Story Idea: A chinese immigrant in the United States is being spied on by both the Chinese and US governments. The two intelligence agents assigned to the immigrants phone from across the world realize that someone else is spying on this phone as well, and they slowly begin to fall in love. Eventually the two intelligence agents meet up by tricking the immigrant into going to a certain location. And meanwhile, a Russian intelligence agent watches this all unfold, feeling very lonely. And maybe aliens are watching the Russian intelligence agent, falling in love with him. The story would probably either end with an orgy or the end of the world.

Who decided that toilets are the place to throw up? My ass goes there when i poop

It was just supposed to be a pun. sand witch. i live in the desert and i make sandwiches. When that first customer found a bit of sand in his sandwich, i made a little joke about how it made the sandwich taste better. And when customers started flocking for the magic sand witch sandwiches, i thought it wouldnt hurt anyone to make a little money off of the attention. But you can never underestimate how stupid people can be when they think magic is involved. One day I woke up to the sound of shovels. I looked out the window and a group of men were digging a moat around my shop. Apparently someone decided that the sand surrounding my shop was magic, and this guy convinced some townspeople to steal all of my magic sand while i was asleep.

This was all fine for a while, the wind brought fresh sand each night, and the men would steal it each morning. I didnt really care enough to stop them, and there were plenty of people who still believed that my sandwiches were magic all on their own.

But then someone had the brilliant idea to use the sand to create magic water.

Now, I dont know too much about water OR sand, but every time ive accidentally eaten sand it has been incredibly salty, among other flavors. The magic water was basically dirty salt water. His prescription was to drink nothing but the magic water that they bought from him. You can see where this is going.

And when people started dying, it suddenly became a matter of the evil sand witch using dark magic to turn the magic water evil. And yet they continued to buy the magic water. And that's why you are reading this note on a corpse you found in the middle of bumfuck desert.

An Average AG1 Ad

AG1 will approve every ad possible. Here's some ideas.

(Host dumps green powder over themselves, gnashing their head back and forth like a wild animal)

V/O: AG1, put it in ya, not on ya!

(Host is dressed as a leprechaun) V/O: AG1, Put it in your beer!

(Host is standing way too close to camera, eyes bloodshot and dilated)

V/O: AG1, put it in your crack pipe!

from here we can only escalate to boofing green powder, and I think we may have found the ad AG1 won't approve

There is no wind in Apocrypha.

A pile of papers on the floors rustles itself as i carefully step around them. The air is damp and still, the smell of mildew overwhelming. A handful of papers flutter up into the air, and i grab one before it smacks me in the face. the thick papyrus of the paper is dripping wet, leaving a dark stain on my fingers that wont rub off. The paper itself is blank, at times. Other times, it is covered with overlapping symbols in long forgotten languages. How long have i stared at this single piece of paper? I shake my head and toss the paper aside. It flutters back into the pile from which it came and i move on.

The walls are lined with the remains of bookshelves, filled with the rotted carcasses of ancient books, stretching up into the green darkness above. The leather covers of various tomes are held together by a black goo that had once been pages full of knowledge. I run my fingers along a shelf, feeling the spine of each book give way with a squish. It's oddly comforting.

Ahead I see a perfectly round pool of perfectly dark fluid nestled among the bookshelves. I kneel beside it and dip a finger. it's ink. I try to wipe the ink off on my robes, but it only spreads. I try to wipe my hands on the molding books on the shelves, but they disintegrate under my touch, leaving bits of moldy paper covering my hands. I start wiping my hands on the stone floor, scraping them against the uneven rock until they begin bleeding, but my blood just mixes with the ink and adds to the spreading darkness. In my panic, i havent noticed that a gentle breeze has blown in. I finally notice it when it stops. There is no wind in Apocrypha, I remind myself, and look up. several hundred feet above me, barely visible in the sickly green mist, is a massive tendril. No, three. No, four. each is as thick as I am tall, all wrapped around the edge of the bookshelf above me. There is a fifth, just below the four. My eyes begin to adjust, and I can see that theyre all connected. "It's a hand," I say out loud, plainly. The hand lets go of the bookshelf and fades back into darkness, and the breeze picks up for a few moments before dying down again. I sit in silence for a while, and then look down at my stained hands and begin picking pieces of moldy paper out of my scrapes. I need to get the fuck out of this place.