IsntLifeBrilliant

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryWhat you say and how you say it IsntLifeBrilliant18 years 4 months ago
StoryBeneath the surface IsntLifeBrilliant98 years 7 months ago
StoryIt shouldn't be this hard... IsntLifeBrilliant18 years 9 months ago
StoryRubik's cube (I.P.) IsntLifeBrilliant38 years 10 months ago
StoryOne foot in front of the other... IsntLifeBrilliant18 years 10 months ago
StoryPetty torments and pyrrhic victories III: Wurzel the wi-fi weasel and his desperately dirty dog... IsntLifeBrilliant08 years 10 months ago
StoryWhere does it go? IsntLifeBrilliant48 years 10 months ago
StoryCáfe Cold War IsntLifeBrilliant49 years 6 months ago
StoryAn idea on the premature death of ideas. IsntLifeBrilliant39 years 6 months ago
StoryHoles in the bag. IsntLifeBrilliant59 years 6 months ago
StoryThe Test Yume12541011 years 3 months ago
StoryCommute IsntLifeBrilliant111 years 6 months ago
StoryBreaking news IsntLifeBrilliant811 years 6 months ago
CollectionBlogs, journalistic musings and thickets of anger. IsntLifeBrilliant011 years 6 months ago
CollectionPoetry IsntLifeBrilliant011 years 6 months ago
CollectionFiction... IsntLifeBrilliant011 years 6 months ago
StoryI have this dream... IsntLifeBrilliant611 years 11 months ago
StoryIP - How did it come to this? IsntLifeBrilliant614 years 3 months ago
StorySelf control IsntLifeBrilliant714 years 3 months ago
StoryShopping (I.P.) IsntLifeBrilliant614 years 4 months ago
Forum topicKnob Wank Titty Rude Jakdakson714 years 4 months ago
Forum topic10 Signs, by yan Ladle615 years 10 months ago

My stories

Where does it go?

You know how they sweep ours up and take it away? Sure. How do you think they get rid of theirs? Well, just calling on my magnificent powers of...
Cherry

Cáfe Cold War

There’s a thing that happens in high-street coffee shops. There is this animal panic that flashes over people’s faces when they walk into a busy...

Holes in the bag.

Things in the water...
Cherry

An idea on the premature death of ideas.

Over the ramshackle doorway to the foetid domicile in which we, the meek, house our ideas you scrawl a red cross, as though charged with protecting a...

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