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  • Locked thread
Cacto
Jan 29, 2009


Alright, I'm in.

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Schneider Heim
Oct 17, 2012


I'm in.

autism ZX spectrum
Feb 7, 2007



Fun Shoe

i'll judge this pile of turds if you'll have me, Kai

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

High marks for compassion, low marks for survival skills





Critique for Maugrim's Fairy Tale.

Maugrim
Feb 16, 2011

I eat your face



Thank you, docbeard - much appreciated.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




In.

Bad Ideas Good
Oct 12, 2012


In. I need to actually complete a story REDEMPTION!

Armack
Jan 27, 2006

Corde pulsum tangite


Jitzu vs Sledgehammer Brawl

Harris’s New Heights
Or: The Big Soot Cleanup

(895 words)

Down in The Sylvan Islands there lived a bright red balloon. This balloon was named Harris and he was full of hot air. “Watch me! Watch me!” Harris would say, “I’m the best climber in the world!”

Each boast would puff Harris up, until at last he was so puffed up he could float. Harris would float high above lush evergreen forests and babbling blue brooks. Sometimes he climbed so high, he could almost reach the bright yellow sun. But as much as Harris liked to boast and float, he loved carrying passengers best.

Everyday Harris would let passengers into his basket. Just a few moments of bragging and he could take to the sky. Once airborne, Harris couldn’t steer, but he didn’t care. He’d ride the blowing wind from island to island, each gust guiding him from one place to another. During the trip, Harris would smile and poke fun at his passengers. Then they would poke fun back until Harris was deflated enough to waft gently to the ground.

“Harris, you’ve got a pretty inflated opinion of yourself,” the passengers would say with a smile. “No way! I’m really down to Earth,” he’d tell them while wafting down to their destination.

Because he couldn’t steer, Harris never guaranteed to take passengers exactly where they wanted to go. The wind might take him anywhere! But the people of The Sylvan Islands still loved to travel with Harris. That is, until they met Siloh The Steamboat.

Puff puff puff, Siloh chugged along the coast, billowing soot behind him. He greeted the islanders with a smile, his teeth black as tar. “My smokestacks burn for more passengers,” said Siloh. “Board me and I’ll steer you all from island to island.” The islanders did as Siloh asked and were overjoyed to be carried exactly where they wanted to go.

In time, islanders stopped asking Harris for rides. They rode with Siloh so often that the steamboat’s soot began to cover the islands. The trees, the waters, even the sky all turned to grey from being covered in so much soot.

Harris pleaded with the islanders. “The islands are losing their color! Everything is covered in grey soot.” But no one listened. Siloh made life on the island easy. Everyone could get right to where they wanted to go.

One day, the islanders approached Harris. They were coughing and hacking from all the soot. But when they caught their breath, they told the balloon, “We have no more use for you. Right now you’re just taking up space. It’s time for us to put you in storage.” So, the islanders folded up Harris, now grey with soot, and stuffed him into his basket. Then they dug a hole on the beach and dumped him in.

Many days later, Siloh chugged over to the beach and dug Harris out of his hole. He blew soot from his smokestacks and smiled. “Harris The Hot Air Balloon,” he bellowed. “My heart burns black with coal. It bade me to bring you back to the surface, that you may see your islands in ruin. The islanders can hardly breathe; my work here is done.” With that, Siloh The Steamboat sailed far away.

Around him, Harris saw nothing but shades of grey. He called out to the islanders. One by one they crawled across the sand to reach Harris. “Help us,” they coughed. “Lift us out of here!”

Harris had to stretch his basket to fit them all. He tried inflating himself with the usual boasts, but his basket was too heavy to lift off—there were too many islanders in it! Harris was unfazed. He announced, “I’m a hero! The greatest hero of all. I will save all my passengers and clear the islands of soot, because I can do anything!” Harris had never boasted so hard before, but he trusted himself fully. Soon, he grew big with hot air and rose through the soot, carrying the islanders in his basket.

When at last Harris had climbed above all the soot, the islanders could breathe. But Harris was not done. He climbed even higher and breathed in the strongest winds in the sky. With a mighty huff, he blew the sooty air away from the islands. Harris knew he had done well, so he became even more inflated. He soared to the very top of the sky.

Seeing Harris, the island’s evergreens grew envious. Surely they would never grow as high as Harris was climbing now. So envious were the trees that they glowed green, shaking off the last of the soot that had stuck to them. The babbling brooks regained their color too. They felt blue that Harris had cleared more soot from the island than they had been able to wash away. Even the sun shined a brighter yellow than before, because Harris was climbing so high, it made the sun nervous.

