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May 30, 2011

Black Griffon posted:

For as I read the prompt again I saw,
That silly hats must don the head of those,
Who's role in mine own poem should be main,
And not the extras, bland, of no import.

Ode to Validity of Angel War Poetry
I saw and read the prompt again
And found a loophole, good to gain
Your metal verse a ground for it to rock
A verbal trick'ry made to scare and shock
"As verse may not have main
hero, I, Muffin, deigns
Just words of hats, not worn, still fits
the rule, so no 'out of my wits'"

As such, by their declaration, you're good
I think. Have I made myself understood?

Aha, this trick have some weak spots!
It's Mad, a buffoon's type of thoughts!
Muffin amends the rule for special kinds
Of poetry, in which between their lines
No character is there!
I can now feel despair
Your 'loophole' stains this drat hell-hole
A fitting end, for you, poor soul
Is death, by :commissar:, a punishment
Of great evil, the Fatal Banishment

The arguments, all said and done,
The better Counter-Turn have won
Of course, all this comes back to The Muffin
It may have effects, it may have nuffin'
All this is just for fun
Of which I have a ton
Regarding Best of Verse so far
I think there are two brilliant stars
Chairchucker's Popepoem, as good as sin,
Or Black Griffon's angels, fated to win.

Sestinasist, have my attempt
Offended thee? Has it made you
drat mad? If so, here's my response
Well, you just suck.


May 30, 2011

I thought you're going to write about Vonnegut's blue beard, which is an insanely good beard.

May 30, 2011

Irregardless of results, I just want to thank the judges for forcing me to learn about poetry this week. It allows me to learn why The Raven is good, it allows me appreciate Hamlet a bit more and I also learn I haven't really known English, as I still put stresses where I shouldn't. Thanks!

Also you poets are mad, mad people.

May 30, 2011

Black Griffon posted:

What helps me is imagining Stephen Fry reading everything I write in his wonderful, British voice.

I envy your ability to imagine Stephen Fry speaking to you in his wonderful voice. I've listened to tons of QI and still I can't do it (though Bill Bailey stuck, for some reason).

If scansion is not even that universal, how does a poet do it? They deal with metre (in which they play around a lot), they deal with form (in which they play around a lot) and do they then also play around the concept of stressed syllables? I know that it's not only poetry, that fiction writers also play around with their toys, but poetry just seems so...far. Perhaps this is just because English is my second language and no teachers ever pointed out which syllable to stress.

I'm scared of poetry. It's like seeing English in a way so alien.

So, once more, you poets are mad people.

May 30, 2011

Ooh, the winner is either budgieinspector or sebmojo? Finally, a guest judge will return! Will this return herald stricter, more evil judge or a relaxed dictator? We'll see.

Re: Fez. Are you a millenia-old time-travelling world-saving alien and, most importantly, fictional? If no, your fezzy opinion doesn't matter. Sorry.

May 30, 2011

Well, poo poo. This doesn't bode well. Or maybe it'll be a silly thing, like prehistoric romance.

Whatever it is, I am staying in Thunderdome.

Good luck, wrageowrapper and Black Griffon. My money's on Black G-unit.

May 30, 2011

That's evil, Dr. Kloctopussy. Not just mean, evil! :golfclap:

May 30, 2011


What am I supposed to take from that

That wriggly green butt

May 30, 2011

Fanky Malloons posted:

You have no rhythm
Syntactically awkward
But, a bonus hat!

Which of the three hats I mentioned is the bonus hat?

Also I agree that my poem is pretty much poo poo.

May 30, 2011

I want to register for this week's competition, my good jolly judges!

Also, the bit about 'they always listed each other on all official forms' is a bit confusing. What it's trying to say is that one of the twins listed the other twin as their next of kin. So Darcy would write Lucy as their next of kin and vice versa.

May 30, 2011

Fanky Malloons posted:

OKay fine, I'll sign up even if I have to write a stupid scholarship application this week too. THAT'S HOW MUCH I WANT TO WRITE, GOD.

Just don't submit the wrong one. I heard scholarship-giving organizations aren't very receptive towards flash fictions. Certainly didn't help me with my scholarship for undergraduate.

