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sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Yeah, put me down. Potato based flashfiction will be forthcoming.

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sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

The Potatomachy of Farmer Ned

I stood in the field, that day, the sun above a fiery griddle cake sliding down the red-hot sky. I stood there and gazed at my fields. They gazed back like a naked child in a puddle of piss. Feckless, defiant, damp. And devoid of sprouting green.

I shook my head, at last. This maundering booted naught. With heavy tread I plodded across my barren land to the house where I slept of a night. The door was closed. Woman, I called. No response came. I banged on the door and she opened it with a jerk as I raised my hand to do it again.

Jack, she bellowed, gusty beer breath stinging my eyes, gobbets of watery scurf flying from hers, Where are the potatoes gone? What will we do? How will we live?

Hold! I commanded. It is the King of the Fairies who has done this thing. She gasped. And I am minded to teach him his error, I continued. A moments fear crossed her eyes like a shadow then they narrowed and I knew I had chosen aright those many years ago. Hold, husband, she said and disappeared into the cool dark of our house.

When she returned a moment later she bore a length of thick rope. It was tied in a loop at one end. This rope may bind him and command a service, my grandpa told me when I was a girl, she said. But

I held out my arm and she slid the rope over my shoulder. It nestled there like a falcon. But? I asked. A price, she said quietly, I can say no more, for no more do I know.

I grinned. A price? Why then it is good I am the finest haggler in the land or under it! She smiled at me as brave a smile as ever a man might want to see, and I turned before shed see aught that might bely it.

The sun was setting soon but I knew the way to the fairy kingdom was near. I took three turns, muttered a song and jumped from a log, for such is the way that you must go. Though easier always to go than to return.

Where my boots came down the earth was cold. All around was mist and noise both strange and fearful. I shouldered my rope, sniffed the air, chose a direction. As I marched forward I sang my soldiers song.

The mist curled around me like hands grasping, but I gave them no mind. Nothing in this place had any purchase on a man until he gave it heed, and even then the King was the only sovereign, just as the sun is the king of the sky. And as I thought that thought a light bloomed before me like a rose of fire. I saw a figure wreathed in flame and knew Id found my man.

Ho! I cried and he opened his eyes. They shimmered like the noonwraiths that trouble the grain field on a midsummer afternoon before the reaping. He opened his mouth to enspell me but I was ready.

With a sweep and a whoop, I swung the rope loop of my wifes fathers father around in a great circle and flicked it over his head. It landed true and he screamed, a girlish noise. I gave it a tug and commanded him. Lord of elves my fields youve spelled! Loose them lest you still be held!

It is thus you must speak to the fairies, understand. They perceive no sense in speech unless fashioned into words that jingle like the purse of a boy at his first fair.

He hissed at me and the hissing became words. Your tubers yet will forfeit be, till neer again the sun you see!

I smiled at this, for I knew he was beat. I pulled him close and saw him wince. And I will keep you close and tight, unless you bless the rest of my sight! I looked at his glowing face, heard the gasp from the goblins around us.

I spat on my left hand, held it out for his, kept hold of the rope. I knew it would hurt me sore but a man that wound up choosing his affliction in the kingdom of the fairies might count himself fortunate indeed. The king nodded, clasped, squeezed, and I could not hold the scream that pulled me up and out of his land.

I woke, besmirched and burnt, hand a blistered lump upon my arm. Beside me a length of rope, one end blackened as from a flame. Around me a field already green and bristling like a young mans cheek. I blinked, and raised my eyes towards the morning sky.

Overhead, in pride of place upon the heavens mantle, hung the hugest potato that might be imagined. But no sun did I see. Then, or ever yet.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

THANKS TO PIPES!! PIPES IS HURRAH!!

also:

TO THE PAIN, count me in.

(I quite like 'the sound of warm rain' it's nonsensical yet pungent.)

