While the crowd stood silent and the streets grew weary, a loud moaning arose from an alley nearby. Screeching, shouting, noises that just engross one's curiosity of what the fuck is actually going on. Although sensual, it sounds painful. Similar to a goat having a pineapple shoved up it's rectum. Poor goat indeed. A brave young man from the crowd, also known as Oscar Meyer (not spelled the same but how fucking delicious he can be) walked up slowly and peered into the darkness.

"Yeah baby just like that!"

Startled the young man backed away slowly and suddenly a dark hooded figure emerges at great speed and darts toward the crowd. Filled with all sorts of confused looks the group of Mobsters became nervous until the man stopped in his tracks, opened his robe, and reveled his undergarments with a tee-shirt reading "Larger than life!" with an arrow facing in the downward direction just below the lettering.

"Hello my happy people of the fine cities we all represent. As you can all tell I have something important to say. Well maybe not that important to those who just do not give a damn, or are just a wee bit stuck up sitting in their cubby holes smoking their Marijuana cigarettes and occasionally dropping a hit of acid for entertainment purpose, but important non-the-less."

Shaking their heads they can't help but be engulfed in hearing what was about to come out this deranged man's mouth

"Surely, you may think I'm deranged. Hell my own mother tried to sell me for ownership of a sweat shop when I was just four. Sympathy not needed thank you. I promise I have something useful to say. Or at least I think I do. People around here have become, well what's the word, drowned in their own silence. What happened to ever having fun in the streets? What happened to throwing panties ladies? Decorating the fine cities with your undergarments always gave a morning rise, well something to rise for. To hop out that bed and say, "Today is going to be on the up and up. Look down I can prove it."

Sighs went out through the crowd

"What ever happened to the food fights where getting covered in melted chocolate wasn't being considered a fetish? How about old fashioned debates? You know where there really isn't a winner but was always fun to giggle at those with absolutely no point at all? Is it just me or has everyone fallen into a routine of just stealing monies and humping fire hydrants to tell friends they were able to make something wet without completely lying about it? So my question to my lovely community is as follows, what gives people? Is everyone tired of the same ol attempts to present themselves to the crowds or has something gotten your tongue rendering you useless at something even outside of the bedroom? I sure hope that that isn't the case. I sure do miss the hoopla around the fine cities of ours and if it takes for me to smoke a little plant that has yet to be named causing me to give it to you like a lamb in heat then by gosh I shall! So please fill me in because obviously I'm missing something here."

Usually the man is content with disappearing back into the alleyway after such a speech but this time, this time he sits on the curb awaiting the first brave Mafioso to speak his opinion. No matter how off the wall it may be.

Phil_Steak walks straight to the middle of the street carrying a bucket named IzzyCreamCheese.
Phil_Steak places the old rusty bucket upside down in the middle of the street and sits on it.

Join us friends! Do not kick the bucket! Instead, sit on the bucket! Engage the bucket! OVERCOME THE BUCKET!

Brings out a bucket by the name of Talleywag, flips the bucket over and sits down

"Your absolutely correct! This bucket is extremely hard to resist! I AM THE BUCKET!"

Stinsonati, after a crazy night of booze and drugs, woke up from some kind of commosion. Seeing an unfamiliar street of which he's quite sure he's never been before, he draw all his courage faced the strangers and bravely spoke out.

"I have no idea where I am and I can't remember what have I been doing last night, did I just hear panties being thrown? It's I am exactlyn the place where I wanted to be!"

He brushes his arms in attemp to clean he's fine suit and scanned around for a fine young lady below 30 while he waits how this interesting crowd is going to develop.

Lilac wanders sideways onto the street, narrowly missing Stinsonati as she drops her bottle of rum and gives chase by hollering, ''Ahgedbackere! Smadrink!'' before teetering to an unsteady stop as she notices someone giving words.

In an almost miraculous feat of recovery known only to the Irish, she hoists her bosom and stands to attention, rapt by her crew member's speech.

-AphoticProphet-, you Sir are a saviour among men. And women. Ahem. Your pasketti couldn't be finer and by Jove, you're fairly bringing out the street smarts. Look at these buckets! A testimony of buckets. Wait... I brought a little something along myself, actually.

Turning 27 degrees to her right, Lilac wolf-whistles and is quickly descended upon by a horde of muscle-bound man-beasts carrying buckets clad in frilly panties.

Moses!! Lilac hoists her bosom once more.

Bring me my Testament Bucket. At ease, Sir. Men and womankind, my dear man -AphoticProphet- is correct. Where is our joy? Where is our mojojo? I'll tell you where it is. In these buckets, that's where! Bring your buckets by the thousand, it is time to Testify The Bucket!

TESTIFY!

Lilac thumps her chest twice with her fist before raising one arm into the air and saluting the sky with peacefingers.

