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Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.




docbeard posted:

So shall it be.

So normally, I would turn docbeard away because he's won twice already. But I like him, so I'll leave it to Phobia and newtestleper. If you want to brawl with him, he in. If not, he's out and we'll get another non-winner.

Hammer Bro. posted:

So I'm really digging what appears to be an in-depth crit of the stories as you go along, but the video's skipping worse than my Taiwanese turntable and I'm really struggling to hear any of it. I don't think that's just a my-computer thing, either. Anything that can be done so that I can properly bask in the resonant, audible glow of your wisdom?

Also the event the narrator is gloating about is not the heist. I may want to hit you up via alternate channels if you're willing to spare a little extra time on me; I'm curious as to how much exists solely in my head versus how much could be engendered in others.

I'm on IRC if you wanna chat. #kyrena

Mercedes fucked around with this message at 00:25 on Sep 25, 2014

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docbeard
Jul 19, 2011

Mercedes posted:

So normally, I would turn docbeard away because he's won twice already. But I like him, so I'll leave it to Phobia and newtestleper. If you want to brawl with him, he in. If not, he's out and we'll get another non-winner.

Ah, thought this one was a free-for-all. I'll be happy to back off if that's what folks want.

I MEAN DEATH DEATH TO YOU ALL I AM THE BRINGER OR RECEIVER OF DEAAAAATTTHHHH

Hammer Bro.
Jul 7, 2007

THUNDERDOME LOSER

Hah. I just finished the entirety of that (skippy) video, and I gotta say to the rest of y'all: get in on Merc Brawls if you can. That's one of the better crits I've thus far received and I had to pause it more than once to prevent too many coworkers from giving me the cockeyed stare. The content, both intentional and otherwise, evoked solid, very-difficult-to-suppress belly laughter.

As for the prize -- do what you will with it. I'm pretty solidly in the DRM-is-the-Devil camp, and really digging in my trenches and building fortifications. I'll see what I can do about IRC, although I'm not sure there are clients that I don't hate/work at work.

Finally, to the other three: Uhhhhhn! Yeah yeah! Err, I mean, thanks for participating. Sincerely. I enjoyed each of the stories, as well as the competition.

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003

Mercedes posted:

If you want to brawl with him, he in. If not, he's out and we'll get another non-winner.

Bring it on

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.




:siren::siren::byodood: MERC-BRAWL III, THE MERCONING: Sup Partner :byodood::siren::siren:



This week brawl a little complex, but I’m sure with your amazing reading comprehension you’ll be able to do just fine!

You cocksuckers are tasked to write about two protagonists. You each will design one protagonist that will be inserted into the next person’s story. In the same post, you will state a type of relationship which will force the previous domer to tie their protagonists together win.

To be clear, you make a character, the domer below you makes a character for you and the domer above you tells you what their relationship is. If you have questions, you better get on IRC and ask them, because I will judge you believing you understand these rules.

The order of domers is such:
newtestleper
Phobia
Docbeard
Newtestleper

The person below you gets a protagonist, the person above you gets a relationship status.

You have two weeks and 2,500 words. Your story can be what the gently caress ever. Whatever it is. It better be good. Failure to submit a story on time will be met with a lifelong ban to future Merc-Brawls.

Mercedes fucked around with this message at 02:11 on Sep 25, 2014

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010
You have a nice cat. Say hello to your cat for me, please.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.




To my brawlers, have the protags and relationships done by tonight so peeps can start coming up with ideas already.

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

You have a nice cat. Say hello to your cat for me, please.

She meowed and ran away. I'm forced to assume she said "gently caress you!" in cat speak.

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003

Mercedes posted:

The order of domers is such:
newtestleper
Phobia
Docbeard
Newtestleper

Character for Phobia: An aging professional athlete. He or she does not fully comprehend what is going on.

Relationship for Docbeard: Ex-spouse

docbeard
Jul 19, 2011

Relationship for Phobia: Siblings who met for the first time as adults.

Protagonist for newtestleper: A middle-aged (40+) woman with an academic background.

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW
Blade_of_tyshalle - Ertrinken
Prompt: Mother Holle


Horse piss is always a plus, especially in an opening line.
“Thick clothes” - try again. Give us at least a glimmer of what that means.
Setting their home in Dusseldorf seems random to me, and doesn’t do anything for the story because you don’t do anything with the city. It’s like, an oddly specific place. Maybe you’re from there. Germans have terrible humor, so that would explain a lot.
I’m having trouble coming up with much that the two ladies haven’t already said. There are some major plot holes given that this is supposed to be a “realistic” response to the original. And that brings us to the overarching problem with the story: This is competently written and a great counterpoint to the original tale. However, without reading the original, we have no clue what the gently caress is going on.

Score: Unsmoked bacon

Some Guy TT - This Way, Boys
Prompt: How Turtle’s Greed Brought Him to a Sad End


Where is he stumbling forward and downward to? Omg mystery hook!
O Doc’s not his real name, interesting I guess but also not really. What is this poo poo about writing a book? Written about what?
Oh okay, she’s killing dudes. Trap door to what? Repaired it? Is it some cartoon Mario trapdoor or what?
Dopey - going for the Snow White theme I see.
Etc, etc, a lot of loving summarized action here, I’d like to actually see it happen instead of all this boring description.
What the gently caress is under the trap door? Where are they? Are they at school? Is this over some Old Mine or Old Mill or some other Nancy Boys location?
hmm I guess at no point does anything actually HAPPEN, we just get told it does. falling asleep irl
I’m sleepy like Sleepy
What was Some Guy TT going to have to do here to make me care about his boring story?
Finally some actual action and actual dialogue. Finally!
Holy poo poo, he grabs her by the nipples? That would hurt like gently caress!

I don’t get what the gently caress this story is about. I mean, you got the connection to the folktale, more or less. But what’s the moral of the story? Are you a 16 year-old nerd and the hot popular girls are mean to you? This smacks of weird, almost disturbing, revenge fantasy about hot popular girls. And even if it’s not, what the gently caress is this dame’s motivation anyway? This is all so she can write a book after she kills everyone? Ugh. Pass.

Score: Hormel Pepperoni

crabrock - The Babe with the Power
Prompt: Whatever he wants, apparently.


I mean, yeah, the dome is all about breaking the rules and poo poo but didn’t you say

crabrock posted:

no sense in playing tennis with the net down

earlier? Yeah, you did.

The story is kinda funny but not as funny as you probably wanted it to be. It’s a pretty one-note gimmick and since it has nothing to do with the prompt you should probably get a DM but who really cares anyway.

Score: Baby swiss (see what I did there)


Tyrannosaurus - Pau
Prompt: In The Beginning



Mauna Loa is in Hawaii.
Towering complexes, eh? Dilapidated megatowers, corrupt officials, steel decay - cyberpunk spotted. Sick.
I think you meant “windfall” but I’ll let it go because there were MUCH WORSE editing problems for other people this week.
What’s a heliodrome? Whatever, it sounds cyberpunk
YES! A fat Samoan with a neck tattoo and a joint. gently caress yes.
The accent rules, gently caress those other two judges. They don’t know poo poo.
While I’d have love to have seen the firefight, I like the way you cut past it. Especially in a short, it makes sense to do it that way. And you leave nothing unclear. We all know what just happened.
I can see Kang saying “Dis our turf,” but I have to agree that it’s a tad redundant.
I still like the accents. Seriously, gently caress Swanky Mallowmars and Anonymous Blowjob. I know for a fact that Fanky has a silly accent, and we can assume so does Blowout.
I love the repeated “huh.” I’ve known some Samoans and Hawaiians in the Army and I can say that it’s incredibly accurate.
His glasses are tech, perfect.
“corporate da kine,” new best line this week.
It keeps rockin, bra, so I’ll shoot straight to the end and my closing thoughts.

I really like how Kang decides not to take the money like you expect him to, and instead do da right ting. I gotta be honest, I’m not really sure how the folktale ties in but I don’t even care. This story ruled. This was almost my pick for the win, but Entezahn edged you out by being closer to the prompt and running with my horrible flash rule. Good loving poo poo though. I hope you write more in this universe.

Score: Speck di Tirol


LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE - Flesh
Prompt: Rabbit Kills Big Man Eater


Heels suck, God knows why women even wear them. I'll tell you what, they don't wear them for us, despite what the progs say about stiletto patriarchy and so on. Men don't give a poo poo about heels. Women wear them because they like to walk around with constantly-flexed calves. While I do like muscular legs, heels are so dumb that I can't possibly approve of them.
Maneater is a p awesome name. Big Maneater is better.
I like how Rabbit is inexplicably a human, or so it seems. Typical folktale weirdness.
I also have grown accustomed to living over the course of 29 years, so I sympathize with Rabbit here.
I’d like more description of Big Dickeater here please.
drat, that dude’s hair smell GOOD!
The “not welcome” mat joke feels shoehorned in. Shoehorns are for idiots who can’t untie and tie their own shoes, or buy shoes that are too small so they don’t feel self-conscious about big feet.
The ending is good, I like the new tradition.


Okay so this is pretty competent prose, pulls off the folktale feel without getting flowery or “old-timey” or dumb in any other way. My only real problem with this story is that you stuck almost too close to the original. I dunno, maybe that’s not a bad thing. Ultimately, this story was good but not great.

Score: Speck of uncertain heritage

Well I'm gonna have to be a big fat liar and do the last 15 of these tomorrow. Once again, both losers will get a line-by-line.

CommissarMega
Nov 18, 2008

THUNDERDOME LOSER

Entenzahn posted:

:siren: Thunderdome CXII - Attack of the Graphophobes :siren:

What up.

http://phobialist.com/

Pick a phobia. Write a story.

If it's not too late, I'd like to sign up with Enosiophobia: the fear of committing a great sin, or of criticism, as well as a :toxx: because God knows I've flaked far too often lately.

EDIT: Changed my fear, since it might be too similar to Fumblemouse's.

