Firerust

The Borio Singaldi Writing Anthology

21 posts in this topic

Some of you may know of this character, but now I wish to publicize him. Borio Singaldi is a character I randomly made up one day in school when the name popped into my head out of nowhere. I was just minding my own business when the name "Borio Singaldi and the Death of a Prospect" came out of the blue. I was so intrigued by this ridiculous thought that I had to write it down. Once I did, I shared this idea with my fellow Knights of the Cosmere and decided to do something about it. So we started a mini writing group about the character of Borio Singaldi, our stories about him often based on a variation of the title "Death of a Prospect" (such as Death of a Perspective, Death of a Prospector, Prospect of Death, Perspective of Death, Prospector of Death, etc). But they don't need to be limited to that. The story can be about anything, so long as one sticks to the character. So I guess you should all get a full description of the guy from which to base your thoughts on him.

 

Character description:

He is a large and portly man, overweight but not quite obese. He is often fashionably dressed in a sort of foppish way. He has brown eyes, black hair, and light tan skin. I'd almost say he's entirely white, but he has a bit of Greco-Italian blood in him. His strongest defining characteristics are his mustache and his cane. He has a long, elegent, twirling mustache that often seems to move on its own. It is very important to him that he maintain its appearance. His cane is made of a fancy and valuable type of wood (that I haven't fully decided yet) and has a diamond tip. It is extremely valuable to him and he never goes anywhere without it.
As for his personality, he is not the brightest bulb in the box, but he's prone to bouts of cleverness and spontaneity sometimes (due to the writers having fun with him :P). He is very blunt, not very witty, quite often annoying, and has a very domineering presence. He is never intentionally mean and he has a good heart to him, but he's just not good at understanding other people and their feelings, so he's insensitive but not rude. For some, he's extremely annoying, for others he's simply charming and maybe even amusing.
What does he do with his life? Well, that's up to the people who write him. ;)
 
It's also been made canon that he lives in a fancy mansion in Des Moines, Iowa, with his butler Earnestwise Tomatopatch and maid Clemendine Tomatopatch (a running joke is that he's never been able to figure out how they are related; he thinks they are either siblings or spouses, but has never really known). He has a strange relationship with the supernatural entity that is Death, and he has gone on many fantastical misadventures.
 
I usually come up with a story and then have to make characters for it, but this is a reversal in which I have made the character and try to write stories about him. Because of this, they are obviously very character-driven. My mentality with writing him calls to mind Chef Gustaeu's line from the Pixar movie Ratatouille: "Anyone can cook." Or in this case, "Anyone can write a Borio Storio." It can be about literally anything you want, so long as you stay true to the character.
 
I now invite my fellow writers who have already contributed to the creation of these Storios in our private PM to now share them here. Or if you want, I can share them for you. Whichever you prefer. @AonEne@BitBitio@Sami@phoenix2563@Ink@Kidpen@Sherlock Holmes@Wyndlerunner@Stormblessed Dolphin
 
Yes. We had a PM of our own prior to this in which we shared them. I want to share this character and his stories with the rest of the Shard, and eventually the rest of the world. But baby steps, Fire. Baby steps.
 
I now invite you all to join in me in continuing to build a universe of ridiculous stories about this guy. They can be any genre and can be any length. Genres we've done so far include realistic fiction, light fantasy, and science fiction, all in a comedic aspect. The longest one so far has been maybe two pages long and the shortest one so far was just a couple paragraphs. Keep in mind that while all of the stories we've done so far are intentionally comedic (and laugh out loud hilarious if I do say so myself), you are NOT REQUIRED to do comedy when writing him. Comedic stories are generally expected and quite welcome, but I'd like to maybe see a serious or dramatic rendition of the character. But again: you can write the story about ANYTHING. Of course, I ask that you keep them clean and don't have inappropriate content (no foul language, no overt or discreet sexual content, violence is allowed to a degree). But please, my fellow Sharders... the most important thing I ask of you when writing these Storios is... HAVE FUN. Please have fun writing this, it's meant to bring out the weird and playful writing side of you. I started this Borio Writing Anthology so we could have fun.
 
And now, I will share a few that I have written with all of you as examples of what they are typically like. Hopefully my current fellow writer will share theirs too.
 
Borio Singaldi and the
Spoiler

Borio Singaldi and the

Borio Singaldi delicately lifted his cup of fresh chamomile tea to his lips, enjoying the herbal scent of the delectable brew and discarding any notion of adding any sugar or honey, before realizing that the cup of tea was no longer there.

He frowned in confusion, looking down to his hand, where he had known the cup of tea was. He moved to sit down in his plush mahogany armchair, and teetered back onto his rump instead.

"Good heavens!" he blustered. "What is going on?"

He looked behind him to see that the plush armchair was suddenly and inexplicably nonexistant as well.

"Dear me..." he muttered, stroking his illustrious mustache. This was exceedingly peculiar.

"Tomatopatch!" he called out, summoning his loyal butler and part-time blogger Earnestwise Tomatopatch. But the man did not come.

As he continued to look around, Borio realized that nothing was there. Nothing but a blank white expanse of nothing around him. How can this be, he thought to himself.

He reached for his trademark sapphire-tipped ebony cane, then realized it wasn't there either.

Then he panicked. Not the cane! Everything else could disappear for all he cared, but not the cane!

"I am thoroughly displeased by this!" he shouted indignantly. He folded his arms across his chest in frustration, then realized his arms were gone too. As were his chest, and the pudgy lump of belly beneath. And then all of him was gone.

"Hmm..." he said thoughtfully, imagining stroking his disappeared mustache. "Dear me. I suppose this is why the title of a story ought to be complete. Elsewise there's nothing to tell. And thus there is nothing."

And then there was nothing. It was so nothing that Borio couldn't even think of how right he was that there was nothing, for he was gone too.

And then, without further ado, the story died, there being no story.

Borio Singaldi and the Death

Spoiler

Borio Singaldi and the Death

Borio yawned and stretched, his flabby arms jiggling as he raised them and then plopped them back down onto his cushioned bed. What a dream. Far better than that dream about death, that was for sure.

"What to do now?" he asked himself, voicing his thoughts as always. He poked at his wonderful mustache in contemplation. "Ah, yes. My morning greetings from Tomatopatch."

With copious amounts of exertion, Borio lifted himself upright and leaned over to take hold of his cane. He slid off his bed, thinking about what to wear this fine day. "But is it a fine day?" he asked himself.

As he looked out the window, hoping to enjoy the sight of the golden light of dawn peeking in through a divide in the maroon curtains, he frowned to see that there was no such light. And yet, it wasn't dark out either. Cloudy, perhaps? It wasn't often he woke up to a cloudy day. He heard no rain.

"Tomatopatch!" he called, summoning his butler. He questioned why the dear man would allow his father to keep such a ridiculous last name, but who was Singaldi to judge? Earnestwise had come from an eccentric family. Borio wondered how growing up in such circumstances would have made Earnestwise such a good fit for being his butler.

As Borio realized he was lost in thought, he jumped to his feet in fright. He hated getting lost in thought. It was hard to find his way out once he did. He sat back down, leaning on his beloved cane.

And he jumped to his feet in fright. Tomatopatch still wasn't here! "Earnestwise!" he called. "Where are you? My good man, have you gone deaf overnight?"

Borio paused briefly wondered whether he'd been sleep-singing once again. Yes, perhaps his gorgeous Pavarottian voice was too exquisite for poor Tomatopatch's sensitive ears.

So he stamped the cane on the floor, hoping the penguin-fur rug wouldn't dampen the vibration too much.

When no response immediately came, he called out once again: "Earnestwise Tomatopatch, what have you gotten up to?"

A clatter arose outside his door, which promptly burst open to allow Tomatopatch's sister Clemendine to tumble through the doorway and onto the room of the floor. The poor, clumsy maid. But Earnestwise had insisted his cherished sister take up a position in the Singaldi household. Or was she his wife? With embarrassment, Borio realized that he could not remember.

"Clemendine!" he exclaimed. "Where is your... er... Earnestwise?"

The maid scrambled to her feet, looking exceedingly out of breath and out of sorts. And out of hairpins. Goodness gracious, who had fixed her hair today?

"Good sir!" she said, her voice shaking. Why was it shaking, though? Was she flustered at the sight of him in his undergarments?

"It has come!" she yelled, breaking out into sobs. "And it has taken him!"

Borio was entirely confused now. No, she was in distress. And for a reason entirely separate from his appearance. "What do you mean?"

"Earnestwise has been taken by -- by -- by the Death!" she screeched, falling to her knees and releasing great heaving sobs.

"Dear me..." Borio said, exhaling strongly. This was... most unexpected. A lump began to form in his throat. A lump of sadness, grief, and loss. But why did the lump have to be in his throat? "He died? From what cause?"

"No, NO!" Clemendine yelled. She looked up at Borio, a pinch of madness in her eyes. No, more like three cups of madness in her eyes. "He didn't just die. He was taken! By -- THE DEATH!!! We must flee!"

And with that, she ran out of the room, screaming as if she'd seen a rat. Which was a strange analogy to come up with, as neither her nor Borio had ever once seen a rat.

But... what she said... the Death?

Borio cocked his head thoughtfully. Whatever could that mean?

