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Is there any precedent for an entry getting a DQ and a loss at the same time?
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Jul 18, 2014 16:49
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tbf I think Sithsaber should keep his avatar since it also serves as a public warning. If you had a Sithsaber in your thread, you'd want to know it too.
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Jul 18, 2014 16:54
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God Over Djinn posted:Is there any precedent for an entry getting a DQ and a loss at the same time? Sort of. One entry received a loss in part for being submitted three days after entries closed. Nothing bars the door to the losertar save for the mercy of judges.
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Jul 18, 2014 17:02
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God Over Djinn posted:Is there any precedent for an entry getting a DQ and a loss at the same time? I thought we were allowed to edit. Here's a absolutely new brawl work. 1900 words quote:
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Jul 18, 2014 17:05
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QuoProQuid posted:are you for real 
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Jul 18, 2014 17:05
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QuoProQuid posted:
holy fuk lol
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Jul 18, 2014 17:06
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What the hell is self plagiarism, and where is it against the rules? And that's not fan fiction, that's just disembodied voices. Focus on the brawl if I should be disqualified. Sithsaber fucked around with this message at 17:16 on Jul 18, 2014 |
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Jul 18, 2014 17:08
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If you want a critique of your work you can get it in another thread man, you don't have to try to repurpose this one (not to mention your writing) Also, the problem with claiming your work as original after previous work was proven not to be just minutes earlier is that no one will believe you
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Jul 18, 2014 17:11
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Sithsaber posted:I thought we were allowed to edit. For future reference, we aren't. From the OP: Sitting Here posted:It’s important to note that once you’ve posted your story, the time for edits is over. Use the preview button, for god’s sake. Stories that have been edited will be disqualified.
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Jul 18, 2014 17:12
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Kaishai posted:For future reference, we aren't. From the OP: I thought that meant that you couldn't edit submissions after they were posted. That's why I didn't improve the duck rap.
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Jul 18, 2014 17:14
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Sithsaber posted:What the hell is self plagiarism, and where is it against the rules? If you don't want to do the work, then why would you bother entering? We don't give out prizes.
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Jul 18, 2014 17:15
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Sithsaber posted:What the hell is self plagiarism, and where is it against the rules? And that's not fan fiction, that's just disembodied voices. Have you considered that when you enter a weekly writing exercise it is to hone your writing skills and not dump old stuff you have written on unsuspecting people. In addition, it's way over the word limit and likely doesn't meet the prompt. Also dude you refer to some adventure thing cartoon in this pool of word vomit out of nowhere and I really don't know what to say.
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Jul 18, 2014 17:16
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God Over Djinn posted:If you don't want to do the work, then why would you bother entering? We don't give out prizes. Input on story changes (the prompt was insanely close to what I was meaning to edit) and the brawl kind of took up more time than I thought it would. Although I still am saying that I didn't know "self plagiarism" was against the rules, I'll avoid doing so in the future.
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Jul 18, 2014 17:19
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8PyTo6NyXA
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Jul 18, 2014 17:22
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The Saddest Rhino posted:Have you considered that when you enter a weekly writing exercise it is to hone your writing skills and not dump old stuff you have written on unsuspecting people. In addition, it's way over the word limit and likely doesn't meet the prompt. 1. It was 22 words over 2. The voices were in the dream 3. The only thing that some people may say that wasn't checked off was depression, although I did edit a few sentences in about that. I could pull it down and just leave the brawl up.
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Jul 18, 2014 17:22
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Sithsaber posted:Input on story changes (the prompt was insanely close to what I was meaning to edit) and the brawl kind of took up more time than I thought it would. Although I still am saying that I didn't know "self plagiarism" was against the rules, I'll avoid doing so in the future. Thunderdome isn't the kind of place that has a list of rules. If you want to know what's acceptable versus what'll get you laughed out of the thread, and the obvious answer ('don't waste peoples' time') isn't doing it for you, try reading for a few weeks before you post again.