CommissarMega fucked around with this message at 03:06 on Sep 25, 2014

The Saddest Rhino
Apr 29, 2009

Put it all together.
Solve the world.
One conversation at a time.



Mercedes posted:

She meowed and ran away. I'm forced to assume she said "gently caress you!" in cat speak.

Cats are beautiful creatures and good.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.




Phobia, you're starting on the wrong foot. I'm gonna need you to step up and post your Relationship and Protagonist.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.




Thank you kindly Phobia

Mercedes fucked around with this message at 15:11 on Sep 25, 2014

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.
Man, sorry Merc. I could have sworn I made a post last night but I must have forgot.

Relationship for newtestleper: Two complete strangers who have been handcuffed together. The whys and the hows are up to you.

Protagonist for docbeard: Man I have roleplayed so many characters over the years. Instead of designing a new protagonist, I have decided to gather all them up in a list and headbutt a random number generator. Unfortunately it landed on the joke character. I'm so sorry Doc. Tldr; high school student with a rich daddy, naive and perpetually cheerful. Use as much or as little of the actual profile here as you want but keep the aviator glasses.

God Over Djinn
Jan 17, 2005

onwards and upwards
My dear esteemed MM. Bad Seafood and Entenzahn,

I would like to hambly request your permission to submit one and the same story for both my brawl against M. Pootie Tang, and this week's main prompt. If you accept, I will be writing on the topic of chronophobia: fear of time.

yrs,
God Over Djinn

Bad Seafood
Dec 10, 2010


If you must blink, do it now.


What think you, Herr Entenzahn?

Entenzahn
Nov 15, 2012

erm... quack-ward
ENTENZAHN HEADQUARTERS ISSUE OFFICIAL RESPONSE

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002

I

AM

MAGNIFICENT






well poo poo, include some of my weekly stories in whatever brawls then. I'll brawl all the time if it means i don't gotta write another story.

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW
curlingiron - Clay and Moonlight
Prompt: The Man in the Moon


Why does the wind matter? seriously.
Don’t wanna mess with homeboys w/swords or knives in their belts.
I too, tell people I will remember their words when they say simple poo poo to me.
I guess having a Sister Flame is cool, but the dude in the original had FOUR GRANDMAS. Way better imo.
Too many words about the flames and the sconces and so on. Tighten that poo poo up, yo.
You use too many words in general, here. Like Blowout said, “I laid the knife” and so on is too wordy. “I laid his knife down next to him.” ECONOMY OF COCKSUCKIN PROSE.
The wordy language for the dialogue is OKAY, given the context and feel, but I would even trim that poo poo down too.
“slipped carefully into the room” Slipping into something is pretty much always carefully, leave that adverb out since the verb is already descriptive enough. Cut “she had been imprisoned in.” We already know she was imprisoned. Passive voice and ending sentences with prepositions aren’t the devil, but they should be avoided when at all possible. Also, you save five words.
Gross, this dude’s into his sister!
Drop the “hads” with the window ledge and so on. We know it happened in the recent past already. I do like how he talks to the vines and everything.
“discordant harmonics” NOPE.
Drop “I knew that the Wizard Moon” and so on. We loving KNOW he knew. He’s the one telling the story!
Interesting twist, though it sorta seems to come out of nowhere. Maybe make it clear that the Wizard Moon is a tricky motherfucker in the beginning.
What is he pretending? That she’s his sister and then he bangs the doll? There’s a creepy incest vibe going on here.
Overall it’s an ok story. You nailed the folktale feel, and you struck a good medium between the elements of the tale and your own original ideas. You really gotta cut a lot of words, and the incest undertones are really loving creepy and I hate them.

Score: Smoked turkey

Noah - The Tide
Prompt: Lata and Sinota


Nice descriptions to start, no surprise there. You’ve always been good at that. Then we get “it was erected on just far enough.” Editing!
Man, Charlie’s a little oval office, isn’t he?
I love that Sam is such a sperg that he has a notepad to record the surf or whatever. I also like that you suggest that without saying it outright. Nice writing.
the beaming his beaming countenance what the gently caress? dude editing
Charlie sure is afraid of the tide.
Okay, now I’m confused. Did Sam build the outer walls and then Charlie built the interior? Or are two different castles now being compared? You need to make this more clear.
So it’s definitely two different castles, I can see that in the “a plug uncorked” paragraph, but you have to fix the clarity in the bit before.
Sam really got that horrible little bastard good. I love the image of the kid rampaging through a sandcastle while the tide rushes in.
Holy gently caress, Sam’s a murderer!

This is good, man, but the sloppy editing really held you back. Could have been an HM, but because you obviously didn’t take the time to read your own story through once or twice, you got the end of the stick.

Score: Calabrese salame that turns out to have mold growing inside it a few slices in, so you throw it away after enjoying some p good spicy bites of cured pork.

Benny the Snake - Coyote Moon
Prompt: The Tiger Changed into a Woman


First of all, the name is already taken by a lovely movie with Tyra Banks in it, so gently caress you for that outta the gate.
I can’t really put my finger on my problem with your writing as a whole, but it’s right here in the first couple sentences. There’s something strangely off-kilter about all of it. It’s like things that humans might do, but not exactly like that. It’s uncanny valley writing. It’s as if you’re an alien from the Snake planet, writing fik-shun about yu-mens and their ree-lay-shun-ships. Though, at least this time your protag introduces herself to another character instead of the reader. Still rubs me wrong though.
Is Rosa’s hand calloused, cut, and leathered? Either way, it’s a clumsy run-on. Try “David Aguilar,” he says. He shakes my calloused, leathery hand.” Pretty sure “leathered” isn’t a real word, or at least not the one you wanted.
“I hope so as a professional.” This is flaccid as it gets. You’re missing out on the opportunity to make Rosa a badass firecracker who slaps him in the face with a comeback.
“You’re discreet, right?”
“I still have a loving job, don’t I? Of course I’m discreet.”
Or something even more dynamic would be good.
“his face flinches subtly.” What the gently caress? His face did it all on its own? Why not “he says with a subtle flinch.”
“I’m genuinely jaded” and so on, this is another missed opportunity. “When you earn your coin by watching cheating husbands through a motel window with a telephoto lens and listening in on dirty phone calls between bored housewives and Indian tech supporters, it makes you more than a little jaded on the concept of committed relationships.”
Ooh, his wife is gettin down with some hot n heavy rabbit slaughterin action!
Okay, so NOW you loving tell us she’s a paranormal PI! That should have been clear from the first. The mood shift is no good in a short story like this.
Blah blah, blah blah, blah blah blah. This is getting boring, mostly because your prose is so drat flaccid. I dunno man, it’s bad when I can’t even tell you what exactly you’re doing wrong here. I just know that it was hard to finish this story.

The “moral” at the end is pretty trite, and the writing in general is weak. You’re not as bad as you used to be, but you still have a long way to go, Kemosabe. This isn’t a loser, but it’s not even close to being a winner.

Score: No-name supermarket “salami”

Grizzled patriarch - The Woman with Rattlesnake Eyes
Prompt: The Queen with A Hundred Lovers


I really like the opening line. It gets the folktale tone down just right, and also draws me in..
Description of the woodcarving is great. I can really see it and feel it.
If I hadn’t read the folktale yet I’d be like, ‘the gently caress is going on with these statues and the prisoner’ which is good.
Physical descriptions of the statues also works really well. In general, your descriptive paragraphs are loving spot-on.
“coaxed their ghosts” Good, tells us these guys are dying after she finishes the statue, without saying it outright.
The ending is sledgehammer, man. Good loving poo poo.

This is really great. I almost picked this FTW along with Her Fankness, but Entenzahn edged you out. Great job though. Beautiful descriptions, great retelling of the original, and a really nice atmosphere altogether. Your short word count is also fantastic, proving you don't need many words to tell a great story. ECONOMY OF PROSE RIGHT HERE, MOTHERFUCKERS!

Score: Nduja

Ok, from here on out I'm gonna just give everyone a couple sentences on their stories. While I think losers should always get a solid crit that gets into some detail on why they lost, the middle of the pack doesn't necessarily need it. I guess if you're a judge without a job/family/social life it's cool to do a full write-up on 30 loving stories, but those of us who contribute to society just don't have the time. So :dealwithit:

newtestleper - Mare Erythaeum
Prompt: The Beginning


This is a cool sci-fi story and it makes me think of that Mars One thing. Does a good job of getting across the utter alien feeling I imagine you'd have while living on another planet. The ending is a bit abrupt, and I think you could make this awesome with some more words.

Score: Locally-sourced homemade coppa

Entenzahn - It's in the Shadows
Prompt: Mandra-Mankana


Dude, you loving nailed both the prompt and my insane horrible retard punishment flash rule. I really didn't imagine you could make Hasidic Jewish lizards both serious and somehow poignant. I felt real emotion from this piece, and it was also creepy as hell. A well-deserved win.

Score: Prosciutto di Parma


Ironic Twist - The Hatchet
Prompt: An Exile's Revenge


This works as a folktale and a nice revenge story. The talking palm tree is cool, because it could be real or a hallucination, but either way it works. I like your clever use of the old "bury the hatchet" chestnut. This is overall a pretty good story, just not quite dynamic enough to be the winner.

Score: Soppressata from Visentini Bros Imports in Lodi, NJ


Fumblemouse - The Way of the World

I love dogs, gently caress off.

Meeple - Kantjil and Harimou


You nail the folktale feel, and I like how this thing starts out, but ultimately it's too long. Follow the rule of three or something, because this is like the rule of twenty-three. You can only have these two dudes magic at each other back and forth so many times before I fall asleep. The motivation is also way too thin. You don't need to write a whole big backstory, but a little more than we got would be nice. Not terrible, but not great.

Score: Honeycoat Ham

SurreptitiousMuffin - Mamacita

Holy poo poo dude. You could have won this week. I read your story out of sequence because I obvs have a giant boner over your writing and your beautiful manface, and you disappointed me big time. The story itself is great, the description awesome, the grossness wonderful. But the loving editing! Did you phone-post this? If so it shows, random word substitutions and all. Don't give me that piss-loving-poor excuse about time zones, brosephus. This is the Internet, where you just enter that poo poo into Google and it translates it into whatever stupid time zone you use down on the bottom of the world.

drat brother. You coulda won.

