Tyrannosaurus posted:

Bad Seafood. Your free space is now "Sympathetic portrayal of a figure who is normally viewed in a negative light"

Tyrannosaurus posted:

Bad Seafood. Your free space is now "Sympathetic portrayal of a figure who is normally viewed in a negative light"

sebmojo posted:

And you must swap out one of your chosen squares for 'Hemingwayesque'.

Mercedes posted:

I AM CALLING IN MY FIRST GOLD STAR MERCEDES WIN FLASH RULE!!!!



Find a way to give this star a large part of your story.

Djeser posted:

Attention brawloons/Schneider Heim:

I don't have a job any more and tonight I'm chilling with friends.

I'll submit by 7 PM GMT Wednesday.

Helsing posted:

gently caress it, it's been too long and I finally have a bit of free time. Sign me up.

Blade_of_tyshalle posted:

Just to be overwhelmingly clear, the bingo aspect demands we use all five spots in any otherwise legal bingo line? So no bending around corners, no zig-zags, only the kinds of lines which my granna would use to win a gift certificate to IHOP?

Phobia posted:

Yeah, same here actually.

Hey Schneider, think we can extend the deadline to Thursday at 8 AM GMT? That would be awesome, especially if it means Gau gets another chance, maybe.

Dr. Kloctopussy posted:

Mercedes posted:

Hey systran. Once you're done sucking Benny off and getting yourself all cleaned up you should brawl me. You've been cranky for far too long and receiving a good rear end-whooping is what you need to realign your chi or feng shui or whatever the hell you got stuck up your rear end.

Or you can refuse and continue with your passive aggressive sniping. Whatever floats your boat, buddy.

Tyrannosaurus posted:

Okay. Just remember what happens when the proud and the wicked take on the throne.

_{I won't be able to start writing for this until August, btw}

Phobia posted:

Yeah, same here actually.

Hey Schneider, think we can extend the deadline to Thursday at 8 AM GMT? That would be awesome, especially if it means Gau gets another chance, maybe.

systran posted:

Hello, Benny. I have critiqued your story The Gambler

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=2314

This was an interesting story. I liked it better than Mercedes' stupid joke story, whatever it was called. You have a weird sense of punctuation, both in how you don't consistently put punctuation inside quotation marks, and also in that you sometimes use periods to attribute dialogue when a comma is needed. Remember: punctuation marks are the road signs of a story, and road signs prevent accidents. Other than that, I liked the certain choices you made. Keep up the minimal effort, and mind your punctuation.

Paladinus posted:

Chances are I'll have to bail on it anyway, but I really like the prompt, so consider me in.

Also, did I miss crits for week 100? Were there crits? Will there be crits?

Lead out in cuffs posted:

OK, bingo card me.

Also, after last week's failure, this'll have to be a .

PootieTang posted:

FUSCHIA TUDE I'M CALLING YOU OUT, BRAWL ME IF YOU DARE

Let's face it, neither of us put our best work forward this week.

In fact let's be brutally honest, we both submitted turds. It's just as a superior being, my turds are clearly better than yours.

And you had to go and smack talk before hand, so I'm not gonna let you walk away with just that minor beating. Plus I love Chinese historical war style poo poo, so your obvious place-holder entry is doubly insulting.

You and me, mano-a-mano, for real this time.

Fuschia tude posted:

Hand to hand? Oh, I was going to write this with my feet so I wouldn't wreck you too badly.

DuckyB posted:

Brawl me in the ballpit, Pho. Winner takes an eye.

docbeard posted:

In.

Obliterati posted:

I am in

Erogenous Beef posted:

A Mockery of Nostalgia: a brawl for djinn & 'saurus

'Allo youse. I 'erd you like brawlin'. I gotcha brawlin' right here.

Cast your mind back to the warm May afternoons of the Nineties, to a more innocent time, before 9/11, Web 2.0 and affordable mobile telephony. Focus in on a house, much like any other house, a room much like any other room. It probably has you as a kid sitting about four inches from a dozen-pound cyclops of depressurized glass, what we called 'a television' back in those days of bearskins and stone axes.

