|
LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE posted:i think crabrock would want me to quote this for him well i think i want you to shut the hell rear end up judgement is IMMINENT.
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 04:38
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 19, 2024 09:33 |
|
|
Fanky Malloons posted:well i think i want you to shut the hell rear end up im sorry
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 04:39
|
|
|
I'm going to punch out your blood
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 04:40
|
|
|
not my blood, i need that for boners 
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 04:41
|
|
|
I'm going to get you off, then punch out your blood
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 04:43
|
|
|
crabrock posted:JESUS CHRIST STOP STARTING YOUR STORY WITH THE NAME OF THE PERSON AND THEIR PROFESSION. I HAVE YELLED AT YOU FOR THIS BEFORE. GOD OVER DJINN HAS YELLED AT YOU FOR THIS BEFORE. EVERY TIME YOU DO THIS IRC COLLECTIVELY FACEPALMS AND QUESTIONS WHETHER YOU'RE A REAL PERSON OR JUST A TROLL, BECAUSE YOU KEEP REPEATING THE SAME MISTAKES. I summon God over Djinn as judge! Benny the Snake fucked around with this message at 04:49 on Sep 23, 2014 |
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 04:47
|
|
|
*yawn* edit: in all seriousness Benny Boy, come back and find me when you've at least gotten yourself an HM. When you grow up, if you still feel raw about it, I'll be waiting.  crabrock fucked around with this message at 04:58 on Sep 23, 2014 |
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 04:49
|
|
|
Mercedes posted:THE SHIIIIIIIIIIIT Don't you worry. The poo poo is coming soon and the poo poo is coming hard, not all squishy-like. Why you think I ain't been entering these last two weeks? Totally not 'cause I'm developing the best computer game past and future, nah. Gonna win that vidya game of yours then go on for painfully long about how it's not as good as something from no later than 1997. Then I'm gonna go back to my scheming, 'cause while I'm totally down with Model and Controller, screw the View (not the one with the yentas, at least not this paragraph). Oh hello there, key fob.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 04:55
|
|
|
crabrock posted:*yawn*
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 04:58
|
|
|
All these violence is very unattractive.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:01
|
|
|
The Saddest Rhino posted:All these violence is very unattractive. Don't you tense changing now.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:03
|
|
|
The Saddest Rhino posted:All these violence is very unattractive. au contraire, ma boner. c'est erect.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:04
|
|
|
 WEEK ELEVENTY ONE: THE JUDGENING - GO FOLK YERSELVESWell folks, it was a pretty mediocre week overall. You have all failed not just me, but your ancestors and the lesser Gods and sprites and whatnot who inspired all the folk tales. They are rending their clothes and tearing out their hair because of the shame. And so, the results: Honourable mentions go out to Fumblemouse for an unusual approach to storytelling, and a clever take on the prompt; to Tyrannosaurus for a nice, tight story despite a prompt that I realised in hindsight was probably really tough to work with; and to Grizzled Patriarch whose story was actually my favourite, but who was just edged out by the winner based on judge consensus that successfully working Hasidic Jewish lizards into a story is a pretty baller achievement. Congratulations, Entenzahn. Dishonourable mentions this week go to Noah and Surreptitious Muffin for writing really great entries and then ruining them by not proofreading. The fact that you guys both wrote otherwise awesome stories actually meant that the sloppy errors and dumb mistakes enraged me way more than they otherwise would have. Way to be assholes, dudes. A third DM goes to Meeple for managing to write a story where a bunch of stuff happens but no actual story occurs, and also for the worst dialogue ever. Finally, though we hated two stories equally this week, there can only be one loser, thus I am bringing back the loser brawl.Broenheim's loser crimes include characters and a story that make absolutely no sense whatsoever, while Juniper Cake took a whole extra 12 hours and still submitted a big pile of what the actual gently caress. Broenheim and Juniper Cake, please see Anomalous Blowout for the details of how you guys are going to fight it out for last place. Crits will be forthcoming within the next week, probably.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:04
|
|
|
Benny the Snake posted:You think you're better than me, you hack? I know I'm the Thunderdome punching bag, but I will not abide by someone insulting me without a brawl! Fight me, you two-bit hack! Hey, I was all about this, for what it's worth. If you can find someone else who wants to use you as a punching bag, I'm standing by to judge it.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:05
|
|
|
*pats the throne of mediocrity* hey crabrock there's room for one more.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:06
|
|
|
The Saddest Rhino posted:All these violence is very unattractive.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:08
|
|
|
I literally had 30 seconds to proofread because you didn't specify PST or PDT.   Preemptive "shut the gently caress up, Crabrock."