He looked at the window, noticing once again how dark it seemed. Curiosity, the same kind that had killed his pet cat when he was only eleven, prompted him to look out that window.

He tromped on over to the curtains, cane clacking on the penguin rug as he did so. He reached forward and drew one of the curtains aside, peering out into the city below.

It was chaos. Every single building was either burning or already crumbled to the ground. Dismembered corpses crowded the streets, some of them lying motionless while others stumbled around aimlessly. Other living people screamed and fell to the ground, dying without anything visibly affecting them. Winged humanoid creatures circled throughout the sky above, throwing spears of ice into the streets and buildings, and in the sky, black clouds rained boulders of dark smoke, ash, and flame. Violet serpents snaked across the streets, withering away all that they touched. A flaming face in the shape of a skull leered out of the clouds, laughing at the destruction below.

The Death.

"Hmm..." Borio murmered, stroking his mustache. "Dear me."

Borio Singaldi and the Death of a Prospector

Spoiler

Borio Singaldi and the Death of a Prospector.

"And what are you here for?" Borio asked the man on horseback rather brusquely.

"Here for gold," the gap-toothed man said with a deep Western drawl as he slurped up a can o' baked beans. His face was covered in dust, and shoulder length grey hair was matted and tangled with his equally long beard, a hairstyle Borio shuddered to think about, let alone behold. He wished he could hide his dear mustache away from such a sight before it got any ideas, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

"Dear me," Borio said, twiddling the mustache in thoughtfulness (and to hide the sight of the man from it). "Gold, you say? I must declare that I have no record of any gold being discovered in this general area, my good sir."

"Said what?" the man said, beans dribbling out of him. Those beans looked disgusting, a form of nutrition far beneath what Borio was used to. They looked like the sort of baked beans one would bring with them to a cinema when watching children's movies. And the man looked like something out of a horror movie. It was a rather odd juxtaposition.

"I am saying that I believe there is nothing to discover in this vicinity outside of various types of rock," Borio said, tapping his can firmly on the ground.

"And d'you think I'm gunna take wishy-washy mumbo jumbo from a two-bit ven'mous varmint like yerself?" the man said as he fed his horse a spoonful of beans with that same spoon. "Imma prospecter!"

"Prospector, actually," Borio corrected.

"Wuzzat?" the man asked angrily.

"Nothing of consequence," Borio said, shrugging. "Now, as to your long-lasting search for gold--"

"Long lastin'?" the prospector yelled. "I been searching for the gold my whole life, ya hillbilly jellybelly!"

"My good man!" Borio cried out in indignation at being called a 'jellybelly'. "As true as that statement may be, it's not very nice to refer to others with such base language!"

The prospector frowned. "Wut?"

"I'm saying that you ought to behave yourself better!" Borio said firmly, bringing up his cane to give the horse a good little spanking.

And with that, the horse screamed and whinnied and ran, ran, ran over to the edge of a cliff, where it stopped with a jolt and threw the prospector of its back and over the edge of the thousands-of-feet cliff to a fate of certain death.

"Hmm," Borio said thoughtfully, twirling his mustache. "Dear me."

Borio Singaldi and the Seventeenth Shard

Spoiler

Borio Singaldi and the Seventeenth Shard

"Aha!" Borio exclaimed delightedly. "Tomatopatch! I've finally made an account!"

"Mister Singaldi, please," Tomatopatch sighed sufferingly. "Please don't tell me you're on Twitter now as well!"

"Very well," Borio said, smiling with both his mouth and his mustache. "I am not on Twitter now as well!"

Earnestwise eyed Borio warily. "Facebook?"

"No."

"Instagram?"

"No."

"Musical.ly?"

"Dear me, no."

"Reddit?"

"Er... not this time."

"You already have a Reddit account, Mister Singaldi?"

"Yes, and it led me to this new one!"

Earnestwise Tomatopatch wanted to pick up Borio's cane and bop him on the head with it, and he only didn't because he cared for his life. And because he was too far away to reach him.

"Mister Singaldi," he said with an even greater sigh, "I can't see what website you have signed up on when I'm talking to you on the phone on the other side of the house!"

"Oh." Borio said very plainly, his mustache drooping. Then it raised again as his lips raised in a greater smile. "Well, the site I have joined is... the Seventeenth Shard!"

A slow and moving fanfare played in the distance, triggered by the voice recognition system as it heard Borio yell like it always did.

"The what?" Tomatopatch queried.

"Oh, never mind, not that. I had two separate entities mixed up. I have joined the 17th Shard!"

The slow and moving fanfare began again. It seemed to be triggered not only by Borio's shouts, but also by him speaking in an italicized voice.

"...The what?" Tomatopatch asked, thoroughly confused, bemused, and feeling used.

"The ultimate fanbase website for fans of the works of acclaimed author Brandon Sanderson!" Borio said cheerily, looking up at a blank space on the wall where a camera would have been if he was in a commercial, which he felt like he was, considering his special wording. "It's a wonderfully friendly online community that helps people to develop theories, ways of thinking, and writing skills, as well as participate in wholesome recreational online activities! It's truly the perfect website, my dear Tomatopatch!"

"Er..." Earnestwise mumbled, not knowing what to say, as per usual when he was in a conversation with Borio. "Uh, good for you, sir. I do hope it works out fine."

"I am thinking of starting with a different username for a year, then eventually changing to my true name with the profile photo of a semi-accurate depiction of me as a Wii Mii!"

Earnestwise was thoroughly and completely perplexed now. "Um... alright." He sighed an even larger sigh than he had previously.

"What username should I start with?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Oh, well. I'll think of something... fiery. Oh, and perhaps a name that's rugged, old-sounding, rusty... rusty, hmmm... fiery... ah, well. I will decide on a final pseudonym eventually. Good day, Tomatopatch!"

And with that, Borio hung up.

Earnestwise Tomatopatch sighed once again, a sigh so great that it resounded throughout the space of the manor and could be heard from the other side of the house.

"What was that?" Borio yelled.

The slow and moving fanfare played once again.

Borio Singaldi and a Kind Act

Spoiler
Quote

So last night I was talking to my brother about Borio Singaldi for the fun of it, and, per usual when we’re talking about this character, he had a totally random story idea for Borio pop into his head. Which I personally think is quite touching, since random unbidden thoughts popping into the head are what created Borio in the first place. Anyway, he told me the idea for the story, and I had to write it down immediately.

 

And after the fact, he then suggested the title for the story, which had me collapsed on the floor, laughing for a full minute until I couldn’t breathe. Truly the funniest frickin thing I have heard in a while. My brother is awesome like that. I don’t know how funny you’ll find this, but since this is my brother’s story that I just penned with a few creative liberties, I gotta say that I love it and think it’s freaking hilarious. But be warned: it literally has a bit of potty humor.

Borio Singaldi and a Kind Act

 

 

 

One fine day (not a great day, just a fine one), Borio Singaldi was in need relieving himself as he went out and about. So, he entered a public lavatory and proceeded to begin the business inside a private stall.

 

As he was in the midst of his venture, he heard another man enter the stall next to him. At first, Borio paid him no mind. And then, the man’s voice echoed from the stall next to him:

 

“Excuse me, sir, do you have any paper of the toilet?”

 

“Pardon me?” Borio asked, surprised by the suddenness of the statement. And were it not for the present situation, he would also have been perplexed by the oddness of the statement. But considering where they were, the oddity was removed and the only surprise was in the suddenness.

 

“Paper of the toilet, my good sir,” the stranger from the next stall over repeated. “I seem to have run out.”

 

“Dear me,” Borio muttered. What to do about that predicament? I cannot simply hand some of my own toilet paper to him. Then it occurred to Borio that the toilet paper did not belong to him, but to the public lavatory. So he reoriented his inner statement. I cannot simply hand him some of the toilet paper in the stall I currently reside in from beneath the wall. His hands are dirty and I don’t want to get my hands dirty near them.

 

What to do?

 

Then Borio had an idea. An idea! A truly novel idea that should have been beyond his mental capacity! He plucked the roll of toilet paper off the dispenser next to him and slipped it onto the end of his cane, then tipped the end of the cane below the wall of the stall so that the other man could reach the paper of the toilet. A hand reached down and slid the roll off the tip of the cane.

 

“Many thanks to you, my good sir.”

 

“Of course, my dear man,” Borio said cheerily. He felt a swelling of warmth within him that had nothing to do with the extremely poor air conditioning in the lavatory. Not only had he thought up a genius idea (genius for him at least) that was also a clean and germ-free idea, but he had done… a kind act. That was rare. And it made Borio beam with joy.

 

And then he realized that now he no longer had any paper of the toilet himself. And he still wasn’t done taking care of business.

 

The End.

Quote

*Story created by Firerust’s Brother and penned by Firerust.

 

PS: When I say I had “creative liberties”, I mean that he (my bro) came up with the story idea and all the events of it in the first place, but I wrote the story down my own way with a lot of my additions whilst including a couple specific lines he asked for. You could that say we made it together, but he started it. :D

Borio Singaldi and Procrastination

Spoiler

Borio Singaldi and Procrastination

 

Borio Singaldi didn’t feel like working. He felt like procrastinating. Then again, he always felt that way, so it was nothing new.

