XXII: Schroedinger's Nihilarian
I: Man Agonizes over Potatoes (this post, dumb fucks)
II: Dystopian Chick-Lit
III: Check your Cis Privilege in Swaziland
IV: last man on the moon
V: Gary Numan, Fucksticks
VI: Week Six: It Rhymes with Dicks
VII: The goons who lose will pay the highest price
VIII: Martello's Girlfriend Said "I'm late!"
IX: Old Sex/Lawn Sounds
X: THE DARK LORD'S CORNFLAKES
XI: Betrayal, by Zdzislaw Beksiñski
XII: Hateful Protagonist
XIII: Real Natural Horror, Bitches
XIV: You Shouldn't Be Here
XV: Sharp Vision Soothes Strong Reaction
XVI: Oh The Web We Weave
XVII: I Don't Know You
XVIII: Two Men Enter, One Man Leaves,Round Two
XIX: How Deep is my Fuckin' Love
XX: Face Your Destiny
XXI: Welcome to My Sensorium
I (still this post, you shitheads)
IX (Winner, Loser)
XVIII Round One, Round Two
Past Special Events:
1-on-1 Thunderbrawl, Martello vs twinkle cave: The Glove is Thrown Down, The Glove is Stomped Upon, Round 1 Prompt, Round 1 Results, Round 2 Prompt, Round 2 Results, Final Prompt,
This is the tough-as-nails, hard-faced, thousand-yard-stare, eats-raw-meat-and-shits-vegetables big brother to the mincing little pansy monthly fiction "contests" we like to have around here.
The Flash Fiction Thunderdome is a weekly fiction contest with ever-changing word-stinkyhole, theme, prompts, and rules. Each participant has five days to submit their story, and each submission is final. Don't ask other goons for critque via PM, but also don't just slam your hairy buttcheeks on the keyboard and spray runny poo poo all over the screen. Do a couple edits yourself, make sure the story is at least presentable. Like you would make your daughter presentable before handing her over to the Albanian mob for a few thousand Eurobucks.
Each week's contest will have a winner, a loser, and a bunch of other people who don't matter.
The loser will get a "really embarrassing custom-title" courtesy of pipes!, as well as the everlasting shame of being the loser.
The three judges of this contest will start as Stuporstar, Erik Shawn-Bohner, and me. The winner of each week will rotate into a judge seat, or sometimes more than one person will rotate into a judge seat. To make it more clear:
The judges will be whoever I say they are, pretty much. This includes replacement judges for when Erik Shawn-Bohner is on a multi-week drunk, Stuporstar vanishes into the Yukon, and I go into the desert for
The winner will email or PM his choice of prompts to the other two judges and they have 12 hours to respond and agree, disagree, abort, retry or fail. To give the judges time to deliberate, the deadline for submissions will be exactly five (5) days from the time of each weekly contest post. The judges will take up to 48 hours to read each submission, and submit the judgment at the end of the week.
Each week can have a different format and prompt.
The format could be simply a different word stinkyhole, or it could be something more elaborate. For example, the judges could require the submissions to be in audio format, preferably MP3 uploaded to Tindeck, but any decent substitute will work. Absolutely no Vocaroo allowed unless you want to automatically lose. Instead of prompts, the week's contest could be based on a theme - sci-fi, romance, lit-fic, whatever. Some weeks will have a limit to the number of entrants, or even daily 1v1, mano-a-mano smackdowns. This is the motherfuckin' Thunderdome. The only rules are those the judges come up with.
Week I - Complete
This week's word stinkyhole is ~1000, the shorter the better.
This week's prompt is "Man agonizes over his potatoes."
Deadline for submissions is Friday, 10 August, at 0200 EST.
Send signups to me via PM or just post in here. I'll edit a list of contestants into the OP.
Remember where you are - this is Thunderdome, and death is listening, and will take the first man that screams.
Canadian Surf Club
slothmonster LATE YOU loving LOSER!
Arivia - LOSER
Sitting Here - WINNER!
Found Sound ALSO LATE GODDAMNIT BUT NOT A BAD STORY
|# ¿ Aug 5, 2012 07:42|
|# ¿ Jun 18, 2019 06:47|
Good call, forgot to put that deadline in there. It's edited in, along with your name.
|# ¿ Aug 6, 2012 02:09|
It is indeed EST. I forget that not everyone lives in New York.
e: I also forgot that I can't read a calendar. Friday is the 10th.
|# ¿ Aug 6, 2012 11:56|
It could even be 100 words. The point is, don't be a bitch and throw your poo poo down.
And I prefer Dora the Explorer to Sesame Street. This is a bilingual world we live in, and it's important to keep up.