Nobody understood my 1k words about adventurous macrophile.

May 30, 2011

I have no idea what those two are. I will assume it's from classics of their respective genres that any self-respecting human being should know.

Also why is Erik Shawn-Bohner posting poetry

SurreptitiousMuffin what did you do!?

May 30, 2011

By the way, can someone post the website that tells you what time is it on EDT? The concept of time zones confuse me.

Is there five hours remaining in this challenge, or is it four?

May 30, 2011

Good luck, Capntastic! Show the Dome the Thunder inside you!

What It Takes to be Mother

I wracked my brain for memories Mother might have. Darcy was on another room, probably reading her silly detective group books. I was watching Mother’s favourite show, Guiding Light. I tried to remember how far back I can remember what Mother said about it.

She listened to the radio version. I remember other shows she mentioned, like White Children and Today’s Women. One episode frightened her so much she went to bed to hide between the sheets. This was still at the brightest of noon. I think in that episode a person (Hodgen? Hodgson?) was shot or something. She was such a gentle soul.

The word ‘Amos’ rang out in my mind. Surely Mother listened to them? Hmm…

Although there are many more shows she watched before we were born, shows I watched together with Mother (Father and Darcy too, sometimes) flooded my mind. The president, telling us issues only our parents understood. I remember telling Darcy that the narrator also voiced the butler in Superman Adventures, something she never believed. I remember Mother telling us to stop listening to the ‘nasty criminals’ of Drugnet, something Father always allowed us to do. No more liking Drugnet, I guess.

Mother was very sensitive towards violence. Why? Was it the World Wars? It is the World Wars. But she allowed us to listen when Ted White dominates Chuckie. We were afraid Father would turn into that, but Mother assured us he’d never do that. Father didn’t like listening to Guiding Light. Does this bother Mother? This bothered Mother, but there’s nothing she can do.

There was a third guy in Meet American Mercury. Just like the presidential chats, we’re too young to understand the issues. I remember a spy for the Soviet Union being on the show though. Darcy was very attentive at the start of that episode, but she eventually lost it and wandered away to read some Noddy. Mother was also attentive. Would she squirm at the details of the spying operation? She would. Did she hate communists? She did. Just like Father. Yes, of course, she agreed on Father’s political views. She would.

I remember how happy she was when we sang together in that show, Hayridin’ Hoff. There was an actor there as well. She liked to hear us sing. It was all Darcy, though. Few years later the host killed his wife. Mother would, definitely, gasp and be shocked at this news, cuddling us and thanking God that we’re still alive.

Mother would laugh when a quiz participant was unable to answer the question. She claimed that all the quiz show scandals were really just powerful people being sore losers. She maintained this view even to her death. This explained her hatred towards Germans. Of course she hated Germans.


My diary didn’t really help explaining what my mother thinks. My diary is more about me than Mother.


Eventually I found Mother’s diary. Not sure why it’s in a different cupboard. Maybe her ghost moved it.

Brilliant, all her memories are here. Her romancing her childhood friend. The blood in the faucets. Her long-running nightmares of a woman frozen by the window. I can feel her sadness as she describes the episode of Guiding Light in 1949, where ‘Mama Bauer’ dies. I don’t remember that. If I don’t remember that, I’ll still be Lucy instead of Mother. I need to remember that.

Darcy is still reading her books, though by now she probably moved on to some Poirot. She must be coping with Mother’s death by reading. Because novels had an ending and things explained. It’s the perfect way to counter Mother’s unreasonable death. She’s always like that. She prefers closure, an actual ending. I don’t. I liked soap operas when they are nothing but unfinished dramas. The start of one unfinished drama put a small cap on previous unfinished dramas before ending with another unfinished drama. It went on and on, ending only on some meaningless cancellation. Darcy’s belief that life would end like her novels is why I deserve to be Mother.

Mother rambles. Of course she does.


This is impossible.

Memories can’t equal a person.

The diary does not contain Mother.

But what actually contains Mother? What is Mother? Her personality?

Even if I somehow reconstruct all her personalities based on her memories written here, can I truly have that personality? No, because one body cannot have two personalities. That only happened in Darcy’s books. Even then, only one personality can appear at the same time.

