Welcome to Gaia! ::

You might remember this game from the last Cha Cha Cha spawn breeding. While this pairing is infinitely less horrible, the game is still a lot of fun. We call it “Use Your Words.” What you do is you take this list of words that we’ve got for you and you incorporate as many as you can into a story of some kind. It can be as short or long as you like, although using all of the words will win you some bonus points.

Word List

soporific
bald
nascent
plaisance
ersatz
sprinkle
alacrity
canard
toenail
contact
sanguine
cockery
merkin
chimera

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Master of the Dictionary, Master of the Universe
Name: Jun D
Proposed Babby Name: Starry Bruise
Entry

(I am pretty sure I used them all, perhaps a little too fast. Sorry.)

He peered critically into his trousers at the breakfast table, spoon in hand, making low noises of discontent in his soporific drone. "It's bad enough that I'm going bald up here, but down there too? God! What could be worse. I'll need a merkin to cover my c**k...ery. My cockery," he amended under the disapproving glare of his dried up wife, jerking her head furiously towards their nearby spawn. Releasing his waistband, he cast a skeptical eye at the rugrat, dubious that a being examining - beg pardon, now sampling - his own toenail with boundless alacrity as if it were the most fascinating thing in the universe could have come to a nascent understanding of anatomical colloquialism. But there was no arguing, the woman's face had settled back into her customary bland, blank expression of ersatz plaisance; the lights had gone out. Nobody understood his pain. He signalled his displeasure with a vicious sprinkle of cinnamon over his soggy cornflakes.

Such was the tragedy that the old canard of white picket fences wrought, he bitterly thought as he escaped his dreary home for his equally dreary workplace, shuffling down the plodding street with heavy steps. First, the wife, the biggest regret of his life, then the child, the second biggest. Between them and the vapid tedium of his dead-end job as a mid-level manager at the local paperclip manufacturer, they had come to sculpt of his existence a vast, ghastly chimera of numb boredom, silent desperation, and cold, dead resignation. And yet - and even so, he could have borne them all with equanimity, faced them all drab day in and out with a sanguine soul, if only the doing of it could absolve him from this greatest indignity - from losing all his hair. Day by day, it was coming for him. He would be parted, he knew with a grim horror that could not be named as he stared at himself in the full-length mirror each morning, from every single strand. In his youth he had been tricked by sly classmates into watching a freak fetish video; most of the cast of sideshow bizzarities had long since faded from his mind, but one remained always, gleaming wetly like a pale, bloated eel in the haunted recesses of his mind: the gimp, a fat, hairless man with a frozen, agonised, grin of rotten teeth. Entirely hairless, head to toe, shrunken member dangling limply with nowhere, no friendly curtain to hide behind - it had been...sorely abused in the course of the video. He had a fear - he deathly feared - in his infinite sadness, his mental squalor, his encroaching hairlessness, he was becoming that man. What I would give, he cast his eyes heavenwards, bitterness since fled in the face of sheer misery, for some hair! To escape that sordid fate of becoming such an abject figure. Alas. The next few metres he spent in gloomy contemplation of his inevitable decline, before an itch within his stiff, buttoned cuff finally caught his attention. Absently, he slipped in a finger to scratch away the aggravation - when it came into contact with an alien texture he had not felt upon his wrist before...a texture much like...fur. He stopped in his tracks. A rising panic seized him, he began struggling to undo the cuff with fumbling fingers. No, no, no, no, no, no, that had not been what he'd meant - that had not - the horror - the horror! He reeled as finally he uncovered his flesh and where pale skin ought to be he saw only fur, blue - bright blue - but that was not the worst of it, no, no, as he tore at his sleeve, ripping cloth to expose more and more, no, the worst of it, as he dragged his gaping eyes across the abomination that had engulfed his entire arm, was that -

"MY GOD, IT'S FULL OF STARS!"

He screamed as he awoke with a start...and then his mind automatically supplied, as it ought to be. Sense filtered slowly back into him as his pounding heart calmed beat by beat. He peered down at his limbs in the darkness, eyes filling in the familiar marks as they adjusted to the gloom. Yes. Full of stars. All presented and accounted for. Just to be safe, he checked his flank as well. What a nightmare. What a hideous nightmare that had been. The details were fast fading with the advent of lucidity, but he well remembered he had been a practically hairless sack of a creature; a sad, fleshy, hairless sack of a creature. A grotesquerie beyond imagining. With a bone-deep shudder, he tried to dismiss the lurid vision that still floated like a malformed spectre in his mind's eye. At least that was behind him now! He went out and rolled around in the trash until the hot stink of dreg-matted fur made it better.