Bit by bit, Harris inspired emotion across the islands, and that emotion caused all the natural world to shine bright with color once again. Harris blushed upon seeing what he’d done. Even he shined a brighter red than ever before.

Nowadays the islanders only accept rides from Harris. He may not be able to steer, but everyone is grateful to ride with him, no matter the destination.

autism ZX spectrum
Feb 7, 2007



Fun Shoe

HILLOCK'S YEAR END BONER BLOWOUT BONANZA!

THE NEXT SIX PEOPLE TO POST UNDER THIS LINE GET LINE-BY-LINE CRITS IN THE UPCOMING WEEK

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Entenzahn
Nov 15, 2012

Did you FAIL THUNDERDOME Entenzahn? Don't worry, here's an example on how to write!

what now, genius

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

What's a boner blowout? Sounds uncomfortable.

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry

under this line

also, in

Screaming Idiot
Nov 26, 2007
I have no idea what I'm talking about.

Fun Shoe

I am grateful for any input and criticism anyone is willing to give.

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW


Screaming Idiot posted:


crit me you canadian bitch

fixed

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

High marks for compassion, low marks for survival skills





Hell with it, out with the old, in with the new (and with a after my shameful failure last week).

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.


Okay, I'm in.

(. I remembered this time.)

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.


Apologies for the double post but I want to make an addendum.

Phobia posted:

JITZU. SLEDGEHAMMER. BRAWL. "Luckily, no one was hurt."
Nicely done Jitzu.

Sledge, you got fourteen more hours. 12 PM Est.

But. But. Luckily for you, tomorrow is my birthday. I will be busy most of the day. I'd also like to point out that I do not have a cute little grenade next to my username, nor have I coughed up five bucks to change my avatar.Make of that what you will. If I do not see your story by the time we hop to the new thread then you're pretty much screwed bro.

Your Sledgehammer
May 10, 2010

Don`t fall asleep, you gotta write for THUNDERDOME

Phobia posted:

But. But. Luckily for you, tomorrow is my birthday. I will be busy most of the day. If I do not see your story by the time we hop to the new thread then you're pretty much screwed bro.

Luckily for me indeed. You are a most kind and merciful judge, Phobia, and I'll make sure my story hits before the new thread does. An early Happy Birthday, by the way!

Jitzu, you get the eternal pleasure of knowing that your blood will be the last spilled in this thread.

Bad Seafood
Dec 10, 2010

If you must blink, do it now.


Murray Critmass. My Internet died or I'd have had these up yesterday. Here's some homework.

Time Traveler’s Bastard by December Octopodes

Bland characters, bland dialogue, the most expected time travel twist (which you even gave away in the title); this story really doesn't have a lot going for it. For all the time you spend vaguely alluding to the needlessly complex mechanics behind your particular brand of time travel, you sure don't give us a lot to go on why our protagonist does the things he does―except, of course, that without them there'd be no story. Not that there's much of a story as is. Dude picks himself up, sleeps with his wife who isn't his wife yet except she is because she will be but isn't yet so he's technically cheating on himself, somehow fathers himself in the far future but winds up in the past because, until he erases himself from history which introduces an entirely different paradox. No lesson is learned, no character is revealed; a thing happens and then it is over. Shameful.

HOMEWORK: Somebody’s future self travels into the past to stop their younger iteration from picking up a tacky lamp for half-price at an antique shop in 300 words

The Steel Castle by ZeBourgeoisie

Never before (or since) have I read a story that left me with such a strong impression that something had, indeed, transpired, while simultaneously offering me no concrete idea what that something might have been. Good job? This was the first of several submissions this week to make use of the clinical, detached narrative voice, and one of the few that almost made it work, heightening the sense of unreality in what is described. Unfortunately, this came at the cost of comprehension, and the piece itself isn't nearly grounded enough in reality to make the rampant unreality which pervades it meaningful. Then there's the dog, who feels like he belongs in some whole other story. "Dogs don't have souls," was almost powerful, but hampered by its accompanying sentences.

HOMEWORK: A beleaguered father attempts to connect with his daughter who thinks she’s a robot in 500 words

Cocoon by Newtestleper

Probably the least subtle treatment on the religion of parenthood I've ever read. "I was sure," our protagonist confides to us, the audience, his super genius violence-prone child, "Wouldn't notice the difference." Okay. Not an altogether terrible bit of prose but so heavy-handed it lacks any sense of grace or intrigue.

HOMEWORK: A man born old ages backwards in 500 words.

The Watchers From On High by SurreptitiousMuffin

Strong opening, striking imagery, strong prose throughout, but it never leaves the shallows. Beneath the electrical light parade, all you've really done is repurpose and repackage every fear born of the information age in one lump sum with a dash of current events to remind us you watch the news. Your protagonist is essentially a cameraman directing our attention to the wallpaper for 90% of the story until he goes crazy at the end. Personally, I'd rank your ability to construct pleasing sentences within the uppermost echelons of the dome; I just wish you'd employ your skills in the construction of actual airplanes and not just paper ones.

HOMEWORK: A young man is only too pleased to live in an information age dystopia in as many words as you require.

The Court of Last Resort by Roguelike

I have no idea what this story is about or what transpires over its duration. I have no idea who all these people are, what's at stake, or why I should care. There is no tension in indecipherable gambling jargon with nebulous wagers and uncertain emotions. It's possible to light a cigarette with another cigarette, but only if the latter is still burning. Also, your formatting sucks.

HOMEWORK: Two rulers wager their countries over a game of rock-paper-scissors in 300 words.

Going Home by Hammer Bro.

Too much detective work for too little payoff. I don't like clever reveals at the cost of actually engaging storytelling. Okay, so they're all chemicals, and? Some guy needs to get from Point A to Point B and almost doesn't, but then he does. The end. This story is like a bad magic trick: confusing until solved, then boring once revealed.

HOMEWORK: Time slows to a crawl in the midst of a car crash in 300 words.

Ticket to the Fair by Blue Squares

One day when I am king and this is all a distance memory I will flash rule No Present Tense in the dome, and all will be well. Until that blessed day, I'll simply have to pine for the opportunity to murder whoever lent you your thesaurus. "Scrofulous," what, is that even a word? You do a good enough job communicating your protagonist's stuffy East Coast personality without relying on crutch words I need to look up to know that they're real. Would that the same could be said of his Midwestern hosts who provide little more than an eclectic collection of stereotypes. Kinda hurts the heartwarming moral you were aiming for. Your protagonist's narrative voice is also largely consistent, which wouldn't be a bad thing except that I think you missed an opportunity to textually convey the change he's going through. Still, a competent piece a cut above most of our submissions.

HOMEWORK: A team of exterminators arrive in a small town where Franz Kakfa's Metamorphosis has become reality in 700 words.

A Minute's Silence by TheBlunderbuss

An alright opening, simple but effective. Paints an immediate image of the salesman. Decent dialogue too, though calling it “Magic” seems a bit on the nose, as does the premise of a universal mute button which (like Newtestleper's Cocoon) makes the moral nigh insultingly obvious. A little more tact would have been appreciated. Alternatively, the exact time period, era, and location of the story could've been nailed down a little more concretely. The definition of the middle of the pack. Good job employing the surreality as the vehicle rather than the destination, though.

HOMEWORK: A murder case hearing in a world where everyone speaks in colors which betray their emotions in 1,000 words.

One Painful Visit to a Doctor and a Peculiar Journey within and without a Single Room by Paladinus

Doctor, Patient, Author, Title. I don't usually mind this kind of thing (in fact I've done it a few times myself), but here it just feels like you forgot to hit CTRL + F “Doctor” replace with [name]. Another story with a stilted, clinical tone that does nothing for it besides making me wonder if the twist is that everyone's a robot. They certainly don't seem to have lives, emotions, or experiences beyond the confines of this room. Then God shows up for some reason, which is fitting as divine intervention is the only thing that could have saved this story.

HOMEWORK: The second coming of Christ coincides with the U.N. summit in 500 words.

Take a Chance by Nethilia

In which all of the protagonist's problems are solved by magic and everyone except the one-dimensionally evil husband gets a happy ending for the cost of a single lotto ticket, no strings attached. Trite and dull. I expected a lot better coming from you.

HOMEWORK: Children struggling not to become their parents and failing in 400 words.

Painted Lady by Crabrock

Quite the opening. Unfortunately, the rest of the story fails to live up to it. Not really surreal, just a day in the life of an obsessive, crazy person, who isn't very interesting or compelling beyond their weird fetish. Competently written, but strikes out tonally from time to time with lines that get laughs but clash with the general mood of things.

HOMEWORK: Color invades a black and white world in 600 words.

A Surreal Story About Zoo Feeding by Entenzahn

Ah yes, the ol' whimsical comedy with a dash of ultraviolence approach. Not exactly sure why Randy wanted to be a dog in the first place, but then I'm not sure how gazelles intelligent enough to rig up broadcasting equipment with hooves would fail to identify a lion simple because it doesn't act like one either. Your fondness for swearing also kinda detracts from things. More rejected Looney Tunes than surrealism, with guest director Quintin Tarantino. Eh. “Eh.”

HOMEWORK: Somebody falls into the tiger exhibit and pleads not to be eaten. The tiger hears them out in 500 words.

Note to Self by Gau

(10:22:11 PM) BadSeafood: Just finished Gau's.
(10:22:24 PM) BadSeafood: What a waste.
(10:22:45 PM) Kaishai: Welcome back, GP.
(10:22:57 PM) Kaishai: It's not surreal, as far as I can tell.
(10:23:20 PM) Kaishai: It's a writer writing about writing, which is seldom a winner unless you're Stephen King.
(10:23:29 PM) BadSeafood: I'm trying to think how to put it in words.
(10:23:43 PM) BadSeafood: I don't like Gau's at all.
(10:23:52 PM) BadSeafood: It feels trite and pretentious at the same time.
(10:23:59 PM) GrizzleJudge: When I saw Gau's formatting I was kind of excited to see what was going on, but yeah, it's a wreck
(10:24:02 PM) BadSeafood: There's no story and barely a character.
(10:24:16 PM) BadSeafood: It's an idea guy having an argument with himself about writing and the writing process.
(10:24:30 PM) GrizzleJudge: prose is mediocre, and it's not really surreal at all
(10:24:33 PM) BadSeafood: Was this supposed to be motivational or instructional?
(10:26:00 PM) GrizzleJudge: Couldn't say
(10:26:19 PM) BadSeafood: I am just going to copypaste this convo for my crit.
(10:26:25 PM) Kaishai: I don't see the point in submitting it, unless it was that he had no idea and something was better than nothing. He was toxxed.
(10:28:46 PM) BadSeafood: But edit my typos.

HOMEWORK: A writer tries to file for a different muse than the one they got stuck with in 800 words.

The Undeliverables by Sitting Here

“So it seemed natural when, one day, I slit open an envelope and a tiny person tumbled out,” doesn't seem that natural at all, actually, even in the context of the rest of your opening. Nevertheless, you manage to spin a pretty compelling tale out of the idea, so I suppose that irons things out. Your stars are definitely the little people from the letters, your protagonist a bit too much of an everymanwoman leave much of an impression. Then there's your ending, which you admitted yourself was a bit rushed. Yeah, kinda. Having worked in archives personally, I can unfortunately confirm the fate which awaits them (assuming they were even accepted) would be to be filed away in a nondescript box and forgotten for years at a time. Not exactly a cheery ending. Still, your prose, creativity, and emotional center put this story head and shoulders over the competition, second only to Tyrannosaurus'.

HOMEWORK: A woman cheerfully rationalizes the bizarre circumstances she routinely comes across in 300 words.

Infamous Jack’s by Fumblemouse

An acceptable piece, if a bit nebulous in tone. We argued a bit in judge chat about how the protagonist and Jack's relationship was supposed to come off (as well as how the characters, themselves were supposed to), which was further complicated by the ending. The middle was decent and the empty suit strangely evocative, but then the ending kind of derails it by going a bit too obtuse. What was it that happened, exactly? There seems to be a disconnect between the protagonist's perspective and the nature of reality, but to what extent? Jack's smile at the end would seem to implicate him, but to what degree? I think I understood the metaphor you were attempting to convey, but the fact that I doubt myself suggests the need for a tighter, clearer ending.

HOMEWORK: As the plane went down in flames, he suddenly remembered the most important thing in 100 words.

Be Kind, Rewind! by Jonked

Awkwardly written in service of a dumb gimmick. Some guy watches a movie about his own life, and the whole thing is relayed backwards because. Having finished it, I felt like I'd need to read it a second time to get the most out of it, but had absolutely no desire to do so. Playing with the format should always take a backseat to telling a story we actually want to hear.

HOMEWORK: A man with acute knowledge of the future opens a coffee shop in 700 words.

Last Call by Benny the Snake

Yet another installment of your long-running Young Man Rebels Against Authority Except the Authority is Actually Right. Your protagonist is convinced (by a dream) to quit drinking, only its pretty self-evident the least of his problems is his drinking problem. We're talking about somebody who pulls a knife on their own father because they want to know where their ex-girlfriend is (whose location their father is presumably protecting from his angry, violence-prone offspring). Dude is more concerned with the fact that his social life is in shambles than the fact that in this reality he killed a minimum of three people drunk driving, and is apparently prepared to kill more with his trusty switchbl-I mean, straight razor. Your unlikable protagonist aside, your setup and dialogue is cliché, your characters inoffensively bland, and your talent for description residing somewhere in that nebulous space between existence and specificity. So he has a scar, okay, what kind of scar, where? I got a scar (on my face even) and you don't exactly order those uniform. None of your characters or locations are particularly distinct, like they could be anyone anywhere.

HOMEWORK: None; you won't do it anyway.

Conversations with Bobby by Your Sledgehammer

I like this and I don't like it. On the one hand, you've got a nice little bead of humanity here, and make good use of your surrealist overtones to draw that bead out. I guessed your twist a bit before it hit (the ending, too), but found myself not minding too much. On the other hand, the whole thing felt a bit underwhelming. Your protagonist was going to buy the boat anyway, just now he's been spurred by a conversation with his past self to buy it sooner and inconvenience his boss. Feels like a small step for such a big push like getting a literal phone call from your starry-eyed childhood self.

HOMEWORK: The future overlord of Earth is born in a small hospital somewhere in Southeast Asia, time traveling journalists report in 500 words.

Processing Error by J.A.B.C.

PRO-TIP: If your story opens with your protagonist trapped in the humdrum routine of boring everyday life, the less time you spend emphasizing this the better. Not that your protagonist ever manages to escape this trap, even with the gravity of the entire world thrown out of whack, but details. The whole point of surrealism is to tease out character under the guise of impossible circumstances, but your protagonist has no character to tease out in the first place so I guess we can call this one even. A waste of my time. Not even going to address the aliens.

HOMEWORK: The most exciting man in the world gets a haircut in 400 words.

Retreat by Ironic Twist

In which an emotionally unstable woman hallucinates seeing and attacking unrecognizably younger versions of people she doesn't really know before giving birth to a typewriter. Starts off well enough with an alright opening, establishing character, but if there's any method to the madness that follows afterwards, good job keeping it under lock and key. Some awkward phrasing here and there, “From the kitchen...she stormed into the kitchen,” “Not-Alice,” but otherwise mostly competent.

...I've heard of having a story inside you but this is ridiculous.

HOMEWORK: A story literally unfolds around the person writing it as they're writing it in 800 words.

Gold by Clandestine!

Yet another story in which a thing happens and that's pretty much it, that's the whole story. Your characters amount to little more than cameramen, and wiping their memories at the end is a pretty good way to ensure none of this affects them or reveals any kind of character. Also aliens, which I honestly find about as reprehensible as attributing surrealism to magic.

HOMEWORK: Someone who remembers the entire history of the human race, first hand, is asked to present a speech at a graduation ceremony in 600 words.

A Series of Serious Beats by Tyrannosaurus

Ah, the oft-overlooked second person perspective; a daring choice. Well that choice paid off because this proved to be a decently entertaining piece. Nails the clinical, detached narrative voice half of everybody tried to do too, in such a way that the piece would actually suffer without it. Relies a bit heavily on the idiocy of the protagonist to move the plot along, but I suppose that's forgivable since its primarily played for comedy. Great ending.

HOMEWORK: None; winner's exemption.

Career Change by Boozahol

One more for stories in which a thing happens, the end. Feels more urban fantasy than surreal, honestly. Everything your characters do they do because if they didn't you wouldn't have a plot. Even your protagonist, who almost has half a goal, abandons it to do something else on a whim. Surprisingly forgettable for a submission in which valkyries crash a diner.

HOMEWORK: Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, and Napoleon Bonaparte appear on a daytime talk show to discuss the state of children's education in 500 words.

The Amalgolem by Systran

Shockingly shallow, a promising (if equally sickening) opening giving way to a series of tasteless vignettes which simply ends without any kind of meaningful conclusion. Your skillful prose was the only thing that saved this from the DM pile. What even was the purpose of the amalgolem? I got that it was an idol of vanity, but then it leads its own life? It's a male prostitute for awhile? Too many questions with not enough information to suggest satisfying answers. But hey, congratulations on forever now being the guy who wrote a story in which a dude penetrates himself with his own penis attached to another man before blowing his brains out with a gun because

HOMEWORK: The power goes out at the top secret bunker where the people who run the world convene in 300 words.

Family Troubles by Bad Ideas Good

The last hurrah of the clinical, detached protagonist. This one spices things up by having a tonally-off speaking voice completely different from his internal monologue. Very Lemony Snicket. At first the box threw me for a loop but then I realized you were racing against the clock to post and wanted to turn something in, anything in, to avoid a failure, which is about all this accomplishes. Cool beans.

HOMEWORK: In which the reading of the last will and testament throws the family into disarray over the ownership of a tank of rare Scandinavian piranhas in exactly 543 words.

And the Days Go By by CurlingIron

Interesting enough opening, though it shortly falls victim to telling. You tell us your protagonist is miserable long before you throw any kind of hint our way. You tell us her house is vivid but don't actually paint us any kind of picture (again, until later). The crux of the story is itself a bit by the numbers, but I feel you demonstrated a better understanding of the role of surreality in your submission than many of your competitors. You even manage to sneak in a few good bits of imagery here and there. Not a bad story to cap the week.

HOMEWORK: The remnants of the fire told the whole story in 200 words.

Bad Seafood fucked around with this message at Dec 31, 2014 around 23:57

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry

If you would still like to edit your stories out of the thread, now is the time

New thread is here!

We would appreciate if you'd leave an archive link, but it's not strictly necessary. I will be closing this thread in a little over a day as we move things over to the 2015 thread. Please post all your "in"s there, not here.

I'm still waiting on my TD fanfic, BTW

anime was right
Jun 27, 2008

by R. Guyovich


thanks for the heads up sh

Your Sledgehammer
May 10, 2010

Don`t fall asleep, you gotta write for THUNDERDOME

Jitzu Sledgehammer Brawl

Glass Houses
600 words

Zack the zamboni cringed as Wade blew glass chips in his face and laughed.

“All you do is make a mess on the factory floor, you failure!” the leader of the glass sweeping trucks bellowed, shooting more glass in Zack’s direction. “I don’t even know why you’re here!”

Zack stole a quick at the other glass sweepers. All of them cowered away from Wade’s rage. Only Bubba would hold his gaze.

“I don’t know, either! There must have been a shipping mistake. I’m not even a glass truck!” Zack whined.

“Sure you are, you little punk! You’re just defective. C’mon boys, there’s glass that needs to be cleaned up!” Wade said. He drove off, his underlings dutifully falling in line behind him.

Except Bubba.

“I don’t know why he keeps doing that to you,” Bubba said as Zack wheeled up to him. “He’d shred our tires if any of us said anything, though.”

“It was never this way at my ice rink in Saskatoon,” Zack said. “We treated each other fairly.”

“Sounds nice! I bet you miss the ice,” Bubba said.

“I was too scared to ever get out on it, and I never figured out my water jets. I’d give anything for another shot,” Zack said. He downshifted his engine mournfully.

“BUBBA!” Wade howled. Bubba flashed a pained smile at Zack and was gone.

Evening set on Alberta Glassworks. The glass sweepers were returned to their bay, and their tyrannical leader, the biggest and baddest sweeper model of them all, was driven to his special double padlocked garage. The manager of Alberta Glassworks never took chances and wasn’t about to start. Before he headed home to his wife, he took one more confused look at the zamboni they had taken to parking on the factory floor, and made another mental note to contact the shipping company again in the morning.

As soon as he was gone, Zack began pacing about the whole factory to occupy himself for the night. He couldn’t sleep unless it was cold, and the glass factory never was, even in the Alberta winter. As he made his rounds, Zack’s sights fell on the factory heater controls, and that’s when the idea hit him. Tonight, he’d face his fears.

-----------------

Bubba awoke the next morning to the laughter of his comrades. He hurriedly buzzed out of the bay to see what all the commotion was about.

A solid four inch sheet of ice covered the floor in front of Wade’s garage door and extended well out into the factory. Workers were desperately trying to clean it up. On the other side of the open door sat Wade, glaring at the other glass trucks and fuming. No, really – smoke was literally billowing out of his engine block he was so mad.

Someone was missing. Bubba looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Zack?” he said.

The sweepers found him out near the loading dock, preparing to drive up into a semi. He was beaming.

“They fixed the shipping mistake! I’m going home. It was great to meet you guys,” Zack said.

Bubba grinned. “We’ll miss you and those water jets of yours! Especially when Wade gets out.”

“Everyone should have a say, not just Wade! You guys outnumber him. Don’t let him push you around,” Zack said as he wheeled up into the semi truck.

The glass sweepers grinned. After all, he was right.

“Take care of yourself, Zack!” Bubba said.

“Don’t you mean take care of the ice?” Zack said, and laughed. The door on the back of the semi closed.

Kaishai
Nov 3, 2010

Scoffing at modernity.

Sitting Here posted:

please write me terrible TD fanfic. Deadline is New Years in wherever the gently caress you are from.

Young Nubile Hillock Learns a Lesson
(908 words)
Inspired by the judging theme for Week 48.

One morning in Thunderdome Elementary, Nubile Hillock was doodling bitcoins in his notebook when he heard Ms. Sitting Here say from the head of the classroom, "You'd better have remembered your stories, you little fuckers, because they're due at high noon."

Hillock gulped. He'd entirely forgotten to write his 1,200-word sci-fi story about anthropomorphized cheese graters. Maybe if he asked sweetly and offered a bribe, Ms. Here would let him turn it in late? His eyes flicked to the place on the blackboard where the principal, Mr. sebmojo, had written NO EXTENSIONS with such force that the chalk had gouged deep trenches in the slate. Maybe not, then.

At Hillock's right sat Bad Seafood, and the boy had his nose buried in a Superman comic while his story sat on his desk for all the world to see. Nubile Hillock craned his neck to steal a look. Ms. Here wouldn't get too suspicious if his story was a lot like Seafood's since many of the assignments turned in at Thunderdome Elementary were strangely similar, often because they all involved feces.

Suicide. No fowl play, Hillock read. Even he could spell better than that, and he abandoned the idea of copying off Seafood immediately.

"Nubile Hillock!"

Uh-oh. Ms. Here had her eyes on him. "Yeah?"

"Can you tell me which writer was responsible for the immortal line 'gently caress bitches, man. gently caress 'em'?"

Crap, had he ever read that story? Was it the sort of thing Black Jesus would say? Hillock racked his brain for too long. Ms. Here sighed and asked, "Anyone?" Toward the front of the room, Kaishai's hand shot up. No help there: she never let anybody see her work in advance, and a pile of books covered her paper.

As for the kid to his left... systran scribbled furiously, scowling. Nubile Hillock scooted his desk over a bit so he could see. But whatever systran was writing, it involved Amazon.com; VHS-C video converters; a romance between their gym teacher, Ms. Fanky, and Chairchucker; and no cheese graters at all.

The sight of Chucker's name gave Hillock an idea, though. He 'dropped' his pen--which was to say that he flung it backwards so that it bounced off Erogenous Beef's leg. "Oops!" Hillock said, and he slid off his seat and ran to reclaim his property. As he knelt to pick it up, he whispered to Beef, "Can I borrow one of your dicks?"

Erogenous Beef spluttered some of the beer he'd just sipped from his Thermos. "What the hell, Hillock?"

"C'mon, you don't need to eat them all."

Beef gave him the most exasperated look, and Hillock could tell that the other boy was fantasizing about murdering him with Drano, but--as expected--Beef was a bro. He rummaged in his backpack and flipped Hillock one of the crackers shaped like dicks he kept in there for reasons unknown.

Now Hillock needed just one more thing.

As usual, Chairchucker wasn't paying any attention to the teacher. He had his LEGO dinosaurs out and was staging a fierce battle on his desk. Nubile Hillock ripped a sheet out of his notebook and wrote a quick message:

Mariah Carey SUCKS

He folded the paper into an airplane and lobbed it Chuckerwards. The epistle lodged in the Aussie's fro.

Chairchucker pulled the letter from his hair and read it. Righteous rage blazed in his eyes. He stood, picked up his chair and desk, and flung them at Nubile Hillock, yelling, "HERETIC!" Hillock ducked, and the desk hit crabrock and mangled his penis in some fashion.

"Oh, Chairchucker," Ms. Here sighed; she sighed a lot. "I guess 'mojo's going to want to yell at you. Come on, let's get it over with."

As soon as they left the room, Nubile Hillock sprinted to Chairchucker's desk and grabbed an abandoned dinosaur. Back in his own seat, he affixed Beef's dick cracker to the LEGO with some rubber bands. Ms. Here returned; the classroom clock struck noon. But Hillock was ready.

Everybody else brought their stories to Ms. Here's desk, but he stayed put. "Where's yours, Hillock?" the teacher asked.

Nubile Hillock held up his dinosaur. "Here it is!"

"Hillock, what the gently caress."

"A laser beam shot through a dilithium crystal hit my cheese grater and turned him into a dinosaur with a big, angry rageboner!" Hillock said. He marched the dinosaur through the air, wiggling it so its boner would wiggle too. The boner also dropped crumbs on the floor. He hoped she wouldn't notice that. "Ock! Ock! Ock!"

"Yeah, so I don't even know how to figure out the word count on that."

"C'mon! It's experimental fiction."

Ms. Here's face softened. But then the room door flew open, hitting the wall so hard its glass pane shattered. The school principal stood in its wake, his cybernetic eyes flaring red, the bristles of fur on his hands and head promising that he would turn into a werewolf at any second.

"DID YOU JUST EXPLAIN YOUR STORY, YOU SHITFUCKER?" Mr. sebmojo roared.

"No! No!"

"WAS THAT A FEEBLE LIE I JUST HEARD ESCAPING YOUR MAGGOTY ASSKISSING LIPS? I BELIEVE THAT IT WAS."

"Nooooooo!"