Who is weaker, Jekyll or Hyde? Jekyll. The original personality. There was a fight between the two, but the later personality inevitably won. That only happen when the later personality actually existed. Mother was not next to me, not inside me. Me-Mother is not the Hyde to Jekyll’s Lucy. It’s more the Meta Bauer to Jone Allison’s Lucy. An act. An act can never be real.

Unless it’s the only thing. If it’s Herb Nelson who ‘died’ from cancer in 1995 instead, Joe Roberts would still be alive.

Lucy, you can’t be Mother. I’m being ridiculous. This is stupid. I can’t be mother. I can be like her, but not her. I hate stupid.

Mother is dead and I have to face that. It’s not easy, but I can do it.

Darcy’s still reading. Maybe I should just go to her, and read some Famous Five.


Not-Lucy can be Mother. How do I become not-Lucy?

I looked at my diary. This past no longer exist. I scribbled all over it, covering my writings. Ripping them apart would simply be displacing them. If I write all over it, I replaced the memories with black scrawls. It’ll take time, but it’s a time worth replacing.

Another part that defined Lucy: her connections. I took a look at a letter from Jones. He was my friend from childhood. Not anymore. I can’t send letters to him anymore, as I’m not Lucy. Jones was Lucy’s friend, not mine. I must avoid everyone else. Thankfully, Lucy didn’t have many friends or know many relatives in my extensive family. I think there were some cousins, but nobody cares about them.

I shall no longer be Lucy. I shall be Darcy’s mother. That is what she’d have wanted.


I wracked my brain for memories Mother might have. Lucy was on another room, probably listening to those stupid family drama tv shows.

[submission ends here]

Researching some old entertainment had led me to Dragnet, which is really really good and you guys should listen to it because it's really really good, man. There are literally days of solid police work radio show.

May 30, 2011

The deadline's past now, right? Is Week VIII finished? Can we hear, nay, feel just a snippet of the Master Plan?

By the way, congrats on finishing a story despite your circumstances, Capntastic.

May 30, 2011

What the gently caress?


I just

this is entirely unexpected

What the hell do I put in my cover letter I have no selling points

May 30, 2011

Erik Shawn-Bohner, you are truly the greatest judge among the Three

Bad Seafood posted:

Looking forward to that rejection letter.

Look at this confident fucker, thinking he'll get a letter.

May 30, 2011

Just in case anyone's still wondering but didn't research it yet, the 'mystery' of the case that inspired this week's prompt had been solved.

But man, the three hacks judges running this week's Dome is really stepping up their game. I mean, a post-deadline challenge? You might just as well ask us to type a story using a single chopstick put between our lips! The next week's judges had a huge shoe to fill.

May 30, 2011

Not me. I just submitted what I typed, which had no single spacing with no space before or after paragraph. Exactly like how I put it in this thread.

May 30, 2011

Google. You and me. "Pizza mafia". We'll go places. Italian places.

May 30, 2011

Stop teasing us with two posts postponing the announcement!:argh: I express my impatience thus: :mordin::awesomelon::ins:

May 30, 2011

I hate every winners that aren't me Well, with that result, Week VIII is finally over! :woop: It is probably the week with the most drunk judge* ever. Twins are explored, posers hosed and query letter'd. Congrats to Y Kant Ozma Post, sucks to be you, Jimson, but maybe next time you can show Thunderdome the true might of your non-broken fist with some punchy prose and straight-to-the-nuts style.

So, question. The next week judges will be budgieinspector, Black Griffon and Y Kant Ozma Post, yes? I need to know how scared I should be.

*Or is it 'judges'? Ascertain your sobriety, guest judges.

May 30, 2011

budgieinspector posted:

toanoradian -- "What It Takes to be Mother"
You're doing a lot of tense-switching, here. You need to get a grip on that. Grammar-check your stuff, senor.

Some weird pseudo-pop-culture touchstones, here, ranging from the "huh?" (a butler on Superman?) to the bizarre (Drugnet, Hayridin' Hoff, White Children -- imagine a guy asked about his entertainment preferences: "Well, I'm really into White Children. Can't get enough White Children").

