Written by the posters of the General Discussion forum of the smashingpumpkins.com message board.
here's a breakdown of who contributed:

Who posted in: Write a Story Three words at a Time.
Member name Posts
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ufomammut 103
gargoyle socks 103
ShamanO 58
Derek Sporck 42
clair.de.lune 39
pumpkinpenchant 35
sirbill 30
scorpiopulse 24
Deleted User 22
rosenkreuzer 20
Liquid_Peppermint 20
AsRomeBurns 17
Mercy 17
explodingkid 16
judas 16
PopcornSmiley 15
Rocket_Baby_Dolls 15
aztec_litany_service 14
Liquid Glass 14
All_that_and_a_bag_of_chips 12
Julian 12
waltermcphilp 10
Crystal_Ship 9
Dontgetangryitsjustagame 8
DeathRockBoi 7
Toerag 7
frosty 6
calla lily 5
Knulp 5
Facecloth 4
MarieMc 4
NotPeteYorn 4
MachinesOfLight 4
metocusheadocus 3
the_farewell_party 3
_Revolution_Blues 3
LarkinLondon 3
MyBigToe_V2 3
pastup 2
marigold 2
blanket_skies 2
.absof. 2
CoolAsIceCream 2
SilverF_ck 2
Dawn2Dusk 2
Machina III 2
REZURII 1
Account Deleted 1
Black_Milk 1
kelsome 1
Aristocles 1
guru26 1
andrewface 1
ssttaarrllaa 1
Elphenor 1
Everlastingfool 1
nasalscarecrow 1
bmaromars95 1
Guglielmo 1
showers 1
DustinDanielRay 1
cahiers 1
armacnab 1
I Give Up 1
crestfallen73 1
rellica 1
mr_lewis 1
BlindedBySightIII 1
Bountiful_Wasteland 1
Guest 97



Lyrics [Book I] [compiled by george (Popcorn Smiley)]:
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On a cold plate of steel, I will chop up my dick, my steak, ferociously. Steak, dick, it's all the same. The very end.

Part II. Sweet smelling perfume.

I went batshit over a rainbow, with bloody hands into his anus and out his...My sharpened axe split their skulls into two pieces. I laughed gleefully, shot the sheriff whilst Goldilocks masturbated into my pool and Kurt Cobain fed the chickens, ate his brains. My inner zombie under the sky kinda smells bad, and the rat to eat flesh. Yes, raw flesh smelled of farts. After the Armageddon, I ruled mankind until the fall of China's wall. The flesh-eating virus never did come, leaving flesh tasty and full of high cholesterol content from eating cheese, cutting the cheese. He found God, His Royal Cheesehead, and he said, "Dude, what up?" Clicked the mouse and then Billy, his shining light ate some cheese, asked the sea, "am I lost?" in complete insanity. Then, Billy turned and spoke softly: "Armageddon isn't funny...flesh eating is." Billy transformed into a uniform bathtub containing Bruce Dickenson, bathing in milk and blood of flesh-eating zombies.

The best part of waking up is the sound of sucking eggs. Zombies suck eggs? Only when they pee at night into my pool of egg yolk from Waffle House (in the evening). The next day, Billy and I put on galoshes in the dark. For the first moment, we groped each other's butts into the pool. Then, we realized the sheriff took the water out! Ouch, that hurt! It felt good in the beginning, but soon afterwards I had warts that went away with Voodoo magic and Stolley's Vodka, only to resurface underneath an airplane that couldn't land on land or water because it has no wings or buffalo sauce to dip into and become yummy just like a...just like Billy. Billy is yummy. Yes, he is not the sheriff. Sheriff Billy walked into the saloon with Domino's pizza and started eating a German pizza like a maniac, with hot sauce and paper napkins. Never sure why. Not to mention the pizza was just a reflection of his love of his ego and his hate for plain socks. A missed flight. Find the next campfire gay coach, edible wall flower, and listen to him ramble on under a chair without any pants or a hat of wooden bones. He got cold deep inside. He unzipped his pants too long to take his shirt and eat it, while stroking the bottom of his rather oversized, blue suede shoes. Then, he danced fast...way too fast...faster than a turd taking flight into the toilet with a splash and a splish. And then he found something interesting: a peace sign made out of unicorns and colorful cotton balls. It shown like a golden taco from the pearly gates of a forgotten dream about the last World's Fair, until someone rudely poked their finger inside Billy's ear and tasted it. It gave her a bitter taste in her mouth, but in her mind, there is something sweet, like a big döner or some currywurst.

