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Bad Seafood. Your free space is now "Sympathetic portrayal of a figure who is normally viewed in a negative light"
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# ? Jul 15, 2014 23:02 |
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# ? Nov 9, 2024 06:45 |
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Tyrannosaurus posted:Bad Seafood. Your free space is now "Sympathetic portrayal of a figure who is normally viewed in a negative light" And you must swap out one of your chosen squares for 'Hemingwayesque'.
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# ? Jul 15, 2014 23:57 |
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Tyrannosaurus posted:Bad Seafood. Your free space is now "Sympathetic portrayal of a figure who is normally viewed in a negative light" I AM CALLING IN MY FIRST GOLD STAR MERCEDES WIN FLASH RULE!!!! Find a way to give this star a large part of your story.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 00:33 |
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Attention brawloons/Schneider Heim: I don't have a job any more and tonight I'm chilling with friends. I'll submit by 7 PM GMT Wednesday.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 00:35 |
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sebmojo posted:And you must swap out one of your chosen squares for 'Hemingwayesque'. Mercedes posted:I AM CALLING IN MY FIRST GOLD STAR MERCEDES WIN FLASH RULE!!!!
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 00:39 |
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gently caress it, it's been too long and I finally have a bit of free time. Sign me up.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 02:10 |
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Just to be overwhelmingly clear, the bingo aspect demands we use all five spots in any otherwise legal bingo line? So no bending around corners, no zig-zags, only the kinds of lines which my granna would use to win a gift certificate to IHOP?
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 02:17 |
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Hello, Benny. I have critiqued your story The Gambler http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=2314 This was an interesting story. I liked it better than Mercedes' stupid joke story, whatever it was called. You have a weird sense of punctuation, both in how you don't consistently put punctuation inside quotation marks, and also in that you sometimes use periods to attribute dialogue when a comma is needed. Remember: punctuation marks are the road signs of a story, and road signs prevent accidents. Other than that, I liked the certain choices you made. Keep up the minimal effort, and mind your punctuation. angel opportunity fucked around with this message at 02:24 on Jul 16, 2014 |
# ? Jul 16, 2014 02:22 |
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I am going to have to duck out for my three-way brawl and ruin my perfect record. I just don't have the time to get it finished. I guess it will be Djeser vs. Phobia!
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 02:42 |
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Djeser posted:Attention brawloons/Schneider Heim: Yeah, same here actually. Hey Schneider, think we can extend the deadline to Thursday at 8 AM GMT? That would be awesome, especially if it means Gau gets another chance, maybe.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 03:50 |
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Helsing posted:gently caress it, it's been too long and I finally have a bit of free time. Sign me up. Blade_of_tyshalle posted:Just to be overwhelmingly clear, the bingo aspect demands we use all five spots in any otherwise legal bingo line? So no bending around corners, no zig-zags, only the kinds of lines which my granna would use to win a gift certificate to IHOP? That is correct. This is bingo.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 03:56 |
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Phobia posted:Yeah, same here actually. I am so down for this. I'll definitely have something if the deadline gets moved.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 03:57 |
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Hey systran. Once you're done sucking Benny off and getting yourself all cleaned up you should brawl me. You've been cranky for far too long and receiving a good rear end-whooping is what you need to realign your chi or feng shui or whatever the hell you got stuck up your rear end. Or you can refuse and continue with your passive aggressive sniping. Whatever floats your boat, buddy.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 06:08 |
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 06:30 |
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 06:43 |
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Mercedes posted:Hey systran. Once you're done sucking Benny off and getting yourself all cleaned up you should brawl me. You've been cranky for far too long and receiving a good rear end-whooping is what you need to realign your chi or feng shui or whatever the hell you got stuck up your rear end. I will judge the poo poo out of this. Also systran I will trade you a line-by-line of my Mitford fanfic for a crit of any of your pieces you choose.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 08:53 |
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Tyrannosaurus posted:Okay. Just remember what happens when the proud and the wicked take on the throne. A Mockery of Nostalgia: a brawl for djinn & 'saurus 'Allo youse. I 'erd you like brawlin'. I gotcha brawlin' right here. Cast your mind back to the warm May afternoons of the Nineties, to a more innocent time, before 9/11, Web 2.0 and affordable mobile telephony. Focus in on a house, much like any other house, a room much like any other room. It probably has you as a kid sitting about four inches from a dozen-pound cyclops of depressurized glass, what we called 'a television' back in those days of bearskins and stone axes. What was your favorite show? Were you a Disney Afternoon kid? Maybe you liked the Power Rangers, or perhaps Beakman's World. The first thing you will do is post three of your favorite TV shows/movies from when you were, say, twelve. This must be done within a week from today. Then you will poo poo all over each other's fuzzy memories. You will take the other person's favorite shows/movies, distill them down to their formulaic, merchandise-shifting essentia, and write a story which reads like a gritty modern reboot of them. See how close you can skirt the line of fanfic - but don't cross. Live on the edge, but don't fall over. TL;DR Within One Week: Post three (3) of your favorite TV shows or movies from when you were twelve-ish. After that: Distill your opponent's cherished childhood media into a modern gritty reboot. Wordcount: 5,000 words. Preferably less. A lot less. Due Date: 16th August 2014. Unless a certain business trip comes to pass, at which point this may be pushed back by up to 7 days. Don't count on it.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 10:24 |
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Okay I will accept the brawl but I'm working on a short story for the writing group so make the deadline kind of long
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 12:16 |
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Chances are I'll have to bail on it anyway, but I really like the prompt, so consider me in. Also, did I miss crits for week 100? Were there crits? Will there be crits?