Score: Italian sausage that gets dropped on the floor and the dog eats it.


More to come.

Martello fucked around with this message at 16:19 on Sep 26, 2014

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW
Quidnose - Costa Mesa

First of all, p fuckin badass that you just jumped in and asked for a 30-minute prompt from the bloodthirsty crowd. Very true to the spirit of the old dome.

This is a pretty trippy story and I like it. It's not very folktale, more horror story, but it works on that level pretty well. It kind of goes bad at the end but clearly you were rushing those last sixty seconds and I forgive you for it. I've wanted to do timed stories ever since I founded Thunderdome, but always figured it was a logistical nightmare. Fanky is coming up with ideas for it, so it might happen in the near future.

Score: Maple-Chicken-Apple breakfast sausage

PootieTang - Baby Shoes, Worn Once

This thing starts pretty boring. It's slow and ponderous, just like Casey's steps. Pro tip - short fiction should not be slow or ponderous. Also, people don't "regard" other people as they pass by. They "look" at them. Overall, I don't know what you're trying to do with this story. I can't see any of your characters, and you jump back and forth with which one cares about Henry's stuff. You call Henry's decked-out room "his hell" but then he's mad when Alice gets rid of all the stuff. Wasn't it his hell? idgi

Gerry jumps out of nowhere, with no context, like a cancerous Donny. He's supposed to be Casey's good friend maybe? It's hard to tell. Why does he wish the cancer took him? So he doesn't have to see him suffer anymore? This story reads like a drunken depressed rambling, which is not good even though that's kind of what's going on with the main character. And do he and Gerry get together as lovers afterward? I also don't see enough tension between Casey and Alice for him to just up and leave her, wedding ring through the slot and all that.

This thing fell flat, big time.

Score: lovely army cafeteria sausage patties

The Sean - What Is Deserved

Man, I dunno. This started out okay but it just goes down a dark and unpleasant road, and not in a good way at all. It's very overblown in general, especially with the stupid loving gun in the door trap. I don't think one person has actually done that in real life, only in the Three Stooges or whatever. I mean, you do a good job tying it in with the Rude Goldberg poo poo, but then it falls apart because it's really dumb and you also do a terrible job of explaining how exactly she's rigging this rifle up. You can't just handwave the central plot device, sorry.

And what the gently caress's the moral? It's okay to let your "rebel" teenage daughters get beaten by their awful boyfriend? Especially when both of them are with the same dude, and one of the girls disappears. For a loving week, and apparently she doesn't call the cops or do anything a normal parent would do. So she's "punished" when her other stupid daughter goes to this idiot's door and gets shot instead. Spencer gets away with it. What the gently caress? What are we supposed to get out of this?

Everything's compounded by horribly confusing time skips. Just tell the story straight, especially in a short you can't afford to skip back and forth every few seconds. I pretty much have no clear idea of what happens when. Man, this story is terrible.

Score: Jimmy Deans "Italian" sausage


Losers will have to wait for the weekend.

Quidthulhu
Dec 17, 2003

Stand down, men! It's only smooching!

Martello posted:

I've wanted to do timed stories ever since I founded Thunderdome, but always figured it was a logistical nightmare. Fanky is coming up with ideas for it, so it might happen in the near future.

I was trying to get some Friday Night Flash Fiction started in the IRC channel where whoever was around would give a prompt to each other round robin, and then we would write for a set time and share our stories with each other. It was fun. We should all do it again.

Maybe I'll make a Friday Night Flash thread sometime.

JERK EDIT: Thanks for critting my story! :)

Quidthulhu fucked around with this message at 03:02 on Sep 26, 2014

Benny the Snake
Apr 11, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES

Quidnose posted:

I was trying to get some Friday Night Flash Fiction started in the IRC channel where whoever was around would give a prompt to each other round robin, and then we would write for a set time and share our stories with each other. It was fun. We should all do it again.

Maybe I'll make a Friday Night Flash thread sometime.

JERK EDIT: Thanks for critting my story! :)
We have an IRC channel?

Benny the Snake
Apr 11, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES
:siren:Benny vs Benny Brawl:siren: AKA the "Stop Hitting Yourself" match

Listen to the Mocking-Bird Sing
(inspired by "The Monkey's Fiddle)
999 words

Standing at the crossroads, I dig an inverted pentagram around me with a knife. I pour kerosene into the earth so it flows through the lines of the shape, cut into my palm with the knife, and bleed into the center of the star.

"Mammon, prince of Hell! Lord of Avarice!" I say in a loud, clear voice as I stand in the center and ignite the pentagram. "I summon thee!" I shout while the star explodes around me.

"What do you want, boy?" I hear a cold voice ask behind me.

"gently caress!" I cry out and jump. Behind me stands a man dressed sharp in an expensive-looking suit. "Mammon?"

"At your service," he says at me mockingly. "Now make it quick," he tells me while pulling out a gold cigarette case out of his jacket. "Time is money, after all."

"I'm here to talk business." I tell him.

He laughs as he draws a cigar out the case. "What the hell's so funny?" I ask.

He lights the cigar with a matching gold lighter. "No matter how many souls I've taken, I'm still amazed to this day how easy your kind is willing to part with your immortal soul," he says and flicks his lighter closed.

"You want my soul or not?" I ask angrily.

"Of course, boy. What do you need?"

"I want to be a rich and famous fiddle-player," I tell him.

"Of course you do," he says and blows smoke in my face. "I have just the thing," he says.

The earth opens next to me and a case appears. I unbuckle it and I find the most handsome-looking fiddle I've ever seen. "Play this fiddle, and anybody who hears it will dance. Excluding yourself, of course," he says. "Is this acceptable?"

"Yes," I say, trying to keep calm. He draws a piece of paper from his jacket and hands it to me. "Just sign on the dotted line," he says and hands me a pen. I sign my name and hand it back to him. "See you soon, kid," Mammon laughs.

The next few years are a whirlwind of performances and dances. I gain all kinds of fame and fortune at honky-tonks and concert halls all over the place. But of course, Mammon's itching to collect. I'm sitting in a bar, relaxing after another successful show. 'Course, everybody in the bar is exhausted as well. I'm knocking back a brew when somebody sits next to me.

"I know who you are, boy," he says.

I take a good look at him. He's dressed in old, patchwork clothes and he reeks of alcohol. "Get outta here, old man," I say and get back to drinking my beer.

"You've sold your soul to the devil!" he shouts in a clear, loud voice. I turn my head slowly and stare at him, his white, unruly hair framing his face like a mane. "You've sacrificed your soul on the altar of greed for that fiddle, boy!" he says and points at my case.

"Sam, would you get this guy out here?" I ask the barkeep. He nods as the bouncer grabs him.

"Idolater!" The bum screams. I turn around and I see the bum holding a gun in his hand. "Your soul is required! In hell!"

I feel a searing pain in my chest and I look down to see the blood flowing through my shirt. I fall down on the ground and everything goes blank.

"Going somewhere?" I hear a familiar cold voice ask. I wake up and see Mammon wearing the same.

"Yeah, about that," I say. "I like my soul too much.

"Boy, do you realize who you're loving with?"

"I want a fair trial," I tell him.

"As you wish," he says. A courtroom appears, complete with a trial of twelve, damned men and a judge who looks, well, demonic. What, with the horns and the goatee and the beard.

"This court of the dammed is now in session," the judge says and bangs his gavel. "The honorable Judge Lucifer, residing."

Mammon walks towards the jury and holds out the contract. "I have in my hand a contract, signed by the accused, where he agrees to trade his immortal soul for a magic fiddle. All I ask is for my compensation."

The jury murmurs as Lucifer bangs his gavel. "Does the accused wish to defend himself?"

I grin and grab my fiddle. "If it pleases the court..."

After tuning and plucking, I start playing. Lucifer and Mammon don't dance, of course. The jury, however, does. They get out from their box and dance, clapping and high-stepping along with my music.

"Listentothe mock-in' biiirrd...listentothe mock-in' biiiird..." I sing as loud as I can. "Oh-well-lis-ten-to-the-mock-in'-biiiird siiiing..."

"Stop playing!" Mammon shouts as Lucifer bangs his gavel. "I assume the accused has a point?" he asks.

"Your honor," I say and keep playing, "If this fiddle can compel even the damned to dance, then my humble soul is by no means adequate compensation! The contract is therefore null and void!" I stop playing and take a bow.

Lucifer bangs his gavel. "Has the jury reached its verdict?"

The damned take only a moment and the foreman stands. "We find in favor of the accused!"

"But your honor-" Mammon protests

"SILENCE!" Lucifer shouts so loud that my ears hurt--even Mammon staggers. "This court is adjourned!"

Mammon slinks away, giving me the evil eye while Lucifer steps down. "Son, I have to say," he tells me and extends his hand, "I'm the Lord of all weasels, and it's been too long since I've seen someone out-weasel one of the best!"

I shake his hand and wince as his fingers literally burn into my skin. "I have a feeling I'll be seeing you very soon. In the meanwhile, get the hell out while I'm feeling generous."

I nod, grab my fiddle, and make my way out. "You wanna tell me your name, son?" He asks.

I turn around and grin. "Johnny."

Armack
Jan 27, 2006
Tinkered with this one for the past few days. I won't have much of a chance to submit later this weekend, so here it goes:

Axis I (1,112 words)
PROMPT: Vaccinophobia - Fear of Vaccination

Lindsey slumped onto her office couch, the day’s schedule in hand. Yawning, she thought, “Another Wednesday, another exciting afternoon spent with OCD Sally, Bi-Polar Darren, and fat Esther with the binge-eating disorder.” She tapped her foot, wishing she were somewhere else, wishing she no longer had to listen to her asinine clients, who knew nothing of real pain.