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

50 Shades of Ash

The corpse dust was getting bad again. I blinked, wiped my eyes. God, a blanket would be nice. Sooo cold.

Sarah! boomed a familiar voice and I glanced up, remembering just in time to stifle my smile. No chance with him, silly. Keep those thoughts down where no one will see.

Our leader Brock Danford stood in the door of the shack, blocking the wintery light with his body. The riding crop hed salvaged from the burnt-out stable jutted proudly from his belt. Ive found a way in! The Tabernacle is within our grasp! He gestured towards the mountain, muscles coiling like otters under his tight leather shirt. He grinned, with perfect teeth, and turned to go. The door flap dropped behind him as he strode away.

I grabbed my gun and got up to follow. Halfway out the door, seeing the masked group gathered up around our mules I tsked at my forgetfulness and reached back for my own mask, hanging off a rusty nail above the broken light switch. My fingers were numb with cold and I bobbled it. I squealed as it dropped onto the rocky ground, bounced down the slope by Brocks feet. There was a ripple of laughter from the onlookers. Oh no. Typical.

Brock was talking to Jake and Wilbur, legs spread wide on the hill. I scuttled out and crouched behind him, reaching through his legs to get my mask before he noticed. Wilbur coughed and Brock glanced down. He smiled and closed his legs, trapping me. His muscled calves gripped my wrist tightly, almost painfully for a moment before he released me. He reached down, picked up the mask and fastened it on my face. Blushing, I got up and scurried to my place in the crowd. Behind me I heard another titter, probably from that bitch Jessica Chambers. Oh Sarah, youre such an idiot.

Two hours later we were deep inside the mountain, picking our way through the burnt and smashed wreckage of dozens of army vehicles. Tanks, armoured cars I shone my torch into one of them and shuddered as I saw a skull staring back.

Don't be afraid, Sarah, came Brocks deep voice from behind me. They were parasites and got only what they deserved. I nodded dumbly as he cupped my shoulder with a strong hand. He guided me over a pile of rubble.

The Burning was a stage, you see. What burned were the inessential parts of humanity the looters, the weaklings. Those of us who are left have been refined. Purified. His eyes burned into me in the dim light and I gasped as his fingers crushed my shoulder. It is time for your next stage. I will see you tonight when we reach Tabernacle.

I smiled weakly. OK? I said. Oh God, I really need to pee.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Think I dodged a bullet in that last one.

I will make sure to do a full training/gearing-up montage before I touch the keyboard next time.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Black Griffon posted:

I definitely hosed up here. I spent way less time than I should on my story anyway, but seeing as this was the first week of school, I was spending most of my time getting drunk and awkwardly flirting with college girls. If that's not an excuse you can all go gently caress yourselves.

THERE ARE NO EXCUSES IN THE THUNDERDOME.

(Quick-cut montage of sebmojo hitting punching ball while shouting out character beats, speed-reading Strunk and White and typing increasingly long words. Intercut with multicoloured pens slammed into a bandolier, keyboard jack being jammed into ipad, wordcount shooting up as he types feverishly, trainer holding ticking stopwatch. Stopwatch hits zero in time with final 80's powerchord and he holds his hands high, smash cut to black.)

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

'Dome me.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

bigmcgaffney posted:

I am in. I can't stay away, even if I wanted to.

The Thunderdome... does that to you.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Nautatrol Rx posted:

Don't forget cis-gendered ya'll. If we even sniff a hint of being cis-gendered without otherwise being otherized by society, there will be massive point reductions.

Edit: Also, if you write genuinely racist, sexist, or anything otherwise bullshit that isn't actually comedic, don't expect kind reactions from anyone.

So we have to write noir, a genre where everyone is horrible to everyone, all our characters can only be female/of colour/otherised-in-some-way but any hint that they're intrinsically horrible will be punished with absolute ferocity?