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 13:17 |
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OK, bingo card me. Also, after last week's failure, this'll have to be a .
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 15:33 |
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Phobia posted:Yeah, same here actually. I'm also fine with this.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 16:10 |
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systran posted:Hello, Benny. I have critiqued your story The Gambler
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 17:15 |
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Paladinus posted:Chances are I'll have to bail on it anyway, but I really like the prompt, so consider me in. Lead out in cuffs posted:OK, bingo card me.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 18:03 |
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In.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 18:18 |
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PootieTang posted:FUSCHIA TUDE I'M CALLING YOU OUT, BRAWL ME IF YOU DARE Hand to hand? Oh, I was going to write this with my feet so I wouldn't wreck you too badly.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 20:09 |
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Fuschia tude posted:Hand to hand? Oh, I was going to write this with my feet so I wouldn't wreck you too badly. Pootietude Chaos & Order Brawl Step 1: Pick a painting by M.C. Escher Step 2: Use it as inspiration for your story Step 3: Write your story so I can understand what is going on Step 4: Stop at maximum 2.000 words (if you waste them I will be so mad) Step 5: Edit, proofread, submit, don't forget your picture Special rules: PootieTang must send me his draft 24-72 hours before the deadline. If I find a ton of errors, they better not be in the final story. Fuschia tude's story must present a problem in the beginning, and resolve it by the end. Deadline: Sunday, July 27th, 23.59 CEST
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 21:12 |
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DuckyB posted:Brawl me in the ballpit, Pho. Winner takes an eye. I'm going to multiply. Then I'm going to subtract. That's what I'm going to do now. That's how I'm going to win this ballpit brawl.
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 21:29 |
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I am in
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 23:30 |
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docbeard posted:In. Obliterati posted:I am in
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# ? Jul 16, 2014 23:40 |
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Attention Djeser, Gau, and Phobia Thanks to a typhoon, I have been without power, water, and internet for 24 hours (and counting). Because I feel miserable and don't want you chumps making my mood worse right now, brawl deadline is extended to Friday, 12:00 AM GMT.
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# ? Jul 17, 2014 00:05 |
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MercTran FightBrawl I want 2000 good words on these pictures; make sure to include a character that gives up something they care about. I'm giving you two weeks, so make it tight. Due High Noon PST 31 July. Mercedes: Systran.
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# ? Jul 17, 2014 04:39 |
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Erogenous Beef posted:A Mockery of Nostalgia: a brawl for djinn & 'saurus Jurassic Park, Tarzan, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
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# ? Jul 17, 2014 05:29 |
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Tyrannosaurus posted:Jurassic Park, Tarzan, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Archie comics, Yu-Gi-Oh!, Animorphs* *I know these aren't all tv shows/movies but I have permission from Beef to take liberties with this because reasons
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# ? Jul 17, 2014 05:36 |
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The Only Road (1794 words for DjeserGauPhobia brawl) At ninety miles an hour, the Camaro’s engine roared so loudly it nearly drowned out Whitesnake’s guitars. Angela’s long, bleach-blonde hair trailed behind her in a sort of shifting tangle. The cars she passed saw a middle-aged woman who’d seen too much sun and couldn’t quite let go of the eighties; they weren’t wrong. What separated Angela from thousands of other aging hair-metal queens was the ten million dollars stashed in her trunk. The cash had been locked up in a crooked investment bank in Beaumont, Texas for several years before it was forcibly liberated by a .38 revolver in the hands of a slightly unhinged blonde. Usually these banks had layers of security - silent alarms, inked money, tracking devices. This bank didn’t; it dealt in the sort of money that didn’t want to be tracked. Anyone with any spark of sanity, who wanted to keep their skin and entrails in the correct order, would make a safer choice and rob the First Bank of Jefferson County. Angela clearly wasn’t that person. A sign shot past the car: it read “WELCOME TO LOUISIANA - BIENVENUE EN LOUISIANE.” Angela pushed the accelerator down. She knew the bank wouldn’t call the police. With a lot of speed and a bit of luck, she’d make Baton Rouge before the cartel caught on. At least, that was the plan. A long highway lay between here and freedom. - The radar gun beeped, blinking ‘102 mph.’ “Yep,” said Trooper Daniels, “gotcha.” Ignition, rollers, siren, and he was off in pursuit. Despite the law, he felt a bit of pity; it was a beautiful ‘68 Camaro, and he’d have to impound the damned thing. For the car’s sake, he hoped the tow trucks would be gentle. Frank Daniels was fresh-faced and clean-shaven, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. A smile spread across his face as the Charger broke 90, then 100 - he’d never driven this fast on duty. The Camaro was accelerating. Daniels fumbled with his microphone. “Dispatch, State 259,” said Daniels. “In high-speed pursuit of blue Camaro east of Kinder on one-ninety. Request intercept, over.” The radio crackled to life. “State 259, acknowledge pursuit. Will advise on intercept when available.” The highway was clear and straight to the horizon. The suspect was pushing 120; Daniels’ engine screamed as the cruiser pushed to keep pace. Whatever this driver thought he was doing, there was no way he’d make it that far with a sheriff’s deputy on his tail. Her tail, thought Daniels, observing the driver’s long blond hair. Suddenly, the Camaro’s tires squealed and slid sideways. Daniels barely avoided a crash, hitting his brakes and running off the highway and through a fence. His cruiser came to rest in a cloud of dirt and smoke. “gently caress!” Daniels yelled. His hands were shaking, nerves and adrenaline taking their toll as the pressure suddenly disappeared. When the dust cleared, the Camaro was already off down the highway. “Not dead yet.” Daniels fired up the engine, barrelling out of the field and back onto the road. Sparks flew as he dragged the fence for a quarter-mile. With every light flashing and all of his sirens blaring, they rushed into downtown Eunice. - A white Cadillac waited on the east end of Eunice, Louisiana. The driver and two of the passengers were large, threatening men carrying large, threatening pistols. The third passenger wore a sharp suit, a hat, and a panther’s dark eyes. Miguel was prepared to summon the forces of Hell before he let this insane bitch run off with his fortune. The rat had targeted the bank because she knew the security was lax - and that made Miguel even more angry. “I think I see ‘em, Boss,” said the driver. The rat weaved through traffic, pursued by the pig. Pigs weren’t good at catching rats, though; for that you needed a predator. El gato. Miguel was just such a cat. “Let’s go say hello to this little lady.” said Miguel. All three brutes smiled; between them they were missing a full set of teeth. The driver moved the Cadillac to blocked the highway and all four men got out. The brutes drew their guns and braced against the car. Miguel moved off to the side. The Camaro’s tires squealed as it cleared the traffic. Miguel caught a glimpse of the rat; her eyes spat fire. Engine screaming, she raced down the center of the road into the brutes’ gunfire. Her windshield spiderwebbed and smoke streamed out from under the hood, but she was undaunted. She wouldn’t, thought Miguel. She can’t be that crazy. She was. One of the boys launched into the air as the Camaro barreled through the Cadillac. Another had dived to the ground; blood spattered on the road like gigantic tomato under a hammer. The third barely escaped. Billowing smoke trailed down the highway as the rat peeled off toward Baton Rouge. Miguel made a call. Twenty minutes later, a helicopter joined the half-dozen police cars chasing a blue Camaro racing through Opelousas, Louisiana. - They almost got her on the bridge. The pigs had laid a blowout strip across the pan, and Angela barely saw the rollers in time. Throwing the wheel to the left, she dived off the highway and into a field, making forty miles an hour as she took a ‘shortcut’ to the road heading north along the river. A few miles down, Angela was long gone and in the clear. The smoke billowing from her engine was thick, though, and the overheat light glowed red. Hold on, baby. Just a few more miles. She knew there was an old, closed bridge a few miles up. As she neared it, she spotted a familiar cruiser on the left. “drat it!” she swore. “That loving sheriff will be the end of me!” There was nothing to do. Angela crashed through the barricade signs, raced across the dilapidated bridge, and cut back down toward Baton Rouge - lights and sirens in tow. - “Thank you,” said Miguel. He put the phone back in his pocket. Angela Morrison, age 44, resident of Alexandria, Texas. Divorced, no children. A few minor offenses from her teenage years, but no real criminal record. Diagnosed with terminal breast cancer six months ago. If Miguel had been a different person, he might have felt sorry for Angela. Or, perhaps, if she didn’t currently have ten million dollars of his money in her trunk. His helicopter swung around and followed the smoking Camaro as it turned off the highway. She’d evaded the fleet of police cars that followed her out of Opelousas. A lone cruiser remained, seemingly to be unconcerned with ending her flight. He knew, as Miguel did, that the car’s time was nearing its end. It was surprising that it had held up this long. On the runway, a small twin-engined plane was ready to go. This rat was smart; she had demonstrated unusual cunning and determination. A smile crossed Miguel’s face at the thought of catching her. If his enemies weren’t frightened of him now, they would be once they heard what he was about to do with the woman who stole his fortune. The Camaro stuttered and puffed, giving up the ghost just short of the runway. As he saw the rat unload his money, Miguel took a deep breath. You couldn’t make it personal. People who got angry made mistakes. “Take us down,” said Miguel. - Daniels saw the helicopter descending overhead; it had followed them off and on since around Opelousas. Sensing danger, he radioed in and slowly approached the airfield. He brought his car to a stop between the plane and the helicopter. To his left, the woman was ferrying bags from the trunk of the smoking car to the plane. On his right, a tall hispanic man in a stylish suit stepped out of the helicopter, holding a submachine gun. Daniels didn’t think. He rolled out his door and took cover behind the engine of his vehicle. Another second, and his weapon was out and trained on this man. The air exploded with bullets. Shards of glass, metal, and plastic rained down on Daniels as he crouched for cover until the shooting stopped. The woman produced a pistol and aimed it at the man. They appeared to be speaking to each other - and not in a friendly manner. A standoff. The woman unzipped one of the bags and threw it toward the helicopter. Bundles of cash fell out. It was a heist then. He wants his money back. Banks didn’t send armed men in helicopters. There was only one answer: this was a man who wasn’t scared to leave a deputy’s body behind. The man raised his rifle to fire. Daniels’ arm moved and finger squeezed. One, two, three, just like he’d done on the range. An agonizingly long second passed; a patch of red grew under the man’s mangled tie. He fell like a tree: slowly at first, and then violently onto the ground. The helicopter spooled up and fled. That figures. Daniels aimed his weapon at the woman and switched on his loudspeaker. “Turn off the engines!” he ordered. The woman made a kill signal to the pilot. “What in the hell is going on here?” asked Daniels. “I assume you know who Miguel Nuncio is?” said the woman. The realization dawned. He’d just killed one of the biggest cartel leaders in Texas. “This money used to be his,” she continued. She tossed her pistol into the airplane. “Now it’s mine.” “You know I can’t let you get away with that,” said Daniels. He lowered his weapon. The woman’s face softened. “What’s your name, Deputy?” she asked. “Daniels,” he answered. “Frank Daniels.” A frown dropped on her face. “Frank, I’m dying,” she said. “I have a year to live at most.” She would say anything, Frank thought - but he immediately knew he was wrong. Her eyes spoke the truth. “I stole this money from a the man who just tried to murder you,” she said. “You think I should give it back?” Daniels wasn’t a man for moral quandaries. Somewhere in his conscience, he knew arresting this woman was wrong. She would go to jail for stealing money from a vicious drug lord. She would die there, alone. In Mexico or South America, she could live out her final year with a happiness that had eluded her so far. No one lost. Sirens sounded in the distance - his backup. “Get on the airplane,” Daniels said. “Hurry.” The woman turned and ran to the door. “Wait!” yelled Daniels. “What’s your name?” In the door, she turned to him. “Angela,” she said. “Thank you, Frank.” “You’re welcome.”
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# ? Jul 17, 2014 23:02 |
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Djeser and Phobia, you have 20 minutes to get your rear end to this thread and post your brawl stories.
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# ? Jul 18, 2014 01:42 |
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Schneider Heim posted:Djeser and Phobia, you have 20 minutes to get your rear end to this thread and post your brawl stories. Yeah this isn't happening. I'll try to submit something but I will take the loss since you already extended the deadline.
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# ? Jul 18, 2014 01:58 |
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Reuse 1155 words Djeser fucked around with this message at 19:59 on Dec 31, 2014 |
# ? Jul 18, 2014 02:35 |
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Phobia posted:Yeah this isn't happening. I'll try to submit something but I will take the loss since you already extended the deadline. Just submit. You'll still get crits.
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# ? Jul 18, 2014 02:38 |
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Bingo Thunderdome: 1222 words. I bingo'd right through the horizontal middle line (the one with the free space in it) and I may have cheated by using one of my old dreams to fill in the box meant for "personal experiences". quote:
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# ? Jul 18, 2014 16:23 |
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# ? Nov 9, 2024 06:45 |
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Sithsaber posted:Bingo Thunderdome: 1222 words. are you for real did you just self-plagarize, insert fan fiction, go over the word limit, and self-quote in the same post QuoProQuid fucked around with this message at 17:03 on Jul 18, 2014 |
# ? Jul 18, 2014 16:41 |