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Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


So unless there's something I'm missing (and let's be honest, what are the odds of that happening (they are incredibly high)), I should have about two days to squeeze out a few hundred words about rocket rancheros chasing cosmic rustlers away from their flocks of astro-sheep, right? I think I can do that.

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Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


I'm either an hour and a half late or I'm in with half an hour to spare. Never have gotten the right of it with time zones. Either way, here it is.

Dada (529 words)

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


Still gotta format my story for submission. I'll get the wheels turning for this week while I'm doing that.

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


I'd like to get in this week, but the prompt alone isn't prompting anything with me. Somebody flash me a rule so I've got something to throw at my brain to wake it up.

Never mind. Erogenous Beef tossed me a bone over IRC, now all I've got to do is gnaw it down to under a thousand words. In.

Bitchtits McGee fucked around with this message at Nov 12, 2013 around 18:36

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


That rule was made for me. I'm on it.

Flash rule: Your main character is heavily medicated. The purpose and/or legality of said medication is none of my concern.

Bitchtits McGee fucked around with this message at Nov 26, 2013 around 17:04

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


Nikaer Drekin posted:

Flash rule: Your story must somehow incorporate a movie considered one of the worst of all time.

My selection, for the record.

(edit - Forgot to include the trailer so you have a better idea what's being dealt with here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6oM__nRVIn8)


Faye Dunaway (966 words)

Faye Dunaway has just told her Italian lover that she must cut short their affair and leave within 10 days, and now stares pensively over the lake trying to phrase a reason why without lying to him outright. “God, this is stupid,” I said. “What the hell is she even dying of, anyway, that she doesn’t even look tired?” I turned around to grab up at the couch. “That’s it. Just give me the drat bottle.”

“Ah-ah!” Deacon lifted the litre of Ten High past any hope of reaching it from my seat on the floor, trying but failing not to show how much he was enjoying himself. “That’s not how the game is played and you know it. Besides, it’s barely been fifteen minutes! How can you be giving up this early?”

“Are you kidding?” Of course he was, he was the one who’d seen it before. “The Amanti Challenge”, he’d called it: come up to his apartment to watch this movie, take a shot every time I groaned, and if I could still speak by the end of it, I could name my own prize. I’d had one already. “A four-year-old could see through this plot! She’s contracted a fatal case of Tragic Heroine Disease but doesn’t want him to know so she can feel like she’s running away from it! But then he finds out anyway and it doesn’t matter because he’s sooo-o-oo madly in love with this strange woman he’d only met once before at an airport! This is stupid,” I repeated, beckoning with my outstretched hand for emphasis, “and I have no desire to suffer through it sober.”

“You don’t have to suffer through it at all, you know.” His grin lessened to a smile, and the rest of his expression shifted more subtly. “You could just leave.”

I could? “I could…” As a matter of fact, the thought hadn’t even occurred to me. “But I don’t want to.”

There was a brief silence. Then, Deacon’s mouth turned to a frown, but the light of amusement came back to his face, as he made a show of unscrewing the cap from the bottle and pouring out another shot. “This little outburst still only counts as one, I’ll have you know,” he said mock-sternly, handing the glass to me, “and if you try to create any further disruptions, I shall be forced to penalize you!”

I paused with the glass at my lips. “Penalize me? With more drinks or fewer?

“Don’t pester me with details,” he said as he pressed the rewind button on the remote, “just finish what you’ve got now and hunker down. There’s still a long way to go.”

###

Faye Dunaway and the Italian fellow whose name I never have been able to remember properly (Maestro-something, maybe, it begins with an M anyway) have driven a jeep up a mountain and stop to marvel at two climbers making their way up the cliff in front of them. Faye was just telling Maestro how she identified with them when the door broke in. The bottle I’d brought with me was drained enough by that point that I hadn’t even noticed anyone pounding on it.

“Tea?” The sound of movement, then Deacon’s concerned face blocked the TV. “Tea, speak to me.”

I blinked and turned my eyes from him to the door and back. “Did you forget your keys again?”

“Tea. Talk to me.”

“I am talking to you, stupid,” I slurred out irritably, trying to push him aside with one hand. “Now get outta the way, I wanna see him pick the flowers.”

