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BeefSupreme
Sep 14, 2007

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022
New World Orders
555 words (Comedic Entry)

Okay, ladies, thanks for coming! If you’ll all take your seats, we can get started. Jeanine, if you could come in here and join us, please? Yes, I know there is guacamole, I made it.

Great! Again, thanks for joining me today. I know it’s been a long time since we’ve all been together in the same room. What was it, five years ago we graduated? Seems like longer. I’ve really missed you girls. Life just isn’t the same without all my sorority sisters! The bond we shared, all living together, talking about boys, getting made up for those fraternity parties… I know you remember, Suzanne!

No, we’re not just here to ‘hang out’, Kiana. I’m about to tell you why we’re here, if you’ll be patient. Now, I know most of us are in the workforce now, like the good 21st century women we are! A few of us are married, which, all things considered, is a little bit surprising. And one of us is pregNANT! Okay, quiet down. Quiet down! What hasn’t changed for any of us, though, is that wherever we are in life, we’ve got to make ourselves look pretty. We’ve got to wake up in the morning—Jeanine, can you stop stuffing your face for 5 minutes? As I was saying, we’ve got to wake up in the morning and put on our best face.

I want to tell—no, show all you ladies an incredible product I have discovered, thanks to my friend Karen. Hi, Karen! Karen’s great, you all should talk to her later. Now, let me show you all what I’m talking about. The complete 2017 line of Ella Marshall cosmetic products, built for every woman! Umm, excuse me, Darla, if you could watch your language, please. That was uncalled for. What has gotten into you all? Anyway, I don’t know what you’ve heard about Ella Marshall, but I’ll tell you about my experience with the company—and let me tell you, it’s been nothing short of incredible. Now, I don’t have to work because my dear Martin makes plenty, but we all know it’s nice to have a little extra on the side. When Karen got me involved, I started small, just around the neighborhood. Pretty soon I had some regular customers, a few orders a week, and just like that, a little business of my own. Of course, first and foremost it’s an incredible product! I use it myself, as do all my customers. But really, they’re not customers, they’re friends.

Yes, I know you flew all the way from Atlanta, Suzanne! I wouldn’t ask you to come here unless I had something important for you to see! I want all of you to get involved with Ella Marshall, and start making a little bit for yourselves. What do you mean, is this a pyramid scheme? Of course not. Well, no, I haven’t made any money yet, but that’s because I’m just getting started. Once all of you get involved, and start working with Ella Marshall, and then get others to join in—

Eileen, will you sit down? Ladies, sit down, I’ve barely just started! Why does it look like my face is melting? What is that supposed to mean? Yes, I’m wearing Ella Marshall right now. Wait! Sit down! Come back! Please!

Well, poo poo.

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GenJoe
Sep 15, 2010


Rehabilitated?


That's just a bullshit word.
Casino
613 words

There’s this girl… she’s down in marketing, but works on this floor... I think her name is Cheryl? Yeah? Been here for a few years? I’ve been seeing more and more of her, over the past month or so — and please don't think I'm being loopy for saying this, but I am convinced that she's figured out my bathroom routine. Honest-to-god, that's the only time I ever see her.

It’s like, and this isn't overtired Shannon saying this... this really happens. She’ll be camping out in the handicap stall when I walk in, so I’ll go over to the one next to it. And then, right when I’m about to be, you know, done, I’ll hear a flush through the separator. She’ll wait at the sink, wash her hands, and when I walk up, she’ll flash me a smile through the mirror. She’s good — she does it at that exact moment where it’s unavoidable, you know? And at that point I have to give the obligated “How’s it going?”, like that’s me giving my blessing on the next fifteen seconds of chit-chat — and then that’s it. I’ll see her the next day — but sometimes she waits two.

One time I bluffed her out and waited for, I don’t know, five minutes after she got up? I opened the stall door and there she was, doing her makeup.

It’s like, people are either intimidated by me, and they’ll duck their heads when I walk past or they'll clear out of the kitchen when I'm grabbing coffee. But then there’s the people who want something out of me — like this girl, maybe if she just spends enough of those fifteen second intervals, then she'll get to where I am one day. And I'm at the point where it's like — come on, are you sure you want that?

I caught up with an old friend from college last night. We went to grab dinner and she asked if she could bring her kid with — he's sixteen, probably going to start looking at schools soon, you know, and making career choices soon after that. And the whole night, it wasn't really about us catching up... it was more her trying to get her kid to engage with me. "Oh, Shannon, how's your work treating you? You know where Shannon works, right Austin?" Stuff like that.

