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SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


For about five seconds, I thought we were talking about Randy Newman. I was not happy with that at all.

e: in and dibs on The Dream Police.

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SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Stuporstar posted:

That's Cheap Trick. I don't give a goddamn how cool The Stranglers or The Clash or whoever are. Band substitutes will not be permitted. This is the motherfucking Gary Numan challenge, not the general 80s synthpop/New Wave challenge.
b-b-but he covered it. It's on Tubeway Army. I already wrote most of the story. :qq:

If I can't, I'll go with The Life Machine.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Stuporstar posted:

Also, how the hell did you not catch my edit exonerating you when you posted an hour after I figured it out? Is this some kind of Ö wait for it Ö cheap trick?
Had post reply open, went away to do something else for a few hours, forgot to refresh the thread :downs:.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Martello posted:

Also, I just found out that Fanky Malloons is a chick who shaves her domepiece and lifts heavy weights. That makes the :black101: even more appropriate.
Some people take Thunderdome seriously.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Chairchucker posted:

I don't understand this request but I guess I'll interpret it in some way or whatever.
Go to google, type in "monster blood" and note how the first five pages are all about the exact same thing.

e: except the stuff about Australian kids' books. gently caress Australia.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


I hope you guys are happy. The last three nights in a row, I've woken up at some rotten hour with my head pounding and the opening bass riff from The Dream Police looping in my head. I've listened to that song so many times, it's become part of the fabric of my being.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


pink slip (900ish words)

tim woke & the world flickered. somewhere dark, a projectionist changed the reels. the walls in this fresh hell were hospital waiting-room green-grey, the carpet thick with white & burgundy flecks: nyer nyer nyer we know what you look like inside. something pulsed nearby; industrial, devoid of love.

sitting across was a man in an old hat & coat, reading a newspaper. his coat was brown-white, rubbery & one size too small. his skin was brown-white, rubbery & one size too small. the newspaper showed pictures of a hospital waiting room decorated with green-grey, with a carpet of white & burgundy-

wait, poo poo.

the world folded in, rocking like the deck of a ship. the man lowered his newspaper & shook his head. "Timothy. Tim. Is it ok if I call you Tim?" he said. his mouth may have opened, though it was impossible to tell. tim nodded, gripped the chair; floating wood for a drowned man. "I'll be frank with you, Tim. You've been having some thoughts that don't, uh, gel with us. Very nasty thoughts," he said.

you brute, you swine, you backwards dogfucking lovebandit. let me go. the walls shook. the man in the coat pursed his lips. "Like that, yes. It's alright though, Tim! We're just going to perform a little operation and send you on your merry way. Wouldn't you like a clear head?"

balding, 50s, authority of a cop with the fussy precision of a banker. he'd be running to fat if running were ever on the agenda. tim found his mouth open & tried to speak but his tongue was lead, his lips marble. the pulse quickened, the world shook.

"The boys are making a ruckus in there, aren't they?" said the man. "You know what they're like; shoot first and ask questions later. I tell them I'm the one doing the paperwork but they never listen. This one time, they took out a guy's wife and kids. He woke up next to her and just started screaming. The forms I had to fill out, you'll never believe."

piggy piggy pig you're in the wrong house & it's built out of straw.

there were shouts beyond the door. The Man In The Suit shook his head. "That hurts my feelings, Tim, it really does. It's Lawrence, by the way. Not that you asked," said lawrence. his face was melting, his features running together. worms pushed up from inside his eyes.

the third little pig built his house out of stone & steel & bone & cctv.

the room was shaking too much now, the roof tiles dislodging, exposing great rivers of muscle & lymph. it came crashing through, filling the world; a rank sea clogging every pore, every hole & misgiving. the worms ate his eyes, then his loves, then his stamp collection. the newspaper showed pictures of a hospital waiting-

wait, poo poo.