I can't tell if this is intentionally written in a disjointed manner in order to connote the narrator's breakdown, or not, but it's pretty difficult to follow along.

On the grammar side, I blame nobody but myself. I am stupid.

On the pop-culture references side, they're all wrongly-named, to show that Lucy really can't remember her mother that well anyway. The only one with the correct name is Guiding Light, because that't the important soap opera.

'A butler on Superman' references a 1945 episode of The Adventures of Superman, in which the hero meets Batman and Robin.

'Drugnet' refers to Dragnet, the popular police show that starts as a radio show.

'Hayridin' Hoff' refers to Hoffman Hayride, which the real version of the twins starred in for a few times.

'White Children' is a combination of two soap operas, Today's Children and Woman in White. Those two soaps and Guiding Light is written by the same person.

Just for its own sake, 'Meet American Mercury' refers to Meet the Press' original title, American Mercury presents Meet the Press.

I had spent too much time looking at pop culture of the 1930s-50s to actually do work with my story. Sorry for that.

May 30, 2011

Put me in, I can't escape.

'Love interests' doesn't have to be unrequited lovers, right?

edit: dammit, Hitler dies at 46.

May 30, 2011

Goddamn, condensing from 1600 words to 1000 is painful.

drat Cleaning Lady
As my 73th birthday approached, all I want for my present is that old lady’s head. I want to split it open and reveal all its secrets.

I know she’s a spy. Her full name is Susan Pey, for god’s sake.

It all started two years ago. When I left the office for a meeting with CEO of DeckWarst regarding confidential rabbit-related business, my secretary Jen found her entering the office in the brief when he went to the toilets. The cleaning lady claimed she was checking if there are enough sugar bags in the office. I hadn’t suspected her back then, because, well, I was stupid. Also there were enough sugar bags.

She then grew more suspicious. I saw her cleaning out the entrance to a human-sized pipes located on the floor where I have my meetings. She didn’t enter it, of course, because “she’s too old for that”. Jen also saw her cleaning toilets in a rather absurd manner; she cleaned the male toilets in floor 1, 5, 13, 23, 49, and female toilets in floor 3, 7, 11, 39 and 61. I already suspected her a bit, but not enough that I actually asked her why. She apparently left other toilets to junior janitors. As I found out one year later after the incident, it was actually a code for ‘Zorbox go Blaghrey’.

Those are just the two events I remembered clearly, as they deal with toilets. I like to think about toilets. There were many other events. She had appeared outside meeting rooms just as it finishes, doing suspicious things like carrying a tray of empty mugs, mopping the floor or disembowelling two chickens. Who disembowelled two nowadays? Suspicious people.

I turned around to face the door as somebody entered. It was Jen.

“What are you doing, Lis?”

“Trying to calm my nerves,” I said. “Why are you here?”

He handed me a white envelope. “It’s from the spy,” he said. “Or just a poor old cleaning lady.”

I opened the envelope. It was a single piece of paper. The cleaning lady wrote that she had ‘lots of fun’ working for Zorbox, alongside the evidence for this ‘fun’: boring anecdotes. Her calligraphy will not soothe me.

Her last line was ‘I resigned.’

My paranoia exploded. She’s finished and now she’s leaving. I wracked my brains. What kind of secrets could she find? It’s not like I just lay any documents on the open, there were multiple forms of defense!

Most of them are people, which she can charm easily.

I shouted, “Phone!” A blue board made of light appeared in front of me. “Call security. She’s getting away, Jen. When did you get this letter?”

“Just this morning, before your meeting.”

That was three hours ago! She could be anywhere by now.

“Yes, sir?” I heard the voice of the security commander from the board.

“I want you to arrest Susan Pey at 121 Jeans street. Blooming Men apartment, 17th floor, room 12. Code to enter the house: PHLEGMING. I want you to get there are soon as possible and put her in jail.”

“Why, sir?”

“She’s a spy! Put her in jail! Our jail!”

“Yes, sir!” I dismissed the board. This amount of stress isn’t good for my 72-year-old heart.

“Lis, she’s been here for twelve years! You can’t do this.”