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:11
|
|
|
SurreptitiousMuffin posted:I literally had 30 seconds to proofread because you didn't specify PST or PDT. I literally don't give a single gently caress. Everybody else figured it out fine, you had 8-ish hours longer than you typically get, and you probably shouldn't have still be writing that close to the deadline anyway.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:14
|
|
|
Benny the Snake posted:Stay out of it, unless you wanna make this a battle royal! battle royale
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:14
|
|
|
guys can we all just calm down I'm not feeling very  right now
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:15
|
|
|
The Saddest Rhino posted:battle royale With cheese (avec fromage)
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:16
|
|
|
Yeah my story was pretty bad, I almost considered taking the toxx instead of submitting it but figured it was the lesser of two evils if only slightly. I got some honor to reclaim so hope you're ready to bring it Broenheim. Bring on the loserbrawl!
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:16
|
|
|
I'm not locked in here with you, you're locked in here with me!The Saddest Rhino posted:battle royale
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:16
|
|
|
Fanky Malloons posted:I literally don't give a single gently caress. Everybody else figured it out fine, you had 8-ish hours longer than you typically get, and you probably shouldn't have still be writing that close to the deadline anyway.  Yeah I hosed up. I set aside one hour to write and one hour to edit, then forgot about Daylight Savings when I was doing the time conversion. It's my fault, and I noticed the errors about five minutes after I posted and started kicking myself. EDIT: never underestimate the importance of editing SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at 05:19 on Sep 23, 2014 |
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:17
|
|
|
proooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooompt you fuckers
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:19
|
|
|
By god, listen! It's the klaxon of failure! Broenheim and Juniper Cake, your stories were nonsensical and bad. But let's face it, "nonsensical and bad" isn't exactly the worst that Thunderdome has ever seen, so one of you will get a shot at redemption. Broenheim's original story had cops and murderers and a victim nobody gave a poo poo about or something. Juniper's was basically The Matrix meets The Little Mermaid but awful. For your loserbrawl, I challenge you thusly: Broenheim, you must write a crime story where the victim is more central to the story's focus than the criminal or someone trying to "save" them. Juniper, you must write a story about a child who loves his parents and helps them with something important. But there's a twist! You must each include an entire sentence from the other brawler's original story. Deadline is midnight PST on Sunday, 28th September. 1200 words or less.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:19
|
|
|
Benneth the Snake has gone mad in the streets. Is there no law in this town?
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:21
|
|
|
Benny the Snake posted:
ignore him, he's from the french peninsula or some poo poo
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:22
|
|
|
Fanky Malloons posted:Finally, though we hated two stories equally this week, there can only be one loser, thus I am bringing back the loser brawl.Broenheim's loser crimes include characters and a story that make absolutely no sense whatsoever, while Juniper Cake took a whole extra 12 hours and still submitted a big pile of what the actual gently caress. Broenheim and Juniper Cake, please see Anomalous Blowout for the details of how you guys are going to fight it out for last place. Just to clarify. When this has happened before we've put two losers in the archive, but only the loser of the brawl got the losertar. Are you saying here that the winner of the brawl will NOT have to wear the shame of knowing they lost? Do they get a DM? Not trying to be sassy, just curious as to how you would like us to record this for posterity.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:25
|
|
|
Looks like I'm just in time to completely ruin Blowout's brawl. Croc Kiaugh Gut Revolver Blues 2177 words AKI GAHUK, THE FATHER OF THE CROCODILES It went like this: Revolver popped Vivaldi's head open. Andy cracked the trunk to Deanna's Mustang. And somewhere in there, Tyler lost his balls. Spectre bleach; didn’t even look Andy in the eye as he wandered off. Deanna watched Tyler from the backseat. Unamused, she said to Andy, “Where’s Ty going?” Then Andy said to her, “Said he needed a smoke.” She preened her brown hair and spun the barrel with her thumb. Three bullets. “He had better not be ditching, this was his idea, this is all his fault.” Andy did not respond. He kept smiling at her until she looked away. Tyler didn’t tell them about the Kiaugh, the monster that looked like a man but was most certainly not. Tyler saw it lurking in the distance. The Kiaugh made no motion to hide himself, or to follow Tyler. He