Tea!” He seemed angry for a moment, shouting and shaking me by my shoulders. Once my head stopped moving around, though, he was calm and concerned again. “Tea. We’ll get through this.”

Just that was enough to burn a hole through the bourbon haze I’d built between myself and that morning. “Get through what?” But I knew what. I saw the lines creasing on Dr. Mandalay’s face again, heard the patronizing tone in his voice, even felt the chill he always seemed to keep his office at for who knows what reason. All so clearly. “Say it.”

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t move at all for what seemed like a long time. When he finally did, it was to pull me up and move around so that he ended up on the couch and I ended up more or less on his lap, watching this stupid movie together again one more time. His arms squeezed me tight. “We’ll get through it.”

The haze settled back into place, Deacon-colored instead of booze. A thought came to me. “Suppose it’s the same?”

“What?”

I gestured at the screen, even though Faye wasn’t on it. “What she’s got and what I’ve got.”

A short contemplation. “Could be.”

###

Faye Dunaway has left Maestro behind, fleeing back to America for treatment in her final days, and is trying to call him to say good-bye from a payphone in an airport bar while a line of men march persistently back and forth behind her, singing loudly. Pretty soon he’ll run out of the house and apparently up the mountain to find her there. Ugh. I pour myself another shot of that same old cheap whisky.

I got through it in the end, and Deac… well, two schools of thought on that. He’s a part of me now. A part it turned out neither one of us could live without, so he decided it should be me. We may have had more than just 10 days together, and our story didn’t end the same way at all, but I think I understand the characters in this a bit better now than before. It is still a profoundly stupid movie, though.

Bitchtits McGee fucked around with this message at Dec 1, 2013 around 23:19

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


Jeza posted:

My co-judges are: CURRENTLY UNKNOWN

I know one.

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


c'mon man lemme judge you

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


Oh, goody. I get to write a whole story in Geordie, and nobody can stop me. Aah'll tackle this, wey aye.

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


Huh? Oh, yeah, those things. Well, I hate words and I'm not very smart, so these'll probably trend short.

---

Kaishai - Grant Me An Empty Road

I was reading this at work and had to leave to actually do some right when the fat psycho husband showed up. While this was happening, my brain put the pieces together. Alene had walked carefully across the diamond road, marveling at the wonders left from a bygone age, while Magh was stomping heedlessly across it and paying no attention to anything except the quarry he'd apparently hunted across half the known world and finally into what is apparently a well-known death zone because as everybody knows that's just what fat psycho husbands do; the ghosts were going to kill him for disrespecting their legacy but allow her to stay for her open appreciation of same. Then I came back and nope, the road's just a prop and now everybody's dead. The end! No moral.

docbeard - Nothing But Nothing

It's just us, then. Us and this entry. Story's being devoured from both ends. I don't know how I know this, but I do. We're going to be left with a few short, bleak, pointless paragraphs. Nothing but absence. Absence of characters, absence of plot, absence of meaning. This critique is the last real thing. Which raises, to me, a question. Why am I still typing this? Why not seize some control over my fate?

Your story is suck. There, done and done.

Tyrannosaurus - A Light in Winter

The father might have been a disembodied floating head levitating a large, heavy Bible with his mind for all we know in the end. Couldn't you have at least written him some legs or something?

Erogenous Beef - Duke Guncock and the Nazindie Menace

I had to check your post history to be sure this wasn't actually for some brawl I'd missed being declared. Even afterwards, it feels like you just wanted to write another Guncock story and stapled the epilogue on afterwards to fulfill the prompt. Next time, just write one, man.

Sitting Here - Feedback Cascade

After setting up all the pieces for a devastating finish, the story just turns around and leaves.

Fumblemouse - Rainbow

Something something fairies maybe, something possibly religious schism who knows blah blah, guy gets a rainbow stuck up his tailpipe. Okay. So what?

Obliterati - The Invincible Man Comes Home

The Executioner was Tyler Durden all along. Am I right? Might have been nice if you'd actually included that twist in the story. Unless I'm reading between the lines all wrong and this really was just dopey and pointless from the get-go.

Radioactive Bears - Creeping Fireflies

Nice ending, if sad. But where's the rest of the story?

Echo Cian - Cantata Mortis

Very Lovecraftian. Perhaps a bit too Lovecraftian, actually. We're not quite the same as the pulp readers he was writing for originally, we actually care at least as much about who's being done to as what's being done. Still, you didn't describe anyone as "swarthy", so you've got that going in your favor.

V for Vegas - Samovar

Something something winter, something possibly Russia historical fiction who knows blah blah, a doctor is murdered. Okay. So what?

Noah - The Trail of Sun-Catchers

Hiring mercenaries to eradicate your own culture seems pretty extreme, even if they are colossal dickbags, but I'm sure that guide had a very solid motivation that pushed him to that point. Also, no wolves. Where are the wolves. I WAS PROMISED WOLVES DAMMIT.

crabrock - In One Hand and the Other

An abonend bunker seems like an odd place for the Ur-Genie to spend his downtime, but hey, what do I know.

God Over Djinn - When the Highway Came Through Little Oak Park

An ignorant lout does the (arguably) right thing for all the (indisputably) wrong reasons and emerges from the experience having learned absolutely nothing. Seriously, that's not easy to pull off. Bravo, brava.

Bad Seafood - The Crying Tree

Something something aunt, something possibly witchcraft who knows blah blah, now there are two trees. Okay. So what?

Nubile Hillock - Winter's mute

Something something winter, something possibly religious schism who knows blah blah, a young man stabs himself and turns into snowflakes. Okay. So what?

magnificent7 - The Love Of My Life Is A Rotten Goody Two Shoes Who Should Die From Cancer Of The Aids Of The Eyeballs.

That title's an instant classic. The story... eh. It's not bad, just not good, either. Why do neither of the drunken bums in the story ever act drunk even as they're drinking? If Tina's kept her sordid past a secret from the archangel who took her in, why is she trying to get Joe and Clay to follow her? For that matter, why does Clay exist at all? On second thought, maybe it is kind of bad.

Auraboks - The city without stories

To contrast with Hillock's entry, here we have a fantasy story where the reader is given enough insight into the workings of this other world to lend weight to the events that happen within it. Unfortunately, the only event that does happen happens to a pair of extras without any identity whatsoever, but halfway's better than no ways.

Lazy Beggar - It Weeps

Something something sad phone call, something ruined makeup makes everyone uncomfortable blah blah, turns out everything's just hunky-dory. Okay. THEN WHAT WAS THE GODDAMNED POINT WHY DID ANY OF THIS HAPPEN DID YOU SERIOUSLY THINK A PARTY CLOWN IN A TAXI WAS FASCINATING ENOUGH TO WARRANT 1400 WORDS SWEET BUTTERY CHRIST THIS IS SO loving STUPID

---

That's yer lot.

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


sebmojo posted:

hahahah you attempt

you will fail

who will judge

okay

Oh wait, this is a brawl so I'm supposed to give you a prompt, too, aren't I... uh... dogs? Sure, why not. Give me EXACTLY 750 words about dogs, no more and no less.

Bitchtits McGee fucked around with this message at Dec 13, 2013 around 12:16

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


I thought it was always a week, but if I've got to say that too to make it official, then yeah, next Friday.

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


Bonny Brinna - 993 wards

Tha gabbin begen soon as ah entered tha clearin, but ah knew bettor than ta put back yet. Ye dinnet git a nyem leek “Warm-Slee’er” less’n ye know wot yas aboot. Start an' aal soon, it’ll eithor gab loudor an' loudor entil ye crack or else rumble yer an' rush slevs at ye. That 'appen, just run. The' won’t chase ye far, an' tryna hammer throo’ll jest git ye deed or warse. Free bit iv gen fo' ye, thor. Anywa’.

Ah filled me foremind wi' thowts iv th’ stag ah carreed across me showlders, oot caad but alayv. That chanjed its tune reet quick, an' tha gabbin start pullin wor furthor in, which wes wheor ah wanted ta be anyha. Elwis hungry, warms are, on ‘count iv their growin, an' the' elwis prefor live meat. Simpl'st wa in is elwis throo tha stomach wi' gaumless beasts, an' sich ah thowt iv tha warms then. Partly reit, still.

Ah couldna help neeticin that sum iv tha bodies it had stackin stones weor still kitted eut fo theer ahn hunt. There’s elwis boond ta be a few, less ye’r forst thor, but it nivvor stops chillin yor boons ta see it. Ah managed ta keep that wey enough ta tha back iv me thowts, or else tha creeture wes an' aal eagor fo' tha meal ta neetice; eithor wa, neet a yen iv them dekko'd at wor as ah passed by an' myed me wa in.

Tha pyramit wes weeny yet, but ah wes lucky: tha warm 'd already et wey enough ta crack eut iv tha moon-stone egg wot had browt it doon ta earth, an' neeo la curled in tha crator from its landin, aal pale, fat flesh, sevfo tha plate iv rock clung on its back at yen end, coverin its choonched heart. That syem end lifted as ah arrived an' split open wi' a soft hiss, showin wor its slaverin meuth see ah wud knar wheor ta leev me load. Ah ‘proached an' dropped tha stag on tha groond fornenst it, then step’d awa see it cud begin feedin. Tha meuth lowered, clamped on ta tha poor animal, an' tha gab began directin wor back oot bye, for ta find mare leek this an' brin ‘em back.

This wes tha ma ah’d waited fo'. Ah put back wi’ me mind as ah unslung me pickaxe an' vawlted owor tha monster’s heed, tornin aroond ta straddle its body just ahint tha plate. Ah got in yen canny crackin swin befawa it rey’ct’d, heed liftin back up stag an' aal an’ beatin against tha ceilin ta eithor shyck wor off or crush wor. But ah knew this aad trick. Ah wes already aal far back an' aal laa ta tha body ta be any wors ‘an thrashed abeut fair. Mostly, aa'd ta kip bot’ ‘ands grippin ta sta onnit, but evarry calm ma, ah wes ready ta land anuthor blaa wi' me hoon. Slaa wark, aye, but tha best any’un know.

Then it just stopp’d. Ah wan’t see dens that ah din’t realize ha haggard this wes, but ah han’t tha taym ta wondor abeut it, aythor. Ah got in twa cracks an' had me arm raised fo' anuthor when it dunsh wor. Neet tha gab, but leek enouf. Nivvor felt such befawa neer since. Suddenly, ah wan’t seein tha warm, or owt else wot wes real. Insteed, ah saw tha pyramid, but from the eut thor an' geet immense iv a sudden. It wes done. We nivvor let a warm live lang enough ta finish yen, see ah’d nar na wa ta ken it, but someha ah did. Ah saw stairs corv’d intee tha side iv it. Ah saw warm-slevs carryin hutches up ‘em. Ah saw a geet throne at tha top. Ah saw a man sittin on it. Ah saw me'sel.

Ah ken well tha thing’s action then, but as this wa’n’t truly gab, ah didn’t knar yet ha ta put it awa. Aal tha while it’s timptin wor wi' pramis’s. Tha vision peel'd back time: ah wud leev this warm ahint but keep on plyin me tryed, killin any others wot fell from tha Rag’d Moon, weel it stay’d an' grew an' bilt. Wivin a yeor, it ‘ud be groon enough ta enslev e’eyen on tha cant’n’nt, an' an army iv warm-’unters wud releve wor. Wi’in tha pyramit, tha warm wud begin a lang kip; yeut thor, ah’d be kin iv tha warld, an' aal its slevs me subjects. ‘Coorse, nar na reason for it ta hev kept this bargen, but ah am nowt but a man, an' at tha time tha offor myed wor pause. See it showed wor mare. Days iv lees’re an' neets iv revel. Me’sures laid at me feet. An endless harem, any bonny bord ah fancied.

Wey aye.

Me mind ralleed. Any bord, it’s off’rin? Just tha yen bord, ah was wantin. Me hinny, me life, me lass. Brinna. Ah pictor’d hor as she had been, an' tha warm gag on tha image reet off. Oh aye, she'd be thor. Elwis by me side. Bonny an' young an' laughin an' alive an' it had lost. Happy dreamin vanish’d befawa bittor mem’ries: Brinna, hor golden hair ratted an' dull; Brinna, hor sparklin eyes half-blind; Brinna, high cheeks sunken wi' starvation; Brinna, a warm-slev ah’d freed only too late. Brinna, dyin in me arms. Ah heard a scream, an' remembor neewt else.

When ah finally came ta a da lator, yen iv tha slevs wot’d stayed ahint showed wor wot wes left iv tha warm. Wan’t mich. The' telt wor that yen iv tha freed ‘unters had scoop’t eut wot the' thowt wes wot left iv tha hart an' run off in tha neet ta try an' barley credit fo' the kill. 'Times ah wondor ha that went fo' 'em, but it wes nar na mattor ta wor. Ah nivvor wes innit fo' tha glory, ye ken.

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


Mercedes posted:

Quinn glanced downward and when saw his Grandfather's Jordans, his shoulders sunk. He could try to run away, but Grandpa Jermaine could outrun a car as long as he had on his cybernetic sneakers on.

Impressive that he managed to hang on to those through the Great B-Ball Purge.

Purple Prince posted:

As a irregular and failed thunderdomer I don't really feel worthy to post here

Radioactive Bears, put on your good fur, 'cause you is cordially invited to a brawl out on the town.

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


Can do, chief.

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


I dunno, I thought it was pretty funny when the lady's parents ate her alive.

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


I was writing about giant worms before it was cool.

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


Well, that'll happen.

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


HERE COME THE DOGJUDGE


Lazy title. Not the most auspicious of beginnings. Then the first paragraph opens on an aged stray mutt tottering around in the freezing December snow, and already you've fallen into a schmaltz pit from which there can be little hope of escape. The characters are neatly established in quick one-two jabs of detail, but as skillful as the combos may be, they're just not strong enough to punch out a proper tunnel. Then just as I'm starting to think that trick's being stretched a bit thin to cover the word count, your ending arrives exactly as it had been telegraphed back at the start, and the bottom just drops right the hell out from under you.

sebmojo posted:

Dog Dreams

Are "dog dreams" actually a thing, some bit of local folklore down 'round Wallaby Way, or did you cook up the whole concept yourself? The point is academic either way, because I'm hard-pressed to find anything to really critique here. Everything works. I just don't know what else to say. Well, I can think of a few things, but they'd all sound like gushing, and I'd rather not get the front of my robes all stained with sentiment. Dry-cleaning ain't cheap, y'know.

Best In Show: sebmojo

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


What's that you say? Horribly late? Inexcusably over the word count? IT'S A TALL TALE, BITCHES. THAT'S WHAT YOU loving EXPECT.

(EMERGENCY EDIT: Opening line provided by Surreptitious Muffin and used with their blessing, as they were too busy chasing that sweet sweet island tail to use it themselves. I hope I've done it justice, brah. )

Partial transcription of Stone Tablet #33-AE, exhumed from the ancient post-Crash metropolis of Baltimore in the yearyear 80÷9, as translated by Professor James C. Bigglesworth - 1276 words or sufficiently word-like phenomena

My name is Henry, and I was made to roll blunts and pound cunts. I am as I have been as I shall be the hardest biggest meanest badass motherfucker in Baltimore and all other remaining lands and still beyond where nothing remains for I have not gotten around to fixing it. With this record, commissioned, cut and dropped in the Month of All Fridays, future generations both past and present shall know of my life and the marvels I have worked.

Even before I was a fetus, I had the genes of a leader. The Sun was my father, and when he found I had been conceived, he fled from the sky in fear. My moms drank all the poison in the world so that she could follow her hon into darkness. Formless yet from within I persuaded her to stay and wait for him to rise again. But to bear me was too great a burden, and as I left her, she collapsed entirely. Enraged with grief, I commanded my father to show himself before me. For one hundred days and one hundred hours we fought, and as we fought I grew, until at last I had grown too much and the Sun was prostrate before me. I’d have just as soon busted his fool head open right there, but a wise man cautioned me that he still had many friends among the stars, and his death would surely bring a great and ruinous shitstorm. Chastened, I instead threw his deadbeat rear end out to revolve around the earth until such time as my line should end. As an extra precaution, at this time I also married into the heavens by taking the Moon as my wife; and though she a cold and distant bitch, she don’t take no poo poo from nobody, and from her I have learned much; thus, out of respect for her and our vows, I have sworn a geas to never get my freak on while she still watches from the skies.

The very next day, my brother the Comet, jealous of the honors that were to be bestowed upon me, came in force to crush my city before it could be mine, thus robbing me of my heritage. The people, who knew not yet of my coming, were thrown into great confusion, for they could not comprehend why such a thing should happen. Panic took hold and order descended into a universal mayhem unrivaled since my father’s chickenshit disappearing act. My brother the Comet stopped to laugh, though such would be his undoing. For my wife, who never liked him anyway, feigned to share his amusement, and invited him to follow on her pilgrimage across the flipside of the morning, for what an even greater jest it would be to emerge from the other side and see that the dumbass suckers had wrecked their own poo poo and saved him the trouble. Thus, laughing, they hastened away down through the oceans and away from all mortal sight. Immediately I seized a gang of motorcycles and by force and cajolery made them to ride throughout the city and gather my once and future sons and daughters together at the ancient fortress that was to be named in my honor long before I would be remembered. There at last did I reveal myself so that all would know me, and so they did, and in joyful wonderment they fell. But my father had no cause to tarry, and the day was nigh gone. At once I set them to the task of erecting a great tower in the midst of the city, with its top beneath my feet. Thus it was done and there did I greet the coming of the night. My brother the comet emerged and saw the city not only still standing but the people united behind me; all the weight of his own dumbass bullshit came down at once, and oh lawdy was he pissed. In rage, he rushed to finish his mission, just as I knew he would. As soon as he came within arm’s reach, I planted my feet and gripped him with both hands, pulling him away and dunking him right down in the middle of Pikesville. Before he could have a chance to rally himself and pull free, I commissioned the people to carve his body into a grand tomb where my moms would lay enshrined. Unbidden by myself or any other, the Sun returned as soon as word reached him of what had gone down, and sat at the peak of the sky until the last chisel was struck. Thus did my reign begin in earnest.

Prosperous times followed. The city which had been torn in ignorant anarchy was restored and renewed, better than it ever had been before or ever would be again. Expeditions sent out beyond the city limits met with other expeditions sent out from the other remaining lands, and each recognized the other’s sovereignty so that all would remain cool. Drank flowed freely, the weed was bountiful, and honeys leaned out from every window. But the brightest light casts the darkest shadow, and some bustas weren’t content with anyone else being top dick but themselves. A conspiracy grew, whispers among the refugees from Pikesville and spreading outward, that I cared not for my children, which wasn’t true, I just loving hated Pikesville, and nobody who’d been there before could argue with me that the whole drat county was better off without it. The conspiracy grew into a revolution, and unrest shook the pillars of the world as street squared off against street. I learned through pain that war cannot defeat war, but there seemed no other solution. Then in a dream it came to me, and I departed in secret for the wilds to the south. After weeks upon minutes of searching, I came upon the court of the bears, as it had been revealed to me. There was a great commotion at my intrusion, and like the wind, I rushed upon the oldest and most revered among them as he sat upon his honored mound and backslapped him across the snout, loosening his last remaining tooth to fly across the beaten ground. Too late the kodiaks organized against me, though a valiant account they gave, and dozens of them I had to throw aside to reach the prize for which I had come. I ground the ancient grizzly’s tooth to dust under my own and swallowed it to become a part of me; thus was the knowledge of the true names of all bearkind bestowed upon me, and I spoke them at once, bringing all assembled under my thrall. With this new army, I returned with haste to save my city from the backstabbing designs of the smiling faces that would lie to usurp me. As we neared the... [ten seconds rendered unintelligible] ...and flames. But I had no time to weep. Growling commands to my ursine forces, all who resisted were torn apart. At last we reached... [four minutes rendered unintelligible] …inside the tomb. Beside myself with fury, I…

[Oceanic erosion has sadly deteriorated the grooves beyond this point so badly that only a few stray syllables can be picked out from all the noise. However, the College of the Lunar Confederacy has recently published a theoretical turntable design of such precision that even the tablets worn nearly smooth might be listenable again, so all one can do is hope that in the coming weeks these theories are made practical, and this fascinating chapter of antiquity-that-is will finally be rescued from obscurity.]

Bitchtits McGee fucked around with this message at Dec 23, 2013 around 05:52

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


look how about after this brawl is finished I help you find your way back to tumblr, would that make you a happy little artistformerlyknownas again buddy

Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011



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Bitchtits McGee
Jul 1, 2011


Nobody's said "submissions closed" yet, so I'm in.

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