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Benny Profane posted:THUNDERDOME CCII: THUNDER-O-S! So when is thing due. when is signups
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Jun 15, 2016 06:41
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IN after a giant hiatus because goons hurt my feelings. I'm gonna go with the Nesquick Cereal
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Jun 15, 2016 08:13
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gently caress off kiwis I'm taking Bugs 'n' Mud
Djeser fucked around with this message at 14:29 on Jun 15, 2016 |
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Jun 15, 2016 14:27
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Jun 15, 2016 14:28
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Hey so this may or may not be a regular thing depending on how popular it is, BUT: THUNDERDOME BOOK CLUB Pretty straightforward, I or someone else pick a book, any TDers who want in read it, two weeks later we discuss it in IRC. Writing is important but reading is just as important if not more so. The first book:  “Reading Gutshot is a little like being blindfolded and pelted from all sides with fire, Jell-O and the occasional live animal. You'll be messy at the end and slightly beaten up, but surprised and certainly entertained . . . She pushes against the outer limits of what humans can and will do. She seems to be testing her readers, too. Will you come with me here? How about if I take it a little further? Are you still game?” ―Ramona Ausubel, The New York Times Book Review “Strange, fable-like, and physical, Gray's stories are driven by uncanny forces and set in organic yet unnatural worlds . . . Masterly gathering of forces [are] at the heart of the collection: black humor brushes up against abject tragedy, desperation and abuse, longing loneliness, and even hopeful peace. Gray dazzlingly renders the wide array of human experience in these potent, haunting stories. ” ―Publishers Weekly “Gutshot is a nightmare in the best way. Every story is visceral, fearless, and painfully true. ” ―Catherine Lacey, author of Nobody Is Ever Missing Collection of short stories, some of them TD length. It’s a relatively quick read to start us off. 7/1 sounds about right for a deadline, but it can be extended if needed—it’s still a feeling-out process. I'm going to read it, if I'm the only one, that's fine. But I'd be excited if others did.
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Jun 16, 2016 01:22
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Ironic Twist posted:Hey so this may or may not be a regular thing depending on how popular it is, BUT: in
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Jun 16, 2016 01:24
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Ironic Twist posted:
Is there a kindle edition somewhere? Christchurch library only stock Amelia Grey https://christchurch.bibliocommons.com/search?&t=smart&search_category=keyword&q=amelia%20gray
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Jun 16, 2016 01:24
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 Week 200: Winners, Loser, & HMs  PM me your address for TD swag. I'm still working stuff out, but these, or something like these, may be available later at-cost. if you don't have pms, my username @gmail
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Jun 16, 2016 01:36
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its hella stupid to make in posts for a book club but this thread is already a wasteland so ok
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Jun 16, 2016 01:36
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Ironic Twist posted:Hey so this may or may not be a regular thing depending on how popular it is, BUT: I'm in. I'll pick up the book tonight.
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Jun 16, 2016 01:39
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Gutshot is good. If you're on the fence here are some stories from the book: "Labrynth" (and see also her interview re: this story here) "The Lark" "Loop"
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Jun 16, 2016 01:51
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You're supposed to include your cereal with your sign-up post, unless you're looking for a cereal flash?
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Jun 16, 2016 02:19
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I'm in, and I'll take Special K at 117 calories/1170 words per serving.