Lindsey decided to look on the bright side. Her schedule listed just one more client that afternoon, a first-timer named Christina Brinn. Rising, Lindsey looked to an empty shelf on her narrow office bookcase and murmured “Well, as long it isn’t the author, Christina Brinn, I’m sure this session will go just fine.”

Bzzt. “Doctor Stone?” The receptionist’s voice droned over the intercom. “Your four o’clock is ready to see you.” “Send her in,” replied Lindsey.

As the petite woman entered the office, a flicker of recognition swept across Lindsey’s face. Christina’s blond curls, wide doe-like eyes, slender nose, they matched the picture in the insert of a book Lindsey once owned.

“Doctor Stone? I’m so pleased to meet you!” Christina grasped Lindsey’s hand and shook hard. Grinning, she pivoted and walked the distance of the office, turning her head every which way. “Hey, it’s cozy in here” Christina gushed. “Cute desk, nice bookshelf, gorgeous fireplace—Oh my God. Is this a Turkish rug?”

“I’m glad you like it,” Lindsey replied.

Christina walked to the desk and picked up a picture framed in mahogany. She turned to Lindsey and pointed to the three smiling persons featured therein “You have a beautiful family. Have you been married long? What’s your son’s name? Was this taken recently?” she queried in rapid fire.

Lindsey answered, “No. Not so recently.” She beckoned Christina to the couch and waited for her to sit. “So Christina, what brings you to therapy today?”

Christina’s smile faded. She looked down at her feet and murmured. “Well Doctor Stone, I’m depressed. I’ve been under a lot of work-related stress lately. I’m not sure if you’re aware of my work, but I’m a bestselling author. A controversial one.”

“Mm-hm.”

“You see, doctor, the crux of the problem is that I’m a public figure. I’m considered a leader in the anti-vaccination movement. Now, I guess being challenged is something that all leaders face, but if you knew what kind of harassment I have to deal with, you’d see why I’ve been so depressed.”

“Harassment?”

“Yes, doctor. I’ve been screamed at in public, spit on, called baby killer, I get death threats in the mail, my children are taunted at school. It’s horrible!” Christina began to sob.

“Yes, that is horrible” said Lindsey coolly, “That ought to make anyone depressed.”

“What bothers me the most is the unfairness of it all! I never sought to be a leader. I’m a busi-ness-wo-man” she howled, stretching each syllable. “Truth be told, I don’t care so much about anti-vaccination per se, but writing is a competitive business. I have to make a living somehow, and when you get right down to it, I’m just like any other businessperson. I identified a market and I catered to it.”

Lindsey’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Ugh,” grunted Christina. “Look. We live in an era of organic foods, anti-GMOs, home birth in a pool of water and ‘hey let’s all eat the placenta while we’re at it.’ New-age suburban moms across this country pay big bucks for anything labeled ‘all natural.’ So, it occurred to me—there’s nothing natural about vaccination. There are countless readers out there seeking to buy literature geared toward telling them what they already want to hear: Vaccination isn’t natural. It’ll poison your kids, give them Autism. Who needs a vaccine when your children have a natural immuno-defense against disease? The market for this kind of literature existed before I ever wrote a word. All I did was tap into it first. That doesn’t mean I deserve to get harassed.”

Lindsey’s brow lowered. Her lips grew tight. “So, what I’m hearing from you is that financial success is very important to you, but you’re ambivalent about the anti-vaccination movement.”

“I guess you could say ambivalent about it, yeah. I got my own kids vaccinated, if that tells you anything, and this was after my first book came out. I figured, hey, nobody needs to know. The doctor can’t out me. He’s bound by HIPPA, and now so are you.” Christina winked.

“I think I’m beginning to understand how our course of treatment should go,” said Lindsey, her face relaxing. “Let’s focus back on the harassment.”

“Oh, it’s just awful” cried Christina. “There’s an uptick in measles, mumps, smallpox and people act like I’m responsible for that. Some people hate me for it. I keep telling them it’s an individual decision for each family to make. It’s not like I’m forcing anyone not to vaccinate. It’s every parent’s job to do their own research. Writing anti-vac books is how I make my living and nothing about that is going to change. I just want to learn how to deal with it when people scream at me, blame me for all those deaths.” Christina’s eyes began to well up once again.

Lindsey grabbed a tissue and rose from her seat. She walked to the couch and sat beside Christina. “For the tears,” she said, offering her the tissue. But when Christina reached for it, Lindsey loosened her grip, letting the tissue fall to the floor. Without a moment's hesitation, her hands darted to Christina’s neck, squeezing.

Expressionless, Lindsey gazed at Christina’s face, now wide-eyed in terror. “Devin,” she said. “Earlier you asked me my son’s name. His name is Devin.” Lindsey tightened her grip. “I guess you could say I’m one of those New-age suburban moms you talked about.”

Christina’s face, now flushed red, let out a pathetic gurgle. Lindsey continued, “When I read your first book I felt terrified—terrified—about vaccinating Devin. The medical establishment was saying one thing, but the way you detailed vaccination risk chilled me to my core. Devin paid the price for my fears, and for your ‘business.’ He was five years old.”

Lindsey kept her hands around Christina’s neck, until the author turned purple and began to bloat. With a sigh, she walked to her desk and raised the family photo to her face. Lindsey imagined growing old behind bars, freedom but a distant memory. She couldn’t know how much just one author’s death would hurt the anti-vaccination movement. But she felt secure in the knowledge that if her action could weaken the anti-vac crowd in any appreciable way, then maybe fewer children would have to suffer like Devin.

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW

Broenheim posted:

Word Count: 1000 - Based on Story of Mr. Fox

Smoking Gun

Just to be clear, if I were the only judge you'd lose, hands down. JuniperCake submitted late and I wouldn't have even bothered reading it if the two other judges didn't want to make you both lose, which is also cool with me. Let's talk about what makes this story so terrible.

quote:

The man’s body twisted and a pistol, polished to a mirror sheen, was aimed at Mark’s head. Mark stared past the silencer but could barely make up the man’s face through the darkness. What the gently caress is up with all the passive voice here? Have you ever read even like one or two tips for writers or writing "rules?" "The man twisted and aimed his pistol at Mark's head." That works a fuckton better and uses fewer words. Also, what even semi-intelligent person would used a "mirror sheen" pistol for an alley slaying? That just makes no drat sense, especially since we later find out these dudes are cops. Or something. It's hard to tell because you do such a bad loving job of telling it.

“Don’t take another step, or I’ll blow your head off,” The man said, just loud enough for Mark to hear him.

“Help!” A yelp help a yelp, rhymes are lol came from the girl collapsed against the wall. The man turned back to the girl and sent the pistol slamming down. What the gently caress is this? Did he tell the pistol, "slam down," and it did his bidding? Do you have some sort of disease where your limbs feel disconnected to your body? Because that's the impression I get from this story. How about "The man turned back to her and smashed the grip of the pistol into her skull." The crack of crushed bones echoed in the alley. Is her head crushed or where did he hit her? You have to pistol-whip someone pretty fuckin hard if you want to not just fracture, but crush their bones.

The man spun his head towards Mark. “Just walk away, and you won’t get hurt.”

Mark stepped back a few paces, but stopped. His body tensed up, but the man turned the pistol back to Mark. This is just a really loving boring way of describing it. Mark did this, but (weird use of but) stopped. His body did this (again, the body parts acting of their own accord), but then the man did something else. Put some dynamism in this poo poo, man. "Mark backed off a few paces, then stopped. He tensed all his muscles for a lunge, but the other guy swung his pistol around and aimed it back at Mark's face."

“Don’t do anything too bold.” Lol this is terrible loving dialogue. He can do something bold, sure, but not ~~*TOO*~~ bold! That might get the pistol sent swinging towards Mark and then a bullet caused to go down the barrel and through the air and towards his head then into Mark's head and through all his brain parts and then the bullet will come out the back and, most of its energy expended, ricochet off a wall or something.

With a deep breath, Mark turned around. He heard a muffled scream, but he forced his legs to keep moving. Good thing he forced those legs, because as we now know, this story is set in a folktale universe where body parts just do whatever they want unless you force them. Once he turned the corner, he pulled out his phone. Right before he dialed 911, he heard a soft pop and the clank of metal falling onto concrete. Is that supposed to be the casing hitting the sidewalk or something? Could you think of a more flaccid way of describing that? Probably. Mark looked back and saw the man turn the corner and bolt down the street. Mark ran back to the alley.

Mark How many times are you gonn say "Mark?" in this story? Don't worry, I already checked: 44 times. That's way too many times for a 1000 word story. found the girl slouched on the side of a building. Was she slouching literally on the side of the building? Is she Spider-Woman? A small hole in her head poured out a steady stream of blood. Holy gently caress man, your sentence structure is so relentleslly terrible. "Blood streamed from a hole in her head." He placed his finger to the side of her neck. No pulse. NO loving poo poo SHE HAS A GODDAMN HOLE IN HER loving HEAD! He called 911, then dragged her off the wall. Yup, clearly she was literally stuck to the wall, slouching, like Spider-Woman. Cool, this is now a lovely superhero story. He pushed his hands deep into her chest. INTO her chest? He must be Wolverine, punching his adamantium claws into her chest! Well, obviously she's gonna be SUPER DEAD now! God, Mark is possibly dumber than you, the author! He felt the ribs shatter underneath his hands, but he pressed as hard as he could. Have you ever tried to "shatter" someone's ribs with your hands? Obviously not. It's a lot loving harder than that. Also, why the gently caress would you do CPR on someone with a loving HOLE IN HER HEAD! I'm becoming enraged irl by how loving stupid your story is.

With each push, Mark’s grew tired,Mark's what? MARK'S FUCKIN WHAT? but he couldn’t stop. Of course he couldn't stop! In this story, body parts act on their own. He heard some voices sound behind him, Some voices sound? I hope to gently caress that you're an ESL speaker. but he continued to thrust his hands into her ribs. Great, more penetration of her ribcage with his deadly hands of kung-fu. The paramedics pushed Mark out of the way, and the ambulance whined as it flew down the street and out of Mark’s sight. Mark was still kneeling on the ground, his hands shaking as the image of the girl was burned into his mind.

#

Mark pulled open the glass doors, and stepped into the backyard.

He found Josh sitting with Chris. Mark pulled up a chair and sat at the table with them. Good thing you told me he "sat at the table with him." Otherwise I would have figured that he pulled up a chair and sat not at the table and not with them. Thank you for explaining everything.

Chris smiled at Mark, “Glad you showed up. Josh said he invited you, but I wasn’t sure you’d come. Where you been the past week?” Wow this dialogue is boring and these people talk like cardboard.

“Just some personal problems.” Mark said. "Some personal problems, like my hands are made of steel and they move on their own. So does my penis, it makes things really awkward when it rapes other men in the police station locker room sometimes.

“Everything alright?”

Mark nodded.

“Good to hear.” Chris said. He didn't hear poo poo, since Mark nodded.

“Yeah, I was worried about you for a while.” Josh said, leaning back in his chair and taking a swig of his beer. “Want one?”

“No thanks.”

Josh shrugged, “More for me.”

“It’s been a crazy week. Hardly had any time off. Nice to be able to relax.” Chris said. Boring boring BORING

“You guys assigned to that girl that was killed last week?” Mark asked.

“Nah, I’m not in homicide.” Chris said. WOULDN'T MARK HAVE loving KNOWN THAT? THESE GUYS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE FRIENDS AS WELL AS COWORKERS HOLY gently caress I HATE YOU SO MUCH

“You Josh?” Mark asked. Is he asking if he is Josh? Or did you mean, "You, Josh?

Josh shook his head.

“I was actually there.” Mark said.

“What!” Josh shouted. He looked around the backyard, and then turned back to Mark. “Sorry. That was loud. What’d you see?”

“I’ll tell you guys later,” Mark said as he rubbed his stomach, “I don’t think the food sat well with me.”

“You can’t just leave us hanging like this! You gotta tell us.” Chris said as Mark got up from his seat.

“I will, don’t worry.” Mark said. “Nature calls.” These guys talk like pansies for a bunch of cops.

Mark stepped back into the house and walked down the hallway. He stopped in front of Josh’s bedroom door. He took a quick glance behind him, then opened the door. It creaked, and Mark took another look behind him. No one.

Mark rummaged through the room, looking underneath the bed, behind clothes, and sifting through drawers. He went to the nightstand and pulled out the top drawer. There lay a silver pistol, polished to a mirror shine. Next to it was a silencer. He stuck the silencer in his pocket. Is that a silencer in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? lol

also, a cop would probably know to call it a supressor, because he wouldn't be as loving clueless and useless as you are when it comes to firearms.


Mark sat back down with Chris and Josh. Mark did something, and the readers shot themselves in the head out of boredom.

“So, tell us what happened.” Josh said as he leaned forward. Yes, please tell us ACTUALLY NO, loving DON'T, END THE STORY RIGHT NOW SO I DON'T CUT MY GODDAMN WRISTS

Mark took a deep breath, and began. “It was late and I was walking back home. I heard this grunt, and a muffled shout coming from an alley. I turn around, and I see this guy standing over this girl. I took a few steps towards him, but he must’ve heard me. He turned around and pointed this pistol right at me. Even had a silencer.”

“No way,” Josh said, his eyes focused on Mark.

Mark nodded. “He said he’d kill me if I got any closer to him.” So it was Josh, obviously, but somehow Mark didn't recognize his face in shadow from a short distance, or how about his loving voice? God this is terrible.

“That’s loving crazy. What’d you do?” Josh asked as he put his hand over his mouth. Did he have his hand over his mouth while he was talking?

“I,” Mark paused, “just walked away. I tried to call 911, but then I heard this pop, and I knew what happened.”

“Holy poo poo. That’s what happened?” Chris said. "Holy poo poo. Let me repeat the last thing that you said, because everyone knows that makes for INTERESTING loving DIALOGUE!"

Mark nodded.

“Oh my god, that’s insane.” Josh said. “Just give me a second, I’m gonna get another beer.” Josh began to pull himself off the chair.

“Hang on a second,” Mark said, “It’s not over yet.”

“Yeah?” Josh fall back into his chair.

“That pistol, it reminded me of something.” Mark reached into his pocket, and gripped the silencer. “It reminded me a lot of you.”

Mark slid the silencer across the table and it landed on Josh’s lap. Chris stared at Mark. IS THAT A SILENCER IN YOUR LAP OR ARE YOU JUST THE WORST WRITER EVER TO ENTER THUNDERDOME

“I know it was you,” Mark said as Josh looked down at the black cylinder.

Chris looked at Mark, and Mark nodded. Josh tried to jump out of his chair, but Chris lunged towards him and grabbed the back of his head. He slammed Josh into the table, breaking the plastic legs and throwing Josh into the grass.

“God damnit Josh, what the gently caress is wrong with you!” Chris shouted as he pushed Josh further into the dirt. Josh breathed frantically.

“Call 911 Mark,” Chris said, “Tell them that I got some piece of poo poo that needs transport.”

Mark pulled out his phone.

“The pistol is in his nightstand. Top drawer.” WHY DIDN'T HE GRAB THE PISTOL SO THEY WOULDN'T HAVE TO FIGHT THESE ARE THE STUPIDEST AND WORST-WRITTEN MOTHERFUCKING POLICEMEN EVER

Holy poo poo, reading this again and writing the crits made me actually angry. Like, I want to punch someone right now. I really have nothing more to say. Holy gently caress.

Score: gently caress you

Ironic Twist
Aug 3, 2008

I'm bokeh, you're bokeh
Critting a story for T-Rex.

Tyrannosaurus posted:

Pau
831 words

In the shadows of Mauna Loa, towering complexes had festered and grown wild. Dilapidated megatowers stretched across hills and valleys ending only where the ocean’s waters made construction impossible. Corrupt officials and illegal construction had slowly turned the whole island into a labyrinth of steel decay. The opening provides a nice image, but I feel like the last sentence could be expanded upon a little bit more.

Dr. Morris fidgeted nervously is the adverb necessary? with his glasses. Corporate had determined that proper security was an “unnecessary use of company resources” and so his safety had been outsourced to a group of local gangbangers. this could use more explanation, how big is this corporation that they can't spend money on one or two professionals?

“If my calculations are correct,” he had argued, “The information I retrieve will lead to an unparalleled windwall windfall. of... I mean, we’re talking huge profits here. I should have at least a level two escort team.”

If,” his boss had replied.

Well, his calculations had been correct. Now all that separated Dr. Morris from a promotion was a windowless van ride back to the heliodrome field. This almost feels like too much foreshadowing, like it's now a foregone conclusion that something's going to go wrong He checked the time. Still four more hours of riding. Minimum. this says it better He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. One of his bodyguards, a fat Samoan with a neck tat of a naked women, offered him a joint.

“Ho, you want one smoke for chillax, bra?”

Morris shook his head.

“For real, bra,” the Samoan laughed, “Chu stey calm. Dis our da kine, yeah? Our island.”

***

The van lay on its side surrounded by shattered glass and bullet shells and blood. Two of Kang’s boys ripped open the back doors and opened fire but all the men inside were already dead. The two men gave Kang a thumbs up. He flashed back a smile that was more metal than teeth. I get that the length of the story ties your hands a bit, but it would have been nice to see the last scene ending bloodily, just so we have a proper resolution to the character we started the story with. Here, it's just "Oh, he's dead now. That's nice."

“Dis our turf,” he said.

Kang slung his rifle over his shoulder and strolled over to the van. He peered inside but didn’t immediately recognize any of the dead men. Would he?

“Dey Eastside Koa?” he asked.

“Naw, boss. Jade Ghost Boyz.”

“Ho, poo poo,” Kang said, “Wrong side of da island. gently caress dey doing way ova here?” I like the dialogue, it sounds natural.

“I dunno, boss. But dey got one haole wit dem. Lolo, yeah?”

“Huh. Yeah.”

Kang stepped into the van and bent over Morris’s body. He took off the man’s glasses and tried to look at the files on them. Google glass, I guess? Could use more description But they were encrypted. Which meant they were important to Morris. Why mention his name when he doesn't know who Morris is? Just say "the haole."Which meant they might be valuable to Kang.

“Huh,” he repeated.

***

It took Kang’s hacker three days to crack into the glasses. Which was an inordinate amount of time as far as cracking went.

“Dis security poo poo was top notch,” Pak explained, “High end corporate da kine, boss, for real.” This dialogue shows us what the sentence above tells us.

“And? What’s it worth?”

“Eh… Maybe...”

Pak twirled his fingers and brought up the video feed on his main screen. They're gangbangers...with a Mission Control?

“So, it still sound messy, boss. Still skips a little. Small kine distortion, yeah? But, uh, you’ll still get da idea.”

Pak twirled his fingers again and the dead Dr. Morris’s voice came out of the speakers.

“The Mauna Loa volcano remains active over... ocean hotspot… with proper application of … energy or… we could initiate a Plinian eruption. If successful, estimated casualties exceed ninety-six percent of total island population. One hundred percent of island population is not unlikely…”

“Holy poo poo,” Kang said.

Pak nodded, twirled his fingers, and jumped to another part of the file.

“The megatowers would need to be demolished… with the current population removed, tropical resort renovations could begin within hours after the eruption… thought a natural disaster… zero corporate liability… Profits estimated at... Immense profits...”

“My God,” Kang said, “Dis poo poo could make us rich.” more telling

Pak swallowed.

***

Kang liked the roof. He liked to sit up there at night and smoke and stare out at the city. Smog had robbed his island of stars in the night sky nice sneaky detail but from seventy stories up he could stare out at Mauna Loa and pretend the lights from the buildings were something more special. He dangled his feet over the edge, finished his joint, and flicked it. Watched it fall out of sight.