“Of course I can, Jen! I’m Elise McNellis, the CEO of Zorbox! I can do anything.”

The blue board appeared again. It was the security commander. “We’ve found Mrs. Pey in the nearby Zoormarket, sir. She was also found carrying several confidential documents, sir!”

I laughed. This is far too easy. I thought I’d need to go down and face her. She’s such a stupid spy. I can just sue her and land her in prison until she die.

“Lis, that’s an evil smile,” Jen said.

In my moment of happiness, I went at Jen and hugged him. This hug wasn’t enough. I put my hands on his cheeks and pulled his face closer. Just before our lips touch, he pushed me away.

“Jen, I have just received the second-best birthday present.”

“It vindicated years-long paranoia is second, what’s the first?”

“If you’d accept my invitation for dinner.”

Jen looked taken aback. He looked at his fingers before tapping his wrist with his right thumb. He always did that when he’s confused or embarrassed. Then he stopped and looked at me with those beautiful red eyes.



Perhaps I’ve dominated the conversation with just how right I am in regards to the cleaning lady, but it didn’t change the fact that I was right. Jen looked rather handsome with his suit and the black vest under the suit was also nice. We drank fantastic wine, we ate brilliant meals and we had a magnificent time. I proposed to him again to no avail.


“Can you take this, Lis?” Jen hand me a white envelope just as I was about to fall asleep in the limo.

“What’s this for? Love letters are rather middle-school.”

Jen giggled. “It’s your birthday present. Open it then.”

“Why can’t you come?”

“I have business in London.”

“More important than my birthday?”

“Yes. Driver, can you stop here?” Jen asked. The limo stopped just in front of a train station. Before I could say anything, he said, “I’ll pick the most expensive train seat.”


As I waited in the traffic, I could see Jen throwing his suit to the bin. A bit too much for a stain, if you ask me. He also reversed his black vest, revealing two white vertical stripes on it.

It took me two hours to fight my drunkenness to realize what those stripes meant. By then I was already in Lis Island and about to sleep. I hastily open Jen’s envelope. A birthday card, with the words:

Your paranoia was always just delusions
I’m the spy

I have no idea why I’m not exploding from anger. Alcohol?

{submission ends here}

If I showed my proof that I posted it to a Duotrope journal later, (probably after the deadline) will it count?

May 30, 2011

Black Griffon posted:

Depends on how drunk we are around deadline, I would guess.

Well then I expect the great judges of Week IX would give me their fairest judgment.

Sent here

May 30, 2011

Black Griffon posted:

God drat it toanoradian we're gonna have to Clockwork Orange your rear end with a ten volume work about tenses. This is way worse than usual too. Do something about it!
Joy of many suns for submitting! now I probably deserve to be hit on the head with each of those volumes. I'll be more careful next time. What's a good book/resource on tenses?

May 30, 2011

budgieinspector posted:

Are you writing directly into the Reply field? Because MS Word has a grammar check built-in, and I believe it's possible to switch languages.

I use MS Word 2007, and all the grammar mistakes that appear are just fragments, contractions and misspellings. Nothing about the tenses. The closest thing to it is when it says I should use 'is' instead of 'are'.

May 30, 2011

Oh man, I miss Week X! It happened so fast I don't even have the time to sign in! As weeks go Thunderdome get more intense, goddamn.

Dr. Kloctopussy posted:

This prompt is confusing as hell. It has to be "modern day" but also "set in an imaginary world?"

I read this as 'high fantasy is usually set in the time era roughly equal to the far past, for this week set your high fantasy in a modern time setting'.

clearly this invites jihadist wizards :jihad::witch:

I'm in, but also would like to know what you mean by 'transgressive romance'. Homosexual romances? Romances between trans people?

Also apparently my control panel only registers 2 new posts even though there's...4 well-spaced posts. Even the forums itself work against Thunderdome?

May 30, 2011

sebmojo posted:

Everybody else, get your poo poo together.

Yes, I have got my poo poo together. Observe this gotten-together poo poo.

Quizzard (1476 words)


Allegedly, John F. Kennedy misspoke part of his speech and said, “I am a doughnut.” What is this pastry actually called by people of Berlin?
a) Kreppel b) Eierkuchen c) Ballen d) Pfannkuchen

Colbois grabbed one of the spheres and crushed it in his hands. The quiz energy inside splattered all over his arm, but he didn’t care about it. I just absorbed it all like a good bracelet. The big ball of fire behind the quiz screen halted its expansion.

I teleported back into his earbuds and screamed, “Stop panicking!” Even a scream this loud this close didn’t faze him.

“I'm fine, Goodgold,” he said.

“You’re not. When you panicked your French accent goes cr-”

Colbois scrolled through the options by moving his fingers across the bracelet. However, he moved past ‘Shield’ and straight into ‘Move’. After confirming his decision, long blue lines shot out of his fingers. With those blue lines he drew a cage around the ball of fire. He thought of moving it to this spot, just up by twenty kilom-no, thirty kilom-no, eighty? Even higher! The thermosphere? Seriously?

He clicked his fingers. The ball of fire disappeared.

Five seconds later, there was a huge ball in the sky.

“I thought you were wasting power. Turned out the charges was far bigger than I thought,” I said. “Still, you’re now down to level 502.” He didn’t care. He didn’t even return to the village. He always liked to see the faces of the people he saved. “Seriously, what is going on?”

He was silent, looking at the sky. “I think Claude’s getting weaker.”

“You’re saying that after that explosion? Colbois, that attack looks stronger than the strongest recorded artificial explosion, which is?”

“Tsar Bomba,” Colbois said. “That might just be a desperate attack.” He scrolled through the interface in his bracelet again and stopped at ‘Direct’. “Well, here’s mine.”

“What are you doing? You did Direct before and you lost when you were level 700! This is suicidal, Colbois.”

“Is not what Claude doing also suicidal? The Quiz World is slowly blurring. It’ll fade away soon enough. I predict Claude knew this as well and wanted us to disappear sooner. Well, I’m going to end this even sooner. Direct.”

I sometimes wished Quiz Personas can sigh. “Are you ready for everything?”

“Yes,” he said. His heart was beating rapidly and his muscles were tense, but his stare remained powerful. “I’ll say it again. Direct. Goodgold, bring me to the heart of Quiz World.”

“I knew I’ll regret that Persona Upgrade,” I said. “Direct. Receiving questions. Difficulty: 10.”

The air in front of Colbois twisted and bent, forming four spheres of air. Dirt shattered into many particles before entering those spheres. Inside them the dirt particles formed the letter A, B, C and D. Heavy rain fell without warning. The spheres remain unperturbed, the water being pushed away by some repulsive force. The raindrops above the spheres then stopped raining down and merged into one big blob of water. A thunderbolt charged down towards the sphere, appearing within a bright flash. Yellow squiggly lines of electricity moved across the giant water blob, before turning into sentences.

“Even though I’d done this before, I’ll never get used to that,” Colbois said.


What is the last book Charles Darwin wrote that was published in 1881?
a) The Effects of Cross and Self Fertilisation in the Vegetable Kingdom
b) Structure of Evolutionary Theory
c) The Formation of Vegetable Mould through the Action of Worms
d) The Theory of Island Biogeography

The other air spheres disappeared. The correct sphere turned into a huge knife that cut the ground beneath Colbois apart. However, Colbois didn’t fall. A flat rock flew beneath his feet, acting as a platform. The rock descended into the depths. The section of the ground under it opened while the one above closed. Yet within this underground pocket there was light. Colbois once said he believed Claude was hiding somewhere deep inside Earth. Maybe he’s right.

The ground split open once more to reveal a huge open area, as big as a stadium. Through millions of years, the stalactites above had formed a complex shaped like an open hand. This complex then gained life and broke apart from the ceiling, floating just around Colbois. Four huge stalagmites also flew up, their sharp ends pointed at us. A head-sized boulder stuck to each of them. Cracks appeared on the surface of the giant hand, letting some of the most superficial layer to fall down. What was left were few sentences.


Besides the First and the Sixth Doctor, which incarnation of the famous British Sci-Fi character The Doctor is played by multiple actors on the television series Doctor Who?
a) Second
b) Fifth
c) Eighth
d) Fourth

Colbois grabbed the correct stalagmite and slammed it towards the giant hand, crushing both. The other stalagmites and in fact all the stalagmites, with all the stalactites, crumbled into pebbles. These pebbles formed a huge pillar below Colbois. The rock that we stood on touched the top of the pillar. The pillar then exploded, launching the rock platform upwards the opened-again crevice.

“So Claude’s not underground after all,” Colbois said. “Maybe the poles?”

“Or underwater,” I said. “There are plenty of spaces to hide. Look, another question coming.”

A flock of pigeons, flying abnormally low, moved towards Colbois. However, they ignored Colbois and simply flew around him. Few seconds later I could hear loud sounds of hooves beating against the ground. A herd of moose, with enormous leaf-shaped antlers above their heads, ran towards us. We could see that there were four moose with special antlers. Those four moose ran by us as Colbois jumped into a normal moose, protecting his whole body using Shield. He grabbed into the antler to keep steady. In front of the herd, the flock of pigeons combined with other flocks to form a huge congregation of pigeons. Those pigeons then changed their position to create sentences.


The etymology of this word is mistakenly attributed to a special placard given by a king, allowing the people in a house with this placard to have sex. What is this word?
a) poo poo
b) oval office
c) gently caress
d) Jerk

Colbois blinked. If I could, I would too. “Goodgold, wasn’t one of the universal rules of Quiz World...”

“Yes. Fourth Commandment: Thou shalt not insert profanity into thy Questions. This wasn’t made by a Quizzard. The Creator himself made this,” I said. “That’s...illogical!”

“A proof that Claude’s weaker and desperate.”

Colbois teleported atop the correct moose. He looked up and screamed, “Claude!!! No matter what, I’ll find you!”

A loud booming voice appeared from the sky as every single creature stopped. “WHY? Why are you doing this, Colbois?”

The Creator himself spoke! Neither of us expected this. Colbois lost his grip on the moose and fell down. He stood up. “Claude? Where are you?”

“Answer my question, Colbois.”

“First Commandment: Thou shall provide four possible answers alongside thy questions. I won’t answer it.”

Shining words appeared in front of Colbois.


Where is Quiz World located?

“That’s a weird question,” I said. “Notice he’s saying ‘Quiz World’, not ‘Earth’.”

“But Quiz World is just an alternate Earth that Claude created. Had the same features, only here quizzes have special powers. What’s the difference?” Colbois asked.

New words appeared, spelling out ‘a) Solar System’, ‘b) Milky Way’, ‘c) Local Group’.

“If ‘Quiz World’ is just ‘Earth’, all these answers are correct,” I said.

“Which means they’re different. Maybe it’s a copy of Earth in a different galaxy group or supercluster?”

“In any case, the answer is clearly…D…”

The last choice is ‘d) Claude’.

"No, no!" I shouted. “That can’t be right. There is no correct answer here. This can’t be true. I don’t want to believe it!” I remembered Colbois' panic before. “Have you suspected this before, Colbois? That Claude the person no longer exists? And is the true nature of Quiz World?”

“Yes,” Colbois said. “I’m sorry for not telling you.” He looked up. “But I don’t care, Claude. I still want you.”

The Creator spoke again. “I’m no longer your classmate.”

“Don’t care,” Colbois said.

“I’m no longer your neighbour.”

“No fucks given.”

“I’m no longer your childhood friend.”

“Okay with that. In fact, here, know-it-all, answer this question.” Colbois lifted his hand and wrote a question on the sky.


What is my motivation?
a) Hate
b) Revenge
c) Cruelty
d) Love

Wait, he really just made that question.

“Answer it, Claude!”

There was silence. “I’m not even a person anymore, Colbois. You can’t touch me.”

“I still don’t care. Answer it, Claude. We liked to delay the obvious once. I’m not going to anymore. Can you do the same?”

There was silence.

“For God’s sake!” Colbois said.

The option D lit up.

May 30, 2011

sebmojo posted:

Various ESL infelicities take it out of winning contention


Anyway, thanks for the comments, sorry for the errors and congrats once again for your skill, Sitting Here. With the recent slew of guest judges returning, I need to step up my game.

Also if anybody cares the answers to the questions in my entry are D, C, A, and D.

May 30, 2011

Ah, Martello returned. Whatevs.

I couldn't write a story featuring betrayal based on the two pictures (both apparently about a dystopia where janitors no longer existed), so I guess I'm in.

May 30, 2011

B-b-but in my laptop the second biggest key is the left Shift~ Does this mean I should Capitalize unnecessarily? Sebmojo You are confusing me...

May 30, 2011

Yes. Sitting Here, can you add a link to current PDT on the challenge post (like this one sebmojo linked few pages ago) so us dummkopfs and imbéciles could tell when our execution is due?

Also, to other judges, how many words are smileys like ^_^ and T-T or (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻?

May 30, 2011

Martello posted:

I already hate your story based on the fact that it will have smilies in it. :argh:

Oh, don't worry, the ASCII art and txtspeak will make it palatable. Might even be delicious, you don't know! :xd:

May 30, 2011

A man, unremarkable in every aspect besides his girth, walked slowly on the tough sand. For those who lived here, the blood-red sand was their friend. The scorching heat sheltered them, keeping them away from the nightmares. The dry air, once felt like knives stabbing their throat, was now the upholder of silence. The huge columns around them shielded them from the Outside, the cobwebs on them a constant reminder of their Guardian.

Most of the location was low on the ground, with hot sand that stung their toes. Sometimes people would walk over the broken bones of ex-survivors, cutting their calloused feet. However, there was an elevated platform veiled by thin silky curtain. Not many knew the exact details in that platform, as only few managed to even gain access to them. All they knew was that in there sat three figures, as black as necrosis and as blurry as anyone’s memory of the robot uprising. Those three figures, the Watchers, would at random points drop upon the suffering masses stone slabs with words. In those slabs were the Watchers’ stage cues. The brainless populace couldn’t do anything but played to their words, acting like a foolish pack of rats.

Sometimes, the Watchers would shine light upon one person and he or she would be lifted to the platform. The amount of Watchers remained at three, leading to a rumour that none of the Watchers were actual fleshy beings. Later the ‘lucky’ person would return, with a light of greed burning in their eyes. Those who returned were always more vicious.

This man was one of them. He looked at the recently-dropped stone slab, in which he wrote his name in blood to signify a contract. A huge, charcoal-coloured canine, as huge as three adults, ran around the place, opening its mouth as if it was screaming. It was once invited, too. The man narrowly avoided wooden pieces thrown by another insane being. This being had two long gashes on its forehead, a mark given by the Watchers for those they deemed unsatisfactory. Although it walked with the gait of a corpse, its eyes were still full of life, of hatred.

The man gathered his strength and screamed towards the Watchers.

I am unable to post an Entry for this week’s Thunderdome!” toanoradian shouted. "There was a sudden problem with my family and I-" He knew it was pointless. The blurry figures of the Watchers seemed not to care.

(I’m really sorry :()

May 30, 2011

Sitting Here posted:

Also I really should have known when I picked Beksinski that I should expect ENDLESS DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOWING SAND FOREVER.

Of coarse. Looking at those pictures, it's a beach not to write something about sand.

(Can I get my losertar now)

May 30, 2011

Is that a penis behind the square papers? Also, congrats to Jeza for winning in the first week he entered Thunderdome. What a skillful guy.

May 30, 2011

Jeza posted:

Other two judges to PM a prompt with would be Sitting Here and Martello, right?

Dude, you'll be replacing Sitting Here. Just pm Martello. And then start getting in on your act.


May 30, 2011

sebmojo posted:

^^ no, I'm the one that is stepping down ^^

Why is this :argh: Current Thunderdome administration, what is it with your confusing and not-at-all-like-what-the-OP-said rotation of judges, seriously. Next you'll be saying for Week XII there will be six judges with three ex-judges each having half a vote because Martello just happen to wear his Nice Socks on that day.

Sitting Here posted:

Recommending toanoradian be declared the official Salacious Crumb of Thunderdome.

If you want to be called Jabba the Hutt of Thunderdome, just say it.

VV goddamn you. Just...goddamn you :pwn: