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I shipped my keys back to amazon.com by mistake 96 words. amazon.com shipped me a pre-paid return envelope so I could return my VHS-C video converter. I pulled out the RGB adapter as well as the RGB-->Cable adapter and placed the faulty product into the envelope. The unsealed envelope in hand, I set out for the mailbox and locked the door. I then sealed the envelope as I walked and checked my smart phone. Only after putting the envelope into the dropbox and reaching my door did I realize my keys were gone. I ran to the mailbox only to see the mail truck driving away.
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Dec 1, 2014 15:36
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The worst part is that you didn't use amazon.co.uk for your links.
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Dec 1, 2014 15:38
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Entenzahn's Keys 80 words. Hey kids at home! Where oh where are Entenzahn's keys? Are they in the Thunderdome? No, only brain encrusted crucibles here! Are they in GBS? No, only mindless poo poo-posting here! Are they in E/N? No, only goons telling goons to sever here! Are they in games? No, only goons feeding Gaben's wallet here! Are they in the Crackhead Clubhouse? No, only crackheads here! Are they in DnD? No, only Marxists here! Oh well, gently caress the keys let's go home.
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Dec 1, 2014 21:51
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  MERCBRAWL 6: THE SPAWNING I'm having a kid that's due Friday. Hold on to your tears, assholes. This go-around there will only be three "submissions", but I want six contestants. Find your TD significant other, sign up and write me a 2,000 word story about new or soon-to-be parents. The tone, the direction, the whatever of the story is completely up to you, but there better not be any dead babies. So help you god. There will be two additional flash rules I will assign that will shake things up and make it fun for everyone. Here are the prizes. If you finish and post your story, you, the victim, get to pick one non-DRM game or book off the list as your Participation Prize. Signing up means you're  ed so if you don’t post a story you're banned. The two winners get to each pick a game from the non-bolded list and whichever bolded games and books they want. Yes, multiple games. No, there is no limit to how many you can pick. Yes, this rule is retroactive, so previous winners can get in contact with me with a list of games they want. The list changes often cause I am weak and video games call to me.This brawl is open to everyone and it'll be the last one for this year, so make it count. Due Date: Wednesday, December 17 2359 EST Parents Mr. N. Senada and Jitzu_The_Monk Jones Mr. sebmojo and Sitting Here Boonhurst Mr. Entenzahn and Obliterati Smith Winners of this brawl get to be my TD God ParentsMERCBRAWL 6 FLASH RUUUUUULESAlright you baby makers. Each couple will work together to tell a story, but the individual parent will write from their point of view. Furthermore, the gender of your of your parent is the same as your real life gender. To break it down, you're collaborating with your partner to tell one story, but doing it from your point of view. Everyone gets a max of 2,000 words. Q&A By our perspective, do you mean we need to use first person, or would you allow limited 3rd person as well? Do whatever you want. Just to let you know, I think first person would suit this style of prompt more, but if you can make it work otherwise go for it. Only each couple tells the same with a different protag? Think of it as telling two sides to one story. Mercedes fucked around with this message at 00:37 on Dec 2, 2014 |
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Dec 1, 2014 21:56
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I'm publicly stating my interest to couple for the purposes of a story baby. E. That is, I'll participate if somebody doesn't mind jumping in here with me. 
