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Meinberg
Oct 9, 2011

ICE-MEIN


SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

PUT YOUR BRAWLS IN MY FACE: BIGGEST LOSER EDITION

Losers and Dishonourable Mentions, check this poo poo out. This post comes with a soundtrack.

Redemption comes only at the end of a bloody pike. I shall engage with this.

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leekster
Jun 20, 2013


I'm in.

Also Muffin I'm up in Leadville for my job right now, I don't have access to my story. Can I get until I get back home today? I'll post anyways, I just had to work a triple shift because the rain had closed the yard down for a couple days.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


leekster posted:

I'm in.

Also Muffin I'm up in Leadville for my job right now, I don't have access to my story. Can I get until I get back home today? I'll post anyways, I just had to work a triple shift because the rain had closed the yard down for a couple days.
YOU ARE A WEAKLING AND A COWARD.



Ok small extension. You've got until I wake up tomorrow morning. It is currently 10pm.

dmboogie
Oct 4, 2013



These three DMs lay heavily on my heart. In for the brawl.

Pseudoscorpion
Jul 26, 2011


SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

PUT YOUR BRAWLS IN MY FACE: BIGGEST LOSER EDITION

My last foray into the Thunderdome brought shame upon my family. In.

Drunk Nerds
Jan 25, 2011



Fun Shoe

Thanks for the crits! Also, thanks for listing those tips. I'm sure I can get better if I just study hard, practice, edit more, and work on improving focus.

I'm in. My gift will be humor (the non-lovely kind).

Also, I'd like to squeeze in more practice by joining SurreptitiousMuffin's brawl. However, I'm going on vacay starting the 14th, so if that is before the deadline, don't sign me up.

That Old Ganon
Jan 2, 2012

THUNDERDOME LOSER

I'm in, and ed.

My gift is an infection.

leekster
Jun 20, 2013


Gone Fishin' - 949

Clark tied the knot over again. This time he threaded it through the hook and the sinker, instead of just the hook. A stupid mistake that a first time fisher would make.

Well this is my first time.

He hid the guide he watched in between his legs so his son would not see that he needed help.

“You fished on the weekends as a kid Dad?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. Papa would drive me out first thing in the morning.”

“Did it take this long to get ready?”

“Not all the time.”

Clark hoped he tied the knot right and looked up to his son.

“You ready?”

“Yeah!”

Clark pulled his son into him and handed him the rod. He was going through what the website said on how to cast well in his mind.

“Okay. So hold it out to the side. Now when you bring it forward flick your wrist!” Clark said.

Sam readied his arm and waited for his dad’s go ahead. Clark nodded and Sam’s arm whipped forwards. The bright green lure soared skyward. Clark was just as happy as Sam to see it succeed. Clark knew something was wrong when it didn’t come down. The lure spun through the air and landed on the shore.

“poo poo…”

“Dad!”

“Oh sorry bud,” Clark pulled Sam’s cap down over his eyes.

“Dad.”

“ What?”

“You haven’t fished in a long time have you?”

“Not like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Let me get the rod ready.”

“Did you fish with spears? Like a caveman!”

“No,” Clark said with a laugh.

Clark turned his focus back to the rod. He was not able to focus because his thoughts of his first time fishing kept getting in the way of things. His mother had bought him a special outfit for it too. Waders, a pair of shaded glasses, and a wide brim hat complete with lures and rope around the edge.

His father told him about the lake they were going to. How clear and blue it was, and that they were going to catch too many fish. Picking out a lure from the tackle box was an honor. He was stumped on which to pick, until he chose one that was made to look like a minnow. The fish would think it is their friend he thought.

The day came when Papa woke Clark up to go. He rushed through getting dressed and ran to the car. His dad let him sit next to him today too. The beige truck set off for the country. Clark hardly looked out the window at the sights as they passed. All his effort watched the lure sway and bob in the backseat. Dreams of the giant fish he’d catch filled his head.

“Why are we stopping?” Clark asked.

“Gotta stop to get bait.”

“Oh. Can I help?”

“Nah. I’ll be out in a minute.”

The car door slammed and Clark watched his dad walk into the building. He turned around in his seat and looked at the minnow. The glass eye stared back at him. Clark wondered why fish liked the lure so much. Was it the smell? The taste? The longer he looked at it the more he wanted to know why.

He crawled back into the car to get a closer look. He tapped the minnow and watched it swing back and forth. Clark grabbed it and felt a prick. He screamed and let go. Blood dripped from the shallow scratch on his hand.

The sight of blood made Clark scramble to get out of the car. He kicked and clawed at the door. Panic set in when he thought he was locked in.

“Dad! Dad!” He wailed.

The latch for the door was finally knocked loose and he bolted out the door. He ran headfirst into his dad.

“Dad! The lure bit me!”

Let me see,” And Papa brought up his hand to inspect the damage. “Ouch. I’ve got something to make it feel better though okay?”

Papa brought out some ointment and a band aid. Softly he applied the ointment to the cut and stretched the band aid taut across.

“Better?”

Clark shook his head yes meekly.

“Ready to go fishing?”

“No I want to go home.”

“Alright bud,” Papa said and shook his head. “Let’s go home.”

When they got home his mother ran out to greet them

“Did you catch any-” She looked at Clark’s hand. “What is that?”

Clark was about to tell her that he grabbed a hook when Papa cut in.

“Clark had a big one hooked. The rod was snapping back and forth. I thought the boat was going to tip for sure.”

“Okay, what about his hand?”

“I’m getting to that, hold on. So the boat was about to roll over and Clark was still going at this fish. The boat lurched back out of nowhere and this great shadow went above us.” Papa paused for a moment. “The biggest fish I have ever seen jumped over head. It was as big as the boat I think.”

“His hand.” She didn’t have time for the story.

“He cut it against the side of the boat when the line broke. It pushed him hard into the side. The cut is real small.”

His mother rushed him inside. Clark looked back to his father and saw him give Clark a thumbs up as he got the rods out of the car.

They never went fishing again.

“Dad!” Sam yelled.

“What?”

“I’m cold. What is taking so long?”

“Oh nothing. Just trying to think of how to tie this knot.”

Sam looked away.

“Fishing is stupid dad.”

“You’re right son. Fishing is stupid.”

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.


SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

PUT YOUR BRAWLS IN MY FACE: BIGGEST LOSER EDITION

Losers and Dishonourable Mentions, check this poo poo out. This post comes with a soundtrack.

Kinky.

Just reaffirming that I am most certainly in because nobody likes a coward.

leekster
Jun 20, 2013


Yeah my earlier post when I asked for an extension was an in for the loser royale also.

theblunderbuss
Jul 4, 2010

I find dead men rout
more easily.


THUNDERDOME XCI - OUR FINEST HOUR CRITS

Now there's probably going to be a fair amount of overlap between what I'm going to say here and what Djeser and Erogenous Beef have already gone over. But maybe if it's said often enough it'll sink in.


Drunk Nerds - Circle of Death
I'm just going to focus on some basic grammar here. Both Djeser and Erogenous Beef mentioned the said-bookism issue, which is a shame because it's basically what I was going to go on about. It's a stage a lot of writers go through (I certainly did) - you don't want to repeat words, because repetition is bad, so you come up with as many synonyms for 'said' as possible, so you don't have to use it more than once.

Here's the secret, though: 'said' isn't a word. It's basically filler - your average reader isn't even going to notice it's there. But change it to some other, weirder verb - 'ejaculated', say, if you're trying to be Conan Doyle - and now it draws attention to itself and just gets in the way. Do you want your writing to get in the way of what you're trying to say?

