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Anathema Device
Dec 22, 2009

by Ion Helmet


I'm in, and I'd like a flash rule.

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Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.





Just realized I hadn't entered yet. In.

Erogenous Beef
Dec 20, 2006

i know the filthy secrets of your heart


Anathema Device posted:

I'm in, and I'd like a flash rule.

Flashrule for Anathema Device: Write, in the noir style, a story involving one or more penguins.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk







RichardGamingo posted:

Gamingo vs Leekster 800-1000 words 2 syllables max

petticoat

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


There's quite a few actually. I don't think he knows what a syllable is. Either that or he's just super loving lazy and arrogant and couldn't spare five minutes to edit the thing. See also: random tense shifts.

Leekster, the bar is set. Suck less. I have faith in you.

Scaly Haylie
Dec 25, 2004



RichardGamingo posted:

Without a hatch to look through, Mary sat and picked her needle and thread from a nearby table. Before she knew it she was back to knitting

I should also like to point out that he doesn't know what knitting is.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


RichardGamingo: quick crit.

1) is it humble?

N/A but Richie's boasting about how he could tell an awesome story in just one sentence sure as poo poo isn't. That's called poetry brosef, and you suck at that too.

Failed.

2) is it simple?

I can't tell what the gently caress is happening but I think so?

Tentative pass.

3) two syllables or less?

Ahaha gently caress off.

Fail hard.

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


BLO OD E M PR E SS

of

THUDNER-DOME






Martello posted:

well you rule but you probs already knew that

ty Thunderdad


Guys I have this feeling like mr Gamingo is trying to have LOLs at our expense.

What do we do about people who have LOLs at our expense?

Do we just lay down and take it???

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


It's too late! He's a totally badical rebel won't play by our rules. I tried to take his badge and gun but he was too much of a loose cannon.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.





Time to submit stories in the form of passive-agressive acrostic jabs. Man's game charges a man's price.

Meeple
Dec 28, 2009


Meeple posted:

This is all theblunderbuss's fault. I'm in.

As theblunderbuss was being too nice to flash rule me after I told him I already had words written before I signed up, it falls on me to demand it anyway. Bring it, etc.

theblunderbuss
Jul 4, 2010

I find dead men rout
more easily.


Meeple posted:

As theblunderbuss was being too nice to flash rule me after I told him I already had words written before I signed up, it falls on me to demand it anyway. Bring it, etc.

Meeple flash rule: The end of your story must take place chronologically before its start.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Alright, I'm home now. Time to give this a proper crit.

RichardGamingo posted:

Gamingo vs Leekster 800-1000 words 2 syllables max

"Batten down the hatches on the poop! There be a slurry storm up ahead!" Those sure are some boat words. Action is a stronger opener than dialogue. Captain Sherlock Oh yay a reference you're like The Family Guy shouted to the crew on deck. Mary already knew the storm had been set sent? to meet her on this voyage and remained below deck The storm remained below deck? Write this sentence better . She was not a crew member anyhow. And whether the ship float or sink floated or sank did not bother her sense of justice in the least.

1 Paragraph in and I'm already drowning in a deluge of malapropisms, spelling mistakes and lovely cliche dialogue. Would it have killed you to spell check the drat thing, or would that damage your :smuggo: TOO COOL 4 SKOOL internet persona?

The sailing crew closed the hatch Mary was looking up through as the winds picked up this mess of a sentence is a nightmare to parse. A solid wind pushing the Captain's petticoat 3 SYLLABLES, ALSO UNLESS THE CAPTAIN IS A CROSSDRESSER IT'S NOT EVEN THE CORRECT WORD into a fan at the back of him, he looked to the not-so-distant storm with its wide, tall clouds and heavy rains. After another moment he raises the lens of an eye glass to his sight. WTF tense shift?

