swedish fairy tale - GoFuckYourself.com

lezinterracial · 02-15-2025, 01:15 AM

guy hunting in the woods where trolls live. He kills nothing. He curses the trolls for putting spells on his gun. A troll dressed as an old woman comes out of the woods with a dog and says "shoot this dog and I will give you a $5 piece". The guy shoots the dog and realizes the dog is his son wrapped in the skin of a dog.

The troll comes back and gives the man the $5 piece. Guy throws the $5 piece back at the troll. But the coin just reappears in his pocket. Guy goes to a bar and spends the coin on booze. Every time the coin reappears in his pocket. Guy drinks himself to death.

adultinnovation · 02-15-2025, 03:09 AM

you a real sick man

pornmasta · 02-15-2025, 03:34 AM

Random-gpt

TheLegacy · 02-15-2025, 04:33 PM

The Lesson: Guns dont kill people - money does.

JesseQuinn · 02-15-2025, 05:45 PM

trolls get blamed for everything

lezinterracial · 02-15-2025, 06:15 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by pornmasta

Random-gpt

Sounds that way. I was paraphrasing "The Trolls of Skurugata". I would love to modernize it somehow. I think it is a good short story. Use AI to make a short animated movie.

JesseQuinn · 02-15-2025, 09:21 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by lezinterracial

I would love to modernize it somehow. I think it is a good short story. Use AI to make a short animated movie.

you totally should. I loved the fairy tales that you did, esp Fitcher's Bird

how to modernize this one? hmm...maybe do something like the trolls aren't in a forest but rather internet trolls? that could get really dark and Black Mirror-esque

Huggles · 02-16-2025, 02:27 AM

Sooooo...uhh... anyone know where I can score one of those coins?!?!

adultinnovation · 02-16-2025, 02:45 AM

The sun had barely risen over the dense, fog-covered woods as Jacob tightened his grip on the cold steel of his rifle. He had heard the stories—whispers in the village about strange creatures lurking in the trees, about the trolls who dwelled deep in the heart of the forest. But Jacob didn’t believe in such nonsense. He was a man of action, a seasoned hunter who had survived countless hunts in treacherous terrain. Today, he thought, would be no different.

He had been tracking deer all morning, but there were no signs. The air was thick with the smell of moss and wet earth, and an unsettling silence had taken over the woods. Even the birds had fallen quiet. Every now and then, he thought he heard a twig snap behind him, but when he turned, no one was there. His frustration grew, and a sharp curse left his lips as he checked his rifle. It had worked fine the day before—yet today, the trigger seemed to malfunction, the bullets misfiring or not loading at all.

Jacob cursed aloud, blaming the trolls for putting some spell on his weapon. His fingers tightened around the rifle, his teeth gritted in anger. He wasn’t about to let superstition scare him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him from the shadows.

As if on cue, a rustle came from the underbrush, and an old woman stepped into view. Her bent figure was draped in tattered shawls, and she carried a large, mangy dog at her side. The woman’s eyes glimmered with a strange knowing, as though she had been waiting for him. Jacob tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for his rifle.

The woman tilted her head and spoke in a voice that was both rasping and mocking, “If you want to prove your worth, hunter, shoot this dog. If you do, I will give you a $5 piece.”

Jacob scowled. A $5 piece? A strange offer, but the bloodlust in his veins overpowered his hesitation. He looked at the mangy dog that sat motionless beside her, its yellow eyes fixed on him with unnerving intensity. The animal appeared harmless enough, but Jacob had never been one to back down from a challenge.

Without a second thought, he raised his rifle, aimed at the dog’s heart, and fired. The gunshot echoed through the trees, and for a brief moment, everything stood still. But as the smoke cleared and Jacob looked down at the lifeless creature, his stomach twisted in horror. Beneath the mangy fur, he saw the unmistakable features of a human child—the twisted, contorted face of his own son, his body wrapped in the skin of a dog.

His heart stopped. He dropped the rifle to the ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His son. His son, whom he had lost years ago in a tragic accident, was now dead—wrapped in the form of a mangy animal.

The old woman let out a laugh, one that echoed in the very marrow of his bones. She reached into her ragged coat and produced a gleaming coin—a $5 piece—and handed it to Jacob. Her voice dripped with cruel amusement as she spoke again, “A deal’s a deal, hunter. Now you’ve earned it.”