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Jun 16, 2016 04:49
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MEGACRITS PART 1 Spectres of Autism: it's a DMT trip. It's pretty well-written, but for the life of me I'm not entirely sure what it's trying to say. Something about how the reason because get hooked on drugs is because their own life is terrible and it provides a happy alternative? That's what I could maybe pull out of it, but it's pretty opaque. The ending also feels like it's from a totally different story - it comes outta nowhere and doesn't fit in terms of prose or theme. I really liked the language and the descriptions though, so great work there. VS Maugrim: I do like how this one is kinda low-key and human: a lot of people went the trippy route because MUFFIN WRITES TRIPPY STUFF SO HE'LL LIKE THAT but honestly I think this is a better way to go about the particular prompt. Again I'm not really sure what it's trying to say, but it left me with strong lingering impressions about youth, and sexuality, and the sorta nexus thereof. The prose was very choppy though: despite better ideas, this had a worse execution. Still a nice little vignette though. ---- Carl Killer Miller: the word I kept using in my notes was "delicate", which is a good thing. There's a real softness to this piece -- both in themes and language -- that I really enjoyed. Unfortunately, the prose is a bit messy and tangled at points, to the extent that I had to reread a few sentences to understand them. I'd suggest going back and doing a big editing pass on this piece: try to tighten up the language while retaining the softness. There's definitely a great story in here that just needs a few tweaks to get out. VS sparksbloom: this weird mix of muted and amphetamine-charged that really gets the whole nervous breakdown thing down on the page. I feel like it could've gone into a bit more detail of the (non-corpse) bits to show the mind trying to take in ANYTHING ELSE PLEASE GOD and really hammer home what's going on, but this piece is a definite success. The language supports the premise very well, and that's a hard thing for a writer to get down. --- Rhino: aaaaaaaccidental racist. Lol. For real though, the language here was absolutely gorgeous, but it's hard to overcome the ham-handedness of its subtext: you weren't trying to say that Thais are savage sexual beasts, but that's totally how it came off. The particular thing about the language that works is how natural it feels -- the use of onomatopoeia and ellipses, and the voice in general, really come across very well. Even knowing the subtext was accidental though, it doesn't really absolve it - it absolves YOU, but the story needs to be fixed on those grounds before it can really pop. VS Thranguy: the list format is something I thought I would find annoying, but honestly I ended up pretty charmed by it. It paints a very fractured picture, and it's not clear whether this is myth, or folklore, or exaggeration, or actually 100% true - the way it provides just enough information for the reader to fill in their own blanks is excellent. I feel like the ending might be a bit forced? It reminded me of Stephen King in a bad way: a sorta "oh gently caress how do we close this out VIOLENCE" thing. I like the way it feels mythic-but-modern though - ancient and timeless. ---
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Jun 16, 2016 08:07
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:The prose was very choppy though: despite better ideas, this had a worse execution. Fair cop! Thanks for the crit, Muffin, this is another one I might expand/polish later.
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Jun 16, 2016 08:54
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Thranguy posted:In case anyone is still interested in critting stuff but tired of potatoes, I'll crit a story of choice from anyone who crits one or more stories out of week 197. This offer still stands, by the way. C'mon, those stories deserve some love. Or hate. Or something.
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Jun 16, 2016 21:49
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Someday, this poo poo may be included in a volume of bad stories.
Chili fucked around with this message at 08:15 on Jan 1, 2017 |
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Jun 17, 2016 05:26
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Fuubi skwidmonster Boaz-Jachim waiting on your addresses still. If you don't want TD swag then say so. crabrock fucked around with this message at 06:55 on Jun 17, 2016 |
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Jun 17, 2016 05:54
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I'm Tired and Busy but Don't Want a Ban Words: 543 He stood at the cathedral doors with armor that glistened like crystal. I acknowledge him by playing another round on the organ, something suitably dark and melancholic. He took another step into my domain and I hopped off the podium. I clasp my hands together and smile at my guest. “Ah, another one of Kramer’s brave men.” He said nothing, opting instead to charge at me. I pulled out my taloned middle finger and stabbed him in the gut. His steel plated armor stopped my attack short of his vitals, and I chipped a nail. “Oh bother,” I said, “this will take weeks to grow back fully.” The knight turned and charged me again. I grabbed him by the throat and hoisted him into the air. The anger in his eyes gave way to terror as I clinched his trachea. The meat in his throat was so tender, so easily manipulated. A little more pressure and his eyes dulled. A clang accompanied his body hitting the floor. There’d be more. Kramer always sent more. Another posse of Kramer’s men were in town yesterday. The inn’s wine cellar had been cleaned out on the full credit of the of-so noble King Kramer. Still, a wine shortage wasn’t anything new. Shards from smashed wine bottles were strewn about the town, having landed wherever the knight’s decided to discard them. Another, more disturbing development was the vanishment of some of the town’s prettier girls, the innkeeper’s daughter amongst them. The sun sank behind the cathedral. My fingers flew across my organ’s keyboard. The halls filled with a somber melody of my own composition. It was a Bach inspired piece in d-minor, superficially similar to his Toccata and Fugue. The organ sang for me like an obedient servant, and her music welcomed my newest guests. There were five of them, and they all sported Kramer’s crimson insignia. They wasted no time in charging my podium. I leapt about seven feet into the air and landed behind my attackers. Before they could react, I charged them myself. I rammed into a rather tall young man, knocking him several feet forward. The others converged on me, and soon a blade sunk into my shoulder. Thick, cool liquid ran down my shoulder. I shuddered as tiny, tentacle-like appendages erupted from the wound. I really didn’t feel like going through this, but I should’ve expected it with the number of knight’s in town. My almost perfectly human form ripped itself apart. Tentacles slithered from my nostrils and mouth. Icy cold ichor bled from my pores, and the knights took a step back. I smiled. “Well now, this is interesting.” There wasn’t much left of the knights when the innkeeper stepped into the cathedral. He and a few other men came bearing offerings. The burly man placed a basket of food and wine near the collection box. I didn’t turn from my organ when he thanked me for getting rid of the knights. “I found my daugher,” he said. I didn’t say anything. “She escaped from the knight’s caravan. I really must thank you.” I placed my talon underneath his chin and lifted his gaze up to mine. “It was a pleasure, sir. I’d do it for free.” He nodded, and skedaddled.