He took Morris’s glasses out of his pocket. He’d been lucky finding them. Why he shouldn’t he sell them? To whom? Surely, he’d get enough money to move away. To save himself. Maybe some of his boys, too. If he didn’t, another person would just be sent to look at the volcano. Another person would discover what Morris had discovered. And Kang would be stuck on the island with nothing. This is nice but it's a lot of telling narration.

Still, he held the glasses out over the edge.

Its It's my island,” he murmured and let them slowly slip between his fingers.

Kang caught them at the last second. I feel like you could combine these two scenes, or expand them more if you want to make the story longer.

***

“I agree to your price,” Kang said with a smile, “Thank you.”

The businessman nodded and the screen went black. Kang looked over at Pak and cocked an eyebrow.

“Ho, you sure dis’ll work, yeah?”

Pak nodded. He twirled his fingers.

I have found nothing…” Dr. Morris’s voice began. Kang sat back and closed his eyes. Maybe they wouldn’t believe the edited voice track but it was the best he could do with what he had. You could imply this rather than just telling us outright, or just end with him sitting back and closing his eyes.

The premise of this story is interesting and the characters are real and believable. Kang is the central character of this story, but as the reader, we don't know that until well after Dr. Morris dies in a hail of bullets. You could have ditched the entire first section with Doctor Morris and spent the extra words on fleshing out the later scenes, as well as the setting, which seems like it could have been an interesting part of the story, were it allowed more than a couple of sentences in the beginning. A more personal scene with Kang, maybe even a flashback, could also emphasize his connection to the island he's contemplating destroying.

There are some moments in the story, like the sentence at the end, where you slap the reader in the face with what's happening, rather than letting them figure it out on their own. Use the dialogue as the strength it is and convey more information with it.

I think you fit a lot into 800 words and change, but some of it came off as rushed. Use your next draft of this to add more depth to the more important parts of the story, like the setting, Kang's relationship to the island, Kang's moral dilemma, etc. Good story, nonetheless.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.




Martello posted:

Holy poo poo, reading this again and writing the crits made me actually angry. Like, I want to punch someone right now. I really have nothing more to say. Holy gently caress.

Score: gently caress you

On the other hand, this made me so loving happy.

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW

Mercedes posted:

On the other hand, this made me so loving happy.

:)

flerp
Feb 25, 2014

Yeah, thank you very much martello. This was a huge help and something I definitely needed.

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW
That's what this is here for!

Quidthulhu
Dec 17, 2003

Stand down, men! It's only smooching!

I have a busy weekend so here is my early entry.

---

Untitled
990 words


Franklin sipped his coffee and smoked his cigarette. The coffee was not hot, and the cigarette was not his brand. He was sitting on the balcony with his feet up on the railing, staring at his uncut toenails. His mind was clouded, lost in the last seventy-three days of a twenty-year marriage. Charlotte was sitting in a lounge-chaise with her eyes closed, staring at nothing. Franklin watched her without turning his head. Her finger traced the arm of the lounger in small circles that lifted before each revolution was complete. Circle, up, tap, circle, up, tap, circle, up, tap. It made a C for Charlotte.

Franklin opened his mouth, intending to speak, but found it full of his coffee cup. This had been a problem for the past seventy-three days. When he tried to talk about it, his tongue was otherwise occupied. It was coffee or cigarettes or fingertips but it was never the words that kept surging up like a shot from the hole in his stomach. He would choke them down with his pills in the morning and keep them hidden in a drawer all day, terrified of how they would look in the warmth of the afternoon light. Autumn and truth in California were colder than he wanted to admit.

“We should eat,” Charlotte said. Franklin found another cigarette in his mouth and the words got stuck around it, so he said something else, a mumble that sounded like “Food is good.” The back of his throat was acrid, and it wasn’t the smoke. Charlotte stood in response and absconded with her teacup into the house. The curve of her body remained in the cushion of the chaise. Franklin stared into the impression, trying to find where twenty years had gone.

He had been trying to find them a lot lately. He tried to find them in the mirror, or in the fridge, or even sometimes in a bar when he was supposed to be at golf, or church, or bed. No matter where he went or what he did, they weren’t anywhere to be found. All he could see was cigarette butts and coffee grounds and too many empty glasses from too many nightcaps, and all of a sudden they were both forty-five. Their cooking was low in sodium, and her eyes had wrinkles when she smiled, and his hair was salt and pepper, but the boxes wanted him to have more grey before they would agree that he met their target demographic. He wanted to be ok with that. He wanted to be ok with a lot of things.

He wanted it to be over. That was it, truly: Franklin wanted to be done. It had taken him twenty years to build his life and seventy-three days to dig a hole in his stomach. He didn’t want this new hole. He had tried to fill it from bottom to top, had tried to cover it up with empty calories and bourbon soaked everything, but the maw yawned within him. He was chain smoking again for the first time in twenty-two hours, and he was terrified of his transparency. Charlotte had to know the stomach wasn’t in the lungs.

He had to get out, he knew he had to get out, but he couldn’t do it. He was constantly trying to convince himself. He had made upwards of twenty or thirty secret lists. Miles and miles of pro versus con, with “I love her” at the top of each column. He would burn down Marlboros and pencil nubs late into the night, late into every night, long after she had rubbed his shoulders in the living room and gone to the bedroom without him. He knew that his silence was cruel, very cruel, that it made him the cruelest, but he couldn’t do it. He was smiling and laughing and smoking and lying, but he couldn’t do it. He knew it would be better for them both if he just told her.

But he couldn’t do it.

He was too much kind, and not enough selfish. Or maybe, it was the other way around; maybe the whole ordeal wasn’t the self-torturous and tragic event he was convinced it had to be, that he had been searching for a way, any way, any goddamned way to circumvent. Maybe the real problem was it was too much him and not enough her; maybe it had always been too much him and not enough her. Maybe she would welcome the announcement, would thank him for his hasty retreat. Maybe she would be better off without him. If he had asked her what he should do, he knew what her answer would be: that it would be his to tell and hers to hear.

But he couldn’t do it.

Charlotte returned with a cup of coffee and no food. She handed the coffee to him and sat down. He put the cup down next to his ashtray and lit another cigarette. He had a hole in his stomach, and a hole in his heart. Maybe it was too much him, and not enough her. She had to know the heart wasn’t in the lungs.

Franklin sipped his coffee and smoked his cigarette. The coffee was not hot, and the cigarette was not his brand. He was sitting on the balcony with his feet up on the railing, staring at his uncut toenails. His mind was clouded, lost in the first seventy-three days of a six-month prognosis. Charlotte was sitting in a lounge-chaise with her eyes closed, staring at nothing. Franklin watched her without turning his head. Her finger traced the arm of the lounger in small circles that lifted before each revolution was complete. Circle, up, tap, circle, up, tap, circle, up, tap. It made a C for Cancer.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it.

Fanky Malloons
Aug 21, 2010

Is your social worker inside that horse?

Benny the Snake posted:

:siren:Benny vs Benny Brawl:siren: AKA the "Stop Hitting Yourself" match

Just posting to let you know that I have seen this, and that I intend to crit/judge you as soon as I finish the other crits from this week that I've been ignoring.

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006
In. Acrophobia. Fear of heights.

Fanky Malloons
Aug 21, 2010

Is your social worker inside that horse?
CRITS AHOY:

Your Sledgehammer - Security Details
Prompt: DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND
I wish there was some kind of indication of difference between the protagonist’s thoughts and the narration, otherwise it just looks like a weird tense switch.
I’m confused as to how many people there are here. Joel, Brady, plus a third narrating? It’s v unclear, and, though they are obvs intentional, I don’t think the tense switches help wrt consistency of narrative perspective.
Why doesn’t the kid fit the profile? Or is Joel actually just psychic? I need more than just “He gave up = must be a decoy”
Also, how would he not see the other dude in a 5x5 room?
ALSO also, what the hell kind of bank (I assume) has a magical, state of the art security system AND NO ON-SITE SECURITY.
The Vibrams thing made me chuckle a little, but I wish you had done more with it.
Needs more villains and rascals per the 20% of a folk tale I gave you but otherwise a sound effort.

Pro-wrestler score: Kofi Kingston

satsui no thankyou - Paradise Eternal
Prompt: HOW RABBI JOSHUA WENT TO PARADISE ALIVE
Hmm, technically this first paragraph is pretty okay, but it’s also a p boring way to start so you could probably cut it without losing anything, even though Samael is pretty boss.
The narrative voice is consistent and fits with the style of the the folk tale you were assigned, but dang, it’s hard to slog through.
I hate the last line though, ugh. Should have left it at “Peter cared not” to fully capture the mood of the original, and avoid enraging me.
Question though, why doesn’t Samael question Joshua at all? Like, he just does what he asks right off the bat - I’d expect him to be all “Lol who the gently caress are you, how about no, Samael out.” You know, since he’s the angel of death, and Joshua is just some rando with consumption or whatever. There’s not even any indication that he’s religious, you just say ‘a great philosopher’. Well, for all I know he could be a freshman philosophy major who thinks he’s king poo poo because he just discovered logic. A DEEP FLAW IN YOUR PREMISE, SIR.
Also please never be so lassiez faire about the wordcount ever again, what are you some kind of savage?

Pro-wrestler score: Damien Sandow

Guiness13 - I Know Just What You Need
PROMPT: The Rat Princess and the Greedy Man
Hahaha that opening sentence though.
Please use commas sometimes, this first paragraph is just dumb without them.
What does the colour of his carpet have to do with the smell of his room?
OKay, I tried to read past/ignore “Nausea caressed his throat” and I just can’t. What.
“Beads of sweat sprouted” this is just silly, stop it.
Ughhh I hate this protagonist a lot. That was probably your intention though, so well done I GUESS.
Ugh and now we’re back to lists of things disguised as paragraphs. Please stop.
How can money be unnerving? Oh wait, you’re talking about something else, it’s just not very clear that the subject to which he is referring has changed.
TYPO SPOTTED. Proof read more, friend.
Burst free from/to/in where?
Oh drat, comeuppance! I actually wasn’t expecting that, but I am SO PUMPED that it happened.
Nice take on your folk tale, and good use of incredibly slimy, awful characters, but technical issues and weird overdescription work against you, womp womp.