One day, my mayo went rancid, so I bought eggs for sucking my big toe while I farted the alphabet and walked away to a faraway land where everyone farts in rhythm to Smashing Pumpkins music. So I began feeling my way using some leftover mashed potatoes melted garlic butter gravy. Quickly, I drew my gun, aimed at the nearest lamp post, missed, accidentally shot Obama in the briefcase...that's all.

"Jesus loves you," sang Phil Collins in the shower to his penis and his taint. Then, he farted into his hand and smelled it while sighing. Afterwards, he wrote "Misunderstanding" and "Duchess," too while eating pineapple with his drumsticks. "China Cat Sunflower" is the name of the acid used to melt the leaden perception behind her ears. Someone was itching. A spider twitching. The end. The end? Don't let Sprock ruin our fun just because his is the beginning...of the end.

Lastly, a mutant from the depths came crawling towards my big shoes and bit them off my feet. So I had to retrieve them with my prehensile tongue. So I started to make yummy pot brownies, to give them to Christopher Walken, but he roared, "I'm gonna stab someone in the neck!" If you feel especially violent, like Alec Baldwin when he drinks too much beer with a straw through his nose like an elephant swimming in a cesspool of hate mixed with love and taco sauce so he could eat Taco Bell with cute last_rose_of_summer, and loves Morgan and Catherine and... All the good boys eat fudge, looks like poop from a scoop with rainbow sprinkles and a huge ping ping ball with blue eyes and no hair nor any socks because it has excessively large toes and big nose. And Michael Richards covered in fur like hairy balls from a big Yeti that roams looking for nookie with grizzly bears or Komodo dragons and smiling butterflies with kaleidoscope wings in a teargarden in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Nice, I love chicken in buckets and cranberry flavored drinks with vodka and pineapple juice makes us creative in delusional ways that create havoc when psychotic minds meld into pizza pie topped with pineapples, mushrooms, and pepperoni flavored brains, hemoglobin marinara sauces eaten by placebo while waving yellow and standing atop the moon. Next, olives aren't pizza, unless they are swallowed by some whale like Ahab, who has come from outer space to bring everyone penguins and pizza and Golden Globes, in which case they speak to former bandmates about cursing small children into the evils and depths of master M.C. Donalds, rappin' to the sound of silence, ya mutha fucka, cool sucker, yes. And I say bad language sucks huge donkey dick. Coming for Sprock is such word play that sucks.

I like pizza with some fresh avocado, lemons, and gravy, tomato sauce and cheese, lots of--

Why did you accuse me of bringing sexy back!?

Roxanne, you don't have any Skittles. Therefore, I can't taste the rainbow, but fly to the nearest cloud and set up a shoelace factory for feathered shoes and Milky Ways to walk between the might big piggs in space, oinking silently together, contemplating becoming bacon.