Nautatrol, please use italics when writing the names of TV shows, novels, films, and any other work longer than an individual TV episode or short story. When you don't italicize them it's embarrassing.
|# ¿ Aug 6, 2012 19:56|
Count me in I need a reason to get off my rear end and write and as crazy as it sounds I kinda know potatoes.
I haven't written much in a while so this seems like a good excuse to change that around. Now I just need to become one with the potato to better understand its motivations.
Count me in too. I knew when I saw that prompt that I had found something beautiful and true.
|# ¿ Aug 7, 2012 13:41|
Added the newest contestants.
|# ¿ Aug 7, 2012 20:42|
Your argument is brilliantly eloquent and I find no flaws with it.
I've changed my mind.
|# ¿ Aug 7, 2012 20:49|
I'm disqualified from the contest by being a judge, but here's my entry anyway as an example. 225 words, with a beginning, middle, and end, and a full character arc. You can do it, people.
"Oh god, Mary, look at m'taters!"
Jimmy held his taters in his right hand, rolling them around.
"Leave 'em alone, Jim. There ain't nothin' wrong with 'em."
"They're all hairy and lumpy and knobby! And so big compared to m'shriveled wenis!"
Mary scowled at Jimmy, hands on her ample hips. "Wenis is the skin on your elbow. That's called a penis, drat it! And stop pullin' on it, I want it to work at least once a week."
"drat it, Mary, how can I make love to you when m'taters are so awful-lookin'?"
"I'm sick of your poo poo. I'm going to Maude's."
Mary stormed out of the frame house. Jimmy heard the '92 Reliant K start after a couple key turns.
Two days later, Jimmy heard from Bobby that Mary had shacked up with that nice black fella lived by the feed store. Bobby said that his wife Lisa said that Mary said the black fella had a dick size of a large groundhog, and a pair of balls like plums, all shaved and everything. Jimmy thanked Bobby for the down-low, and hung up the phone. He went into the bedroom, took out the old Smith & Wesson, put it in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. As his life shut out, Jimmy thought to himself that taters really weren't worth agonizing over.
|# ¿ Aug 7, 2012 21:46|
I don't know what you're saying but I'm pretty sure it means you want to enter. Great, you're added to the OP. If you welsh you'll probably end up being The Loser or at least a secondary Loser. Indecision is the worst decision you could make. Post something.
|# ¿ Aug 8, 2012 00:44|
Thought; if someone loses and gets an embarrassing custom title, if they WIN another week, it gets taken away.
Good idea. We might end up doing that.
Hoedown or Throwdown.
I was already planning on doing something to this effect.
|# ¿ Aug 9, 2012 12:19|
Like Nautatrol said, you have less than 24 hours until 0200 EST on Friday, 10 August. If you don't submit by then after signing up, you'll have a shiny new avatar.
|# ¿ Aug 9, 2012 15:38|
Until the Triumvirate tires of laying judgement upon the unwashed goonmasses.
|# ¿ Aug 9, 2012 22:55|
Four hours and twenty minutes left for submission!
The following have not submitted yet:
Hurry the gently caress up!
Or don't, I'd love to see some "I couldn't write 150 words in five days" avatars around.
|# ¿ Aug 10, 2012 01:40|
It's called ritual animal sacrifice for a reason. You can't just off a housepet and call it a day. There's symbols to be considered and rites recited.
I've spent the better part of the morning and early afternoon sitting in the lotus position in my front yard, nude and smeared in a mixture of goat blood and human feces. A small fire burns before me, fed with the fat of wine-fed piglets. A dead pigeon rests on the bloodstained mud, wings pinioned by sharpened toothbrush handles. His entrails are spread out and formed into a map of Milan. I rock back and forth and chant unintelligibly while typing rapidly on my laptop.
Hold yer loving horses, we'll pass judgment when we're good and loving read.
|# ¿ Aug 10, 2012 18:14|
My posting criteria will remain opaque to all, but I'll reveal one thing - the flavor of dinner tonight will factor into it heavily. And perhaps what kinds of animals I see while driving two hours down I-81 South in a few minutes here.
|# ¿ Aug 10, 2012 22:05|
The Triumvirate has convened.
After much deliberation
We have a winner and a loser.
But I ain't gonna tell you who they are yet.
Suck on that, bitches.
|# ¿ Aug 12, 2012 00:06|
Now that I'm well and truly satisfied with the sustaining tears of sorrowful goonwriters, I shall end your pain and announce the winner and loser of Thunderdome Week I.
The avatar of the loser is as follows:
New prompts and deadline will be released tomorrow. If we feel like it. If not, Monday.
Winner, PM me immediately with ideas for Week II.
Hey Jonked, your taste in stories sucks.
Who run Bartertown?
|# ¿ Aug 12, 2012 02:24|
As an additional prize, I did a dramatic reading of "Spudipus Complex."
The background music is "Dirty Blue" by Woven Hand.