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Jun 17, 2016 08:44
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Hey I'm probably out this week, bad news in the family.
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Jun 17, 2016 14:34
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Cereal: Kellogg's OKs Grandpa's cereals (1100 words) The early morning chill was enough to wake Sarah up as she crept past her mom's bedroom. She was pretty sure her mom wasn't home, but Sarah didn't want to take the off chance that she'd actually come back in the middle of the night. She paused briefly to stick her head through her brother Daniel's door, before continuing to the stairs. Her brother had, as usual, already left his room. He was probably preparing breakfast for them both she thought, as she took the stairs two-and-two with light steps. Her brother was a year older than her, and he had taken it upon himself to care for his sister when their mom was absent, even though she was hardly a baby anymore. She appreciated his efforts though, and he did make the best peanutbutter-jelly sandwiches. As Sarah entered the kitchen she found the subject of her thoughts deep in thoughts of his own. Daniel was sitting at the kitchen counter, head resting in his hands, staring with an uneasy look at a strange box in front of him. Sarah walked up next to him to take a closer look. "That's not the usual box of Cheerios, is it?" Daniel jumped at her words, almost falling off the stool he was occupying. "Don't sneak up on a guy like that!" he exclaimed. "People get heart attacks for less you know." He looked at her for a second longer, before returning his gaze to the object in front of him. "Do you... think they are tasty?" he finally said. "I mean, it looks like it's for grownups. Maybe it's a version of those Special K's mom like so much." "I don't know," Sarah replied, as she walked around the counter. "But that man looks weird. Look, he's wearing a skirt on the backside! Maybe he's one of those 'gay' people mom's always fretting about." Daniel thought about what his sister had said. "Nah," he finally replied. "I think he's supposed to be Scottish. They always wear green skirts like that." "Hmm, if you say so." Sarah said, her doubts about her brother's claim thick on her voice. Her brother always made up facts and swore they were true. If Daniel heard the disbelief in her reply, he didn't seem to care. He kept staring at the box, and once again voiced his concern. "You think they are tasty?" Sarah sighed. Boys! They can be so indecisive sometimes. "Only one way to find out," She said as she reached for the box. "Where did you find them by the way? I don't remember ever seeing them before." Daniel looked a bit bashful. "I... I found them yesterday. In the attic." "The attic?" Sarah started. "But mom..." "I just went up for a quick look." Daniel cut her off. "Mom wasn't at home anyway, and I just wanted to see what the fuzz was about." Sarah put her hands on her hip, imitating her mom's favorite expression. Daniel looked even more bashful than before, and suddenly she couldn't hold back a laugh. "So how was it?" She asked, eyes full of curiosity. "Any ghosts or monsters up there like we thought?" "Nah, just a bunch of old junk. I think most of it was grandpa's." "You think grandpa liked these?" Sarah asked as she read the back of the box. "There's oats in it. It says they're very healthy." "Grandpa liked healthy food I think. He always ate broccoli I remember." "I miss grandpa..." Sarah hung her head low. "He always made things feel right. Even when mom had to work all night, he'd be there for us." "Yeah... He was great." Daniel suddenly sat up straight and grabbed the box from Sarah with a swift motion. "If theese were grandpa's then they have to be good. I'll eat them!" He opened the lid and peered in catiously. "It looks ok," he said as he started to pull out the plastic bag containing the mysterious cereals inside. "What's this?" Sara suddenly exclaimed. "Some kind of code on the lid?" Daniel looked where she was pointing. "12/05/59? Oh, that's just the expiration date you doofus." "Hey I knew that!" his sister returned hotly. "I was just confused for a second, that's all." She thought for a moment. "Are... are they still edible? I mean, that's ooold." "Yeah, I think so." Daniel replied. "I eat