Pro-wrestler score: Ted Diabiase AKA the Million Dollar Man

Morning Bell - Boombye Boomba
PROMPT: Juan the Fool
Telling us that “Holdens were cool - thanks mum!” is not very cool, just FYI.
Welp, Juan is fool, thank you for telling me instead of using the story to show me.
So, he feels an affinity with Cassandra because she plays the clarinet? Because she is also brown, but not Filipina? Please elaborate.
I like the way the magic words from the prompt were were incorporated into this, but otherwise meh. Your prose is flat and kind of boring and I feel like Sam is the most well developed character when it should be Juan.
Also, what 18 year old can even walk straight after 8 beers in the sun, let alone stand up to play cricket and then beat someone unconscious?

Pre-wrestler score: Bo Dallas

Saint Drogo - Unworthy
PROMPT: The Ghost Penitente
With whom? You can’t just say “him” when you haven’t previously referred to a person, it’s confusing.
What crowded street are we talking about now?
I def thought he was already talking to Jacob here, but I guess he was just talking to himself?
I like the line about the lines in his face though, that is some primo showing-not-telling right there.
And then you ruin it with FOUR HUNDRED YEARS JACOB. Why.
The perspective switch from Jacob to Hector at the end is very confusing - I had to re-read it a couple of times to figure it out - it needs to be way more clear because right now it reads like a mistake.
There’s some pretty good stuff in here, but also some fairly glaring issues, which I’m assuming are due to the constraints of the word count, a need for more practice in general, or a combination of the two.

Pro-wrestler score: Jimmy and/or Jay Uso

God Over Djinn - The Bravest Woman in Quitman, Mississippi
PROMPT: Origin of the Ja-Luo
These extra 492 words better be awesome, and not wasted on stuff you could have cut D:
Good folksy vibe so far, though idk why you have to explain the circumstances of conception for baby #1 but then not for #2
Oh wait, are they twins? Am I dumb for not picking up on that?
Pfft who lets a six-year old drink out of a glass.
Pretty sure they would already be “thick as thieves”, being twins and all.
They are pretty wise and worldly for 12 year-olds in the 60’s, here.
So, at what point did they move from Biloxi to Quitman County?
“Faith was a small and slender woman, in the way that twins usually are.” this makes approximately 0 sense.
I really want to like this more than I do. The historical fiction aspect is cool, but the actual story is kind of blah. You belabour the point about Faith being the fiesty activist and Hope wanting to hide and run away, but then it doesn’t make sense that Hope just a) knows that people are going to come looking for her sister (because apparently they forgot that she existed?) and b) randomly decides to shoot them all, while calmly accepting her fate.
Also, this is the first time I’ve really had to make a leap to connect the submission to the prompt, but I’m pretty sure I made the correct leap so I’m letting you off on that count.

Pro-wrestler score: Kelly Kelly


Broenheim - Smoking Gun
Prompt: The Story of Mr. Fox
Hmm opening sentence is weakkk. “A pistol was aimed” is the pistol aiming itself?
I can’t make up my own face in the dark, never mind someone else’s
Ew, you make it sound like he’s literally putting his hands inside her chest, wtf.
This whole first section is just the worst. So clunky.
Are Josh and Chris cops? Because I feel like they would probably know about Mark being a witness in that case, unless he ran away from the scene? In which case why would he so very nonchalantly bring it up to his cop friends??
Incorrect, the pistol is now on the table in front of you. And you just tampered with evidence! Also, did Mark have a warrant for that search?
I think this story might be irredeemably dumb, though you do seem to at least be competent at writing dialogue, and you did manage to re-work the basic premise of your folk tale.
Still, though. Ugh. UGHHHH.

Pro-wrestler score: Hornswoggle

Blade_of_tyshalle - Ertrinken
Prompt: Mother Holle
I am pleasantly surprised that you deigned to submit anything. Way to not be a little baby.
The opening is pretty decent, and I like where you took the story (into WTF land, mostly), but after the first couple of paragraphs, when we get into all the dialogue it goes downhill because you rely too heavily on the assumption that the reader has read the original story and will understand what the hell they’re talking about (wrt settling accounts). OBVIOUSLY, I read the original piece, but someone coming to this as a stand-alone story would be totally lost.
Technically, it’s actually very well written so you don’t get that DM I so wanted to give you, but that issue is kind of a huge flaw in an otherwise decent entry.

Pro-wrestler score: Lay-Cool

Some Guy TT - This Way, Boys
Prompt: How Turtle’s Greed Brought Him to a Sad End
Hmm interesting opening. BJs and boobs...and DEATH??
Preeetty sure there’s actually no statute of limitations on murder. Which it sounds like Heather is probably doing.
Retarded eh? RUDE
Okay, I get it, their pseudonyms are the seven dwarves, I don’t think you need to make a list of ALL OF THEM THOUGH. Get on with it, FFS.
Hahaha, I actually love the punchline of this but J EFFIN C it’s a slog to get there.

Pro-wrestler score: Jack Swagger's eagle mascot

crabrock - The Babe with the Power
Prompt: Whatever he wants, apparently.
Am I supposed to feel like I’m reading a story by GRRM? My little dragon??? Calm down there, Tyrion Lannister.
This actually is quite amusing though, I’ll give you that.
“I couldn’t breath.” Ar you loving srious.
“a wave of nausea hit me like a sack of skinned rabbits” Guiness13 take note - this is how you write a wanting-to-barf simile.
Pretty great, I guess, but also not based on a folk tale because you enjoy being contrary or whatever.
Also, I get a feeling that this story is trying really hard to be funnier than it is. I mean, it is funny, but I wish it was a little less self-satisfied about it.

Pro-wrestler score: The Miz

Tyrannosaurus - Pau
Prompt: In The Beginning
Ooh, nice opening.
“Dis our turf” pretty pointless comment if all the people it’s directed to are dead
I am deeply irritated by all the “da” and “dis” and “dey” going on here. Overkill on the accenting, imo.
This is actually a pretty good story overall, though, no real complaints. I feel like you had a pretty tough prompt to work with, though I’m reasonably sure I see how they connect so it’s all good.

Pro wrestler score: John Cena

LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE - Flesh
Prompt: Rabbit Kills Big Man Eater
I was rather enjoying this until this sentence: “Rabbit’s shoulders greeted the height of the creature’s hips” it’s just so clumsy, augh.
Haha, not welcome. Some fun little details in here.
I wouldn’t say that water consumes fire. Fire consumes other things, if anything.
Woah, Maneater is pretty forward. They’re not even married yet.
Hah, I like the punchline on this one too, and the fact that you managed to straight-up re-tell the story in an interesting way, but the prose is mostly weird and clunky and passive, and I hate it. So probably you should work on that.

Pro-wrestler score: Fandango wearing Summer Rae’s clothes

curlingiron - Clay and Moonlight
Prompt: The Man in the Moon
I’m liking the style of this one so far - a good nod to the prompt without being a carbon copy of it.
“replied the flame in a hissing voice” this whole paragraph has way too many words. Brevity is your friend (the flame hissed as it leapt from its sconce on to a nearby hanging tapestry).
If she’s been kidnapped by the moon, can she be bathed in moonlight when the moon is, presumably, not present?
The ending is surprisingly sad, but I think it fits well with the story and the mood of the prompt overall. However, the whole thing suffers from an abundance of verbiage that made it somewhat tedious to read, which is a shame because once you get through it, it’s a pretty decent story.

Pro-wrestler score: Y2J-era Chris Jericho

Noah - The Tide
Prompt: Lata and Sinota
“ it was erected on just far enough” erected on what? Did you cut something here?
Charlie, you butthole.
“ the beaming his beaming countenance” SLOPPY EDITING
I think you used the wrong name in one paragraph here - a Sam where it should be Charlie
“ and he his vision” ugh why so many stupid mistakes? This would be a standout entry if you had actually proofread it. The fact that it’s otherwise so good makes me even madder about how sloppy it is.

Pro-wrestler score: Eva-Marie

Quidnose - Costa Mesa
This was pretty gosh darn awesome for having been written in 30 minute - I highly approve of the cut of your jib. It isn’t really super folk-tale-y, and there are a few typos, plus it sort of falls apart at the end there (issues which were no doubt due to the self-imposed time limit), but it is nevertheless still pretty high up on my list of faves. Well done, sir.

Pro-wrestler score - CM Punk

Grizzled Patriarch - The Woman with Rattlesnake Eyes
Prompt: The Queen with a Hundred Lovers
Ahhhh this is great and I love it. Everybody who got told that they need to learn about brevity/economy of words this week (or ever) needs to read this fuckin’ story right now. You managed to tell a more complete and satisfying story in under 600 words than a lot of people did with 1000, and it makes me SO HAPPY YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW. I don’t really have any complaints about your piece, although, since you had the extra words, it would have been cool if you had brought back the bird/rattlesnake imagery at the end.

Pro wrestler score: Daniel Bryan

newtestleper - Mare Erythaeum
Inspired by The Beginning
Well, I do love me some sci-fi, so I mos def approve of retelling your folk tale on Mars. HOWEVER, I get the impression that you were trying to fit a much bigger, more complex story into a word count that’s too small. You intoduce a lot of people right away, and it’s not super clear who everyone is. Then the same thing happens with the issue of the habitation units - are there two, or three? And why is the protag taking the samples if that’s what possibly caused their illness?
That said, you wrote some good prose and some nice descriptions, and you submitted when you said you were going to fail, therefore you are no longer dead to me. Hooray!

Pro-wrestler score: Gold-dust’s younger, weirder brother, Stardust

Entenzahn - It's in the Shadows
Prompt: Mandra-Mankana, also called Bakuta-Terkana-Tarana or Kantayulkana
Flash rules: Backside-impaired dude, jewish lizards
Haha, I love this opening it’s so great.
Amazingly tight story overall, especially considering the ridiculous flash rules you got from Martello. The only line I don’t like is the one about tiny elephant footsteps - it just seems weirdly clunky and out of place. Otherwise, this is one of my faves.

