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The Council of Nine

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Chuck falls deeper.... [Mar. 19th, 2004|05:42 pm]
The Council of Nine

bonerstein
As George, Jason, and myself all sat and wondered about the future of Hot Water Music, Chuck had most certainly gone off the edge. You see the lead singer of Dashboard confessionals was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and died while crying alone. So Chuck jumped on the opportunity to reinvent himself, but not as the God of Thunder as he used to be known, but as the Duke of Emo. He Joined the Dashboard Confessionals and screamed his infidelities about Hot Water Music. Truly stunned by this turn of events I could not let the band that I once idolized become nothing more than a fart in the wind. Then one day while warming up my vocals by swallowing thumbtacks it dawned on me where was Chris Wollard? It was strange but know one had seemed to notice that Chris just wasn’t around! I searched all over Gville for the long lost member of HWM. My leads were strong, but nothing led me to him. Until one day I saw Chris at the Star bright café all the way down in Ybor city. I ran to Chris and asked him for a moment of his time. With a loud booming cry he replied sure kid go ahead. But, but your throat fell out while you were singing I said it cant be? Chris then explained to me that he had the vocal chords of an howler monkey the loudest land animal in the world implanted in him and was merely taking a break before he returned to HWM. We talked for hours and I told him how Chuck had become quite Emo and Joined Dashboard Outraged by this news Chris and I schemed a plan to get Chuck Ragan back into HWM with all the original members back to the way it was…

to be continued
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I have been forsaken [Mar. 18th, 2004|01:57 pm]
The Council of Nine

bonerstein
Not but three fort nights ago I The Mad Medic was having a rambunctious roudy time with other fellows and one other member of ye Council of Nine. When Out from nowhere came the town sherrif with bad news for all. It is not permitted to camp on the kings land and drinking under the age bestowed on those of the age VVI is not allowed. Suddenly I was apprehended my efforts to escape thwarted by the toxin level of my body. Drank the elixir of miller I had and was paralized from any thinking or sudden movement. The sheriff then joined me by his steed and offered me a choice. Appear before the Duke of Brevard or face the consequences. While being repremanded a certian member of the Council of whom I beleive to be a defector made rude comments and made fun of me while I was in a time of perill. To this member I will not name thee but watch what you do for I am crazy and could have easily taken down you and you r quote unquote lady or whatever so thanks should be showered upon me for not selling ye 2 out gentlemen I had no choiice I had to make this public I hope it does not put a scar on The Council I bid you all adieux
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A boy named Emo [Mar. 17th, 2004|07:15 pm]
The Council of Nine

bonerstein
A Boy Named Emo
By Beau Parks
I was walking down EMOSTREET when I heard a thunderous cry coming from the Common Hardback. As I approached and got closer I saw it was my good friend Chuck Ragan of HWM. I asked to him to state his business, he explained to me the night before Chris Wollard screamed so hard at their show that his throat fell out. He pleaded with me to be the second lead singer of the most awesome band to ever walk the earth. All of a sudden a burst Anti-Emo happiness rushed over me and I gladly accepted the offer. It was about two o’clock in the afternoon about five hours to the show, and I awaited my chance to impress all of Gainesville and evolve into SCREAMO. At about two-thirty I was lucky it was late cause I had a little fuel for the hate game in my difference engine. The radio played freely in Gainesville that night with the sweet songs composed by D-Caff Hot water in my tub music on my radio. It had felt like 220 years for my debut when George Rebello and Jason Black saved the day and told me it was our turn to get the kids up. Although we were playing Drunken Thrice I felt my ovaries start to quiver and heard the deadbolt unlock and prepared my self!
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Emolution: The Saga continues [Mar. 17th, 2004|07:13 pm]
The Council of Nine

bonerstein
After the night at the common Hardback when my Emolution occurred I was changed completely. I started to feel as though I was more hardcore I was a lot angrier I was screamo! The first two weeks touring with hot water in Europe was amazing then tensions and egos began to flare between my new bandmates and I. Chuck had felt that the spotlight he had once basked his glorious physique in was being stolen me. I tried so vigorously to convince Chuck other wise but he would not listen and went into a state of depression that the likes of Emo had never seen. Chuck would refuse to drink his daily gallon of Rye-Whiskey and was not showing up to our rehearsals. Then one night we got the news that Chuck had quit the band. This devastating blow to the nuts was excruciating what were we to do, was Hot Water Music really finished?…
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Gentlemen of the council [Mar. 11th, 2004|10:39 pm]
The Council of Nine

bonerstein
[mood |crazycrazy]
[music |Sounds of the Rennisance]

Good evening and fine morrow to all. I am the ninth council member Sir Bonerstein the Tyrant Esquire the third Jr. I will reak havock on all who oppose me me and slay you all in your sleep. I believe that a council member must be ruthless in order to succeed in these cuthroat times we live in. No fear Gentlemen for I would not slay another council member unless they stood in my way of Wenchs or Ale. I think you will find my bold attitude to be great addition to this council and look foward to drinking with ye all!
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The Tome and the Christ [Mar. 4th, 2004|10:17 am]
The Council of Nine

sexydecoy
Hear ye, noble lords! The Tome of Knowledge has now recieved its signature from all nine councilmen, thus our journey and insights may be shared throughout the free land. Our name must be spread like wildfire throughout local and rivaling communities, ever questing on the search for myrmidons and patrons alike. We must not succumb to feelings of ennui, for the Tome of Knowledge is the offical word of the lord and we must treat it as such. Certainly, this fact does indeed conflict with the views of the followers of King James, though we must be strong in our righteousness, making sure not to flout it, though also not to remain timid in witnessing to your fellow brothers. The word of the tome must be spread.

Though the Bible has its many truths and accuracies, it fails to mention the Council of Nine, therefore its words are decietful and dangerous. While King James's scripture recalls Christ dying for our sins, the Tome Of Knowledge recalls his fate in opposition:

The Christ approached the council, his head troubled. The wise storyteller lifted the chin of the savior to be and smiled. He told the bearded man that his sacrifice can be absolutely painless, if he would only offer his support to the council. Jesus questioned the Storyteller, though he was positive that no councilmen could be associated with the devil.
"But what of my sacrifice?" The Christ asked. "They cannot say I will have suffered for them."
"Alas, my friend, to have lived a life without wenches and wine is to suffer."

The Christ then shook his head and dissappeared into the fog. The Storyteller then shouted "So, it tommorow at noon a good time for me to murder you?"

He turned, and said unto us "I mustn't let you do that, for my blood would then remain on the hands of all Councilmen. You are the true chosen people. Yes, I know, it's supposed to be the jews, but that was actually said in irony."


The storyteller replied: "Your blood would not be shed! I will cover your head with a cloth, trapping air from entering your body."

The Christ paused, and smiled. "But who would wear a cloth around their neck?"</i>


-The Storyteller-
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Scott of the Stapp: Book Third [Feb. 29th, 2004|05:31 pm]
The Council of Nine

j9caf
It has been many a fortnight since I last recounted the tale of the villianous buffoon, Scott of the Stapp, and my courageous battle against him. Read on, weary traveler, for I present you with the conclusion of the tale:

I had just slaid Sir Edward the Vedder, leading minstrel of Pearl Marmalade, dukes of the Grunge. I persisted on through the mountainous mass of Scott of the Stapp's wiry chest hair, soaked in repugnant sweat and the rancid milk from his salmon pink teats. After two fortnights, I finally reached the rough skin of his torso. I placed my broadsword to the flesh above his heart and raised my Thunder Hammer, ready to bring it down upon the hilt to drive it through Stapp's black heart, the same way one would steak a foul vampire. Unfortunately, seconds before I would end his life, his vocal chords erupted, emitting a tune most hideous:

"WITH ARMS WIDE OPEN!"

he bellowed, grating my tender ear drums to the point where they began to bleed. My broadsword and Thunder Hammer fell from my powerful hands, clattering on the quaking floor. Scott of the Stapp continued to cry out his horrible ballad, making me weaker with each mustered note. I fell out of his jungle of pectoral hair, and he escaped, narrowly dodging death from the hands of The Hammer. He left Tallahassee, Land of the Mystic, only to write more cringing tunes with Creed. I had performed feebily on my quest to the end the life of one of the most terrible figures throughout the land, but there would be more quests to conquer, more ales to sip, and more fair maidens to deflower! You may have won the battle, Scott of the Stapp, but the war has only just begun!

The Hammer
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The forest of Sir Starkey [Feb. 8th, 2004|09:38 pm]
The Council of Nine

sexydecoy
A fortnight ago, I, the Storyteller, and the Mage Slayer journeyed into the dark forest of Sir Starkey, to celebrate the anniversary of birth for the great princess of Park of Lakes. We humbly dismounted our steeds and traveled the path into the unknown, only a few footsteps away from the Leaning Tree of Wisdom.

Unlike the Tree of Deku or the Tree of Giving, The leaning Tree of Wisdom does not speak to knights nor dispel poetry, reeking of faggotry. No, for this tree is one of great valor and silent solutide. They say it bends so that evil may not reach the heavens through it. The Tome of Knowledge is written using wood from this tree.

The fine people of the town arrived, drinking wine and becoming merry. As councilmen, the Mage Slayer and I abstained from their jovial practices, though I did imbibe a smidgeon of their festive drink, the Mage Slayer taking the plunge into the great lake of Pepsi, and inhaling its waters.

Levelheaded and strong, we gathered wood for the great flame. The Mage Slayer unwisely brandished his torch, nearly scathing the good townspeople. I informed him that arsonry is not the way of the Councilmen, and he conceeded. He threw his torch into the flames and we sang songs of Justice, Honesty and Begrudgement! Long Live the Council of Nine!

-The Storyteller
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Scott of the Stapp: Book Second [Jan. 29th, 2004|12:59 am]
The Council of Nine

j9caf
There I stood, surrounded by a forest so black and wiry, that it rivaled the pubic pelt of a female hippie, foul smelling flower pixies from the West. Yes, Scott of the Stapp's pectoral mane was a force to be reckoned with indeed.
And still I persevered, destroying every midnight patch that stood between me and that wretched heart of his. I chopped and chopped for days, soaked in sweat and lactating milk from his gargantuan teats. Unfortunately, it was my only source of nourishment during my journey. Worry overcame me that I too would start penning ballads of faggotry such as Scott of the Stapp had.
It was on the seventh day that I came across a most treacherous discovery. Imprisoned in a particularly nasty crossection of hair was Sir Edward the Vedder. Sir Edward was a famous, ancient minstrel from the Age of Grunge. His band of minstrels, collectively called Pearl Marmalade, created a myriad of songs that became well known throughout the land for some strange reason. It is widely rumored that Sir Edward had a secret alliance with an order of fell wizards who put an enchantment on the entire land during the Age of Grunge, forcing citizens to enjoy the terrible music. However, Sir Edward mysteriously vanished one day, and had been missing for eons.
During my murky stay in Scott of the Stapp's furry jungle, Sir Edward revealed to me that his voice had been bequeathed to Scott of the Stapp against his will! Unfortunately, Sir Edward the Vedder's ballads are nearly as horrible as Scott of the Stapp's, causing me to quickly plunge my broadsword into his flanneled chest and move forward, knowing that I was nearing the conclusion of my journey....
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The tale of the DrawBridge [Jan. 27th, 2004|11:14 am]
The Council of Nine

sexydecoy
A fortnight ago, I had arrived rather untimely to the Councilmen's Lair, for I had been busy during the afternoon hours fighting off Dark Mages, Dragons and Harpies to protect our sacred land as well as the Tome of Knowledge. My steed galloped exhaustedly, for our day's journey seemed like an entire score's worth of adventures. I dismounted the beast, and stroked its hairs with tenderness and a fine attention to the curvature of it's body. My beloved horse continued to gasp for air, even as I stroked it's soft coiffure to ease it's exasperated lungs. My heart grew quite weary for the cause of my equestarian companion, so I doused the tips of my fingers with my own saliva, and pinched the tip of his swollen member and he delivered a high mule kick that nearly reached the stars! I hadn't seen my steed perform such arial prowess since our battles at the Park of Citrus! Unfortunately, he no longer has the same balance, and collapsed as I had intended. He layed unconscious for the remainder of the evening, finding refuge in the curious tricks of the sandman and his magic slumber dust.

With my lance tucked deep within my jock and a small bag of gnome nogg handy, I summoned that the drawbridge be opened so that I may enter the Councilmen's Lair. On a normal occasion, one of the Council's servants, all former Black Mages of Timberland, acknowledge our beckoning to enter the lair and thus letting down the bridge. I shoulded with all of the wind in my lungs, releasing a chinook of furious bellows. Where on Quarter-Earth could the Council Servants be? Were they not aware of the importance of my attendence of this night's Council Meeting?

I drew my lance, raising it with fiery passion into the dark sky. I challenged the evil gods of lightning and petty defiance to a game of wits or fencing. I swung the mighty sword of Story in all directions, surely beheading small birds and defacing shrubbery.
"Why dost thou defy me! I am of the Council of Nine!" I cried to the gods, secretly hoping one of the foolish servants would be listening nearby.
"I command this drawbridge to open for me. For my honor!"
If lightning had cracked, or a fire errupted, my anger was such that I would have been able to splice these forces of nature in two with my cutlass!

All of a sudden, I felt a soft touch of fingertips arrive on my shoulder, followed by the sound of piercing laughter. I turned to see that it was none other than the young Ashton of Kutcher. He wore a traveler's helmet and his lips seemed red like the blood of a young deer. Though his pyhsical appearance enticed me, I was not amused by his laughter.

"Comrade," he exclaimed, "You have just been Hoodwink'd!"

I grinned, drew my lance and inserted the sword into his torso.
"And you" I proclaimed, "Have just been Branish'd!"


-The Storyteller
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