older things than that in Fallout 4. It should be ok." "If you say so." Sarah sounded doubtful. Daniel opened the white plastic bag and looked inside. "Wow, they're shaped like letters!" "You mean like Alpha-bits?" Sarah quickly went to the cupboards and lifted down two bowls. While balancing them in one hand, she dashed to the fridge and took out a bottle of milk as well. She put the items on the counter, and went to grab the spoons while her brother started pouring a big helping in each bowl. "Aw, drat!"she heard him exclaim as she returned. "There's just O's and K's." "Well that's too bad," Sarah replied, not without a hint of disappointment in her voice. Daniel grabbed the bottle of milk and filled most of both bowls with the cool, white, beverage. He bent over his own bowl and gave it a long sniff. "Seems ok." He then dipped his spoon amongst the floating letters and brought up a big scoop. The milk flowed off the edge, like a miniature Niagara Falls in ivory, as he held it up and studied the now-soggy letters. Was holding her breath as she waited in anticipation. Her knuckles were white from her grip on the counter edge. Finally, Daniel took a deep breath and swooped the spoon deep into his mouth. He started chewing hesitantly, and after a few seconds swallowed with a gulp. "Tastes funny.... Not bad though" He said looking up at Sarah. He hesitated for a second before bringing down his spoon into the bowl for more. Sarah shrugged her shoulders, and after one last look at the big burly man in a skirt on the box, she followed her brother's example. Soon enough, both bowls stood empty on the counter, and the children wee off to prepare for school. Daniel stood by the door, open to the early morning sun outside, while Sarah was still putting on her jacket. "The bus is coming!" he shouted and darted out the door. As Sarah hefted her backpack onto her shoulders and prepared to go out, she turned and looked at the box, still on the kitchen counter. "You know," she said to the box. "You were OK." Fuubi fucked around with this message at 15:41 on Jun 17, 2016 |
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Jun 17, 2016 15:30
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quote:Fuubi hosed around with this message at Jun 17, 2016 around 08:41 People. Don't do this. Edit your story before you post, not after, and if you forget your prompt, put it in a second post.
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Jun 17, 2016 16:17
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Thranguy posted:In case anyone is still interested in critting stuff but tired of potatoes, I'll crit a story of choice from anyone who crits one or more stories out of week 197. Ceighk, "Vegetarian Dreams of Violent Revolution" Oh, jeeze. Right off the bat this looks grimly prophetic now. If you ever write a story about my home town blowing up, I'll take it as a cue to evacuate. You do a stellar job of fitting nearly every element of your prompt into a tale that's more or less coherent and very near complete. Full marks on that. The story itself gets a more mixed grade, as befits its mixed mood. Whether you were trying to write a funny story or not is unclear to me; the complete lack of humor in your inciting incident now could be a contributing factor, as it sets a dark tone you never entirely break despite the streak of absurdity in Buttons' execution in a news studio, his blood on the anchorman's desk, and Patrick's rapid descent into strawmania. On my first read I thought you might be attempting surrealism until I reached the rushed ending in which Patrick undergoes a total reversal in something like three seconds. That finale convinces me you probably aimed to amuse, but in my case, you didn't succeed. The satirizing of PETA et al is too heavy-handed without being fresh. Patrick's introspection hammers home a point that's so familiar we can all sing along. Neither he nor Ruth nor the panda is a terribly interesting character, the premise is thin, and the humor is flat. Your prose does its job and moves Patrick's misadventure along at a reasonable pace, so it's hard to harbor ill will toward the story. There isn't much to like about it, though. Its middle-of-the-road placement appears about right. If possible, I'd like to claim a return crit for Dr. Kloctopussy's "Torn," an uncrit story from Week 38.
