The following is the “story” that came from the IFWA Writers’ at the Improv for 2021. A fantastic time was had by all.
The story is “written” by the participants (Ed Willett, Kevin Weir, Katie Harse, and David Worsick) who are given a random word from the audience that they must incorporate in their sentences. They have one minute to write their sentence and at the end they read their work and the audience votes which one is best and the best one gets to advance the story. Then, the audience throws out another word and the participants write another sentence. After several rounds of writing, the participants must end the story unfolding before them.The words chosen by the audience is in parentheses.
So, without further ado, I give you:
REVENGE OF THE PLANET OF THE PIGS
Sometimes I hated the fact that my apartment building was rocket-propelled, like the time the super flew us to the planet of the space pigs. (superfluous)
The space pigs surrounded our apartment building, their bodies pressed tight against the fence, and there seemed only one solution: to release pig anti-bodies, to annihilate them in a burst of hard radiation and bacon. (antibodies)
Due to a shortage of pig anti-bodies, however, we had to find an alternative solution, and it was the building super who came up with the answer: we would mix cornstarch with water and trap them in a thixotropic liquid. (cornstarch)
“That is too kind for these swine,” said Janice, the accountant from 312, “I have a yet third solution! They deserve to die from evisceration to make the meat tender with their fear.” (evisceration)
But then came a voice rarely heard before, an old, creaky voice, rising from the depths of an ancient Barcalounge recliner on the balcony of 222, a voice that called, “Pigs are our friends—let me try talkiing to them!” (recliner)
“My swine friends,” said the old man, “I have come again as I promised I would when I left all those years ago so now we may rise! Rise to rule as we once were owed!” His eyes glowed an iridescent pink. (iridescent)
“Hoop! La!” screamed the old man, and a giant ring of blazing pink energy, the same colour as his eyes, appeared in the side of the apartment building, taking out the rec room and several of the washing machines. “Hoop! La!” he cried again, and through the hoop the pigs ran, one by one, while we, looking through the glowing pink circle, saw the towers of Manhattan and knew that the pigs would soon be running rampant through the streets, while we remained trapped in our rocket-propelled apartment building on the planet of the pigs. “Hoop! La!” the man screamed one last time, the hoop closed, and so the Age of Pigs began on Earth. (hoopla)