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Isn't it precious. (100 words) Goodness, dear Thunderdome, what have we here? A teeny wee Mouse with two velvety ears? And he's raring to fight me, I hear? Well, what will he do? Will he nip at my toes? Will he poke me and prod with his cute little nose? No, he'll cower and cry when this thing comes to blows. Or at best he'll attempt with some pitiful prose* as my win record grows. No. He'll embarrass himself. Take him back to his house. This Dome is no place for a wee little Mouse. --- *I direct any interested parties to investigate his brawl record.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 04:37 |
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# ? Mar 28, 2024 13:44 |
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A Pox Upon You, Broenheim 88 Words Good sir, a man of poor moral standing is ill equipped to stand against the pure light of the Sun, and I do say that, if a kindly, elderly women required aid across the street, you would shove her over, steal her purse, and take all of her treasured mints for good measure. You are a villain and a lout, and are thus not fit to be in the same world as a member of Sun, let alone attempt to face one as an equal. You. Shall. Burn.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 04:38 |
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God Over Djinn posted:Isn't it precious. (100 words) 101 Words, disqualified
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 04:39 |
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systran posted:101 Words, disqualified "---" isn't a word
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 04:40 |
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Heliophobia 77 words I hope you took your pills this morning, because I wouldn’t want your writing hand to get the shakes. Oh no, not that. What are you afraid of? Team Sun. It’s the inevitable cross of that burning orb in the sky, getting closer every second, until it feels like it’s going to burn right through your eyes, closer, right overhead. Can you feel the shakes coming? Well, I have three words for you: welcome to summer.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 04:41 |
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Ode to Noah 69 WORDZ!!!!!! Noah. Your stories blow-ah. You're certainly no Thoreau-ah. You've got the literary talent of a protozo-ah, Plus the general incompetence of Inspector Clouseau-ah. Who'll win our brawl? I think you know-ah. If you've got any sense, you'll be a no-show-ah. (That is, if you value your massive ego-ah.) 'Cause I'm gonna make you eat crow-ah... When I kick your teeny tiny little baby bitch teeth in.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 04:43 |
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DuckyB posted:+87 words Mercedes posted:+43 words Meinberg posted:+79 words Ironic Twist posted:that's murder Broenheim posted:you're not supposed to give your opponent hope! LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE posted:+25 words Teddybear posted:+77 words God Over Djinn posted:+100 words dmboogie posted:+100 words Thalamas posted:Not enough insulting of your actual opponent. Nikaer Drekin posted:you are bad at rhyming.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 04:57 |
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Stopping by the Burn Ward on a Snowy Evening (An Ode to Ironic Twist) (27 words) If losing is your main objective Your words may be finally effective You’re a malodorous loser An English language abuser Though not bad for a mental defective
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 05:06 |
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So, 22 words Duckyb and guinness, I wish you were better, because beating both of you at once isn't gonna mean a lot i guess?
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 05:25 |
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The Rentboy Colossus, Or: An Invitation to Both Teams Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our word-washed forum post shall stand A slinky rentboy with a pen whose fame Is, for bounty, writing. And his name Is Mista Blowout. From his keyboard-hand Spews profane bullshit; sarcastic eyerolls and A plea to fumbling fuckwits: Have you shame? "On me mum, yer story's shite!" cries he and flips the bird. "Give me your bloat, your waste, Your purply prosey fanfic wankery. The wretched refuse of your team is crap. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, Chuck these, the brainless spawn of misery In the recycle bin, and I will be your chap!"