Pro-wrestler score: Bad News Barret

Ironic Twist - The Hatchet
So, I actually feel really bad because I didn’t realise how weird and unintelligible the story I assigned you was, my bad. HOWEVER, you still produced a pretty decent story, so props to you, friend.
You have a couple of weird tense/logic issues in the middle that you should watch out for, themost egregious being the following two: Frank’s mother can’t have died ‘a year ago’ when he’s been on the island for five years- obviously I know what you actually meant, but it’s not super clear. Same with when Brice (which I really wish was Bryce, btw) pushes him off the ship: ‘he shoved hard and he was falling’ - it reads a little like Brice pushed himself off the ship, which is silly.
Otherwise, it was pretty alright, though I felt like you were reaching a bit at the end to make that hatchet joke. (FFR, don’t do that.)

Pro-wrestler score: Santino Marella

Fumblemouse - The Way of the World.
Prompt: The Mountain and the Bell
I rather enjoyed the style of this one, though it does get a bit tiresome after a while. However, I do also approve of the fact that you managed to keep it tonally consistent all the way though, because that was probs p difficult to do, especially as well as you did. I don’t have very much (or any) constructive criticism to offer, because this was actually in my top 3, way to be good at doming.

Pro-wrestler score: Ricky Steamboat

Pootie Tang - Baby Shoes, Worn Once
This is pretty decent in a technical sense, but the whole story is a total dead-kid-broken -parents-alcoholism cliche from start to finish. The only thing that throws me off is his relationship with this Gerry dude. I think that you’re insinuating that they had an affair, presumably to turn THAT cliché on it’s head but it’s not actually any less cliché unless you think that homosexual relationships are rare and different in some way, so it’s just kind of annoying.

Pro-wrestler score: Matt Hardy

Meeple - Kantjil and Harimou
Prompt: Based on MOUSE DEER AND TIGER
Well, this certainly is a thing. And by ‘a thing’ I mean, ‘two people/animals stand in a room and have a series of hallucinations’ but nothing actually happens. That, combined with the overblown EVIL VILLIAN dialogue makes it pretty boring, even if the actual prose is decent. Meh.

Pro-wrestler score: Randy Orton

The Sean - What Is Deserved
based on The Babracote and the Camudi
This story would be better if it wasn’t so dumb and terrible. Like, the basic idea is fine - who doesn’t like a good revenge fantasy? - but the execution is not great. The tense is weird and it drags “Presently, I am doing X” isn’t exactly riveting stuff. Plus, and there’s no delicate way to say this, it’s just so stupid. Like, I get the motivation that you set up for it in the story, but it’s still just utterly moronic. PLUS, why would she set up an elaborate cartoon trap and then not take any precautions to make sure the right person opens the door?

Pro-wrestler score: Yokozuna literally eating himself to death irl

SurreptitiousMuffin - Mamacita
Prompt: Witch Flights
This is a super gross story, which I actually really enjoy. Love that body horror vibe, and also goats. It would have been up there in my faves if not for the editing/proofreading issues, which my fellow judges have already pointed out. You’re still cool though, I guess.

Pro-wrestler score: Macho Man Randy Savage

Juniper Cake - Leaving it all behind
Prompt: Ginas and the Rajah
This makes me mad because you submitted like 12 hours late and it’s still kind of garbage. The prose is really overblown and repetitive, and the end just sort of come out nowhere - I literally have no idea what I just read. He was dreaming about living in a sand castle while they made him a robot body, which he then used to take over a company? And then it just ends? Why is any of this happening, and why should I care?

Pro-wrestler score: The Great Khali

Fanky Malloons fucked around with this message at 05:42 on Sep 27, 2014

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002

I

AM

MAGNIFICENT






Phobia posted:

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. first read. who the gently caress is holding the gun? is that a secret for a reason? Andy cracked the trunk to Deanna's Mustang. And somewhere in there, Tyler lost his balls. Spectre bleach; i don't know what this means... white ghost? didn’t even look Andy in the eye as he wandered off. same problem that i had with this in IRC: you introduce 4 characters. only tyler gets characterization really. gonna be hard to remember who is who now.

Deanna car girl watched Tyler ball-less from the backseat. Unamused, show don't tell she said to Andy, clunky “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. don't understand what this is supposed to convey

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. cliche 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. who knows this? how? feels like head jumping

Vivaldi hit the moss with a loud crunch. out of anger? why is he abusing moss? Gore and brain matter drooling from the porcelain crack. what? vivaldi's? why is he falling? i am so confused Andy said, “Jeezus.” how do you say a typo? He wiped the excess off excess what? on OFF ON his jeans and gagged. Andy told Dee to get off her rear end and help him. just put this in dialogue She turned, grunted, clicked the barrel back into place. Then she got off her rear end and helped him.

The plan was ‘simple’. should be double quotes, i think Tyler’s word, not Andy’s. In and out. Rob you keep putting words at the start of sentences that i think are names. "Gore." "Rob." this is probably my fault, but with this terse style, it's hard to tell sometimes. Principal Vivaldi as he’s heading to his car. Never knew what hit him. ugh, this tense shift. you're presenting the plan in present tense, then all of a sudden you're explaining stuff in past. No way it could fail. Andy brought the gun. How it switched hands, Andy had no idea, weak writer syndrome: how the gently caress does he not know how it happened? do you? but Vivaldi lost his money one moment, the next, his eye. is this incident separate from the gun shooting his head open? like, did something else happen before that to knock out his eye? what exactly? who did it? i'm so confused. you're being TOO sparse on the details here.

Plan wasn’t so simple after that. Had to change. Buy a bunch of hamslol, drive down to the lagoon, drop it them? by the river, leave him for the gators wait, pronouns are all fucke dup here. who is him? what are it?. Deanna’s idea. Had to hand it to her, girl was smart. semicolon that; they're two independent clauses. Andy fancied that head of hers. what No pun intended; that brain was the only thing he fancied about her. weird synecdoche.

Deanna told him Andy? that the gators were especially aggressive. Nipped one of her stupid cousins need possessive 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, need quotes Andy joked, if not grimly. i'm a little confused as to what is happening NOW, and what is happening BACK THEN

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. andy stopped because she thought she heard a hiss? show this. how can he know what she's thinking? Waited. Andy shouldered the grocery bag of ham and motioned with his head. They stumbled their way to the lagoon, carrying the Principle 3rd grade spelling mistake. also i think you're missing a possessive? maybe you're saying it's the most important arm? if so, don't say that. arm in leg and in shoulder. what the gently caress? what is "arm in leg and in shoulder" mean?

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, who is him? i'd think andy and tyler, as they're who you mentioned next, but him can't be two people. did she just elbow the principal out of the way? Andy and Tyler agreed. No way it could fail.

“Always hated him. who did? 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. uh.... She said, use a colon for long quotes like this “Heard he was a fag. ‘Parently he started snapping pics in the boy’s locker room, full stop new sentence here you know anything about that?” Andy sighed then said, “He’s a married man?” Deanna grunted, unladylike, again, use colon for long quotes after the saidbookism “Ain’chu ever heard of fag hags? You’re a straight boy, you wouldn’t understand.” Andy said nothing. Deanna said something. colon “Heard he was snapped pics in the boy’s locker room. Figured you would’a known something about tha-”

Andy stopped. he stopped what? deanna was talking last i checked 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 weird for a moment made missing conjunction? a face not even a mother could smooch. Deanna looked on, finding a particularly interesting tree trunk in the distance. who the gently caress's perspective is this story from?

Said nothing. Did nothing. They sat there with their feet in the mud. Gentle breeze lapped at their napes. zzz. don't tell me how nothing is happening. that poo poo's boring. Deanna shivered. Andy glared. His eyes forward, her eyes sideways. All the while, the Kiaugh looked on. It knew. WHO IS TELLING THIS STORY?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!!?!?

“Somebody’s father died tonight,” said he.

stopped reading here

“So?” said she.



this story is boring. what i read of it at least. You don't really tell this story like you know where it was going. when i saw my scroll bar was like only half done i was like "nope. not finishing this."

For the first half, all you've really let me know is that they killed this guy, i don't know why other than they wanted to rob him, and then they kind of gently caress it up. the characterization is pretty lovely. these don't feel like real people. they feel like movie characterizations. fake. contrived.why did you open with tyler losing his balls when this story so far is mostly dee and andy?

did you proofread this story? seems like a shitload of mistakes. you're too terse. i like a story that cuts some corners, but you're not making sense. feels like you cut a shitload out. remember, i'm not in your head. i don't know who you mean. if you just make a statement, i don't know who's thinking it, even if you do.

you're head jumping like gently caress. pick one person whose eyes you're telling this through, and stick with them. you're bouncing around like a god drat rabbit in a snake cage.

sorry bro.

crabrock fucked around with this message at 06:45 on Sep 27, 2014

Entenzahn
Nov 15, 2012

erm... quack-ward
:siren: signups are closed :siren: thank god

Guiness13
Feb 17, 2007

The best angel of all.
Just wanted to pop in and say thanks for the crits from last week! Now I have something to work on for the next draft (and watch for in other stories). It's been forever since I did any kind of regular writing, and doing the occasional TD has been really helpful for catching the bad habits and working out the kinks.

And I still can't believe I missed that typo. I even had it circled on my printout of the first draft. Just missed changing it and didn't see it was still there until after it was up.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Guiness13 posted:

Just wanted to pop in and say thanks for the crits from last week! Now I have something to work on for the next draft (and watch for in other stories). It's been forever since I did any kind of regular writing, and doing the occasional TD has been really helpful for catching the bad habits and working out the kinks.

And I still can't believe I missed that typo. I even had it circled on my printout of the first draft. Just missed changing it and didn't see it was still there until after it was up.


ftfy

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Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.
Thanks for da crit crab!

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