Lightning fills the too-dark evening with blinks of intense white light. Captain Sherlock keeps his eyes fixed to the storm, one looking through the eye glass. The shocking flashes exactly 3 SYLLABLES what he needs to spy deeper into the chaos ahead. Dancing white light given off by the hearty strikes bounces among the cloud's wet drops before his view. Jesus christ I am getting garden pathed so much you can call me a loving Englishman. Punctuation is your friend.The captain's steady gaze watching the roil of the stormfront, his mind making careful note of the scene before him.
Without a hatch to look through, Mary sat and picked her needle and thread from a nearby table. Before she knew it she was back to knitting KNITTING DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY, "All of these waves and my tummy remains settled." Did she suddenly turn into a jolly cartoon mouse? What's with the kiddie book dialogue? Who talks like this? Mary muses over the work as the needle slips up, through, around, up through, around, up, through, around... "This black thread is just perfect for deathmasks." WHAT? WHAT IN THE poo poo IS EVEN GOING ON HERE.
A flash of light. Dancing. The light taking too long to fade. Captain Sherlock knows. Its hail that's up ahead.

The captain tucked the seeing eye glass under his left arm and stared into the stormfront for another 3 SYLLABLES moment. He minds I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT WORD YOU MEANT TO USE HERE BUT THIS IS VERY WRONG himself, "A rain of hail might damage the sails. Hail wrapped up in violent 3 SYLLABLES winds, doubly so. God knows that with enough force it will punch right through the deck. The storm looks as if it will be upon us in a matter of five minutes." DIALOGUE ROBOT INITIATE PROGRAM OLDE TIMEY SAILOR MAN BEEP BOOP BOATS.
"Higher waves are on the way." Sherlock turns to deliver 3 SYLLABLES the storm's bad news to the crew.

Ten gusts rocked the boat, each in their turn. The first rocked into the starboard hull and the ship turned to an angle of seventy 3 SYLLABLES degrees. The second gust arrived with out without any more power, though the din of the kitchen's pots cascade pots' from cabinet to floor was enough to shake the novice shiphand WHERE THE gently caress DID THIS GUY COME FROM from his nerves, though no novice be aboard the ship THEN WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ONE, DUMBASS?. The winds picked up their beat and began a regular 3 SYLLABLES howling about the mast, the ladders, and finally 3 SYLLABLES roared upon their own terrible 3 SYLLABLES accord.

A third gust carried a wave of twenty-five foot JUST SAY "A TWENTY FIVE FOOT WAVE" JESUS WHY DO YOU HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING THE STUPID WAY, the fourth, fifth, and sixth wracked the ship in rapid tempo such that they seemed to strike as one. The poopdeck tehee poop hit a fifty degree angle and Barney went overboard 3 SYLLABLES with the metal sheet the sailors were placing over a weak spot above the cargo chamber I LOVE UNCLEAR SENTENCES. Sherlock, shouting, gave the signal to get below deck. His voice caught in the howling wind but the seamen spotted his gesture through the flailing of rope and rain.
The crew made it to the fore of the quarter deck where the hatch down was please tell me honestly is English your second language? I mean there's tons of ESL writers in the 'dome who are amazing so it's no excuse but it would probably explain some things. Otherwise, I am completely at a loss as to why you always choose the most awkward way to say something.. The captain, into his chambers THIS IS NOT A SENTENCE. Gust seven struck and took first mate Gallant, who was braving the tumult to keep the hatch raised for his fellows, into the drink. The eight wind came with a wave and the soaked deck was flooded. Crew mate John -- last in line -- HOLY poo poo IS THIS A CASE OF CLEVER PUNCTUATION USE THAT ENHANCES THE STORY GOOD GOD HOW DID THIS GET HERE DID YOU STEAL IT FROM A BETTER WRITER? was nearly taken by the waters. John's white-knuckled grip on the edge of the first stair down his grace. He pulled himself through the portal WHY PORTAL? WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO USE THE MOST PRETENTIOUS WORD? IT'S A loving DOOR, JACKASS and the gushing waters followed his descent hot.

The heavy hatch door remained open, flush with the deck. The ninth gust came with a thunder. The fury shot the sail with hot light. hot light? HOT LIGHT?

The tenth gust blew them all down.
----------------------------------
btw sorry I lost No, no you're loving not. You were given a whole week and judging from the timestamps between "writing is haaaaaard" and you posting, you put all of half an hour into this piece of poo poo. I asked you to drop the attitude and make me give a poo poo: you did neither. I asked you to be humble and sincere, you did neither. I give up on you: I know you're going to go home and fume about this, then write me off as a 'hater' so what's the point in trying to help you? Bitches I'm out.

I have done a drawing of you, and put exactly as much effort into it as you put into your story.



It is quickly becoming clear that I am the least impartial judge in the whole world, and should not be the one judging this. If somebody else wants to take over, that's fine by me.

Nethilia
Oct 17, 2012

Hullabalooza '96
Easily Depressed
Teenagers Edition


Been sitting around all week mewling about it--gently caress it, I'm in.

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013


it's crow time again



RichardGamingo posted:

Gamingo vs Leekster 800-1000 words 2 syllables max

RichardGamingo, I don't know who you are or what you've done. All I know is your story, and your story sucked.

quote:

"Batten down the hatches on the poop! There be a slurry storm up ahead!" Captain Sherlock shouted to the crew on deck. Mary already knew the storm had been set to meet her on this voyage and remained below deck. She was not a crew member anyhow. And whether the ship float or sink did not bother her sense of justice in the least.

Okay, so Mary is being hunted by a sorceress who summoned a storm to stop her. Mary is a bitch, because she doesn't care about the ship in an ungrammatical sort of way.

The sailing crew closed the hatch Mary was looking up through as the winds picked up. A solid wind pushing the Captain's petticoat into a fan at the back of him You mean peacoat (or just coat) and also I imagine it like a perfect Japanese fan, he looked to the not-so-distant storm with its wide, tall clouds and heavy rains. After another moment he raises the lens of an eye glass to his sight. Because "he pauses, then looks through his spyglass" was just too on the nose.

Lightning fills the too-dark cool it with the hyphenated words evening with blinks of intense white light. Captain Sherlock keeps his eyes fixed to the storm, one looking through the eye glass. So he's got both eyes open and he's looking through the spyglass with one eye? The shocking flashes exactly what he needs to spy deeper into the chaos ahead. Muffin said this needed punctuation but even with punctuation it's way worse than "the lightning showed him what he feared to see." Dancing white light given off by the hearty strikes hmmm hearty lightning hmmm bounces among the cloud's wet drops before his view. Stop tacking on these huge prepositional phrases you prepositionmonger The captain's steady gaze watching the roil of the stormfront, his mind making careful note of the scene before him. Not a sentence

don't mind me just fixing your paragraph formatting with some proper line breaks

Without a hatch to look through, Mary sat and picked her needle and thread from a nearby table. Before she knew it she was back to knitting, "All of these waves and my tummy remains settled." Okay so she's a bitch getting chased by a sorceress but she's too cool for this and also is mentally five. Mary muses over the work as the needle slips up, through, around, up through, around, up, through, around... "This black thread is just perfect for deathmasks." I don't know what the gently caress so I guess you're just going for the too cool for this/morbid angle again.

A flash of light. Dancing. I am now imagining the scene in Stardust where Captain Shakespeare teaches the main character how to dance on his flying pirate ship. That's a cooler story than this one. (Also dancing is not a good word find a better one.) The light taking too long to fade. I was willing to take the one-word fragments but this is just bullshit. Captain Sherlock knows. Its hail that's up ahead. "There's hail ahead." Took me two seconds to figure out how to phrase that clearer.

The captain tucked the seeing eye glass under his left arm and stared into the stormfront for another moment. He minds himself, "A rain of hail might damage the sails. Hail wrapped up in violent winds, doubly so. God knows that with enough force it will punch right through the deck. The storm looks as if it will be upon us in a matter of five minutes." Where did his charming sailor cant go? He was all "there be a storm ahead" in the beginning.

"Higher waves are on the way." Sherlock turns to deliver the storm's bad news to the crew. The storm's bad news. The storm had bad news. The storm was coming, said the storm.

Ten gusts rocked the boat, each in their turn. So the sorceress cast the spell Gust ten times. The first rocked into the starboard hull and the ship turned to an angle of seventy degrees. Oddly specific and yet I'm still confused as to whether it's rotating 70 degrees or whether it's pitching 70 degrees. The second gust arrived with out any more power, It sounds like the second gust arrived with zero power. though the din of the kitchen's pots cascading from cabinet to floor was enough to shake the novice shiphand from his nerves, though no novice be aboard the ship. You put two "though" phrases in a row. The winds picked up their beat and began a regular howling about the mast, the ladders, and finally roared upon their own terrible accord. This would be a great place for some imagery. Shame you didn't give me any.

A third gust carried a wave of twenty-five foot, break into two sentences the fourth, fifth, and sixth wracked the ship in rapid tempo such that in such rapid tempo that =/= in rapid tempo such that they seemed to strike as one. The poopdeck hit a fifty degree angle and Barney went overboard with the metal sheet the sailors were placing over a weak spot above the cargo chamber. Sherlock, shouting, gave the signal to get below deck. His voice caught in the howling wind but the seamen spotted his gesture through the flailing of rope and rain.

Fixed your paragraphs again.

The crew made it to the fore of the quarter deck where the hatch down was. Serious Advice here: Read through what you've written. This sort of poo poo is the sort of poo poo that you'll see immediately and be like "oh that was kind of dumb and awkward". The captain, into his chambers. Gust seven You are trying very hard to make this more mechanical and boring than it needs to be struck and took first mate Gallant, who was braving the tumult to keep the hatch raised for his fellows, into the drink. that's where you're taking me :haw: The eight wind came with a wave and the soaked deck was flooded. Crew mate John -- last in line -- was nearly taken by the waters. John's white-knuckled grip on the edge of the first stair down his grace. This looks like a sentence but there's no verb. He pulled himself through the portal and the gushing waters followed his descent.

The heavy hatch door remained open, flush with the deck. unnecessary sentence The ninth gust came with a thunder. The fury shot the sail with hot light.

The tenth gust blew them all down. Sea shanty reference! Too bad there weren't any others or that might have been a neat motif.

I still want to know what was up with the sorceress chasing Mary sending storms after her. There's hints about something to do with her, and it seems almost like it could go fantasy in the beginning, but the rest of the story is just ship dudes trying not to drown. You didn't give us any time with any of the characters to give them identifiable traits. Mary is mysteriously aloof and the captain wants to save his ship. I don't know anything about the relationship the two have to each other, or anything about them other than the vaguest motivations. Since I can't identify with your characters, I don't care about your conflict, which Mary explicitly doesn't care about either. I'm just watching ship dudes die without really caring because most of them were only introduced in the line they died.

Your story has no point. It's not telling me anything about any of these characters, it's just showing them spotting a storm and then dying. You even kind of forget that you had the captain as your main character since he features less and less toward the end. Even without looking at timestamps, this story reads like you didn't really know where you were going with it, and you just threw it together as you went, turning something about some girl being tracked down by a storm into a story about sailors dying in a storm.

God Over Djinn
Jan 17, 2005

onwards and upwards


God Over Djinn vs WeLandedOnTheMoon! vs curlingiron STYLEBRAWL.

possession (1999 words): https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cX2Ooylsi1YNHqPC4z2M86DYhpxOmreIHlOPMmBzfUg/edit?usp=sharing

Please take my word for it that
1. I haven't edited this at any point after 9:30 AM PST, 5/2;
2. There are actually 1999 words in it, even though Google says there are 2060-something. (The reason for this should be obvious.)

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk








bangin

E: oh and this too

sebmojo fucked around with this message at 21:59 on May 2, 2014

theblunderbuss
Jul 4, 2010

I find dead men rout
more easily.


:siren: Some of you reading this haven't signed up yet. Why not? You have nine hours left! :siren:

Fumblemouse
Mar 21, 2013


STANDARD
DEVIANT


Grimey Drawer

theblunderbuss posted:

:siren: Some of you reading this haven't signed up yet. Why not? You have nine hours left! :siren:

Because I had nine hours left, :catstare:. In.

D.O.G.O.G.B.Y.N.
Dec 31, 2011

THUNDERDOME LOSER

Ich bin in.

Kaishai
Nov 3, 2010

Scoffing at modernity.

In.

ZorajitZorajit
Sep 15, 2013

No static at all...

Due to a personal crises, I must respectfully bow out this week.

ReptileChillock
Jan 7, 2014

by Lowtax


Alright babby bitches, this three way brawl is OVER. THis is THE DEADLINE if you haven't submitted yet gently caress you, if you have you better pucker ur buttholes

God Over Djinn
Jan 17, 2005

onwards and upwards


Helllll yes winning a brawl for once

e: by default

e: :smith:

a new study bible!
Feb 1, 2009



BIG DICK NICK
A Philadelphia Legend
Fly Eagles Fly



Woah woah woah

Can I get 20 mins? Friday isn't over where I am.

a new study bible!
Feb 1, 2009



BIG DICK NICK
A Philadelphia Legend
Fly Eagles Fly



gently caress you Chillock. It's Friday and I am submitting a story. I am not editing it after this point, and it has less words that Djinn's. Any questions?

How to Catch a Bullfrog
1999 words

curlingiron
Dec 15, 2006

Come fight terrifying creatures in the THUNDERDOME!


Seconding the "gently caress you, it's still Friday" sentiment.

Chimera
79 words

theblunderbuss
Jul 4, 2010

I find dead men rout
more easily.


Sign-ups are now over!

ReptileChillock
Jan 7, 2014

by Lowtax


:siren:BRAWL JUDGEMENT:siren:

who gives a gently caress about time limits, y'all are in no penalties. It's really not like it mattered, though, because DJINN is the winner.

Djinn, your use of layout and colour wasn't irritating and actually added to the story. It was a tight piece of prose fiction, making best use of the word limit.

WLOTM - the transition through time really tanked this piece. It started off strong, but the transition from childhood to adulthood was too abrupt and the details were too vague. I'm not entirely sure about whatever falling outs the characters had or who was doing what and why. The story is too cohesive to need visual cues, and doesn't really take advantage of them. You could have done more with less.

Curlingiron - A solid poem though far too vague on details, the design choice is questionable also. It's not a layout that would have ever made it to print, you might have been better served with a simpler white/black contrast but that's neither here nor there. My biggest gripe is the minimalism of this piece with regards to the word count. The poem was not nearly visceral or metaphorical or transcendental enough to eschew like 9/10ths of the allotted words. I remain unimpressed.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


PM from Leekster posted:

Gamingo is also a racist or at least ignorant.

http://forums.somethingawful.com/sh...2#post429051094
Nobody likes a grass. The way to beat him is to write a better story: I don't give a poo poo about anything he's done outside this thread re brawl judgement. His story is a mess, but there's some nice imagery buried under all the wank, and it's not inconceivable that he takes the win, if you're worse.

Don't worry, I will get histrionically angry at your piece too. It's only fair.

I said I would judge him fairly. His story is poo poo, but I'm still willing to take it on the few merits it has.

SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at 05:22 on May 4, 2014

leekster
Jun 20, 2013


That was joking. I was just reading through the LP forum and thought you'd laugh at it. Wasn't trying to collude or muddy the water.

And of course I want you to get angry at my writing. I won't improve any other way.

Edit: The reason I PMed it to you is because I didn't want to clot the thread with anymore Gamingo talk. People were tired of it before it happened.

leekster fucked around with this message at 05:31 on May 4, 2014

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


ONLY THE STORY MATTERS. WORK ON IT.



RichardGamingo. You're not beyond redemption or improvement. You have an excellent vocabulary, but you need to learn when not to use it for the service of the story. You've also got a flair for imagery, but you overuse metaphor to the point where you're impossible to understand. Your sentences are massively overcomplicated and confusing with dangling participles out the rear end. In three words

DIAL

IT

BACK


We get it, you know lots of words. Fiction isn't about proving how smart and awesome you are to the world, it's about telling stories. Dial back the ten-dollar vocab, dial back the overwrought metaphor, dial back the stupid loving ego and you could be a really good writer.

Big words and strong metaphors are great, but they work better in isolation. Right now you're just smearing them all over the place and it's jamming up like The Three Stooges trying to fit through a door. If you really want to be all impressionist and artsy I'd suggest reading Ted Berrigan, William S. Burroughs and the like: Beats and hippies. You'll love them, and if you pay attention they'll teach you about putting the right metaphor in the right place rather than spraying them around like you're trying to put out a fire.

I'd honestly like it if you hung around the 'dome and submitted a bit. We are not kind to bad stories, but we've managed to take writers worse than you and make something good from them. Your ego will take a pounding, but a writer's gotta develop thick skin somewhere.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk







leekster posted:

i will shut up

good idea

e: also i will crit three stories, first to ask

sebmojo fucked around with this message at 11:12 on May 4, 2014

Erogenous Beef
Dec 20, 2006

i know the filthy secrets of your heart


sebmojo posted:

good idea

e: also i will crit three stories, first to ask

:frogsiren: The 'Mojo Challenge :frogsiren:

It's very well and good to talk, Senor Mojo, but let's stretch your legs a bit, hmm?

Take a memorable event from your childhood and transpose it into a cybernoir mystery.

You have until the submission deadline for Thunderdome 92 (i.e. about 7 days). 2,500-3,500 words.

(Challenge requested by Le Mojo in IRC.)

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk







Erogenous Beef posted:

:frogsiren: The 'Mojo Challenge :frogsiren:

It's very well and good to talk, Senor Mojo, but let's stretch your legs a bit, hmm?

Take a memorable event from your childhood and transpose it into a cybernoir mystery.

You have until the submission deadline for Thunderdome 92 (i.e. about 7 days). 2,500-3,500 words.

(Challenge requested by Le Mojo in IRC.)

gently caress u beef yes

counter request: you do the same, same deadline

then we both crit each other

24 hours later

done

Erogenous Beef
Dec 20, 2006

i know the filthy secrets of your heart


sebmojo posted:

gently caress u beef yes

counter request: you do the same, same deadline

then we both crit each other

24 hours later

done

Challenge accepted.

Lily Catts
Oct 17, 2012

Show me the way to you
(Heavy Metal)


sebmojo posted:

good idea

e: also i will crit three stories, first to ask

Please do mine, thanks.

Drunk Nerds
Jan 25, 2011

Just close your eyes

Fun Shoe

I gave myself the additional restriction that I had to pick something mundane that I do today, and make that my MC's greatest moment/last hurrah. I picked "dialing a phone"

Circle of Death
Horace had never noticed it before, but the crisp leaves crunching underfoot sounded just like his mother's nose slamming into a steering wheel at 45 miles per hour. The autumn fog hung thick and low as he shuffled up the wooden porch and rapped on the flimsy wooden door.

"So you finally showed your face. I bet you think you're a hero or something, " spat the extremely pregnant woman flinging open the door.

"You never were one for hospitality. If mom were alive, she'd be rolling in her grave."

"If mom were alive today, we wouldn't be here," the woman shrugged, turning away and disappearing through a nearby archway. Horace trudged inside. Shutting the door quietly, he turned to face Daphne as she reentered the room, carrying a cup of tea..

"Well, sit down," Daphne plopped her expectant frame into an overstuffed chair. Horace didn't feel quite ready for taking a load off his feet. "I thought you would call," she continued.

"I don't use the phone anymore. They kill people, you know."

Daphne swung her head back and brayed melodramatic laughter, "and let me guess: You kill people, too, with your absent fingers of death."

"It's not funny. You know she'd still be here today if I had answered."

"So what? That's why you disappeared for months? Because someone picked up the phone while driving and crashed a car?"

"Not someone. She wasn't just someone to me!"

"What do you think she is to me? While you've had your head in the sand, I've spent this time coping, facing the fact that she'll never see her grandchild. Only I wasn't stupid enough to try to take control of the whole thing."

"Stop it!" Horace's soft voice broke. He stuck a finger in his sister's face, "you don't have this on your shoulders, I couldn't talk to you."

"Blood," creaked Daphne.

"... is thicker than water" Horace finished, "I know. But I couldn't just-"

"No, blood!" Daphne squealed, she gently dabbed her crotch with her hand and held up a crimson stain, before quickly adding "you moron."

"My car," he raised her and guided her to the door, "I'll just need to put down some towels, where do you-"

"Don't worry about your drat Taurus, you freak," she hissed.

Down the porch and out to the street they tottered. Horace opened the door of his rusty white Ford and half-guided, half-heaved Daphne onto the seat. Soon the engine sputtered to life. The car bolted down the lane, past a sign that said "freeway entrance."

"That was... the drat... ramp," Daphne hitched her labored breath.

"I don't take freeways, it's safer." Horace flipped on his turn signal and wheeled a left turn past a sign which read "Rural Route 80."

"You're... retarded," Daphne huffed, "this will take forever."

"A half hour extra at most."

A dark stain grew around her midsection as Daphne fumbled in a large pocket sewn into the front of her housecoat. She pulled out a cell phone and started dialing. "Why do I get no... drat reception?"

"It's the blocker. I put it under the dash."

Daphne stared at him, her eyes a glaring blend of pain and disbelief, "why?"

"Phones killed mom."

"It's going to kill me you loving idiot!" Daphne screeched so loudly she found herself out of breath. Desperately, she fumbled under the glove compartment, "where is it?"

"You can't disable it, it's screwed in!"

"Flag someone down, we'll never get there in time."

"Nobody uses this road, I haven't seen anyone since we got on."

Shrieking with pain and panic Daphne removed her seatbelt and tried to twist her swollen frame underneath the dash.

"Stop it! That's not safe," Horace leaned over and wrestled with her. Distracted, he missed the eight-point buck trotting out into the road. The car slammed into it, Horace was flung face first into the dashboard, hearing that now all-too-familiar crunch. His body contorted around his neck, arching over the dash and through the windshield.

Landing a dozen yards away in a ditch, Horace immediately tried to struggle up. He lifted his right leg up, tried to lean on his knee, then tumbled to the ground as his left leg dragged limply behind. Trying to drag himself out, he found his right arm to be similarly useless. Using half his limbs, he bit his lip and weakly struggled towards the car.

Horace attempted to open Daphne's door, but the frame was bent in such a way that it wouldn't budge. Dragging himself around to the driver's door, he found it similarly wedged. He saw Daphne's limp body crammed in underneath the dash. That was when he spotted her cell phone, it had come to rest on his passenger seat. Horace brought his left hand up to the window and rapped on it a few times, but the glass did not budge. Pulling himself up to one knee, he inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, then pitched himself head-first into the window. A bright light overcame his field of vision as he crashed through the glass. It faded after a moment, but left a searing wave of pain in its wake. He considered dialing with his nose, before seeing a stream of blood pouring off his face onto the front seat. Struggling with his one good leg, he managed to shift his weight enough to maneuver his left arm inside the car. Dialing 911, Horace could barely croak out "route 60... Greenville...crash," before his body gave out .

Tom Stanford was the unlucky EMT who got the dispatcher call on his first day. Pulling up to the car, he examined Tom's prone body before vomiting all over it. That was when he noticed the dead pregnant woman wedged beneath the dashboard. Hauling Horace's corpse out of the way, he dove through the window. Tom bit his tongue to keep from passing out, then began the unenviable task of sawing open her midsection to remove the screaming baby inside.

Erogenous Beef
Dec 20, 2006

i know the filthy secrets of your heart


Drunk Nerds posted:

I gave myself the additional restriction that I had to pick something mundane that I do today, and make that my MC's greatest moment/last hurrah. I picked "dialing a phone"

Jesus Christ, how many times do we have to shout at you people?!

Do not preface your stories with any blahblahblah bullshit about how hard it is to write or how you're trying to challenge yourself or whatever. We don't care.

Title. Wordcount. Story. That's it.

:siren: Flash Rule: After this post, anyone committing this sin loses 250 words off their word limit. Yes, this can and will disqualify you if you cock up. :siren:

And no, I don't give a robot's left nut that you didn't read this message. This is a writing thread; you'd better know how to read, you thoroughbred fuckwits.

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Entenzahn
Nov 15, 2012

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


sebmojo posted:

e: also i will crit three stories, first to ask

Ohhh, don't mind if I do.

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