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Sure, what the hell, let's make my first one horrifyingly difficult. I'm in. With... American Sign Language. (And anyone who says it isn't a different language can go get hosed. Seriously.)
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Dec 10, 2013 02:23
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Actually, I think I'm gonna withdraw my entry. I can't think of a way to do this without being really ham-handed and kind of insulting.
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Dec 11, 2013 05:17
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No Longer Flaky posted:I challenge leper colon V to a brawl. Lets go bro. 
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Dec 17, 2013 08:27
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Sure, I'm in on this, too. Jumping in with both feet.
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Dec 17, 2013 10:28
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Mercedes posted:I'll judge. I love me some tall tales. That means don't gently caress up your prompt or I'm gonna [censor] your [censor] until time holds no meaning for you.
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Dec 17, 2013 16:43
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 A Metaphor for Death There is a creature, they say, that lurks in every dark corner of the world. Beyond all reproach, above all the laws and sciences of man, it has never failed to reach any who it has set its sights on. It is always hungry, never sated no matter how many lives it extinguishes. Its black hide resists all weapons, its sharp teeth sheer through all armor. Sometimes, its approach can be heard ahead of time, maybe even years or decades before it arrives. Other times, it is there and gone in the blink of an eye. It has many names: The Grim Reaper, The Black Death, Inevitability. But one man, a rich and powerful man who'd spent his whole life preparing for its arrival, simply called it The Beast. Briliant, the man was. Every day, he met people whom the Beast had targetted, worked his hardest to keep them safe from it, and they paid him handsomely for it. And every day, the Beast continued to reach them anyways. He was the best at what he did, and could delay its arrival for months, even for the most desperate. But never, despite all his cleverness, could he defeat his nemesis. And as the years wore on, as time marched forward as it ever did, the Beast set its sights on him. He knew the Beast came for him, he'd known for years, every day hearing the echoes of its roar growing louder. Every moment, feeling its rumbling approach making his hands shake and his hair turn white. For a time, he was afraid, and he ran, sparing no expense to separate himself as far from the Beast as possible. But it did not matter how far he ran, or how much he spent, its slow, inevitable approach remained constant. He spent a decade of his life, and the entirety of his vast fortune trying to escape the beast, but to no avail. And then, one day, lying sick and alone in a beggar's bed, the old man found peace. He closed his eyes, smiled, and welcomed the Beast with open arms. It burst through the ground, devoured him whole, and went on a rampage that destroyed everything for miles. Turns out the Beast is also a metaphor for being eaten by a giant worm.
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Dec 18, 2013 00:51
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It was a 400-word joke, you humorless turd.  If you want a moving story, say that in the prompt. girl dick energy fucked around with this message at 23:28 on Dec 18, 2013 |
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Dec 18, 2013 23:26
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Quote is not edit.
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Dec 18, 2013 23:28
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I'd be fine with losing, if he'd actually judged me by an appropriate loving metric.
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Dec 18, 2013 23:30
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Whatever. I liked it. I'll make sure to tell a heart-wrenching tragedy for the tall tale.
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Dec 18, 2013 23:34
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I'll just shut up. 
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Dec 19, 2013 00:11
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Sure. I kinda made an rear end of myself, backing down from a hypothetical challenge would, hypothetically, be pretty loving weenie of me.
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Dec 19, 2013 04:24
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Whoops, I just realized I'm about $150 short on paying rent and the holidays are still rearing their ugly head. I think I'll have to withdraw again.
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Dec 21, 2013 21:17
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Mercedes posted:Best not be thinking about ducking out of our impending gentleman's duel with some lame excuse like "I left a knife in a fork drawer. I have to withdraw again."
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Dec 22, 2013 00:05
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V for Vegas posted:[url]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cross-country_skiing_at_the_1928_Winter_Olympics_%E2%80%93_Men%27s_50_km[/url] - 842.
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Dec 23, 2013 01:58
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Hooray for justice... I guess???
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Dec 24, 2013 04:44
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crabrock posted:watching all these brawls with people who don't even regularly thunderdome is lot like what i imagine dropping several loaded assault rifles into the middle of an elemetry school playground would be like.
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Dec 24, 2013 05:23
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I dropped two weeks in a row. I cannot, in good conscience, abstain.
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Dec 25, 2013 23:35
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Roguelike posted:I don't understand the prompt and I also don't know how to write a good story. But I guess two wrongs make an in.
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Dec 26, 2013 02:59
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And Dreaming of Roses loses by default! 
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Dec 26, 2013 06:50
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Well, there goes any chance I had of taking this Dome seriously. It's cool that I got a speaking role in Strip 3, Panel 2, though.  Bad Seafood posted:As an additional stipulation, your stories should also be good girl dick energy fucked around with this message at 14:29 on Dec 27, 2013 |
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Dec 27, 2013 14:20
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sebmojo posted:LCV NOTE: This should be a good story and not bullshit
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Dec 29, 2013 12:10
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My first red-text avatar! 
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Dec 29, 2013 20:10
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I have literally nothing to lose any more, so even as terrible as this is, I might as well post it. Here, have my putrid wordvomit. The Sharp Rock (265 words) Dedicated to crabrock Colv was not a very bright caveman. Oh, he thought he was, as the dim often do, but he most certainly was not. One day, while Colv was chewing on his favorite chewing rock, he felt a sharp pain in his mouth. Immediately, he spit out his chewing rock onto the ground, and saw that his chewing rock was now several rocks. These rocks had a different shape than his old chewing rock, but Colv, again not very bright, didn't think much of it. He now had new chewing rocks, why did it matter? It mattered quite a bit, apparently, as the pain came back, and Colv had to spit the new chewing rocks out again. He did this a few more times over, and eventually, he began to recognize that one of the rocks in particular was the cause of the pain. A part of it stuck out from the rest, thin and narrow, like a stinger. Colv recognized stingers. They stabbed him when he tried to borrow honey from the bees, even when he promised he'd give it back later. And also that one time he tried to eat a scorpion. And that other time. But this rock was neither a bee nor a scorpion. So it couldn't be stinging him, clearly. Just to prove it, Colv stuck the rock in his mouth, and bit down hard. The rock, crushed in his jaws, broke in two, and the stinger-end of it went down his throat, lodged there, and choked him to death. In the end, the rock, like this story, had no point.
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Dec 29, 2013 20:47
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Mercedes posted:Do not bring this weak rear end poo poo to our brawl. If you're not even going to try, just save us both the effort and drop out now. A Call Home (484 words) Rick swallowed hard, and leaned heavily against the payphone, using it both for support and to hide from the growing storm. He'd drank whiskey on an empty stomach again, and the bile in his gut flared up from time to time, threatening to force its way back up. Each time, he pushed it back down, and continued to fumble with the change in his numb hands. Twenty-five cents. Fifty. Seventy-five. Entire paychecks had disappeared in a bar without a thought, but he clutched to those quarters for dear life as he pushed them into the slot. Funny, that. Finally, it was in, and the ringtone prompted Rick to reach out, to make this all right again. He could fix it, he knew he could. It was just a bit of drinking, just a few words. "Nothing that can't be fixed," He whispered to himself as he began to punch the numbers. To the house phone, the old answering machine. She could just ignore the call if it was on the cell, but the machine, she'd have to listen to that, have to hear him out. More than anything, he needed her to hear him out. One ring. Two. Already, Rick could picture her standing in front of the phone, staring down at it. Three rings. No one but Rick and telemarketers called the landline. And even they had Christmas off. Four. With a whirr and a click, the call transferred over to the ancient machine, spinning the tape to record what Rick said. He paused, both to gather his thoughts, and to suppress another wave of bile. When he finally spoke, his words were more slurred than he'd realized, and he had to try and correct them as he went. "Sarah, it's Ri- Dad. It's Dad. I know you're- you're mad at me for what I said." What followed was a blur for Rick. Apologies, promises, admissions, things he'd said a thousand times before, and things he'd only thought of saying. Many of them weren't pretty. After what must have been several minutes, the words stopped coming. He'd said everything he could think to say, everything that came automatically. Normally, she'd answered by now. Or at least picked up and then hung up again. This was the first time she'd ever ignored his call- ignored him, and it left him at a loss. He had no words left, and for a moment, he couldn't do anything but stare blankly forward, barely able to process what was happening. It was the fifteen-second warning beep of the payphone that got his thoughts moving again. "Sarah, I didn't mean what I said about you and Sam. I'd- I'd just had a bit too much to drink and... Sarah, I am your father! Pick up the goddamn pho-" The line clicked and went silent, leaving Rick with only dead air and the cold wind to keep him company. "Our greatest sin is that we are only capable of being what we are." - Gene Wolfe
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Dec 29, 2013 21:50
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Two balls and a bat Without a catcher or mitt I play sports alone
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Dec 30, 2013 14:47
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No Longer Flaky posted:Thanks for the judgement. Looks like I can only go up from here!!
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Dec 31, 2013 05:53
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II They grow off the trunk The fruit of the lady tree Two orbs, soft and plush
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Dec 31, 2013 08:21
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