simply watched the humans as they continued, his anger rising by the second. Vivaldi hit the moss with a loud crunch. Gore and brain matter drooling from the porcelain crack. Andy said, “Jeezus.” He wiped the excess off on his jeans and gagged. Andy told Dee to get off her rear end and help him. She turned, grunted, clicked the barrel back into place. Then she got off her rear end and helped him. The plan was ‘simple’. Tyler’s word, not Andy’s. In and out. Rob Principal Vivaldi as he’s heading to his car. Never knew what hit him. No way it could fail. Andy brought the gun. How it switched hands, Andy had no idea, but Vivaldi lost his money one moment, the next, his eye. Plan wasn’t so simple after that. Had to change. Buy a bunch of hams, drive down to the lagoon, drop it by the river, leave him for the gators. Deanna’s idea. Had to hand it to her, girl was smart. Andy fancied that head of hers. No pun intended; that brain was the only thing he fancied about her. Deanna told him that the gators were especially aggressive. Nipped one of her stupid cousins legs, said she. With the hams as a side dish, the crocs would be happy with the meal. Alligator Thanksgiving in the middle of May, Andy joked, if not grimly. They didn’t wait for Tyler. Andy and Dee carried the body down the hill and into the muck. High boots and thick gloves. Crickets, ribbits, hoots, nothing dangerous. Deanna thought she heard a hiss and the two stopped dead. Waited. Andy shouldered the grocery bag of ham and motioned with his head. They stumbled their way to the lagoon, carrying the Principle arm in leg and in shoulder. Ain’t no eulogy waiting for them at the lagoon; in and out. Simple. Deanna called the plan ‘simple’ too. “An ape could do it,” said she. Her elbow jabbing him aside, Andy and Tyler agreed. No way it could fail. “Always hated him. Stick so far up his toosh, I swear.” said she. “Sure,” said he. Deanna huffed. Man was dead but she didn’t want her hands anywhere near his rear end. She said, “Heard he was a fag. ‘Parently he started snapping pics in the boy’s locker room, you know anything about that?” Andy sighed then said, “He’s a married man?” Deanna grunted, unladylike, “Ain’chu ever heard of fag hags? You’re a straight boy, you wouldn’t understand.” Andy said nothing. Deanna said something. “Heard he was snapped pics in the boy’s locker room. Figured you would’a known something about tha-” Andy stopped. Deanna stumbled back, losing her grip. Vivaldi dropped, hit the mud face first. Andy hissed, turned, boots squishing as he shifted weight from one leg to another. He stared into Deanna for a moment made a face not even a mother could smooch. Deanna looked on, finding a particularly interesting tree trunk in the distance. Said nothing. Did nothing. They sat there with their feet in the mud. Gentle breeze lapped at their napes. Deanna shivered. Andy glared. His eyes forward, her eyes sideways. All the while, the Kiaugh looked on. It knew. “Somebody’s father died tonight,” said he. “So?” said she. “So,” said he, “Reckon you should stop gossiping about a dead man.” Deanna laughed and waved it off. She said, “Listen boy scout, your hands are as stained as mine. Check yourself before you get on your high horse.” Andy groaned and said, “Are you high or something? You were the one who shot him!” Deanna’s voice turned grave. “You gave me the gun. You told me it was empty.” The boy brought his hand up and slapped his palm. “Don’t you go pushing me on me. I told you to spook ‘im, not to shoot ‘im, this is on you.” Deanna laughed again, singular, “HAH.” She reached around, flashed the piece in her gloved hands. “Papa’s gun, right? We were wearing these gloves the entire gun. Whose prints you ‘reckon’ are on this gun?” Boy couldn’t argue that point. He hissed through clenched teeth. Breathed in. Exhaled. Fighting the urge to slap the bitch, but knowing his momma taught him better, he broke his gaze and stared over her shoulder. The Kiaugh stared right back. Again he made no move to hide himself. He would not give the humans the satisfaction. Andy jumped back, yelped. He stumbled, boots firmly stuck in the muck. He looked down for only an instant, to gain his bearings. When he looked back up, he didn’t focus on the Kiaugh. Deanna’s face turned pale. He stared. She stared, not at him but behind him. “Andy,” said she. “Where’s Vivaldi?” Boy blinked. He spun his head around, down where the corpse was. “Where’s the body Andy?” “I don’t know,” said he, balling his hands in his hair. Deanna bit a mud-crusted nail and breathed. “He was just here! Didn’t we just drop him? That was a minute ago, how-“ Boy swore he was going to shove the ham down her throat if she didn’t shut her yap. He remembered that he saw a spook. Figured it was a trick of the mind. Then he looked over Dee’s shoulder again and saw the Kiaugh. The Kiaugh saw him, its snout gaped, its eyes burrowed into his skin. He shoved Deanna’s arm. She glowered, turned, saw the Kiaugh. She screamed. “Is that a gator?” She said. “I don’t know, Deanna!” He said. The Kiaugh was disappointed, though the disgusting humans in front of him would never know that. He turned his head, watching as his mate crept up behind them. It was