"See what we've got here is a failure to communicate," said lawrence, in an affected texas drawl. he smirked, bit his tongue. "Right now, you're sleeping soundly in your bed. If you let us do our job, you wake up feeling good and I get to sign the Good Forms. You push me, your body starts twitching and foaming and we dump you in a public toilet with track marks up your arm and who gives a gently caress about another junkie? 'Oh, he seemed so nice' they'll say at the funeral and noone'll mention the rubber band around your arm but they'll all be thinking about it. Then I have to sign the Bad Forms and my wife wonders why I'm so surly at dinner. Nobody wins, Tim."

piggy pig pig, you're in the wrong house & it's built out of sticks.

lawrence stopped, drew a pencil & a notepad & scribbled something down. he was beginning to sweat. "Interesting. That makes me the wolf, no? The bad guy. I'm not a bad guy, if you get to know me, Tim. I coach Little League. I help out at a soup kitchen. I'm not the one having Bad thoughts; putting myself and others at risk. 'He's a menace to society, Lawrence, best put him down' they said to me. Would you be put down, like a wounded animal? Like a dog?" he said.

the sticks scared you, didn't they? i can build & build. sticks. sticks & stones & blood & bones. you're in the wrong house, pig & now it's time to go.

something horrifying was going on beyond the door. the men screamed & the world screamed, lurching & bucking, tonguing at the wound, drinking down salt water & spitting up blood. in came the walls, in came the world and the newspaper showed-

the world went to fold & hit cast iron will coming the other way. no lover, no bull nor hurricane ever moved with such purpose & fury. no. gently caress no. not what makes me. Piggy pig pig, you're in the wrong house and it's built out of






stone.












"Excellent," said Lawrence, after a long minute. "I think that about wraps it up for us. Thank you for your cooperation. We'll be back to check up later. Don't be a stranger."

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


sebmojo posted:

Now remember kids - do not proofread. That is the action of a pussy. Type out your story and POST THAT BITCH. Just slap it right the hell down, the judges will understand your spelling errors and and malapropistic random bullshit.
I hope this is intentional.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Martello posted:

Now, fucksticks, stew while the judges decide your fate. :moreevil:
What kind of stew? I've got the kitchen all ready but I don't want to mess up and cook the wrong thing.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


sebmojo posted:

Fuckstick Stew. Comma was a typo.
So I put my dick in the broth and leave it there for an hour? That sounds dangerous.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


I don't like how this thread goes dead quiet between closing time and results. C'mon guys, Thunderdome is a party! :toot:

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


But the cop used capitals because he's part of the system, maaaaaan.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


So the comments seem pretty positive but I looked up headcheese and it looks foul. What's the deal, yo?

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Ozma's got the bug. :dance:

I'm not offically entering yet because I'm switching between cities a few time this week and I'm not sure where the internet is working. I'll know by the 12th. I'd like to.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Well 3's Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens. They had to name it that because they weren't allowed to use 'Dracula'. The vampire, contrary to popular belief, is called Count Orlok, not Nosferatu.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Fun fact: I know Klaus Kinski's grand-daughter. She lives in Wellington and works at an IT firm.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:

Now that is interesting. Hear any good stories?
After they got back to Germany after filming Aguirre, Kinski sat outside Herzog's house in his car with a trunk full of molotov cocktails, seriously ticking off the pros and cons of firebombing the man's house.

e: or it might have been Fitzcarraldo. I forget. Something where Werner Herzog was absolutely terrorized the set and almost got a bunch of people killed.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


2) Basilisk.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


:black101: HOSTILE TAKEOVER. Now I'm asking the questions:

1) Who died after a passionate night between a giant's legs?
2) Which graverobber is more famous for fishing?
3) Who beat the poo poo out of the sun because he didn't like the night?

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Martello posted:

1) Your mother irl
Technically, yes. This is a clue.

e: the answer is the same for all three questions.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


I see what you did there.

Time for some Maori Mythology 101.

Maui is basically the Maori Hercules, except instead of strength he uses his massive wits to get out of bad situations. At some point, his father died, so Maui turned himself into a pidgeon and went down to the underworld to get him back.