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Dec 1, 2014 22:33
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Entenzahn posted:
Two Heads Are Better Than One Word count:2,123 The tall grass of the Savannah wavered only a little, but I knew the lion was closing in. I raised my rifle and let my breath slow to almost nothing. A bird flew over the silent terrain, ignorant of the mortal combat only moments away. She made her move and leapt from the grass as if in flight. Claws outstretched. Her eyes locking onto mine. My rifle pointed right at her heart. I didn’t pull the trigger. The lion passed through me and disappeared back into my imagination. The Savannah resolved into the wheat field in front of our house. Ever since Adam disappeared two months ago, my make-believe games haven’t held the same power. Without my brother to cheer me on, I couldn’t sustain the illusion. I heard arguing from inside the house and walked through the screen door to listen, along the way catching the door with my back foot to prevent the clack of wood against wood. “Just buy a new one!” Mom said. I leaned my head into the kitchen. She was still wearing the same floral print dress with a stain on the hem that she’d had on yesterday. Dad was just a pair of jeans and boots sticking out from under the sink. “We already done that, and we ain’t gonna waste no more goddamn money.” “Don’t you curse at me.” He wriggled his way out, clanking his head on a pipe on the way, cursing again. “Don’t know what to tell you, Janet. We replaced the old one and the smell ain’t gone away. What do you want us to do, move?” The smell. It started a few days after Adam disappeared. When I first smelled it, all I could think was that it smelled orange. Not like the fruit, just... orange. I don’t even know what that means, really, but I couldn’t shake it. When it first wafted into the house, we all stumbled outside choking. There were loads of cops around, too, searching for Adam. I could see the looks on their faces and even though I was only ten and a half, I knew what they were thinking: they’d found Adam. Or what was left of him. But they followed the lines and couldn’t find a trace. I didn’t think for a minute they would. Adam was out there somewhere, not in the ground. I was sure of it. He’d come home. “Maybe we should move, then!” Mom said and threw her hands up in the air. “I can’t stay inside this place any more!” I ran out to Mom, and put my arms around her waist. “No! We can’t move. We have to stay here so Adam can find us.” They both sighed loudly, as if trying to out-compete each other in parental patience. “Stan,” Dad finally said, “we’re not moving. We’ll be here when your brother comes home. I promise.” I looked up at him. “You don’t believe that!” I shouted. “I’ve heard you talking! You think he’s dead! Well he’s not!” “Stan,” he started to say, but I pushed away from his grip and ran out the back. I heard his boots thudding after me and ducked down under the porch, crawling on my hands and knees into the darkness. Adam and I used to hang under here like it was our bunker and we were fighting the Nazis. The crawlspace went under the whole house. I tried to pretend that Dad’s boots belonged to an evil soldier of some occupying empire. We rebels would never stop fighting to get our country back. Soon, it’ll be time for the counter-attack, and we’ll win! I looked to my right, but Adam wasn’t there. For a moment, I’d forgotten. The make-believe popped away again. Without Adam, it never worked. Instead it was just me, lying in the dirt, surrounded by all the forgotten toys that Adam and I had left down here over the years. One of his old hats lay next to me. I put it on. It was too big and fell forward over my eyes, but it felt good to wear. “Come out of there, Stan,” Dad said. “Leave him be,” Mom said. He waited a few moments, then stomped back inside. Before long I knew I’d hear them fighting about something else, muffled voices through the floorboards like Charlie Brown teachers. They refused to talk about Adam anymore, so they just yelled at each other instead. Down here under the house, the stink was pretty bad. I started thinking maybe if I could just figure out what it was, get rid of it, they’d quit fighting so much and they’d help find my brother. Adam’s hat itched on top of my head but I kept it there. Some days the stink flared up real bad, like it was mad or something. Today was one of those days. I pulled my t-shirt up over my nose and crawled to the piping. Lying around the pipe were a bunch of other old toys. Some plastic green army men. A broken capgun. Stuff like that. Something else, though, didn’t belong: Adam’s swiss army knife, a hint of red sticking out of the dirt. He never went anywhere without that. If there wasn’t something that needed cutting, screwing, filing, or what-else, he’d just do it anyway. Dad was always getting mad about it. I picked it up. The knife blade still stuck out. The stink got worse again, like a wind blew under the house and blasted it into my face. But there was no wind. I coughed and gasped and that only made it worse. I remembered my science teacher telling us that smell is caused by little molecules in the air that go inside your nose and your mouth. I could feel the smell inside me now, coating the inside of my throat. I reared