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Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006



Bad Seafood. Your free space is now "Sympathetic portrayal of a figure who is normally viewed in a negative light"

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sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk







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'.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

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






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.

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013


it's crow time again



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.

Bad Seafood
Dec 10, 2010

If you must blink, do it now.


sebmojo posted:

And you must swap out one of your chosen squares for 'Hemingwayesque'.
Is this specifically if I use my formerly-free space, or just in general no matter what I use?

Mercedes posted:

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.
Okay.

Helsing
Aug 23, 2003

DON'T POST IN THE ELECTION THREAD UNLESS YOU :love::love::love: JOE BIDEN


gently caress it, it's been too long and I finally have a bit of free time. Sign me up.

Blade_of_tyshalle
Jul 12, 2009

If you think that, along the way, you're not going to fail... you're blind.

There's no one I've ever met, no matter how successful they are, who hasn't said they had their failures along the way.



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?

angel opportunity
Sep 7, 2004

Total Eclipse of the Heart

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

Gau
Nov 18, 2003

I don't think you understand, Gau.


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!

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

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


OCK.


Djeser posted:

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.

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.

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006



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.

Gau
Nov 18, 2003

I don't think you understand, Gau.


Phobia posted:

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.

I am so down for this. I'll definitely have something if the deadline gets moved.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

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






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.

Dr. Kloctopussy
Apr 22, 2003

"It's time....to DIE!"


:toxx:

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006




sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk







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.

Or you can refuse and continue with your passive aggressive sniping. Whatever floats your boat, buddy.

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.

Erogenous Beef
Dec 20, 2006

i know the filthy secrets of your heart


Tyrannosaurus posted:

Okay. Just remember what happens when the proud and the wicked take on the throne.

I won't be able to start writing for this until August, btw :(

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.

angel opportunity
Sep 7, 2004

Total Eclipse of the Heart

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

Paladinus
Jan 11, 2014

heyHEYYYY!!!


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?

Lead out in cuffs
Sep 18, 2012

"That's right. We've evolved."

"I can see that. Cool mutations."





OK, bingo card me.

Also, after last week's failure, this'll have to be a :toxx:.

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013


it's crow time again



Phobia posted:

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.

I'm also fine with this.

Benny the Snake
Apr 10, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES


systran posted:

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.
Thanks, man :tipshat:

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006



Paladinus posted:

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?



Lead out in cuffs posted:

OK, bingo card me.

Also, after last week's failure, this'll have to be a :toxx:.

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

Modern worldly poster

In.

Fuschia tude
Dec 26, 2004

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2019



PootieTang posted:

:siren::siren::siren::siren::siren: FUSCHIA TUDE I'M CALLING YOU OUT, BRAWL ME IF YOU DARE :siren::siren::siren::siren::siren:

Let's face it, neither of us put our best work forward this week.

In fact let's be brutally honest, we both submitted turds. It's just as a superior being, my turds are clearly better than yours.

And you had to go and smack talk before hand, so I'm not gonna let you walk away with just that minor beating. Plus I love Chinese historical war style poo poo, so your obvious place-holder entry is doubly insulting.

You and me, mano-a-mano, for real this time.



Hand to hand? Oh, I was going to write this with my feet so I wouldn't wreck you too badly.

Entenzahn
Nov 15, 2012

What will you say when
your child asks:
why did you fail Thunderdome?


Fuschia tude posted:

Hand to hand? Oh, I was going to write this with my feet so I wouldn't wreck you too badly.

:siren: Pootietude Chaos & Order Brawl :siren:

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

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

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


OCK.


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.

Obliterati
Nov 13, 2012

Pain is inevitable.
Suffering is optional.
Thunderdome is forever.


I am in :toxx:

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006







Lily Catts
Oct 17, 2012

Show me the way to you
(Heavy Metal)


:siren: Attention Djeser, Gau, and Phobia :siren:

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.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk







:siren:MercTran FightBrawl:siren:

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.

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006



Erogenous Beef posted:

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.

Jurassic Park, Tarzan, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

God Over Djinn
Jan 17, 2005

onwards and upwards


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

Gau
Nov 18, 2003

I don't think you understand, Gau.


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.”

Lily Catts
Oct 17, 2012

Show me the way to you
(Heavy Metal)


Djeser and Phobia, you have 20 minutes to get your rear end to this thread and post your brawl stories.

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

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


OCK.


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.

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013


it's crow time again



Reuse
1155 words

Djeser fucked around with this message at 19:59 on Dec 31, 2014

Lily Catts
Oct 17, 2012

Show me the way to you
(Heavy Metal)


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.

Sithsaber
Apr 8, 2014

by Ion Helmet


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:


I saw another little glimpse of hell tonight; thankfully the details of it are rapidly receding from my mind and falling back into the subconscious. Due to this my little dream (or rather nightmare) journal will grow increasingly distorted and novelized by the second, but this is something worth recording. This will also destroy me if it ever gets into any psychological evaluations, but I've made my peace with the fact that the NSA can end me at any time.

