• 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.
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."
I know the old stereotype is about “those clever Japanese,” but I think the real cleverness is in the French, who not only get us to eat their moldy old cheese but who also have convinced us to pay premium prices for it.
The best way to ensure another person will promptly show up to your open house is to cut yourself some nice sharp cheese.
The atmosphere is slowly converting to solid cheese, which, I’m sure you’ll agree, makes it harder to breathe, not to mention getting anything accomplished.
I’m bored with writing ‘test’ or variants thereof, so this time I ask the big question; is scrine made of cheese?
Move along, move along, nothing to eat here.
Carl didn’t think of himself as possessive, or even aggressive for that matter, but sometimes he’d fly into a rage when he saw the way the melted cheese stuck to the spatula.
If the moon is made of green cheese, why isn’t there a mouse in there?
“Houston…It’s not Bleu, it’s Meunster.”
The Parmesan King of Tillamook County was not without his enemies.
Since we are on the subject of lactose intolerance your bodies inability to successfully digest dairy products is the sort of thing you need to share before occupying a small enclosed space with other people; better yet lay off the cheese altogether.
It is acceptable for a lactose intolerant person to use the phrase “piece of cheese” in place of the words “what the hell” when expressing surprise or mild disgust.
If the holidays are not sufficient excuse to be profligate, nothing is.
Henry found it odd that just one human probably thought more about cheese than all the mice in the world put together.
Seeing the rejected emails piling up, the mouse cried so much that the tears dripped from his chin and onto the wedge of cheese he was holding, making it slippery and unwieldy.
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