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 05:32 |
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Pineapple Piss (100 words) i'm no pen-prose master crafter but a write-kid who's ever seen chapter could get the kind of poo poo i'm after disaster's coming, cover your asses you've got masses of words but have you even heard who i am? i beat echo cian once. sebmojo's dojo was a no-go but you homos watch out cause enten found out my dick's pineapple delicious so you word nerds get with this three-way means business cause i'm djeser: tougher than leather five times more vicious had nineteen words left. i don’t give a gently caress 'i’m not in' had to call out these dorks Phobia and Gau
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 05:34 |
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Such a Teddy Bear 86 words I'm glad you found a place with the shittiest Chinese food every, since in actual Chinese it's Gao and I'm not sure what you got. You should prepare to eat a loss, though, because I've been bloodied in a brawl and come out victorious. What have you done, Mr. Bear? Have you seen your own blood spew forth, and come up fighting? Have you accepted the challenge with your life? You are a coward, Mr. Bear, and I won't have you in my Thunderdome.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 05:38 |
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Meinberg posted:On the Matter of WLOTM A Message to Meinberg 100 Words Meinberg, I am not writing this for extra words, because I don’t need them. I am writing this to warn you. You may as well just not submit; that’s the safe thing. You won’t embarrass yourself by not submitting, because there is nothing embarrassing about passing on a fight that you won't win. For you, this isn’t about victory or defeat. This is about survival. Is it wrong for a trout to stay under the waterline as a hawk circles overhead? No, it’s smart. So go on, gather your token phrases; make your outline. They won’t save you. I’m coming.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 05:46 |
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A study in crabrocks Words: some What the hell is a crabrock anyway? Is it like, a crab made of rock? Or a rock made of crabs? Actually I am going to write a story about crabrock Whoa I just discovered something there. But anyway, once upon a time there was a rock. It was made of crabs, by compressing them together until they turned into oil or something I dunno how crab squishing works, I didn't really think this through, but I think the point I was driving towards is that crabrock is dumb and smells of vinegar.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 05:58 |
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The Salute, or a Listing of Praises in Honor of Sitting Here as Based on Her Skill and Talent as a Writer 0 words
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 06:00 |
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Tempter -- 83 words Crabrock, oh crabrock. You posted in the Boston thread and said, "try it, it's fun, you'll be a better writer!" Your siren song drew me in, away from the tacos, cycling, and Moxie to the gnashing of teeth and wailing of men. Like I don't have enough stress in my life with a tumor and poor job prospects and a crippling sense that I am dying alone? Meet me on Lansdowne and let's throw down. Then let's find conquistador and gently caress him up.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 06:06 |
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61 words PootieTang, abandon hope; your therapist may help you cope. Have you learned your loser count yet? Not so fast, now that amount Will soon increase. Your clumsy prose is like a vacuum, sucks and blows; Inept dreck from a gibbering wreck, or mumblings of a stoned redneck. I may be gracious once I've won; for now, prepare to face the sun.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 06:08 |
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On Tyrannosaurus, 65 words Your gumption is feeble and your styles will amount to nothing. Oh, won a couple domes, have you? What're you gonna do this time, write gritty realism from the perspective of a dog who ~wuvs~ his master, whose story tangentially relates to the prompt? That dog is you, T-rex, and your craft amounts to nothing more than that self-same dog licking his own genitals, forever.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 06:15 |
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Marquess of Queensberry Rules 50 words Hello Genetic Toaster. I don’t know anything about you, especially not enough to insult your character. You are a first time Thunderdome participant and statistically are unlikely to win. Based on your recent post history, I assert that you enjoy comic books and video games. Thank you for your time.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 06:59 |
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Number 36 posted:Marquess of Queensberry Rules
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 07:02 |
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Loser's Bracket-80 words Commisar no one cares which one of us winds up carried home on their shattered prose. We're losers. We're here to battle, a pox on the teams who feign their care. We aren't the prized wordslingers who patrons come to this thread to praise. We're the jesters with toy swords fighting a pretend war. Hear me Commisar. Let us battle today. Let us give them something to marvel at. Losertar rattling I will rise. Give me an opponent worth fighting.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 07:09 |
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Enten's Choice 100 words Ock. Is that the sound you make when you realize sebmojo only writes a story after he toxxed himself? One of you even bailed already. At least that narrows down the selection of losertar candidates to thirteen. Oh wait, I didn’t see you other guys under all that brown. I think the sun isn’t supposed to suck until after it’s imploded. You can wait a week, right? I mean, half your roster collects dishonorable mentions, and Mercedes even does it on purpose. I’d make my own faction, but some things are bad taste when done to 30 people at once.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 09:23 |
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Link to Kronus, Birth Your Children, 1178 Words: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NPq2SNVmSpNYZPnafJZZ9Ut3OtM9mm3Fg0kE7xD9omI/edit?usp=sharing
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 10:48 |
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uh hey guys im just gonna leave this week 100 judgepost here please don't hurt me It was a long (long, long---seriously, how many hours was that one night?) journey, but the briefcase ultimately made it into the right hands. What was inside it? Maybe it was this MASSIVE AMOUNT OF AWESOME poo poo that I am about to lay on y'all. I've been pretty excited about this judgment. There were so many different metrics for victory this week, so how could we settle on just one winner? That's right, this week we have THREE(3) WINNERS (technically 4, actually, but read on)! Your votes were taken into account, but I'm gonna be honest, it was mostly just bread and circuses to quiet the masses. I mean would a monarch really do something so populist? Pffft. Without further adieu: ------------------------------------------ BEST IN SHOW There is some magical property in the water in New Zealand because we have a buttload of kiwis who forced us to think very hard about who was the complete package this week. We took votes into account, but ultimately Fumblemouse wins this category, for beautiful writing and a compelling character that really added to the feel of the briefcase saga. Your reward for helping the briefcase get into the proper hands: $25 dollar gift certificate to Amazon. Now you can say you've been paid for your writing! PM me or hop on IRC to work out the details. Runners up (HMs) were: Muffin, for good dialog and good use of Erik and Black Jesus. You're gonna be grumpy about this probably, so I will just tell you here and now that (for me), what kept you from straight up winning was Todd Templeton. Too much of a caricature, even for the somewhat whacky tone of your piece. Schneider Heim, for well-rounded characters and an overall well-rounded piece. Sebmojo, for...something. I have no idea. Just kidding, you also had good dialog, and a certain sweetness that was markedly absent from most of this week. BEST COLLABORATION This pretty much hands down goes to Djinn and Tyrannosaurus! The briefcase was less important to these two stories, but they fit together really well, in addition to fitting into the continuity. Each writer wrote characters who had distinct voices, yet the two pieces still felt as though they were part of a whole. A good example of how to make PLOT DEVICE/MCGUFFIN move a story along without making it a crutch. Your reward for helping the briefcase get into the proper hands: Each of you gets 1000 extra words, to be applied as-needed in Thunderdome. You can use these all in one go, or a bit at a time, but you must announce that you are doing so when you do. There are no HMs in this category because most of the people who we would've awarded them to are already in other categories. BEST CHARACTER There were a ton of metrics we could've used to pick the winner in this category. At the end of the day, we had to look at which character was most central to the story of the briefcase, who really was the fulcrum on which events pivoted. And, in the nefarious web that is Los Grano D'oro, Black Jesus, created by Mercedes, was overwhelmingly the most popular character, and the most consistent whenever he appeared. There was concern among the judges about reinforcing another Thunderdome meme, but if a bunch of people want to write about the guy, there's clearly something to him. So, Merc. You get a win. That's right, a WIN. Your reward for helping the briefcase get into the proper hands: 5 flash rules, to be used whenever you see fit. Runner up (HM) in this category was: QuoProQuid, with Sister Karen Retinger. ------------------------------------------ Well anyway, great week and good jo---oh, losers and DMs? Eh. Fine. Your loser this week jumped the gun on posting, giving up valuable editing time, and put Goldie deep under the male gaze. Benny! Come on down. Better luck next time, champ. Posh Alligator, your story made me grumpy. I mean, a comedian making a punchline joke as he's about to kill himself? DISHONORABLE MENTION. Broenheim, I felt like your characterization of Goldie was like a paint-by-numbers thing. You didn't DO very much with her, just sort of included all the things I wrote about her. I guess it was my bad for making a sultry character, but come on guys. You were saved from the complete ire of the judges because I thought the whole catapult thing was kind of funny. DISHONORABLE MENTION. Sitting Here fucked around with this message at 11:21 on Jul 13, 2014 |
# ? Jul 13, 2014 11:15 |
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Duh-jeez-er? Djay-zer? Who the gently caress knows? You had better bring your fuckin' A-game to this brawl, you little fucker, because otherwise I am going to disembowel you and you'll have to bleed out as you stare at your own fuckin' guts and the disappointed look on the spectator's faces as I scream ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 12:27 |
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God Over Djinn posted:Isn't it precious. (100 words + some more )
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 13:34 |
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Sitting Here posted:
A note on this^, regarding this: Broenheim posted:I'M CALLING YOU OUT DMBOOGIE Fanky Malloons' judging notes on Broehnheim posted:Ughhhh PICK A TENSE AND STICK WITH IT THIS IS A SIMPLE PROOFREADING THInG JESUS loving CHRISt That is all.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 17:28 |
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150 words on the magnificence of ducks. You've got five hours maybe. Winner gets to decide my team. If nobody submits I'll join the side I think is winning.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 17:45 |
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Now this is a prompt I can get behind. WHY DUCKS KICK ALL THE rear end EVER, 150 words. Let's just get real: Ducks are loving superheroes. They swim like a goddamn fish. They catch and devour said fish because actually gently caress that, they swim better. On top of all that, ducks can go from diving to the bottom of a lake straight to flappin' the gently caress out of that noise, at anywhere from anywhere from 50 to 60 miles per hour. Can you go 60 miles per goddamn hour? No. You can't. Because you're not a duck. They're like a submarine and an F-16 had a night of passionate bizarre mechanical love, and then their offspring was more kick-rear end than both of them combined. They can go just about anywhere. They're omnivores, so they can eat just about anything. When it's time to make a nest, they'll rip their own loving feathers out just for a personal touch. Metal. As. poo poo. Ducks are loving rad.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 18:44 |
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Fowlrence of Arabia ================ 150 WORDS The young Arab boy collapsed. His father acted quickly; he took off his bisht and set up a small tent, but the effort was in vain. He knew he would lose his son to the desert: their water had run out this morning, and Cairo was several hours away. He spotted a distant figure on the horizon. He stood to shout for help, but the figure was already approaching. As the figure crept into view, he saw it was a giant duck riding atop a camel. The duck arrived, dismounted his camel, and approached the boy. He produced a canteen from within his feathers and gently lifted the boy to help him drink the cool water. He presented the canteen to the father, returned to his camel, and began to leave. “You’re a good man!” the father called out. The duck turned and in perfect Arabic replied, “No man. Duck.”
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 19:10 |
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Sir, Yes, Sir 1207 Words “Wake up, maggots!” Sarge yelled, accompanied by the sounds of gunfire and explosions, which were much closer than Private Lance would have preferred. “The enemy is attacking our base, so grab your guns and get going!” “Sir, yes, sir!” Lance said, saluting in unison with the rest of his squad. As a unit, they retrieved their rifles from their racks and rushed out of the entrance to the bunkhouse. As he left, a stray bullet slammed into Lance’s head, killing him instantly. How unfortunate. - “Wake up, maggots!” Sarge yelled. This time, Lance was slower to leap out of his bunk, his head reeling from the dream that had seemed so real. Had it really been a dream at all? “Private Lance! Beauty sleep won’t help your ugly mug, so get your sorry rear end out of bed immediately!” Sarge screamed in Lance’s face, breaking him out of his stupor. “Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!” Lance stammered, grabbing his gun and rejoining his squad. This time, though, Lance made sure to be a couple extra inches to the right when he left the bunkhouse. Sure enough, a bullet screamed right past his head, burying itself in the wall next to him. Lance, like the obedient soldier that he is, did not stop for even a single moment to wonder how he had such a prophetic dream. Instead, he valiantly charged onwards, firing his gun at suspicious-looking patches of land. Any onlooker would have agreed that he cut quite the striking figure, at least until a shadowy figure sprung out of a nearby bush and slit Lance’s throat from behind. Observation is a key skill for a soldier, a lesson Lance should have been keeping in mind. - “Wake up, maggots!” Sarge yelled- oh, you know the rest. Nothing new there. The important thing this time around is that Lance, clever man he is, leaped into a seemingly inoffensive bush. The startled soldier cried out in surprise, before being knocked unconscious by a single blow to the head. Lance was a very strong man, in addition to being clever and obedient. The perfect hero. “This way!” Lance heard Sarge call in the distance, near the flaming rubble that had once been their command center. He turned to obey, only to see a mighty tank rolling up between him and his destination. Lance attempted to rush his way past the tank before it could get a bearing on him. Strong and clever as he was, Lance still couldn’t outrun the projectile before it blew him to pieces. Going up against a tank on foot might not have been the best of ideas, Lance. - Oh, for crying out loud. Lance, whose cleverness was now under heavy doubt, tried to run past the tank twenty times in a row. Lance, determination is an admirable trait in moderation, but this is just getting ridiculous. - Lance, stubborn and witless, finally got it through his thick skull that tanks are to be avoided if at all possible. He sized up his arch nemesis one last time, then abruptly did an about-face, at last deciding to try and go a different route. He’ll reach the command center at last- oh. Oh dear. Whoops. So sorry, Lance, but you really should have been watching out for mines. Better luck next time. - Lance? Lance, why are you not getting out of bed? Sarge is yelling at you, Lance. Oh, don’t make that face at me. Just keep trying, and I’m sure you’ll make it through in the end. You have nothing but time, after all. Really. Lance, do you intend to just sleep through the battle? Sarge won’t stand for this, you know. He’ll drag you out of your bunk if he has to, but you can’t get out of this fight. Tch. Stubborn, stubborn Lance. Still don’t want to move? Fine. In a flash, the bunkhouse was blown to bits, along with all inside it. Deserting your duty is one of the worst things a soldier can do, Lance. Remember that. - Ah, that’s better, Lance. It’s always good to get up bright and early- Lance. Why are you not saluting Sarge? He worked so hard to train you, and that’s how you show him respect? Lance, Lance, do you really think you can just walk out the door without grabbing your gun? A gun is a soldier’s life, Lance. I’m starting to doubt if you were ever a true soldier at all. You can still redeem yourself, Lance. Join the battle. Win the war. Be a hero. Lance, the battle is that way. Goddammit, Lance, those fences are there for a reason. You’re not supposed to climb over them! That’s not how it works! Turn back. Right now. I’m ordering you, Lance. Do you not respect orders anymore? Have you forgotten even that? This is your last chance, Lance. Seriously. If you don’t go and fight, we’ll, uh. Hold on. We’ll blow you up. Yeah. We put bombs in your blood that explode when you leave a fight. The shoe’s on the other hand now, Lance! Go back, if only to save yourself! ...Fine. Fine. I lied about the bombs. Proud? Feeling clever? I am so happy for you. So very happy. Whatever it is you’re looking for, you won’t find it. There’s absolutely nothing out here. There’s nothing interesting under that branch. Okay, okay, there’s a button there. It doesn’t do anything, though. ...Aw, hell. Lance the shameful ex-solider descended the stairs that had appeared after he foolishly pressed the button. So, so many stairs. Will the stairs ever end? No, they won’t, Lance. Note to