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Jul 18, 2014 17:23
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My brawl piece will still kick your brawl piece's rear end
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Jul 18, 2014 17:24
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Sithsaber posted:1. It was 22 words over  The last time someone tried to rulelawyer me, I had her grounded and did not allow her to watch Frozen for the fourth time that evening. She's also 9, and my niece.PS: you still broke them regardless. PPS: I'm an IRL legal professional btw.
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Jul 18, 2014 17:27
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Sithsaber posted:What the hell is self plagiarism, and where is it against the rules? And that's not fan fiction, that's just disembodied voices. "Just as researchers do not present the work of others as their own (plagiarism), they do not present their own previously published work as new scholarship (self-plagiarism)... When the duplicated words are limited in scope, this approach is permissible. When duplication of one's own words is more extensive, citation of the duplicated words should be the norm. When feasible, all of the author's own words that are cited should be located in a single paragraph or a few paragraphs, with a citation at the end of each." American Psychological Association. (2010). Publication manual of the American Psychological Association. Washington. QuoProQuid fucked around with this message at 20:17 on Jul 18, 2014 |
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Jul 18, 2014 17:28
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Sithsaber posted:1. It was 22 words over "Officer, I was only going 22 miles over the speed limit!" "Why you being a little bitch, I only stole 22 dollars out of your wallet!" "Honey, I only slept with 20 women besides you. Oh, and 2 men." Mercedes fucked around with this message at 17:32 on Jul 18, 2014 |
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Jul 18, 2014 17:29
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The Saddest Rhino posted:PPS: I'm an IRL legal professional btw. Slow down, champ The amount of validation you're giving this guy is more than required
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Jul 18, 2014 17:33
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Mercedes posted:"Officer, I was only going 22 miles over the speed limit!" So I should be fined, not given five years. I may be wrong, but I thought going over or significantly under the limit led to word penalties which over time would lead to more word penalties. I'm probably wrong though (USER WAS PUT ON PROBATION FOR THIS POST)
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Jul 18, 2014 18:17
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Now now, it's not fair to ask him to chop 22 words out of his brilliant masterpiece. Would you chop 22 body parts off a baby? Think about it.
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Jul 18, 2014 18:44
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Sithsaber posted:So I should be fined, not given five years. I may be wrong, but I thought going over or significantly under the limit led to word penalties which over time would lead to more word penalties. "Officer, I was only going 22 miles over the speed limit!" "Next time be careful son. You are hereby penalized 25 miles per hour. If you're in a 10 miles per hour zone, you better be going in reverse." "Honey, I only slept with 20 women besides you. Oh, and 2 men." "My heart is broken. If you want this marriage to work out, your new infidelity limit is 5 women and 1 man." That is how dumb you sound right now. Word limits are there for a reason. You break them at your own peril. You would know that word penalties are not a thing if you would have lurked a little bit more or read the drat OP. You've been told to read the OP many times, yet every time you smash your face on the keyboard I get this burning sensation behind the eyes that tells me you haven't. Read the OP
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Jul 18, 2014 18:46
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In for the bingo.
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Jul 18, 2014 18:57
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I legit would be fired, kicked out of my program, and never allowed back in Academia if I self-plagiarized. Do you realize that all of these issues, indeed EVERY issue you've had so far would be solved by you using reading comprehension and common sense instead of just rushing to mash the post button? jesus gently caress. edit: what the gently caress is a word penalty? and where the hell did you arrive at that conclusion?
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Jul 18, 2014 19:23
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 Flash Geis Sithsaber is now anathema. So help me, if I see anyone responding to him in this thread once he's off probation, I will close the thread and y'all can go start a big kerfuffle with the mods. Judges, you can DQ/declare him loser as you see fit, but honestly I think much like with the proverbial drunk stranger who stumbles into your campsite, it's better to ignore him until he stumbles off. I didn't care about it in the FA thread, but Sithsaber has worn out his value as an entertaining sideshow in Thunderdome. Sithsaber, piss off until you can post like a normal person. You're just providing endless fodder for mockery and it's embarrassing.
