• Scrine is the home of lost, forgotten, and lonely sentences.
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• 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.
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• The above sentence may be the only sentence on this site that is 100% true.
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."
You can’t seriously expect me to believe that an octopus isn’t an alien from Planet Xargle.
After my anal probe down at the title company the other day, and having just scheduled another one with the mechanic down at the John Deere dealer, I have no choice but to believe that the aliens are already among us.
Ensconced safely in his cage, Ginko the gecko watched the family for years, reporting its every move back to his true master.
If not, how do you explain the existence of people who openly and enjoyably eat molluscs?
Aliens are the strange creatures that don’t eat all the yummy concentrated sources of protein that aren’t smart enough, fast enough or cute enough to escape the garlic-butter sauce.
The butter aliens, safely hidden away inside the udders of a billion unsuspecting creatures, slowly implemented their plan of world domination, some on toast, others as the base of seductive sauces.
“Hee-hee,” said the very first (alien) Pope (whose name is long lost to history, having penned his writings oh-so-many millenia B.C.), “those silly Jews bought my forged directives hook, line and sinker that they’re not supposed to eat pork and crab and the other good stuff, leaving more for me and my (alien) friends.”
There are people out there that don’t like cake.
Deep down we’re all somebody’s alien.
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