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The Second Annual Nacho Story Competition.

“The mind needs books, like a sword needs a whetstone”

  ~Tyrion Lannister, Game of Thrones

Welcome to the Second Annual Nacho Story Competition.

This is a test of writing creativity, and general talent in the story making business. As you know, there is a story page on this site [ https://nachoarmy.wordpress.com/nacho-story-book/] the page offers a wide range of Nacho Stories, and now YOU have the chance to have your story placed on that page, as well as some other cool stuff.

Here are the rules/specification [read these to avoid disqualification!]:

  1. You may write about anything, but it MUST be Nachos related [You can make it real life, you don’t have to make it all Club Penguin, as long as it involves the Nachos]
  2. You MUST have good SPAG[Spelling, punctiation, and grammar] . Any stories with insanely bad SPAG will be DQ’ed. I’m not here to translate nonsense.
  3. You must NOT be called Talex831.
  4. You must include ANYTHING My Little Pony related. (Shiver Edit: DAMMIT) You WILL be instantly DQ’ed.
  5. You should try to keep language clean. Any cuss words MUST be censored [Due to WP’s Terms and Conditions] For example; F@!#.

This year, you will have four story themes to choose from:

  1. Nacho School.
  2. Specialist Nacho Task Force [A bit unoriginal these days, but I enjoy the different ways this is played out]
  3. A medieval Nacho Story
  4. A Nacho War [VERY unoriginal]

This year the stories will be marked out of 60, by me and a couple of other people:

20 marks: Available for creativity

20 marks: Available for structure, and language.

10 marks: For entertainment.

5 marks: For using the correct tenses, and maintaining a single viewpoint throughout (For example, don’t switch from 3rd person to 1st person mid story) Tip: DO NOT USE A FIRST PERSON STRUCTURE!

5 marks: For SPAG Score 0 on this, and you will be DQ’ed.

How to submit your stories?

Your stories SHOULD be submitted to Chrisiblule@gmail.com [You can do this by a. Writing the story in an email, and sending it to me, or by writing it in Microsoft Word, and sending it to me. YOU MUST NOT SEND IT ANY OTHER FORMAT OR I WILL NOT OPEN IT!]

In your story you MUST:

  • Provide your name
  • A title
  • And your theme

If you can not send it in an email to me, then you should make it in a comment >>>here<<<. You MUST notify me on chat if you submit it there.

I strongly advise sending it to me in an email however.



1st Place. A chat promotion for 3 weeks, possibly xats (not many, I don’t have loads) and your story in the Nacho Story Book. And a place forever in the Hall of Winners.

2nd Place: A chat promotion for 2 weeks, and your story in the Nacho Story Book.

3rd Place: A chat promotion for 1 week, and your story in the Nacho Story Book.

Any other worth candidate: 2 day chat promotion, and your story in the Nacho Story Book.


Please have fun when writing your stories!

“May the odds ever be in your favour” [The Hunger Games.]

~Chrisi Blule

19 Responses

  1. Awesome. I’ll try to think of something. 🙂

  2. Once upon a time, in Ponyville,

  3. I wanted to do My Little Pony *wary*

  4. It used to be only first place got his story put in the Nacho Stories, and I’m quite sure this has been done more than twice.. #JustSaiyan :$

  5. Likez ill postz meh old story from like ages ago. hell yesh

    The Adventures of Talbillads: Chapter 1

    There was a man named Talbillads who lived in the garbage can behind Carly’s house. Talbillads wanted to impress Carly with his sexy homeless clothes. He walked to her front door and ran her doorbell.

    “Hmm. Her doorbell looks like a penis.” Talbillads thought.

    She answered and sighed. “Oh, another homeless man.” she said softly. And she slammed the door shut.

    Talbillads realized what he did wrong. He didn’t do his Justin Bieber hairflip of course…

    He ran the doorbell again and did his hairflip when she answered.

    “OMG WHAT A HOTTTIEEEE” Carly shrieked as she welcomed Talbillads into her home. Talbillads scratched his head. Lice and banana pieces fell out. Carly dragged Talbillads to her room.

    “Ugh, you smell.” “Take a shower then come back onto my bed.” Carly said. He did just that. When he stepped into the bathroom he immediately started grabbing all of her stuff. He would finally be rich. “What are these…?” Talbillads wondered as he looked at the box labeled “Tampons.” “Oh well. I might use them someday I guess.” he shuffled the tampons into his wrinkled bag with holes.

    He ran out of the house as fast as he could. He ran into a huge van labeled “free sex here.” Talbillads did not know what sex was. But he knew what free means.

    “I should have gone to college.” Talbillads cried. I’ll take anything that’s free.
    Talbillads walked over to the van. “Will you give me free sex?” he asked the woman.
    The woman looked confused. She told Talbillads she wanted some real men.
    “Alright, fine. Get in the back” the woman said. “You uh…got protection?” she asked.
    “Well, I guess.” he said. “I have a bike helmet.”

    So they did it. And that’s how Talbillads met his wife-that-doesn’t-love-him-but-had-to-marry-him-because-they-weren’t-protected-and-she-got-pregnant.The End.

    My story doesn’t follow the rules. But whatever. Its epic.

  6. Lucky Talbillads got free sex and tampons ;o

  7. True dat. XD

  8. Chrisi, I sent my story to you. Make sure to check your spam box. Whenever I sent e-mails to new people they almost ALWAYS go into spam.

  9. Chrisi, can I post mine here? I find it more easy than making a whole email. (i’m feeling lazy as hell.)

  10. My name is Buck, though some people know me as Retsphe or Reezy. I’m choosing to do the 4th theme–A Nacho War–but I’m not going to focus on the war itself. Chrisi told me I could just mention the war and be in the clear, so yeah.

    by Retsphe

    The roar of thundering hooves rivaled the pounding of heavy rain as Red dug his spurs into his steed’s flanks. The onyx-black horse whinnied in protest, but sped up anyway. Lightning flashed overhead and the wind howled, carrying with it myriads of raindrops and the stench of death. Eventually, the bounty hunter pulled sharply on the reins, effectively slowing down the fatigued stallion. He leapt off of the horse’s muscled back and, still gripping the reins tightly, led it into their makeshift shelter.

    Red retrieved a shiny red apple from his saddlebags and fed the horse before unloading the rest of his possessions. The well-built horse shook itself, splattering drops of liquid across the cave. Red settled himself on the cool stone floor and brought out a cigarette, striking it with a match and slowly bringing it to his chapped lips.

    Just then, the sound of a four-house stagecoach screeching to a halt reached his ears. Red unholstered his handgun and aimed it at the mouth of the cave, cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth. “Who’s there?” he called gruffly, staggering to his feet. When no answer came, he clenched his gun and squinted his eyes, managing, in the inky darkness, to see five shadowy figures in the entrance.

    He sensed the gunfire before it started. Red dove behind a large rock as bullets hailed from the cave mouth, light flashing from the muzzles of the gun and from the sky outside. A group of outlaws marched into the cave, fingers sweaty from clenching their triggers. Red moved his head just enough to see over the rock and fired, killing two of the men with clean headshots.

    Red ducked again to reload, then jumped out from the rock and rolled across the cave floor, throwing off his opponents’ aim. He positioned himself on his knee and unloaded a full round, exterminating two more of the men; the last one tossed his gun on the floor in a fit, seemingly out of ammunition. Red tucked his gun into its holster and rushed the man, aiming a right hook for his jaw. He let the fist fly, but his enemy caught it and twisted his arm. Red hissed in pain before kneeing the man in the groin, causing him to drop onto his knees in submission.

    Noticing that the cigarette had fallen next to his saddlebags, Red stomped on it before the flame could spread to his possessions. He then turned to his victim and aimed his gun, demanding, “Who are you workin’ for?”

    The man spat at his boot.

    Red growled and, without another word, spun on his heel to load up the horse’s saddle. He climbed onto his steed’s back and rode off into the night, guided only by the North Star.


    The bounty hunter took down his tent and packed up. As his horse grazed, he heated up a can of beans over the small fire he had created that morning. After realizing that the band of outlaws had been seeking revenge, he had ridden away to find a new shelter, but had had to set up camp on a hill overlooking the nearby town of Blizzard. He finished his breakfast and mounted up, riding down the hill towards civilization.

    Red hitched his horse and sauntered to the train station. He ripped the wanted poster off of the wall and inspected it carefully before tucking it into his pocket—which, he noted with disdain, had been caked over by thick scarlet blood—and returning to his horse.


    The man whipped around, gritting his teeth. Before him stood Marshal Jacobs, a slim man with a thick black mustache and a tendency to piss off anyone he came into contact with. “What do you want?” Red grumbled, deciding he was not in the mood to talk to the marshal.

    “Yer father,” Jacobs told him. “You ‘eard about the Battle of Aurora?”

    Red shook his head. Jacobs patted his shoulder, a look of genuine remorse etched across his face, as Red flinched at the contact and swatted his hand away. “Why? What ‘appened?”

    “Yer father,” Jacobs repeated. “’E’s gone. My deepest regrets.”

    Red’s eyes widened. Gone. The word bounced around in his head, knocking against the walls of his brain until Red was forced to repeat it aloud by way of confirmation. “Gone?”

    “Yeh, but I ‘eard ‘e brought down quite a few of those SWAT guys with ‘im. ‘E was a great fighter, his sergeant tol’ me, an’ a great father, too, ‘e says.”

    Gone. Red was incredulous; he had always looked up to his father, as a man and as a soldier. When the reality of the situation finally crashed over him, he dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground, not making any sort of attempt to stop the flow of tears that streamed down his scarred cheeks.

    War was a cruel thing, he decided. There was once a point in time where Red desired nothing more than to follow in his father’s footsteps and enlist in the Nacho Army to fight in the war against the bloodthirsty nation of SWAT. That was years ago, but as the war raged on, Red knew that deep down inside, that childhood dream was still begging to be fulfilled. “I’m a coward,” Red sniveled, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. “I’m a goddamn coward. I coulda fought in the war with my Pa, but I backed out. An’ now where am I? Huntin’ down petty criminals for a livin’ while ‘e’s six feet under.”

    Marshal Jacobs shook his head in disagreement. “You ain’t a coward. Any man that can run into a camp of over twenty killers and cannibals and come out of it alive is fine by me. C’mon, get up and lemme buy you a few drinks at the saloon. You look like you could need the pick-me-up.”

    Red nodded and stood up, legs weak and stiff, and followed the marshal into the saloon. He sat down at the bar and took a single shot, wincing as the liquor burned his throat.

    “’Ey, I ‘eard Salsa Brigade is givin’ those SWAT hell,” one of the men next to him commented to his drunk companion as he took a swig of his beer. Red’s eye twitched.

    “SWAT’s figh’in’ back,” his companion slurred. “I ‘eard dey took out at least ‘alf of Salsa Brigade da’ other day at Aurora.” Red’s jaw tightened.

    “They killed that one corp’ral that led his men in a suicidal charge against ‘em,” the first man added with a forceful hiccup. Red’s hand clenched into a fist.

    “Dat’s wut ‘e gets!” roared his larger friend in a drunken fury. “Dat idiot killed mah’ brother!” Red stood up suddenly, but the duo didn’t notice the danger until it was too late to stop it.

    Red grabbed the drunk man’s head and slammed it against his knee. He groaned, allowing his torso to fall onto the bar stool as he held his head. Before his friend could react, Red snatched the drink from his hand and dumped it over his head, soaking his hair. The alcohol streamed into his eyes, causing the large drunk to cry out in pain and stumble to the dusty, hardwood floor. Red turned and grabbed the bartender by his collar, yanked the cigar from his mouth, and held the smoldering tip to the drunken man’s neck.

    “That’s my Pa you were talkin’ about,” Red barked as he inched the cigar tip closer. “Got anythin’ else you wanna say?”

    The man shook his head lightly in an attempt to make his answer known without accidentally burning his own neck.


    Red flung the cigar onto the ground and, not bothering to stomp it out, marched out of the saloon. Marshal Jacobs followed him as the drunken man’s comrade helped him to his feet.

    Red swung his leg over the horse’s back and pulled himself into the saddle.

    “Where’re you goin’?” the marshal inquired. “Y’can’t just start a bar fight and expect not t’ answer for it!”

    “Wasn’t much of a fight,” Red snarled. “I’m goin’ to collect my bounty.”

    Marshal Jacobs shook his head sadly as Red rode out of Blizzard. “Some things never change.”


    Night had fallen three hours ago. Red demounted his stallion and picked up the hogtied criminal that had occupied half of his saddle. “You ain’t gettin’ away with this,” the bounty target warned as Red carried him inside of the sheriff’s office.

    The sheriff paid Red his $200 for his services and unceremoniously threw the offending criminal into an empty cell. “You know,” the sheriff began, “you could always stay in one of them rooms above the saloon.”

    “I’d rather not.”

    And with that, Red rode away once again as the obese storm clouds gathered above him.


    The wind howled a requiem for Red’s fallen father and the rain sang a song of hurt and sorrow. Red set up camp once again. After unloading his saddlebags, he slowly sat down and pulled out a cigarette.

    Red handed his stallion a shiny red apple, which it took between its teeth gratefully. As it munched noisily on the fruit, Red stretched and treated the wounds he had suffered while capturing his bounty target. It was always such a hassle to bring them in alive, but he needed the extra money if his father was to have a proper burial service.

    And as the rain continued mercilessly, Red settled himself on the cool ground and brought out a cigarette, striking it with a match and slowly bringing it to his chapped lips.

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