And please, please don't run your dialogue and actions together into a single sentence. You can say words, or you can screech them or declare them or whatever if you really want. But you can't shrug or plop or blink them. Actions and dialogue are separate. Keep them that way.


Entenzahn - Gambit
I actually rather liked the start of your entry this week. It was well written, and I thought the dialogue rang true. The second scene threw me, though. I was on board with a story about saying one's farewells and moving on, or the like, but the memory wipe aspect kind of came out of nowhere. TBH, the two scenes felt rather disconnected, and either one could have stood on its own without the other with no great loss. Focus on one, or integrate them better with one another.


Meeple - Prophecy
Now the main note I've made here is that the core premise was kind of interesting, but you could have got that across in far fewer words, and thus freed up more space to expand on it. Beef mentioned this: this story could really benefit from more details about Michael's work or the machine, or more importantly about Michael himself. Who is he? Why does he want this breakthrough? Make us feel like this discovery is actually important first, and then take it away.


leekster - Last Ride
I wasn't entirely clear on what was wrong with Cecil here - he falls and messes up his hip, and then he's dying, and then he stands up and actually dies? I did enjoy the rhythm of your final scene - back and forth between short, snappy paragraphs and longer ones - but I wasn't entirely clear on what the significance of his final gesture was. It may have worked better if the relatives (and their relationships with him) had been fleshed out a bit more beforehand.

Also, please use more commas in dialogue. Use them to denote pauses, and mark the breaks between one clause and the next. A sentence like "Cecil I'll be back in a moment okay sweetie?" just makes me think the nurse is blurting everything out in one mouthful.


Starter Wiggin - Say Cheese
This was decently written, but I'm not entirely sure I understood the point. Recreating every photo you've been in - making your son relive your life - is a very odd thing to do, and for most of the story I assumed it was just going to be an excuse for father and son to spend time together. The ending ("now he wouldn't make the same mistakes I did") didn't really tie it together for me the way it needed to. I finished reading feeling more puzzled than anything.


Bushido Brown - Persistence
Your language here felt like it was half way between normal prose and the sort of slightly unnatural style you get in fables or myths, probably at least in part because of the lack of proper names. I could see it working well if you swung even more towards the latter, assuming that was the intent in the first place.

The kill could definitely have been emphasised more. As it is, it comes in the middle of a paragraph and you just breeze past it like it's any other action. Give it more space! End the scene with it or at least give it a paragraph of its own or something.

I was quite impressed by the Hunter's ability to see the lungs in all things.


dmboogie - Larger than Life on the Burning Screen
The first impression I got here was that your setting was really rather bare. We start in a "featureless corridor" and then move into a "deserted room". The guard is carrying a "gun" (no details given), and the two protagonists have a "device" and a "tool". It comes across very shallow, like you've decided that your setting is "sci-fi" without putting any more thought into it than that. I'm not saying I want five hundred words of scene-setting or for you to describe every wall in excruciating detail, but as it stands there isn't really a hint of depth here, and that's off-putting.

Both Djeser and Beef have mentioned this already, but I'll reiterate it: there's a lot of dialogue here, and it really doesn't add anything. It's just filler. You could get across a lot more information in the same number of words.


WeLandedOnTheMoon! - Henry: Portrait of a Goon
From about the halfway mark here I was convinced this was a troll entry. The core idea actually isn't wholly irredeemable - "unbalanced guy projects a relationship onto something that can't reciprocate" could be done in a nicely unsettling way - but you swamped it in a barrage of oh-look-at-this-goon-isn't-he-gross jokes until there was nothing else left. The humour absolutely doesn't work here, and it obscures whatever else you might have wanted to do with this.


Nethilia - Friend of Mine
I had to go and look up the lyrics of the song here. That's a bad thing to have to do during the climax of your story. When I did it turned out that the woman who'd had her boyfriend stolen was singing a song about having your boyfriend stolen to the woman who stole her boyfriend? I didn't really feel like that was an interesting way to conclude it.

The dialogue all seemed rather... straightforward. It told me that Whitney had broken up with Theo, and that the other women were very supportive of her, but it never really gave me any handle on the characters. Jess and Colleen are basically interchangeable. As already pointed out, you could drop one of them and lose nothing.


Tyrannosaurus - Aloha
From the start here I was worried I'd be put off by, "isn't it hard being good at things?" Well, suffice to say I wasn't. Your characters were likeable, I enjoyed the relationship and rapport between them, and it was just an easy read. This wasn't a difficult choice for winner.


More to come later.

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry

Alright you worthless feckless do-nothing babbies, mama's squeezing herself back into the judging chair and my gift to you is:

stories about ultimate, embarrassing defeat becoming a cathartic triumph (if only in the eyes of the protagonist)

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Grimey Drawer

Chairchucker posted:

1131 words and no title screw you. SCREW YOU

-

Luke was attempting to prepare breakfast when Xavier came downstairs and, assessing the situation, said something along the lines of “Whoa what the oh my arggggh!”

“Easy man, it’s me!”

“What? Luke?”

“Yeah, man.”

“Dude.” Xavier looked him up and down. “You’re a bear.”

“Yeah.”

“Why… how are you a bear?” i like this part

“I don’t know man. But it’s making it really hard to prepare breakfast.”

“Yeah I can see that, you might have to let me take care of that.”

“Thanks.”

Xavier picked the packet of cereal up off the floor, along with the bowl. “Do bears eat cereal?”

“I don’t care what bears eat man, I like cereal.” BEARS EAT MAN

“Yeah all right.” Once breakfast had been prepared, and one snapped chair later, Luke resigned himself to eating off the floor. Xavier looked at Luke over his toast. “So… guess you might not be going to work today.”

“I’ve got no time off left after my holiday man, I have to.”

“Right, I hear that, but on the other hand you’re a bear.” effective debating technique

“I can still do my job man.”

“You couldn’t open a packet of cereal.”

“Your point is taken, but it’s all meetings today.”

Xavier shrugged. “All right, not gonna tell you how to do your job while you’re a bear. You gonna put some pants on, or what?” Luke looked at him. “I can’t tell what kind of look that’s meant to be, man. I can’t read a bear’s facial expressions.”

“It’s the kind of look that says I don’t think they sell pants that fit me. By the way, we’re gonna have to take my car. Bet I don’t look so stupid for buying the SUV now, huh.”

-

“Man, this music sucks.” Luke had only just fit. They’d had to fold down the back seats.

“Driver chooses, dude. I usually have to listen to your dad rock.”

“I think the rule should be the person who owns the car chooses.”

“I think the rule should be the person who has opposable thumbs and can work the stereo chooses.”

“Ouch, dude.” Xavier didn’t reply, as he liked to concentrate when he was parking. “Don’t forget to let me out, man.”

Xavier obliged. “You don’t really look like your ID, man.”

“Think I should’ve shaved?”

“I think maybe you should’ve tried not being a bear this morning.”

“I’ll try to remember that for tomorrow. Can you be a buddy and swipe me in?” Xavier did so, and they both entered the lobby and headed towards the elevator.

“You know what,” said Xavier as they entered the elevator, “I’m not sure the manufacturers took bears into consideration when they decided there was a maximum of ten in the elevator at once.”

“We’ll be fine. I can’t be heavier than about two or three office workers.”

He proved correct, and the elevator successfully took them to their floor. that is kind of boring and not really funny like the rest The doors opened, and their OH gently caress. I'M GONNA YELL AT YOU SO HARD FOR USING THE WRONG THERE. gently caress YOU CHAIRCHUCKER. gently caress YOU. WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM. ARE YOU A DUMB? i think you'll approve of that yelling stood Lisa. “Hi Lisa,” said Xavier.

“Hey Xav,” said Lisa. “No one told me it was bring your pet day.”

“It’s Luke. He’s a bear today.”

“Oh, sorry Luke.”

Luke peeped out from behind Xavier. “Honest mistake, should’ve heard Xavier’s reaction this morning. He was hysterical. Screamed like a little girl.”

Lisa laughed and headed towards her office. “Not cool, dude,” said Xavier. Luke did some kind of weird head and shoulder movement. “Is that supposed to be a shrug?”

“Yeah. Still getting the hang of body movements. Oh no. I just had a thought.”

“I believe the answer is ‘in the woods’.” i see what you're going for here, but "where does a bear poo poo?" isn't really the question, it's "does a bear poo poo in the woods?" so "in the woods" isn't really the answer to that.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to restrain myself until lunch time. Anyway, I’m gonna head to the conference room now so I get a seat.” Xavier raised an eyebrow. “A section of carpet. You know what I meant.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thanks, I always fall asleep in those things. Oh man, I forgot my coffee.”

“Dunno if bears really do the caffeine thing.” Luke shrugged. “There we go, that one was a bit better.” don't put another character's actions in the middle of somebody else's dialogue, it's very confusing without dialogue tags.

“Yeah, I think I’ve mastered shrugging. OK, see you at lunch time.” Luke waddled towards conference room 2A, and Xavier headed to his desk.

“Hey Xav,” said Wendy. “Lisa told me about Luke. Is it true?”

Xavier nodded. “Told him to rethink his vacation.”

“Oh yeah,” said Wendy. “Did he say how it was?”

Xavier shook his head. “Didn’t see him until this morning, he must’ve gotten in late last night. Whoa, there’s the boss, look busy.” a little confused. did he turn into a bear on vacation? this part is unclear

They both looked busy, and Xavier made some progress on his stack of work. After a while, Wendy turned back around. “Listen, I’ve thought about your invite.”

“Oh that, listen no big deal if you can’t make it.”

“Well no, I’d love to, but I was just wondering if I can bring a friend? I mean, you could bring a friend too, we can double.”

“Uh, sure. I mean, ordinarily I’d bring Luke, but I don’t know if he’ll still be a bear.”

“No, that’s fine, he’d be perfect for the friend I’ve got in mind.”

“Because she’s a zoologist?” Wendy had already turned back around and put her headphones in, so Xavier shrugged and got back to his work.

-

Xavier hadn’t thought to pack lunch, what with the turmoil of Luke being a bear and all, so when Luke got out of his meeting, the two of them wandered over towards the café. “How was the meeting?” asked Xavier.

“Took way longer than it should have,” said Luke. “Some of them were a bit distracted. You’d think they’d never seen a bear before.”

“It’s not that common,” said Xavier. “Maybe some of them haven’t.”

Luke nodded. “Yeah I guess.” The café only had a single door. “Huh, never realised that before.” His shoulders stuck out either side. “Must be an older design.”

“Want me to check out what the specials are?”

“Yeah, no worries. I’ll just chill out here.”

-

“Hey,” said Xavier as they sat down to eat, “so I’ve got a date with Wendy on Friday.”

“Oh, nice! I’d high five you, but it’d probably break your arm.”

“The thought is appreciated. But anyway, she wanted to bring a friend, so she suggested maybe we double date.” He looked at Luke.

“Well that’s still cool I guess, but – wait, you mean me?” Xavier nodded. “Fine, I guess I’m not doing anything Friday.”

“Thanks man, I owe you one.”

“Wait, what if I’m still a bear?”

“Oh, that’s fine,” said Xavier, avoiding his gaze. “She said that would be perfect anyway.”

“That’d be…? Oh man, that’s just too weird. You are gonna owe me like five or six.”

Xavier shrugged. “I figure I’ll probably accumulate some credit for the duration of you being terrible at everything and needing my hands.”

Luke shook his head. “Doesn’t even compare.”

Xavier nodded. “Thanks buddy.”

Not much to say because I never feel like you take this very seriously so I dunno if saying stuff will change anything about how you write, but why bring up the date stuff and make this mystery of HOW WILL IT BE PERFECT?! and then not resolve it? that's kinda mean.

also I feel like it's just too much [little problem] [easy solution] over and over.

probably on purpose, but a little too many dude/mans for me. got really distracting.

also you use the wrong form of there. Just thought I should point that out again.

angel opportunity
Sep 7, 2004

Total Eclipse of the Heart

MY SUBMISSION FOR THE BRAWL VS SEBMOJO WHICH MUFFIN IS JUDGING

Seb, I hope that you are waiting until the last minute to post. I want a good fight, you piker.

Here is my submission for the brawl: https://docs.google.com/document/d/...DaQFi9SBx0/edit

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Systran Brawl

The smell of home
1550 words


Jann was perched on the rounded roof of the chapel, long legs up around her ears, watching for wolves and waiting for Fathermother to call her down to help him with the steelfoam harvest when she saw the stranger.

At first Jann thought it was an icefall, common enough when the morning sun heated the high seracs. She squinted her eye at the little yellow cloud on the magenta hill of ice that soared above the farm. The blotch grew limbs, became a shape. Not a wolf shape. A person shape.

Their farm was up by the mountains, huddled close in where the good people didn’t go, by a lake that had been mined dry of sulphur long ago; there were deep scars on the lake shore where the townsfolk's lobsters had come to suck it up with their great cavitating funnels.

Further round the ravaged lakeside Jann could already see the gleaming lumps of new-sprouted foam glinting in the red sun. But there was yet no sign yet of Fathermother and the brood; she would probably have time to investigate. She unfolded her legs and scuttled down the side of the church, landing in a puff of orange dust. Her claws scrabbled at the ice on the long slope for a moment then settled into a steady canter. The air was cold and tight with ammonia; she relished the soughing through her spiracles as she bounded off a rise and clattered up the incline past the barn, that rose a thousand steps up to the shape she had seen. When she got there, the stranger was a crumpled pile of limbs, collapsed an arm’s stretch away from the fissure in the ice he – yes, he, Jann could see the headridges -- had crawled out of.

Jann came to a halt, struck by sudden uncertainty, and looked back at the farm. Fathermother was still inside the long low circle of the farmhouse; must have lost one of the brood down a feed pipe again, she thought. The bad people lived over the icewall with bad smells, went the stories. Worse than wolves. Worse than anything. Utkind, Fathermother said.

Jann clacked her beak. Enough maundering. She slipped her hand torch out of its belt-loop and flicked the igniter, then took a careful step forward, the yellow-green flame casting dancing lights on the purple ice.

Close up the man was handsome, a fine curve to his thorax, but dishevelled. He had a strange metal harness covered in deep scratches and something that looked like writing. Jann craned her neck to look closer then stiffened as she caught a whiff of the man’s smell. It smelt of blood, and fighting, and murder. Jann’s forearm tensed without conscious input and the hand torch she was clutching sent out a bright gout of flame.

“GAH!” screamed the man, his eye flicking open. He scrabbled at the ice and tried to run, but lost his footing and slipped, hitting his head on the ice. He slid down the slope, until Jann stopped him with an outstretched leg.

Jann had never seen an utkind before. He looked a little like Fathermother before her change, before the wolf attack that took their last Fathermother. Feeling wicked, she bent down and took a deep breath of the man’s smell. It was strange, and different, but not bad. A sudden intuition made her look back down towards the farm, in time to see the brood scampering out of the house. Fathermother would be behind them. And if he found the stranger he would … what? Utkind. Worse than wolves, they said.

Before she knew it Jann was dragging the stranger back towards the crevice from which he’d stumbled. She settled the man in a hollow where red snow had collected. There was a lump of steelfoam in her belt pouch and she put it on the ground by his claw.

“I’ll come back when I can,” Jann said. “Stay here. I’ll come back. You’ll be… Just stay here.”

The harvest had already started when Jann got back, the brood bounding and bouncing over the lakeside field, nudging bits of steelfoam out of the ice. Fathermother waited massively in the center by the foam hopper, clicking at the children when they became too boisterous. He swung his head around to Jann.

“I saw something up by the ice. A, a wolf, maybe. I thought it was, but it wasn’t.”

“You should be more careful,” Fathermother rumbled. “Call me next time and we will go together.”

As always she heard it in her spiracles, a smell and a sound that said home. Jann bowed her head and scooped up a piece of foam to toss it into the hopper.

That night Jann took a sack of foam from the hopper and ducked through the door flap. There was a sharp tang of methane in the air, probably one of the autumn storms coming through over the mountains. The harvest had gone well, and Jann rationalised as she walked – there was plenty of foam for the brood, it would not miss the sack he was carrying. And tomorrow the stranger could leave, after Jann had asked him about all the things that happened in other places and what other people were like and how everything was that wasn’t here.

Jann flicked on the hand torch a few steps from the cave and called out softly.

“Hello? Hello? Do you speak like a person?”

There was a skritch of claws on the inside and the stranger’s head appeared, his eye whirling in the bright light. “You. I thought I dreamed you and your flame.” His voice was slow and deep, like something liquid trickling over old stones.

Jann tilted her head in acknowledgement, then tossed the sack of steelfoam with her forelimb. It landed near the stranger and Jann saw the man sniff at it through scarred chest spiracles.

“That is very kind, young fellow. You are young, yes? And does your Fathermother know of your dealings with strange-smelling utkind?”

Jann took a step closer and gripped his hand torch. “No,” she said. “He would be angry but I would say you were not utkind because you are no wolf. But there are wolves here sometimes so you cannot stay. Also because… You cannot.”

The man reached down jerkily for the sack, plucked out a piece and chewed it carefully. “I am Harl. And I will not trouble you for long, but my news is bad. The wolves are behind me – many, many -- and will be upon you by the night tomorrow.”

Jann crouched in dismay. “But this is not their season, why should –“

Harl pointed back into the fissure. “Through there, beyond the tunnel, beyond the mountains. The wolves have held a parliament, a new thing, and they have chosen that we should die. I come as a messenger, but my hope is small; I expect that I shall meet a Fathermother and he will dislike my smell and so I will die. But I must try. And if I can find enough of the –“ Harl stopped. His head flicked up behind Jann.

Utkind.” Jann heard the voice, the sound of home, behind him. Fathermother loomed over his head, encrustations of edged chitin gleaming in the yellow-green torchlight.

Harl let his sack drop, held up his forelimbs. “Smell me not, guardian. I pass through only. Your brood can give you the truth of it. There is a –“ A scrabbling came from the crevice in which he stood and Harl pitched forward in a clatter of limbs, bowled over by the biggest wolf Jann had seen. It coiled itself up, a tangle of writhing feelers and spines and bounded over Jann’s head, colliding with Fathermother in a snarl of scythe-toothed rage. Its pincer beaks stabbed and slashed deep into his spiracles before Fathermother plucked it off and slammed it into the ice, once, twice, three times. Jann scuttled across the gore-slick ice and jammed her handlight into its skull and pulled the trigger until it was dead.

She looked up from the flames, breathing deep. Fathermother was shaking, juddering, trying to reach Harl with his claws. “Utkind,” his voice thrummed. “Utkind.” His chest was ripped open, wet ichor coating the ground. Jann reached out to touch the ravaged armour, then shuddered as a puff of smell came out, a smell that said protect, that said change, that said follow. She felt it coil through her spiracles, take root in parts of herself she didn’t even know had been there all along. She looked at Harl, who was clambering to his feet, and knew that home was not a farm or a dry lake or a single brood. Home was them. Home was all of them.

“Back to the farm,” husked Jann “Then, tomorrow, downwards to the lowlands and the cities. We will walk during the day and hide at night.”

Harl stepped gingerly around Fathermother’s corpse, gathering up the sack as he passed. “You think they will listen to us?”

Jann fumbled the torch back into his belt. She could feel the change happening already, her mind was fogging and reforming like the clouds that wove themselves over the mountains on windy days when the storms were rising. “I will make them. Or the wolves will do it for us.”

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Jun 1, 2014 around 09:36

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


WHO IS THE BIGGEST LOSER?

PHOBIA VS. MEINBERG

As most of the IRC channel know, I love dogs. They are the best animal. They are adorable but also cool. The PoV character in your story is a dog. Not a super-smart dog or a furry dog or some dog that's basically a human with ears and a tail, but an actual dog. The dog helps a bunch of people in some way and is a big hero. Winner is the person who can make me smile the most.

1000 words

Deadline: 11:59pm Thursday 22nd Singapore time.

HOCUS POCUS VS. LEEKSTER

I finally got around to watching season 1 of the X-Files last month and it's pretty ok. I want you to write a murder-mystery involving some arcane element of American folklore e.g. Men In Black, Bigfoot, Numbers Stations.

1000 words

Deadline: 11:59pm Thursday 15th Singapore time.

DMBOOGIE VS. PSEUDOSCORPION

Goon Love Is The Worst Love, and the only people who will go on dates with me are not real. Write a paranormal romance, but with a non-standard paranormal beastie. That means no vampires, no werewolves, no angels: none of the usual poo poo that springs to mind when you hear "paranormal romance". The weirder your love-interest is, the better. Don't be gross tho k?

1000 words

Deadline: 11:59pm Thursday 15th Singapore time.

SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at May 8, 2014 around 13:38

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


IN OTHER WORLDS: SYSTRAN VS. MOJO RESULTS

Well drat, this is actually pretty difficult. I like what both of you wrote and you both screwed up in equally annoying ways that detract from the story but don't ruin it. Crits:

Systran - Striate the Stream

I'm reminded a lot of the Radix Tetrad, which is a mixed blessing: I love the world and the language but it tends to waffle a lot before it gets to the found. The language was nice, the world was convincing and there was a nice little plot arc there. Not as much as I'd like for 1800 words, but not as bad as it could've been. My big issue with yours overall was that you didn't follow the prompt as well as Mojo. It felt like Arc of the Dream meets The Left Hand of Darkness, which are cool books to slam together, but not as original or weird as I'd have liked. Apart from the voluntary hermaphrodite thing (which was coo'), it was basically a bunch of space hippies dropping space acid and sharing lots of hairy free space love.

It's got nice emotional guts though, and it manages to deal with sex in a sci-fi story in a way that's not creepy, which is pretty legit. I've said in the past that being emotional in your stories is something you struggle with, so it's cool to see some solid growth there.

YOUR SIN: NOT WEIRD ENOUGH

Sebmojo - The Smell of Home

It's kind of funny that both of you did hermaphrodite things using slammed-together names. DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT = STEAL FROM URSULA LE GUIN I guess. Despite that, world is very cool, language is gorgeous, and it is indeed the sort of totally-alien place that I was looking for. You followed the prompt better than Systran but I feel like your arc was less fulfilling and you probably could've slowed things down a bit more, both for the sake of clarity and also to give the thing some more emotional guts. The only reaction to FatherMotherSisterBrother we get is fear, so they just seem like kind of a dick and their death doesn't hit as hard as it could.

Furthermore, I have no idea what Utkind or Wolves are. From how they were written both of them felt like different species of human, I guess? The utkind are medieval knights and the wolves are like barbarian dudes or something? Or are they just literal wolves? Super evolved wolves in the same way that our dudes are super evolved lobsters? It would've only taken a sentence's solid physical description for each and by neglecting that, you dropped down the ladder a little. In a normal story we could take for granted that 'wolves' are wolves, but your story is so weird that we can't make those sort of assumptions.

YOUR SIN: NOT CLEAR ENOUGH

---

It's close. It's kind of killing me how close it is. They were both good stories with little things letting them down: Systran wrote a better story but Mojo followed the prompt far more successfully. At the end of the day though, we're a storytelling thread, not a "do exactly what the boss says" club, so I'm giving the win by a hair to Systran.

---

NEXT UP IN BRAWL THEATRE: GAMINGO VS. LEEKSTER

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


Having attacked Gamingo with a carving knife, it's only fair that I get just as histrionically angry at Leekster.

quote:

Gone Fishin' - 949

Clark tied the knot over again. This time he threaded it through the hook and the sinker, instead of just the hook. A stupid mistake that a first time fisher would make AM I TO ASSUME CLARK IS A FIRST TIME FISHER?.

Well this is my first time. OH MY GOD I WAS BEING SARCASTIC YOU ARE SUBTLE LIKE A BRICK IN A SOCK.

He hid the guide he watched in between his legs ARE YOU AND GAMINGO SWAPPING HINTS ABOUT HOW TO MAKE CONFUSING SENTENCES? so his son would not see that he needed help. OH FOR gently caress'S SAKE WE GET IT, IF YOU'VE HEARD ABOUT "SHOW DON'T TELL" THIS IS MORE LIKE "SHOW AND TELL".

“You fished on the weekends as a kid Dad?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. Papa would drive me out first thing in the morning.”

“Did it take this long to get ready?”

“Not all the time.” WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR DIALOGUE ATTRIBUTIONS DID THEY RUN AWAY LIKE THIS DUDE'S DAD LOL

Clark hoped he tied the knot right and looked up to his son.

“You ready?”

“Yeah!”

Clark pulled his son into him EW and handed him the rod EEEEWWW. He was going through what the website said on how to cast well in his mind WHOA IS THIS GUY A loving WIZARD WHY CAN'T HE DO A SPELL TO DO FISHING BETTER.

“Okay. So hold it out to the side. Now when you bring it forward flick your wrist!” Clark said.

Sam readied his arm and waited for his dad’s go ahead. Clark nodded and Sam’s arm whipped forwards. The bright green lure soared skyward. Clark was just as happy as Sam to see it succeed. Clark knew something was wrong when it didn’t come down. The lure spun through the air and landed on the shore.

“poo poo…”

“Dad!”

“Oh sorry bud,” Clark pulled Sam’s cap down over his eyes.

“Dad.”

“ What?”

“You haven’t fished in a long time have you?”

“Not like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Let me get the rod ready.”

“Did you fish with spears? Like a caveman!” ARE YOU ALLERGIC TO THE WORD 'SAID' OR ARE YOU JUST HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO WRITE DIALOGUE?

“No,” Clark said with a laugh.

Clark turned his focus back to the rod WHOA THIS DUDE IS loving FILTHY HE GIVES NO FUCKS. He was not able to focus because his thoughts of his first time fishing kept getting in the way of things YEAH I HATE THAT. His mother had bought him a special outfit for it too WHOA THIS IS WHOLE FAMILY IS FREAKY. Waders, a pair of shaded glasses, and a wide brim hat complete with lures and rope around the edge FISHIN FOR BITCHES THIS IS HOW I PEACOCK SON.

His father told him about the lake they were going to. How clear and blue it was, and that they were going to catch too many fish. Picking out a lure from the tackle box was an honor. THIS IS NOT BLAND AND LIFELESS AT ALL. IT'S ALMOST GOOD. WHAT THE HELL IS IT DOING HERE. He was stumped on which to pick, until he chose one that was made to look like a minnow. The fish would think it is their friend he thought. IF YOU'RE GOING TO WRITE THOUGHTS YOU SHOULD FORMAT THEM MORE CLEARLY THAN THIS, FUCKKNUCKLE

The day came when Papa woke Clark up to go. He rushed through getting dressed and ran to the car. His dad let him sit next to him today too. The beige truck set off for the country. Clark hardly looked out the window at the sights as they passed. All his effort watched the lure sway and bob in the backseat WAIT IS IT ALREADY ON THE LINE WHO THE gently caress DOES THIS WHY ISN'T IT IN THE BAIT BOX. Dreams of the giant fish he’d catch filled his head.

“Why are we stopping?” Clark asked.

“Gotta stop to get bait.”

“Oh. Can I help?”

“Nah. I’ll be out in a minute.”

The car door slammed and Clark watched his dad walk into the building. He turned around in his seat and looked at the minnow. The glass eye stared back at him. Clark wondered why fish liked the lure so much. Was it the smell? The taste? The longer he looked at it the more he wanted to know why.

He crawled back into the car to get a closer look. He tapped the minnow and watched it swing back and forth. Clark grabbed it and felt a prick . He screamed and let go. Blood dripped from the shallow scratch on his hand.

The sight of blood made Clark scramble to get out of the car. He kicked and clawed at the door. Panic set in when he thought he was locked in.

“Dad! Dad!” He wailed.

The latch for the door was finally knocked loose and he bolted out the door WHAT SORT OF CAR DOOR HAS A loving LATCH ON IT DID YOU GET CONFUSED WITH MOJO'S BRAWL AND WRITE AN ALIEN WORLD OR WHAT. He ran headfirst into his dad.

“Dad! The lure bit me!”

Let me see,” And Papa brought up his hand to inspect the damage. “Ouch. I’ve got something to make it feel better though okay?”

Papa brought out some ointment and a band aid. Softly he applied the ointment to the cut and stretched the band aid taut across.

“Better?”

Clark shook his head yes meekly.

“Ready to go fishing?”

“No I want to go home.”

“Alright bud,” Papa said and shook his head. “Let’s go home.”

When they got home his mother ran out to greet them

“Did you catch any-” She looked at Clark’s hand. “What is that?”

Clark was about to tell her that he grabbed a hook when Papa cut in.

“Clark had a big one hooked. The rod was snapping back and forth. I thought the boat was going to tip for sure.”

“Okay, what about his hand?”

“I’m getting to that, hold on. So the boat was about to roll over and Clark was still going at this fish. The boat lurched back out of nowhere and this great shadow went above us.” Papa paused for a moment. “The biggest fish I have ever seen jumped over head. It was as big as the boat I think.”

“His hand.” She didn’t have time for the story.

“He cut it against the side of the boat when the line broke. It pushed him hard into the side. The cut is real small.”

His mother rushed him inside. Clark looked back to his father and saw him give Clark a thumbs up as he got the rods out of the car. I HAVE SEEN MORE CONSISTENT PERSPECTIVES ON DEVIANTART

They never went fishing again.

“Dad!” Sam yelled.

“What?”

“I’m cold. What is taking so long?”

“Oh nothing. Just trying to think of how to tie this knot.”

Sam looked away.

“Fishing is stupid dad.”

“You’re right son. Fishing is stupid.” FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERTROLL, STING LIKE ANOTHER TROLL. THIS DIALOGUE IS FLOATING LIKE A CORPSE IN A SWIMMING POOL. USE SOME BLOCKING GOD loving DAMMIT.

SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICSUCKMYCOCKPRETENTIOUS: RICHARDGAMINGO VS. LEEKSTER RESULTS


RichardGamingo

You could tell decent stories if you weren't too busy sucking your own cock about how very clever you are, and burying all the important information six-feet deep in terrible metaphors and overwrought dialogue. I honestly had no idea what your story was about until somebody explained it to me. Was there a witch? Two witches? Something about a chase? I thought it was about an old lady on a boat, then there was a storm, then the storm tipped the boat over for no apparently reason. Important plot points need to be clear and the best way to do that is by keeping them simple.

Go read Hemingway and learn something about elegance. You failed horribly at the prompt: you didn't even try at all. I'm not sure you even read it. I'm willing to tolerate a certain amount of flexibility, but I at least need to see how you got from the prompt to your story and I can't see that at all here.

You've got a nice amount of description, but you need to focus more on the useful stuff before you leap onto the weird stuff. Before you dive into the big weird pool, build yourself a decent ladder out of concrete details. Otherwise you'll drown and just like your video games, everybody will be laughing at you.

YOUR SIN: ARROGANCE

Leekster

Man I feel like I've been chewing on powdered sugar and drywall. I had real trouble getting angry, in the same way I can't really get angry at beige carpeting. At least Gamingo had some colour, even if it was a ridiculous mess of all the paint pots that just ended up brown. What little detail there actually is here is saccharine cliched crap. There's a robot dad and a robot son and they're fishing for robot fish in a lake of WD40 while screaming INPUT ERROR FEELINGS FEELINGS FEELINGS at each other in their horrible screeching robot voices.

There's almost no physical description of anything at all. It's just these big screeds of unattributed dialogue. The moments were you do shine are the quiet ones in between but there's so loving few of them. I feel like I've said this a million times in the 'dome, but dialogue is not enough to hang a story off. Unattributed dialogue is particularly bad and you've got so drat much of it. Actions speak louder than words, and the things your people do are far more important than the things your people say.

The story is a little cliche, but if you'd focused more on the little physical movements and interactions between father and son, you'd have made a lot more emotional engagement from the reader and overall a much better story.

You followed the prompt well so have a cookie.

YOUR SIN: BEING BORING

---

I'm willing to give a certain amount of flexibility on the prompt, otherwise Systran woulda been totally hosed, but there's a limit. Had Gamingo written a far superior story he probably could've gotten away with it but his was a muddy, poorly-edited mess. Leekster's was a dull, mechanical stroll through fatherson bonding land that was completely devoid of originality or merit but it was coherent. Dammit Gamingo, I wanted to believe in you but I'm gonna have to give this one to Leekster.

---

SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at May 8, 2014 around 14:28

God Over Djinn
Jan 17, 2005

onwards and upwards


I'm in for the party. Here, I brought some pride. I'll just put it on the table over there.

RichardGamingo
Mar 3, 2014
I know it's dumb to sign my posts, but I can't stop no matter how many times I'm told, because I'm really stupid and I want to make sure that shines through in everything I do and say, forever.

Best Regards,
RG

Was fun, thanks for the feedback.

Gau
Nov 18, 2003

I don't think you understand, Gau.


Out for this week, it's not gonna happen.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Grimey Drawer

Some Guy TT posted:

Essay Question (1128 words)

Describe in 300 words or less how you've overcome adversity.

Lisa hated this question. the only thing worse than this essay questions is reading a fictional response to it! No matter how many complaints she sent to the admissions board, or how many different organizations she became a proctor not the right word here for, there was always this question or something about as worthless. It was a plague that had infected all mandatory teenage writing. HEY GUYS, THE PROMPT!

This year my grandma passed away.

She groaned. Of course, a dead grandma. What other problems could an upper middle class kid have in this day and age? This was what Lisa hated so much about the prompt. It demanded that kids develop an inaccurate narrative of their life for the sake of being uplifting and inspiring- to trick themselves into thinking they were interesting. this lady has so much to say/think about one simple line. It's like me going off in every crit over ever single lovely line. oh wait anyway, this girl's whole essay is super short when you put it all together.

I didn't know her very well. I'd only met her twice, when I was a toddler and a few years ago on a cross country trip with my parents. this girl's sentence construction sucks.

Why did the admissions board even want this garbage? Were they trying to delude themselves into thinking they were giving opportunities to the poor, the people who suffered from actual adversity? Newsflash- they wouldn't write about this stuff. Not to a bunch of strange white people who have no idea what real adversity is. yeah! you tell us!

The only reason it even mattered to me at all was because of something my aunt said about her last year.

The best reforms in regards to disadvantaged applicants were the subtle ones. Like formatting the application so that the names only came at the end. An obviously ethnic name like Shantae could sink an applicant even to an open-minded woman like Lisa. Racism was subtle. It wasn't going to disappear thanks to feel-good narratives. thanks for the moral lesson. what's your stance on welfare?

My aunt said that my grandma was from a different time. Back when my grandma was a little girl, they didn't have applications like this.

So it's a sob story about the bad old days, before there were opportunities. How in a roundabout way, the grandmother suffered so that's practically the same thing as me suffering, right? Lisa was disgusted. crabrock was bored These explorations of the prompt in particular were the absolute worst.

Back then, my aunt said, people went to college because they wanted to. Because they were smart. If they wanted to live life and work first, that's what they did.

Never mind, this one's going for irony. It was a decent enough attempt to be original, but then, that was only in comparison to all the other stupid cliched ways to look at the prompt "heh heh heh, i'll show those TD judges. Lisa had long since learned that irony was passe- a sort of fake wit used as a crutch by people who were convinced they thought outside the box great description!.

But today being yourself just isn't good enough. My aunt sorts through college applications every day, and she says no one actually wants to go to school.

Interesting, Lisa thought. "I am also an aunt who sorts through college applications! I'm a real deep thinker, but I'm not even for one second going to think about how I talked to my niece at my mom's funeral. not even for a second. I'm cool." A direct appeal to the proctor. Few applicants were this bold, but still, Lisa knew better than to be snookered in by this kind of direct personal appeal why?. Besides, aunt, grandma, whatever- what did this teenager actually believe personally? I BET THE NEXT PARAGRAPH TELLS US!

And that was when I realized that she was right. I didn't want to go to school. But my entire life for the last three years has just been preparing for that.

Lisa rose raised an eyebrow, now fully intrigued. show and tell She couldn't think of any applicant who had tried to get into a high tier top-tier school by discussing how much they didn't actually want to go to school. Well, at least she hadn't read an essay like that this particular month. hurr. way to make the rest of this paragraph meaningless. "THIS NEVER HAPPENS. this month anyway. heh heh."

Even though I didn't know my grandmother very well, at the funeral I realized she was probably one of the last people who actually had the chance to live her own life.

At this point Lisa's mind wandered back to the prompt. As stupid as the question was, it was pretty clearly defined. This was about how the student had overcome adversity. Where was this going? I've felt this way about your story the entire time. So far this was just a recitation of other people's lifes lives and beliefs.

During the ceremony, I couldn't help myself. I ran out and cried. I found a room all by myself and cried for an hour.

Yep. Predictable, as usual. Lisa sighed. She supposed this was a better written essay than average, and it at least managed to get her attention. That would be worth a decently high marking, but mainly because all the other submissions were even worse. she's sitting her trashing this essay and the girl who wrote it, but then is like "yeah it'll get high marks." then why subject us to all this bullshit?

And today, I wrote this essay. I don't want to go to school. I think I'm making a mistake, but I'm going to stand up to all that fear and go forward.

Good, good, Lisa thought. The main thing the admissions board cares about is making sure there's no dropouts anyway. That was the dirty secret not really behind the whole process, after all- learn em dash give out deep sounding essay questions to see which students coincidentally had traits that correlated with high retention.

My Aunt Lisa "HEY THAT'S MY NAME! HOW FUNNY!" said I should write from the heart, and I promise that if you accept me, I'll push forward just like this and never give up.

This was a solid ending- nice closer, the right inspirational cliche. lol, i love how loving stupid Lisa is. Just a complete imbecile. Lisa admired how she managed to get this process down to a science at this point. Sure it seemed cynical, but these were just teenagers anyway. It's not like they were capable of quality writing in the first place.

From the pen of Alyssa Johnson.

Lisa stared at the laptop, and slowly closed it. Her first thought was that it was rather gauche for the girl to write down her name at the bottom of the essay, and claim it was from her pen when the application was digital. Of course that would be the first thing Lisa thought of- not the fact that she'd been reading her own niece's application. lol. this ending is so loving stupid and cliche. it's like, the most boring twist i think i've ever read. and the funniest part is your charcter is so loving daft that she can't even tie THE MOST OBVIOUS CLUES that this is her own niece. Not "hey my mother just died and i told my niece all this EXACT SAME STUFF," to the laughable "HEY THAT'S MY NIECES NAME "

---

Lisa lay on her couch in a drunken stupor cliche, the aftermath of an impulsive binge oh thanks. i was wondering how she'd gotten drunk.. Of course, she remembered every event in startling detail only now?. No one in the family had any idea why Alyssa had suddenly become so inconsolable over an unknown grandmother. But then, Lisa wasn't sure she knew even now. She told Alyssa everything there was to know about the application process. About how to be cynical and genuine at the same time.be cynical *reads essay* "oh great, a cynical teenager " If Alyssa had followed Lisa's instructions perfectly...this was exactly the kind of essay she should have written. huh?

The funny part was, Lisa always complained about the cynicism in the process, and the bad questions practically designed to encourage it. But she had never realized how far the disease had gone. HEY THE PROMPT! An entire generation of kids succeeding based on the power of their bullshitting- and what was worse, an entire generation of adults who didn't know how to read a heartfelt story any other way. guilty.

Look, I'm just gonna be straight up honest with you: I hate this story. The format is some weird gimmick that is NOT enjoyable, and underneath that gimmick lies a really bad story, if you can call it that. Lets break some poo poo down:

The whole premise of this story is bullshit. Universities would not pair a aunt and niece together for admissions decisions. That poo poo is like, super crazy complex and political. In reality, the aunt would just bribe another admissions person to let her niece in. But whatever.

This whole "story" just feels like you ranting about the "system, man." You pontificate so many different ideas and slander so many other things that it just feels like a preachy pile of bullshit, with how you ~really feel~ at the center.

It feels like a giant joke. You're writing for a prompt to be read by cynical judges, and write a story about somebody reading a story from a prompt and being a cynical judge. If your goal was to like, stick it to us, uh, good job I guess?

What is the purpose of this story? Lisa's motivation seems to be "READ THIS DUMB ESSAY." There's no real goal here. There's no internal conflict, she just rants the whole time. There's no real resolution even. "Oh hey, this is my niece's... yeah, it's ok. i wonder why she was so sad about her grandma dying. whatever *gets drunk*.

I wanted to DM this real bad like.

crabrock fucked around with this message at May 8, 2014 around 18:34

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Grimey Drawer

Loner Brawl

Over at the archive, we have a weird springy chart that connects all the brawls. There is a giant mass of mess surrounding sebmojo the indiscriminate brawler, but there are also a few loners floating around the outside.



THIS MAKES ME ANGRY.

I would like to smush at least 2 of them together, if not more.

So I'm judging a brawl between 2 winners of loner brawls. First two to sign up get the slots. If this works out, I'll do another, until all them people is smashed together.

Eligible People:
Lake Jucas
Mister Morn
HiddenGecko
Symptomless Coma
Gau
CantDecideOnAName
The News at 5
Pseudosscorpian

Brawlers:
1) Lake Jucas
2)


Prompt:

After you sign up, I'll enter the prompt in here:

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE

I will also judge a brawl between two of the losers of the loner brawls.

Eligible People:
Iroel
Starter Wiggin
Crab Destroyer
Etherwind
Thalamas
Radioactive Bears (lol)
Bitchtits McGee (lol)
inthesto
QuoProQuid
RunningIntoWalls

IT'S ON

Brawlers:
1) Starter Wiggin
2) Thalamas


Prompt:
Oh two sad, sad losers. Write me a story where somebody is lost and alone. Your story CANNOT have more than one character. Just a dude/lady by themselves. Think Hatchet, but fewer(or more?) moose. The caveat is, they need to be lost in a place people don't normally get lost at. So no woods, or artic tundras. Somewhere real mundane, but I still want them to feel lost and alone.

Write it well enough, and you shall have a win on your brawl record.

Word Limit: 1350 words
Deadline: Saturday, May 17th, High Noon EST

crabrock fucked around with this message at May 10, 2014 around 06:49

angel opportunity
Sep 7, 2004

Total Eclipse of the Heart

remember when cantdecideonaname and inthesto fell in love, brawled each other, and disappeared forever?

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

systran posted:

remember when cantdecideonaname and inthesto fell in love, brawled each other, and disappeared forever?

remember when etherwind was etherwind

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:

remember when cantdecideonaname and inthesto fell in love, brawled each other, and disappeared forever?

Aye, simpler times.

Gau
Nov 18, 2003

I don't think you understand, Gau.


sebmojo posted:

remember when etherwind was etherwind

Is etherwind as famous here as he was in TG?

Starter Wiggin
Feb 1, 2009

Screw the enemy's gate man, I've got a fucking TAIL!
Do you know how crazy the ladies go for those?


As a shameful brawl loser, I'm in.

Nethilia
Oct 17, 2012

Hullabalooza '96
Easily Depressed
Teenagers Edition


IN this week, and I'm offering a cross stitch pattern.

Cache Cab
Feb 21, 2014


Tyrannosaurus posted:

THUNDERDOME XCII: The Great White Elephant Gift Exchange!

Sharing is caring here in the Thunderdome so let’s get into the spirit of giving! When you sign up this week make sure you include a present for your fellow writers. This can be anything: a setting, a character, a concept, a genre, an archetype. Simple. Complex. Whatever you want. Whatever you like. Once you’ve done that, look around at what else has been thrown out there. Pick one and include it in your story. You don't have to announce your choice until you submit and multiple people can use the same idea.

Pretty simple, yeah?

Oh. I should mention, though, that you are required to use whatever you suggested, too. So keep that in mind before you try and pass off something loving idiotic.

Oh. And you’ll have to use one from the judges. Seeing as how I’m the only judge right now I’m expecting to see a lot of stories about

*Elephants*

Literal elephants, toy elephants, the elephant in the room, the Alabama football mascot, whatever. Go wild!


Word Limit: 1400 words
Signs up end Friday 11:00 pm EST
Submissions close Sunday 11:00 pm EST


Jolly Ol’ Judges:
Tyrannosaurus
Entenzahn
Sitting Here

Giddy Young Gifters:
kurona_bright
Starter Wiggin
leekster
Gau
Phobia
Some Guy TT
Meinberg
RunningIntoWalls
Hocus Pocus
Paladinus
Djeser
D.O.G.O.G.B.Y.N.
Grizzled Patriarch
Griff Lee
Bushido Brown
CommissarMega
Kalyco
Thalamas
Drunk Nerds
That Old Ganon
God Over Djinn

Presents!
broken headphones
onomatopoeia
a hardboiled private detective
an irredeemably bad author
Japanese folktales
an unwanted avatar
a piece of a mirror
old VHS tapes
the grocery story
a completely foreign language
a quest for a divine rear end
good booze
a missing person
Our Lord and Savior White Conservative Jesus
a death wish
the phrase "was pure and untamed, and they were loving every minute of it"
roadkill
an old photo album
humor (the non-lovely kind)
infection
pride

UPDATE
Entenzahn is now a judge and has bequeathed to everyone the genre of "psychological horror." So you gotta include that or elephants. I'll give you your third possibility whenever the next judge pops up.

UPDATE
Our glorious and heavenly blood queen has agreed to judge your miserable entries. She wants to see "stories about ultimate, embarrassing defeat becoming a cathartic triumph (if only in the eyes of the protagonist)." That's your third choice.

Now get to writing and try not the poo poo the bed like I know you want to!

I'm in with hands.

Meeple
Dec 28, 2009


I'm in for this week, as I clearly have a lot of improving to do.

I bring technology indistinguishable from magic, or possibly the other way around. These things get a bit hazy, y'know.

Cache Cab
Feb 21, 2014


Meeple posted:

I'm in for this week, as I clearly have a lot of improving to do.

I bring technology indistinguishable from magic, or possibly the other way around. These things get a bit hazy, y'know.

Oh, Clarke's Laws... interesting. I may consider taking this one, but I'm not committing to it yet.

quote:

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from Magyk."

Lake Jucas
Feb 20, 2011


crabrock posted:

Loner Brawl



Eligible People:
Lake Jucas
Mister Morn
HiddenGecko
Symptomless Coma
Gau
CantDecideOnAName
The News at 5
Pseudosscorpian

Brawlers:
1)
2)

I am in. I'd love to brawl HiddenGecko since I know the guy. Let's see if he will rear his ugly mug in here.

Cache Cab
Feb 21, 2014


These brawls seem really fun. Does anyone want to brawl me? I'll bring my "A" game.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Grimey Drawer

Lake Jucas posted:

I am in. I'd love to brawl HiddenGecko since I know the guy. Let's see if he will rear his ugly mug in here.

That'd be awesome, because I'd given up all hope of getting them connected to anybody.

Cheneyjugend
May 23, 2008


This is probably my first ever foray into non-lurker goondom. Hi!

My offering: a society founded with good intentions that ultimately became dystopian.

I'm in... as I gaze doe-eyed at the incoming blows.

a new study bible!
Feb 1, 2009



BIG DICK NICK
A Philadelphia Legend
Fly Eagles Fly


I am coming to this house party with a big rear end helping of coal mining and I will also be bumming some pride from Djinn because gently caress you that's why.

Cache Cab
Feb 21, 2014


Really? No one has the guts, the chutzpah to brawl me?

Anyway, I read earlier that we lose 300 words if we preface our story with a bunch of other stuff, but I think it's worth it for me to lose the words in this case. I wrote this story based on some conversations I had earlier in the day. I had made decisions about how I should talk to my kids about drug abuse that were--and this is difficult to admit--short-sighted and not really well thought out. So writing this story was my way of really internalizing what I learned, and to show how bad things could get if I take such a hard-line and inflexible approach toward drugs (or really anything difficult that kids have to deal with growing up and going out into the world) with my kids. So yeah, I am not adding this preface to "justify my story," but just in case any other parents in here are thinking about how to broach difficult topics with their kids and want to open up some kind of dialogue (which we could do in another thread, not here, obviously). With that said, here is my story:

quote:

Dare To Be A Better Father - 565 Words
“That’s horrible!” I heard my wife bellow into the phone in her hand. I didn’t know yet that this would come to be the most mentally horrific time of my life. “We’ll come pick him up right now,” she said.

“What did he do this time?” I asked.

“Your son was at a rave, and they caught him with MDMA.”

“Oh,” I said, but not with the right tone.

“Oh? You don’t sound surprised…our Danny doesn’t do drugs!”

I remembered catching Danny smoking a joint with his girlfriend, but I didn’t want to cockblock him, so I pretended not to see. Later though I talked to him. "Look, I caught him, yes, and I gave him a talk. I set him straight."

My wife looked at me, her eyes accusing.

#

The thing with slippery slopes is, they are mighty slippery, and they tend to be real shallow to boot. They aren’t cliffs or even steep hills, so you don’t really notice you’ve slipped until you’re at the bottom. That’s how it happened with Danny.

When I found Danny passed out with a needle in his arm, I thought of how I handled it after I caught him smoking weed with his girlfriend.

“Hey, Dad, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, what about? You’re using condoms, right?”

“Uhh, whatever. I just wanted to let you know that I smoked weed a few times. I think you might have seen me the other night, and I’ve felt really guilty about it ever since. I did it ‘cause I wanted Megan to think I was cool and more experienced or whatever...so I bought a little bit. I had to read a bunch of websites to even figure out how to roll a joint, and--”


I got really angry. Danny was trying to open up to me and be a good kid, but I was thinking too black-and-white, and I was worried my wife would get mad if I didn’t handle this like a “good Father.”

“God damnit! How can you be so stupid, Daniel? You know what happens if you get caught with that stuff? Jail!”

“I know, Dad, it’s just--”

“You don’t know poo poo! A kid like you in prison, you’ll get torn up! The law may not always be right, but you have to respect it. It’s right most of the time, and that’s good enough for anyone!”


Danny stormed out then, and I knew I’d never get him back.

#

Another phone call, this time from rehab. The rehab that had eaten up our 401k. Danny had run away. We called some of his friends, but none of them had heard from him in years; they were all off at college and building lives for themselves.

My wife started screaming at me, and I wanted to hit her. I thought of how I had ruined things with Danny, and I restrained myself just enough to not touch her. I punched the mirror instead. Shards spilled all across the floor, my hand bled, and my wife cried. I was crying too, but too angry for tears.

I looked into one piece of the mirror and saw my anger and hate and loss reflected back at me in from the broken mirror, a mirror just as broken as my life had become.

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006

I failed to submit because I was so excited about New Zealander Tim Price winning the Burghley Horse Trials on the quirky but freakishly talented Ringwood Sky Boy

Did somebody bring a bunch of stupid pills to the party?

Don't introduce your loving story.

You can tell me your title, your wordcount, and the poo poo you used. Anything else is just wasting my time. gently caress.

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God Over Djinn
Jan 17, 2005

onwards and upwards


Cache Cab so are you performance art or what?

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