ALL HAIL THUNDERDOME.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Nautatrol Rx posted:

I gotta break kayfabe for a moment to mention that characters can be intrinsically horrible, but that's as boring as being angelic. This is an exercise in breaking out of whatever cultural circle you're in and trying something very different, and you're allowed to define what is very different for you, so we hope you take the spirit of the prompt to heart more than the letter. There will be one rear end in a top hat who writes a 4-chan style hipster-ironic racist story that's trash from all angles, and they should reconsider. The judges won't get a chance to mock them until after the fact.

Noted. Loving this prompt, btw.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Pakeha male, 40, Irish and Scots by heritage. Straight.

Lion, in the rain.

The river was flooding again. Chao Phraya in the monsoon was like a lover on a hot night, throwing itself around, making everything wet and smelly. The city took it, with a grumble.

Me, I was dry and happy, cross-legged on my shop. My little sign next to me; lettered by a helpful old farang before he got frisky and I had to prick him with a pineapple knife. "Singha Recoveries," the sign said in English. "No find, no fee". I'd drawn the lion myself.

The dry came from not being wet, as my dead mother used to say, and the happy came from good business. I was two recovered iPods, a cell phone and 2000 baht up on the day, and there was a whiff of commerce in my nose. Smelt just like river fug. During the floods, everything did.

"Sawasdee kaa," from my left. I looked up. Nice skirt, long hair, red lips. Pretty lady - no, not lady. Kathoey. I smiled and wai'd deeply. Always good to be polite to customers.

"You find things, little one? I'm looking for a book. Small, black cover with a fish on it. This big." She mimed a space big enough for a pack of cigarettes.

Huh. I put my hands down into my lap, tapped my index fingers together a few times. "Where did you lose it?"

She waved an elegant hand. "Black Pagoda, last night. From my bag, while I was on stage - the owner took it, I am almost sure. He -- ". She glanced up the road and her beautiful lips pursed at something she saw. "I have to go. 60,000 if you can find it for me." She dropped a card on my mat and was gone the other way before I could haggle, a swirl of something expensive in her wake.

I looked up Khao San Road in the direction that had spooked her, saw a fat mass of fluoro-dressed farangi, a couple of scooters, a tight-trousered street cop strutting his beat. The usual.

I began folding up my shop anyway. This warranted a close-up look. 60k was a nice haul for a few questions if I could turn up the ladyboy's missing - client list? Diary? Whatever, not my business. I slung my little bundle over my shoulder and trotted through the crowd.

Ten minutes later I was squatting on my haunches over the street from the Pagoda, eating noodles as I watched the bouncer smoke a cigarette. He looked like one of the boxers I'd seen at Ratchadamnoen a few nights back, rangy and bulging with muscle.

I finished my noodles and sniffed. The air was thickening up, I was guessing we were in for a bucketing that would make Songkram look like a toddler's bath night. In fact I was counting on it. I grinned. And the street was suddenly white with rain.

No time to waste. When the bouncer ducked inside the club to get out of the downpour I darted across the road. In a few seconds I was in the alley to the side of the building. The khlong was narrow, clogged with sodden boxes and foaming with falling water. A bony cat squealed and bolted past me as I hurdled a box and tucked myself behind it. Warm rain trickled down the neck of my Hello Kitty T-shirt as I counted to 12 under my breath. No shouts, no-one following. I stood up, walked towards the kitchen door I'd spied earlier. Tried the handle - open. I checked behind me one more time, slipped inside.

There was a grubby rice sack on the floor. I squeezed water out of my hair, wiped my bare feet on the sack and looked around. Commercial kitchen, no-one around. I could see stairs through a door by the big freezers. As I padded over I readied my "stupid little girl" expression for when I got caught. Still no-one. I looked up the stairs, took a deep breath. "Stupid little girl"was going to be "beaten or arrested little girl" if I got found in the boss's office. Or worse. I shook my head, sending a little spray of water out like a dog. Enough jittering. I'd drawn my own lion; I needed to act like it.

