgenerator sentence starters

shitpostgenerator sentence starters

        “One is perfect, thank you,” a touch of softness in Jane’s voice diverted attention from her vacant stare, but it collapsed as she thrust ashen hands out to steady the leaning tower of cracked china. She leaned so far over the table that the ends of her hair tangled within the centerpiece’s dying petals. 

         When she felt the stack was stabilized, Jane carefully peeled her fingers away and then glanced at the March Hare. “And you…” she chided, admonishingly tapping the sugar bowl’s gold-rimmed lip, “Would you at least like a spoon?” 

         Jane placed an antiquated one beside him before settling back into her chair, habitually   resting torn and black-drenched hands on her lap. Then she peeked at the mess behind Tarrant’s seat and disjointedly crooked her pinky finger. Every shard vanished. 

he could hear thackery jittering about, speaking in that outlandishly handsome accent              and all the people of underland hand them. accents. wild, some demure, some mute, some loud, some SOFT, some gentle, some brutish, some thorny, some pretty, SOME UGLY  !!!             but they were there, right as rain! the hatter removed the little top from the sugar jar nearest him, a frown marring his mouth.      “ well this is quite a dilemma, I should say. it appears that we have no lumps, but squares. to be honest, i’ve never understood the many different ways to take sugar. i believe it tastes fine just the same. ”

                                                     ( cue thackery, the march hare, raising up one of the pieces of silverware and saying in a slow, suspicious tone: SPOON. )

divulged  in  disorienting  ABRUPTNESS,   dithering  midst  a  most  bizarre  of  quandaries  unfurling.  all the colors dripping dross upon the foreign creature  becomes   DIZZYING,   their myriads  and   vivid  hues  cascading  carnivorously,   and  god’s  scathing gaze  knows  not  where  to  fasten  amongst  the  dissonance.  regardless,   the  strangeness  of it all  inspires  a  fascination,  unbidden and  dwelling  like the itch of a brand in  RAVENOUS  THROAT,   that he halfway heeds to the  entreating  of  airy  vocals.   still,   apprehension lingers shrewdly  whilst  deliberate  steps  near  him  towards  the  banquet table,   husky  tones  a  mere    murmur.   ❛ thank you, no. ❜ 

“ i can’t imagine you in a fez, good sir.        and in fact, i might ask if you’ve come in looking for something tall. ”    his accent is garnished by a slight lisp at the end of his words, lips puckered into an ingenuine pout. he is trying not to giggle, to burst into laughter, into a CACOPHONY of joyous mockery at his own joke.      “ but there’s really not much to work with, my goodness. your head is so small. ” 

“ i believe that’s the part that’s gotten me quite confused. its gone right over my head, you see. hat and all.       but which witch is the one which you have said you are? a witch, that is. but! i was wondering if perhaps you could explain to me: which witch is actually which?  ”   

“ ooh, now you must be VERY strong. just look at those muscles. why, i bet you could even carry around the white queen without skipping or hopping or missing a single step! ” 

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