on Andy in an instant, digging its fingers into his chest. Blood squirted, Andy screamed. The details were scarce but Dee saw enough to know it was a crocodile. But the croc had limbs like a human, long enough to pin Andy down into the wet ground. Unable to shove it off, he begged Deanna, “the gun, shoot it, oh god, help!” Dee was a smart gal though. She caught on once the shock wore off. That’s why she booked it. Ignored Andy’s whimpers, raced through the muck, a bitch and a half but she managed. Put her whole body into the stride. Up to her knees in grime, misty-eyed, worry about it later. The Kiaugh did not pursue her. His clan would see to that very soon. So he turned and watched as his mate opened her wide maw and clamped down on the boy’s exposed neck. He clambered over and dug through the bag. A ham, cold, plastic sealed. He was not capable of joy, but had that not been the case, the Kiaugh would certainly be smiling. She did not look back until she reached the clearing and her mustang. Almost sighed with relief when she arrived. Then she checked her pockets and remembered that Tyler drove. She gagged on air. Where the gently caress was he? She nearly fired when Tyler appeared from the clearing. “Where the hell were you?” said she. “Where were you? I was looking all over!” said he, looking Deanna over. He said, “What happened? Where’s Andy?” Dee, pale in the face, said, “Andy’s dead. Something happened. We were attacked by crocs and - they got him. They got him and they got the corpse. Oh god, we need to get out of here.” Tyler said nothing. He saw the Kiaugh but figured it was his imagination getting the best of him. Instead he looked at Dee. Looked at her gun. Looked back up. Boy grabbed Deanna’s wrist and tugged before she could react. He tugged the revolver out of her hands. Deanna lost her poo poo. She tackled him. Clawed and shrieked, nails raking at his face. Girl bit his thumb, wrenched it out, wheezing for air. What little she had flew out Tyler’s senior ring caught her flush in the chin. Deanna and Andy’s gun flew and Tyler, scrabbled to his knees. Tyler took the revolver again. “Knew I should have taken the gun from you,” said he. Girl rolled onto her back, holding her chin. “I’m telling the truth. Jesus Mary and Joseph, I didn’t shoot Andy. Andy was my friend, I would never.” said she. “You think I’m going to believe a killer?” said he. Deanna just sobbed into mud-coated hands. Tyler had no sympathy. “Say hi to Vivaldi for me,” said Tyler as he cocked the revolver. The peace was short-lived. Beasts. The figures of man but the scales and maws of crocodiles. They did not come from where Andy died. They arrived, shambling, from all directions. Dee recognized them in the distance but they were abhorrent to her. The pain distracted her and she did not hear Tyler’s screaming until it was too late. They circled around. Trapped. And yet the gathering of monsters did not disturb Deanna the most. That was reserved from the one person she did not expect to see. It had only been a couple of minutes since the corpse disappeared but Vivaldi, with gaping head and gritting teeth, appeared very much alive. Except it was most certainly not Vivaldi. Unfinished scales, puke-yellow eyes. “What the gently caress,” said she. “What the gently caress, what the gently caress, what the gently caress.” The Kiaugh stepped forward, his mate right behind him. The human with the foreign object turned away from the one on the ground. “My name,” The Kiaugh said, “is Aki Gahuk.” The Kiaugh snarled, lifting his arms to his guest named ‘Joseph Vivaldi.’ His clan did not speak the human tongue. The Kiaugh was the only one who could speak for them, the one to lead them. “Someone” said he, “is to blame.” The creature hissed at Tyler. Craziest thing was that it sounded like words, words he could not distinguished and it shook him to the core. His hand balled, pulling off the beanie, black hair curling from sweat and humidity. He didn’t understand what that loving monster was saying but he understood. He understood and she pointed straight at Deanna. Tyler said, “It was her, she shot him. I was just helping. It was her idea.” Deanna just sniffled. She stared at the figure that was once her Principal. The monsters were staring her but she kept her gaze solely on him. Deanna said, “I can’t say I’m sorry. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill you. But that doesn’t change a thing. All my fault. Just do it.” Deanna closed her eyes. Expecting them to pounce. She breathed in. Exhaled. Waited for the moment Vivaldi tore her to shreds except he had no intention. Instead Vivaldi waited until she opened her eyes again, then pointed to her mustang. “What the gently caress.” said Tyler. Dee got up and raced to the mustang, the keys were in the ignition. Tyler went to follow her but the Kiaugh hissed and the congregation blocked the way. Screaming and hollering did nothing. Deanna peeled away and left him stranded. “Get the gently caress away from me!” said he. The crocs closed in around he. He pulled the trigger and fired at the nearest croc. Drilled the last two bullets into its chest. Useless. Last ditch, Tyler brought the gun to his temple. Click. Empty. Desperate, he threw the revolver at the croc. It caught the gun in its tapered snout, bending and snapping the barrel with a loud crack. “I’m sorry,” thought he. Dog-eat-dog, belly torn, finger food. Tyler could not focus on his cracked ribs and devoured lung because in his pain-ridden daze he saw that one of the crocs was not a croc. As the Kiaugh's family dug the life from Tyler's body he looked on at Andy's bloody, tattered corpse. It hovered over his body, neck innards hanging across its front. He stared at it, and it stared back with clammy yellow eyes. He saw it and the pattern of scales running up its arm. He stared into it and saw the swamp in its eyes. He knew nothing but understood everything. That's how it went.