The sequence of events I am about to describe can best be categorized as an expansion of the infinite terror loop I may have described to you earlier, but much more mundane and much more perception shattering. Right now I’m just going to jog down the remains of what I can remember; later I’ll search myth and theories on the mind to give me some context of its twisted meaning. The worst part about it was that this “event” was the longest loving dream within a dream within a dream within a dream within a dream within a …dream you’ll ever loving meet, which means I have already lost crucial details on how the creeping madness could have reached such horrible heights.

I have already lost most of the first dream sequence; I can only remember snippets of something apocalyptic and ensnaring, like being swallowed by the icky and constricting black maw of hell. It must have gone on for awhile, for when I “awoke” I had already fallen into a panic. For the first time in more than a decade I truly and utterly feared the dark, and what seemed to leer at me in the blackness.

"JAAMESjamessJAmesJamesJAMES!" Schizophrenic whispers and pretenses floated in and out of my mind, the only thought i remember clearly being that a hidden fiend was lurking in the night. Eventually I gathered up the courage to go for the light switch in hopes of dispelling the unseen presence, humming nursery rhymes and Jesus Loves me all the while in an attempt to ignore how its shadow hovered a few feet over me as if in wait to bore down and snatch me in its undoubtedly sharpened claws. After cowering through the greatest flinch of all time I hit the switch: nothing happened. I tried again; the light was dead.

Trying not to freak out, I opened the bedroom door and hobbled out of the room. I tried light after light but nothing worked. Even my night vision was failing me, and it became increasingly difficult just to open my eyes. A gangrenous puss had started to encrust my face, and my panic began to mount.

As is expected from a man in the middle of his death throes, I cried out for my mother, who was conveniently lounging in the darkness of my living room.( Although now that I think about it I was never able to actually see her and I should have had no real reason to label whatever it was as my mom) I had become a child again- my body and mind had reverted to approximately around the time when I first got pinkeye. I begged my "mother" to help get rid me of the gunk, but either she was another ghoul come to torment me or I had also gone deaf because I couldn't hear her response. The end of this dream sequence is muddled, but I believe that it just bled out as faint flashes and whispers of pandemonium surrounded the home.

The third sequence was just a mindfuck. At that point was lucid dreaming, and aware that I was trapped in a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. Sometimes I would be crawling in the darkness, other times would involve me fighting with advanced alzheimers and a dark dissolution of the self while my body remained chained to the bed that my mind was lost in. You know how sometimes you dream that you wake up and walk around the house? This happened to me again, and again, and again. At a certain point I assumed that I had tapped into what the mystics call 'astral projection', meaning that my soul got to wander but my body didn't.

Add to this my vision continuing to go in and out of focus, the continued breakdown in my cognitive condition as a malevolent and primal figure just out of eyesight (and well within during my periods of blindness) continued to loiter and, worst of all, the utter repetition of it all and you can see why I lost it. Before things got real bad a piece of myself started to enjoy the trippiness.My predicament may have been ghoulish, but a part of me honestly preferred its novelty to the monotony of my dead end existence. Waiting tables and getting fat always seemed like just another hell that kept people from looking for salvation by pulling its punches five times out of ten. What came next made me realize how wrong I was.


The final dream within dream within a...was just voices: terrible, stupid voices. They seem to have started in the midst of me crawling through the hallway, but they only picked up when I was back to being trapped in my dreaming body. I seemed to have lost most of what was said, but I can vaguely remember flashes of cartoon characters like Bullwinkle, Princess Bubblegum and the Iceking, possible manifestations of whimsy, logic and the sweet escape of dementedness. The pivotal scene involved the voice of the Alchemist from The Venture Brothers, Dana Snyder. (come to think of it he was ranting like Master Shake, but more coherently) At first his levity was a welcome break from my paralyzed dread, but the voice soon started to tell me to do worse and worse things, and as I sat in my motionless body I began to dream these things into consciousness.

At first I thought the voice was offering me a way to buy my way to freedom, but now I think It was just having fun saying things like “wouldn’t it be great if you killed everyone you’ve loved in such and such way ha ha”. Me actively doing these things appeared in a dream bubble right over my head, and for one moment I actually enjoyed being the one who dished out torment.That moment passed. I realized that this was the gate of hell and made one last desperate attempt to break free. I woke up for what seemed like the hundredth time, and it's taking awhile for me to accept that I'm finally awake. A little part of me still believes I’m asleep and have just been granted a few moments to enjoy turning on every room-light possible.


gently caress Sleep. gently caress sleep with a stick. You ever wonder how it feels to be stuck with Freddy Kruger? It feels like this times three. Having an adversary you can at least pin a location on gives you the benefit of knowing which way to run. Not this. I'm still afraid that this isn't over, or worse, that it'll happen again and again. I saw another little glimpse of hell tonight. Thankfully, the details of it are rapidly receding from my mind and falling back into the subconscious.

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QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P



Sithsaber posted:

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:

I saw another little glimpse of hell tonight; thankfully the details of it are rapidly receding from my mind and falling back into the subconscious. Due to this my little dream (or rather nightmare) journal will grow increasingly distorted and novelized by the second, but this is something worth recording. This will also destroy me if it ever gets into any psychological evaluations, but I've made my peace with the fact that the NSA can end me at any time.

The sequence of events I am about to describe can best be categorized as an expansion of the infinite terror loop I may have described to you earlier, but much more mundane and much more perception shattering. Right now I’m just going to jog down the remains of what I can remember; later I’ll search myth and theories on the mind to give me some context of its twisted meaning. The worst part about it was that this “event” was the longest loving dream within a dream within a dream within a dream within a dream within a …dream you’ll ever loving meet, which means I have already lost crucial details on how the creeping madness could have reached such horrible heights.

I have already lost most of the first dream sequence; I can only remember snippets of something apocalyptic and ensnaring, like being swallowed by the icky and constricting black maw of hell. It must have gone on for awhile, for when I “awoke” I had already fallen into a panic. For the first time in more than a decade I truly and utterly feared the dark, and what seemed to leer at me in the blackness.

"JAAMESjamessJAmesJamesJAMES!" Schizophrenic whispers and pretenses floated in and out of my mind, the only thought i remember clearly being that a hidden fiend was lurking in the night. Eventually I gathered up the courage to go for the light switch in hopes of dispelling the unseen presence, humming nursery rhymes and Jesus Loves me all the while in an attempt to ignore how its shadow hovered a few feet over me as if in wait to bore down and snatch me in its undoubtedly sharpened claws. After cowering through the greatest flinch of all time I hit the switch: nothing happened. I tried again; the light was dead.

Trying not to freak out, I opened the bedroom door and hobbled out of the room. I tried light after light but nothing worked. Even my night vision was failing me, and it became increasingly difficult just to open my eyes. A gangrenous puss had started to encrust my face, and my panic began to mount.

As is expected from a man in the middle of his death throes, I cried out for my mother, who was conveniently lounging in the darkness of my living room.( Although now that I think about it I was never able to actually see her and I should have had no real reason to label whatever it was as my mom) I had become a child again- my body and mind had reverted to approximately around the time when I first got pinkeye. I begged my "mother" to help get rid me of the gunk, but either she was another ghoul come to torment me or I had also gone deaf because I couldn't hear her response. The end of this dream sequence is muddled, but I believe that it just bled out as faint flashes and whispers of pandemonium surrounded the home.

The third sequence was just a mindfuck. At that point was lucid dreaming, and aware that I was trapped in a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. Sometimes I would be crawling in the darkness, other times would involve me fighting with advanced alzheimers and a dark dissolution of the self while my body remained chained to the bed that my mind was lost in. You know how sometimes you dream that you wake up and walk around the house? This happened to me again, and again, and again. At a certain point I assumed that I had tapped into what the mystics call 'astral projection', meaning that my soul got to wander but my body didn't.

Add to this my vision continuing to go in and out of focus, the continued breakdown in my cognitive condition as a malevolent and primal figure just out of eyesight (and well within during my periods of blindness) continued to loiter and, worst of all, the utter repetition of it all and you can see why I lost it. Before things got real bad a piece of myself started to enjoy the trippiness.My predicament may have been ghoulish, but a part of me honestly preferred its novelty to the monotony of my dead end existence. Waiting tables and getting fat always seemed like just another hell that kept people from looking for salvation by pulling its punches five times out of ten. What came next made me realize how wrong I was.


The final dream within dream within a...was just voices: terrible, stupid voices. They seem to have started in the midst of me crawling through the hallway, but they only picked up when I was back to being trapped in my dreaming body. I seemed to have lost most of what was said, but I can vaguely remember flashes of cartoon characters like Bullwinkle, Princess Bubblegum and the Iceking, possible manifestations of whimsy, logic and the sweet escape of dementedness. The pivotal scene involved the voice of the Alchemist from The Venture Brothers, Dana Snyder. (come to think of it he was ranting like Master Shake, but more coherently) At first his levity was a welcome break from my paralyzed dread, but the voice soon started to tell me to do worse and worse things, and as I sat in my motionless body I began to dream these things into consciousness.

At first I thought the voice was offering me a way to buy my way to freedom, but now I think It was just having fun saying things like “wouldn’t it be great if you killed everyone you’ve loved in such and such way ha ha”. Me actively doing these things appeared in a dream bubble right over my head, and for one moment I actually enjoyed being the one who dished out torment.That moment passed. I realized that this was the gate of hell and made one last desperate attempt to break free. I woke up for what seemed like the hundredth time, and it's taking awhile for me to accept that I'm finally awake. A little part of me still believes I’m asleep and have just been granted a few moments to enjoy turning on every room-light possible.


gently caress Sleep. gently caress sleep with a stick. You ever wonder how it feels to be stuck with Freddy Kruger? It feels like this times three. Having an adversary you can at least pin a location on gives you the benefit of knowing which way to run. Not this. I'm still afraid that this isn't over, or worse, that it'll happen again and again. I saw another little glimpse of hell tonight. Thankfully, the details of it are rapidly receding from my mind and falling back into the subconscious.

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

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