 

Collegiate essays to write? He found himself instead reading literature and virtually surfing the virtual web, as literally surfing on a literal web would be quite an inopportune and perplexing situation. Besides, he despised the hexapod invertebrates that created those webs in the first place. The essays would come later.

 

Tax returns to complete? He found himself playing video games and deciding that Yoshi was his favorite Super Smash Bros character. Filing taxes would come later.

 

Classical literature to read? He found himself eating swirl Eagarsmart Applegrove cupcakes instead. Of course he ate other foods of other food groups, but the cupcakes came primarily. And whenever vegetables were necessitated, he had his freshly imported jicama. The classic literature would come later.

 

Meeting with business associates? He found himself postponing the meetings and napping, enjoying pleasant and fantastical dreams interspersed with vivid prospects of death. Meetings would come later.

 

Procrastinating? Well, that was simply too difficult to plan on doing, so he decided to do it later.

 

And thanks to a life of purported perpetual procrastination, Borio remained happy and successful. At least, in his own mind. And none of us want to be within his mind again. We would sooner greet death. This means, that, unfortunately, we cannot stay within the blissfully ignorant mind of Borio Singaldi and pretend that all is well, so we must sit back and wait for the dramatic and sad collapse of his life to arrive as a result of his procrastination.

 

Dear me…

And here is a Borio Singaldi Mad Lib I made: http://www.projectlabyrinth.com/MadLibs/MadLib.php?mid=1794003279834

 

Enjoy, fellow writers. :)

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Eh, sure. I'll stick mine here.

Borio Singaldi and the Legend of the Pink Pants

Spoiler

Borio Singaldi frowned as he looked over the ancient Egyptian Pharoh. "Dearest Tomatopatch, I've run into a bit of a wall. We were told by the wise old hermit that to find the legendary Pink Pants, we would need to dig up the past. It was obvious then from him earlier telling the story of the Wolf who cried Boy that he in fact spoke in opposites, meaning we would need to dig up the future. We went to the home of esteemed billionaire M'lon Eusk for advice, because of his multiple references to "Building the Future" in his speeches. But suddenly, as soon as we asked about it, he went into a trance and told us what it is that the Pink Pants do: They bequeath an eternal aura of being "In" to the wearer, meaning that whatever they wear immediately turns into the latest trending fashion. This would of course be a terrible power in the hands of someone with nefarious motives, so we redoubled our searching in order to defeat our rival, Jose Delgado, the blogger who constantly blogs about all of my follies and seems to somehow know my every move. What M'lon told us next was clearly a clue to this pyramid, and we made our way through the booby traps to this sarcophagus. But now I'm simply at a loss for what to do."

"That was actually all me, sir. After finding out you'd have to walk for more than 10 minutes through the woods you delegated it to me and didn't come back until after the booby traps."

"Irrelevant! Do you have any ideas for cracking this puzzle?" There was a pause.

"Only one, sir." With that, Tomatopatch stepped on one of the stones to his right, and the floor feel out from under Borio. 

"Uh, Tomatopatch. I've fallen into a hole. Could you help me out?"

"I'm afraid I can't, sir. When I stepped on that stone, I knew exactly what would happen:

giphy.gif
 
FOR I AM JOSE DELGADO!"

At this, Borio paused for a moment. "Good to know, I suppose, but do you think you could help me out? It's pretty boring in here."

Jose was speechless. "Uh... yeah. Sure. Just stay in here for a couple of minutes, sir. No problem." Jose ducked out of Borio's sight, but there was some faint shuffling heard from the direction of the sarcophagus until a click and the rumbling of a door opening was heard. Then only silence.

An hour later, Borio stood up in shock. "Tomatopatch was evil?!?????!? Inconceivable!"

 

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Here is mine as well

Borio Singaldi and the Prospect of the Prospective Death of Death's Prospects

Spoiler

Borio Singaldi and the Prospect of the Prospective Death of Death’s Prospects.

In which Death comes to Borio for emotional therapy.

 

 

It was the best of times, It was the worst of times; and in a mansion in the aristocratic sector of beautiful Des Moins, one man twirled his mustache. This man was not just any man, for he was in fact the renowned Borio Singaldi, two time winner of Best Canes In Retrospective. Cane aficionados called him “Borio in Glorio”, but to those who knew him best he was simply “Les incompetants.”

 

It was on this fine afternoon of (A season who shall remain unnamed for the protection of all parties involved), that a knock graced the door of Singaldi Manor. Ernestwise Tomatopatch found himself honestly surprised that someone had actually showed up. Arriving at the door, he found the greeting intercepted by Clementine Tomatopatch (Whom after much long research, I am still honestly unable to conclude whether Clementine was Ernestwise’s sister, or his wife; even after several interviews with Clementine herself my data was inconclusive). However, upon seeing the guest at the door, Ernestwise’s blood was chilled to a temperture commonly known as “Uncomfortably Cold Supermarket”, however those of you with a scientific bent may know this temperature as “Absolute Zero”

 

Yes dear readers, it would be correct of you to presume that this guest was in fact, none other than Death himself. Death’s decision to go to Singaldi Manor was unsurprising to all involved, as for some irrational reason, Death had a great desire of Borio’s Soul. More surprising was Death’s Appearance- Ernestwise noted the obvious chocolate stains around the man’s mouth, and the red glassy eyes- this was a man on the emotional brink.

 

Five minutes later, Death was sitting in Borios’s Study, and Borio appraised the man. And he blessed his foresight in obtaining a fake Psychology Degree. “So, Death my old friend,what seems to be troubling you?” Borio said, adjusting a pair of fake spectacles. At the question the disheveled, black robed, personification of mortality began to sob uncontrollably. “Everybody hates me!” Death wailed, “They’ve been trying to get rid of me for ages, I mean, what else do you think that whole alchemy business was all about?” he said through racking sobs. Borio looked on in sympathy, but this was going to be much more difficult than he had thought.

Twirling his mustache unconciously, Borio spoke up, “Why do you suppose they all hate you?” Death looked up at the portly man, and replied, “Because they’re afraid of me” he sniffled. “And how does that make you feel?” Borio probed. “Not good” Death said. “Now” continued Borio, as he looked up from Counseling for Dummies, “Tell me about your childhood.”

 

For several hours their conversation went on, with discussion of  parental relationships, fears, dreams, and other things that would have constituted “Thematic elements” in a film rating. (I do not include the entirety of their conversation here to leave room for a prequel starring Death).

After the Conclusion of Death’s therapy session, he felt much more confident about his prospects, and had come to accept his role in life. Who Knows Death thought Maybe I’ll let Borio keep his soul in return for this. As they reached the front door, to escort Death out, Borio turned to the man and said: “I shall require a payment of 500 dollars.” Death was enraged by this, and felt his rage begin to grow. “I shall get you for this Singaldi!” and he walked away. Borio sighed, and felt content despite Death’s threats- he had gained profits, and that was all that really mattered

 

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So I'm the disappointment of the group; all I've written so far are a few paragraphs. Fire popped into the middle, so I'm quoting the material to show what part he wrote - not taking credit for his awesome work.

Spoiler
On 9/12/2018 at 3:49 PM, AonEne said:

The Butler and The Cane ~ First Theft

Earnestwise smiled evilly as he ran away from Borio's room. He held in his hands The Cane. His smile broke into a laugh.

"I WILL RULE THE WORLD NOW," Earnestwise screamed.

Next time on channel 17: The Butler and The Cane ~ This Means War

 

On 9/21/2018 at 9:05 PM, Firerust said:

Borio Singaldi sighed to himself, reminiscent at the lack of attention he was getting. No one seemed to want to write about him right now. He absently reached to his side, then frowned, his elegant mustache drooping.

"Dear me. Where has my cane gone?"

 

On 9/21/2018 at 10:23 PM, AonEne said:

The Butler and The Cane ~ This Means War

Earnestwise gazed at The Cane, which he held reverently in his hands. He hadn't run very far from Borio, being right down the hallway, but he didn't care so long as he could look at The Cane.

Next time on Channel 17: The Butler and The Cane ~ The :sif"ciedj This system is experiencing a minor issue, please bear with usssssslcdkslkjf;isrBEAR WITH cdnskjw.....................................

Deep in the blackness of the Naught, a young figure glanced up from their computer screen.

And smiled.

:P

Hey Fire, what about the stuff besides stories? Your songs and their lyrics, the Mii, the meme(s), the results of the Mad Lib, random stuff you came up with like his playground bully's name?

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46 minutes ago, AonEne said:

Hey Fire, what about the stuff besides stories? Your songs and their lyrics, the Mii, the meme(s), the results of the Mad Lib, random stuff you came up with like his playground bully's name?

Well, party pooper, thanks for spoiling the surprise! :P

I was planning on saving those for when this gained more traction and became more established. I just hope this actually gains traction. It's important to me that it does. I want this to be a thing.

But no real hard feelings. Now you've just gotten the less knowledgeable audiences more hyped! Hopefully.

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Here's mine:

Borio Singaldi and the Prospect of Death

Quote

Borio Singaldi saw white all around him. Everything seemed so bright. As his vision slowly adjusted, he saw a majestic, robed figure standing in front of him. The figured gestured to him, saying “Come!” Borio follows in anticipation, but is also slightly confused. Good heavens, have I perished? Borio thought? Is this truly the heavenly realm I have passed on to? Borio rubbed at his mustache, which began twisting in delight as he followed his guide. His step was so light, he didn't even need to use his cane anymore, and threw it to the side. They approached another man, also garbed in white, who was standing in front of a great pedestal which contained a curiously large white book. The man had a kindly look on his face, and smiled as he greeted Borio “Welcome, sir, please take a seat while I find your name in this book. What did you say your name was?”

Borio. Borio Singaldi, of the prestigious Singaldi Mercantile Company, of course!.”

Very good sir,” the man replied. “Please, have a seat.” Borio sat down in a plush chair that appeared to use down feathers in the cushion. Ah, perfect, Borio thought to himself. Apparently death was not so bad as he had thought it would be. After a wait which felt like an eternity, but which Borio surprisingly did not seem to mind at all, The kindly man came over to him. “Sir, can you please provide us with the exact spelling of your last name?”

But of course. It's Singaldi. S-I-N-G-A-L-D-I.”

Oh dear", the man replied. "It seems as if there has been an error. We do have a Borio Sangaldi on our list, but unfortunately you, Borio Singaldi, are on another list entirely. It seems that your record includes quite a few too many unexplained deaths. We simply can't let you in. I'm afraid we are going to have to ask you to go through the exit over that way.” The man's hand gestured to an opening.

Borio's mustache begins to droop in sadness. He limped over to his cane, swept it off the ground, and made his way over to the opening. After the archway, the opening ended in a metal slide that curved and twisted down into nothingness. There weren't even guardrails! Borio huffed as he thought to himself.

After what truly did feel like an eternity, Borio finally made it to the bottom, which opened into an enormous cavern. He heard shrieks and wails coming from everywhere. Flames gushed from gaps in the cavern walls, searing his skin. He could hear the rattle of chains and what sounded like cages. The floor was spotted with small pools of lava, each billowing smoke into the air, but he did not, and could not suffocate. A bony figure with a long scythe slowly approached him, saying. “Finally, you are MINE!”

“Really? Borio replied. How much did you pay? I really hope you didn't underpay. My family is worth fortunes! And I expect proper treatment during my stay here. I would like a penthouse suite, with king size beds, and room service, of course...”

“What? The figure stands in front of Borio, dumbfounded. Do you realize where you are? We don't accommodate those types of requests here, you fool.”

Borio shuddered... “But how... do you even survive...No, this can't be!”

Twisting and turning in his bed, Borio yelled “No!” just as he was startled awake by the sunlight streaming in through the garish curtains across the room from his bed. His silk sheets were in full disarray, but the realization dawned on him, that this was all a dream.

This day, Borio decided that he, in fact, did not want to die. He simply could not bear the prospect of death, where there was a chance that he could end up having to survive in a place that did not offer room service.

Borio Singaldi and the Perspective of Death

Quote

Death seethed to himself. He desired, no, he coveted the soul of Borio Singaldi. But he simply could not get the fool to definitively doom himself! If only he could set up a proper trap! Death wanted nothing more than to burn off the silly man's mustache, and turn the man's cane into a snake...but oh why did the man's soul elude him so!!

Oh, but wait! His frail, old mother was sick. Yes! This was the perfect opportunity!

Death appeared to Borio Singaldi. “Hello old friend. Had any nightmares lately, by chance, in your sleep perhaps, or waking even? I dohope they have been comforting.

Borio turned around in his plush chair, and appeared startled. “Tomatopatch! Is that you? I thought I just sent you to get me a pastrami sandwich! Lunch has been over an hour ago, after all.” Borio turned around to see Death staring him in the face. “Oh, it's you.” Borio rubbed his mustache in thought, seemingly annoyed at being interrupted. “Well, since you're here, I suppose you could make yourself useful. I have had a rodent problem lately. I think they are behind that wall over there. Now go! I have work to do. With my dear mother in the hospital I unfortunately have had to actually work at running my company, so I am terribly busy at the moment.”

For a moment as Death studied Borio, it seemed as though the man's mustache actually moved to a hard, firm position simply at the thought of doing work Death peered in for a closer look. And did they actually bristle? That mustache was indeed a peculiar phenomena. After a few moments, Borio huffed a big sigh and proclaimed “Look, these ledgers aren't going to balance themselves, so are you going to make yourself useful or not?”

Death replied calmly “Oh dear, you have had to work? Well that is indeed unfortunate. I mean, it has been fortunate that your mother has stepped to run the business in after your father's unfortunate, and also quite mysterious passing, with you getting to do, well, whatever you wish. It would indeed be a shame if that era were to come to an end if your mother were, to say, take a turn for the worse, now wouldn't it? You are the heir to the family business, is this not correct?”

Borio looked Death in the eyes and stood, grabbing his cane as he heaved himself up out of the chair. Borio appeared to momentarily eye the plush chair regretfully, then turned and responded, “You wouldn't dare. The doctor's say she is improving! You have no right to take her.”

Death responded. “Ah, but you see, that's where you are wrong. You see, I have been sent for this very purpose to take her,” Death lied. “But, there is always flexibility, if there were, say, someone else to take her place.” Death pulled out a contract from his robe. “See here, all you have to do is find another unfortunate soul, add their name here, then sign over here on the dotted line. It really is quite simple.” Death spread his lips in an attempt to force a grin, although it came off awkwardly. He really needed to practice more at smiling.

Borio grabbed the contract from Death's hands, and pulled out a set of reading glasses. “My, there sure is a lot of fine print in this contract,” Borio scans the document, pulling at his mustache while reading to himself “...the signer of this contract therefore proceeds to forfeit any claims to his soul upon his death... Now what is this?!” Borio exclaimed. “I demand to have this language removed immediately!”

Death replied “But you don't really expect that you could just condemn someone before their time, and expect to escape with your own soul intact, now do you? I am truly sorry, but this is my price. Another life of your choice for your mother's, and in the end I get you!” Ok, now calm down, Death thought to himself. No need to get too worked up. You do want him to sign the contract, right?

Borio thought for a long moment, then his mustache sort of twitched upward to one side. Now what did that mean?? Finally, Borio grabbed the contract from Death's hands, wrote in a name, and signed it immediately, much to Death's surprise.

Death took up the contract, his eyes lighting up with glee. “You fool!!! Death exclaimed. I wasn't sent here for your mother at all! In fact, she is on her way back home from the hospital even now. Now one day, hopefully soon, you will be mine! MWAHAHAHA!!"

“Well, not quite." Borio replied calmly. "You see, I have seen your realm before in a dream you undoubtedly gave me, and it is rather tiresome. What you failed to notice is that the person I signed over is someone I happened across at the hospital earlier today, who I overheard the doctor's saying only had hours left to live. He was with the Prospection Company, and appeared to be suffering from a gunshot wound. Also, as an extra precaution I signed my name as Borio Sangaldi, who is another person entirely. You know, you reallyshould pay more attention before spilling all your evil plans and such.” Borio smiled, and the ends of his mustache seemed to curl upward again. Or was it his imagination?

Death inwardly seethed. The fool should not have been able to outsmart him! But he did get a little to excited, and didn't think to read the contract AT ALL. Idiot.

“Are you through now? I really need to get back to work.” Borio used his cane to ease his portly body back into his chair.

Death screamed at Borio “you have not seen the last of me! I will find a way to get you!!” With that, Death disappeared into a puff of smoke.

**********

Earnestwise Tomatopatch arrived back at his master's house. He wasn't sure why the man insisted on eating again, but surely the man had his reasons. As he approached his master's quarters, he heard a raspy voice yell “you have not seen the last of me! I will find a way to get you!!” Earnestwise quickly ran the rest of the way to his master's room and pushed open the door. “Sir! Is everything ok in here??

Borio replied, “Everything is fine now, Tomatopatch, not to worry. And ah, yes, you have brought me my Pastrami sandwich. My thanks to you.” the man's mustache twitched upwards in anticipation.

Tomatopatch remarked “you know, Borio, eating so many meals in a day will surely guarantee that Death will visit you one day prematurely.”

Borio replied, “Well, I think I will be fine. You see, Death did visit, and I have already cheated him once!”

Enjoy!

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Yay! it's a public thing now! I love Borio so much

Anyways, here's mine, updated and edited-- I present to you;

Borio Singaldi, in Space!

Spoiler

Borio Singaldi strolled down the corridor of a space station. It was really quite a novel experience. Although, he wasn’t accustomed to novel-length stories, only short ones. Tomatopatch trailed just behind him, carrying his luggage. Yes, it wasn’t every day that one received the opportunity to take a vacation to space, now was it?

“Ah!” Borio exclaimed excitedly. “Earnestwise, would you just look at that view!”

The rings of Saturn gleamed on their left, where it seemed that the only thing separating them from the void of space was a railing. The station had element-specific gravity, very sophisticated.

“Yes, master Singaldi, a prime destination point.” The butler replied.

“Say, what is that there?” Borio squinted and stroked his moustache.

Tomatopatch stepped up beside him and they both looked intently at an oncoming shape, which they soon realized was a smaller vessel.

“Dear me, is that an alien craft?” Borio wondered aloud.

“Erm,” Earnestwise replied with mild confusion. “That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think sir?”

“Perhaps, perhaps.. but it sure looks like it’s.. it’s..” The vessel was very close now. “I daresay it’s coming straight towards us.”

The pair scrambled down the corridor and ducked around a corner, just as the small ship crashed with a terrible noise onto the balcony on which they had been standing. They poked their heads round the corner as the smoke was clearing.

“Heavens!” Borio exclaimed. “What has fate wrought upon our peaceful vacation!” Needless to say, he was indignant.

“Why, I’ll be having words with the pilot of this here ship!” With that he marched towards the wreckage.

“Sir! Wait a moment!” Tomatopatch scrambled after his master.

Suddenly, the vessel popped open, and Borio stopped in his tracks. A vaguely humanoid shape crawled out of the ship. Except, it was purple. It was no taller than Borio, but it’s muscles were large and toned. It’s eyes were large yellow ovals, and it’s head was crowned with black horns. It wore nothing except what appeared to be a crude imitation of trousers.

“Ach! What horrid creature is this!” Borio exclaimed. Although, he did not sound fearful, so much as disgusted.

It was then that the alien pulled something from off it’s belt. It clicked the apparatus, and a jet of green light shot from it, forming into what appeared to be a sword. A lightsaber? It made a gurgling noise, followed by a bellow. Then it stepped forward as if to strike them.

Tomatopatch tugged at Borio’s arm frantically. “Come on master! Let’s not linger here!”

Borio waved him off. “Not to worry,” he said holding out his ebony cane. “I always come prepared!”

With the press of a hidden button, a jet of sapphire light appeared from the top of the cane. Without missing a beat, he sprung forward to engage the alien. They danced, they blocked, they parried! It was an incredible duel to behold!

Ah! The skill! Who would have known Borio was so proficient at swordplay!

And the setting! The backdrop! Oh, it was wonderful! Saturn shining on the endless horizon, dozens of stars gazing upon the scene!

But all great scenes must come to an end; Borio finished off his opponent, by finally striking the creature in the heart. He pressed the hidden button again, and his cane went back to normal.

Earnestwise Tomatopatch stared on blankly. That had been quite unexpected.

“Well,” Borio said, dusting himself off. “That was rather taxing wasn’t it? Quickly now, let’s recollect our luggage, I should like to drop our things off at our room, and go find the lounge. Perhaps I might find a game of bridge?”

Tomatopatch simply blinked.

“What?” Borio said. “This is still a vacation!”

And with that he picked up a suitcase, and proceeded down the corridor. Tomatopatch scrambled to get their other bags and follow him.

“Sir, I must ask you,” he stuttered between breaths. “How long has your cane had that feature?”

“Oh, the light-sword?” Borio replied with nonchalance. “Just a nifty little device. A plot device, some would say.”

 

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I suppose if we want this thread to gain more traction, we could put something in our sigs, like "Author for the Borio Singaldi Writing Anthology" or something to that effect.

@Firerust, What do you think? I don't want to start advertising it without your consent, as you are the Shawn Speakman to our Unfettered, if you take my meaning.

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On 4/27/2019 at 7:50 PM, Wyndlerunner said:

I suppose if we want this thread to gain more traction, we could put something in our sigs, like "Author for the Borio Singaldi Writing Anthology" or something to that effect.

@Firerust, What do you think? I don't want to start advertising it without your consent, as you are the Shawn Speakman to our Unfettered, if you take my meaning.

I do indeed get your vague reference, luckily. :P I'm flattered.

If you're willing to do that and include it in your signature, I am perfectly fine with that. In fact, I encourage it for all of us anthology writers, if you are so willing.

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I could maybe do this? I've been considering redoing my signature lately, but I might just put it in my About Me.

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20 minutes ago, AonEne said:

I could maybe do this? I've been considering redoing my signature lately, but I might just put it in my About Me.

Well, my suggestion was for anyone to do- I think Fire would be fine with more publicity for this thread. So go ahead and put it where  you may

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Posted (edited)

Oh so this is happening okay then.

Time to share mine:

[Borio Singaldi And The] In Which Nothing Of Interest Happens

Spoiler

Borio Singaldi twirled his moustache. It twisted into a tight loop that made his top lip feel funny. He untwirled it hastily, and instead gave it a cautious twist. It curved for a moment into the perfect twirl... and then fell limp.

He picked up the phone and dialled the kitchen.

Beeep.   "Tomatopatch!"

"Yes sir?" Tomatopatch responded, knowing exactly what Borio Singaldi was going to say.

"Please remove my cane from the study where I left it and deliver it here. I'm worried the cat will try to scratch it again."

"Sir, if I recall correctly your cane is in your dressing room."

"Oh?" Borio made a portly turn about the room. There was no cane. "I'm afraid you are quite mistaken, my dear Tomatopatch. I was using it to attack that atrocious spider - and that reminds me, please implore Clemendine to be more careful about the hexapod invertebrates while cleaning the house - and I'm quite certain I left it in there."

Did I use the right word? I'm afraid my memory isn't quite as good as it used to be.

"I delivered it up with your afternoon tea by your orders." Tomatopatch explained patiently. "Have you tried checking under the bed?"

Borio Singaldi's mouth made a perfect o of surprise. "My dear Tomatopatch, I hadn't thought of that!" He then proceeded to hang up the phone.

Crawling was quite out of the question - for one, it was definitely beneath his dignity and he was sure his portly figure would not allow it - so he carefully pulled the silk curtains aside, extended one foot and slid it beneath the ancient carved wooden frame of the master bed.

He had gotten the bed for a beautiful price at an auction, many years ago.

Sure enough, his foot hit the long cane with a little bump. Borio Singaldi let out a satisfied sound and drew it out with his toes.

"Good lad." He told it, taking hold of the smooth ivory cane with his hands and twirling his moustache around it into the perfect curl.

The curl stayed.

 "A Peek Into the Mundane Life of Borio Singaldi", taken from the front page of The Singalditon Herald, 8th of October, [year]

 

oh yeah and I had a bit of fun with the Mad Lib

Spoiler
37 days ago, Borio Singaldi was having a portly day. Everything was bouncy for him. He left to the squishy store holding his orange fern cane and yeeting his cute mustache. A group of spaceships saw him and glided to make way for him, but not out of respect. He was just gracefully portly and fat, so no one wanted to sing near him. Borio didn't notice. He didn't care. He just sang to buy 22 cupcakes. Not just any cupcakes, but his favorite kind: a slightly brighter shade of orange slippery upon my tomatopatch! cupcakes. But when he arrived at Bunnings Warehouse thirty-thousand seconds later, huffing and loving from the effort, he beheld that all the pensive cupcakes were gone! "sing me!" Borio cried. "This is Breadsticks!" So he pulled out his tomato phone and called his milkman Earnestwise Tomatopatch. But Tomatopatch was a pensive man and knew not to answer Borio's calls whenever his boss was swinging at the store. So he ignored the call and went back to his orange to crashing it. Borio started crying like a moose. "Tomatopatch is being a real toes right now!" So he just bought 3 ordinary orange carrot muffins and stuffed his moustache with them. Everyone was disappointed in him. But then again, they always were. After all, Borio is just a lovely scarf.

Play Again

 

Edited by Sami
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Posted (edited)

Ha, these are fun. :lol:

I wasn't planning on writing a Borio Singaldi story myself, but...  Creativity strikes unexpectedly.  So I humbly present to you:

Borio Singaldi and the Fate Worse than Death

Spoiler

“TOMATOPATCH!” cried Borio’s distressed voice from upstairs.  “Help!  Oh, dear me!  It’s terrible!  HELP ME, EARNESTWISE!”

Earnestwise Tomatopatch had never heard such helpless horror in a human voice before.  Something must have been terribly wrong.  Earnestwise dropped what he was doing and ran with all haste up the grand stairs of the Singaldi Manor, through the vaulted corridors, and into Borio’s luxuriant rooms from whence the calls for aid issued.

He found Borio Singaldi standing in front of the mirror of the private washroom.  The portly gentleman was barefoot, dressed in trousers and shirt sized for his ample girth, with a towel draped over his shoulders.  It appeared that Borio had recently gotten out of the shower and was in the midst of preparing for his day.  Nothing seemed amiss…  Except that Borio held both hands in front of the lower half of his face.

“What is wrong, sir?” inquired Earnestwise.

“Ah!  Tomatopatch!” cried Borio, startled.  He didn’t move his hands from their position, so his voice was muffled.  “Don’t look at me!  I’m indecent!”

“…You’re basically fully dressed, sir.”

“Oh, dear, naïve Tomatopatch.  I’m not speaking of clothing!”

“Then what are you speaking of, sir?” 

Borio stayed silent, shaking his head miserably.

“Sir, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what the problem is.”

“It’s— It’s— It’s this!” wailed Borio.  He removed his hands from his face to reveal...

“Dear me,” murmured Earnestwise Tomatopatch in shock.

Borio Singaldi’s glorious, legendary, twirly mustache was nowhere to be seen.  In its place above Borio’s upper lip was a monstrosity of wet, matted, stringy hair, plastered haphazardly across the man’s face as if it were seeking to fill every nook and cranny of that portly visage.

The gravity of the situation hit Earnestwise like a rap on the head with a cane.

“Sir, was it really necessary to rap me on the head with your cane?” asked Earnestwise, rubbing his head.

“I just wanted you to understand the gravity of the situation, Tomatopatch!” replied Borio, resting his cane against the wall once more.  “I’m completely out of my special twirly styling gel!  I need you to pop downstairs and fetch me another bottle of it, my good man.  Quickly, now!”

“Ah.  I regret to inform you, sir, that we are all out of your special twirly styling gel.  You do use it quite liberally, sir.”

“WHAT?!  Impossible, I say!  Simply inconceivable!  Don’t we have a standing order with the company?  They ship it on the second Tuesday of every month!  I distinctly recall!”

“That is correct, sir.  However, we received a letter from them this morning.  I have it right here… ‘We regret to inform you, sir, that we are all out of your special twirly styling gel.  Due to circumstances beyond our control, our company must close its doors…’ and so on.  Apparently the process they used to make the special twirly styling gel was harmful to the environment.  …I recall seeing a story in the paper this morning about a thick cloud of multicoloured smog the size of Australia being discovered over the Atlantic…”

“But… but… Dear me, whatever shall I do, Tomatopatch?!  I have a meeting with the board of directors in an hour!  I can’t go out like this!

“Hmm…  I’ll get Clemendine, sir.  Maybe she’ll have an idea.”

“No, wait, Tomatopatch!  Don’t leave me like this!”

But Earnestwise had already left to fetch his… to fetch his, uh… to fetch Clemendine Tomatopatch.  They returned after only a few minutes.

“What is the matter, sir?” asked Clemendine.

“Ah!  Tomatopatch!” cried Borio, startled.  “Don’t look at me!  I’m indecent!”

“…But you’re basically fully dressed, sir.”

Earnestwise rolled his eyes.  “Sir, just show her.”  Borio miserably obliged.

“Dear me,” murmured Clemendine Tomatopatch in shock.

“Indeed!  It’s ghastly!” wailed Borio.

“It’s like a malevolent nest of gangrenous rat tails aspiring to be weeds have sprouted from your nostrils,” continued Clemendine.  “It’s like a prison colony of diseased seaweed making an ill-conceived escape attempt.  It’s like a psychotically insane artist used the corpses of parasitic worms as a medium for an avant garde anti-masterpiece.  It’s like a toddler dragged a plate of moldy spaghetti through the gutters, left it in the mud, came back three months later to collect it, and then tried unsuccessfully to force-feed it to you.  It’s like…”

Borio sobbed.

“That’s quite enough, Clemendine,” said Earnestwise.  “We get the picture.”

“Well, why haven’t you used your special twirly styling gel, sir?” asked Clemendine.  “That should fix the matter in a jiffy, sure it will.”

Borio continued to sob.

“He’s all out, and the company that makes it was shut down,” explained Earnestwise.

“Oh, good heavens.  This is a sticky wicket, right enough.”

“Yes, and Borio has a meeting in an hour with the board of directors.  Any ideas?”

“Hmm… Let me think…”

Several moments passed with Borio’s gradually diminishing sobs being the only sound as the servants Tomatopatch pondered the predicament.  Finally, Clemendine snapped her fingers.

“Ah!  Tomatopatch!” cried Borio, startled.  “Don’t look at me!  I’m indecent!”  The Tomatopatches rolled their eyes.

“You can use the doggie shampoo!” said Clemendine. 

“The… the doggie shampoo?” repeated Borio, dumbfounded.  Earnestwise nodded thoughtfully as Clemendine continued.

“It works wonders on the pooches’ fur—you’ve seen how glossy and radiant their coats are after a wash!  And I’ve found that if you work it in to a fine lather and then leave it for about ten minutes or so, you can mold the fur any way you like!”

“I… Dear me, I don’t know…”

“Come, sir, it’s more or less the same thing as your special twirly styling gel.”

“Well, which is it?”

“…Excuse me, sir?”

“You said it’s more or less the same thing as my special twirly styling gel.  Which is it: more, or less?”

“It’s just an expression, sir—”

“More!” interrupted Earnestwise.  “It’s more, sir.”

“Well then!” cried Borio with urgent gusto.  He held his cane aloft as if he were the bannerman of a grand army leading the charge into the teeth of the enemy encampment.  “Tomatopatch!  Bring me the doggie shampoo!

… … … … …

And that, dear reader, is the story of how Borio Singaldi first began to use “Uncle Woof’s Paw-fect Pomade” for all his mustache grooming needs.  To this very day, should you ever pay a visit to the grandiose Singaldi Manor, you will always be able to find several bottles of the miraculous doggie shampoo in Borio’s washroom.  And now you may rest easy at night, knowing the secret behind the elegant magnificence of facial hair perfection that is the twirly mustache of Borio Singaldi.

 

Edited by Zath
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16 hours ago, Zath said:

Ha, these are fun. :lol:

I wasn't planning on writing a Borio Singaldi story myself, but...  Creativity strikes unexpectedly.  So I humbly present to you:

Borio Singaldi and the Fate Worse than Death

  Reveal hidden contents

“TOMATOPATCH!” cried Borio’s distressed voice from upstairs.  “Help!  Oh, dear me!  It’s terrible!  HELP ME, EARNESTWISE!”

Earnestwise Tomatopatch had never heard such helpless horror in a human voice before.  Something must have been terribly wrong.  Earnestwise dropped what he was doing and ran with all haste up the grand stairs of the Singaldi Manor, through the vaulted corridors, and into Borio’s luxuriant rooms from whence the calls for aid issued.

He found Borio Singaldi standing in front of the mirror of the private washroom.  The portly gentleman was barefoot, dressed in trousers and shirt sized for his ample girth, with a towel draped over his shoulders.  It appeared that Borio had recently gotten out of the shower and was in the midst of preparing for his day.  Nothing seemed amiss…  Except that Borio held both hands in front of the lower half of his face.

“What is wrong, sir?” inquired Earnestwise.

“Ah!  Tomatopatch!” cried Borio, startled.  He didn’t move his hands from their position, so his voice was muffled.  “Don’t look at me!  I’m indecent!”

“…You’re basically fully dressed, sir.”

“Oh, dear, naïve Tomatopatch.  I’m not speaking of clothing!”

“Then what are you speaking of, sir?” 

Borio stayed silent, shaking his head miserably.

“Sir, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what the problem is.”

“It’s— It’s— It’s this!” wailed Borio.  He removed his hands from his face to reveal...

“Dear me,” murmured Earnestwise Tomatopatch in shock.

Borio Singaldi’s glorious, legendary, twirly mustache was nowhere to be seen.  In its place above Borio’s upper lip was a monstrosity of wet, matted, stringy hair, plastered haphazardly across the man’s face as if it were seeking to fill every nook and cranny of that portly visage.

The gravity of the situation hit Earnestwise like a rap on the head with a cane.

“Sir, was it really necessary to rap me on the head with your cane?” asked Earnestwise, rubbing his head.

“I just wanted you to understand the gravity of the situation, Tomatopatch!” replied Borio, resting his cane against the wall once more.  “I’m completely out of my special twirly styling gel!  I need you to pop downstairs and fetch me another bottle of it, my good man.  Quickly, now!”

“Ah.  I regret to inform you, sir, that we are all out of your special twirly styling gel.  You do use it quite liberally, sir.”

“WHAT?!  Impossible, I say!  Simply inconceivable!  Don’t we have a standing order with the company?  They ship it on the second Tuesday of every month!  I distinctly recall!”

“That is correct, sir.  However, we received a letter from them this morning.  I have it right here… ‘We regret to inform you, sir, that we are all out of your special twirly styling gel.  Due to circumstances beyond our control, our company must close its doors…’ and so on.  Apparently the process they used to make the special twirly styling gel was harmful to the environment.  …I recall seeing a story in the paper this morning about a thick cloud of multicoloured smog the size of Australia being discovered over the Atlantic…”

“But… but… Dear me, whatever shall I do, Tomatopatch?!  I have a meeting with the board of directors in an hour!  I can’t go out like this!

“Hmm…  I’ll get Clemendine, sir.  Maybe she’ll have an idea.”

“No, wait, Tomatopatch!  Don’t leave me like this!”

But Earnestwise had already left to fetch his… to fetch his, uh… to fetch Clemendine Tomatopatch.  They returned after only a few minutes.

“What is the matter, sir?” asked Clemendine.

“Ah!  Tomatopatch!” cried Borio, startled.  “Don’t look at me!  I’m indecent!”

“…But you’re basically fully dressed, sir.”

Earnestwise rolled his eyes.  “Sir, just show her.”  Borio miserably obliged.

“Dear me,” murmured Clemendine Tomatopatch in shock.

“Indeed!  It’s ghastly!” wailed Borio.

“It’s like a malevolent nest of gangrenous rat tails aspiring to be weeds have sprouted from your nostrils,” continued Clemendine.  “It’s like a prison colony of diseased seaweed making an ill-conceived escape attempt.  It’s like a psychotically insane artist used the corpses of parasitic worms as a medium for an avant garde anti-masterpiece.  It’s like a toddler dragged a plate of moldy spaghetti through the gutters, left it in the mud, came back three months later to collect it, and then tried unsuccessfully to force-feed it to you.  It’s like…”

Borio sobbed.

“That’s quite enough, Clemendine,” said Earnestwise.  “We get the picture.”

“Well, why haven’t you used your special twirly styling gel, sir?” asked Clemendine.  “That should fix the matter in a jiffy, sure it will.”

Borio continued to sob.

“He’s all out, and the company that makes it was shut down,” explained Earnestwise.

“Oh, good heavens.  This is a sticky wicket, right enough.”

“Yes, and Borio has a meeting in an hour with the board of directors.  Any ideas?”

“Hmm… Let me think…”

Several moments passed with Borio’s gradually diminishing sobs being the only sound as the servants Tomatopatch pondered the predicament.  Finally, Clemendine snapped her fingers.

“Ah!  Tomatopatch!” cried Borio, startled.  “Don’t look at me!  I’m indecent!”  The Tomatopatches rolled their eyes.

“You can use the doggie shampoo!” said Clemendine. 

“The… the doggie shampoo?” repeated Borio, dumbfounded.  Earnestwise nodded thoughtfully as Clemendine continued.

“It works wonders on the pooches’ fur—you’ve seen how glossy and radiant their coats are after a wash!  And I’ve found that if you work it in to a fine lather and then leave it for about ten minutes or so, you can mold the fur any way you like!”

“I… Dear me, I don’t know…”

“Come, sir, it’s more or less the same thing as your special twirly styling gel.”

“Well, which is it?”

“…Excuse me, sir?”

“You said it’s more or less the same thing as my special twirly styling gel.  Which is it: more, or less?”

“It’s just an expression, sir—”

“More!” interrupted Earnestwise.  “It’s more, sir.”

“Well then!” cried Borio with urgent gusto.  He held his cane aloft as if he were the bannerman of a grand army leading the charge into the teeth of the enemy encampment.  “Tomatopatch!  Bring me the doggie shampoo!

… … … … …

And that, dear reader, is the story of how Borio Singaldi first began to use “Uncle Woof’s Paw-fect Pomade” for all his mustache grooming needs.  To this very day, should you ever pay a visit to the grandiose Singaldi Manor, you will always be able to find several bottles of the miraculous doggie shampoo in Borio’s washroom.  And now you may rest easy at night, knowing the secret behind the elegant magnificence of facial hair perfection that is the twirly mustache of Borio Singaldi.

 

If I could upvote more than once, this would receive all my upvotes. Great Job Zath!

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Thank you!  Glad you enjoyed it. ^_^

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@Zath Dear me, that was absolutely wonderful. I laughed out loud when the gravity of the situation kicked in. This was beautifully written and I need to give more than one upvote for it. I love it, love it, love it!

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17 hours ago, Firerust said:

@Zath Dear me, that was absolutely wonderful. I laughed out loud when the gravity of the situation kicked in. This was beautifully written and I need to give more than one upvote for it. I love it, love it, love it!

Thanks, glad you liked it!  ^_^  And thanks for coming up with such a fun character as Borio Singaldi and sharing him with everybody.

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Another Borio Storio incoming! Introducing... Borio Singaldi and the Date That Goes West!!

Spoiler

Borio Singaldi and the Date That Goes West; Part 1

“So…” Borio said awkwardly as he pulled out the chair for the lady. “Your name was…”
“Ms. Sally Fortworth Hoskins.” The woman sat down obligingly. “But you can call me Sally.” The middle-aged lady had a deep Southern drawl, and a fierce look of wild intensity in her eyes. Despite this, she also seemed rather solemn, and her entirely black outfit properly reflected that.
“Of course,” Borio said, realizing that he should probably respond to what she said before the narrative description of her appearance made too much of an awkward gap in conversation.
“And remind me your name again, fine sir,” she said, staring at him as he moved to sit in his own chair.
“Borio Singaldi, but you can just call me Borio, um… Sally.”
“Very well, Borio,” she said, her eye-twitching stare a tad disconcerting. “And what do you do for a living?”
“Well, er… I… am the head of the Singalditon Mercantile and Prospection Enterprises, a position inherited from my father, who founded it. And how about you?”
“I’ve been involved in prospecting for some years myself,” she drawled. “There’s gold to be found in these parts, I just know it.”
“Well…” Borio began, but then realized in a rare moment of thinking before speaking that it probably wouldn’t be best to tell her that he was fairly certain there was no gold to be found around this area, just as he’d told that crazy prospector a while back. And consider how that exchange, Borio decided to keep quiet this time.
“Well?” Sally asked, leaning forward.
“Well, I… I certainly haven’t found any myself,” Borio chuckled. “Not yet, at least.”
“Then you haven’t been searching hard enough,” she said, a small smile creeping onto her lips. “It’s around here, we know it.”
Her smile had become even more disconcerting now.
Prospection may have been the original reason he’d come out here, but now he wasn’t so sure. But while they were in this mysterious background town, Borio had figured he’d ask around. This had somehow inadvertently led to him being hooked up on a date with this lady he didn’t even know. At first, he thought it might have been a business meeting. But now, it was a blind date. Well, not actually all that blind. It was obviously she could see very well. Too well, perhaps. Her stare was becoming downright disturbing. Borio had originally tried backing out once he knew this exchange was going to be a date, but Earnestwise encouraged him to take that step forward, suggesting it might even be a fun and rewarding experience. And so he could get away from Borio. But that was beside the current point.
You might have thought that during this exposition of circumstances that their conversation would have continued. But no, they still sat in silence even as this sentence ended.
Finally, a waiter came and brought them their menus, and asked for their orders. A description of what they ordered to eat is completely unnecessary and boring to write, so it will not be provided. Suffice it to say that Borio couldn’t get Eagersmart Applegrove Swirl Cupcakes here. Or even jicama, for that matter.
As Borio payed their check before the waiter left rather than after they ate (because he didn’t want to get held up here for too long or leave a dangling plot thread sometime in the future), she asked him, “Is this your first time coming here, Borio?”
“Uh… no, actually.” Borio said, fiddling with his mustache nervously. “I’ve been here on business before, for the same reason as you. Prospecting.”
“And how do you manage such an illustrious mustache as the one you now have?” she asked, her eyes fixated on the twirling, fancy masterpiece of facial hair right below Borio’s nose.
“Er… practice.” He needn’t mention the doggy shampoo.
“You can get a mustache that fancy all you like, but I say it never beats the rugged look of a full, pure beard, uncombed by anything but the winds of Mother Nature and held in place by nothing but the dust of cow-stomped wide-open plains,” she said, a wistful look in her wide eyes.
Borio did his best not to gag at the thought of such an unruly sight to behold on a man’s face. He covered it up by taking a swig of water. “Ahe. I wonder, what makes you think that, Miss Hoskins…”
“It’s Ms. Hoskins, Borio, and I told you to call me by my first name.”
Oops. “Ah, sorry, Sally.” He should have remembered such a silly thing, there was no need to be too infor–
Wait. Had she said “Ms.”?
“I think that because my husband had a beard like that.”
Ms., not Miss. Husband. Well, that took an unexpected turn.
“You were, um… married, Ms... I mean, Sally?”
She looked out the window, tears pooling in her wild wide eyes. “I was married… to the most rugged, determined, hard-headed son of a gun I’d ever known. And he… died tragically.”
Her voice cracked, and she closed her eyes for the first time in their whole date. Borio felt a swell of pity. Swells of pity were normal for him, as he often had things to pity about the Tomatopatch servants, particularly Earnestwise. But this swell was… different. It was a compassionate pity swell.
“I am sorry,” he said, guilty about having aroused such a delicate topic. Any comedic tension was dashed away faster than an attempt to create a Douglas Adams-style analogy, replaced with tragic tension.
“I’ve been trying to move on,” she said shakily, “meet other men and all, but… it still hurts. I do miss him. But one thing I know for sure…” she said, eyes opening wide. “Is that he was murdered. And one day, I’m gonna hunt down that two-bit venomous varmint who did him in.”
A flicker of remembrance stirred in Borio’s mind, causing his mustache to flutter like a light breeze had blown by. The chilly breeze of the past. Those words sounded familiar somehow…
Her eyes locked on… well, wherever someone’s eyes lock onto when they’re fixated on reliving a memory and telling it in story form. Likely a random bit of wall. “He’d left one morning, riding on the back of our family horse Bressie, bless her resting soul too. I’d hardly had time to make breakfast, so he just took a spoon and a can of baked beans.”
If the breeze of the past was a literal thing, it would have blown Borio’s mustache out of place by now. This was all sounding eerily familiar…
“It was the same spoon we use to feed Bressie,” she said, a wistful grin creeping onto her tear-filled face. “A family spoon we all eat beans with.”
Wait… the creeping remembrance was more disturbing than ever. Borio was reminded of…
No. It cannot be, can it not be? Can it be? Bah, whatever the grammatical way of saying that may be?
“He never came back.” Her voice turned hard. “His body was found at the bottom of a cliff, still on horseback. I would have thought they’d run off, but there was a big welt on Bessie’s behind, one that hadn’t been there that morning. And believe me, I know what her behind looks like.”
Dear me, Borio thought, a chill of horror rushing down his spine as the figurative winds of remembrance billowed away at his face, giving him a cold sweat. I remember now…
That was… me, wasn’t it?
But… it was an accident! I never thought such a thing would come back to haunt me, or… or…
Or anyone else.

Poor paragraph spacing aside, Borio’s internal monologue echoed throughout his head until he felt lightheaded. The lightheadedness and cold sweat did not go unnoticed by Sally.
“Borio?” she said, turning to him in confusion and dabbing her eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“Er, well…” This has gotten too awkward. “Sorry, I just…”
He looked around for a door. And saw one with a faded men’s restroom logo on it.
“I must have had an allergic reaction to the water, dear Sally, if you’ll just give me a moment.”
Borio hurriedly rushed off into the public men’s lavatory, too panicked to think of doing a kind act for anyone in here. He just needed a way out.
It was in this public lavatory that Borio promptly hurled himself out the window.
To land right into the incredibly fluffy and well-cushioned open backseat of the convertible getaway car Earnestwise Tomatopatch was impatiently waiting in. He’d been blogging about how horrible his experience out in the West had been so far, which was turning out poorly in and of itself, considering this area’s terrible cell phone service. Cellular data didn’t seem to work that well in the West.
“Tomatopatch,” Borio said hurriedly. “Get us out of here now.”
“Glady,” Earnestwise huffed.
And so the getaway car sped away, leaving a trail of dust in its wake to billow over the restaurant Borio had left his unfortunate date inside.
Ms. Sally Hoskins looked out the front window to see it speeding away, the gears turning in her mind and clicking into place…
To Be Continued

 

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4 minutes ago, Firerust said:

Another Borio Storio incoming! Introducing... Borio Singaldi and the Date That Goes West!!

  Reveal hidden contents

Borio Singaldi and the Date That Goes West; Part 1

“So…” Borio said awkwardly as he pulled out the chair for the lady. “Your name was…”
“Ms. Sally Fortworth Hoskins.” The woman sat down obligingly. “But you can call me Sally.” The middle-aged lady had a deep Southern drawl, and a fierce look of wild intensity in her eyes. Despite this, she also seemed rather solemn, and her entirely black outfit properly reflected that.
“Of course,” Borio said, realizing that he should probably respond to what she said before the narrative description of her appearance made too much of an awkward gap in conversation.
“And remind me your name again, fine sir,” she said, staring at him as he moved to sit in his own chair.
“Borio Singaldi, but you can just call me Borio, um… Sally.”
“Very well, Borio,” she said, her eye-twitching stare a tad disconcerting. “And what do you do for a living?”
“Well, er… I… am the head of the Singalditon Mercantile and Prospection Enterprises, a position inherited from my father, who founded it. And how about you?”
“I’ve been involved in prospecting for some years myself,” she drawled. “There’s gold to be found in these parts, I just know it.”
“Well…” Borio began, but then realized in a rare moment of thinking before speaking that it probably wouldn’t be best to tell her that he was fairly certain there was no gold to be found around this area, just as he’d told that crazy prospector a while back. And consider how that exchange, Borio decided to keep quiet this time.
“Well?” Sally asked, leaning forward.
“Well, I… I certainly haven’t found any myself,” Borio chuckled. “Not yet, at least.”
“Then you haven’t been searching hard enough,” she said, a small smile creeping onto her lips. “It’s around here, we know it.”
Her smile had become even more disconcerting now.
Prospection may have been the original reason he’d come out here, but now he wasn’t so sure. But while they were in this mysterious background town, Borio had figured he’d ask around. This had somehow inadvertently led to him being hooked up on a date with this lady he didn’t even know. At first, he thought it might have been a business meeting. But now, it was a blind date. Well, not actually all that blind. It was obviously she could see very well. Too well, perhaps. Her stare was becoming downright disturbing. Borio had originally tried backing out once he knew this exchange was going to be a date, but Earnestwise encouraged him to take that step forward, suggesting it might even be a fun and rewarding experience. And so he could get away from Borio. But that was beside the current point.
You might have thought that during this exposition of circumstances that their conversation would have continued. But no, they still sat in silence even as this sentence ended.
Finally, a waiter came and brought them their menus, and asked for their orders. A description of what they ordered to eat is completely unnecessary and boring to write, so it will not be provided. Suffice it to say that Borio couldn’t get Eagersmart Applegrove Swirl Cupcakes here. Or even jicama, for that matter.
As Borio payed their check before the waiter left rather than after they ate (because he didn’t want to get held up here for too long or leave a dangling plot thread sometime in the future), she asked him, “Is this your first time coming here, Borio?”
“Uh… no, actually.” Borio said, fiddling with his mustache nervously. “I’ve been here on business before, for the same reason as you. Prospecting.”
“And how do you manage such an illustrious mustache as the one you now have?” she asked, her eyes fixated on the twirling, fancy masterpiece of facial hair right below Borio’s nose.
“Er… practice.” He needn’t mention the doggy shampoo.
“You can get a mustache that fancy all you like, but I say it never beats the rugged look of a full, pure beard, uncombed by anything but the winds of Mother Nature and held in place by nothing but the dust of cow-stomped wide-open plains,” she said, a wistful look in her wide eyes.
Borio did his best not to gag at the thought of such an unruly sight to behold on a man’s face. He covered it up by taking a swig of water. “Ahe. I wonder, what makes you think that, Miss Hoskins…”
“It’s Ms. Hoskins, Borio, and I told you to call me by my first name.”
Oops. “Ah, sorry, Sally.” He should have remembered such a silly thing, there was no need to be too infor–
Wait. Had she said “Ms.”?
“I think that because my husband had a beard like that.”
Ms., not Miss. Husband. Well, that took an unexpected turn.
“You were, um… married, Ms... I mean, Sally?”
She looked out the window, tears pooling in her wild wide eyes. “I was married… to the most rugged, determined, hard-headed son of a gun I’d ever known. And he… died tragically.”
Her voice cracked, and she closed her eyes for the first time in their whole date. Borio felt a swell of pity. Swells of pity were normal for him, as he often had things to pity about the Tomatopatch servants, particularly Earnestwise. But this swell was… different. It was a compassionate pity swell.
“I am sorry,” he said, guilty about having aroused such a delicate topic. Any comedic tension was dashed away faster than an attempt to create a Douglas Adams-style analogy, replaced with tragic tension.
“I’ve been trying to move on,” she said shakily, “meet other men and all, but… it still hurts. I do miss him. But one thing I know for sure…” she said, eyes opening wide. “Is that he was murdered. And one day, I’m gonna hunt down that two-bit venomous varmint who did him in.”
A flicker of remembrance stirred in Borio’s mind, causing his mustache to flutter like a light breeze had blown by. The chilly breeze of the past. Those words sounded familiar somehow…
Her eyes locked on… well, wherever someone’s eyes lock onto when they’re fixated on reliving a memory and telling it in story form. Likely a random bit of wall. “He’d left one morning, riding on the back of our family horse Bressie, bless her resting soul too. I’d hardly had time to make breakfast, so he just took a spoon and a can of baked beans.”
If the breeze of the past was a literal thing, it would have blown Borio’s mustache out of place by now. This was all sounding eerily familiar…
“It was the same spoon we use to feed Bressie,” she said, a wistful grin creeping onto her tear-filled face. “A family spoon we all eat beans with.”
Wait… the creeping remembrance was more disturbing than ever. Borio was reminded of…
No. It cannot be, can it not be? Can it be? Bah, whatever the grammatical way of saying that may be?
“He never came back.” Her voice turned hard. “His body was found at the bottom of a cliff, still on horseback. I would have thought they’d run off, but there was a big welt on Bessie’s behind, one that hadn’t been there that morning. And believe me, I know what her behind looks like.”
Dear me, Borio thought, a chill of horror rushing down his spine as the figurative winds of remembrance billowed away at his face, giving him a cold sweat. I remember now…
That was… me, wasn’t it?
But… it was an accident! I never thought such a thing would come back to haunt me, or… or…
Or anyone else.

Poor paragraph spacing aside, Borio’s internal monologue echoed throughout his head until he felt lightheaded. The lightheadedness and cold sweat did not go unnoticed by Sally.
“Borio?” she said, turning to him in confusion and dabbing her eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“Er, well…” This has gotten too awkward. “Sorry, I just…”
He looked around for a door. And saw one with a faded men’s restroom logo on it.
“I must have had an allergic reaction to the water, dear Sally, if you’ll just give me a moment.”
Borio hurriedly rushed off into the public men’s lavatory, too panicked to think of doing a kind act for anyone in here. He just needed a way out.
It was in this public lavatory that Borio promptly hurled himself out the window.
To land right into the incredibly fluffy and well-cushioned open backseat of the convertible getaway car Earnestwise Tomatopatch was impatiently waiting in. He’d been blogging about how horrible his experience out in the West had been so far, which was turning out poorly in and of itself, considering this area’s terrible cell phone service. Cellular data didn’t seem to work that well in the West.
“Tomatopatch,” Borio said hurriedly. “Get us out of here now.”
“Glady,” Earnestwise huffed.
And so the getaway car sped away, leaving a trail of dust in its wake to billow over the restaurant Borio had left his unfortunate date inside.
Ms. Sally Hoskins looked out the front window to see it speeding away, the gears turning in her mind and clicking into place…
To Be Continued

 

At Last! I can upvote this masterpiece of storytelling.

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That was so meta, loved it!  :lol:

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2 hours ago, Firerust said:

too panicked to think of doing a kind act for anyone in here.

Heheheheh

 

that was great 

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