back and accidentally hit my head on the bottom of the house, hard. It knocked me down into the dirt. Lying there, I saw the reason the knife blade had been out: a bunch of gouges in the pipes, right at ground level, hard to see. Adam had been scraping away at the pipe. Writing his name. The kind of thing he always did. With the knife in one hand, eyes watering from the still-fierce smell, I put the knife blade to the pipe and scraped a curving line next to Adam’s: S. Then a T. Halfway through the A, the pipe shook. Hard. I dropped the knife in surprise. It landed in the dirt right where I’d found it. The pipe shook again. At one of the joints, a thick orange goo bubbled out. I leaned in closer, horrified, and smelled the stink coming off it, stronger than ever. I reached out and probed it with a finger. It quivered and then sucked back inside the joint like someone drinking the last of a milkshake through a straw. A few seconds passed. The orange goo came back, lots of it, and it poured out of the joint faster than I could have expected. It wasn’t just flowing, it was being pushed out. Droplets of it sprayed around, hit me in the face. I tried to back away, but it was too fast. The goo ran over me, covering my legs, waist, chest, and up my nose, into my mouth, over my head. I couldn’t see, couldn’t scream, but I could feel my stomach filling to capacity with whatever it was. # I felt a sensation of floating in a void. I wondered if I was underwater, and suddenly I was. I could see water and air bubbles all around me. Just as I began fighting for a surface I couldn’t see, the water was gone and I was back to the black void. I grew scared and thought of my mother. I saw her face flash before me for an instant, felt her hand on my cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut and curled into a ball, tried to clear my mind. I didn’t know what was happening, and I didn’t like it. Eventually I realized I was lying on something hard and damp. I looked around. I was inside a cavernous sewer. Most of the cement walls had crumbled away, exposing rock and fungus that looked far underground. I could see despite the absence of any identifiable light sources. A shadowed tunnel led away into darkness. “Stan?” I turned. Adam. He ran toward me, splashing through puddles, leaping over fallen chunks of cement and rebar. Was it just my imagination again? But he didn’t disappear. He slid to his knees next to me and hugged me tight. Both of us were crying. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Where are we?” “You gotta go. Oh man. I have to get you out of here. It’s going to be back soon.” “What? Adam, what’s happening? Where are we? Can we go home?” Adam looked around wildly. “Do you hear it? Is it coming?” “Adam, please. I’m scared. What is it?” A rumble through the ground shook us and little rocks tinked as they bounced down from the walls. “It’s coming.” Adam said. He grabbed my hand and hauled me up to my feet. “Come on.” He pulled me with him to a moss-covered boulder leaning against one wall. “Shh.” I’d never seen my brother so scared. We pressed against the rock and listened as the rumbles grew louder. A screeching like jagged metal on metal blared through the cave. Adam shut his eyes and whispered, “No, no no.” Around the side of the rock I saw movement. A snake slithered into my view. Instead of a snake’s head, it had Mom’s. “Hi kids!” it cackled. I stumbled backward away from it just as it vanished into thin air. “What was that?” I said, my voice shrill, but Adam didn’t answer. We were besieged by more strange sights. A floating pair of scissors violently ripped apart a sobbing rabbit. A stumbling skeleton waved a broken beer bottle in the air, coming closer and closer to me. The rock disappeared and we sprawled onto the ground, landing in a puddle. The cold water made me more alert. Adam didn’t react. He just kept trembling. Other visions appeared and disappeared, some too indescribable to even comprehend. Through it all, I could see great big orange eyes, eyes the size of cars, watching from the tunnel, getting closer, closer. I saw dead men in army uniforms eating the flesh of dogs and of people. A crab bigger than me with a little girl in its pincers, screaming. I kept telling myself these things weren’t real, they couldn’t hurt me. Until then, none of them had touched me. But then the moldy fingers of a rotting, crawling corpse closed around my shoe. I jerked back and the hand fell apart, but the corpse kept crawling toward me. It opened its mouth and moaned as its jaw half-dissolved. Yellow teeth skittered across the ground “Please, no,” I moaned. I wished someone was there to help me. I needed Sergeant Buzz, my hero from the cartoons, to save me. And he did. Sergeant Buzz, all six feet of him, stepped over me and stomped onto the body, stopping it. He turned to me, offered me his hand, then disappeared. But more of my imaginary heroes made brief appearances. They slowed the awful creatures. Only, they weren’t sticking around. I couldn’t conjure them for long enough. “Adam!” I called. “It’s no use,” he whimpered. “It doesn’t work. I’ve tried.” “Help me, Adam! Think of something!” “I can’t.” “Yes you can! Right now!” Adam’s favorite toy, a Martian-battling astronaut, appeared. I put everything I could into thinking about him, too. The