I monkey-footed up the stars, breathing lightly. On top there was a little landing, three doors, one with "Manager" on it in loopy cursive. I put my ear to it, pushed when I heard nothing. Inside was a desk, computer, another door, couple of chairs, air conditioner humming in the corner. All expensive stuff from the look of it. And on the desk? Ah.

I reached out and picked up a tiny black notebook. On its front was a stylised fish in gold. I flicked through it, pages crammed with tiny writing. I tucked it into my shorts and turned to leave - then froze as I heard footsteps on the stairs. Oh, no. I took a step towards the other door in the room. Behind it, a toilet flushed. Oh no. I cast around for a place to hide. Not under the desk, it's the first place they'd -- the door to the toilet started to open and I darted behind the desk, crammed myself under it. I hugged my legs, listened hard.

"Sa'dee. Kuhn". Gruff voice, sounded like it was used to getting its way. From the stairs, as far as I could tell.

"Waan jai! So good to see you! The response was effusive. Maybe the owner, it came from the opened toilet door. I heard footsteps, what sounded like a kiss.

"I don't have time for that. Where are all your people?"

There was a creak as a weight settled on the desk above me.

"I gave my people time to help their family with the rising waters, they will think I am jai dii, ha?"

"Good hearted? If that notebook gets out they will know you are jai dam, Sura. I can't cover for you any more. I just heard from the hospital, she died ten minutes ago."

There was a pause. I started to shiver. Jolly toilet man spoke again, sounding less jolly now.

"Dead. Bad news, sure. But, Prateep, I have the notebook. So it will just be bad news for her, there's nothing her, uh, sister can do to us. Look."

There was a shuffling of papers above me. I closed my eyes, squeezed them together, as scared as I'd ever been. But I knew that if I didn't act then I never would.

I pulled my T shirt over the notebook and crawled out, stood up. Two people looked up at me. One, the owner, fat, oily eyes. The other a policeman. Prateep, it seemed.

Everything was still, then Sura, the owner, glanced at Prateep and turned back to smile at me. The cop started walking round the desk to me. I edged back towards the window and he stopped.

"Hello little girl. You, you came in from the rain? You want something to eat? Hungry? Shall I --"

As he spoke he was stepping round the other side of the desk, probably planning a grab. When he took his third step I leapt on the desk and jumped for the door, bounced off the landing and took the steps three and four at a time. Behind me I heard the cop shouting at me to stop. I skidded through the kitchen, rumble of steps on the stairs in close pursuit, crashed out through the side door and alley and into the street.

Where I came up short. The kathoey, whose name I still didn't know was standing a few metres away. Same clothes, perfect makeup smeared with tears, a gun in her hand. The boxer was gone. There was a scuffle behind me as Sura came out of the alley.

"Stop there you --"

The woman raised her pistol and fired, a flat crack that echoed off the building opposite. Sura gaped at her, looked down at the red blotch on his shirt. She fired again, knocking a chunk off the alley wall. There were two answering cracks from the alley, the cop returning fire from behind Sura, and she sagged to her knees, dropped the gun.

My legs were heavy, but I forced them to run. On the corner of Patpong Road I looked back one last time. Prateep was cradling Sura with one arm, yelling into a cellphone held in the other.

Two days later the floods were subsiding. I sat, cross-legged, on my shop. My sign was next to me, a little more crumpled than before. A shadow fell over me.

"Inisra? We talked on the phone." I looked up. A woman, smartly dressed. "About the Patpong murders. Bangkok Post. You ... said something about a notebook."

"Yes. But there's a fee. 60,000."

She nodded, and opened her purse. It began to rain.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Edit was to fix some bullshit characters my ipad added without me noticing. Word count fourteen ninety gently caress you.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Martello posted:

Have you played Modern Warfare 2? If so you pretty much have been in a favela.

Max Payne 3 also.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Zip posted:

wish it was next week already

Yep. I enjoyed this prompt a lot.