And this kid... this kid's clearly not interested in any of it. I mean, it's not like he was the quiet type. You could see that he wanted to talk, just not about schools and not about his future. At one point his mother got up for the bathroom, leaving us, and he brought up that new movie Scorsese's doing, and I sat there nodding my head like I hadn't seen a movie in years. Like I didn't even know what a movie was — so the conversation trailed off and he stared back down at his menu.

Put a person in front of me who either hasn't heard of, or who doesn't care about my position here, and I can't even keep their attention for three minutes? But this girl in the bathroom, one time she asked what I had had for lunch, and I told her about a cold-cut sandwich I put together, and to her that was the most interesting thing in the world.

So I got home last night, and my friend shot me a text saying how great of an evening she had and that the three of us should do it again when I'm free maybe? And I got into a shirt, slipped into bed, and watched Casino for the first time.

The Cut of Your Jib
Apr 24, 2007


you don't find a style

a style finds you



Week 235 [Monologues for Women] Submissions (2 entries)

Roaming Data (in Binary)
700 Words

Black Box, Avant Garde Lighting

I think I’m awake—but I’ve made that mistake before. It’s getting hard to tell what separates days from the nights. Sure, I see the moon. It’s bold and bright. There’s a rainbow halo, and those little pillowed clouds. It means the air is frigid. If I looked closely I’m sure I’d see crystalline spiderwebs running up and down the bannisters.

There’s a cat. Some indoor-outdoor cat that roams the neighborhood on its own terms. It comes up on the porch on the coldest nights and rubs against my legs. Its fur is wiry, mottled like frost covered tire tracks in the mud on the edge of an intersection where there have been too many accidents.

I almost let it inside once, but it scratched at the storm door when my inside cat came to investigate. Indoor cat just sat and stared like a dumb lump. She finally saw another being that was just like herself. Didn’t care. That’s not right - not alike. Same species, but altogether different. She watched that other cat scrape against the glass with the dispassion of an observer on the outside of the cage.

Day after day, night after night, the same couch is there, the same bed. The same dish and spoon. There’s nothing outside the door that isn’t right here in warmth and comfort. Except the ghost of a cat.

A little ghost that vanishes when the spectres of headlights appear on the crest of the hill. The big rolling cage that the driver thinks they’re controlling. It growls and clanks along at 3:45 every night, before anyone else is awake, never even knowing that a little cat is hidden away, watching. Until, I suppose, little ghost decides it’s brave enough to meet a big ghost up close.

I’m watching too. Behind the curtain on the door waiting for my little ghost to return. I’ve never seen the driver. There has to be one, right? Then I realize it won’t be too long before all those trucks will rattle along empty, unseen ghosts flitting through the air telling it where to go and what to do.

They’re already everywhere. I’m clutching the curtain so hard the lace is stretched out of shape. No matter how hard I squeeze, I’ll never be able to wring all the ones and zeros from it. It’s too late for that. I feel it connected to the house next door and the one beside that and the truck’s out of earshot but its pull yanks the lace from my grasp. There’s one frayed thread caught on my fingernail.

I notice the house across the street has a strand of Christmas lights still up. And in the flicker of red and green I can see the inevitability. We want to be ghosts, connected but not too close. I’m in my little house next to other lonely houses, and we’re all trying to suss out some meaning through one-way conversations with dippy cats sleeping on the backs of sofas.

I don’t know where ghost cat went. Off doing its flesh-and-blood thing. I could hold a digital seance and find out exactly where it is. Track it on a map where every street is the same gray and every yard has the same sea-green grass. Spirits stalking a ghost reduced to a little red dot on a touch screen. But I’ll let it have its privacy. There’s not much of the night left.

Soon, the sun will rise, and the air will feel clean and crisp. People will leave their little houses and hide themselves until they come home and tell their cats what they really wanted to say. And they won’t notice all the ghosts swimming all around them, through them. Collecting little pieces of them. Or maybe that’s exactly what they want.

Just before the sun breaks, I see little ghost cat peek around the corner of the house. My indoor cat mewls for food and I look down to pet her. When I look back, ghost cat is gone. Gone to sleep away the messy hours. But I know it’ll be back tonight, hoping this is the night I finally let it inside.

——————

Game Over, Game On
700 Words

(To audience)
The day I saw Mr. Darcy swim in the pond was the day I became a woman. It’s funny how there’s this global misremembrance of that scene and it’s been conflated with bits of Love Actually in to this Fabio moment of him climbing out of the water and his wet shirt clinging to his chest. We got a creepily hot statue out of it, anyway.

(To Sam)
You reminded me of Mr. Darcy, at first. Here’s the thing about you, Sam: You never got to the part where you realized you’re an rear end in a top hat and changed your ways when you’re called on your B.S.

