tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-272770692011-04-21T19:30:27.259-07:00Each participant may add up to TWO sentences at a time. Add on to the story by building on to the numbered sentence in the "current corpse" post. Click on <a href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27277069&postID=114634508219265331">"dying utterances go here"</a> and add your sentence(s)in the "leave your comment here" box (We play up to 20). It is first come first serve. So keep your eyes peeled if you missed your chance the first time around. Play nicely. Toy sharing is encouraged.exquisite corpsehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11447894658441721124noreply@blogger.comBlogger21100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27277069.post-1146345082192653312006-04-29T14:10:00.000-07:002006-06-19T15:19:51.990-07:00<div align="center"><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:180%;color:#cc0000;">Current CORPSE</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;color:#cc0000;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27277069&amp;postID=114634508219265331">dying utterances go here</a> <li></span></li></div><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">(16) So, there amidst the cosmetics, the feet sat down to paint their toes, wriggling them upon occasion like stars against a nighted horizon.</span></strong><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27277069-114634508219265331?l=exquisitecorpseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>exquisite corpsehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11447894658441721124noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27277069.post-1146331725579279202006-04-29T10:17:00.000-07:002006-04-29T18:19:32.413-07:00<div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">Running With Scissors</span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><div align="left">The first thing I wanted to do when I woke up this morning was to rid myself of the terrible taste in my mouth. I ran my tongue over my teeth. It felt as if someone had slipped tiny socks over each tooth. The sun had yet to peak its head over the horizon. My room was still dark. I tripped over the body lying in the middle of the floor. It made more sense to step over it than to remove it at this point. "After my shower," I muttered to myself as I slipped through the b<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6671/2866/1600/razor.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6671/2866/320/razor.jpg" border="0" /></a>edroom door to the bathroom, avoiding the loose floor boards that squeeked so I wouldn't wake my roommate. No sense getting him involved.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">"She had it coming," I convinced myself spitting into the sink. "Those were MY fillets." I held my razor up, remembering only then just what I had used it for the night before. "I look good with a beard anyway," I thought, running a hand aver my stubbly neck. "MMMMM," that feels nice I said, raising the razor to my own flesh, "that feels real nice . . . "</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27277069-114633172557927920?l=exquisitecorpseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>exquisite corpsehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11447894658441721124noreply@blogger.com6