• Scrine is the home of lost, forgotten, and lonely sentences.
• Play nice. Be kind. Post only single sentences.
• Scrine gives everyone plenty of rope to play with, but reminds everyone that even the longest rope is capable of hanging a person.
• Censorship is ugly, but still not the ugliest bird in the sky. Happily, this has never been necessary.
• The appropriateness of all sentences will remain the sole discretion of Scrine's tender.
• Anyone. Reading along costs nothing but time.
• Membership is required to post your own sentences. Joining is quick and painless.
• With membership comes the unique privilege of calling yourself a Scriner.
• Your information will never be sold, given away, shared, or even traded for an unimaginably delicious slice of pie.
• The above sentence may be the only sentence on this site that is 100% true.
While not all of the original comments or Scrineblog entries have made it home to roost quite yet, it appears the days of newscrine.com have come to a close.
Scrine.com is back in business. Still lacking a decent mobile access, but we're getting close.
Use this space for notes and reminders to yourself.
This is a private space. Only you will see your notes.
Expiration date is not required, only if you want the note to magically disappear.
A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
2017 ~ 32
2016 ~ 89
2015 ~ 259
2014 ~ 138
2013 ~ 256
2012 ~ 433
2011 ~ 940
2010 ~ 1786
2009 ~ 2631
2008 ~ 3808
2007 ~ 4502
2006 ~ 3037
2005 ~ 1188
Just don't make me give skynet my fingerprints.
At the end of the world, through the dust-clouds and halos of amoebas, there was a shimmering light, one that fractured into a spectrum of every colour imaginable and a few that were not, and these they called life.
Roses are red, violets are blue; you're even a dick in my dreams about you.
For his ability to elegantly express his incoherent frustration and anger.
There is a special place in hell reserved for the meter maid who sees you have a couple minutes left on your meter and stands around scratching his/her ass so he/she can write you a ticket when the flag flips up.
Am I Nixon in '72 or Billie Jean King in '75?
Yesterday a good friend of mine told me he'd spent "several tens of thousands" over the last year on hookers and blow; he wanted my advice on how he could cover it up and make sure his wife didn't find out; I wanted his advice on how I could switch lives with him.
When Juan was mugged, he politely asked the man taking his wallet to go ahead, take my cash, credit cards and by the way my ATM number is 9876, but would you please, please leave me my library card.
Having grown tired of looking down at his big belly, Henry decided to go ahead with the operation to have his head removed, turned 180 degrees, then reattached, never once giving any thought to how disturbing a bird's eye view of his ass would actually be.
If I found a piece of bacon floating in outer space, would it be safe to eat?
Having written two sentences in a single day, Henry thought it might be an unexpected plot twist, but closer inspection proved it to be nothing more than useless fodder for his own deteriorating storyline.
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