astronaut fought off the nearest monsters. Adam sat up a little, his face full of amazement. “We can do this together,” I said. Just like we used to, we slipped into imagination together. We were the ultimate commandos, here to save the world. Our platoon fought around us. The orange eyes widened in fear and began to recede back down the tunnel. We sent the commandos after it, more and more of them. # I lay next to Adam in the dirt beneath the house. Both of us jerked up and banged our heads. “We did it!” he cried. I hugged my brother, so happy to have him back. “Come on!” I said and we crawled out of the crawlspace. “Mom! Dad!” I shouted as we ran inside. The house smelled fresh. Our parents received us with open arms, weeping over their lost son, come home. My second half, my partner, my brother.
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Dec 1, 2014 23:08
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Mercedes posted:
sebmojo is too old to go to prom so he asked me to your brawl instead
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Dec 1, 2014 23:09
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N. Senada posted:I'm publicly stating my interest to couple for the purposes of a story baby. Sometimes the cutest kids are born to the strangest parents. N. Senada, want to make this a night to remember?
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Dec 1, 2014 23:18
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I can't quit you, Jitzu, because you were the first to accept my public offer.
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Dec 1, 2014 23:22
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Entenzahn posted:
Goddamnit Gau. Post your story soon and I'll still crit it but you've flunked this one.
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Dec 2, 2014 00:00
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also speaking of brawls Obliterati and I have decided to spawn our own horrible literary offspring
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Dec 2, 2014 00:16
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Entenzahn posted:also speaking of brawls Obliterati and I have decided to spawn our own horrible literary offspring Entenzahn and I have some interesting theories about test tube babies we'd love to put into practice. Also crippling communication issues. Obliterati fucked around with this message at 00:21 on Dec 2, 2014 |
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Dec 2, 2014 00:16
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Entenzahn posted:Goddamnit Gau. Post your story soon and I'll still crit it but you've flunked this one. I'm actually really disappointed about this
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Dec 2, 2014 00:22
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MERCBRAWL 6 FLASH RUUUUUULES Alright you baby makers. Each couple will work together to tell a story, but the individual parent will write from their point of view. Furthermore, the gender of your of your parent is the same as your real life gender. To break it down, you're collaborating with your partner to tell one side of a story and they're telling the other side. Mercedes fucked around with this message at 00:38 on Dec 2, 2014 |
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Dec 2, 2014 00:26
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Week 121 Judgment  There was a lot of death and divorce and addiction this week. So basically you guys nailed the pathos of the Beach Boys. Good job. Thunderdome likes to reward accomplishments. People ought to be able to claw their way to the top. So it is the pleasure of all three judges to award the win to Jonked! Your story had a quiet tension, good imagery, and good human insight. Your HMs go to Kaishai for writing a pocket myth centered around a family drama; Systran for weirding us out and entrancing us and making good use of a hard song; Muffin for some crazy book of revelations poo poo i don't even know (I thought this captured the feeling of the song particularly well); Nethilia for a moving, believable human drama with strong characters; and Docbeard, who wrote a scifi vignette that somehow managed to be interesting, which surprised and delighted all three judges, even if we wished for a bit more story.  Your DMs go to Broenheim because SNOW SNOW SNOW SNOW SNOWNSONWONWWONSNOW. I gave you a hard song, and I thought you almost did something clever with it, but then it was just kind of druuuuugs. Zebourgeoisie for a cluttered story that didn't make us feel for the characters; JACB For submitting a weak story super early, and using the song in a very ham-fisted way; Obliterati for creating a character that was nearly interesting, and then not DOING anything interesting with it. Your loser is Fuchsia Tude, who got an airy, whimsical song, and gave us a boring story. There was not a single character I cared about. I felt like I'd just been dropped into the middle of the novel (but not anywhere near the protagonist). Jonked, welcome to the blood throne. Sitting Here fucked around with this message at 02:03 on Dec 2, 2014 |
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Dec 2, 2014 01:49
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Yessssssss, may the thousand year reign of darkness begin.