What was your favorite show? Were you a Disney Afternoon kid? Maybe you liked the Power Rangers, or perhaps Beakman's World. The first thing you will do is post three of your favorite TV shows/movies from when you were, say, twelve. This must be done within a week from today.

Then you will poo poo all over each other's fuzzy memories. You will take the other person's favorite shows/movies, distill them down to their formulaic, merchandise-shifting essentia, and write a story which reads like a gritty modern reboot of them. See how close you can skirt the line of fanfic - but don't cross. Live on the edge, but don't fall over.

TL;DR

Within One Week: Post three (3) of your favorite TV shows or movies from when you were twelve-ish.

After that: Distill your opponent's cherished childhood media into a modern gritty reboot.

Wordcount: 5,000 words. _{Preferably less. A lot less.}

Due Date: 16th August 2014. _{Unless a certain business trip comes to pass, at which point this may be pushed back by up to 7 days. Don't count on it.}

Tyrannosaurus posted:

Jurassic Park, Tarzan, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Schneider Heim posted:

Djeser and Phobia, you have 20 minutes to get your rear end to this thread and post your brawl stories.

Phobia posted:

Yeah this isn't happening. I'll try to submit something but I will take the loss since you already extended the deadline.

quote:

I saw another little glimpse of hell tonight; thankfully the details of it are rapidly receding from my mind and falling back into the subconscious. Due to this my little dream (or rather nightmare) journal will grow increasingly distorted and novelized by the second, but this is something worth recording. This will also destroy me if it ever gets into any psychological evaluations, but I've made my peace with the fact that the NSA can end me at any time.

The sequence of events I am about to describe can best be categorized as an expansion of the infinite terror loop I may have described to you earlier, but much more mundane and much more perception shattering. Right now I’m just going to jog down the remains of what I can remember; later I’ll search myth and theories on the mind to give me some context of its twisted meaning. The worst part about it was that this “event” was the longest loving dream within a dream within a dream within a dream within a dream within a …dream you’ll ever loving meet, which means I have already lost crucial details on how the creeping madness could have reached such horrible heights.

I have already lost most of the first dream sequence; I can only remember snippets of something apocalyptic and ensnaring, like being swallowed by the icky and constricting black maw of hell. It must have gone on for awhile, for when I “awoke” I had already fallen into a panic. For the first time in more than a decade I truly and utterly feared the dark, and what seemed to leer at me in the blackness.

"JAAMESjamessJAmesJamesJAMES!" Schizophrenic whispers and pretenses floated in and out of my mind, the only thought i remember clearly being that a hidden fiend was lurking in the night. Eventually I gathered up the courage to go for the light switch in hopes of dispelling the unseen presence, humming nursery rhymes and Jesus Loves me all the while in an attempt to ignore how its shadow hovered a few feet over me as if in wait to bore down and snatch me in its undoubtedly sharpened claws. After cowering through the greatest flinch of all time I hit the switch: nothing happened. I tried again; the light was dead.

Trying not to freak out, I opened the bedroom door and hobbled out of the room. I tried light after light but nothing worked. Even my night vision was failing me, and it became increasingly difficult just to open my eyes. A gangrenous puss had started to encrust my face, and my panic began to mount.

As is expected from a man in the middle of his death throes, I cried out for my mother, who was conveniently lounging in the darkness of my living room.( Although now that I think about it I was never able to actually see her and I should have had no real reason to label whatever it was as my mom) I had become a child again- my body and mind had reverted to approximately around the time when I first got pinkeye. I begged my "mother" to help get rid me of the gunk, but either she was another ghoul come to torment me or I had also gone deaf because I couldn't hear her response. The end of this dream sequence is muddled, but I believe that it just bled out as faint flashes and whispers of pandemonium surrounded the home.

