The last safe refuge of the talking dog

What is Scrine?

• Scrine is the home of lost, forgotten, and lonely sentences.

What are the rules?

• 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.

Who can play?

• 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.

What about privacy?

• 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.

's notes

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."

Please Choose

Enjoy the Benefits!

  • Words, glorious words.

  • Useful duck information.

  • Every sentence backed by solid science.

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Scrine Restoration

Sentences: 100% (19118)
Comments: 11%

Confessional: 100%
Scrineblog: 18.4%

boot blog: 100%
'mouse blog: 0%

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all the world :: boot

Where, with the limit of one destination, would you go?

    TAGS:  dreams, travel, desire, destinations

With reams of carefully worded sentences tucked under their arms, the Scrine historians made their way across the plaza, eyes and thoughts locked firmly on their destination, knowing full well that any deviation, any hesitation or more than semicolon-like pause in their steps might give rise to a multitude of oddities the world would not understand, and yet, if one had taken a closer look and peered into the eyes of the youngest historian, last in line as was his place, one might have detected the slight hint of a smile in those eyes as a lone sheet of paper somehow slipped from his grasp, unnoticed, or so it seemed, and floated out and across the grass, where it came to rest quietly at the feet of a young girl who was crying.

    TAGS:  feet, destinations, scrine historians, the lone sheet of paper


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