(To audience)
Why do we want the gentleman douchebag, anyway? Who wants to be the long-suffering love interest? It’s got to be mostly Colin Firth, right? You can tell he’s just a sweet guy struggling to play Jane Austen’s version of a bad boy. That’s the charm.

(To Sam)
Well, I’ve had enough. Yeah, go ahead. Act like you don’t care—like you never cared. That’s fine. You want to ignore me? Well, for once I’ll get to decide the conversation. What’s one shred of remorse cost? More than you’ve made on your YouTube blog and the Kickstarter for your lovely 8-bit game, that’s for sure. Now, you’re putting the controller down.

(To audience)
The cross-pollination of manners comedies with modern nerd culture has been less than successful, so I’m not sure where I meant to end up when I compared this tubby console-jockey to Colin Firth, but the character arc of the romantic hero (or lack thereof) still stands. We’ll see if Sam manages a tortoise roll to flip himself off that raggedy beanbag chair or if he’ll spare me his indignity.

(To Sam)
I’m over getting angry that you don’t even react until I directly insult you. No eloquent lies, no feints and thrusts to act engaged. Nah. You never were Mr. Darcy, forget the money. Not even a self-made Captain Wentworth. A caveman grunt is good enough. All I see is Orson Welles in that wine commercial, muddled and lost. The difference is I’m still waiting for you to make your Citizen Kane.

(To audience)
A wise person once asked “Why, in all those stories, do all the men have to be post-apocalypse dead in order for a woman to be a badass?” Maybe I’m not going to swing a sword around or fire a fifty-caliber rifle through some zombies, but I know Sam has some hopes and dreams. We might have shared them if he had played it a little differently. Here’s what I’m going to do: Beat him at his own game.

(To Sam)
Up off your stank catcher now? Good. It’s eaten enough of your Totino’s farts. I heard it crying earlier, “No more! Mercy!” Here’s what’s going to happen, Sam. I’m going to make my own game and I’m going to get it to market faster than you. I’m going to outsell you, and I’m going to be the critical darling you wish you were. See you on the other side of Metacritic.

Meg rushes out of the room, slams the flimsy door and slides down it in a slow collapse. She sits in the hallway for a moment, breathing heavily.

(To audience)
Welp. That was the easy part. I thought for a second that I was going to fuel this entire thing on spite. Sure, it’ll be great when he eventually comes begging me for a job in QA; but, you know what? I don’t feel anything for that goon in there. I don’t care about beating him or proving something to him.

If I motivated him to actually follow his dream, well, more power to him. I welcome the competition. Now all I need to do is figure out an idea, get a programmer, get an artist, and make a game.

Next week I’ll poo poo a brick. Maybe I’ll sneak in and use that drat beanbag chair. But right now I’m awash in hope and excitement. I feel the little needle pricks all over when you realize you’re about to do something beautiful. I can’t wait.

End of Act 1, Scene 2 (of 3)

The Cut of Your Jib
Apr 24, 2007


you don't find a style

a style finds you



Love Actually
gdoc ate my balls

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









archives

sebmojo fucked around with this message at 22:18 on Jan 8, 2018

Julias
Jun 24, 2012

Strum in a harmonizing quartet
I want to cause a revolution

What can I do? My savage
nature is beyond wild
Desperate Jasper
1122 words

Prompt: "This psychiatrist deals with neuroses, narcissism and dysfunction every day. And that's just at home."


“Samantha Bess Salvai! Matthew Lee Tennesy!”

Those words echoed through the house, shattering the tranquil aura that the streaming morning dawn brought in as it glistened upon the freshly set snow. Both children had sheepishly slinked downstairs, and tried to exit through the back patio, only to find that the door was locked and that the key was stashed away.

Clarise Salvai stood guard at the front door, preparing to lash out at the juveniles. Once again, they had left a large mess in the kitchen from the previous night, leaving out dirty dishes and food to spoil and attract bugs. Clarise, having come home from a thirteen hour work-shift the previous night, had to take responsibility again for the two entitled children.

“When are you guys going to start taking care of yourselves? I can’t keep on wiping your asses forever, you know! You’re both sixteen turning-on-twelve. I come home exhausted, with a massive headache, after having to listen to crazy people all day, and I’m greeted with nothing but filth. Both Ronnie and I bust our butts to provide you two a nice home, with plenty of food and clothing. We make sure you’re not wanting for anything, and you two just spit in our faces!”

Samantha started to cry. Clarise then gave Samantha a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“There, there.”

She then turned her head to Matthew, but was startled by an expression of frustration plastered on his face. Clarise flinched.