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Jun 18, 2016 01:18
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Kaishai posted:
Torn by Dr. Klocktopussy The opening paragraph does a fairly economical job at establishing a character. Unfortunately a fairly stock character, but it's better than nothing. “her stepdad, Rich” is trying too hard to squeeze facts in at the expense of natural narrative. Point of view is a big problem here: it's switching between the two main character's perspectives, which isn't really a good thing to do in modern prose, and that's made worse by the fact that the narrator is editorializing fairly strongly about the events as they happen, from whichever perspective it happens to be in at the time, and is thus coming across as a bit of a split personality. I really, really don't like the decision to explicitly spell out why she's interrupting him. I strongly suspect that we would find this out and that the story would be stronger if you left that as subtext. Salim sort of takes over the story at the end of the first part, suddenly guessing right about the rift thing and taking absurd risks in service of that theory and an unexplained need to go back instantly and generally deprotagonizing Laney, who ought to be the protagonist here considering that Salim is about to quietly leave the story never to reappear. The first paragraph after the break belongs in a much bigger story, something with the kind of length that would let you go into the impact of these rifts on a larger scale. For something like this I think you need to stick to the simple story of boy, girl, rift, and ghost/earlier-in-time dad. People mysteriously knowing exactly how the science fictional elements in this story work without having any source for that knowledge, any kind of doubts about this gnosis, is a recurring problem with this story. Like I said, there's a longer story out there, about these rifts and parallel universe paranoiam but it won't fit in flash size and is getting in the way of what this story could be. Doing it for the ending is even worse; again, these plans out of nowhere rob the drama of whether father and daughter from other dimensions can achieve a reunion on either side and rob the impact of the ending (apparently they can't, because reasons.) Bonus: mini-crit for Angry Wroxter Blues by Nubile Hillock, this story's competition in that week's brawling. I can see why this one won the brawl. Not necessarily the week, but I haven't read anything else from the week. But this was a humor story that landed enough of the jokes to carry it past the ones that whiffed, although some of them whiffed pretty hard, and past the hurdle of our having to believe someone could actually be as stupid as the narrator.
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Jun 18, 2016 02:33
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recaps Hello, this post contains a recap. Myself, Kaishai, and Ironic Twist take a look at Week 192: Really Entertaining Minific(R.E.M. week). As usual, we dissect the worst and the worstest of the bunch. By popular request, we're also going to try and spend more time talking about what DID work in each week! Featuring a stirring rendition of Crabrock's but not me in, featuring Twist in a riveting portrayal of Drumphy, the purple elephant*. The recap!! The Archive link!!! Thank you listeners for listening and recappers for recapping. More recaps (thanks Kai): pre:Episode Recappers Week 156: LET'S GET hosed UP ON LOVE Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Djeser Week 157: BOW BEFORE THE BUZZSAW OF PROGRESS Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 158: LIKE NO ONE EVER WAS Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Djeser Week 159: SINNERS ORGY Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 160: Spin the wheel! Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 161: Negative Exponents Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 36: Polishing Turds -- A retrospective special! Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, Kaishai, and The Saddest Rhino Week 162: The best of the worst and the worst of the best Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, Kaishai, and The Saddest Rhino Week 163: YOUR STUPID poo poo BELONGS IN A MUSEUM Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Kaishai Week 164: I Shouldn't Have Eaten That Souvlaki Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Kaishai Week 165: Back to School Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 166: Comings and Goings Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 167: Black Sunshine Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 168: She Stole My Wallet and My Heart Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 169: Thunderdome o' Bedlam Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 170: Cities & Kaiju Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 171: The Honorable THUNDERDOME CLXXI Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Kaishai Week 172: Thunderdome Startup Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Kaishai Week 173: Pilgrim's Progress Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Kaishai Week 174: Ladles and Jellyspoons Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 175: Speels of Magic Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Kaishai Week 176: Florida Man and/or Woman Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Kaishai Week 125: Thunderdome is Coming to Town -- Our sparkly past! SH, Ironic Twist, Djeser, Kaishai, Grizzled Patriarch, and Bad Seafood Week 177: Sparkly Mermen 2: Electric Merman Boogaloo SH, Ironic Twist, Djeser, Kaishai, Grizzled Patriarch, and Bad Seafood Week 178: I'm not mad, just disappointed Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 179: Strange Logs Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 180: Maybe I'm a Maze Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 181: We like bloodsports and we don't care who knows! Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 182: Domegrassi Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, Kaishai, and Bad Seafood Week 183: Sorry Dad, I Was Late To The Riots Sitting Here, Djeser, Kaishai, and crabrock Week 184: The 2015teen Great White Elephant Prompt Exchange Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 98: Music of the Night -- Songs of another decade Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Kaishai Week 185: Music of the Night, Vol. II Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Kaishai Week 186: Giving away prizes for doing f'd-up things Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 187: Lost In Translation Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 188: Insomniac Olympics Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 189: knight time Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, Djeser, and Kaishai Week 190: Three-Course Tale Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Kaishai Week 191: We Talk Good Sitting Here, Ironic Twist, and Kaishai
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Jun 18, 2016 06:52
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Some judgeburps for week 200.
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Jun 18, 2016 08:11
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A Terrible Knightbrawl: ResultsChili posted:Count Chocula's Lament
ZeBourgeoisie posted:I'm Tired and Busy but Don't Want a Ban ZeBourgeoisie was closer to what I asked for, which was a fight between a knight and a monster from the monster's perspective. But he put zero effort in and his execution and proofreading was terrible. Chili skimmed the prompt and gave me a long, boring story, but at least his story wasn't riddled with proofing errors. Execution, however, also terrible. Nobody wins, least of all me. I'm upset that I remembered I was judging this.