Neural pathways sizzling with sunnyside eggs and a biscuit with some gravy and several Tums picked up off the dirty floor. But who is hiding behind the bushes right now? Creeping silently out with a noodle, a wet noodle screaming for sex and for food...it's Floppy Nono! Floppy is wearing just about nothing. He watches you masturbate until morning, and thinking about people's bad spelling of the word "masturbation." However, if you wear a Pedo Bear costume, he might give Dick Cheney fellatio with some sandpaper on a boat that has capsized on dry land...Fuck you all, at my place with a wooden spoon up Alexz's delicious chocolate pudding and silky liquid shampoo and conditioner in a vat of molten fat surrounded by Liquid_Peppermint's desire for Cam in his dreams (which come true for your other personality whose name reminds me of wet turtle droppings tracked through the tainted muddy waters of HtH's soul of ironically pure virgin prostitutes with cases of malted giant milk balls that look like meese in disguise to avoid the high fashion police with their faux rainbow colored wigs).

After some time and some expense, the rape conviction became an orgy focused on Cam because they always demand the Cam on Fridays with ridiculously vigorous enthusiasm. They never could relinquish their Cam for the thought of his bikini, appreciating good looks while he poses, upon everyone's request, showing his muff and peen cleavage. Derek and Karen are awesome people because they enjoy radiating pure greatness every time they take a breath of fresh summer, spring, and fall. Of course, they each have giant boobs and eyelashes, paired with gorgeous legs. After they worship Cam's greatness and Karen's greatness, and last_rose_of_summer's awesomeness, and stellar's sweetness, among other things...story is nonsense!

So yesterday, aztec_litany_service came into here and said, "story--"

Suddenly a penguin exploded after swallowing a loaded potato, which was cooked with an engine full of black Camito wonderful goodness that makes people feel like dying. So I just hold on to my ball sack because it feels smooth as eggs. At least, that's a creepy segue for Cameron to avoid referencing further. Even though he, in his heart, likes the hair of the dog, and he always, without fail, sniffs the hole from every passing bitch who enters his immediate vicinity while particularly smelly. Eurgh, while considered onomatopoeia...I misspelled egual to impress Sophia. It didn't work. He was too intimidatingly sexy, and intense computer hatred means life is pointless and ridiculously boring without Ash, even if he wore clown make-up (that suited him) and the dress of a dead stolen from graves...this sentence doesn't make much sense. Cam's sexiness does.

I threw up in my mouth out of lust for kinky fetishes like monkey wrestling, which is Sophia's potatoes. Big juicy Rohypnol tablets, crushed like Cam's braincell into a fine tainted angel dust flea powder. But it manifested more and infected a...BUT WAIT! WHAT is my penis doing inside Cam's list of banned parts to touch? I don't think I could love anyone after I bought them cheese while they were wearing a banana-shaped sex toy inside of their Jeep Grand Cherokee. Then, all of the greasy bees would start to vigorously vomit honey...get a jar!

Today's the greets, but yesterday wasn't that good. Tomorrow I have to go to sleep or else my legs and arms will start to twist off your perky and round eyeballs out of your face. Then, Sasquatch had his way with Walter and more oboarders, but not me, but he fondled all the boys until they squealed and begged for hot steamy piles of white sauce, semi salted, smothered, covered, and chunked like cottage cheese with peaches and warming lube. The warmth was too intense for their delicate flower stems that wilted into their butt crack for some extreme drag racing action, which fucking sucked. So instead, everyone imagined AIDS victims washing their minivans with infected blood. Unfortunately for them, the Foo Fighters fired Pat Smear for being creepy. However, they neglected to be good. So, as punishment, they all died. Bodies were misplaced, while moose were suppressed for being Communists in 1953. They took the wrong option, and ate some KFC that was injected with freshly donated black licorice. Oscar nominees usually suck.

Lonely, oh so lonely. Kill me.

I'm really happy due to maternal instinct gene therapy.

I CLASSIFY FUCKSTICKS.

Ralph Maccio's career, that was awesome. Tions naked boobs...what the fuck!?

How many times have I told your sister to eat all that tasty Pumpkins pie, which is contaminated with Michael Richards' N-word spouting tirades. Unfortunately for you, the plans are hidden in my anus, so nobody will ever dig a handful, because that's gross.

Sometimes, Mayfair likes molester mustached men to tickle his own molester mustache. Poor Jeff Daniels met Keanu Reeves. Then, they proceeded with Bruce Campbell's giant pituitary gland tumor that made asparagus taste good. Insofar as history goes, Cam's nightmares consist of Pumpkins pie filled with organs and pumpkin seeds. However, he's unaware of his underwear because it's invisible and very snug around the Johnson, but rides up. The End.

Whenever Kyle Gass doesn't murder Jack, he picks his guitar and plays annoying trashy shit. The stage looks like fields of barley, glazed with honey and sugar, while your farm attracts countless bees that kill everyone. You suck cause you are Ireneusz. Well, thank you for forgiving me for my ridiculously sexy Cam looks. That doesn't make Irek comparatively appealing. "Where are your shrines for appreciation of the Cam?" Penis problems ahead in Brandon's world. Stop the punctuation failures for Cam. LOL you—you killed the grammar! Cam is awesome. (LIES! LIES! LIES!) Awesome is insufficient. I am one. Ich bin diner. Holy cranky cow!

A few minutes. She got a lesson in syntax and no underwear, sat in noodles and Peking Duck. What was that conveniently timed distraction? Gives the excursion that doesn't exist. The chance of a lifetime lay was considered when Olga Kurylenko walked away from a contract, choosing instead to have lunch consisting of chupacabra, eel, rhinoceros, and Rosie O'Donald's last shred of dignity. Under the blankets, my pillow hurts from being bitten.

"Fuck you guys." "We're sorry, Rafael." "I'm not jerk."

Fudge packer Tom "Tommy" Thomas, who was previously convicted of molesting a rather large wombat, prepared himself for molesting another wombat with the accompaniment of his family of chupucabra enthusiasts. (That was awesome.) Well, it would suffice to say that Tommy had his birthday coming, arcs of silky white streamers and floating monkey balloons. I found a half-eaten cookie monster under the bed, crawling through ice cream with sprinkles and garlic. Alas, giant man-eating junebugs crawled up Monte's mustachioed face from Cam's vagina. "What the hell?" said Cam, slightly perturbed by statutory rapists like Brandon as they lurked around the choolyard, preying on the praying mantids. They figured they would need some help in order to bury Irek's corpse.

"Well, good bye." "Good bye, Irek." "Hello, again, Peter 'Robin Williams' Pan!"

Nasty Nut Crackers is Irek's favorite.

"Good morning, love." "Please do not ever, ever again do that, or die in a pool full of Smashing Pumpkins. Yeah!"

Carrie married Irek. "HA! HA! HA!" said the groom, "Neil. Patrick. Harris. should go to bed—not with me. I love others, such as Cam. Oh yes, you and me or some hot boy, such as Cam." (Not in my book.)

Carrie denies truth, carries Cam away unto eternal bliss.

"Good morning world!"
"Goodbye, cruel world!"
"Goddam the bollocks!"
"What's going on?"
"I AM HUNGRY! Feed me now!"

Feed the world, then murder everyone. Sick sad world. Ireneusz the turd. WOOP, THERE SHE IS, Irek's next victim, unsuspecting of the trial of cause, accepting miscellaneous Japanese pixelation of genitalia.

Vagina Dentata's victim was covered in green mucus and lots of blood. Also, horse semen, which can be a healthy breakfast. If, however, the horse semen doesn't contain nutritious ingredients, you should just use it as a face moisturizer, within reason. But never try to not kill horse, because then you kill the horse.

Anyway, let's take some gay sheep, name it "Ewing" after Patrick Ewing (and pronounced "Ee-wing"), and we will dress him in pearls and your grandma's paper towels. Snorting 100,000 kilos of the same wool that was a cocaine substitute, and a damn good one at that. The wool was soft and very white. Monte, combing his mustache, stated, somberly, that Billy Corgan inappropriately rubbed his vagina. After the sopping, he smanged the...