Jacob’s hands trembled as he took the coin, but rage boiled within him. He wasn’t going to accept this twisted fate. Without thinking, he hurled the coin back at the woman, shouting curses at her, but the moment the coin left his hand, it vanished into thin air.

Stunned, Jacob reached into his pocket, and there it was again—the $5 piece. It had reappeared, as though mocking him. Furious, he stormed off into the forest, the coin still burning a hole in his pocket. He didn’t know what to do, where to go. But in the back of his mind, he knew there was only one thing left: to drown his despair.

Later that night, Jacob entered the local bar, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. The familiar smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke filled his nostrils as he approached the counter. Without a word, he slammed the $5 piece onto the bar and ordered a drink. The bartender didn’t bat an eye. It was a strange coin, but money was money. Jacob downed the whiskey in a single gulp, the burning sensation doing little to soothe the agony inside him.

But as he reached for his glass to order another drink, his hand brushed the pocket of his coat. The coin—his $5 piece—was back, nestled deep within his pocket. His heart sank as realization hit. The coin, like the curse that had been placed on him, would not leave.

Every time he spent it, the coin would return. Every time he drank, the coin would reappear in his pocket, its weight a constant reminder of the darkness that had swallowed his soul. The tavern became his prison. The whiskey became his only solace, his only way to numb the agony of knowing that he had killed his own flesh and blood.

Days turned into weeks. Jacob’s health deteriorated rapidly. His once strong frame became gaunt, his face hollowed by the constant abuse of alcohol. The man who had entered the forest that day, confident in his strength and independence, was now a broken husk, trapped in a cycle he could not escape.

Finally, in a haze of drunken stupor, Jacob stumbled out of the bar one last time. His vision blurred, and the ground beneath him seemed to spin as he wandered into the cold, silent night. He could feel the weight of the coin in his pocket, and as he reached for it once more, it vanished. And so did he.

In the end, Jacob was consumed—not by the trolls or their magic—but by his own guilt and despair. The $5 piece never left his pocket, a symbol of a promise made and a life destroyed. And the trolls, watching from the shadows of the woods, smiled as the curse took its final toll.

02-15-2025, 01:15 AM	#1
lezinterracial Confirmed User Industry Role: Join Date: Jul 2012 Posts: 3,064	swedish fairy tale guy hunting in the woods where trolls live. He kills nothing. He curses the trolls for putting spells on his gun. A troll dressed as an old woman comes out of the woods with a dog and says "shoot this dog and I will give you a $5 piece". The guy shoots the dog and realizes the dog is his son wrapped in the skin of a dog. The troll comes back and gives the man the $5 piece. Guy throws the $5 piece back at the troll. But the coin just reappears in his pocket. Guy goes to a bar and spends the coin on booze. Every time the coin reappears in his pocket. Guy drinks himself to death. __________________ Live Sex Shows

02-15-2025, 04:33 PM	#4
TheLegacy SEO Connoisseur Industry Role: Join Date: Apr 2003 Location: Brantford, Ontario Posts: 16,324	The Lesson: Guns dont kill people - money does. __________________ SEO Connoisseur Microsoft Teams: Robert Warren SEO Skype: robjameswarren RobertWarrenSEO.com

02-15-2025, 05:45 PM	#5
JesseQuinn feeding the wolves Industry Role: Join Date: Aug 2012 Location: between sand and stars in Jamaica Posts: 6,221	trolls get blamed for everything __________________ throwing molotav cocktails at the precinct

02-16-2025, 02:27 AM	#8
Huggles GFY'S #1 retard Industry Role: Join Date: Feb 2003 Location: Kelowna Posts: 10,416	Sooooo...uhh... anyone know where I can score one of those coins?!?! __________________ I make my money from people jerking off

02-15-2025, 03:09 AM	#2
adultinnovation WIFE CHANGING MONEY Industry Role: Join Date: Mar 2019 Location: usa Posts: 4,939	you a real sick man

02-15-2025, 03:34 AM	#3
pornmasta Too lazy to set a custom title Join Date: Jun 2006 Posts: 18,937	Random-gpt

02-16-2025, 02:45 AM	#9
adultinnovation WIFE CHANGING MONEY Industry Role: Join Date: Mar 2019 Location: usa Posts: 4,939	The sun had barely risen over the dense, fog-covered woods as Jacob tightened his grip on the cold steel of his rifle. He had heard the stories—whispers in the village about strange creatures lurking in the trees, about the trolls who dwelled deep in the heart of the forest. But Jacob didn’t believe in such nonsense. He was a man of action, a seasoned hunter who had survived countless hunts in treacherous terrain. Today, he thought, would be no different. He had been tracking deer all morning, but there were no signs. The air was thick with the smell of moss and wet earth, and an unsettling silence had taken over the woods. Even the birds had fallen quiet. Every now and then, he thought he heard a twig snap behind him, but when he turned, no one was there. His frustration grew, and a sharp curse left his lips as he checked his rifle. It had worked fine the day before—yet today, the trigger seemed to malfunction, the bullets misfiring or not loading at all. Jacob cursed aloud, blaming the trolls for putting some spell on his weapon. His fingers tightened around the rifle, his teeth gritted in anger. He wasn’t about to let superstition scare him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him from the shadows. As if on cue, a rustle came from the underbrush, and an old woman stepped into view. Her bent figure was draped in tattered shawls, and she carried a large, mangy dog at her side. The woman’s eyes glimmered with a strange knowing, as though she had been waiting for him. Jacob tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for his rifle. The woman tilted her head and spoke in a voice that was both rasping and mocking, “If you want to prove your worth, hunter, shoot this dog. If you do, I will give you a $5 piece.” Jacob scowled. A $5 piece? A strange offer, but the bloodlust in his veins overpowered his hesitation. He looked at the mangy dog that sat motionless beside her, its yellow eyes fixed on him with unnerving intensity. The animal appeared harmless enough, but Jacob had never been one to back down from a challenge. Without a second thought, he raised his rifle, aimed at the dog’s heart, and fired. The gunshot echoed through the trees, and for a brief moment, everything stood still. But as the smoke cleared and Jacob looked down at the lifeless creature, his stomach twisted in horror. Beneath the mangy fur, he saw the unmistakable features of a human child—the twisted, contorted face of his own son, his body wrapped in the skin of a dog. His heart stopped. He dropped the rifle to the ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His son. His son, whom he had lost years ago in a tragic accident, was now dead—wrapped in the form of a mangy animal. The old woman let out a laugh, one that echoed in the very marrow of his bones. She reached into her ragged coat and produced a gleaming coin—a $5 piece—and handed it to Jacob. Her voice dripped with cruel amusement as she spoke again, “A deal’s a deal, hunter. Now you’ve earned it.” Jacob’s hands trembled as he took the coin, but rage boiled within him. He wasn’t going to accept this twisted fate. Without thinking, he hurled the coin back at the woman, shouting curses at her, but the moment the coin left his hand, it vanished into thin air. Stunned, Jacob reached into his pocket, and there it was again—the $5 piece. It had reappeared, as though mocking him. Furious, he stormed off into the forest, the coin still burning a hole in his pocket. He didn’t know what to do, where to go. But in the back of his mind, he knew there was only one thing left: to drown his despair. Later that night, Jacob entered the local bar, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. The familiar smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke filled his nostrils as he approached the counter. Without a word, he slammed the $5 piece onto the bar and ordered a drink. The bartender didn’t bat an eye. It was a strange coin, but money was money. Jacob downed the whiskey in a single gulp, the burning sensation doing little to soothe the agony inside him. But as he reached for his glass to order another drink, his hand brushed the pocket of his coat. The coin—his $5 piece—was back, nestled deep within his pocket. His heart sank as realization hit. The coin, like the curse that had been placed on him, would not leave. Every time he spent it, the coin would return. Every time he drank, the coin would reappear in his pocket, its weight a constant reminder of the darkness that had swallowed his soul. The tavern became his prison. The whiskey became his only solace, his only way to numb the agony of knowing that he had killed his own flesh and blood. Days turned into weeks. Jacob’s health deteriorated rapidly. His once strong frame became gaunt, his face hollowed by the constant abuse of alcohol. The man who had entered the forest that day, confident in his strength and independence, was now a broken husk, trapped in a cycle he could not escape. Finally, in a haze of drunken stupor, Jacob stumbled out of the bar one last time. His vision blurred, and the ground beneath him seemed to spin as he wandered into the cold, silent night. He could feel the weight of the coin in his pocket, and as he reached for it once more, it vanished. And so did he. In the end, Jacob was consumed—not by the trolls or their magic—but by his own guilt and despair. The $5 piece never left his pocket, a symbol of a promise made and a life destroyed. And the trolls, watching from the shadows of the woods, smiled as the curse took its final toll.