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Jun 18, 2016 21:06
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Boaz-Jachim posted:A Terrible Knightbrawl: Results Good judging
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Jun 19, 2016 05:00
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Thanks for the crits Boaz.
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Jun 19, 2016 06:58
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Thranguy posted:Torn by Dr. Klocktopussy Thank you Thranguy and Kaishai!
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Jun 19, 2016 08:04
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pig poop balls
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Jun 19, 2016 08:47
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Thanks for the crit!
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Jun 19, 2016 09:08
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This isn't the selfie thread
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Jun 19, 2016 17:40
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Does the idea of voluntarily reading, thoughtfully critiquing, and weighing the relative merits of over twenty short stories about breakfast cereal sound like your idea of a good time? Well good news, because there is still one judging slot available for a lucky individual! Hit me up via PM or in IRC to take advantage of this very limited offer! Also, for this week's entrants, a reminder that submissions close at 2359 EST <-- Profane Accessory fucked around with this message at 21:56 on Jun 19, 2016 |
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Jun 19, 2016 19:26
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Thank you and sitting here 
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Jun 19, 2016 19:33
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Benny Profane posted:Does the idea of voluntarily reading, thoughtfully critiquing, and weighing the relative merits of over twenty short stories about breakfast cereal sound like your idea of a good time? Well good news, because there is still 23:59 EST is 8 hours away for me 
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Jun 19, 2016 21:01
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Sitting Here posted:23:59 EST is 8 hours away for me Sorry, bad clock math. As you were.
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Jun 19, 2016 21:14
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Week 202 Cereal Prompt Chosen Cereal: Farina, 40 calories per serving. Good Kid 386 Words My grandpa wanted a real meal; it wasn't an unreasonable request. "Please," he asked, "go to the cafeteria and get me a burger." "You know I can't do that, Grandpa," I replied, "the doctor said solid food could hurt you." "I'll tell you what's hurting me," he said, "this loving Farina. You're a good boy, right? Don't they teach you to respect your elders in college?" I laughed; Grandpa still had his fire. I admired him for a moment, but my stomach sunk as it occurred to me that this was the first time Grandpa had ever asked anything of me. "Look kiddo," he said, "I think we both know that I don't have many sunrises left. A week, a day, what's the difference?" I looked at the bowl of colorless gloop sitting on his lap, and then at my grandpa's pleading expression. The face that marveled over the weekly family dinners was gone. He couldn't chop onions anymore; he couldn't lift a pot of pasta, he couldn't fill a home with a warm aroma that told his family that they were loved. Grandpa needed me. I rose to my feet and said, "You better leave me something good in your will." "There we go kiddo!" Grandpa's face twisted into a smile. He laughed, picked up the Farina, and with a grunt, lobbed it across the room. The plastic bowl fell to the floor, but its contents adhered to the wall. The loose porridge gradually oozed downward and left a trail of slime along the eggshell paint. A speck had landed on my cheek; I laughed as I wiped it away. "One plain burger from the cafeteria, and you'll eat it slowly. OK?" "No," he responded, "two plain burgers, and we'll eat them slowly." I nodded and turned towards the door. After a step, Grandpa yelled out, "Hey! What are you, crazy!?" Oh, great, it was all a bluff. He had gotten my heart racing for nothing. I turned to take my seat; Grandpa was reaching for his wallet. "You don't pay for our food, kiddo," he said, as he handed me a ten dollar bill. "And kiddo," he continued, "in every sense of the phrase, this is on me."
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Jun 19, 2016 21:18
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Week 202, cereals. Corn flakes (100 cal per serving) Doctor Kellogg's Prescription - 818 words Franklin walked through the door at half past five. Madge was at the stove and David, like always, was upstairs. Franklin dropped his briefcase and a grocery bag, hard. He looked to Madge. "Is David at it again?" Madge looked at her husband with concern and turned off the burner. "Well, his door's been closed. I've heard the bed creaking, Franklin. Not for long, but it creaked." The two sat at the kitchen table, face-to-face. "I've got an idea, Madge. An idea from a Doctor, a real one, a holy man. Something that'll fix David." Madge frowned. Franklin had expected more support. A lot more. He'd been raised in the church and his wife was clearly not taking their son's wasted seed seriously enough. This new 'passion' of David's had to end. "He was an innovator, a pioneer. Doctor Kellogg, the cereal man. He had experience with cases like this, where a boy spends all his time on his pecker. Kellogg spent his whole life on boys' peckers." Madge hesitated again and Franklin continued, faster and harder. "I'm tired of you having to clean semen from his sheets, Madge! His room stinks like old oysters, and the creaking, and the slapping! The ceilings are too thin here, Madge! Too thin!" Franklin's floodgates had opened, but he edged them shut just as quickly. Madge and Franklin sat at the kitchen table, silent, until the creaking srarted again. In Franklin's mind, it was accompanied by a wet, sinful slapping. It stopped a few minutes in. The boy was dedicated. Franklin opened his grocery bag and showed Madge the half-dozen boxes of Corn Flakes inside. Then, over the course of a half-hour, he explained his plan. They'd murder David's sexuality with Dr. Kellogg's sanitarium prescription of cornflakes for every meal. "Franklin, are you sure? All of us? And this Doctor Kellogg proved that his flakes would stop David's, um, problem?" Franklin's smile was smug, patronizing, and frankly lovely. "We have to do it as a family. No more spilled, Madge. Kellogg was a cock professional. Trust him, trust me." - At eight, they called David to dinner: three large bowls of anti-masturbatory cornflakes and a pitcher of whole milk. From his expression, David had clearly been expecting Taco Thursday. Franklin spoke first. "David, I've read on good authority that three daily meals of corn flakes embolden the body and cure the spirit". He was confident, quoting directly from Doctor Kellogg's hundred-year-old notes. David was confused, but dug in anyhow. He even asked for a second bowl, to Franklin's delight. In bed, Franklin laid his arm over Madge's breast. She started to turn away, but settled. Through the ceiling, he heard David's bed creak. Slow, then faster. After about a minute, the sound stopped. Franklin throught he heard a loud exhalation, but it could have just been in his mind. Boy needed more flakes. - After a week, Franklin hadn't noticed a change in David's ceiling creaking rhythm. The family meals had become silent. Madge shoved spoon after spoon of cornflakes for completion, then headed to bed. Eight days in, Franklin had enough. He'd tried to run his hand down Madge's thigh, to rub her back, but she was tense all over. Tonight, he kissed the back of her neck. She turned to him. "Have you thought about maybe, just maybe talking to David about this? Telling him you're worried, involving him at all?" Franklin grunted. This is ridiculous! Doctor Kellogg? A hundred years ago? There's a goddamn Rooster on the box, Franklin. Franklin stared at her blankly. "A cock on the box, Franklin! A cock!" Madge turned over and away from her husband. Franklin laid on his back, eyes open. A few minutes later, he heard a creaking amping to a crescendo, punctuated by a loud sigh. He didn't sleep. - Two weeks into the family's diet, David was robust and Franklin was crumbling. Madge was silent. David finished his dinner just as Madge did. Franklin stirred his into a mush. He'd started hitting the burrito truck after work nearly a week ago. He followed Madge into the bedroom after dumping the cereal. She was awake, reading. David was upstairs, long gone. She ignored him, even as he changed into pajamas in front of her. Franklin took his time, waiting for the inevitable creaking, but it didn't come. He pointed to the ceiling and tapped Madge's leg with a smile. She looked up from her novel impassively, then back down. He crawled into bed next to Madge and tried his usual move, a hand up the thigh. He tried to cup her breast when she shook him off and turned on him. She was stern. "You know what, Franklin? I'm just not in the mood." He couldn't protest before she turned off the table lamp. Franklin laid there for a while feeling impotent, again unable to sleep. Upstairs, David's creaking started.
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Jun 19, 2016 23:42
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| # ? Apr 20, 2024 07:22 |
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Cereal: Krave (120 calories) Soft Centre 1193 words The three stolen chocolate bars in my pocket felt like lead weights as I made my way out of the WH Smith and towards the exit of the shopping centre. No alarms started ringing. No hulking security guard moved forwards to stop me in my tracks. I glanced back into the store. The cashier was idly picking his nose as if no-one could see him. I let out the breath I’d been holding since leaving, and headed out of the shopping centre’s south entrance into the cool night air. There was a kebab shop a few streets away, run by my mate Bogdan’s parents. That was where our group met up, every other Sunday night, down in the alley by the side of the building, to celebrate. Most of the guys were already there, cheerfully comparing their loot, trading video games, clothes and CDs. I sat myself down next to one of the big green wheelie bins, and chucked one of the chocolate bars up to my lookout guy when he arrived. After a couple of minutes, one last straggler made his way into the alley. He didn’t look familiar, wearing a tatty grey hoodie and a nervous, searching look on his face, but I could tell from the awkward bulges in his rucksack that he was one of us. He scanned the group a couple times, then plopped himself down next to me. I nodded at him, and he gave me a nervous grin in return. “I haven’t seen you before. Who are you?” As soon as I started talking to him, he visibly relaxed, clearly relieved that someone here was willing to talk to him. “I’m… Neil,” he said, voice soft and slow. “Callum,” I replied. “How’d you find out about all this?” “I’m in Jason’s Physics class,” Neil said. “He was showing off a new pair of trainers after school the other day. I asked him where he got ‘em from and he just started running his mouth about how he stole ‘em.” “Sounds about right,” I said, rolling my eyes. As the oldest, biggest and loudest, Jason was our de factor 'leader'. “So why’d you decide to tag along with us, then?” Neil shrugged. “Something to do. Something to stop being… bored, I guess.” “I know what you mean. Plus, it means your mum isn’t moaning at you to stop playing video games all day!” I laughed. Neil didn’t. He looked down at his hands, and for a few seconds, we just listened to the others chattering. Then he looked back up at me. “So what’d you actually get?” I pulled the Twix and the Lion bar out of my pocket, offering the latter to Neil. Then, after digging around in my bag for a bit, I showed him the top corner of the latest Call of Duty. “Not a huge haul, yeah, but it’s not easy to swipe a game. Most places don’t keep the discs in the cases. So what’d you get?” Neil looked down again for a moment. Then, he swung his rucksack off his back, opened it, and with a little difficulty, pulled out his spoils. I recognised what the red cardboard box was even before I saw the name on the front. “That’s it?” I asked. Neil nodded. I narrowed my eyes, and looked at him like he was mental. “You stole a box of Krave?” Neil nodded again, a lot less confident this time. “You stole some cereal? That’s it?” “I… like Krave,” Neil said, voice even quieter now. I stared at him a few moments longer, then I started laughing again. “I guess I can’t blame you for just nicking something small on your first run. And hey, at least you got something that tastes good! If you’d stolen some Shreddies or Weetabix, then I’d have thought there was something wrong with you.” Neil gave a tiny smile, but before he could say anything more, Bogdan came round the corner with a bag full of kebabs, and the alley turned into a swarming mass of kids clamouring for food. ----- Five months and twenty boxes of Krave later, I was back in the same WH Smith, eyeing up a copy of Overwatch. None of us had figured out why Neil only stole boxes of Krave. Whenever anyone asked, he simply smiled and said ‘I like Krave.’ Eventually, everyone stopped talking to him. Everyone but me. I wanted to find out what his deal was. But first, I wanted to grab this game. I reached up and picked the case off the shelf. In an instant, my world was filled with the piercing sound of an alarm. It came from downstairs, but in the quiet of the shop, it was overwhelming. The case clattered to the floor, as I tried to dash out of the WH Smith as naturally as possible. It took a couple of seconds for me to remember I hadn’t actually stolen anything today. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down, then headed towards the north exit this time. Just in case. There was a Tesco Express next to the exit, and Neil casually wandered out of it, as if he hadn’t even noticed anything was going wrong. He gave me a small wave, falling in alongside me as we both walked out of the centre. I could see the outline of the Krave box in his rucksack. Neither of us spoke, until we were a good few yards away from the centre. Then, I turned on him. “Are you mental, Neil? If those guards had searched you or something, you’d have been totally screwed!” “Do you want to come round to my place for a bit?” Neil’s reply took me totally by surprise. He didn’t even look as though the alarm had caused him to break a sweat. I simply nodded, and followed him down the street. I was walking past the children’s home when I realised Neil wasn’t with me anymore. I looked back to see him walking down the home’s gravel path, and I had to jog to catch back up with him, reaching him at the front door. My first few steps inside the home told me everything I needed to know about it. It wasn’t a nightmarish, rundown pile or anything. It was just sterile. It was like the janitors had cleaned everything up, including any warmth and humanity. We walked up a flight of grey stairs in silence, and Neil lead me to a room opposite the stairwell. There wasn’t much inside. Two beds, a wardrobe, and a desk with the oldest TV I’d ever seen on top. There was what looked like a smaller version of Neil, sitting on one of the beds, reading a dog-eared book. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, breaking into a grin when he saw us. “Hey Joey!” Neil said, pulling the box of cereal out of his backpack. “Sorry I’m so late. They moved the location of all the cereal.” Neil handed Joey the box, then turned to look at me, a small, sad smile on his face. “He likes Krave.”
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Jun 20, 2016 00:16
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