That went pear-shaped, so Maui, filled with rage and passion, came up with a new plan: steal immortality from inside the womb of the Goddess of Death. A crowd of birds followed him, because birds love a show.

While the Goddess slept, Maui crept in through her pussy, grabbed the secret of immortality and snuck back out again. The birds thought a full-grown man coming out of a giant's pussy was hilarious and all burst out laughing. Maui was only half out when the laughter awoke the Goddess, who snapped her thighs closed and broke poor Maui in half.

Thanks to the birds, we all die eventually. Our lives are but dust in the wind. Thanks a lot, birds.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Was just driving and a big black van pulled in behind me. As it turned off, I saw written on the side

MARTELLO
air conditioners installed

Are you following me? What's your game, Marty?

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Just so we get this out of the way, exactly how many people are writing "deal with the devil"?

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


MadRhetoric posted:

Ahahaha you poor fucks. I'm going to make you and your fakeass hardass personas choke on so much terrible supernatural Goon writing you'll be making GBS threads it for months.

I'm in. :getin:
Look at this guy who thinks he gets Thunderdome, posting the CC version of:"HAY FYAD HITLERDICKS LOLLOL LOVE ME". I will feed his dick to the goats by the time we are done.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Dammit I said "I hope noone writes a devil story guys" :angel: so I could write one and hang onto a semblance of originality. Dammit dammit dammit.

Also, I'm in.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Could I get an ETA on the deadline? Checking SA from my phone* so timezone conversions are a nightmare.

*HTC Firefly. Runs Android. Iphone is for chumps.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Oh thank god, I thought I was the only one having trouble. It seems so simple at first glance but it's really hard to write something that doesn't sound like a kid's campfire story.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Apparently I've been conscripted to help my parents move tomorrow. It's been that sort of week. poo poo, I'll be happy to see the end of moving trucks.

What that means is I've lost the morning I was planning to do my third and final round of editing and you all get my entry a few hours early. Here I am, on a sunny Friday afternoon, working on Thunderdome when I could be at the beach. I hope y'all are happy.

Also, we need another silly prompt. These last few weeks have been too loving morbid by half.


Rota Fortunae

They take children there at low tide, to dig holes and play seaweed tag and the like. Thereís the occasional dead fish to teach them about the circle of life and scare each other with. Whoever holds the fish, rules the beach. Qui audit adipiscitur. The sand is damp, golden and perfect for castles. The little kings and queens will cherish these days forever.

By the break of high tide, the place is deserted. Noone wants to be around when the water sucks down through the hole in the rocks and screams (screams) like a nameless thing thatís just discovered lungs but has long known rage. Someone could get caught in the flow, dragged under and bashed against the rocks until their bones are powder and their guts are cat food, until their brains leak red-grey out a fountain in their skull and the little fish that dare come this close feast like little kings. Qui audit adipiscitur. Kapai. Fortuna imperiatrix mundi! Avast dog, youíve pissed on my leg. Bought the bumper sticker, rode the water slide.

Thereís not a thing that lives there, any more than thereís a thing that keeps protons shaking or blue eyes blue, in that there might be but I fear the answer. The old folks called it a Taniwha. Aye, rock dragon who guards the old water, who keeps the tapu places tapu. White folks called him dragon but thatís a fresh new word for rotten old bones. Taniwha donít breathe fire, he breathes love. He loves so much that any who touch his water are savages, thieves. He drags them down and feeds them to the sea, to keep his beloved wet-wife happy. He polishes her teeth with their floating bones. What can a body say to that? Not much. Kapai. Enoho ra. Youíre hosed, fulla. Your seed will go in no woman (the sea-wife is no woman, oh no) and your eyes will go white while the brave little fish pick you to pieces.