-AphoticProphet - Amen my friend! You have just touched upon the finer things in life that really makes me tick, and it is a little word called FUN.

Sings in the voice of Little Richard.
Who put the Spam in the Spam-A-Lam-A-Ding-Dong? Who put the Bop in the Bop-Shoo-Bop-Shoo-Bop?

He hops onto a giant ball, three bowling pins in hand, and he begins to juggle, walking atop the sphere like a Russian dancing bear, circling you as he talks.

I'm ToyMachine, resident funkateer, and all-around master of the boogie. Some say I'm actually a superbad, superfly super-hero, with my James Brown cape - able to stop riots with a single, "UNH!" As an old buddy once said to me: “Make Funk Not War”. Now were has my bucket got too...

The man smiles in satisfaction of those coming forward in their opinions or just straight out having a good time.

"This is more like it. Now that I see people understand where I'm coming from outside of the horrible puns I tossed out there in the speech I ask you this, what keeps people from doing so? I mean really, it doesn't have to be quirky, it doesn't have to be serious, and it doesn't have to be filled with sexual metaphors. So why is everyone so quiet? Have we as a people gone silent and just given up on creativity? Do we just keep hush because we don't feel the effort in our breathes taken in speech is even worth the lack of possible response?"

It has been quite some time since i last roamed these streets. I have only recently returned. It is true that there is something about this world of us, no matter what you always end up coming back. However... this time compared to the last, things seems to be a little... different.

I am not sure if my nostalgic memories have been somewhat corrupted over the years, or whether the small developments that have been made are too much for my little self to cope with... i do not know.

No matter what, things have moved on since the past, maybe there is a new crowd in town, and maybe we are more goal orientated?... Or maybe things have all become too refined and mature for my childish ways, but the chemistry for me definitely has not been the same.

I think its a bit of both. Its difficult to come up with genuinely new and interesting material. I think newbies may be scared of coming up with something for fear of it not being new, being rehashed over and over again. And rightfully so, because more than likely its a topic more beaten than my last hooker. So my question is this... what is the solution?

Wanderer I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say emmmm stop beating your hookers. That's the obvious solution. Although you could beat them a bit more and see if that helps...

Startled by LilacDelaney brute yet enchanting entry, and moved by men that spoked before him, Stinsonati knocked out a passerby and stood up him, removed his hat and spoke bravely infront of men that poses to be superior than him. I Stinsonati, am new to this shores. I speak differently and I don't even know if what I'm doing, like knocking this man right here and using him as my stage is disrespectful and would violate these streets norms. In defense though, my intuition says that this man whom I am standing on will someday father a son that would enjoy music that will be created by a Beaver and K-Pop groups. Going back, this is exactly my point. I think that new comers like me are hesitant to participate and speak out on the streets is because "the streets" are nowhere to be found. Looking at all the busy people walking around here, sitting at the corners playing checker, the majority of these people are pioneers here and have partied on this once vigorous streets. I am speaking for all the new comers in here when I say that the old dwellers here are not making a good example for us, not anymore maybe. I see a few gentlemen, I consider them heroes, but where is the rest? He raised his voice louder I know, judging from how everybody speak about the streets, it sure was once great. But where are these men that would set example for us new bloods? I do hope that they're not tired speaking, settling down in doing crimes and walking past by us alone. Now, if you'll excuse me ladies and gentlemen, I have to wander around and get myself a real bucket to stand up on. Stinsonati puts his hat back on and walked away hoping to find an awesome bucket and come back to a much more livelier street

Startled by LilacDelaney brute yet enchanting entry, and moved by men that spoked before him, Stinsonati knocked out a passerby and stood up him, removed his hat and spoke bravely infront of men that poses to be superior than him.
I Stinsonati, am new to this shores. I speak differently and I don't even know if what I'm doing, like knocking this man right here and using him as my stage is disrespectful and would violate these streets norms. In defense though, my intuition says that this man whom I am standing on will someday father a son that would enjoy music that will be created by a Beaver and K-Pop groups. Going back, this is exactly my point. I think that new comers like me are hesitant to participate and speak out on the streets is because "the streets" are nowhere to be found. Looking at all the busy people walking around here, sitting at the corners playing checker, the majority of these people are pioneers here and have partied on this once vigorous streets. I am speaking for all the new comers in here when I say that the old dwellers here are not making a good example for us, not anymore maybe. I see a few gentlemen, I consider them heroes, but where is the rest? He raised his voice louder
I know, judging from how everybody speak about the streets, it sure was once great. But where are these men that would set example for us new bloods? I do hope that they're not tired speaking, settling down in doing crimes and walking past by us alone. Now, if you'll excuse me ladies and gentlemen, I have to wander around and get myself a real bucket to stand up on. Stinsonati puts his hat back on and walked away hoping to find an awesome bucket and come back to a much more livelier street