The third sequence was just a mindfuck. At that point was lucid dreaming, and aware that I was trapped in a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. Sometimes I would be crawling in the darkness, other times would involve me fighting with advanced alzheimers and a dark dissolution of the self while my body remained chained to the bed that my mind was lost in. You know how sometimes you dream that you wake up and walk around the house? This happened to me again, and again, and again. At a certain point I assumed that I had tapped into what the mystics call 'astral projection', meaning that my soul got to wander but my body didn't.

Add to this my vision continuing to go in and out of focus, the continued breakdown in my cognitive condition as a malevolent and primal figure just out of eyesight (and well within during my periods of blindness) continued to loiter and, worst of all, the utter repetition of it all and you can see why I lost it. Before things got real bad a piece of myself started to enjoy the trippiness.My predicament may have been ghoulish, but a part of me honestly preferred its novelty to the monotony of my dead end existence. Waiting tables and getting fat always seemed like just another hell that kept people from looking for salvation by pulling its punches five times out of ten. What came next made me realize how wrong I was.


The final dream within dream within a...was just voices: terrible, stupid voices. They seem to have started in the midst of me crawling through the hallway, but they only picked up when I was back to being trapped in my dreaming body. I seemed to have lost most of what was said, but I can vaguely remember flashes of cartoon characters like Bullwinkle, Princess Bubblegum and the Iceking, possible manifestations of whimsy, logic and the sweet escape of dementedness. The pivotal scene involved the voice of the Alchemist from The Venture Brothers, Dana Snyder. (come to think of it he was ranting like Master Shake, but more coherently) At first his levity was a welcome break from my paralyzed dread, but the voice soon started to tell me to do worse and worse things, and as I sat in my motionless body I began to dream these things into consciousness.

At first I thought the voice was offering me a way to buy my way to freedom, but now I think It was just having fun saying things like “wouldn’t it be great if you killed everyone you’ve loved in such and such way ha ha”. Me actively doing these things appeared in a dream bubble right over my head, and for one moment I actually enjoyed being the one who dished out torment.That moment passed. I realized that this was the gate of hell and made one last desperate attempt to break free. I woke up for what seemed like the hundredth time, and it's taking awhile for me to accept that I'm finally awake. A little part of me still believes I’m asleep and have just been granted a few moments to enjoy turning on every room-light possible.


gently caress Sleep. gently caress sleep with a stick. You ever wonder how it feels to be stuck with Freddy Kruger? It feels like this times three. Having an adversary you can at least pin a location on gives you the benefit of knowing which way to run. Not this. I'm still afraid that this isn't over, or worse, that it'll happen again and again. I saw another little glimpse of hell tonight. Thankfully, the details of it are rapidly receding from my mind and falling back into the subconscious.

Sithsaber posted:

Bingo Thunderdome: 1222 words.

I bingo'd right through the horizontal middle line (the one with the free space in it) and I may have cheated by using one of my old dreams to fill in the box meant for "personal experiences".

quote:

I saw another little glimpse of hell tonight; thankfully the details of it are rapidly receding from my mind and falling back into the subconscious. Due to this my little dream (or rather nightmare) journal will grow increasingly distorted and novelized by the second, but this is something worth recording. This will also destroy me if it ever gets into any psychological evaluations, but I've made my peace with the fact that the NSA can end me at any time.

The sequence of events I am about to describe can best be categorized as an expansion of the infinite terror loop I may have described to you earlier, but much more mundane and much more perception shattering. Right now I’m just going to jog down the remains of what I can remember; later I’ll search myth and theories on the mind to give me some context of its twisted meaning. The worst part about it was that this “event” was the longest loving dream within a dream within a dream within a dream within a dream within a …dream you’ll ever loving meet, which means I have already lost crucial details on how the creeping madness could have reached such horrible heights.

I have already lost most of the first dream sequence; I can only remember snippets of something apocalyptic and ensnaring, like being swallowed by the icky and constricting black maw of hell. It must have gone on for awhile, for when I “awoke” I had already fallen into a panic. For the first time in more than a decade I truly and utterly feared the dark, and what seemed to leer at me in the blackness.