Itís a good thing that Taniwha loves his wet-wife with such fury, he and all his brothers. She is fat, she is greedy and along some coasts she is not so well loved. In some places, she lashes out and takes (takes) and they put up signs about currents but itís no use. After all, theyíre trying to turn the tide. Some old folk know and they know when itís their time, so they clamber up the rocks at high tide and walk gentle into the dark water to have their skulls bashed open Ďcos by that point theyíre beyond caring. A loverís arms are not a bad place to rest.

Before they go, they tell their kids about the hole in the rock where the Taniwha lives, and it only fully sinks in seventy-odd years later when the sandcastles have been swept away, when their bones hurt and their guts hurt Ďcos the pills donít work no more and they slip out in the dead of night to catch the break of high tide and slip on a wife-wet rock and the little fishes feast like kings. Qui audit adipiscitur. A little red grease to keep the wheels turning. Fortuna imperiatrix mundi. Kaipa. Enoho Ra. A loverís arms are as good a place as any.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Also, I know I'm not allowed to give out bonus points but I want to show off, so Martello or someone might give bonus points to the first person to name the cantata I'm riffing off. He probably won't but you'll feel really smart and all the ladies (and/or men) will love you.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Looking at Fanky's fitness log, I'm pretty sure she could deadlift me. Don't think she can't follow through on that threat.

I mean, I'm a little dude but the point still stands.

MadRhetoric posted:

Everybody in that thread who wasn't discussing literature or contributing to Anime is the Tie that Binds Us was shitposting, bro. There's a reason the threads got gassed four times over :ironicat:
Three times, actually. :v:

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


MadRhetoric posted:

Ooh, this is gonna be fun. Keep swinging nuts like you got some, I like it rough.

E: For real though, you bust my balls, I bust your balls back. This is supposed to be all hard man, tough guy blood and piss in your eye poo poo, right? So what if the rabble wants to throw some of that blood and piss back? If you didn't want it, don't sling that poo poo.
Holy poo poo, he actually grew a pair.

No really, this is a much better attitude. The thing everyone objected to was the unwarranted 'too cool for school' swagger.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Yo judges, get on with it.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Should I run this week's challenge by the other two or just let 'er rip?

What do you think, rabble?

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Right, well I'm out of the house and I'll sort the prompt out tonight. Because I live in a crazy timezone, that means check back tomorrow morning.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


The goons who lose will pay the highest price.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


I've contacted the two other judges about the prompt and have the post written up and ready to post. If they don't reply in the next 15 minutes, I assume they consented.

sebmojo posted:

Huh.

SO LET IT BE WRITTEN

SO LET IT BE DONE
Deal.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


hay hay Sebmojo. Hay Sebmojo. Sebmojo. I've got something for you.

:siren: Thunderdome VII: The goons who lose will pay the highest price. :siren:

I asked last week if anyone knew the cantata I was riffing off and noone answered. Not one of you recognised Carmina Burana, one of the best-known classical (Late Romantic/German Expressionist, specifically) pieces of all time. Fortuna Imperiatrix Mundi, bitches. Well Thunderdome, it's time to complete your educations and dredge up the forgotten lore because we're getting motherfucking classical up in this piece.

Remember in high school when your English teacher said you were going to learn "Iambic Pentameter" tomorrow so you decided to stay home and jack off to your dad's old playboy collection? Me neither. Point being, your challenge this week is:

Write a piece of blank verse poetry about a journey.

What is blank verse? This is:

John Motherfucking Milton posted:

O Hell! what doe mine eyes with grief behold,
Into our room of bliss thus high advancít
Creatures of other mould, earth-born perhaps,
Not Spirits, yet to heavínly Spirits bright
Little inferior; whom my thoughts pursue
With wonder, and could love, so lively shines
In them Divine resemblance, and such grace
The hand that formd them on thir shape hath pourd.
Blank verse is unrhymed iambic pentameter. A line of iambic pentameter consists of ten beats, divided into five iambs. Iambic Pentameter = five iambs. An iamb is a pair of beats with the stress falling on the second beat. If the stress does not fall on the second beat it is not an iamb and you have failed your family, house and nation.