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Dec 2, 2014 01:55
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God of Paradise is obviously disqualified, and none of the judges particularly want to critique more than 5000 words of story when the writer couldn't be bothered to pay attention to the rules of the thread. I urge the rest of you to mine his story for gems. Do dramatic readings. Take a screenshot of the story and MS paint poop on it. Use your imagination. Who knows, maybe next year's thread title is lurking in there somewhere.
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Dec 2, 2014 01:55
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Sitting Here posted:God of Paradise is obviously disqualified, and none of the judges particularly want to critique more than 5000 words of story when the writer couldn't be bothered to pay attention to the rules of the thread. He NEEDED that extra 5,000 words to tell the story man. There was absolutely no possible way he could have cut back.
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Dec 2, 2014 02:01
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I got a real David Foster Wallace Kurt Vonnegut vibe from its cool cat voice.
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Dec 2, 2014 02:16
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I completely punked out on my brawl, which is fuckin' lame. However, I offer this dramatic reading as my plea to avoid the blood price of the Dome. https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/41330680/Dramatic%20Reading%201.mp3
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Dec 2, 2014 02:24
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Mr. Greedo was my obese Uruguayan business associate. If you could sell sweat he'd be Donald fuckin' Trump. He was a hip-hip mogul, which is like hip-hop but for the cool people. We are flying in my private jet to Barbados. A glass of brandy had been taken by Mister Greedo from the serving whore's cart. He downed it in one go because he was so cool. Lujiburously, he lifted his hand and put his on his chest and then he scratched his chest with his hand/
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Dec 2, 2014 02:24
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Gau posted:I completely punked out on my brawl, which is fuckin' lame. However, I offer this dramatic reading as my plea to avoid the blood price of the Dome. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD THRONE!!!
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Dec 2, 2014 02:36
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Gau posted:I completely punked out on my brawl, which is fuckin' lame. However, I offer this dramatic reading as my plea to avoid the blood price of the Dome. This was hilarious. Well done. Do the rest please. Without reading ahead.
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Dec 2, 2014 02:38
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Week 122: Bar-back  Ah, alcohol. So many cliche quotes, so many tropes, so many boring, overdone stories. To hear writers talk about it, you're all a bunch of depressed booze hounds who can't get through a paragraph without a half dozen shots. Well, nuts to that. You lot are going out this week, and by Gawd you're going to have a nice time. You will be given the name of a cocktail. Interpret it however you like, write any sort of story you want... except: 1.) Your story cannot be centered around alcohol 2.) That means you can't write about an alcoholic's downward spire 3.) Nor can you write about the 'greatest party ever' 4.) If you write about buttery nipples I will find you and cut you. (No erotica) Sign up by: Midnight EST on Friday, December 5th Submit by: Midnight EST on Sunday, December 7th Word Count: 1000 Judges: Me Sebmojo Nethilia The Collection of Disappointments to Their Families: N. Senada - Agent Orange newtestleper - Sundowner Your Sledgehammer - Four Score blue squares - Orange Tundra ZeBourgeoisie - Blue Lagoon Grizzled Patriarch - Dark and Stormy Ironic Twist - Salty Dog Systran - Caju Amigo Fuschia Tude - Shandy The Saddest Rhino - B&B QuoProQuid - The Monkey Gland Obliterati - The Goldeneye J.A.B.C. - Jack Rose JcDent - Staten Island Ferry Cacto - Amber Moon Benny the Snake - Caribou Lou Pete Zah - Irish Coffee Meeple - French 75 Entenzahn - Fluffy Critter Fumblemouse - Cyprus Hammer Bro. - Harvey Wallbanger kurona_bright - Hurricane SealHammer - Tom and Jerry Auraboks - Gunfire Baby Babbeh - Screwdriver Tyrannosaurus - El Presidente Boozahol - Wolfram Phobia - Bloody Aztec Clandestine! - Red Lotus Liam Emsa - Greyhound ollyd3000 - Black Russian Jonked fucked around with this message at 21:45 on Dec 7, 2014 |
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Dec 2, 2014 02:50
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I'm in.