I'll post my thoughts on each story tomorrow or Monday.
|# ¿ Aug 12, 2012 04:13|
Speaking of which, I finished my thoughts on the stories earlier than expected. I used pretty much the same scoring criteria as Stuporstar. Here they are:
Horticulture at the end of the world
(nothing better to do in Invercargill)
+20 points for amazing word-slinging.
+5 points for the phrase "If we must fear potatoes and be ruled by fear, we are ruled by potatoes;" Such amazingly bendy logic deserves to be recognized.
-5 points for me not being stoned enough to really feel the agony, man.
Total: 20 points
+5 for the pun in the title.
-10 points for what the gently caress.
+20 points for WHAT THE gently caress.
-5 points for the Pink Floyd reference. Because lazy, that's why.
+5 points for capturing the true agony of a psychic potato attack.
+5 points for the phrase "THERE ARE FIVE POTATOES" reverberating in my head like it had Twilight Zone sound effects.
+10 points for writing such an awesomely hosed up story I unfavorably compared all other submissions to yours. Note: this contest is not fair.
Total: 30 points
The Potato Cult
+10 points for knowing your potatoes.
+10 points for writing about a naked man rolling in potatoes, and managing to be totally hilarious while being creepy as gently caress.
+5 points for reminding me of a Four in the Floor sketch that warped me for life when I was eight.
+5 points for making me go, "Ha!" when I read the officer joke.
-10 points for making me go, "Pfft " after reading that moldy old officer joke.
Total: 20 points
+20 points for blowing up your protagonist with a potato.
-10 points for blowing up the dog, you monster.
+10 points for narrative voice.
-5 points for lackluster dialogue.
Total: 15 points
Would you like fries with that?
-10 points for starting your dialogue in a white room and not making it immediately clear your protagonist was sitting at home ordering over the phone rather than talking on the phone while standing in line to order. Sloppy writing, dude.
+5 points for decent dialogue.
-5 points for lazy writing such as, "The anger he felt was quickly replaced by embarrassment."
+10 points for making this dude really agonize over his potatoes.
+5 points for this line: "Grant was not circumcised and wondered if the choice of waffle fries would reveal this truth to his roommate."
Total: 5 points
The Tenant Farmers Lamentation
+10 points for being comically maudlin. I can practically hear the violins.
-10 points for not being sure if you're taking the prompt way too seriously.
Total: 0 points
-10 points for annoying me with the formatting. Oh ho, you made me roll over nothing! Tee hee. Well, now you don't get to win, Mr. Clever Boots.
+5 points for a pun in the title.
+5 points for the slow build to crazy town.
+5 points for the dude naming his potatoes.
+5 points for when the potatoes start talking to him.
+5 points for him agonizing over eating his personified potatoes.
+5 points for Canadian Surf Club's suggestion to read it in Captain Kirk's voice, making it all the more awesome. The rules are arbitrary, people. Deal with it.
0 points deducted for terrible writingbecause you entertained me.
Total: 20 points
-20 points for writing about a creepy-rear end Frenchman agonizing over women rather than potatoes.
-10 points for boring me with bad verbiage.
+5 points for having the brass potatoes to lip off the judges before casting our votes.
Total: -25 points
+10 points for the first line: "the sun above a fiery griddle cake sliding down the red-hot sky."
+10 points for having the sheer taters to have your fantasy characters say poo poo like, "Ho!"
+5 points for pulling out all stops with that "King of the Fairies" bit.
+5 points for writing a ridiculous fairy tale.
-5 points for not being ridiculous enough.
+10 points fer legit cyberpunk
Total: 25 points
-10 points for calling death "Azrael" and trying to lampshade it with, "I see. A bit of a let-down." The joke would have worked if you called him Barry or something. Since you skirted the funny line but didn't quite cross it, this mediocre story fills me with meh.
Total: -10 points
The Priest's Choice
-20 points for your character not agonizing over literal potatoes.
+25 points for your character agonizing over his balls and calling them potatoes.
+10 points for having a priest squeeze his own balls.
-10 points for stilted and rambling expository dialogue.
-5 points for saying you liked the loser's story.
Total: 0 points
A Potato Bet
+15 points for making the punchline every whiny goon on SA.
-5 points for not making me feel the agony over those sour potatoes.
Total: 10 points
Life Under Soil
+20 points for taking the same concept as SC Bracer and turning into a proper story dripping with goony agony and awkwardness.
Total: 20 points
Canadian Surf Club
The Silence of the Potatoes
+10 points for writing about a tin hat who talks to his potatoes and making it completely original from all the other stories where the potatoes talk to crazies.
+10 points for ending with a metal as gently caress potato slaying.
+5 points for the line, "The potatoes were humming joyous".
Total: 25 points
Jim Robinson on Spotify
-20 points for a man agonizing over his son more than potatoes.
+20 points because that's realistic, and it's not a bad story.
-5 points because this last line is super weak: "Ice Cream played on Spotify, and Kurt was fine with it."
Would have been a respectable 15 if you met my mysterious bullshit criteria. That's Thunderdome.
"Blue Ribbon... Potato?"
+10 for brutal editing. The scene was decent without those 150 words, so they were probably all bullshit anyway.
-5 for not cutting all the right words. You could trim the verbiage and add more relevant details.
-5 for ellipsis abuse. I wasn't going to dock points for this, but you did it in the friggin title and that makes baby potatoes cry.
+5 for that alien potato ... thing. I don't have to follow my own rules in this contest. Shut up.
+5 for Margaret's rules lawyering (great unlikeable character there).
+5 for a potato's scream breaking a dude's teeth. Holy gently caress, dude.
+5 for getting around the prompt by having your character agonize over Mrs. Potato head. Close enough for me.
+5 because that Christmas scene is the goddamned truth and it's ridiculous.
+5 for coming up with "Paula Tater."
Man Who is Immune to Tranquilizers
-5 for loving up your opening paragraph with the wrong tense.
+5 for making me laugh with "super cancer" even though that's such a bad line I slapped myself afterwards.
+5 for the doctor acting like an idiot and yelling, "You stabbed him in the brain!"
-10 for this horrible horrible line: "Override his pain system, turn off all pain sensors, activate the sleep program, bobs your uncle," and then lampshading it. Yeesh.
+20 for all this:
THE GORTA MOR
+10 for knowing your Gorta Mor before writing a story about the potato famine in Ireland.
+10 for writing a damned good story.
0 points deducted for taking the prompt seriously, because you wrote a damned good story.
Total: 20 points
|# ¿ Aug 12, 2012 04:56|
Looks like we'll be posting the new prompt, rules and deadlines tomorrow. REAL LIFE has gotten in the way.
My thoughts on the first few stories follow. I didn't use some awesome points criteria like Stuporstar, because
Horticulture at the end of the world
(nothing better to do in Invercargill
I liked how you didn't take the prompt seriously and just gave us a funny, short thing to read and laugh at. The crazy stoner thing came across quite well. This wasn't a proper story, but I liked it and I hope you write more of this kind of thing.
by Sitting Here
This was loving insane and whacked out and I don't know what it means but I love it. I agree with Stupor that the Pink Floyd reference was lazy. It pulled me out of the story by being an obviously cribbed line when the rest of it was so original and out-there. Still, "Spudipus Complex" is all I've been thinking about the past few days. I mean, obviously, I did a reading of the drat thing.
The Potato Cult
This cracked me up too. The idea of a potato cult is great, and the visual of a naked man rolling in potatoes made me grin. It didn't tickle my taint the way it did for Nautatrol, but your kink is not my kink and that's okay. The story amused me, but it didn't grab me the way some of the other stories did. And I'll echo Stuporstar again and say the "officer" joke at the end was kind of a "wanh wanh wanh" tuba ending.
I'll post the rest of my thoughts in the next 24 hours.
|# ¿ Aug 13, 2012 03:03|
I don't watch Star Trek so I had no idea.
|# ¿ Aug 13, 2012 03:59|
The new Triumvirate is convening.
New prompts and deadline will be published tonight.
|# ¿ Aug 13, 2012 23:44|
Thunderdome Week II
The New Triumvirate has convened.
Stuporstar, myself, and the Initiate Sitting Here have come to our decision.
This week's prompt is "Dystopian Chick-Lit."
For extra points (or maybe not, cuz Thunderdome) you can also add in "Randian Superman protagonist".
Word-stinkyhole is ~500 words. Cry about it.
Deadline for submissions is 17 2130 EST AUG 2012. Deadline for signup is 15 2130 EST AUG 2012.
If you can't parse the deadline, too loving bad. PM a GiP poster () or look it up or I don't give a tiara-wearing gently caress. If you're smart enough to figure out that it's a day shorter than last week, that's cuz the Triumvirate chose to take our sweet time deciding what to make you pigtailed schoolgirls write for us. The first complaint will be an automatic DQ.
If they wish to fight today, then let them come like men. - Bohemund I of Antioch
Contestants, submissions hotlinked:
Found Sound (oooh you made the deadline just like everyone else this time, why don't you take the rest of the day off?)
Canadian Surf Club
|# ¿ Aug 14, 2012 01:31|
There's a time limit in there. Are you blind?
|# ¿ Aug 14, 2012 02:03|
We should get bonus points for getting in on the first day. Early bird special.
-5 points for asking for bonus points.
|# ¿ Aug 14, 2012 02:40|
Post-apocalyptic counts as dystopian for the dumbasses who asked such a dumbass question.
|# ¿ Aug 14, 2012 12:49|
As is my tradition, here's my own entry. DQ'd of course, which is lucky fer the rest of you since this would definitely take the gold.
Sex and the Wastes, post-Apocalypse (500)
The two girls, best friends, sat at the bar in Dane’s, drinking hard liquor and scanning the crowd. Prospectors, mutant-hunters, smugglers, and even a few slavers – Dane’s never turned down a customer, long as they weren’t mutants.
“Look’a’that bitch over there.” Susanna pointed with a dirty fingernail. Maryanne swung around, looked at the bitch over there. She was tall and slender, little muscle on her arms and legs, exposed by short-shorts and a t-shirt.
“I’d give her one day in the Wastes, dressed like that.” Maryanne sipped her whiskey. “Look’a’those Ray-Bans. Those things’ll be scratched to bits, first devilstorm she gets caught in.”
“Uh-huh.” Susanna set her glass down hard, tequila slopped over the rim. “And her t-shirt, obviously cut it low to show some cleavage. What’s she thinkin’, first giant scorpion she runs into’s gonna stop charging her to stare at her tits?”
“Right, sad little things that they are. And the gently caress is she gonna shoot it with? That stupid hand-cannon?” Maryanne gestured at the massive pistol strapped to the bitch’s bare, slender thigh.
“Like she could get any more stereotypical than a gold-plated Desert Eagle. Jesus, what’re the Wastes coming to these days?”
The bitch stood up and turned towards the bar.
“Ohmigod, Susanna, do you see those? She’s wearing loving garters!”
“No. Way.” Susanna leaned back against the bar and gawked openly. “loving garters.”
The bitch was looking at them now, and she didn’t look happy. She started to walk towards them when the door swung open. Four men stepped into Dane’s, and a hush fell over the bar. They were popesmen, Ernestine Knights. Scout’s clothing, flak jackets over buckskins.
Dane’s never turned down a customer, long as they weren’t mutants. Or Catholics. Texarkana was on the edge of the Holy Texan Republic, and it was a haven for Protestants, just outside the Pope’s grasping reach.
Gravel the bouncer rose from his stool and sauntered to the popesmen.
“You boys are gonna hafta leave.” His voice rumbled like his nickname. “We don’t ’low Papists in here. This’s a good Episcopalian bar.”
The shortest of the four men, his head shaved in a monk’s tonsure, scowled at Gravel.
“I’m Brother-Sergeant Joseph Angelus Myers. My scouts and I seek sustenance, food and drink. We mean to trouble no one.”
“Well, yer troublin’ me right now.” Gravel flexed his huge biceps as he cracked his big knuckles.
Susanna looked at Maryanne, and they both had the same thought. Those Ernestine Knights were positively dreamy. There was the challenge of purity vows, Waste-hardened muscle, this year’s buckskins, and those amber eyes on the Brother-Sergeant! Susanna'd never seen such eyes. Maryanne was more interested in the bigger man at the Brother-Sergeant’s right. He had silky black hair caught back in a silver ring, big hands. Maryanne knew what they said about men with big hands.
“Gravel, let those boys in,” they said in unison. The girls were going to see if they couldn’t get the Ernestines to break some purity vows.
|# ¿ Aug 15, 2012 03:02|
Less than 24 hours until the contest entry deadline!
Submissions are still due 17 2130 AUG 2012
All the submissions so far are hotlinked to the contestant's name in the Week II post. This makes it easier for the judges and anyone wanting to read each contestant's story. I thought of it cuz I'm smart as gently caress.
|# ¿ Aug 15, 2012 03:11|
You forgot to put me in the signed-up post.
Or maybe I did that intentionally to reduce your self-confidence. You didn't think of that, did you?
|# ¿ Aug 15, 2012 14:36|
Well within the deadline this time.
Ooh, look at me, I'm Found Sound and I can actually fulfill the minimum requirements!
|# ¿ Aug 15, 2012 17:47|
Goddamn it, it's past 15 2130 EST AUG 2012!
However, I choose to invoke the Fibonacci Exemption to Rule 126a. Bodnoirbabe, you may compete.
If anyone questions my exemption, I shall summarily remove 5 points, roughly equal to one well-shaped Brazil nut. My word is law.
|# ¿ Aug 16, 2012 03:08|
Submissions close in 24 hours!
Get those fingers typing, people.
slothmonster, you better loving make the deadline this time.
|# ¿ Aug 17, 2012 01:36|
Good thing you made it, Stuporstar and I were already plotting up an EVEN WORSE avatar for you.
|# ¿ Aug 17, 2012 02:45|
chicks who don't know chick-lit
12 hours until submissions close at 17 2130 AUG 2012!
Haven't submitted yet:
Get on it!
|# ¿ Aug 17, 2012 13:30|
And that's everybody.
The Triumvirate will begin to mull over your horrible writing and decide who The Loser is, and The Winner. If there even is A Winner.
|# ¿ Aug 18, 2012 00:21|
Results will be out either late tonight or tomorrow morning, because Sitting Here is taking his time (as a judge should) and lives in a stupid timezone.
|# ¿ Aug 18, 2012 22:30|
The Triumvirate has convened and come to a verdict.
After long hours of ruminating on the reams of drivel we were forced to read, we have made our decision.
budgieinspector, PM me with recommendations for prompt and rules for Week III. They better be loving good.
Stuporstar will now be leaving her judge's seat, to be occupied by budgieinspector. Sitting Here rejoins the unfortunate masses, and Nautatrol Rx will again raise his iron scepter.
My scoring breakdown is as follows. I used a similar system as Stuporstar did last time, but I feel that numbers are a very arbitrary way to grade things, so I decided to go for something a little more meaningful.
The X Zone
A lovely new artist on a comic book I used to like for misspelling “bouillabaisse”
Too much salt in New England clam chowder for bad editing – “image a baby doll submerged” etc
Two or three Sour Patch Kids for making me feel the darkness and despair in the cave
Someone else eating the last piece of apple pie for overwriting a story when you only had 500 words to do it and not getting anywhere in the end
The smell of chocolate for having “boob” in your handle
Total: Eating the Veggie Omelet MRE and not having a choice because I’m in Ranger School
The Flavor of Fish
A baby’s first laughter for having an awesome handle (thunderdome, bitches)
Missing the nail and smashing my finger with a framing hammer for saying “I did creative writing in school” and then (in the same 24 hours) saying “I’ve never done any creative writing before”
Taking a container of hummus out of the fridge, preparing to eat it with carrots, and realizing it’s gone bad for the title making me think about going down on unclean vagina
The shade of a tree on a hot day for generally pulling off the dystopian feel without being ham-fisted
A razor-sharp chef’s knife for creating an utterly awful pig of an antagonist with just a few lines
The feeling of warm rain for the line “the sound of warm rain” (take that Boob Marley)
Total: A decent sandwich on a train in Germany
Diary of Bootstrapping the Apocalypse
Getting “Most Headshots” in MW3 for capturing the elusive “chicklit factor”
A decent spiral pass for the line “If I do get picked I hope he isn’t a grotty little mutant, ugh, wouldn’t that just be the worst?”
A ripe grape tomato for the Al Capp reference
Smelling someone else’s broccoli farts for setting a story in the US but using the word “mum”
Having to take a dump but nowhere to take it for not making the story as interesting as it could have been
Total: Buying Valen the Outcast and generally enjoying it while also realizing Matteo Scalera is not as quite good as I thought he was, but maybe it’s the colorist's fault
Dystopian Chick, Lit
A rare ribeye a few minutes off the gril for the title just being the prompt with a comma inserted
Beating a mission in Ghost Recon Future Soldier on the first try on Elite for the “mirror on the page” twist ending
Not being able to shower for a 11-day field exercise for writing a story solely to be a smug shitlord who I hate IRL
A deer tick attached to the top of my buttcrack (whatifIgetLymedisease ) for being a smug shitlord who I hate IRL
Total: A mediocre handjob in her ’97 Escort with only one working door
Greed, Pay, Love
A pair of Zubaz in the gym for the obvious Clockwork Orange homage that still works
Really good falafel for the Gas-Powered-Potato-Cannon, calling back to Thunderdome Week I
A soggy taco shell at Taco Bell (where I was forced to eat by majority rule) for stacking your references too high with the Judge Dredd knock-off
A cockroach crawling under the bathroom door while I’m sitting upon the pot for not using enough commas
Caramel, surprisingly, inside a truffle for the word “crackabugga”
Total: A nice steak dinner with two of my friends and one other dude who everybody else likes but I really don’t
Hearing “Lonely Boy” by The Black Keys come on the radio for having the balls to write a story with a loving robot protagonist
Wishing that it was “Goodbye Babylon” instead but knowing only El Camino gets playtime for it still being a goddamn robot protagonist
That pleasant but also unpleasant feeling when you’re about to take a huge dump for writing a creepy-rear end story that I still kind of enjoyed
Total: Being on a nice weekend trip and realizing my fingernails are too long and I don’t have a nail clipper
50 Shades of Ash
Two mosquito bites in two different hard-to-scratch places for making a Fifty Shades of Gray reference in the title but not capitalizing on it enough
Finding Way-2-Sour blowpops at a random gas station on NY Rte 79 for intentionally writing a lovely chick-lit story
A goddamn rooster who just won’t shut up early on Saturday morning for not living up to your full potential with this poo poo, writing a lovely chick-lit story but not making it lovely enough for me to like it or making it actually good
Total: Cutting salame cacciatoro with a lovely serrated knife
one way to find out.
A turtle sundae for making the first female president an evil awful bitch 'cause that's funny
A goddamn fly in the room that I just can’t kill and don’t have a swatter for making her Republican since we know the Liberal Media would never let that happen
A container of mixed nuts with too many peanuts and not enough Brazil nuts and cashews for using the tired “hot powerful chick seduces nerd” thing
Unrealistic gunplay in a movie I thought was gonna be good for this story not being dystopian at all, unless I’m a retard which clearly I’m not
Total: Sitting next to a really loving fat dude on an airplane
Sincerely, “Enturbulated in Ronopolis”
A bottle of Samuel Smith’s Oatmeal Stout for knowing everything about Scientology
An itchy butthole for knowing everything about Scientology
The feeling of warm water on my balls for the effective use of “I work so hard to remain upstat” at the beginning and end of the story
Sand in my socks because I didn’t know it was about Scientology, which is clearly your fault
Total: Pretty good sex while kinda drunk so it’s not as good as it could’ve been, but still good, and we both want to have breakfast together in the morning
Freshly-laundered bedsheets for knowing what a percussion cap is
Squirrels loving around with nuts on the roof all day for using such an obsolete munitions technology in a presumably-future dystopia
A good day on the CQC range for pulling off the dystopian feel
Chafing in my inner thighs from a 12-mile ruck march for this story not being chick-lit really at all
Total: Taking a few good licks of a Perry's Peanut Butter Cup cone before accidentally dropping it in gravel
Shooting 39 out of 40 (don’t worry about that little guy) on an M4 qual range for writing a motherfucking dystopian clone soap opera with polyandry
Having to clean my M4 to the white-glove standard even though we’ll be shooting again next week for writing a motherfucking dystopian clone soap opera with polyandry instead of chick-lit like the goddamn prompt said to
Total: A nice weekend camping trip, turning sour when I realize I have the loving chiggers in both my arms
The Executive Suite
Having to eat someone’s mom’s lovely cooking with a smile on my face for writing a female surprise sex-revenge story instead of dystopian chick-lit
The dessert being surprisingly good for it being a decent story all the same
Total: Taking a long run in the rain
Splitting wood with a dull maul and no sharpener around for who the gently caress died smiling and why was it the right choice and what the gently caress?
Having to pack two duffel bags and a rucksack for the field next week and I just want to get loving drunk for the stereotypical nagging mother and this not really being chick-lit and the story generally just making me scratch my head but not really in a good way
Eating a decent granola bar for the story at least being readable and dystopian
Total: Not having any clean underwear
Canadian Surf Club
The Department of Female Affairs
Being forced to watch an episode of Always Sunny in Philadelphia for telling me you had fun when I don’t give no fucks about your fun
A margarita with El Espolon for making me laugh and writing about petty meangirls running some sort of dystopian future society and vying for the attention of some wrinkled old rich gently caress
Overcooked strip steak for not really pushing the dystopian theme
Total: Meeting an attractive, cool girl at a bar who’s clearly into me but she has a boyfriend and Lady GaGa is playing on the jukebox
the world is broken and i am meat
The fantastic handling of my BMW for a very strange and awesome title
Taking her to 155 mph on the Autobahn for a what the gently caress but very cool story
Having to fill up with Premium at a gas station off-post and paying European prices for this not really being chick-lit at all
Total: Laying out on the beach in Tel Aviv for a few hours reading Popular Science, later on realizing I should have applied more sunscreen and now have a mild burn
The More Things Change…
Some awful parent’s bratty kid pissing me off in the supermarket for asking for bonus points
lovely airline food for claiming Nautatrol’s avatar is better than mine
A fresh chopped avocado dressed with lime juice, crushed red pepper, and salt for turning around the ‘50s predicament of women and making it funny
Getting flicked in the back of the ear for using the dumb “et’s tha FUTURE an peepl have NUMBERS stead a names naow!” thing which pisses me off
Total: Driving extremely fast on the Autobahn with a friend in the front seat who whines like an old lady about how awesomely fast I drive
“A Harrowing Escape”
Dropping a weight on my toe for what the gently caress this is creepy and oh god
Total: Having to lick twenty envelopes in a row and getting three or four paper cuts on my tongue
The Shoe Sale At The End Of The Earth
Knocking out four reps of 265 on the bench for making fun of that whole “OMG he/she so did not!” thing so effectively
Playing a drunken round of MW3 to determine if I should’ve driven back from the bar or not (I shouldn’t have) for spelling out “sooo”
A cold that just won’t go away for doing that dumb “person off-camera clicks back the hammer of a semi-auto pistol even when it’s just an unnecessary extra step” thing
Having to mow the lawn for the nonsensical concept of “leather fatigues”
The feeling of another dude’s nose breaking under my forehead for the final line being “Bitches Leave”
Total: Petting a cat in front of a fire on a rainy day
Observation Squad Dropout
That cute sounds puppies make for the “$600 heels” and so on intro
Cold organic 2-percent milk for pulling off the chick-lit thing
Getting paint on one of my favorite t-shirts for using the term “blow-out” to mean some woman hairstyle when I only know it as the haircut of Long Island guidos
Only drinking half a Laphroaig, neat, before spilling it out of drunken clumsiness for just not wowing me with the story
Total: Too much bacon in m’cobb salad
Confessions of a Chopaholic
Watching Manningham make a really awesome reception for legit dystopian feel and brutal survivalist cannibal violence
Hearing a Justin Bieber song for not writing chick-lit AT ALL and just shoehorning in a dumb “diamonds are a girl’s best friend” no-effort joke in a story that’s not comedy at all
Total: Getting into a really brutal bar-brawl but having “friends” break it up
Tagged for Love, 467 words.
Putting way too much Blair’s Ultra Death in taco meat and having fireshits for three days for including your word count in your title like a loving amateur
Seeing the benefits of a high-fiber diet in my toilet for the good dystopia word “wheatlike”
Getting a prostate exam for an Army physical even though you’re under 30 for naming the manager “Cincinattus” which is a dumb name if there isn’t any meaning to it
Smelling the poo poo-pond at Khandahar Airfield for writing a dumb story about a broad being scared of a green rat (why the gently caress is it green?) and getting saved by CINCINATTUS and trying to pass it off as “dystopian chick-lit”
Stepping in dogshit for having a stupid flashing gif rainbow avatar
Total: A long car ride in someone else’s van that smells like spoiled milk with the heat on full blast even though it’s not even that cold outside
A bottle of gross “Italian” salad dressing for being a chick and not being able to chick-lit
A dirty napkin stuck to my shoe for the term “porta-phone” since all phones are portable now and your story is presumably in the future
Pretty good chicken curry with raita for creating a dystopia where fashion reigns supreme and the Gucci mall has men with guns in front of it
The curry isn’t spicy enough for not really being chick-lit and not being dystopian enough
Total: Having chapped lips but there’s a stick of Burt’s Bees in my pocket
The Colors of Revolution
Trying to light a fire but the loving wind keeps blowing out the match for overusing adverbs and using “it’s” where you should have used “its”
A good hour of heavy lifting for doing yet another fashion-related dystopia but making it a decent story anyway
Wasps flying around my head when I’m trying to nail down shingles for not being dystopian enough
Total: Eating a decent breakfast but knowing work is gonna suck in an hour
A really ugly beige couch for jumping on the Bracer Bandwagon and claiming “chick lit is ” despite also being a chick
Digging a hole for a concrete piling by hand in stony ground for just throwing chocolate into a pirate story to try to fulfill the chick-lit requirement
Sitting on the toilet after a nice big fiber-dump and thinking there’s no more toilet paper, but then turning around and seeing a whole ’nother roll on the tank for making your not-chick-lit and only vaguely dystopian pirate story interesting enough that I want to read more
Total: Smelling roses in a parlor and then suddenly catching the whiff of something not-so-fresh
The Beauty of Progress
A perfectly-mixed protein shake for writing an interesting eugenics dystopia story, with at least the flavor of chick-lit
Having to take an especially smelly load of household garbage to the dump for not going far enough with the chick-lit part and not being over-the-top enough
Total: Eating a nice fresh oyster but there’s sand on it and now it’s in my teeth and the girl I’m eating dinner with is actually kind of unpleasant but still attractive
Death and the City
Ordering a martini and realizing the bartender used well vodka for what the gently caress is this even about?
The musty smell of an old house with the windows closed for years for using the oldschool conceit of identifying characters by profession rather than name but not actually doing anything with it
Dried-out fish at a mediocre restaurant for this story being about a journey but the story goes nowhere
A bottle of Blair’s Salsa Del Muerte for a good visual sense
Total: Being coerced into watching a 3D children’s film instead of Total Recall
|# ¿ Aug 19, 2012 20:11|
I updated my post at the top of the page with my scoring breakdown. I think the criteria and points system I used will be a lot more helpful for everyone and hopefully you guys will know what I'm looking for in Week III.
|# ¿ Aug 19, 2012 23:39|
aaw shucks. It was one of those cases where I set out to make something pretty sounding and weird, and the rest magically happened on its own.
I have to admit, I have real problems with women protagonists. They are always either super weak or super aggressive ( like in
I blame you.
|# ¿ Aug 20, 2012 01:47|
|# ¿ Jun 18, 2019 06:47|
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.
Stop doing it awkwardly and it'll be a better excuse.
I do, however, approve of "you can all go gently caress yourselves."
|# ¿ Aug 20, 2012 02:53|