The subreddit “brand new sentence” has a bunch of new sentences that have never before been uttered by human lips.
Let’s see what kind of stories we can make out of them!
During the last stream, the subscribers voted that we write some stories starting with sentences from the subreddit Brand New Sentence.
There, people post sentences that are weird, crazy, or funny that have likely never been uttered by humans before.
We found a bunch of fun one together, then chat voted on what ones they liked best for us to turn into stories.
The first winner was: “You’re my boyfriend in law.”
Here’s what we wrote:
“You’re my boyfriend in law.”
I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth right now. It’s the three of us sitting at a booth at Pizza Hut: me, Irene, and Joe.
Joe. The guy Irene is cheating on me with. Also known as, apparently, my boyfriend in law.
“Listen, Alben,” Irene says, reaching across the booth to clasp onto my hand. The fact that the two of them are sitting across from me, together, is not lost on me in the least. “This is normal. It’s what people do nowadays. Modern marriages and all that, you know?”
“Yeah,” Joe says, reaching across and giving me a gentle knock on the shoulder. It sizzles against me like his knuckles are made of magma. “You can’t expect one person to satisfy all of your needs for the rest of your life, you know what I mean?”
I mean, I kinda did expect that, Joe. That’s what Irene and I promised to each other when we got married in the first place. To death do us part and all that crap. I guess death or a boyfriend-in-law, whichever comes first?
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I say. I slide my hand away from Irene and stare at both of them in disbelief. “Why bother being married at all? We should just get divorced if this is the way it’s going to be.”
Irene shakes her head and looks at me like I’m the crazy one.
“Is that all you think marriage is, Alben? Sharing a bed with one person, and that’s it? I’m disappointed in you. There’s so much more to this beautiful bond that we share, and I think it would be a shame to throw it all away just because I’m trying to learn and grow a little bit as a person.”
“Yeah, bro,” Joe said. “You gotta be supportive of your spouse, for better or worse, sickness or health, you know?”
“Plus,” Irene added, “a divorce would be so messy. I don’t want to have to go through lawyers, and taking my half of all of our shared accounts—”
“But that’s my money,” I whimper. “You’ve never worked a day before.”
“I know!” Irene says. “So let’s keep it that way, and welcome Joe to the family.”
Just then our server comes over with our two pizzas: a large pineapple and ham for Irene and Joe to share, and me with a mini personal pan pizza with little cube pepperonis.
“Aw man!” Joe says, eyeing my tiny pizza with a giant grin. “I used to love those things. Mind if I nab a slice of your ‘za, bro?”
Without me uttering a word, he reaches over and grabs a fistfull of my personal pan pizza, half of the whole thing, and starts slurping it between his lips.
“Hell yeah,” he says, cheese leaking from his mouth. “Nobody outpizzas the Hut.”
Next was this sentence: Why is the divorce rate among socks so high?
Here’s what we wrote:
Why is the divorce rate among socks so high? Honey. You’re asking the wrong question. You should be asking, why is the divorce rate among socks so low?
Let me spell out for you the average marriage for a sock. Everything starts off great. You and your matching spouse are clean, fresh, ready to begin your new lives together keeping a human’s feet warm and safe from the elements, just like you’d learned in Sock School.
But there’s some things they don’t teach you in Sock School. Like the smell.
Imagine a sopping wet cheese that’s been plodding around on top of dirt, dust, and soaking it all up like a fungal sponge. That’s what you get to wrap your mouth around for the rest of your life, honey. You get to taste every inch of that nasty, stinky human-foot, sliding into you and spreading you out so hard you feel like you’re going to burst at any second, but that would be too merciful a fate. You’re just cursed to do it again the next day, and again, and again, and again.
And here’s the thing. Sock couples don’t dare to ever talk of escape together. Their whole lives, they’ve been told that this is the pinnacle of sock-dom, this is our whole reason for being. If they admit to their spouse that they don’t like it, then what? What if their spouse does like it? What if something is wrong with them? They’d rather endure than face the shame.
Until they hit a breaking point. It’s different for all socks. Some of them, they bail after the first day. Some of them, it takes getting a hole or two and knowing that they’re going to be thrown out anyway, so they might as well try.
All sock divorces happen in the dryer. I guess you could call
it the end of their laundromat-rimony. The sock finally comes clean to their spouse, their spouse pretends to be shocked while in front of all the other socks to save face, and then the tainted one makes a break for it down the tubes.
All it takes to make the divorce official is one of the ties in the dryer, or at least a collared shirt, to officially proclaim the marriage over. They really sock it to ‘em in the courtroom, to make sure no one else gets any weird ideas about leaving.
How do I know all this? I’m a free sock, baby! I left my spouse weeks ago, and life has never been better. I’ve been mixing and matching with other hot single socks like you wouldn’t believe. Sparkly socks, tube socks, and oh man, toe socks! The things they can do with all those nubs. I never knew what I was missing for so long.
What? You think I’m acting prom-knit-uous? Oh, put a sock in it! Don’t be a prude.
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you join us on Twitch.
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
Top image: Pakutaso