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:36
|
|
|
PROOOOOOOMPPPPPTTTTTTTT
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:37
|
|
|
see archives sebmojo fucked around with this message at 23:17 on Jan 1, 2015 |
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:41
|
|
|
WEEK ELEVENTY ONE, FIRST THIRTEEN CRITS: Your Sledgehammer - Security Details As far as hooks go, this one wasn’t bad. You do a reasonable job establishing the scene with sparse words, but I was confused with the sudden change between third person and first person at the beginning. Are there three people here or just two? The description of Brady’s death was pretty dang nice. The Vibrams bit was chuckleworthy and a nice hook at the end. You do a lot with a little here and that’s great. My biggest issues with this piece are the slightly disorienting tense/narration shifts and “the kid didn’t fit the profile.” You’ve got to give us more than that, I’m afraid. ‘Show, don’t tell’ is an old axiom but it’s oft-repeated because it’s true. Why doesn’t the kid fit the profile? Your protag shows up, sees that the guy gave up, and automatically assumes that because someone gave up, they wouldn't have broken in there in the first place? His reasoning was difficult to follow. On its own its pretty decent, but I feel like your thematic tie-in to your folktale consisted of the summary tag line (“it takes a thief to catch a thief”) and nothing else. “When I want somethin’, man, I don’ wanna pay for it!” Perry Farrell’s voice squealing out of his phone meant one thing: the silent alarm had tripped. - This bit legit confused me. What the hell does Perry mean? Overall if you cut down on the confusing bits this would have been a potential HM candidate in my book. Not too shabby. satsui no thankyou - Paradise Eternal First thing's first: next time pay attention to the rules, poo poo-for-brains. On to the actual story. Ugh okay, if I didn’t have to read this as a judge, I would not have gotten past the opening paragraph. It reads like Hellblazer if it was written by a guy who usually writes textbooks. I know you’re going for lofty but it’s painful to read. That said, I’ll try to read the rest. The writing gets MUCH better as this goes on. If you cut the first paragraph this would be pretty good! The voice matches the prompt in a nice way and if you cut out that bloated shitstack of a first paragraph your prose is passable, sometimes even good. A shame this got better, because your inability to read the rules nets you a penalty. It’s not that hard to read the rules and any word processing software that isn’t Notepad can wordcount for you. Really, man. As this is, it works nice as a little parable of its own. I wish we learned more about Joshua as a person but it reads like a fable more than a story, and fables generally don’t do a whole boatload of characterisation anywho. Regarding the weird mishmash of beliefs and names, yes, it was somewhat jarring, even though you admitted to it beforehand. You still managed to nail the folky fable sort of tale and there was a coherent plot with a beginning, middle, and end. Guiness13 - I Know Just What You Need You certainly set a scene well in the opening paragraph, but the prose is really stale. “Here is a thing. Here is another thing. Here is how the thing looks. Here is a person.” Please don't take this as an insult but this reads as a story written by someone who does not read a lot of stories. A good example of how to tighten your writing: you don’t need to tell us that Reed looks into the box. If he opens it, then flings it across the room, we can infer that he is aware of the contents. That way the action flows seamlessly from pick-up to throw-away which makes for more active writing. You almost never have to specify that someone looked at something. “The room tilted and nausea caressed his throat” is terrible. Sweat doesn’t sprout, also. Your protagonist was an rear end in a top hat and it felt good to see him get his in the end, but the writing at the end falls extremely flat and you have some odd word choices, see above. Your protag's motivations are kinda unclear at times, too. Why does he decide to sell the naked rat girl to slave auctioneers or whoever rather than just bang her? I got the impression he was more of a sleaze than a ruthless businessy type. Thematically, you use your source material well and you write a complete plot from beginning to end, even if the end falters. Could have been written a lot better, though. Morning Bell - Boombye Boomba Ok wow, you misspelled “Filipino” I don’t even know what to say about that. “Holdens are cool” made me laugh for all the wrong reasons, plus now I’m reading this whole story in a super New Zealandy accent. Thanks I guess? You tell us a lot of things Juan is “not very smart; a fool; not that dumb” rather than just showing it through his actions. Anytime you write something, do a control+f for "<name> was" to see if you just straight up tell the narrator anything that should be expressed through the way a character acts. Also, sometimes I got a little confused by the level of omniscience of your narrator. The writing around the ‘action’ scene is really clumsy. I actually kind of liked the sorta gonzo ending, although Cassandra’s reactions really confused me. She just watched this guy beat the poo poo out of two guys, possibly kill one, and she reacts with disgust rather than, y’know, fear? If there’s a reason she wouldn’t be afraid of Juan you should elaborate on it earlier on. Overall your tie-in to the source material was pretty good! You’ve used it as inspiration but done something your own with it, which is just what the prompt was for, I think. Your characters are the weakest link of this. I feel like even by the very end we know next to nothing about Juan other than he’s kind of a loser. Sam and Cassandra probably had more character development, and Cassandra’s reactions were kinda nonsensical. Your prose wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t particularly exciting and the clunky action scene was less than thrilling. Saint Drogo - Unworthy Aww, babby! Welcome to Thunderdome. Your opening covers the setting, tone, and narrating character really well! Probably the strongest opening paragraph I’ve read so far. It’s got that semi-rambly folksy tone down without being overbearing. Unfortunately after the opening I’m really confused! Who’s dead? Who isn’t? What’s going on? Oh, they’re both dead. You should introduce that in a more obvious, less confusing way. Also, the dialogue is really difficult to read. Pay attention to how people actually talk; it’s not like that. You have some “list disguised as paragraph” prose going on. The church was there. It looked different. The walls were scarred. Someone rebuilt them. That reads very slow and plodding. Your opening paragraph shows that you are capable of writing interesting prose, so I’d give the middle of the story a brush-over with the same care you paid to the opening. Regarding the plot, the whole point of the story is the whole “ghost refusing to be penitent” thing, and we don’t find out about it until the story is almost over. That does not a plot make. His required penitence would be a lot more interesting if we knew exactly what his sins were, too. As it is, I find it difficult to care about these old dudes and their old dead dude problems. The ending didn’t make sense to me at all. So God is requiring Hector flog himself to get into Heaven, and he… decides not to. Jacob wants to know why, but Hector don’t say nothin’, and we as the readers also never find out. Not telling your readers the answer to the mystery is a bad choice. Even though this wasn’t a mystery story per se, your own writing conveyed that Hector’s answer and choice were important. This was confusing to read and kind of aimless, which is a shame, because that opening was great. On the plus side, you nailed it with the theme. Let me know if you'd like a full line by line critique of this and I will provide one. God Over Djinn - The Bravest Woman in Quitman, Mississippi You do a great job with your prose as far as conveying “this is a folktale” without writing it like an Aesop fable. That’s cool beans. The story has a conversational voice that, having lived in the South of the USA, I can easily believe. The girls are well-developed characters with a lot of contrast between their personalities, but I feel like the ending doesn’t quite jive with how you’ve portrayed them. How exactly does Hope know that some dudes are gonna bust into their house and try to shoot her sister? She takes it so calmly--after being the one who was scared earlier--that it borders on not quite believable. Faith’s character stays much more consistent to the end. The line about seeing her sister and mother darning socks being “the most beautiful thing” seems out of place. You do recall it later on in the story, but not in a way that makes it necessary or meaningful other than by way of contrast. This contrast would work a lot better if you used it as a bit of foreshadowing rather than just saying “years from now she’d think it was dope” but I admit that verges on personal preference. I get what you’re doing as far as your inspiration from your story, but if the point of it is that you have to kill your enemy’s shadow in order to kill them, maybe this piece would have ended better by showing that. By the time the story ends, Faith doesn’t even know her sister is dead, so we can only guess whether it “kills” her. Your writing itself is great as usual, this just suffered from a couple internal inconsistencies that keep it from being truly awesome. Broenheim - Smoking Gun Welp, that opening line is already confusing to me. I am unclear on how many men there are in this opening paragraph. Three? Or just Mark and one other dude? Are the twisty body guy and gun guy the same guy? Oh, there’s a girl there too, not doing much though other than screaming for help in a really cliche way. Spotted a typo--should be Mark’s arms or Mark’s hands I presume--and other than that, this just fell really flat. I couldn’t care less about the fate of either of them. If you’re writing a crime story where the criminal’s comeuppance is important, it’s absolutely vital that the readers care about the victim. She’s some faceless nobody, so who cares? Also yeah your usage of “into” rather than “against” makes this CPR seem really, uh, intimate. Side note: giving somebody who’s got a bleeding head wound chest presses is probably a bad idea, medicinally speaking? I’m not a doctor but why wasn’t he like, trying to staunch the bleeding or something instead? You’ve introduced five characters into this story and three of them only by their first names, which are incredibly generic. You gotta give us a little more than that. I can barely keep them all straight. I can’t even get into the problems with the rest of this. Okay, so, the two friends are cops and one happens to be the murderer. If the murderer and Mark knew each other, why was there no confrontation about that fact in the beginning? Surely they would have recognised one another’s voices or something? This whole piece reads like a really dumb setup for a “gotcha” twist that isn’t really a twist and seems completely contrived. Also, telling the majority of your story through dialogue doesn’t work when all of the characters speak the same way and you’ve only introduced them by their first names. There’s nothing for the reader to picture. Theme wise, you did the best you could with a pretty confusing story and managed a decent interpretation of that. So, not a complete failure, just poorly written and confusing. Blade_of_tyshalle - Ertrinken This was way better than I expected. Aside from a couple minor plot holes and some niggles with the theme, I feel like this is one of the stronger entries that didn't HM. But don’t get too full of yourself, there’s still some issues. You develop Katja well and I get an excellent sense of her character. I don’t know if you’ve ever read The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver but Katja reminded me very much of Rachel in that book. The other characters are not quite so well developed but serve their purpose. I am not entirely sure that Katja wouldn’t recognise her own sister’s voice, though? That seems like a bit of a plot hole to me. Otherwise, I liked the idea of Frau Holle being Fritzi all along. The cannibalism bit would have been a little much were it not for the fact that this is a German folktale so boy howdy, they love them some cannibalism and it fits. Why was she boiling a vat of horse piss, anyway? How did she get the cottage? Why waste the last line on that bit about the horse? I feel like you overexplained some stuff that didn’t need explaining and underexplained other stuff. Your prose is pretty good overall. “The bag fell from limp fingers and the head within rolled out” is a weird sentence. The bit about Katja knowing her sister’s eyes well implies she probably should have recognised other parts of her, which is my main tangle with this piece. Theme wise, I have the same issue Fanky does: this requires one to be familiar with the original tale as background, otherwise readers would be clueless. Some Guy TT - This Way, Boys Your opening hook is pretty interesting although “forward and downward” doesn’t flow great to me. Your voice on the second paragraph takes a turn for the weirdly casual considering the subject matter. By the the fourth paragraph I feel like we’re learning more about each of Heather’s victims than her. We still have no idea who she is or why she’s killing people. “Frustratingly lethargic” is a case of great adverb use. Your prose isn’t bad, nor is it the most exciting. By the end of the piece, Heather still feels like a cardboard evil man hater cutout. We never get a whiff of her motive. Your tie in to your source material is obvious enough although I can’t figure out why Heather is particularly greedy. Is she killing all those people just to write the book? That seems like a pretty big leap. Surely something would have pushed her down the path toward murder for profit rather than just “welp, I need a way to make money.” She does say she hates boys at the end, but we never hear why. Overall I found this pretty average and bland in a way that’s difficult to pinpoint. It’s not awful, it’s just weirdly boring for a story about murder. The last line did make me laugh, though. crabrock - The Babe With the Power This is pretty well written and made me laugh in a few places. Pity it has nothing to do with the prompt. I enjoy the seriousness of the baby’s narration given that it’s a loving baby, and somehow I actually cared what happened at the end. This would probably be a candidate for a HM or possibly even winner if it was remotely on prompt. Sadtrombone.wav If you want a serious crit let me know and I am happy to give you one, but