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Dec 2, 2014 02:51
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IN
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Dec 2, 2014 02:51
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In all the way for this,
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Dec 2, 2014 02:51
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Bottoms up (in) blue squares fucked around with this message at 03:01 on Dec 2, 2014 |
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Dec 2, 2014 02:52
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:Mr. Greedo was my obese Uruguayan business associate. If you could sell sweat he'd be Donald fuckin' Trump. He was a hip-hip mogul, which is like hip-hop but for the cool people. We are flying in my private jet to Barbados. A glass of brandy had been taken by Mister Greedo from the serving whore's cart. He downed it in one go because he was so cool. Lujiburously, he lifted his hand and put his on his chest and then he scratched his chest with his hand/ I tapped on my laptop, the Lenovo 1140 with 4 gig of DDR2 RAM and a 1366x768 screen that I'd got from a fat brown woman in Des Moines. "Bluaurrrgh", Said Mr Greedo. I looked up from my Lenovo 1140 lap-top and saw to my squamous horror that a long slithering tendril of pure nacreous squamous was undulating down his dorsal region. As it writhed down his spittle-Covered flanks it wobbled and shook as though it was a whip being shaken by an eldritch cowboy.
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Dec 2, 2014 02:54
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Gau posted:I completely punked out on my brawl, which is fuckin' lame. However, I offer this dramatic reading as my plea to avoid the blood price of the Dome. Aw crap, I just got done uploading my dramatic reading. Mine has funny voices but bad diction. Especially with that purple prose yikes. Volume warning. http://vocaroo.com/i/s1Msx4gXpxeS Oh, and in for this week. ZeBourgeoisie fucked around with this message at 03:06 on Dec 2, 2014 |
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Dec 2, 2014 02:54
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In.
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Dec 2, 2014 03:05
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In. on the rocks.
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Dec 2, 2014 03:09
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ZeBourgeoisie posted:Aw crap, I just got done uploading my dramatic reading. Mine has funny voices but bad diction. Especially with that purple prose yikes. You may be late, but that's some fun voice work.
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Dec 2, 2014 03:09
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N. Senada posted:I'm in. Sundowner Your Sledgehammer posted:In all the way for this, blue squares posted:Bottoms up ZeBourgeoisie posted:Oh, and in for this week. Dark and Stormy Ironic Twist posted:In. Jonked fucked around with this message at 03:13 on Dec 2, 2014 |
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Dec 2, 2014 03:11
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Apologies to any Aussies, I realized about halfway through the first sentence that I have no idea how to pronounce Brisbane. https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/41330680/Dramatic%20Reading%202.mp3 Somehow, the second entry is worse than the first.
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Dec 2, 2014 03:14
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You sonuvabitch, I just uploaded this to soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/babyskeletons/cooper-bragg-esquire-diary-2/s-Lijhk
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Dec 2, 2014 03:19
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In like a VCR-C adapter with
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Dec 2, 2014 03:19
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Gau posted:Apologies to any Aussies, I realized about halfway through the first sentence that I have no idea how to pronounce Brisbane. "Brizz-ben." Also IN. Gotta keep this train a-rolling.
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Dec 2, 2014 03:23
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In.
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Dec 2, 2014 03:24
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| # ? Apr 16, 2024 09:12 |
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systran posted:In like a VCR-C adapter with Fuschia tude posted:Also IN. Gotta keep this train a-rolling. B & B
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Dec 2, 2014 03:33
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