“You think you know everything, don’t you? Just because you’re a fancy therapist, you think you know everything about everybody, don’t you? You don’t! You think you’re perfect, and have all the answers, and that we’re just burdens-“

Smack

Clarise, still shaking, glared down at Tennesy.

“Listen, and listen well, Matt. I love you, with all of my heart. If I didn’t, you’d be out on the streets. I’d never leave you alone nor run away from you. We’ll talk later. Both of us have to get going. And don’t you dare tell anybody at school that I slapped you-got it?”

***

Stumbling up the stairwell, Clarise juggled her purse, her winter coat, and her lunchbox as she fished for her keys from her back pocket. Reaching the landing, she produced an audible sigh, and unlocked the featureless metal door, slithering through the tiny hole into her office.

Without much thought, Clarise shoved her belongings out of sight, underneath the large desk, and checked her hair and makeup in the mirror. With everything in place, Clarise turned on the coffee machine, and looked over her cozy chamber. The wooden desk was decorated in accolades and pictures of her colleagues and family. Across from it were four cozy armchairs, personally picked out by Clarise and Ronald Salvai, filling up most of the empty space in the homely office, lit by a pair of dull lamps on each side of the room.

Shortly after taking the first sip of her coffee, Clarise heard a firm knocking reverberate through the air. It was coming from the large sturdy wooden door, decorated invitingly with floral pattern trimming and a sleek nameplate that reads Dr. Salvai, Ph.D.

“Come on in. Make yourself at home”.

***

For the next two hours, Clarise listened to the woes of her newest patient, Jasper Holden. It was a grocery list of the usual anxieties that plagued her patients: Lack of fulfilment in life, monetary worries, strained relationships with friends and family. But Jasper was different. Unlike most patients, who come voluntarily or at the behest of family, Jaspar was delivered straight from the local psychiatric ward. He had been on death watch for several months, after multiple attempts to slit his own wrists. Clarise couldn’t be sure if most of what Jaspar was telling her was even true or not; it did not seem to line up with the patient’s files that had been delivered to her beforehand. She could not even broach any of the subjects in the file, because Jasper would steer the conversation awry.

Nearing the end of the session, Clarise asked Mr. Holden about any concerns of his. The fellow, who had been quite talkative up to this point, suddenly became pensive, and began looking up at the blank, featureless ceiling. After what felt like minutes, the patient replied:

“What’s the best way to die?”

Clarise was hit with a cold wave. She felt like puking.

She responded: “Why do you obsess so much about death, Mr. Holden?”

“It hurts, you know. Nobody loves me, and the world would be a better place if I disappeared. I’m just a burden on this system, even the other doctors think so. But they won’t let me die! They think that they’d bear the guilt, but the truth is, I want to go away. I’ve resolved this since I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ve ruined my family’s life. I can’t bring back my wife, you know, and even my children and my parents refuse to acknowledge my existence. I’d be better off dead.”

Resolving herself, Clarise steadied herself as she stood up. She walked over to Holden’s side, and sat down on the arm of his chair.

“Listen, and listen well, Jasper. Our family has a motto. We Tennesys are fighters. We don’t give in, and we don’t give up, no matter what! Life’s hard, so what! Nobody has it easy, but killing yourself only hurts those around you. Suppose there is life after death. Huh? Could you live with the guilt of what your actions have caused for countless people? Suicide is the cowards’ way, and the ultimate selfish thing somebody can do! There’s no redemption once you’ve gone and done it!”

She continued, “If you truly feel bad about how you have lived your life up until this point, then try to change it for the better! Try to have a positive impact on those around you. Do good deeds, and resolve not to sink back into your old nasty habits, if they cause you so much pain. It isn’t gonna be easy, but that’s what true love really is.”

***

Hours later, Clarise stepped out of her office onto the back landing, having finished her lunch. She produced a lighter from her pocket, and lit herself a cigarette, a luxury she only enjoyed when she was away from home. The events with Jasper played out in her mind over and over again, as if she was trying to pinpoint a specific frame of the film in her mind.

“Our family has a motto. We Tennesys are fighters. We don’t give in, and we don’t give up, no matter what!” mused Clarise, snubbing out the fresh cigarette in the melting snow.

“Yeah right.”

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003
Admit that this problem can't be solved with a spreadsheet.
689 words

Drunk? I guess that depends on your definition. I have ingested 420 millilitres of alcohol over a period of six hours and forty-two minutes. Sure that would make some people drunk, but what with differing tolerances, metabolic rates, etcetera, it would be hard to definitively answer yes. If it helps I’m about eighty percent sure I could pass a field sobriety test right now, but there’s no straight lines on the carpet so it’s not really an option.

I know it’s your job but you really needn’t worry. I have a system. Whenever someone in the office does something wrong I take an amount from this bottle of everclear, and put it in my water bottle which I sip throughout the day. Quantities are determined through a calculation which takes into account the likelihood of a certain action getting someone fired, divides it by the number of people in the office, and then undershoots that by a comfortable margin. The spreadsheet’s stored on the company intranet, bring it up and I’ll give you an example.

This morning Komakech, you know Komakech from sales, got Sadie in to do a dictation. I’m not sure you’re if you’re aware, but Komakech can type at over sixty words per minute. That’s fast, professional typing-pool fast. I can do forty, and from what I’ve observed through the glass walls of your office you can do about thirty. You should work on that, by the way. Now Sadie’s a secretary, sure, but she can only do forty as well. I mean, “dication” isn’t even really a thing these days, typing speed is barely worth the space on a resume any more. Point is, you know as well as I that whatever she’s doing might well involve dick, but there’s sure as hell isn’t any tation going on.

Look down column A. It’s a list of all the things that go on here. A3: Fraudulent time-card entries. A7: Excessive sick leave. A17: Smelly food in common areas. Of course you’re HR, I don’t need to tell you all of this, do I? Now, here it is, I know this one off by heart. A237: Fellatio (office hours). Of course we’re being charitable in assuming they stopped there. Now we cross reference that with this column, and… 19 mls. Now today I have Bombay Sapphire, which is 80 proof, which in turn is forty percent alcohol content by volume, so with some basic maths I measure out 47.5 mls with a syringe and add it to my water bottle to sip throughout the day. Now, that’s for a pretty significant offence, as I’m sure you would agree. Normally I use an eye-dropper.

Like today I was doing the expenses, and you wouldn’t believe the stuff that gets through there. Now I know the salesmen need to schmooze the clients from time to time, but the fourth time “Generic Car Parts Limited” showed up on Boyd’s form I googled it. It’s on the corner of Lincoln and Broadway and from what I can see on street view is simply called BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS. You’d think we’d at least spring for one of the classy downtown places. So a couple of dozen dodgy receipts come through, each one is a half a dropper, and by lunchtime I’ve got a slight buzz on, which I can enjoy safe in the mathematically derived knowledge that my conduct is still better than the average employee.

The real masterstroke is that I calibrated the whole thing from when Rodgerson got canned. The man was a souse! It took a full seven hundred and twenty millilitres of alcohol, ingested in the first ninety-four minutes of last year’s work do, for him to be shown the door.
I honestly appreciate your concern, but now that we’ve got all that squared that away, let’s talk about all these other issues I’ve raised. The strip clubs, the receipts - click on the second worksheet and you’ll see everything else I’ve documented. The thing is I’ve been trying to cut back, and for that to happen there’s going to have to be some BIG changes around here.

Julias
Jun 24, 2012

Strum in a harmonizing quartet
I want to cause a revolution

What can I do? My savage
nature is beyond wild
Evidently I need to find a way to get myself motivated. So I'm perma-:toxx:ing that I'll do redemptions for Weeks 193, 196, 227, and 228 by March 31st, 11:59PM EST. In addition, I must also submit at least one story for a new Thunderdome prompt between this post and that deadline. :getin:

(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006

Julias posted:

Evidently I need to find a way to get myself motivated. So I'm perma-:toxx:ing that I'll do redemptions for Weeks 193, 196, 227, and 228 by March 31st, 11:59PM EST. In addition, I must also submit at least one story for a new Thunderdome prompt between this post and that deadline. :getin:

gently caress you.

Also, submissions closed

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

sebmojo posted:

Potential
600 words

So one night, after dinner, I fall out of grace with electricity.

It happens when I’ve just scraped the leftovers into the waste disposal and I hit the switch, with wet fingers - I know, dumb, right? BLAMMO, a sinus obliterating spasm of gently caress thumps through me and I yelp and drop to the floor like a stunned goose.

“What the poo poo was that,” yells Miles from the couch in the other room. I don’t say anything. I’m flat on my back like a flounder dropped out of the pan and onto the black and white lino, opening and closing my mouth

I’d met Miles 18 months previously at a sushi place, pissed on cheap red wine. He charmed the crap out of my friend Sally and I’m ashamed slash proud to admit I flung myself at him in a fit of drunken pique. Proud because it was highly effective drunken pique: three months later we’re engaged.

It occurs to me as I’m lying there that it may have actually been a bad idea. I remember the lightning bolt clarity of thinking yes, yes, when he asked me, but that's all it is - a memory, a bright after-image in my minds eye.

Two days later we’re getting a taxi and fourteen thousand volts of static electricity leaps into my outstretched finger and hightails it down to my feet. ‘Jesus,’ I say, jumping back. Miles gets in the car. I scuttle in after him so I don’t have to touch any more metal.

“This poo poo is wack,” I explain to my betrothed and he looks at me.

“They used to make electricity with rabbit fur and amber,” he says. I wait for him to explain how that’s relevant to my current situation e.g. being the neighbourhood bike for any shiftless electrons that want to take me for a spin, but he does not.

At the restaurant the coat rack gives me a shock, followed by a zap from the chair back, a jolt from the dessert , and a good old fashioned wallop from the pull chain in the ladies loo. The toilet shock is the worst because it's the hundred and fifty first shock I've received from the hateful world. I'd had hopes it would stop at a hundred and fifty; counting them is how I've been passing the time between jolts.

Back at the table I slump back into my chair and tap at the coffee and the after dinner mint. Nothing. I take a wary sip. I don't know how a coffee could electrocute anyone but I'm taking no chances.

"So we're down to a hundred and fifty guests," he says. "My mum wants to bring her bridge club."

I look at him with exhausted eyes and blink. "Yes, fine. Bridge. Done." Miles' mum is a combination of Dame Edna Everage and Torquemada, but is perfectly lovely as long as you don't have to talk to or be around her.

Then Miles frowns: "You'll be OK with your electricity thing at the ballroom? We've got dance practice tomorrow, the next ten Wednesdays, remember?"

He keeps frowning, like I'm something I've forgotten. It's funny, so I laugh. Then I reach out and touch his hand. I'm steeled for the zap, for the jolt, for the shock, but there's nothing. Nothing at all.

So I pat his hand, his soft hand with its zero potential, and I push my chair back, and I stand up, and I walk out of our life forever.

The door shocks me, and I smile.
Did you just write real person fic where you're a woman and you have rolicking electric sex with Fumblemouse

edit: im sure zapping people is a kink and i intend to investigate

edit: yes it definitely is

edit: whoa boy howdy is it

SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at 09:11 on Feb 6, 2017

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk










don't doxx me

flerp
Feb 25, 2014
my kink is bad fiction

BeefSupreme
Sep 14, 2007

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022
my kink is fjgj

Uranium Phoenix
Jun 20, 2007

Boom.

Everyone should crit more.

I don't really know much about monologues, and they're sort of hard to critique in isolation. Instead of the usual critique pattern I've been doing, I'm going to use this structure:
1. Genre, First impression
2. What emotion is prevalent in the piece?
3. What kind of person is the protagonist?
4. What larger story does this allude to?
The goal is (I think) to have a strong emotion, something developed about the character, and hopefully not fall into typical stereotypical speeches that characters who are women inevitably get. It also, I think, should only allude to a story, not try to be one.

Chernabog posted:

Princessdom
Genre: dramatic. This monologue tries to attack sexism head-on and turn the "princess" stereotype around to some degree. I thought it was sort of corny and not very inspiring. The emotion I get is "reflective", since it's a person reminiscing about their career. The protagonist is clearly defined as a compassionate person. I don't know what kind of story surrounds this. "Person talks about why they made certain life/career choices," maybe. I disliked this because it felt stereotypical and like it reflexively had to address sexism, which is a reason you get so many monologues about rape/childbirth/abortion in the first place. This isn't really just about yours; a lot of the monologues did this. To some degree, it's hard to avoid because sexism defines people's lives in so many ways. The reason I think a lot of men's monologues are so memorable and interesting to people, though, is because they seek to define a character on their own terms; they don't need to be reactive. Of course, to completely ignore sexism risks ignoring the unique experiences of women, but I've rambled on this tangent long enough.

newtestleper posted:

Admit that this problem can't be solved with a spreadsheet.
Genre: comedy. I liked this because it developed a really funny character with an interesting way of looking at the world. It's all very business-like, but totally ridiculous, and is both funny and achieves a critique of cultural structures through the comedic parts. The protagonist is analytical, honest, and clever. The story could go a lot of directions, but it seems like a comedy about a dysfunctional office. It feels like it would be a fun speech to give.

BeefSupreme posted:

No War But Lass War
Genre: dramatic. Pun: bad. I liked that this hinted at an interesting story, and disliked how... it sort of felt like a bond villain monologue, in that it did too much explaining. The primary emotion is resolute fearlessness. The character is obviously dedicated. I think a play or story that followed the Soviet women who fought in World War 2 would be really interesting. At the same time, it feels like this monologue is repetitive. It just says "haha you foolish Germans don't let your women fight, us Soviets do, you're dumb as heck" and repeats that several times. It also seems like it's either telling the Germans something they already know, or revealing intelligence to no gain. Maybe don't tell the enemy how the agents in a village killed four of their soldiers? I think a way to play up the strength of the monologue would be to focus on the "Am I making you nervous?" bit, where you start to build the sort of powerless-person-feels-powerful vibe, the kind you see with from Loki in Avengers or Hannibal in Silence of the Lambs.

Benagain posted:

Death and the dog
Genre: dramatic. I liked this one, because I like people who know poo poo yelling at idiots for being idiots. Very cathartic. Obviously you've got anger and frustration coming through, but because of the subject it also defines the character as someone who cares a lot, and so we feel sympathy for them, and someone experienced, because they've seen this all before. This could either be about the vet or the person they're yelling at, but with a line like "you never thought about a goddamn thing past your own happiness" you have a strong theme implied. It also defines the character on its own terms, and is fun to read.

sebmojo posted:

Potential
Genre: Dunno. This was an interesting story, and a neat way to show the compatibility (or lack) of a romantic couple. It's a poo poo monologue, though. There's no dominate emotion because you've written a short story instead of a monologue. This is clear because you have back and forth dialogue, and dialogue within a narration. That it's in first person doesn't change that. I don't feel like you've defined the protagonist as anything but 'regrets hooking up with a guy, sort of'. Well, anyways. "Feel out of grace with electricity" is a good line. I also don't think you were the only person to write a short story instead of a monologue.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









good crits, because fast

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003
Thanks for the crit!

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006
FJGJ

Kenfucius's Little Heart Attacks
sparksbloom's Social Studies
curlingiron's Damsels & Diplomacy
Uranium Phoenix's Who Holds the Walls of Byzantium
Uranium Phoenix's Lovebugs
GenJoe's Casino
& newtestleper's Admit that this problem can't be solved with a spreadsheet

Those all receive Honorable Mentions this week. Are they perfect? No. But they were fun pieces that had interesting, dynamic characters and were filled with juicy, performative lines that would be a lot of fun to act. I could legitimately give these to my students and have them perform them and it would be great fun to watch. Good job.

No dms. Nice.

Jay W. Frik's Moonlight Goes Back Home committed probably the biggest sin for a performance piece and that was to be boring. The character is bland and the speech flavorless and the most interesting stuff appears in the stage directions. That earns it the loss.

Thranguy's The Seventh Portrait is loving grande, y'all. First, I'm just super impressed with it on a technical level: it's a Shakespearean style iambic pentameter soliloquy ending with a rhyming couplet. That's a lot to try and tackle. Second, the guts of it are powerful. Great story. And very, very performable. There's a ton for an actor to play with and get excited about. Much like how Shakespeare’s soliloquies contain some of his most original and powerful writing, this entry contains the best of the week. A clear and uncontested winner.

Thank you everyone for not ruining this prompt. I am not filled with hate and rage and that's probably a first. And probably a last.

Chili
Jan 23, 2004

college kids ain't shit


Fun Shoe

Uranium Phoenix
Jun 20, 2007

Boom.

.

Only registered members can see post attachments!

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010


Deceitful and black-hearted, perhaps we are. But we would never go against the Code. Well, perhaps for good reasons. But mostly never.
:siren:Thunderdome Week #CCXXXVI: Three-Card Combo:siren:

We're all nerds here, right? And we all like assignment prompts, right? Well, have I got a deal for you:
Magic: The Gathering week. When you get in, I or another judge will assign you three random Magic:The Gathering Cards for your prompt. You can use anything about them: the rules text, the flavor text, the art, the name, with one exception. You cannot use any proper noun on them. (Exception: in the rare case where the proper noun is a real-world historical or mythological figure, go right ahead, if you want.) Same thing goes for fantastic races: you can use real world mythological creatures’ names, like Goblin or Dragon, but not MTG-Specific ones like Sliver or Mogg.

This is mostly an inspiration-type prompt, so don’t feel the need to shoehorn more prompt elements than will actually fit in your story. Unless you submit something that has literally no connection to any of your cards you’re not likely to get into prompt trouble. (If you get all you need from just two cards or even just one, that's perfectly fine.)

There's one other catch, though. Since I don't want a bunch of generic fantasy, one more rule. Your story must be set on Earth, and in a time between 100 years ago and today.. You absolutely can use an alternative history or secret history magical version of Earth, but it must still be recognizably Earth.

But... if you really need to tell a story set in your special elfland or ancient rome or deep space or something, I’ll let you ignore this rule if and only if you toxx yourself for this week.

Also, Stories about games, especially M:tG-like games, will piss me off. You'd better be extra sure of yourself before trying them, because ignoring this advice is a good way to get a DM or loss.

Word Limit: Since the best old-school 3-card combos allowed you to go infinite, in that spirit, No Wordcount Limit this week. (Proofreading pro-tip: try to cut your draft down by 5% anyhow. That usually improves things.)