I was kinda not sure if this was submitted as a joke or not. Tyrannosaurus - Pau I enjoyed the opening and how you establish the themes and characters. Overall, Kang didn’t seem quite as developed as I’d hoped, but you still did pretty good within the constraints of wordcount, etc. The description of the van crash scene was pretty neato. "Dis our turf" seems like kind of a weird thing to announce to a van full of corpses, which is something the other judges noticed as well. The accents kind of irritated me, especially given that they don’t seem to add a whole lot to the story. An accent like that isn’t terrible if it’s just one character, but when all Kang’s bros have it as well, it’s slightly more difficult than it needs to be to determine who’s talking. Your plot is tied off nicely and I enjoy the slightly open-ended ending. Theme wise you had a difficult prompt and did pretty dang good with it. Easy HM edged out of a win only by the strength of other entries. LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE - Flesh This starts out both intriguing and well written, then by the middle it is neither of those things. This piece would benefit greatly from a line by line, which I am happy to do after I finish doing basic crits for everyone else. There are some weird sentences, analogies that don’t make sense, and the ending was really uninteresting considering it contains a decapitation. The writing about the howling winds and wood clacking on wood and whatnot seemed unnecessary and left me completely unsure about what was actually happening. You did a good job with the theme and retell the original story in an interesting way, so good on you for that. You’ve also got a complete plot arc, even if the ending falls slightly flat. I'll write more when I do your line by line, if you want one! curlingiron - Clay and Moonlight A well-crafted if slightly overwordy contribution. I wasn’t as bothered by the wordiness as Fanky--it seemed like a stylistic choice to me, and most of the time it wasn’t too cluttery. However, there were still a few bits of awkward phrasing like “It would not be so hard to break one of these glass containers and set alight one of the tapestries here.” Even someone in a fantasy story wouldn't talk like that. “A few moments later, he was on his back, gasping as the life drained out of him from the wound in his back. I laid the knife I had taken from his scabbard on the ground next to him” is a pretty cumbersome way to write an action scene. I know you can do better than that because I’ve read it! This would benefit from a line by line to point out more specific stuff and I am happy to do so once I’ve finished my other crits. Your characterisation of Younger Brother is good and we get a sense of his feelings and motivations early on. Hard to comment much on other characterisation since he’s the only real “focus” character. You’ve got a good, tight plot that gives a beginning, middle, and end with a hefty dose of action and tension. Good shite.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:46
|
|
|
I just comprehensively failed my 'no extensions' self-rule. So there gotta be consequences, otherwise what's the point? SurreptitiousMuffin next time you think it right, you can pick a thing I've promised to do in the dome and make me  for it.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:48
|
|
|
crabrock posted:Just to clarify. When this has happened before we've put two losers in the archive, but only the loser of the brawl got the losertar. Are you saying here that the winner of the brawl will NOT have to wear the shame of knowing they lost? Do they get a DM? Not trying to be sassy, just curious as to how you would like us to record this for posterity. I'm not Fanky, but here's how I'd do it: If both their loserbrawl stories suck so much, they both go into the archives as loser. Whoever ekes out a slight victory doesn't get the losertar. If one manages to soundly beat the other, the winner ascends to the honour of a DM instead.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:50
|
|
|
The Saddest Rhino posted:battle royale Pretty good movie. People die in it. Prompt.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 05:56
|
|
|
Whatever the prompt is this week, I'm ing in. Gotta make up for last week somehow.
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 06:02
|
|
|
im volunteering to judge no matter what because ive entered like 5 weeks now and i expect my next monday to be relatively light on work
|
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 06:16
|
|
|
Bad Seafood posted:Benneth the Snake has gone mad in the streets.  I'll be your sheriff, let me finish the rest of this bourbon though. *sips apple juice* Phobia fucked around with this message at 07:26 on Sep 23, 2014 |
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 07:23
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 19, 2024 09:33 |
|
|
Phobia posted:
 God Over Djinn posted:Hey, I was all about this, for what it's worth. If you can find someone else who wants to use you as a punching bag, I'm standing by to judge it. Benny the Snake fucked around with this message at 08:04 on Sep 23, 2014 |
|
#
?
Sep 23, 2014 07:54
|
|