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Jul 18, 2014 20:12
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Throwing in la serviette for this weekend & toxxing myself and such next time.
D.O.G.O.G.B.Y.N. fucked around with this message at 01:25 on Jul 19, 2014 |
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Jul 18, 2014 20:46
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Here is my Thunderdome entry. It's pretty early as I've got other stuff I've got to do, but I put a decent amount of time into it, more than some other entries. I actually kind of like it even if everyone else probably won't. I hope it's okay that I've withheld my five BINGO selections until the end. I thought it would be better to give the option of going in blind, but feel free to scroll down and look if you want to, it won't make me sad. --- The Fate of the Tale of Black Jesus (almost titled "The Curse of the Tale of Black Jesus") (1202 Words) Google Drive link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UqFEeWs7MJN3RYzWHI3MB7TJjrK-44pihtf_dZ7kUNw/edit?usp=sharing
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Jul 19, 2014 00:31
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Sitting Here posted:
That's fair. I might not have gotten theop of this thread, but that shouldn't have stopped me from reading the op's of its antecedents. If I ever do another of these, I will wait to the last possible day to sign up and hopefully post at the same time to avoid controversy. You don't have to read what I write. Ps. @Gau, Don't use this shaming to run away from our brawl. I may have done the ultimate no-no in the bingo competition, but you were lazy this week as well. With my final thunderdome post I mock how you have abandoned your challenge. Beat me (and you undoubtedly will most likely) with honor. Self flaggelating with shame, Sithsaber (USER WAS PUT ON PROBATION FOR THIS POST)
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Jul 19, 2014 01:41
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Entenzahn posted:
Awesome, I always liked Escher. By "painting", I assume you mean "print". Thanks!
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Jul 19, 2014 02:09
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Hello I will be your Tyrannosaurus this evening. SIGN UPS ARE CLOSED even though every goon in goon land signed up this week.
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Jul 19, 2014 04:05
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Apparently someone signed up during that massive trainwreck. Let's never speak of it again.Ausmund posted:In for the bingo.  Considering handing out some free spaces. Not sure, sign-ups are over but whatever, I'm still up, you up?
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Jul 19, 2014 05:17
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Eh? What's all this, then? Guys, we're well over 2 MILLION words, in just under two years. To put things in perspective, we're just 1,262,822 words away from writing the equivalent of the Malazan Book of the Fallen. Steve Erikson wrote three million, three hundred and ten thousand words of windbaggery. I challenge you, Thunderdome, to write at least 3,310,001 words by (around) August 3rd, 2015. 
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Jul 19, 2014 07:31
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Cruelty 1198 words Rae dreamed one night that her wife Marisole had never fallen victim to a respirator unsuitable for invasive atmospheres. She was leading her on a chase through a space station, bounding and racing through the corridors while Rae ducked in and out of side passages and tiny chambers, giddy at the thought of popping out of a lucky door and cornering her. Finally, Rae dropped from a vent and trapped Marisole at an airlock. When Marisole talked, she may have said something delightful, Rae could not remember; but she spoke in her flat, unsexed prosthetic voice. The disgusting detail spilled over the dream. The airlock tilted and whirled away at a sickening angle, and Rae turned to flee but could not. Rae awoke and glared at her bunk's display's ticking time app, letting her disgust subside into numbness until sleep almost found her again. After stretching her calves and rotating her neck and wrists, she activated the display. A bulletin proclaimed that Adam Dominguez, the Highwayman, had been captured by station rangers in the early morning and would be executed at 00:00. The Highwayman, captured alive! She envisioned grizzled rangers cornering him on some abandoned asteroid and stunning him, while suspecting it had been a mere treachery. One great question remained, and it made her tingle with hope. Were his organic tissues still up for grabs? She rose from bed and in her cabin's ambient light, donned her jumpsuit. It was 05:24. She hurried through the corridors to the hospital deck, dodging maintenance workers and cleaners, and then to Marisole's suite, a chamber she shared with three other long-term patients. Rae awoke Marisole with her usual tap on either cheek. “You're so early,” she said, her prosthetic voice modulated too loud for a pre-breakfast hour. Another patient stirred. Rae offered her wife a hand. She took it and lifted herself from bed, then adjusted her abdominal brace and followed her into the passage. Rae smiled. “We could get you a new trachea,” she said. Her respiratory system's cells were too damaged and risk-prone to be duplicated. Their insurance was nowhere close to paying the cost of a donor or a farmed organ. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “There's an execution at midnight. I want to put a bid on the tissue.” Marisole softened her voice by pressing on the side of her neck. “The triad buys everything. They're everywhere in this station now.” “I'll go to the triad.” “They don't know you. They don't know me. Rae, this is dangerous.” “Remember when I installed the pipes in their new spa?” “God, you're stupid. Don't get mixed up in this. Aiya, I want to go back to sleep.” At that, Rae curled her lip and seized her wife's hand. As a rebuke about how stubborn and pessimistic she was coalesced on Rae's tongue, Marisole spoke. “Forget about this,” she said in her flat voice. “Things could get better someday. Our insurance could upgrade.” Marisole squeezed her hand and her gaze dropped. Before the accident, she might have started crying. But having already endured tribulation Rae could only imagine, she merely shrugged. “I won't forget it,” Rae said. Marisole raised her chin and kissed her. The sour, clinical taste of her wife's saliva marinated in her mouth as Rae returned to her cabin to equip herself for the day. She hurried to first breakfast, drank her nutriblend. The hall, often subdued during first breakfast, buzzed. Every display played footage of the Highwayman's exploits. Rae, a second breakfast woman, knew none of the people sitting by her, and no conversations delayed her mission. She left the hall and followed the inner ring corridor to the sector where the triad held court. To Rae, nothing had seemed sinister about the sector. Its lighting, structures and decoration suggested nothing to her. But she had seen many pass through with fidgeting hands and backward glances. Now she entered the sector as a petitioner and felt dread. A year ago, she had installed plumbing in Mr. Bai's flagship spa. She walked inside and asked the attendant when Mr. Bai would be available for an audience. The attendant vanished behind a curtain, and a big man with a purple scar on his neck replaced her. After Rae told him each detail about her intentions several times, he led her to a small, screened chamber where Mr. Bai sat a sofa before a red tea service. He wore a plain robe, and his tattooed skin had a flush that suggested a recent bath. He motioned for Rae to sit on the cushion opposite him. “Good morning,” he said. “I remember you. You did fine work building the pipes here.” “Thank you, Mr. Bai.” He poured two cups of tea. Rae shifted, unsure if she should take the first sip, or give the privilege to her host. Mr. Bai sipped the tea. “Your finances worry me,” he said. “I accessed your records and found several loans. Your job does not pay poorly, but it does not pay well. Your wife is on disability. But money is not everything.” Rae raised her cup with an unsteady hand and swallowed the tea. “The salvage boat Missing Score is in dock 3. My men will call you in two nights to see the ship's water system. I promise that it will be fast and safe.” Rae held the empty teacup in both hands, making herself half-sick imagining creeping into a ship and committing sabotage under the eyes of triad goons. But she remembered her dream, and imagined her wife's quiet misery. She bit her lip. “I can do it.” With a faint smile, Mr. Bai nodded. “Excellent. My doctors will work as soon as possible. Goodbye, Rae.” When she left the spa, she could not help but break into a gallop. She would have begun celebrating, but her shift was about to begin. Emergency klaxons erupted, and she froze. The wall displays blared to life and and showed the Highwayman, disheveled and dressed in a prisoner's stunsuit. “Attention: Adam Dominguez has escaped custody, and is believed to be armed. Remain in your cabins or place of work.” She trembled, then swore at the display's apparition, as if daring it to stay there. The announcement repeated, and she knew where she had to go. She raced for the hospital deck. Pain burst in her neck, but before she could scream, a rippling numbness cooled the torment. She hit the floor, registering the event as if watching someone else do it. Two pairs of arms lifted her. Her pulse dragged as they steered her through the halls like the prow of an old ship. She willed her head to loll to one side and saw the Highwayman's face beside hers. Her pulse spiked, but her outrage gave no strength to her body. They dragged her into a dock. A pack of security officers fired stun darts. The Highwayman and his posse returned fire as they beelined towards a ship. When they reached it, Rae was dropped like a cold fish outside the airlock. She watched the ship escape the dock to the boom of gunfire until her tears obscured everything. 
Alpacalips Now fucked around with this message at 04:15 on Jul 21, 2014 |
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Jul 19, 2014 17:22
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Sitting Here posted:This should go without saying, but we've seen it crop up a bit: This issue was dormant for a while, but it's popped up again. Please, for the sake of your friendly neighborhood archivists, put the text of your entry in the main body of the post.
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Jul 19, 2014 17:47
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Judgment: Djeser-Gau-Phobia brawl This wasn't a hard brawl to judge. Out of the three participants, only two submitted, and the difference in the quality of stories was clear. Gau wrote a story that followed the prompt, with some reservations. Djeser forgot that corpses aren't characters, and neglected his two remaining characters to focus on the McGuffin instead. Gau wins. Full crits: Gau Djeser
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Jul 20, 2014 04:47
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Phobia posted:
 Afraid of the Duckness Brawl quote:Anatidaephobia: The fear of being watched by a duck Write a story about someone who is obsessed with/afraid of/schizophrenic about one or more kind of anatidae. Special rules Phobia: your story features mathematics in some way DuckyB: a key scene of your story takes place in or around a ball pit 2500 words max Deadline: Sun, August 3rd, 23.59 CEST ---------------------------------- Fuschia tude posted:Awesome, I always liked Escher. By "painting", I assume you mean "print". yeah or just GIS 'M.C. Escher' like I did
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Jul 20, 2014 11:33
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The Girl from Cleveland (1402 words because I am technically still brawling with Sithsaber) July 20, 2001 Sutherland, NE Henry and Myrtle puttered into the small town, nearly out of gas. From helmet to boots, he wore a thick layer of dust and sand. Myrtle had been a shiny green Vespa when he rode out of Reno; now she was a sort of greenish-grey with brown splatters. For two mornings, he’d said he was going to clean her when he got to the next town; as the sun went down on the third day, he was once again far too tired from his ride to clean anything. He attempted to pat and wipe the dust off, but this only created more dust. Resigned, he pulled off his helmet and staggered into the diner. The waitress handed him a menu. “Where ya from, honey?” she asked, at once bubbly and concerned. “Reno,” he answered, coughing up some of the road. She brought him a glass of water. “You rode that little moped all the way from Reno?” she said. “Oh, hun, you don’t got far to go, do ya?” “Yeah,” replied Henry. “I’m going to Ohio.” She cocked her head. “Why on earth are you goin’ to Ohio?” “I’m in love with a girl,” he answered, “and we’re meeting at a place called Cedar Point. We’re going to get married.” “Well isn’t that just too sweet!” The waitress laughed. “You hear that, Dave? This boy is riding a little moped across the country for his one true love! Now that’s romance.” A balding man turned away from the grill. “Susan, you tell him his meal’s on us,” said Dave, “whatever he wants.” “You guys don’t have to do that,” he said. “Oh, you don’t worry about it,” answered Susan, “I’ll fix you right up.” She took his menu. “You known this girl for long?” Henry nodded. “Five years,” he said. It was technically true; they’d met five years ago on one his parents’ ideas of a vacation. This one had been to visit family in the delightful tourist destination of Detroit. The highlight had been a two-day visit to Cedar Point; after a week in his aunt’s smoky house, the amusement park had been like escaping to heaven. He’d met Amy there. They were neighbors at the campsite, and Henry’s gregarious father had invited her family to a late dinner. Henry and Amy had fallen into each other the way only two fifteen-year-olds can. They talked for hours, and finally shared a single kiss under the moonlight before returning to their families. The next day, they were inseparable. They rode all the rides, ate churros and snow cones, laughed and screamed and held hands. When Amy had to go, Henry’s heart had sunk lower than he’d ever felt. The flight home had been miserable. Henry tried to offer Susan a tip, but she’d waved it off. “You just go find your girl,” she said.”Make an honest woman out of her before anything silly happens, you hear?” - Laying in his tent, Henry flipped his phone open and powered it on. The texts rolled in: Mother just let me know you’re okay, hun Sweetheart good morning my sweet love thinking of you today. bought my bus ticket. ilu i hope your okay <3 wish we could talk more baby. why cant you charge your phone? call me okay? Tim your mom’s lookin for you dude, you should call her Amy smiled at him from the background - an old picture, but one of his favorites. Her chocolate hair framed a cute, round face with an irresistible smile. He closed his eyes and thought of her five years ago, of her laugh and her arms around him. The one long, passionate kiss they’d shared. It seemed like yesterday. Henry rooted through his saddlebag and pulled out a small box. He just held it, knowing what was inside. He’d worked overtime at the car wash and saved all summer for this ring, this trip. For his future with Amy. He placed the ring in the endtable and dialed. “HI! How are you?” “Good. Tired.” “I love you. “I love you too.” “I can’t believe I’m going to see you soon!” “Four days!” “Yeah!” “I love you.” “I love you too.” - July 22, 2001 3 miles west of Rantoul, IL Like a dam releasing the spring rain, doubt overflowed in Henry’s heart. He’d rode all of today with a broken heart. What if Amy didn’t want him? What if she’d moved on? He was driving all the way across the country for her; she was only taking the bus an hour or two. Maybe she’d take one look at him and decide that she could do better. Maybe she wouldn’t show up at all. Maybe she’d been playing him the entire time. It didn’t help that Myrtle had been acting up all day. She was losing power off and on, slowing to 35 or even 30 for a mile or two before picking back up. Henry knew that something was wrong, but his experience repairing Myrtle was limited to dropping her off at his cousin’s shop. Myrtle quit in sight on Rantoul. Henry kicked her over hard, but she sputtered and died. He checked: plenty of gas. Eventually he got her to idle, but as soon as he tried to drive the engine would sigh and stop. Despondent, Henry walked Myrtle into Rantoul. Just inside the city limits, he saw an auto shop in a gas station. Henry didn’t have much money, but he had two choices: try to get Myrtle fixed, or leave her here and buy a bus ticket - either to Cedar Point or home. Neither appealed. The mechanic’s jumpsuit said he was “Bob.” Bob had chuckled at Myrtle; Henry was used to this reaction. He shot a sour look at the greasy man. “Can you fix it?” he asked. “I’ve got to get to Sandusky tomorrow.” “I’ll take a look after lunch,” answered the mechanic. Henry scoffed and trudged across the street to sample ‘Champaign County’s Best Chinese and New York Steak.’ Bob apparently took long lunches. Henry waited outside until nearly one o’clock, and then inside for another half-hour. Finally, the mechanic appeared with what appeared to be a brick of caked dirt around metal. “Well, here’s your problem,” he said. “How much will it cost to fix?” asked Henry. He could already feel his wallet shrinking. “Nothing at all,” answered Bob. “This is your air filter. You gotta clean it. Just soak it in gas for a few hours, that should get you on the road again.” “Can you do that?” Henry asked. “I’ve got a gas can on the frame.” “Sure, boy,” said Bob. As he rode out of Rantoul, Henry’s smile stretched across his face. Myrtle was running like a dream again. Amy was ready and waiting for him. In a week, they’d be married. Two young kids in love, perfect, as it should be. Nothing in the world could stop them. - Jul 24, 2001 Sandusky, IL It was Henry’s first night in a bed since last week. He woke up feeling like gold. He showered for an hour, washing off the road at long last. In the mirror he shaved and gelled his frosted tips. He put on the outfit he’d chosen especially for this occasion: his favorite shirt, his best jeans, actual shoes instead of boots. Henry picked up a dozen roses on the way to Cedar Point. The ticket-taker gave him a strange look, but then smiled. Everyone loved a romantic. Henry hurried across the park to the bandstand; he didn’t want to be late! He could barely contain his excitement - he was so close. There, he could see the bandstand. No one was there. He’d wanted to be first. He steadied himself, took a breath, and stepped into the bandstand. Henry waited for hours. A girl hung around the bandstand too, her face growing increasingly disappointed. Amy didn’t have a cell phone, so he couldn’t call her. Had he got the time wrong? Impossible, Amy had called him as she left. The girl started to cry, and Henry knew how she felt. He wondered what rear end in a top hat had stood her up and left her here to sob. He thought about talking to the poor girl, but that would only make it worse. Besides, she wasn’t the woman he was waiting for.
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Jul 20, 2014 12:11
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| # ? Dec 2, 2024 06:59 |
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Left side! Strong side! (I dunno it's from a movie or something, and also an indication of which row I used.) 543 words Top Dog “You’re gonna do what?” “Write my memoirs,” said Fido. Well, maybe his name wasn’t Fido. Hank had never really asked Sharon her dog’s name. Or if he were male. But it’s like, all dogs default to boys, right, and all cats are girls? And Fido seems like kind of a dog name, right? “Don’t be daft.” Hank took another swig. “Who’s gonna read your memoirs?” He thought about this for a few seconds, with a little more help from Jack Daniel. “Also what’re you gonna do, hold the pen with your mouth?” Fido shook his head. Or maybe he was just cocking his head. Hank couldn’t really concentrate on what he was doing with his head. “Typewriter. Gonna use a typewriter.” “Your paws are kind of big for that, though, aren’t they?” Hank emptied the bottle, and peered into it as if he could find some more of the liquid hiding down the bottom. “Oi Hank!” Sharon’s voice, from inside the house, sounded a little bit like the voice of someone who was in no mood for more of Hank’s drunken shenanigans. “Are you chattin’ up my dog again? Get back inside, leave her alone!” “All right, all right!” Hank looked at the dog. “Her, huh? You could’ve mentioned that.” The dog didn’t respond, and he propped himself up, using the empty bottle as leverage, opened the door on only his third attempt, and staggered back inside. ~ Fido – well actually, Missy – waited until he was definitely gone, then ducked her head back into her kennel, gently gripped the pipe between her jaws, and pulled it out. She sighed. That smelly lout was right. Even if she could somehow write something, how would she get a literary agent to look at it? She pulled her lighter out from under her rug with one paw and, holding the lighter between her teeth, carefully flicked it on with a paw and held the flame to her pipe. Awww yeah, that was the stuff. Still, she thought as she puffed away, just because she couldn’t write that bestseller that was her ambition, didn’t mean that she couldn’t communicate her feelings about being drunkenly rambled at while she was trying to sleep. Pipe still clenched between her teeth and lighter tucked into her collar, she walked around the side of the house. The lights were out; Sharon must’ve gone to bed. That smelly visitor – Hank – must be staying the night, because there was no way Sharon would let him get into his car. Missy hoped she’d made him sleep on the couch. Or on the floor. Yep, there was his car. A black sporty number with a personalised license plate said ‘2FAST4U’. Seriously, what a tool. Missy hopped up onto the bonnet, then squatted down and just… let it all out. It was cathartic. She took a step back to admire her handiwork. It was beautiful. Wet and glistening and symmetrical. There was something missing, though. She gently put the pipe down on the roof, and for the second time that night, made use of her lighter. Perfect. She retrieved both lighter and pipe, then trotted back around to her kennel, ready for the deep contented sleep that only a stoned dog can experience.
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Jul 20, 2014 14:58
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