Well, that's a lie. If the stress on the first beat, it's called a trochee. If it's on both, it's a spondee and if it's on neither, it's pyrrhic. These are called substitutions and you are allowed no more than two per line. Get that? It's iambic pentameter, so a majority of the line must be made up of iambs. A good guide can be found here.

And of course:

Stuporstar posted:

Executive Order: Next week your main character must wear a silly hat, toupee, or full wig, regardless of context or what the judges come up with for a prompt. I won't be judging because I'll be on vacation, but that doesn't matter. I want to see ridiculous headgear. NO FEDORAS.

Because it's poetry and poetry doesn't necessarily have a main character, I'm switching this up to the following:

Your poem must contain reference to a silly hat, toupee or full wig. Considering the prompt, this headgear is allowed to be metaphorical but it must be silly. Bonus points to anyone who can make Stuporstar laugh.

Judges: Myself, Fanky Malloons and Bad Seafood.
Word Count: 750. Poetry's strength is being able to say a lot while writing very little, so consider that an upper limit, not a goal.
Deadlines: Entry before Midnight, September 19th and completed work posted by Midnight, September 21st (GMT).

In addition, each judge will have two hidden hats: a surprise bonus hat and a hidden dog-poo poo bullet hat. If you write about the former, you get bonus points. If you write about the latter, you lose points. We won't be telling each other our hats, so it's entirely possible to get penalized and rewarded with the same hat. Good luck. You'll need it.

p.s. while you're in a poetic state of mind, check out the Daily Poetry Thread, filled with sexy people doing awesome things.

---

Entrants:

sebmojo finds a way to force sci-fi into loving everything.
Wrageowrapper loves the sea almost as much as me.
Chairchucker wrote something actually pretty funny this week holy crap guys.
Bear Sleuth has reached CHIM.
Sitting Here is a poet ... with a shotgun.
Jon Joe is now on the no-fly list. [LATE ENTRANT :commissar:. Saved only by the grace of Fanky.]
toanoradian is ballsier than he is wise.
Noah knows the ancient fish slapping art.
Black Griffon writes about anime or something? I don't know.
Jonked shows up in the killfeed as [lucky bastard].
Dr. Kloctopussy has yet to hear my true thu'um.
Erik Shawn-Bohner stalks New Orleans with a knife.
Martello turned up drunk on the New Vegas turnpike.
budgeinspector has the bipartisan party plan.

The Dickhead List, who came late but fought anyway:

Bassetking is a drunk hipster on Wednesday afternoon.
Kangaroojunk, why don't you take a seat over there?

The following losers submitted nothing:

Jimson - committed honourable seppuku.

Zack_Gochuck
Benagain
Y Kant Ozma Post


SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


breaking kayfabe: Blank Verse is actually pretty easy to write in. Try to wrap your head around the idea of an iamb and the rest will fall into place. There's a reason half of English poetic canon is written in BV.

If it's too difficult for you sunshine, try a loving sestina. RX was thinking about it, I swear to God. Sestinas are to poets as the aristocrats is to comedians: we bring it out while we're drunk as poo poo to show everyone else at the party how terrible a person we are. It's poetic waterboarding.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Wrageowrapper posted:

I am in on this.

Though I am a little surprised that we are not required to record our poems and post that rather than just post the words. Isn't poetry suppose to be spoken not read.
Not everyone has recording equipment. If you want to read your own and/or someone else's and post it up to tindeck, feel free.

e: noone is a word. Prescriptivists must die. :black101:







i did get pyrrhic wrong though yeah

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SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Because I'm a huge nerd, both my bonus hat and penalty hat have been chosen from this list. That page has rather a large selection of hats, many of which are exceptionally silly. Use it as you see fit.

e: while Paradise Lost is considered the archetypical example of blank verse in Western canon and the example I gave is a great piece of poetry, I've just realised it plays with the rules a lot and might not be a great example for y'all. Here's something a bit neater, if it helps.

Twelfth Night 1:1. Will "the ill" Shakespeare posted:

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets.