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Congratulations all you bastards who got accepted! I was surprised to receive a form rejection, as my entry was so bad I was expecting a personalised one that read simply "gently caress YOU FOREVER." Now, what's all this about Chickencheese?
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# ? Nov 15, 2012 21:24 |
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# ? Apr 17, 2024 22:58 |
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duh The actual chickencheese thread which I found on my own and didn't get a secret message from SuperstitiousRuffian about it from his self-imposed probation-exile where he plans the downfall of Sitting Here and his own meteoric rise to power.
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# ? Nov 15, 2012 21:35 |
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Walls Having seen that in other cities the more valuable a space was, the higher the walls rose, it began to build upwards. In the beginning, only the shortest of the short noticed as it barely reached a height to separate the pooling rainwater that the little folks with spindly legs rode down the drains. As the tops of walls reached a little further, leaves that were used to blowing over began to pile in edges, and the passing folk began to warn each other to watch their step. That step soon turned to a jump, which eventually turned to a climb as the walls continued to grow upwards. The wind which used to softly roll soon started to scream down corridors, the sound of which died in corners as the echoes couldn't clear the steepening walls. While the tops of the walls continued to stretch skywards, the ground fell darker and darker as only the most direct light could reach what was left at the bottoms. And yet, the walls continued to rise, so much so that they eventually broke through the atmosphere and crushed through planets, taking apart long held laws as they continued to soar. After the planets, the walls pummeled into stars like holes punching a cardboard sky. As the punches rose and fell faster and faster, light rushed with the heat of the punch down the edges of the walls. It streamed through where the planets had spun, past the atmosphere, around where the sound had echoed and into where the drains had swirled, only stopping after the last dark spots at the edges had been cleared. It was finally high enough to see the mistake it had made. From the top to the bottom, it had nothing left except for the walls in between. (300)
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# ? Nov 15, 2012 21:42 |
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quote:But I dunno what happened to the actual chickencheese thread? Moved to Automotive Insanity because FORUM DRAMA started creeping in. edit: bah! Martello beat me on that one! edit2: actual loving content! 299 words wrapped up in a simple title of Bifocals while I've got caffeine running through my veins! Enjoy while I still think this is worthy of thunderdomain! --------------- "Hold steady, men!" Il Capitano bellowed out as he saw the faces of his four strongest men, each grabbing hold of a strong chain holding the large beast down. The large beast continued to snarl and thrash at empty air, struggling to break free of its bonds. "I do hope this plan of yours will work, Dottore, else we may have to put the creature down for good." Il Dottore sniffled out of habit before responding in a high-pitched voice "I am glad that you did not resort to such hasty measures, capitano. Trust me, this will indeed work." Slowly turning to his right, Il Dottore raised a bony hand and gestured to his assistant Stelio. Stelio nodded and began steering the metal arm forward, making sure to position the specs just so they would fall where they were needed. The constant thrashing of the beast was not helping matters, but Stelio was confident he could pull this off. He had to, for his life depended on it, as well as that of the creature. When he was certain the specs were in the correct position, he pushed the button on his controller to release the specs. The large bifocals fell straight down, and wrapped themselves around the monster's face. Il Capitano ordered his men to release their grip on the chains. The beast continued thrashing, but slowly calmed down as it could finally read the message. Then it stopped moving aggressively. In a deep, guttural voice, it slowly spoke the word printed on the side of the metal arm in front of him. "Amico." The beast dragged out the syllable very slowly as it took stock of its surroundings. "The shadows have departed from my eyes. Thank you for repairing my vision. What do you ask in return?"
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# ? Nov 15, 2012 21:42 |
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Martello posted:...where he plans the downfall of Sitting Here and... This is the best thing I've ever heard. I will mirthfully defile the empty husks of my fallen would-be challengers. edit: This is what I have for entries/submissions so far. I've mostly been on my phone so let me know if I missed anyone in the midst of all the chickencheese and victory. quote:Fodder
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# ? Nov 15, 2012 22:43 |
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Sitting Here posted:Enter by: 11:59 PM PDT on Thursday the 15th I will throw my razor-lined hat in the ring. This one is too good to pass up.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 01:01 |
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I'll state it again because the truth never goes out of style: I'm in.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 01:35 |
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The Saddest Rhino posted:
Before The Breakthrough The Muttonbirds The lady who reads the news Turned to face the camera Said “Here’s an item that’s just come to hand” I waited for her to speak But she just sat and smiled And stared at me as if I’d understand I found the remote control It was underneath the sofa I wanted to know if anything else had changed The programs were no different Except that no one’s lips were moving And every single channel was the same We used to talk Before the Breakthrough Before the Breakthrough Before the Breakthrough I should have known it would happen That one day they’d find a method I needed to run to someone and have them hold me Michele brought in some coffee I was too messed up to drink it You’d think that someone somewhere would have told me I haven’t been keeping up I guess I missed the bulletin You’d think that somewhere I’d have heard the warning I’ll go to bed, I might as well And I’ll lie next to Michele And I’ll pray that she will greet me in the morning We used to talk Before the Breakthrough Before the Breakthrough Before the Breakthrough Not my entry ofc, just made me think of this song.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 01:56 |
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Alright, I'm in too.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 02:03 |
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As an aside, because I value all of your hate filled feedback, I've put my first ten Thunderdome things (minus a few of the really bad ones) into a PDF on my site. I've namechecked a few of you darlings in the foreward, as well. I'm trying to develop some skill at formatting documents for self-publishing type stuff, so any sort of feedback would be super appreciated. Ideally I want to put out a bunch of stuff that's easy enough to slip onto an eReader and share. Also, become a Kindle Millionaire.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 03:03 |
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In on this.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 03:06 |
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Capntastic posted:slip onto an eReader and share. Sounds hot. Capntastic posted:Also, become a Kindle Millionaire. Sounds hotter
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 03:11 |
(https://youtu.be/p5mmFPyDK_8) Harken to me, gladiators. I hope your minds are busy with the thoughts of juicy chicken and delicious cheese. The council has decided that the true and right form of chickencheese worship is the battle hymn. Interpret it whichever way you want. Remember that we are warriors, and we will act like it. Prepare yourselves accordingly. I have no words for the shame that will befall those who refuse this order. When we meet the beast, we will meet it as one. The council has spoken. Kleptobot posted:Aw poo poo, suddenly I'm feeling better about the chickencheese than the story. Still gonna try to do both though. This brave warrior has the right idea. Martello posted:The actual chickencheese thread which I found on my own and didn't get a secret message from SuperstitiousRuffian about it from his self-imposed probation-exile where he plans the downfall of Sitting Here and his own meteoric rise to power. The thread was linked perfectly well in the initial post, and I found it in GWC long before all of you all.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 05:17 |
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The Day Shift (406) You think you want this? Really? OK here’s what you got to do. Get up at half-four, every day, and hustle to the corner of Abercrombie and 10th where the night shift is coming off. You’ve got about 10 minutes to find your changeover and work out what’s happened while you were gone. And man, the night workers, they’re the ones with the real bad piece so they don’t give a poo poo about you. Once they get their cuts stitched up then they just want to get the gently caress out and gently caress and sleep and forget the world. So, yeah, good luck talking to them. But you got to because otherwise the next twelve hours won’t just be painful, it will be like running around with a lit match in your dick. Then you’re out and bam, bam, bam you’ve got to hit those marks, like a regular metro-loving-nome. Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam. Miss one and oh boy, work not twice as hard, three, four times as hard to get back in black. And you know that ratfucker Busload is stealing around on 17th to cut you off ‘cause he saw you miss a beat. And now you have to cut in on 6peat to make up what ratfucker took and 6peat is a mean sumabitch. And it ain’t even noon. West side and the Sisters, the Cave, the Rolled September, UpandOver, the Crash, Moons and Aces, Token, Vaglife – don’t kid yourself, it doesn’t get any easier. You got miles and miles to go. There’s a new mob moving down from the north and they will be doing their best - and their worst is a hell of a lot better than your sorry pathetic best - to gently caress you and gently caress us all. You see them, you get the gently caress out. But don’t miss your loving beat. Then there’s the dead zone. Like a hotshot up a junky’s arm it stops everything. But you don’t stop. When your legs are screaming like they’re being ripped off and the air is like tar you don’t stop. Never stop. You stop and you’re dead or you’re dead to me and let me tell you, you don’t want either. If you’re bleeding keep going. If you’re hallucinating, keep going. If you’re hallucinating a gently caress off huge clown is raping your rear end: Keep. loving. Going. And then come back. And that’s just one day. Not so keen now huh, bub.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 05:49 |
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Black Griffon posted:
You're not the boss of me
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 06:10 |
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I know I haven't been around. But, Re: acceptances-- Told you bitches. Now worship me as your new god.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 06:11 |
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsqJFIJ5lLs
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 06:13 |
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Black Griffon posted:
Wow, things must've changed in the Thunderdome recently. If the loser of the previous challenge got to give orders, I'd be running this place by now.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 06:19 |
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Chairchucker posted:Wow, things must've changed in the Thunderdome recently. If the loser of the previous challenge got to give orders, I'd be running this place by now. This is not about Black Griffon. This is about chickencheese. It is bigger than all of us. Black Griffon is the chickencheese prophet. You will obey the chickencheese prophet. Also, things are coming up awesome all round in the 'dome. Congrats all who got their stuff published ... so far. You should all be submitting your poo poo to mags and rags every week. Get to it.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 06:32 |
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V for Vegas posted:Not so keen now huh, bub.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 07:16 |
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MY ENTRY IS AS FOLLOWS The Bear (749 words) A long enough time ago that there ain't many around to remember it anymore, back when the sky was closer to the world and the wind didn't carry any cold with it, there was a people, a tribe, you could call them, if you were feeling tribal, called the Yuqiik. Every man and every animal agreed, agreed because back then people and animals were on speaking terms, that the Yuqiik were the friendliest, and slyest, folks you'd ever meet. More sly than friendly, if you asked Shark, who had traded a full third of his teeth to be Yuqiik arrowheads and ended up with a net he didn't have the fingers to use and a gummy grin that made all the groupers nearly drown themselves with laughter. One Yuqiik man in particular, Judlow was his name, was the slyest by far. His eyes glittered so bright you could see them like hot coals through that filthy blonde mop of his. Folks said he stole his buckskins right off the back of the biggest bull moose on the Kuskokwim after a wild night of party and drink, and he cut the fringes with the big tooth of Walrus, who he convinced he was a dentist before dentists existed. Now the Yuqiik didn't stay in one place for long as not to wear out their welcome, and Judlow was the most welcome-wearing of them. Because of that, and, to be fair, because he had a decent head on his shoulders and a keen pair of eyes, he was the Forward Scout of the Yuqiik, going on ahead to suss out a good setting down place for his kin. One day Judlow was out on the riverbank, hacking it ahead of the tribe, shiny eyes on a swivel, when he came across a great big bush with bunches of huge red berries hanging off of it, big as your fist. Now the Yuqiik were hunter-gatherers, but you'd prefer gathering over hunting too if you had to chat up your meal before you slit the throat. He whooped and sang and started pulling those berries off and into his satchel when he heard a thunderous roar from the other side of the bush. Too late Jud noticed that this particular bush was growing up right in front of a great big bear hole, and out the hole with no delay came great big Bear, mouth all at froth. “Who's this carcass picking through my shitter?” Bear asked, and Jud realized where them berries got all their nutrition and what he was standing in: Deep poo poo. “Judlow of the Yuqiik,” said Judlow of the Yuqiik, “and if you happen to have a mat I could wipe my feet on I'd be powerfully grateful.” Bear chuckled, low and dangerous. “Now I've heard of you, Judlow, and I know you're trouble on two legs. So I'm going to put aside pleasantries and just get right to inviting you to dinner.” Bear took a step forward. Judlow took a step back. “You want I should bring the berries?” “Now what kind of question is that for a self-respecting carnivore?” Bear said, and suddenly he was on top of the man, pinning him down and raising a knifesharp claw to shred the life out of him. “How're them sharp eyes of yours helping you now, buck?” Bear never could help gloating over a fresh meal, Judlow remembered, and he said, “They're getting a good view of them razor claws of yours, Bear.” “Scary, huh?” “Scaring the daylights out of me. And those chompers.” Bear leered. “Pointy, neh?” “Pointy and intimidating.” Judlow's jaw dropped. “But not nearly so scary as them barbarians coming over the hill out there!” “Coming over the-” Bear stood up and turned around, squinting, but his eyes were beady things, and certainly not as sharp as Jud's. He saw nothing, but when he turned around to say as much his meal was already glassy-eyed and oozing blood from a thrown dagger stuck in his side. When Bear saw that grisly sight he jumped full ten feet in the air and his shiny black coat turned white with fear. He hightailed it, all the way to the arctic they say, where the seals still give him poo poo about it, while Judlow chuckled and pulled the walrus tusk knife outta his satchel and sucked the berry juice right off, thinking it's life's little victories. Them berries tasted like bear scat.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 08:18 |
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Not in due to general November insanity, but thought I'd drop by to brag just a touch: Back for more trouble in December...
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 08:40 |
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Entries are closed, here's how things look so far: quote:Fodder Just over a day for submissions. The longer you wait the less time I will have to pour over your heaping piles of genius.
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 20:09 |
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Sitting Here posted:Just over a day for submissions. The longer you wait the less time I will have to pour over your heaping piles of genius. But my essay...
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# ? Nov 16, 2012 20:14 |
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Revolution Words: 715 Toby Nugent Jr. was shot. The President was dead. The screams of the crowd still rang in John’s ears as he watched the television cut to a frantic anchorman. John’s hands were pressed together in silent prayer, his nose and mouth buried in the crevice between them. “Oh my god,” he whispered to no one. He leaned forward, as though to get a better view. His wife, Liz, washed the same dish over and over again at the sink. She gulped, listening to the television. “He was right all along,” John said. “They had to shut him up.” Liz looked down at her feet. Duck-footed. She ran a dry tongue over her veneers. “We’re all dead. It’s over.” Her grip tightened in her pink, rubber gloves. The plate cracked, but John didn’t notice. Falling into two pieces, the plate sank slowly into the water. Liz shook her head, and blinked slightly out of unison. Daydreaming of better times. Simpler times. She walked over to the garbage and threw out the dish. ”I broke a dith,” she said. John wasn’t listening. “Where’s my gun? I have to get ammo before those bastards take it all.” “John, pleath,” Liz said. “And what? Just lay down and die?! We’ve got to do something!” John got up and went to the bedroom closet. Liz adjusted a contact in her eye, and looked at her hair in the mirror. The anchorman paused and his eyes widened. “We have just received video evidence of the assassin. America, you must see this,” the anchorman began. Liz looked around quickly for the remote. On the far side of the couch. She darted and grabbed the remote, slamming her finger on the power button. The television stayed on, and she jammed the button again, curling her lip. The Blu-Ray player turned off and on. “What are you doing?” John asked, walking into the living room. “I-I couldn’t hear it,” Liz said. “Look closely, at this footage taken by amateur video from the President’s rally today,” the anchorman continued. Liz put the remote down and moved to the kitchen as John retook his seat, rifle in arms. “This man, figure, no, this thing in the large coat. Produces a weapon, but please, keep in mind this is graphic evidence that must be seen.” John’s hands moved to assemble the bolt-action on the rifle instinctively. Muscle memory guided his every move as his eyes were glued to the television. “You can clearly see this tail, as the creature flees after firing the shots. There is no mistake, America. The hunched figure, the reptilian tail, and President Nugent’s crusade against the Illuminati,” the anchorman said gravely. “I knew it, I loving knew it!” “Clear as day…” Liz’s ears began to hum, and she felt as though her brain had begun to gloss over. She couldn’t hear the television, or John ranting and loading his gun. Her vision began to skew sideways and her mouth salivated. She smelled blood. John shouted into his cell phone and slid his finger across it. “Honey, lock the doors, and no matter what, do not open it for anyone. We’re meeting at the YMCA,” John said, suddenly appearing in front of her. She shook her head, but the smell of blood was strong in her nostrils. She licked the bottoms of her veneers furiously, trying to get to the jagged core. John turned and grabbed a coat from the rack. “No, pleath, John, don’t,” Liz said. John stopped and turned to her. “John, I’m thcared.” And there she was. Her arms wrapped across her shoulders. John looked at his wife and the adrenaline seemed to ooze out of him. His muscles relaxed, and he leaned his rifle against the wall. Liz sank down onto the couch, and began to sob. Streaks of acidic, ozone-smelling tears made green chasms through her makeup coated face. John sat down next to her and breathed deeply. Pulling her in close, she buried her face into his chest. The tears seeped through his t-shirt and irritated his skin. He put a hand on the back of her head and rubbed, shifting the wig back and forth. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” John said. “I know you’re one of the good ones, don’t you worry about that, dear.”
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 01:18 |
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Undercover ~720 words “Sharp vision sooths strong reaction… in bed” “That doesn't make sense. At all.” “What have you got?” “Seek new adventures today… in bed.” “Perfect.” “Yeah. And the lucky number is 69.” “You’re kidding.” “Yeah.” Margaret and Ethan finish the last of their Jasmine tea and the push the wreckage of combination #3 and #4 to one side. The waitress wordlessly drops off the check. “What you wanna do?” he says. “Get a drink?” “Nah. I’m feeling pickled after the honeymoon.” “Me too, I guess. See a movie?” “Like what?” “That new Bond one?” “Eh.” “Yeah, I guess so. So what do you want to do?” Ethan smiles wryly and darts his eyes back and forth. “We could rob this place.” Margaret smiles back. “Oh really? How we gonna do it?” “If we hadn’t eaten all the spring rolls I could put one in my pocket. Make it look like a gun, right?” “Too bad.” “Too bad.” Ethan strokes his goatee in exaggerated thoughtfulness. Margaret purses her lips and swings a high-heeled foot from side to side. “I got it,” she says. “What?” “We say we’re food inspectors- I mean health inspectors. Say we gotta check out their kitchen. Say ‘oh it’s so dirty back here, you’re gonna get a big fine. Unless…’” “Unless they grease some palms.” “Grease being the key term here,” she says, sticking out her tongue. “How we gonna convince them we’re official?” “Do it like in the movies. Flash a library card or something. Just do it real fast and go. It’d totally work.” “Shh shh, she’s coming.” The waitress cruises by slowly and wipes down a spotless table. “Okay,” Margaret breathes, “except I didn't bring my wallet.” “Oh poo poo, neither do I.” “Wait, what do you mean?” “I must have forgot it at home.” She leans in close over the table. “Then how are we going to pay?” Ethan shrugs and smiles again. “Looks like we might get to try our plan after all.” “If you want to stay here, I could walk back to ours. Get some cash.” “Ugh. The food wasn’t even that good though…. Let’s just dash it,” he says. “What are you 15?” “What are you, 80?” Margaret arches a thin eyebrow and smiles. “Tough talk, mister.” “drat right.” “Fine then. But we need a distraction.” The Golden Sun is empty save the two and the waitress. Passing headlights streak the darkness outside. Ethan sucks his teeth clean. ”Hm. Could ask for more tea. Then take off when she goes in back.” “Alright.” Margaret smiles and giggles. “Easy there tiger.” Ethan waves over the server. “Can we get a little more tea, please?” “No more tea tonight. Kitchen closed.” “No tea? Umm….” Ethan looks over to Margaret with questioning eyes. “That’s fine then, it’ll be Visa,” she says while grabbing the bill and rising. Ethan rises too, locking eyes with Margaret. The waitress turns to take them to the bar. And Margaret bolts. Arms outstretched she hits the glass door and out into the night, with Ethan at her heels. Behind them someone shouts in Chinese. “Hey, hey!” As they run down the block past a gas station, a young man darts from the restaurant. A cook or a dishwasher or a driver, he’s sprinting after them. “Hey stop! Hey!” At the corner of a garage parking lot, he catches up to them and seizes Ethan by the elbow. “You didn't pay. You didn't pay.” Ethan turns, reaches into his jacket and pulls out his wallet. Holding it to the man’s face, he opens and snaps it shut. “Agent Cooper, FBI. You are impeding an investigation, and about to blow our cover.” Ethan looks behind him impatiently to a nothing in the distance. “The bureau will reimburse you, sir, but you need to clear the area ay-sap.” To his side, he sees Margaret open her pink Coach knock-off and pull out her wallet. The one covered in little cartoon dogs. She winks her bus pass and deadpans their pursuer. “Sir,” she nods. He looks at them unsteadily, then grits his teeth and moves back towards the restaurant, throwing glances over his shoulder. The two walk back to their apartment. “So, I thought you forgot your wallet.” “I thought you did.” “Yeah, well. Maybe I could go for a drink after all.”
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 01:31 |
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Jeza posted:But my essay... Essays are for chumps. Your internet cred is way more important
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 01:51 |
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King of the Roost-496 Words As I entered the chicken yard, it struck me how stupid these chickens were. They knew perfectly well why I was here, and began to shuffle towards the feeding trough as soon as I entered the yard. I opened the sack of grain I had been carrying under my arm and turned it, spilling the seeds into the trough. The chickens lined up eagerly for the food. I could see the hunger in their dull eyes. They fought amongst themselves for a good position. But they did not dare eat. The didn't even try to get closer than one chicken-length to the trough. No, the honor of eating first came to only one chicken. The leanest and toughest of the chickens strutted slowly and deliberately along the trough, picking the choicest seeds from the barrel. The others silently waited, their eyes following the wiry bird with trepidation. Their leader had more than a few battle scars from fights over the years. Barely a day had passed since that bird was born that it didn't get in a fight. Some of the hens near the front still bore scars. What struck me the most about this bird, though, was its eyes. Instead of the dull glassy look that the other poultry had, this bird had the kind of look I always saw in the cowboy movies. A glare of determination, courage, and most of all guts. The leader of the roost flapped his wings once after he was finished, and the trough turned into a bedlam of feathers, clucking, and pecking. The thin hen walked casually to the fence and climbed it as if it was as simple as walking. He regarded me for a moment, then turned his eyes back towards the fight over food. His message was clear: Humans are not the masters of this roost. I turned my own gaze back to my house. I could clearly see the cheese and bread waiting on the table through the window. No, I could not spare the chickens today. I picked up the little king from his throne. He did not go without fighting, flapping his wings and fixing me with his steely eyes as he struggled to escape. I whistled to the two men who had just finished feeding the pigs. They walked over. One of them asked, "Made your choice, yet?" "Yes," I said as the chicken continued its attempt to escape. "This one." I turned around, and made my way towards the cage I had laid down just outside of the coop. To be fair, the chicken did its best to fight me. It clawed and scratched and flapped but it never gave up. It nearly escaped one or two times. I reached the cage, and shut the chicken in it. I turned back to the other two men, who were now idly watching the mayhem near the trough. "This one lives. The rest die."
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 03:08 |
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Fanky Malloons posted:Essays are for chumps. Your internet cred is way more important
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 09:05 |
2012 - 717 words The drive out in the desert took a few hours; most spent decoding the puzzle the weird men had given them. Emily drove, Victoria screamed and nearly threw the black plate out the window. Emily touched her cheek, made her calm. "gently caress it, right?" Victoria smiled, "gently caress it." She returned to the puzzle. Shapes and words which never got any more comprehensible. She shifted them around, tried to speak the words. An indicator showed the puzzle picked up voice, but nothing happened. The strange men had told them the end of the world happened everywhere at once, but it still felt like they tried to outrun it. Emily looked to the side, letting the unconscious do the driving along the straight desert road. The desert rose in waves, escaping the atmosphere. It formed bands, like northern lights. Amazing golden sheets rose impossibly high. All around the car, their little sphere of existence remained normal, and for some reason that felt even more wrong. In front, the road remained straight. Right because of purpose, intent made reality real. A soft hum filled the car, and Victoria let out a triumphant scream. Emily stepped on the brakes, stopped the car in a clumsy skid. "What does it say?" Victoria stared at it for some time, mouthed words. She looked up at Emily, "Says it's all us." "Us as in us? We two?" "No, humanity, 'and more'. I don't know what they mean by that." Emily turned in her seat, desperate eyes, "But what do they mean it's all us. All our fault?" "Yeah. We believed too hard, made things real." "But people have believed crazy poo poo for ages, how is this any different? People have believed the world would end every drat year." "Adds up I guess." Victoria looked pale, Emily turned to look where she looked. They'd found them. "gently caress it," said Victoria, the words weak and barely audible. "gently caress it." They stepped out of the car, approached the men, Victoria with puzzle in hand. The strange men, naked except for silver crowns shaped like branches. The air whispered around them, hummed and hurt. "We've solved it," said Victoria. "Did you understand it?" It was the voice of a thousand cities falling into the ocean, the moon disintegrating and escaping to the sun. Emily and Victoria hated it, but found it held everything they knew about home. Every other piece of reality was so fragmented and torn it barely resembled the world as it had been. "We believed too much, reality had an overdose." "Do you know how to solve it?" "We can't stop believing," said Emily, "It's impossible. White bears and all that. Ask us to stop and we'll just believe harder." "You killed a man a few days ago," said the man, "Alex Mercer." "Had to happen, he had something wrong in him, something that turned him into a beast." "He had one of us in him, one of our spirits." "Well there you go, just as bad." In the distance, a mountain range sank into the ground, sent plumes of dirt and sand into the sky. Stars stretched like time-lapse photography. "We kept him safe, and by extension; you." "You kept him enslaved." "A fair price to pay. If you'd stopped killing our vessels, we might have saved this universe." Victoria sat down on the car's hood and Emily stared at the ground. "But you attacked the wrong problem," he said, "And now you're paying the price." "What'll happen?" "Eventually, your grip on reality will falter, all that will be left will be two floating bodies, and time will slow until you might as well be gone." "How do we fix it?" "Let us in." Victoria threw the puzzle to the ground and screamed "This can't be happening". And Emily figured it out. She walked over to the car, Victoria looked at her. "What are you doing," she said. Emily said nothing, reached in to grab her gun and walked back. Emily shot Victoria in the neck. She'd say something like "It isn't happening", but she didn't, though it wasn't. In the distance, the sand fell to the earth without a sound, and the desert was just a desert, and the world wasn't ending. But Emily wondered if it would again if she saved her.
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 10:15 |
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What was left unsaid. - Word Count: 719 Fine edged, distinct, acute or quick. The property of sight, foresight, a mental image or something of exceptional beauty. To calm or reassure emotionally, or truths. Physical or mental strength, resilience or intensity. A state resulting from stimulus or a tendency to revert to a former state. Words can mean many things. We often say one thing but mean another. Sometimes we mean many things at once, sometimes we don't mean anything at all. People can embody words and words can embody people. Let me show you: A poker table. Five players. Card sharps. A politician. A body-builder. A psychic. A knife-thrower. A model. The psychic is winning, considerably. Another round. The politician bluffs, the body-builder calls, the psychic raises. The others fold. The psychic gets two sharp looks as the remaining two meet her raise. The knife-thrower can see a blurry reflection of her cards in the knife he stuck in the floor to cheat with. It doesn't look good for the other two. Flop. Turn. River. Check. All-in. Call. The politician crumbles and folds. The cards are flipped. The body-builder is all-out. The dainty model reaches over and strokes his burly forearm, commiserating. He is not appeased. He can flip more than cards, and does so. The table is overturned in a hail of chips and cards and anger. The model sighs. She had known something like this would happen. The opinion of the body-builder is in sharp relief on his face. Distinct lines of friendship are drawn invisibly in the room. "Don't give me this poo poo. I don't buy any of that soothsayer bull. You're a drat cheat, Ellie!" "You say that because you are close-minded. I foresaw-" That garnered a reaction. He stormed forward. With lightning reflexes, the knife-thrower left two bayonets twanging in the ground between him and her. "Cool it, Bruce. Just let it go." Knives still shivering in the ground, the pressure in the room was intense. The politician chimed in, incensed at the wanton destruction of his sitting room. "James, what have I loving told you about throwing your knives in my house!" "Now of all times, Mike, really? Get a grip." "Maybe you'd understand if you didn't live in a squalid one-bedroom apartment..." "What?" "Quiet the both of you with your petty loving bickering!" roared Bruce "Somebody needs to teach this bitch a lesson." He moved as he spoke. The room chimed in unison "Bruce!.." Both James and Mike dived to try and contain the hulking mass of Bruce and Ellie made for the door in tears. The pair of them were shrugged off easily by the larger man and he had covered half the gap between himself and her when someone's voice rang out. "Hold it." She was a vision standing on her chair like that, wreathed in her stunning azure ao dai dress. Her voice was quiet but cut with commanding presence. "Look at yourselves. Is this what we're reduced to? We used to be so close. Now if you put us all into a room together it's like a chemical reaction." She looked pointedly at Bruce and Ellie, caught midstep on their way out of the room. "Ever since you two broke up, you've been at each other's throats. You've got to talk it out. It can't go on like this." She continued. "And Mike, you need to stop judging James for his lifestyle choices. James, the same is true for you. You both used to be inseparable. Does money really mean you can't still be friends?" Guilt prevailed. The room hung its head in collective shame. Shame at the clarity and incisiveness of her words, shame at what they had become. The acrimony melted away. "Alison's right" nodded Mike "Why can't we just go back to the way we were before?" Ellie pressed her head into Bruce's solid chest, her thin arms as far around his broad waist. He was struck dumb. Alison smiled. James proffered his hand and Mike clasped it in a strong handshake. "Go back to the way we were before, eh?" James leaned in close and whispered. "Easy words for a reactionary." Mike's face went scarlet. "You son of a-" Did you find all their words? And what of what was left unsaid? Did you find that too? ----------------------- Huh. That was some weird poo poo. Pretty sure I just wrote some kind of meta-slice of life. I was really pumped to make chickencheese to go with my entry but, alas, life conspires against me.
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 19:09 |
Jeza posted:Huh. That was some weird poo poo. Pretty sure I just wrote some kind of meta-slice of life. I was really pumped to make chickencheese to go with my entry but, alas, life conspires against me. We won't make chickencheese in here, silly, that'd be like dropping a bomb on your own house. The beast approaches still.
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 19:14 |
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I'm a maverick, a loose cannon!
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 19:22 |
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Jeza posted:I'm a maverick, a loose cannon! That's how we roll in the 'Dome. Rules? What are those? I WILL FIGHT YOU.
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 19:46 |
gently caress IT, SPONTANEOUS FIGHT. Come at me, both of you! HAIKU! - Thunder in the dome Rebel minds with wayward thoughts Fight without a cause
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 19:55 |
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Black Griffon posted:Thunder in the dome I didn't mean it But fine, you're forcing my hand I will break your knees!
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 20:01 |
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Blood is on the wind The writers pull at their chains The feast begins soon
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 20:17 |
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That awkward moment When for years I've thought this line Had eight syllables. Looks like that whole bunch of haikus I wrote are all in excess one syllable
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 20:32 |
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I will drink your blood Only because I hunger It's not personal
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 20:33 |
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# ? Apr 17, 2024 22:58 |
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Hearts are mere organs A flesh of little import I shall eat yours raw
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# ? Nov 17, 2012 20:38 |