Was a bit puzzled by the number of people who ignored the rules and hoped for judge-mercy. What thread have they been reading? The judges of the Thunderdome are fashioned from bile, loathing and rusted razor-wire.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:

For exemplary service as a maritime knitter, sebmojo is awarded this week's win.

That's - surprising and awesome.

(reaches down to fresh corpse of fallen foe, daubs blood over bare chest, howls to roaring crowd)

ALL HAIL THUNDERDOME

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Martello posted:

Well done, sebmojo!

For the record, "Gin and Blood" by Seldom Posts was my favorite, with "Lion, in the rain" a close second. However, the gaping plot hole at the beginning of "Gin and Blood" knocked it down a few pegs. How can you smell gin on a corpse but can't tell it's not really a corpse?

I finally finished my entry. It weighs in at a butch 6100 words, so I posted it in the August Creative Fiction Extravagoonza instead.

I had originally wanted to call it "Lezzies in Jewland," but I thought that might not be prudent and titled it "Babes, Bulldykes, & Bullets" instead.

My favourite was 'Take your daughter to work day' by Surreptitious Muffin. Because that pregnant pause line was come the gently caress on, awesome.

Behind the scene discussions in dark smokey rooms are being arranged, and I have a a 1.25 litre PET bottle of drained lymphatic fluid and mercy sitting by my side. So expect none from me is what I'm saying. Lymph ... or mercy.

Should have the new prompt by this time tomorrow.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

areyoucontagious posted:

Where's my new prompt, dammit?

Prompts are coming in a few hours. And just for that you're getting a special one, son.

Things been gettin' lax round here. Soft. Weak.

We aimin' to fix that.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

HiddenGecko posted:

EXTRA CREDIT:Do it in the style of stanislaw lem

In the style of Italo Calvino is also acceptable. Possibly compulsory, I haven't decided yet. And nor will I until I have my Judgeblades in my hands, ready for the flensing.

Any mewling piffle about 'oh I didn't quite hit the word count teehee' or 'well it's got robots so that's sort of like stanislaw lem' or even 'the moon is a metaphor in this story don't you see' will be met with the ULTIMATE FEROCITY they deserve.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Noah posted:

Is title excluded from word count?

The title is made of words, yes? Then it is part of the word count.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

How will the style of David Foster Wallace be met?

Unless it is awesome, it will be met with fire and steel.

That kind of applies to everything though.

The only styles that count for credit are Lem or Calvino, everything else is between you and your feeble 'god'.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

toanoradian posted:

I guess the punishment will tech me not to try my luck with the judges' spelling. The next time the judges misspell (assuming such events will ever happen again) I shall assume the personality of a meek friend reading someone's Sailor Moon fanfic.

Am I still allowed to use the word 'comma'?

Yes. But with care.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Bad Seafood posted:

You also wrote "Were" instead of "Mere."

And "Weeks" instead of "Week's."

And you didn't capitalize Stanislaw Lem.


Hrm.

These are all excellent, accurate points. They demonstrate a tidy and organised mind.

So I am sure you will have no problem making 'nitpicking rear end in a top hat' the 114th and 115th words in your story.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

Just to clarify, I'm not in this week. I'm moving cross-country* and I've got to get all my poo poo in order.


*yes I know my country is small. It's still like moving from New York to Chicago.

I will permit the case-hardened steel surface of my judge mask to flex for a moment to register sincere disappointment.

...

Okay that was it. Back to writing, peons.

Where are you heading - Auckland?

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

I got 1000 on my word count machine.

As the instigator of the 1000 word rule, my decisions are final.



And that is the last word count talk we will hear.

Bust a deal, face the wheel. That is all you need to know.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:

Paradigm shift: I am adding this to the prompt. In honor of my NZ friends here, I require the following. Change your stories accordingly. It must have a haka with the passion behind the video I'm going to post. The whole story must have that passion. Not the language, but that pulled from the gut rage. Put your guts into it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xI6TRTBZUMM

Noah gets a pass for not foreseeing the future, this time.

Everyone else; 'Haka' can be interpreted liberally. Passion cannot.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

areyoucontagious posted:

New question: I want to include a line break to indicate passage of time. Does that count as a word, or several words, or whatever?

Nope.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

FLASH RULE

The next three stories must start with the word "Suicide".

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

FLASH RULE

The next story posted is exempt from all other rules, but must be truly terrifying.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Jonked posted:

Motherfucker.

Is that your submission?

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

21.5 hours until the spiked gates slam shut.

Bolded contestants have already submitted themselves to the brutal majesty of the Thunderdome.

Capntastic
toanoradian
Noah
areyoucontagious
Radioactive Bears
BirdOfPlay
Sitting Here
Wrageowrapper
Black Griffon
Jonked
kangaroojunk
Bad Seafood
Zack_Gochuck
As Nero Danced
Peel
Seldom Posts
Chairchucker
Will Styles

Flash Rules will become ever more unreasonable as the final hour approaches. Do not delay.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Radioactive Bears posted:

I just realized I have no idea if we're allowed to fix grammar and errors and what not after we post. I really should not have tried this while off my gourd on cold medicine.

What do you think?

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

[Serious post]

I know there's a whole shitposty machismo thing we've got going here but maybe TD needs a safe word, so the judges know if it's gone a bit far. The whole point of the thread is to do some writing and have fun. If the rules get too restrictive, it starts being a chore. There seems to be a trend starting of each judge one-upping the last in terms of difficulty, which can only drive people away if taken much further.

[/serious post]

EASE OFF OR I WILL STEAL YOUR CAT AND GLUE TWIGS AND BRANCHES TO ITS FUR, SO YOU THINK YOU'RE BEING FOLLOWED BY A HUNGRY BUSH, YOU WHOREMONGERING PIGFUCKER.

Kayfabe aside, I've had some qualms myself about my/our deranged edicts. I'm fine if later judges ease up. But I'm pleased with what it's pulled out of people. And there's always the option of telling the judges to go gently caress themselves and winning anyway, the 'areyoucontagious manoeuvre'.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Radioactive Bears posted:

I think the Thunderdome has claimed my most basic ability to reason.

Errors are bad, but so is editing. You'll have to make the calculation yourself and cast yourself on the slender mercies of the judges.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

3 hours to go. Flash rules coming at 2 hours and 1 hour to go.

Still waiting on Noah, Birdofplay, Sitting Here and Black Griffon.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Flash Rule

"I would have written you a shorter letter, but I did not have time."

Word count reduced to 950.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Sitting Here posted:

Is that a prompt, or does the story need to contain that line?

You tempt me... but no. The flash rule is just the word count reduction.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Fifty minutes to go. Final Flash Rule

Story must include the phrase 'last-minute'. Word count still at 950.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

And that is it.

Thunderdome IV is over. BirdofPlay did not submit, and has failed. Everyone else may well have failed too.

The judges will now convene and cast our jaundiced cybernetic eyes over the effluvia and detritus you have presented to us.

May God have mercy on your souls.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Steroid-infused 'dome chat aside, everyone who submitted hit all the prompts, which is fine work. Taste that air - is it not sweet?

Victor/loser announced in the next day or so, with individual judge story reviews to follow.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:

Whoever thought that hell would be so cold? I did well for an old tin-can sailor, but she wanted the bell in my soul. I've spoken to God on the mountain, and I swam in the Irish sea. I ate fire and drank from the Ganges, and I'll beg there for mercy for me.

Holy hell there's some writin' in that song.

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sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:

The delay is my fault, folks. I decided to do a concrete taste-test during a motorcycle ride. We'll have something for you when we drat well feel like it. There's big things coming next week though, so stay tuned.

THUNDERDOME JUDGES

loving

METAL

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