self. Invest in more stairs. Lance opened the door at the end of the stairway. Inside, he found an exceedingly handsome man, talking into a microphone and surrounded by televisions, displaying countless camera feeds. The man politely asked Lance to leave, while he still had a chance. Lance declined. Lance, that isn’t how you use that. It is very expensive. Put it down. Put it- ow - Ahem. The man graciously allowed Lance to leave through the door at the other side of the room. The man wished Lance well, and certainly did not insult his intelligence or moral character. That would be immature, and wrong. The man certainly did not start yelling in rage as his plans unraveled in front of his eyes. The man was calm. So very, very calm. - I hardly dared to open my eyes as I stepped through the door. Was this one, last trick? Had I let them catch me? The door slammed shut behind me, and at once, everything changed. I felt the sun beam down on me, warming and comforting my weary body. The scent of flowers overwhelmed and surrounded me, coaxing me into opening my eyes. I found myself in a beautiful meadow stretching far beyond what my eyes could see. The door had vanished. I thought. I thought. Just me. No voice in my head trying to manipulate me, no commands to follow. I was free.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 20:52 |
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So are we starting a new week with the duck challenge? Here's a quacking gangsters rap:quote:
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 20:55 |
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are you kidding me right now
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 20:59 |
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Sitting Here posted:are you kidding me right now Quack Quack Gangsta Rap.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 21:04 |
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I read that out loud to my BF and now he's threatening to break up with me.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 21:18 |
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Sitting Here posted:I read that out loud to my BF and now he's threatening to break up with me. Because the flow I'm spittin is so ill, right? Ps. This affront to God wasn't enjoyed, but when a joke prompt makes you think up something this terrible you have to share it. Apps. You're not supposed to read it. You're supposed to rap it. Ba ba bapa Ba, ba ba ba boo baa boo ba. ba ba boo ba boo ba boobooboo Sithsaber fucked around with this message at 21:49 on Jul 13, 2014 |
# ? Jul 13, 2014 21:24 |
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Sithsaber posted:So are we starting a new week with the duck challenge? Here's a quacking gangsters rap: This week is a bit strange, but what you did was a big no-no. Entenzahn asked the people who signed up this week to write based on his prompt to see who gets his wonderful and excellent service into their team (which will obviously be team Ock). You weren't signed up, so there was no need for you to give us your writing. If you would instead of posting immediately, you'd realize what you had done. If you were really confused, you could've just posted in the thread, and we'd tell you that you should NOT have submitted.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 21:28 |
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Entenzahn posted:
Forgetfulness 150 Words Hephaiston sweated under the Empress’ gaze. It soaked through his robes, rolling off his gift and onto the ground. The duck looked around the chamber, nudged beneath his arm. “Tell me, my kindly servant, what magnificent gift do bring to honor me on my Coronation Day,” she said, malice dripping from every word. Her guards took a step forward. “Ah, my lady, beloved… I bring you,” he looked down at the duck, a last minute gift he had caught behind the palace, “A rare duck from the Orient. An exquisite pet, favored by conquerors and poets alike.” The Empress adjusted herself in the chair, bemused. “And tell me, oh faithful servant, what gift does this duck possess that makes it so magnificent?” “Why… it sings most beautifully, my liege. Its call is enough to make one weep.” “Squawk,” said the duck. Hephaiston wept all the way to the executioner’s block.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 21:31 |
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Broenheim posted:This week is a bit strange, but what you did was a big no-no. Entenzahn asked the people who signed up this week to write based on his prompt to see who gets his wonderful and excellent service into their team (which will obviously be team Ock). You weren't signed up, so there was no need for you to give us your writing. If you would instead of posting immediately, you'd realize what you had done. If you were really confused, you could've just posted in the thread, and we'd tell you that you should NOT have submitted.
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 21:43 |
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# ? Mar 28, 2024 13:44 |
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Ducks Are P Chill The duckling rests, safe Sun-warmed log with mother near Golden afternoon
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# ? Jul 13, 2014 21:45 |