Deadlines: Signups close 11:59 PM Friday Pacific Time. Submissions close 11:59 PM Sunday Pacific Time.

The usual bans apply: no nonfiction, fanfiction, erotica, political rants, etc. (Poetry? sure, knock yourself out if you want.)

Isperia, Supreme Judge: Thranguy
Judge of Currents:Jay W. Frinks
Armorcraft Judge:Fuschia Tude

Manic Scribes:
Djeser (toxxed)
Surreptitious Muffin (toxxed)
Uranium Phoenix (toxxed)
Chili (toxxed)
Kenfucius (toxxed)
Bad Seafood
Sebmojo (toxxed)
Beef Supreme
Metrofreak
Ska and Screenplays
Chairchucker
The Cut of Your Jib
My Cat is Norris
Mercedes
Ouka
Ironic Twist
Hawklad
Julias
Flerp (toxxed)
Benagain
No Gravitas
Obliterati (toxxed)
sparksbloom
a new study bible!
Flensolk
Twiggymouse
llamaguccii

Thranguy fucked around with this message at 22:13 on Feb 10, 2017

Jay W. Friks
Oct 4, 2016


Got Out.
Grimey Drawer
Can I throw my hat in to judge this MAGIC-al week?

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013


it's crow time again

oh boy fuckin nerd games i've never played in :toxx:

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010
yeah sure :toxx: in gently caress the rules

Uranium Phoenix
Jun 20, 2007

Boom.

Magic the Gathering, eh? Sounds like some nerd poo poo to me.

Gonna :toxx: on my entry just in case I need elves or space ships, or elven spaceships.

Chili
Jan 23, 2004

college kids ain't shit


Fun Shoe
I don't plan on doing anything fantastical, but just in case :toxx:

Kenfucius
Dec 8, 2016
Great, I'll have to get my brother-in-law to give me all the details on this stuff.

Plus... what the hell, I'll :toxx: too.

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010


Deceitful and black-hearted, perhaps we are. But we would never go against the Code. Well, perhaps for good reasons. But mostly never.

Djeser posted:

oh boy fuckin nerd games i've never played in :toxx:
Telekinetic Bonds
Thing From the Deep
Soul Manipulation

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

yeah sure :toxx: in gently caress the rules
Fire Snake
Sisters of Stone Death
Runesword

Uranium Phoenix posted:

Magic the Gathering, eh? Sounds like some nerd poo poo to me.

Gonna :toxx: on my entry just in case I need elves or space ships, or elven spaceships.
Cloudheath Drake
Chilling Grasp
Midvast Protector

Chili posted:

I don't plan on doing anything fantastical, but just in case :toxx:
Ancient Craving
Death Frenzy
Drawn Together


Kenfucius posted:

Great, I'll have to get my brother-in-law to give me all the details on this stuff.

Plus... what the hell, I'll :toxx: too.

Orzhov Guildgate
Warstorm Surge
War Elephant

Bad Seafood
Dec 10, 2010


If you must blink, do it now.

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010


Deceitful and black-hearted, perhaps we are. But we would never go against the Code. Well, perhaps for good reasons. But mostly never.

Hallowed Spiritkeeper
Loafing Giant
Pitchburn Devils

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









in toxx

BeefSupreme
Sep 14, 2007

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022

Metrofreak
Mar 17, 2009

THUNDERDOME LOSER
I'm in, gimme the exodias.

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010


Deceitful and black-hearted, perhaps we are. But we would never go against the Code. Well, perhaps for good reasons. But mostly never.
Precursor Golem
Unruly Mob
Demonic Consultation

Jhessian Infiltrator
Gaea's Bounty
Disperse

Metrofreak posted:

I'm in, gimme the exodias.
Lightning Elemental
Nature's Lore
Ghitu War Cry

SkaAndScreenplays
Dec 11, 2013

by Pragmatica

Is this standard legal?

I'm IN

I'd toxx for my recent failures but I'm still waiting on those others to come down.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022




https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gZEdDMQZaCU

In

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010
My god, this tool. This power. What have you given me, doof? What have you done?

So it begins, the great poo poo-talkening of our time. Fight me with magic, little man.

SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at 09:47 on Feb 7, 2017

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010
UNLIMITED POWER

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010
somebody send help I think I'm the anime guy who was nice then he touched the bad magic thing and now he's all scary. Doof this is your fault you gotta not-quite kill me and then we kiss while I lie in your arms

The Cut of Your Jib
Apr 24, 2007


you don't find a style

a style finds you



In

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my cat is norris
Mar 11, 2010

#onecallcat

I'm in! Cards, please!

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