Dr. Juicesir's OLD FASHIONED One of a Kind Requestable Stories and Poems

[Juicesir]

Step right up, step riiiiiiight up!

Come one, come all, and gather round, folks, cus have I got an offer for you! That's right! Old man Juicesir is at it again, unreinventing newly discovered old ways that YOU, dear forumgoer, can request things!

Have you ever wanted to hear a story about a thing, but didn't want to write that story yourself? Have you ever sat thinking about what a poem could be about but not had quite the words to make it so? Fear no more, ye aimless youth, for Dr. Juicesir has just the cure for you! It's


Dr. Juicesir's
OLD FASHIONED
One of a Kind
Requestable Stories and Poems

You read that right, kids!


Dr. Juicesir's
OLD FASHIONED
One of a Kind
Requestable Stories and Poems

are now one sale for the spectacularly low, low price of free! Did I mention they're at a discount?

"Now what in tarnation might all this tomfoolery 'bout requestables be?" you might gibber to yourself questioningly out of one of your many mouths. And that's about as fine a question as you can ask! The process is simple!

Just fill out the form below, submit it back to this thread, and in approximately 0-14 years, Dr. Juicesir himself will write you a one of a kind, never before read, absolutely plagiarism free story and/or poem!

Just fill out the form!

Kind of Story: poem, epic poem, short story, bed time story, novella, penny dreadful, novel, script, etc.
Preferred Genre of Story: horror, gothic horror, humor, fairy tale, sword and board fantasy, magical fantasy, epic fantasy, hard science fiction, soft science fiction, lukewarm science fiction, pseudobiographical, non-fictional fiction, fictional non-fiction, epistolary fiction, apocalyptic fiction, Episcopalian fiction, estranged fiction, etc.
Prompt and/or Desired Name of Work: input a title, a short prompt, or a long prompt, or really anything to go on and get started with
Desired Length: from six word story short to Russian peasant novel long and anywhere in betweenCAUTION: DR. JUICESIR'S OLD FASHIONED ONe OF A KIND REQUESTABLE STORIES AND POEMS ARE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY AND SHOULD NOT BE PLAGIARIZED OR REPRODUCED IN ANY MATTER. BY SUBMITTING A REQUEST FOR YOUR VERY OWN REQUESTABLE STORY AND/OR POEM YOU HEREBY PLEDGE TO NOT PRETEND YOU WROTE IT IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM, AND AGREE THAT IF JUICESIR IS TO FIND OUT YOU DID SO, HE WILL PROBABLY NOT LIKE YOU VERY MUCH AT ALL ANYMORE.

So don't be shy! Haven't you ever wanted someone else to write a story and/or poem about something you kind of had a vague idea about? Give


Dr. Juicesir's
OLD FASHIONED
One of a Kind
Requestable Stories and Poems

a try today!

Orders Being Processed
Lestari's Mirrored Dance Hall Fantasy Horror Short Story (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=64543&p=2179337&viewfull=1#post2179337)
Raindrop's Cyberpunk Emotional Styled Novel (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=64543&page=2&p=2179675&viewfull=1#post2179675)
x Kiki x's Magical Fantasy Short Story (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=64543&page=2&p=2181783&viewfull=1#post2181783)
Preach's Post-Modern DMV Epic Poem (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=64543&page=2&p=2181815&viewfull=1#post2181815)
Vee's Acid Reduction Campaign (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=64543&page=2&p=2184534&viewfull=1#post2184534)
Eli's Sweetheart Fairytale (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=64543&page=3&p=2210800&viewfull=1#post2210800)

Finished Products
The Fresh Prince Goes to Bel Air: A Bedtime Story (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=64543&page=3&p=2205169&viewfull=1#post2205169), commissioned by Woz (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=64543&p=2179336&viewfull=1#post2179336)

[Kiki]

I love this idea. And the thread entry made me laugh! I will definitely be putting a request in soon.

[Woz]

Well, Dr. Juicesir, how about a story about an African American child born and raised in west Philadelphia whom spent most of his days on the playground at school?

[Kiki]

^ WHEN I HAVE REP, I WILL BE BACK FOR ALL OF THIS

[Juicesir]

Well, Dr. Juicesir, how about a story about an African American child born and raised in west Philadelphia whom spent most of his days on the playground at school?

Well!


Just fill out the form!

[Raindrop]

I'll leave something here shortly. If I don't slap me and remind me.

[Woz]

Well!

Kind of Story: bed time story

Preferred Genre of Story: science fantasy

Prompt and/or Desired Name of Work: This is the tale of the especially debonair prince of Bel-Air, an African American child born and raised in west Philadelphia whom spent most of his days on the playground at school

Desired Length: I'm not too picky c:

[Vælling]

nifty little idea, this. Reckon I'll have a go.

Kind of Story: short story thing
Preferred Genre of Story: fantasy horror of sorts
Prompt and/or Desired Name of Work: a lonely woman, a window, and a dance hall of mirrors, fair-weather friends, and social vampires
Desired Length: couple pages

[V]

would you be willing to finish a silly short story off? I wrote this thing like 2 years ago, then became stuck and had no clue how to continue it. It's very silly. XD Titled "Acid Reduction Campaign"

[Kris]

Can I ask you to take a known story and try to frame it into a short song?

[Raindrop]

Kind of Story: Emotional journey styled Novel.

Preferred Genre of Story: A cyberpunk timeline, about a romance grasped by the despair of tragedy and a twist that stings and provoke.

Prompt and/or Desired Name of Work: Neon-Heart: "For Maverie and Always."

Desired Length: Novel (Or whatever you feel comfortable with).

_____________________________________________

Hope you like the challenge.

[Juicesir]

would you be willing to finish a silly short story off? I wrote this thing like 2 years ago, then became stuck and had no clue how to continue it. It's very silly. XD Titled "Acid Reduction Campaign"

Sure I would! Just


fill out the form!


Can I ask you to take a known story and try to frame it into a short song?

Of course you can! Simply


fill out the form!

[Raindrop]

Sure I would! Just


Of course you can! Simply


So, I did good? :D
<3

[Juicesir]

That you did! And I would like to remind all of our Requestable Submitters that our contract clearly states a 0-14 fulfillment clause, so rest assured: within roughly a decade and a half, your order will be delivered! We guarantee it!

[Kiki]

^

Here we are:

Kind of Story: Short story.
Preferred Genre of Story: Magical fantasy!
Prompt and/or Desired Name of Work: “Only the ship is made of books, its sails thousands of overlapping pages, and the sea it floats upon is dark black ink.”
― Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus
Desired Length: Maybe a solid 20 pages? Single or double spaced, up to you.

:)

[Preach]

Kind of Story: Epic poem
Preferred Genre of Story: Post-modern
Prompt and/or Desired Name of Work: "My Visit to the DMV"
Desired Length: Well it's an epic poem so just work with that I guess

:thumbup: C:

I very much look forward to the fruits of your labor.

[V]

Kind of Story: Short Story (well completion of)

Preferred Genre of Story: Bizarre Thing

Prompt and/or Desired Name of Work:
Acid Reduction Campaign

Short synopsis of already written material: Cat (gender unspecified) arrives at work for their late night shift in a seedy part of town. They seem to be in for a typical night of data input of various Acid based substances, the atmosphere is typically unnerving and Cat is getting quite effected.

I work down on Mars street just beyond the old factory district. It's a run down old street. Ain't going to get the repairs it needs; there is talk of creating a complex on the ruins of the old town. But I guess they just don't have the money. This isn't a part of town you'd call respectable so it's far from the councils sight. We get shady business around this part of town instead.
Often it's best to keep out of the shadows.
A sign up ahead draws me in – its neon working havoc on my windows mashing against the strong glows of streetlights. I have to squint to read it but I know what it says already. I just like to reassure myself, Mars street is scary. And I work at night.
A Murder happened in the old Club next door a fortnight past, brutal event, scared the shit out of us. It was a close call. One building over and those thieves would have been inside our building. And then there would have been hell.
My wheels groan to a stop and I'm half an hour early. For the best, I say to myself looking out the back mirror. The bare street stares back at me. Half an hour early is better than a minute late.
A shriek erupted with the door opening. Can't say the air was cold or even cool but it entered the vehicle all the same. I locked the car up. Above me the neon sign groaned and the words read, “Acid Reduction Campaign.”
A bell rings at my passing through. Old Bobby looks up from the desk, he ain't that much older then the rest of us but he looks like he's been working in the sun fifty years. He hides his face under a wide brimmed hat. “Cat.” He says simply, he has a foreign voice but we haven't ever asked where it's from. We all have pasts.
“Bobby,” and our conversation is done. I check the wall as I enter but nothing pinned up is new. A good sign that nothing has gone wrong during the day hours. And another day without word of the missing co-worker. I settle into my place beside Old Bobby.
My chair swivels and I get a good look at my partner but he's hard at work and then I'm behind my screen. Bobby is intense about this stuff, more then the rest of us, he's been here a long time. Someone walks past outside and I look up but they continue down Mars street. My eyes are left to wander the bare room. There is another door out but we aren't allow to open it, ever.
The ceiling fan stopped working last summer, I can't recall why no one fixed it. It never made the room any cooler but it helped freshen the work space. I'd been working nights with Old Bobby ever since. He's alright.
The vials arrived with the toll of a bell. I rise within a trance and cross over to the second door. Built into the wall is a sliding door it gives way easily to my pushes and sitting on the bench are ten vials of Acid. Beyond that I see nothing but darkness. I collect them and close the sliding panel. It locks.
Me and Bobby look at the new arrivals together, he breaks the silence. “I already got an A through E before you arrived.” He says tapping five of the glass containers with his index finger, it's redder than usual but I say nothing.
Instead I agree, “Alright, I'll take them then. What about the worm?”
We both look at the only numbered vial. Glass made of a crimson shade and only half full of liquid. It gleams in the bright lights above us with it's polished surface a contrast to the dusty lettered containers. Bobby holds it up to the light so we could look inside. The worm was perhaps ten centimetres in length, wrapped around itself in its wet home. It looked similar to droplets of blood through the coloured glass.
The worm twitched.
Bobby shrugged at me and set it back down in the centre of the desk. The four remaining Letter vials he placed on his side of the desk. “Work out later.”
“Okay,” I say with a nod but I'm a bit sceptical. I trust Bobby's experience but the worms are something to fear when they begin to move.
Silence settled between us but for the noises on Bobby's side as he examines the Acid.
I break the seal on the first vial and pull my dropper from the drawer. Squeezing tight taking only a few drops of Acid A, I look at my screen noting the time. Before continuing I scribble 11:45 down on the notepad beside a large capitol A.
The first drop takes forever to fall, hesitant my fingers work struggling to act underneath the pressure. Always the first droplet of the night is the hardest. There is much to fear about it's effect.
Acid hits the palm of my hand and...

….I wake up half an hour later.
Bobby is not in his seat, his pistol is on our desk and as I glance toward the worm it shifts once more. Cloth sticks to my back as I begin to sweat. I stand up and walk toward the exit. Leaning in between the door and the message board I wait. I don't breath and I try not to shake.
After ten minutes I breath out and begin to pace; after thirty I take my seat once more. The night devoid of sirens.
My screen is completely blank so I restart the machine. Waiting I flick open my notepad and read words I don't remember writing, “A 11:45”, but this isn't something to question. My scribbling takes precedence and I slip into another trance mechanically remembering the things seen. Once done the notepad is closed and placed beside the screen.
The icons return to the machine and I get to work.
Data entry is the calmest part of our evenings together. Whenever they had a chance to cool down and talk it was entering the figures from their Acids. But usually those were rare moments.
Bobby returned and took his seat, “Cat.”
I nod not trusting my voice but I give Bobby a depressing smile when he places the pistol back in his drawer.
My silence didn't dissuade Bobby and he asked, “a bad one?” His voice was a comfort in the room, more so then pushing myself into routine. I nod and feel a tear roll down my cheek. Surprised I rub it away before resting my head in my hands.
My fingers are like Old Bobby's, red. At such close proximity to them I could.... smell it working. I'm not as far gone as the others. But that didn't mean much. It still hurt.
“Best friend from high school,” I said to him, “moved down the coast last year. She was still setting up her life, was busy all the time. Think she worked two jobs, between that and her kids she didn't have much spare time. I only called her twice.”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks Bobby.”
He patted my shoulder and returned to work.


Desired Length: However long you feel it requires. I would say what I have written is perhaps between 1/3 and 1/2 of the desired length.

Other: Feel free to edit what I have written, I know it is very rough.

It's cool if you don't want to take this on :)

[Kaptain Panty]

Hm, I would request a story, but I think that it'd be better I write my own because only I can make my stuff as crazy as it is.

[Juicesir]

Well that's the beautiful thing, my good man! Our exclusively free services just for you allow for you to submit not only short story ideas, but requests for all other kinds of things! Poems, epitaphs, advertisements, any thing of the kind that your mind can think of my good man! The sky is the limit! And it really is! Our patented Requestable agents can't breath in space yet!

[Kaptain Panty]

ADVERTISEMENT!?!

Well, you'll have to go through my lawyers first!

[Juicesir]

Alright Woz, yours is being worked on right now, and should be finished and posted by next week.

[Raindrop]

Out of pure curiosity Juicesir, how goes this project of yours? Making progress? :)

[Juicesir]

Pretty well. It's a lot on my plate, but I should have Woz's up before the end of this week.

[Juicesir]

The Fresh Prince Goes to Bel Air: A Bedtime Story
A long time ago, on a playground far, far away, there lived a little prince whose name was Will Smith. He had many good times on that playground, upon which he would spend most of his days. He would chill out while maxing and relaxing all cool, and sometimes even shoot basketball outside of his school.

For many pleasant days, the Prince would reign over his neighborhood. But one day, a couple of guys - who were up to no good - started making trouble. This made the Prince mad, and very not chill, and so he decided to stand up to the two guys who had come into his neighborhood.

When the Prince went to stand up to them, he saw that they looked very normal. Too normal. And the Prince thought that there might be something wrong with them, because despite how normal they looked, they smelled awful. The two guys smelled like a rotten sock in the back of a fridge, and so strongly smelt that it made Will cringe.

It turns out, he was right about them not being normal/ Because they were aliens. Speaking strange words that sounded like a sick chicken clucking, the two aliens called to their spaceship, which was just above the neighborhood. The Prince was astonished! And he was even more astonished when a beam of light began to shine around him. And he was the most astonished when he began to slowly rise up off the ground.

As the spaceship flew away, the aliens began to talk to the little Prince. They tried to calm him down, saying that they had been looking far and wide for him for a very long time. You see, said the aliens, we come from Bel Air, a little star that was very far out there. Just past tiny Pluto did the aliens live, and they needed whatever help young Will could give.

They gave him orange juice in a fancy glass, and being so thirsty, he drank it right up. The juice tasted great! And it gave his skin a glow! And the aliens then said that it was time for him to know. He - Will Smith - was the Prince of their land, and the juice that he had in his little Prince hand? Was no ordinary juice from an ordinary tree. It gave him magic powers so he could help them.

Finally, the spaceship arrived in Bel Air, and right away Will could see what the problem was. The aliens all were very, very sad, and they slumped across their planet looking not very glad. They slumped through their forests, and they slumped through the seas, and they slumped against buildings and benches and trees. They were lying like balloons that had lost all their air, but thankfully the young Prince knew just how to help Bel Air.

He asked why the aliens were all just so sad, and the two who had brought him there told him a tale. The aliens gotten bored of all of their music, and they just couldn't find any new thing that could make them smile. They had played symphonies, and rock, and trap. Then Will asked if they had ever listened to rap.

"Rap?" The aliens all asked with a start. "What's rap? We don't know that." Then Will knew what he must do.

So he rapped, and he sang, and he slayed on the mic. And those aliens went wild all into the night. With the power of the orange juice, he rapped on and on. He made up new lyrics with every new song.

And the aliens danced in delight and surprise. And they danced right on to near to sunrise. They thanked him, and started to make their own raps, because the Fresh Prince was so tired that he needed a sleep. So the two aliens took him all the way back to earth. They tucked him into bed, and thanked him again. And as they left, Will simply said "Yo Holmes, smell ya later." They laughed, and he laughed, and then he yawned. And the young Prince was happy back in his kingdom.

The next day his mother was quite displeased with how tired he was and how long he slept in. But Will felt great, and all he could do was just grin. And the Fresh Prince of Bel Air went out once again to the playground where he could play with all of his friends.

The end.

Whoever wants to illustrate this will get my eternal love.

[Woz]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdMBEUslPR0

[Elizabeth16]

Kind of Story: Folktale style, be it done in a poem or a song or a story.
Preferred Genre of Story: fairy tale/folklore/legend
Prompt and/or Desired Name of Work: The Legend of RPA's Residential Sweetheart
Desired Length: Whatever needed. :D

[Juicesir]

Added. Lestari's is next up for the docket. Been working on some of it in conjunction with Gin's bullshit (just had to say novel, didn'tcha?). ^_^

[Raindrop]

Added. Lestari's is next up for the docket. Been working on some of it in conjunction with Gin's bullshit (just had to say novel, didn'tcha?). ^_^


Juice, I said it because I believe that you can do it. :) And make it happen yo, that should prove my faith in your mad skillz as a writer. :P

[Elizabeth16]

I demand progress.
:hugs: