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Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






Mercedes posted:

:siren::siren::byodood:MERCBRAWL 5, MERCAGEDDON: How Inappropriate



This week, three of you lucky failures-as-humans will write me an inappropriate story. I will provide a list of titles to choose from. Here is the list. As always, this brawl is reserved for those who have not won a Thunderdome.

You're Different and That's Bad
The Little Sissy Who Snitched
Some Kittens Can Fly
Your Nightmares Are Real
Timmy's The Wrong Color To Be Your Friend
Go To Your Room, Mommy's Got A New Baby To Love


Will you offend someone? Probably. Should you care? Eh. This is me you're talking about.

It's not fair for one person to judge something so crass, so I'll be getting some hel-

A STRANGELY DARK AND HANDSOME JUDGE FELLOW HAS BE SPOTTED!!!

He can be a douchebag, so whatchout!

2,000 words due Wednesday 22 of October, midnight EST
There's no consequence for losing, but failure to submit is a ban from all MercBrawls. Here's the prize list.

Cache Cab: You're Different and That's Bad
the wildest turkey: Some Kittens Can Fly

Goddamnit, you assholes better be nearly done with this. You have 5 hours.

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angel opportunity
Sep 7, 2004

Total Eclipse of the Heart

start requiring toxxes to merc brawl

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






systran posted:

start requiring toxxes to merc brawl

If these guys don't show up, I will start doing this.

hot salad
Jun 25, 2005

Did you just say
the word 'scoff'?


Just making some last minute edits.

Pressure is on, Cache Cab. No one wants to win by default. That's not a win.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


I'm IN this week, but since "pretty sensory vignette" is kinda totally my jam, I'd like to request my picture be chosen by the judges. Give me something as difficult as you can. HIT ME DAMMIT.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


systran posted:

That is the most effort judging I've ever seen

it's hella cool though. i cna't wait to see how wrong he gets my rating since it should be all 10s.

also in. bold

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

Modern worldly poster

Week 115 Critiques For: A Shameful Boehner, LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE, ZeBourgeoisie, Superb Owls, Jitzu_the_Monk, Fumblemouse, Morning Bell, N. Senada, Brother_Walken, and Entenzahn

No graphs, sadly. I do enough of that poo poo for my day job.

Not This Time - A Shameful Boehner

When it works, repetition of a phrase can be powerful. I’m not convinced it worked here. I think a lighter touch with the theme of his tardiness would have served you better. Especially when you’re dealing with pretty familiar emotional themes (growing old, loss, etc.), overselling it is just going to push you from touching into maudlin.

I like a lot of your imagery, though, again, a light touch is best. Treat your descriptions like spices; too little and it might as well not be there at all, but too much and you may as well be eating garlic right out of the jar and who wants to do that? The moment, in particular, where your protagonist is struggling against someone until he realizes they’re trying to help him, is one I liked a lot. .

Where you excel in imagery, you fall behind in general detail; why is not a single character of yours given a name? It makes the whole thing feel lazy and rushed.

I’m not sure your ending quite had the poignancy you were going for (though in comparison to some of the endings this week, it’s loving Pulitzer material). It felt clumsy, though I’m not immediately sure how I’d improve it.

It’s ultimately not that great a story, but it’s certainly a credible first effort. I can’t wait to see what you can produce with a little more work and attention.

Quite Frankly, I’m Flushed - LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE

I want to be clear; the butts aren’t the problem. You didn’t lose because you wrote a toilet story. You lost because you wrote a boring story.

As grateful as I am that you didn’t go all in with gross-out toilet humor, I wish on some level that you had, because then at least you would have written something interesting. If you’re going to do this, commit to it. Make it funny, make it gross, make it weird, make it something! You made it pedestrian and inconsequential, and “lol toilets” on its own isn’t enough to carry you past that, unless you’re twelve years old, and probably not even then. As it is, you could swap the toilets for literally anything else, and your story wouldn’t fundamentally change.

Daniel is a cipher. Your clever one-liners about how cool he is aren’t an adequate substitute for characterization. I have no sense of who he is, and nothing in your story makes me want to find out. I feel no sense of tension, no belief that he’s in any real danger or distress. He’s lost in another dimension when he’s supposed to be at a wedding, for Christ’s sake! That should be tense! That should be interesting! But you’ve given me no reason to care.

You can do better than this.

The Harvest - ZeBourgeoisie

You’ve written a competent story with some serious flaws, and managed to give it an actual ending. This should not be high praise. This week it is.

I think the biggest problem here is that you focus too much on the gathering of the harvest, and too little on the confrontation between the demon and the boy. I actually do like the slow build during the harvest as it becomes clear just what they’re doing and why. You ramp up the tension quite well, and I believe the Backers’ apprehension. You could, I think, accomplish the same thing in a shorter space, though.

Unfortunately you undermine the atmosphere you’ve created, and replaced it with something that would have been more at home in a Chuck Jones cartoon. The fight didn’t feel like the heart of the piece, and it should have been. Worse, I felt no tension from it. Sure, you tell us that the Backers are scared, but the demon seems more farcical than threatening, and I never once believed the boy was in any real danger.

And, for the love of god, give your characters names!

Gold In Every Slice - Superb Owls

It says something, though nothing especially good, that in a week that has already featured the Toilet Seat Dimension and which will later bring us necrophiliac werewolves, my first real “what the gently caress” moment was in a story about baking a cake.

Before we get to the gold elephant in the room, let’s talk about your prose. It’s overwritten. You could say drat near everything you’ve said in about half as many words, and the extra words add nothing but flab.

I’d like to see the relationship between the Coxes (not Cox's) and Robert Kahn developed further. The tension between their friendship and their professional relationship is something you could make really interesting, but I don’t see that reflected here. I see no evidence, other than your assurances that it’s so, that they even are friends. Done right, this could be the heart of your piece. As it is, Kahn is a plot device, an obstacle to be overcome.

A friend of mine used to be fond of what he described (and I’m sure he read or saw it somewhere, but I don’t know where) as the Giant Robot School of Fiction, a literary theory that suggests that all stories should end with some variant of the line “and then a bunch of robots appeared out of nowhere and beat the crap out of everyone”. Your ending was, broadly, “and then a bunch of gold coins appeared out of nowhere and beat the crap out of everyone”. And it just doesn’t, I’m sorry to say, work at all.

Taken as a mundane event, it completely defies credibility. The presence of gold coins in the flour is something you absolutely would notice well before the cake was served. If it is meant to be mundane, then why didn’t they notice? If it’s not, then what did happen? What significance does it have? There are a few ways you could go with this, and a full-on explanation is only one of those options, but you don’t have any context for this event at all. It just doesn’t fit with the story you’ve established. Worse, it completely derails that story and offers up nothing with which to replace it.

I want to assure you that none of the problems here are insurmountable. You’ve got the germ of a decent story here or, at least, something that could be developed into one. And if you don’t go further with this story, then the next one can still benefit from its lessons.

Calvin’s Business - Jitzu_the_Monk

There were quite a few stories this week that disappointed me. This is the only one that made me angry.

Angry because, goddamnit, you were doing so well. Necrophilia, schmecrophilia, you had an interesting character with a distinct voice, and were telling an entertaining, engaging story with him. And then, just as it’s getting interesting, you piss it all away for a loving awful punchline of an ending. What were you thinking?

His unfortunately-contracted lycanthropy could have been a pretty successful plot twist, for all that it’s not something I especially care to read about. But that ending was lazy, it was cheap, and there’s ample evidence elsewhere in this story that you’re capable of so much better.

The Eleventh Hours - Fumblemouse

This one didn’t resonate with all of the judges as it did with me, but it was one of my favorites. I’m a huge sucker for pulp sci-fi stuff, and you did a lot of interesting things within that motif that I really enjoyed. I loved the connections, both obvious and subtle, between his fantasy sequences and what was going on in the real world, and I enjoyed that the sparse snippets of dialogue told us pretty much everything we needed to know about what had happened without belaboring the point.

A little more clarity at the end, would have served you well. It took me a few reads to get what that last “Jeff’s training took over” implied, and even now, while I’m reasonably sure I’ve got it right, I’m not positive. It’s meant to tell us that Jeff woke up, right? That, like every previous iteration of that phrase, it referred to him successfully taking steps to ensure his survival? I liked it as is, but I certainly wouldn’t have liked it any less with a little something to make that clearer.

Julie, Mon Chéri - Morning Bell

Present tense is a bit risky in prose. I don’t mind it, I think it worked here, but some people are inevitably going to be put off by it. Beyond that, there’s something about the narrative tone that I find holds me at bay. Not a big deal, but just enough to take me out of the story a little.

Your strength, and what got you my support for an honorable mention, is Julie’s characterization. Her plight, whether you sympathize or not, felt real and important. I found myself swept along in her panic, her elation at having succeeded, her dismay when it all comes crashing down, and her final moment of surrender. Your storyline is nothing original or amazing; it’s basically a plot straight out of a sitcom as Ironic Twist pointed out . But the way you render Julie makes it something special.

This is the one ‘punchline’ ending that I felt really worked (at least for me), and I hesitate even to call it that. Because it felt so personal and so real to me. This story, and in particular this ending, lives and dies based on how engaged you are with Julie, and for me, it lived.

Second Chances - N. Senada

You did a great job of establishing a setting, an atmosphere, and your protagonist's mindset. Then the sermon kicked in.

I think the strength of this story is in the relationship between Vincent and Tommy, and the tension between them as a result of Tommy's lifestyle and Vincent's choice. Ease off on the particulars of the conversation and give me more of their emotions and reactions. Right now, Tommy feels like a pretty solid character, but Vincent feels like a soulless mouthpiece instead of someone who's just made a difficult decision about the life of a childhood friend, and I am sure that wasn't what you were going for.

On the bright side, your ending was pretty solid, which puts you in rare company this week.

The Clocks - Brother_Walken

For the love of god, please put some line breaks in between your paragraphs next time.

You do a pretty good job of communicating your protagonist’s state of mind, but you do so at the cost of clarity, and you’d have a stronger piece with some more balance between those two elements. I’d like some idea of just what it is he’s afraid of, and while you drop a few hints, it really isn’t enough.

And, once more, we have a story that’s completely undermined by the ending. It’s an effective image, and the irony of his fear of one sort of doom only to be undone by another is interesting, but it doesn’t really work on either a story or thematic level. Ambiguity can be fine. “And then a completely random and unexplainable thing happened” is not.

Manhunt - Entenzahn

While in conference with the other judges, I described this as the sort of story you’d curl up with on a rainy Sunday afternoon. That may sound like I’m damning it with faint praise, but that’s not really my intention at all. You probably have the strongest and clearest plotting of the week, your characters, while familiar, are well-realized, and above all it was a genuine pleasure to read this. There wasn’t one particular thing that grabbed me by the heart and moved me, but the package as a whole works really well.

hot salad
Jun 25, 2005

Did you just say
the word 'scoff'?


:catdrugs:Entry for MERCBRAWL 5, MERCAGEDDON: How Inappropriate:catdrugs:



Some Kittens Can Fly (900 words)


He's crying, again. One of those soft, slow cries though, at least he's not hurt. So I take my time getting to him. I flip a switch and shield my eyes from both the too-bright light (all lights are too bright at 3 A.M.) and the apartment it illuminates. My sister actually paid someone to decorate this place. As I make my way to Mikey's room, I scan the floor continuously for Mittens. I've already stepped on him more than a few times. She just got him a few weeks ago, but Tara loves that drat thing.

This kid feels more than anyone I've ever known in my life. Are all kids like that? And who thought it would be a good idea to leave me in charge of a child anyway? Tara should be charged with negligence. She said she'd be just gone for the weekend, and it's –what, Thursday now? Jesus. And she hasn't checked in for a couple days. Good thing I'm unemployed.

As I walk in he's leaning partially out the window. I pull him back in, maybe too hard. His face is red and it looks like he's been crying harder than it sounded from the other room. I sit down on his bed next to him, my arm still around him. I try to remain quiet and calm, hoping that he will settle down. “What's wrong, buddy?”

Nope. Trying to decipher what a kid is saying through tears is impossible, it's just syllables and snot and horrible cry-moaning.

“Right...Well, it's gonna be okay,” I try to tell him. He clings to my side and keeps crying. Eventually, he eases up enough that he's able to tell me what happened with the sobs only interrupting between words.

If I've learned anything from movies, it's that you always confirm the kill. I take the elevator down to street level, and step into the early morning cold.

As soon as I reach the corner I see him, poor little bastard. Looks like he landed on his feet, for all the good it did him from nineteen stories. Tara is going to loving murder me. No one around, I grab his collar and get the hell out of there. I'll let the professionals handle this. There are professionals that handle this, right?

Back in the apartment, Mikey cries “Is, is Mittens going to be okay?”

I sigh. “I don't think so, Mikey. Mittens is going to kitty heaven,” I lied. That cat was an rear end in a top hat. Mittens is going to kitty hell if there is any kitty justice in the world.

Mikey cries again. So much crying. “But he asked me to teach him to fly!” I managed to gather between snot-sobs.

“He? Mittens asked you? Tonight?”

“Uh--” sob. “Huh.” More sobbing.

My patience is wearing thin and I could use a drink, but I promised Tara I wouldn't while I was watching the kid. That feels like so long ago now. Why did he have to dream this poo poo up tonight? He couldn't wait until my sister was back?

***

We get home from the pet store, with a new gray cat that looks more or less like the old Mittens, and Mikey names him “Mittens.” Bursting with creativity, that kid. But at least he's smiling again, can't argue with results.

Just as I get the collar on New Mittens, I hear the door, and from it, “I'm baaaaack!” Finally. Now to get out of here as fast as possible. “Sorry I stayed so long.” Mikey sprints from his room and wraps around his mom's leg. “How did you boys get along?”

“Hey sis, not a problem. Mittens and I had a blast.” The cat stood between us, staring at me.

“Mittens?”

“Huh? Mikey. But Mittens knows how to party too.”

She rolls her eyes and calls to the cat, but nothing. “Weird, he always comes to me.”

“Maybe he just likes me more. Isn't that right, Mittens?” No reaction. Little bastard.

“Everything go, okay?” She makes a drinking gesture.

As if I needed a cue to leave. My face turns sour. “Yeah.”

“Look at you, Mr. Responsible!” Says the woman who had a child at age seventeen. But that's an argument for another day.

I force a fake smile and chuckle. I don't think I've genuinely laughed at anything she's ever said. Maybe she thinks that's my real laugh. “Well I should probably get going.”

“Aw, so soon?” A new tone. Equally fake.

I have nowhere to go on a Friday afternoon. “Yeah I should get back to my place. If I leave it empty for too long the rats will just take over.” Mikey laughs, so I smile. But I'm not joking.

I say goodbye to Mikey, and make my way to a mostly empty bar, comfortably far away from Tara's apartment.

I wonder how she'll figure it out? She will, at some point. But I have a lifetime of practice ignoring her. Mikey will probably say something eventually, I never gave him a cover story. I just made him promise that he wouldn't try to teach any other animals to fly. I didn't outright tell him not to tell his mom, but I did suggest that it would only make her upset. That seemed good enough for him.

After a few drinks, I notice a text. From Tara. “DID YOU NEUTER MY CAT???” Now she checks in.

Some Guy TT
Aug 30, 2011



Thanks for the crits! And I know you didn't do me yet- honestly I don't care about that so much as I do the thoughtful analysis of other people's work. It's very helpful for me to compare my reactions to these stories to yours, mostly to see what elements I missed. Which in this case was mostly positive stuff because god drat I did not like this week's stories at all.

So are we not supposed to post the pictures until we do the actual entry? The blank "I'm in" posts are throwing me off, since usually we have to announce our gimmick at the same time we join up.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Sitting Here posted:

make sure to include it with your submission

Cache Cab
Feb 21, 2014


:siren: Inappropriate MercBrawl Submission :siren:

You're Different and That's Bad (But It Takes All Kinds)
1545


Fat, reclusive Bruce was the first domino to fall.

Kevin was used to unsavory odors in the rickety old apartment building, but after a week of that distinct, too-sweet smell of decay, it was time to investigate. He’d gone straight to the floor above his, to the door of the unit directly above his.

He hadn’t heard Bruce’s heavy footsteps for a week; the footsteps overhead were the only contact he’d ever had with the man. Everything else he knew about Bruce, he’d learned from rumors.

So, Kevin was in front of the door, hand poised to knock, and the smell was so powerful that Bruce’s apartment could only be ground zero.

Just then, a door down the hall opened, and another man stepped into the hallway. Kevin vaguely recognized him from the gym down the street--what was his name? John? He looked like a beefy Backstreet Boy.

Kevin realized how stupid he looked, his hand hanging in the air in front of the door like a snake ready to strike. He had to knock. But if he knocked, that somehow made the rest of Bruce’s fate his problem, too. He’d have to go to the apartment’s office or call 9-1-1, then wait around the answer the police’s questions.

But here came John, his boy-next-door face etched with concern.

“Hey, I didn’t know we were neighbors,” he said, then noticed which door Kevin was standing outside of. “Oh, or are you a friend of this guy’s?”

“No, I, uh,” said Kevin. He wasn’t sure why he was so flustered, he was just doing what good neighbors do. “I live under Bruce and I hadn’t...heard...him in a while.”

John nodded knowingly. “You’re worried the worst has happened, but afraid to get involved,” he said sympathetically.

Kevin nodded.

“Well, lets do it together. You knock, and I’ll go get the manager with you if the guy doesn’t answer.”

Kevin felt reassured having someone to bear the weight of the situation alongside of him. He cast a sidelong look at John, and guessed them close to the same age. He felt a swell of unexpected camaraderie, and knocked confidently on the door.

Time seemed to hang, like gum oozing off the bottom of a chair on an especially hot day.

“Try again, louder,” John whispered.

Kevin pounded on the door. “Bruce,” he called. “C’mon, Bruce.”

Still nothing from the apartment, not so much as a groan or a shuffle. The smell wafted insistently out from the crack between the door and the doorframe.

John and Kevin looked at each other. At least they were in this together.

The next hour passed in a blur for Kevin. The manager called the police, the police and some EMTs entered Bruce’s apartment and confirmed the worst: The big guy was dead, had been dead for around a week.

Kevin and John peered into the dark, pungent apartment while the police radioed in about the corpse.

Bruce had died not so much on his sofa, but while enveloping it with his body. He’d been naked, his folds spread out over the cushions and arms of the couch like a extra thick, pink comforter. His head was lolled back, his many chins looking like an expanded accordion, his swollen tongue pushing out of his mouth like a tiny, grey baby crowning from a dead birth canal.

“He’s even bigger than he sounded when he walked around,” Kevin said, forgetting himself for a moment. “Guy’s gotta be, what, eight hundred pounds? A solid grand?”

“What I want to know is,” John said, “How are they getting him out of here?”

Through the wall, was the answer. The wall was the second domino to fall.

Kevin had excused himself back to his apartment. John offered to come along, but Kevin claimed to be queasy, and John didn’t insist.

An hour or so later, he heard the safety klaxons of a cherry picker, and the roar of a chainsaw. Directly above, in Bruce’s apartments, there were the sounds of something massive being slowly shifted. The wood-on-wood grinding noise made Kevin think that they were shoving Bruce across the floor to the exterior wall, couch and all.

He wondered if they would need a crane to get the guy out, then mentally chided himself for thinking that way. The dead man had met his ultimate fate, alone and naked in a stale apartment. He certainly didn’t need his anonymous downstairs neighbor imagining his naked body being hoist out of the apartment building. It takes all types in this world, Kevin thought to himself.

The chainsawing went on until Kevin thought his eyeballs were going to rattle out of his head.

He decided to distract himself with a good wank. It was only a matter of kicking back on his couch and looking up at the holographic GIFs undulating on his wall, each a projection of some well-built young man. Some of them winked coyly at him, covered only in their white skivvies. Some of them lay spread eagle, stroking god’s gift to men seductively.

Kevin turned off the lights via a dimmer switch on the coffee table, so that it was just the holo-GIFs light shining down on his exposed manhood.

He was three quarters of the way to climax when the chainsaw outside made an ugly grinding noise, then stopped. The ceiling groaned and shifted slightly, so that it canted downward in the direction of the exterior wall. The men outside on the cherrypicker shouted to each other. The shouts grew more alarmed. There came the sound of the cherrypicker’s warning klaxons again, and then its engine moving away from the building.

He froze, dick in hand, brain torn between curiosity, self preservation, and arousal.

The ceiling shifted again, Someone outside screamed. Kevin twisted his head so he could see out the window, just in time to see a massive, gelatinous shape tumble by. The ceiling groaned and creaked, as though it had been mortally wounded during the extraction and was coughing up its death rattle.

Someone pounded at Kevin’s door.

“Kevin,” John called breathlessly. “Kevin, you’ve got to get out right now! They’re saying your unit could collapse!”

Kevin scramble to his feet, but was caught in the tangle of his blue jeans. He toppled over and struck his head on the edge of the coffee table. Warm, wet darkness filled his vision.

“You okay, Kevin? I’m coming in…”

Kevin heard the doorknob turn. He flailed futily, fighting the roaring in his ears and its accompanying dizziness. He flung his arm out, reaching for the dimmer, the holo-GIF controls, anything that could hide his shame from John.

The door swung open. Just then, Kevin’s wall collapsed down and out, folding in half like a pamphlet. The ceiling crashed down. Dominoes tumbled.

John shouted; Kevin’s last thought, before he was claimed by unconsciousness, was that he hadn’t managed to shut the holo-GIFs off before the other man had charged heroically into the room.

Kevin felt terror, then shame, then blackness.

~

He came to in a hospital room, mostly immobile in a bed. The whiteness of the room shocked his eyes, so that he could only make at hazy impressions of shapes for a few minutes.

One of those shapes resolved itself into John.

“Hey,” John said when he noticed Kevin’s eyes were open. “Sorry. No one else came for you, so I thought…”

Kevin groaned and rolled over. Now he was some lonely queer in John’s mind; still, it was nice that anyone at all had come.

After a long silence, John said, “I saw. And I don’t mind.”

Kevin inhaled a sharp breath, thinking that he was hallucinating John’s words. Maybe John wasn’t there at all. Kevin rolled over to make sure, found John looking at him with wide, concerned eyes, and a small, devious smile.

“I’ve never…” Kevin had never mustered the courage to approach another man. He hadn’t needed to, thanks to the rainbow of stimulating gadgets and projectors and holos for every fetish. He’d certainly never been intimate with one; he’d grown up a farm boy, and such things weren’t done, or if they were, it was done fleetingly in a shed or the shadow of a barn.

“Are you...out?” John asked.

Kevin looked away. He’d always been too ashamed, hadn’t had the courage to admit it even to himself.

“I’m not putting any pressure on you, Kevin. You’re my neighbor, I’m just trying to be neighborly. I’m just saying, I know how it can be. You feel like a freak, even though you know there are a million other dudes just like you out there. You feel different, and bad, and you wish you could cut this part of yourself out with a scalpel.”

John took a deep breath.

“It can help, you know. To have someone who’s been where you are now.”

Suddenly, Kevin started laughing. He guffawed. Then he was crying--where the hell was he going to sleep? But then he was laughing again, for joy, and for the serendipity of being united with the first man he could ever admit affection for, all because of a dead obese corpse.

He held out his arms, beckoning.

John smiled and slid into the hospital bed with Kevin.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.








My faith in you both have been restored.

Quidthulhu
Dec 17, 2003

Stand down, men! It's only smooching!



Ooo, ooo, can I also request judges picking my picture? I am having a hard time with motivation and I think this will do it.

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


BLO OD E M PR E SS

of

THUDNER-DOME







Muffin





Quidnose


Djeser
Mar 22, 2013


it's crow time again



:siren:Are you a lazy pissbum and can't find a picture you like?:siren:

You can claim one from this bunch, freshly plucked.

Just look at this sample selection! (And there's eleven more if you follow the link.)



If you want to use one, post to claim it. But beware, you may get a flash rule as well.

Djeser fucked around with this message at 06:13 on Oct 23, 2014

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


BLO OD E M PR E SS

of

THUDNER-DOME







Djeser posted:

Are you a lazy pissbum and can't find a picture you like? You can claim one from this bunch, freshly plucked.

If you want to use one, post to claim it. But beware, you may get a flash rule.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!




Any flash rules?

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013


it's crow time again



JcDent posted:



Any flash rules?

Your main character's got something in their hands, and they're not letting go.

Paladinus
Jan 11, 2014

heyHEYYYY!!!


In.
Wouldn't say no to a flash rule.

SavTargaryen
Sep 11, 2011




Oh oh I want this one. Any flash rules?

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013


it's crow time again



SavTargaryen posted:



Oh oh I want this one. Any flash rules?

Friends on opposite sides. Interpret that how you'd like.


Paladinus posted:

In.
Wouldn't say no to a flash rule.

Jesus said, "The Father's kingdom is like a person who has [good] seed. His enemy came during the night and sowed weeds among the good seed. The person did not let the workers pull up the weeds, but said to them, 'No, otherwise you might go to pull up the weeds and pull up the wheat along with them.' For on the day of the harvest the weeds will be conspicuous, and will be pulled up and burned."

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006



In.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






:siren::siren::byodood:MERC-BRAWL 6: MERCALICIOUS: Surreal Halloween:byodood::siren::siren:



It's that loving time again! I'm still working on the crits cause I locked myself out of my goddamn house for a couple of hours so that will be up shortly, but in the meantime, it's prompt time!

This next round is a pretty straight forward one. Write a surreal, spooky story. The main character cannot be human. Halloween is right around the corner, so get your candy corn out.

I'm opening this brawl up to anyone who wants to participate. 2,500 words due November 5th (Yes I know it's after Halloween, gently caress you) 2359 o'clock. Here's the prize list. Winner gets to pick a Game Key from the list and any number of games from the DRM free section. Participants get one game from the DRM free section.

Who will be my four dreamweavers?

Djeser
N. Senada
Tyrannosaurus
Entenzahn

Mercedes fucked around with this message at 19:08 on Oct 24, 2014

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013


it's crow time again



IN the Mercbrawl.

But wait it was a creepy house all along!

OH NOOOOO

N. Senada
May 17, 2011

"Oh, you're tapped out? Tap three, play Darksteel Plate. Tap two, equip it to Platinum Angel."

"Is that it?"

"No. I play Trickster God's Heist and give it to you in exchange for that token."

Mercedes posted:

:siren::siren::byodood:MERC-BRAWL 6: MERCALICIOUS: Surreal Halloween:byodood::siren::siren:

I'll give it a shot, in.


Also, are we supposed to be posting our images or is that just for people requesting them from judges?

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006



And Tyrannosaurus makes three

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013


it's crow time again



N. Senada posted:

Also, are we supposed to be posting our images or is that just for people requesting them from judges?


crabrock posted:

Sitting Here posted:

(make sure to include it with your submission)

It's just for people using the ones I picked out.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011

"Oh, you're tapped out? Tap three, play Darksteel Plate. Tap two, equip it to Platinum Angel."

"Is that it?"

"No. I play Trickster God's Heist and give it to you in exchange for that token."

Merc-Brawl - pictures to inspire (from another thread)









Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






N. Senada posted:

Merc-Brawl - pictures to inspire (from another thread)











Hooo, you best bring something else besides that weak poo poo son! I demand surreal, and if I don't get bizarre, you're in a world of hurt!

anime was right
Jun 27, 2008

death is certain
keep yr cool


loserbrawl entry ??? words

this is technically an entry. it isn't even a story. it's words that i have submitted. i don't even know what the word count is. i technically asked to lose, but i'm doing this because it's funny to me personally, and ruins the sport of it all, and will ultimately get me my goal of not bothering with this in the first place, as i should have had a loser av as of monday. also, i just died, but now im typing again. the end.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






I'm a goddamn idiot

Mercedes fucked around with this message at 18:20 on Oct 24, 2014

Entenzahn
Nov 15, 2012

What will you say when
your child asks:
why did you fail Thunderdome?


in

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AIDT21Km78c

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


BLO OD E M PR E SS

of

THUDNER-DOME








:eyepop:

Cache Cab
Feb 21, 2014




Well this is a little bit surprising, I know I didn't clean it up as much as I could have because of time restraint issues. I'm glad my ideas showed through anyway. Wildest Turkey, good game! I don't know about the prizes though, I don't have Steam, but you can email me at b r o w e r b 0 @gmail dot com (without all the spaces and with the right format on the end part) to talk about it. Maybe someone else wants the prize, I don't know. But there's how you can get a hold of me, if you want. I've never got around to buying private messages on SA.

Watch out, Thunderdome! :black101

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






Hey Dreamweavers, Entenzahn has joined the fray. Let us all welcome him with a brutal literary curb stomping.

wigglin
Dec 19, 2007



I'm joining in for week CXVI.

I have never written a fictional piece. I shall be the miniature hurtle that is just there to make sure you can jump in the first place.

Kaishai
Nov 3, 2010

Scoffing at modernity.

In.

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


Oh. I thought I went in already. My mistake.

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Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


BLO OD E M PR E SS

of

THUDNER-DOME







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