• 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."
Time is one of the more vexing of the inventions, second only to grammar and its famous cousin, fascism.
Babette employed a bevy of editors (and singlehandedly stimulated the economy of her small city) because of her fate: she was in love with passive verb tense, and couldn’t bear to see it changed.
“So we throw grammar, lexical correctness, logic, caution and our sense of adventure to the wind, maul our language with the savageness of a disruptive schoolchild in a french lesson, and incorrectly employ every punctuative device available to us (and even a few that aren’t), in an attempt to fit what amounts to an entire _novella_ into a single sentence; arguing, of course, in at least one case that ellipses (that being a construction of three consecutive periods, namely ‘...’) are in fact something entirely different to the afore-mentioned sentence terminator, and are thus completely legal in the construction of a scrine: the legal fineprint defining a scrine as a single sentence (in an ideal world, that is) - a single sentence in _English_ (or presumably another language (do any languages exist which *don’t* employ any form of punctuation, running-on ad infinitum (or even ad nauseum, if you’re not quite sick of this dribbling diatribe by now (not to mention the rampant bracketing(!))))), and not, I repeat, NOT in a programming language (C++ springs to mind), which is patently curious, as at least one of the above examples appears to use semicolons to separate individual statements in an attempt to flaunt the rules - not that I wish to appear the gammar nazi (eep, the appearance of *that* word probably just canned it), but perhaps a character limit on the length of each post might better suffice in enforcing a sense of brevity in the authorship; I mean, what on earth happened to the fine art of eloquent succintness?”, he rambled, adding after a minute’s thought: “That, by the way, is a joke, not a crtiicism.”
After overhearing someone say that the way you tell a semi-colon from a colon is that a semi-colon has a thingee like a boy, I knew that it was time for me to stop volunteering for college-level English tutoring.
Known as the Scrine System, the concept of the one sentence limit was originally implemented during the short-lived Grammar War of ‘22 - a time when periods were in short supply and tightly rationed.
“It’s as I expected,” the doctor told the biggest sentence ever as they both looked over the long line of “::::::::s” on the x-ray, “you’ve developed a serious case of impacted colons.”
Few events are as satisfying as an office meeting where seven people sit in front of a web-based presentation, arguing grammatical fixes for 2 1/2 hours - oh, hold it, everybody, let’s change that “satisfying” to “excruciating”.
Article verb preposition article adjective noun, conjunction…
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, if you’ll direct your attention to the center ring, it’s that moment you’ve all been waiting for…. the one…. the only…. Lance Living and his Amazing Double Superlative Talking Monkeys!
Little Bear sniffed at the battered old textbook that some thoughtless person had left lying beneath his favorite tree, puzzled briefly over the overlong title G-R-A-M-M-A-R, which made no sense whatsoever, decided it did not belong, picked it up gently, carried it several miles through the the forest to the town garbage dump and discarded it where it clearly belonged.
I have cut myself pretty badly on my comma splices and need to go to the ER.
Using “no” for “know,” “one” for “won” and “their” for “there” are all symptoms of functional illiteracy, which I blame on my ADD, but my doctor suggests really means I should just proofread and use a fucking dictionary once in awhile.
Rufus thinks that there is no such word as deader, and certainly shouldn’t be tossed around when discussing his ideas or his love life, but my friend Schuster only scoffed, saying that the word deader is only considered grammatical incorrect by those who haven’t earned a living as a professional grave robber.
I mix similes like nobody’s afire.
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