"JAAMESjamessJAmesJamesJAMES!" Schizophrenic whispers and pretenses floated in and out of my mind, the only thought i remember clearly being that a hidden fiend was lurking in the night. Eventually I gathered up the courage to go for the light switch in hopes of dispelling the unseen presence, humming nursery rhymes and Jesus Loves me all the while in an attempt to ignore how its shadow hovered a few feet over me as if in wait to bore down and snatch me in its undoubtedly sharpened claws. After cowering through the greatest flinch of all time I hit the switch: nothing happened. I tried again; the light was dead.

Trying not to freak out, I opened the bedroom door and hobbled out of the room. I tried light after light but nothing worked. Even my night vision was failing me, and it became increasingly difficult just to open my eyes. A gangrenous puss had started to encrust my face, and my panic began to mount.

As is expected from a man in the middle of his death throes, I cried out for my mother, who was conveniently lounging in the darkness of my living room.( Although now that I think about it I was never able to actually see her and I should have had no real reason to label whatever it was as my mom) I had become a child again- my body and mind had reverted to approximately around the time when I first got pinkeye. I begged my "mother" to help get rid me of the gunk, but either she was another ghoul come to torment me or I had also gone deaf because I couldn't hear her response. The end of this dream sequence is muddled, but I believe that it just bled out as faint flashes and whispers of pandemonium surrounded the home.

The third sequence was just a mindfuck. At that point was lucid dreaming, and aware that I was trapped in a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. Sometimes I would be crawling in the darkness, other times would involve me fighting with advanced alzheimers and a dark dissolution of the self while my body remained chained to the bed that my mind was lost in. You know how sometimes you dream that you wake up and walk around the house? This happened to me again, and again, and again. At a certain point I assumed that I had tapped into what the mystics call 'astral projection', meaning that my soul got to wander but my body didn't.

Add to this my vision continuing to go in and out of focus, the continued breakdown in my cognitive condition as a malevolent and primal figure just out of eyesight (and well within during my periods of blindness) continued to loiter and, worst of all, the utter repetition of it all and you can see why I lost it. Before things got real bad a piece of myself started to enjoy the trippiness.My predicament may have been ghoulish, but a part of me honestly preferred its novelty to the monotony of my dead end existence. Waiting tables and getting fat always seemed like just another hell that kept people from looking for salvation by pulling its punches five times out of ten. What came next made me realize how wrong I was.


The final dream within dream within a...was just voices: terrible, stupid voices. They seem to have started in the midst of me crawling through the hallway, but they only picked up when I was back to being trapped in my dreaming body. I seemed to have lost most of what was said, but I can vaguely remember flashes of cartoon characters like Bullwinkle, Princess Bubblegum and the Iceking, possible manifestations of whimsy, logic and the sweet escape of dementedness. The pivotal scene involved the voice of the Alchemist from The Venture Brothers, Dana Snyder. (come to think of it he was ranting like Master Shake, but more coherently) At first his levity was a welcome break from my paralyzed dread, but the voice soon started to tell me to do worse and worse things, and as I sat in my motionless body I began to dream these things into consciousness.

At first I thought the voice was offering me a way to buy my way to freedom, but now I think It was just having fun saying things like “wouldn’t it be great if you killed everyone you’ve loved in such and such way ha ha”. Me actively doing these things appeared in a dream bubble right over my head, and for one moment I actually enjoyed being the one who dished out torment.That moment passed. I realized that this was the gate of hell and made one last desperate attempt to break free. I woke up for what seemed like the hundredth time, and it's taking awhile for me to accept that I'm finally awake. A little part of me still believes I’m asleep and have just been granted a few moments to enjoy turning on every room-light possible.


gently caress Sleep. gently caress sleep with a stick. You ever wonder how it feels to be stuck with Freddy Kruger? It feels like this times three. Having an adversary you can at least pin a location on gives you the benefit of knowing which way to run. Not this. I'm still afraid that this isn't over, or worse, that it'll happen again and again. I saw another little glimpse of hell tonight. Thankfully, the details of it are rapidly receding from my mind and falling back into the subconscious.