The boomerang of the losertar hit Nubile Hillock square in the forehead. He landed on his back, staring up at the ceiling in a daze of shame. "Too bad, bro," Erogenous Beef said sympathetically, and he threw Hillock another dick-shaped snack in consolation.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

Why hello, new year crits.

chthonic bell posted:

I guess I'm second.

The Tram
568 words

The tram has been knocked right off the rails by the blast. This is a decent opening. Present tense, hmmm. We shall see. It now lies on its side amid the snowdrifts, like a dying animal. Snow settles on Isak's This is a weird spelling but whatevs face through the shattered windows. He opens one eye and stares up, unseeing. He can taste blood. There's something hard and round under his back. He reaches down and feels someone's fur hat, wet and sticky and then the unmistakable texture of hair.

I'm lying on someone's head, Isak thinks and starts laughing, the sound small and surreal in the stricken tram. To his right, someone swears at him, calls him a lunatic. Honestly I'm not sure survivors of tram explosions are taking time out of their busy schedule of bleeding or whatever to question the coping mechanisms of fellow survivors, but whatevs. Isaac turns his head, but he can't see the speaker. He tries to open theI think I'd prefer 'his' here other eye and finds it's swelling shut.

The winter wind plays with his hair, whistles into his ears, chills the tip of his nose. He shivers under his shuba, What the hell is a shuba? but nothing drives him to move. A curious sort of tranquillityOne 'l' too many has settled over him, a dream-state that makes everything feel like he's watching his life from behind a thick plane of glass.OK the problem I have here is the old 'telling instead of showing' thing, and I think present tense is making it even more obvious. He hears screaming that barely registers, swearing that passes right over his head and the gentle crunch of fresh snow under feet.

There's a centimetre of snow on his face and the head below him is moving, bumping against his back. In the distance, the StukasNo idea what a stuka is either. Evidently some kind of wailing diver. wail as they dive. Another blast makes the tram rock, blows the snow from Isak's face. The head beneath his back jerks up and down, nudging him. Isak sits up, his movements slow and deliberate, like he's moving underwater, and turns to look at the man he landed on.

"Are you simple?" the man growlsI reckon if you inserted a comma right here it would flow a little nicer TBH. and Isak slowly shakes his head, though he can't quite understand the question. No, comradeAha! Stereotypical Russian word found, now assuming those other words I didn't understand are some kind of commie thing., he's quite complex, thank you very much. The man under him shoves him forward and Isak flops over like a marionette, hitting one of the seats with his knee. The pain jolts him, makes him whine. He stumbles up, finding his footing on another fallen citizen. This one doesn't move. Isak climbs out of the window, the shards of glass nicking his mittens enough to cut the skin of his hands. His boots slip and he lands on his arse, right between the tram-tracks.

Another howl of the Stukas sounds in the distance, but fainter, further away. Isak barely feels the next blast.Wait, the tram's still exploding? What is going on here? He climbs to his feet, slowly, slips a little but clears the rails before he collapses again, panting.

I'm not going to make it, he thinks and shivers, again. His ears, exposed to the Leningrad Aha, commie status confirmed! winter, are growing numb. He wonders what they'll look like, if frostbite sets in.

The sirensOh, a stuka is a siren? But a siren that dives? All too confusing. wail again, giving the all-clear. Isak puts his hands over his ears until the sound dies away. He tries to get to his feet, but his legs fold under him and he flops, face-forward, into a drift of snow. Powder fills his nose, makes him panic, makes adrenaline surge. He sits up, wrenching his face clear and pants.

Around him, Leningraders hurry about their lives. Survivors climb out of the stricken tram. He sits back and reaches into an inner pocket of his shuba and pulls out his ticket and stares at it. Eighteen hundred hours, it says. He glances up at the darkening sky and grins.

He's got time to walk to the Bolshoi.

All right. So. The problem here apart from not much happening and too much telling instead of showing, is that you're writing to an audience of predominantly capitalist pigdogs, and we don't understand any of these commie words you're throwing at us. So. Next time, make more things happen, (and have your protag in particular actually do stuff instead of telling us how he feels) and maybe be a little kinder to your audience in terms of making it obvious what certain unfamiliar terms mean.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

Mercedes posted:

Wraith For Me
Words: 789


Problems I had with this: it felt almost exactly like Johannes Cabal: Necromancer, to the point that I wondered if you (consciously or subconsciously) ripped it off.

I wasn't actually convinced that it followed the 'direct aftermath of a calamity' part of the prompt. Like, the main part of it.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

thehomemaster posted:

Time to Fly - 650 words


OK. So. I dunno, I don't have much of a reaction to this one. He professes his love for a married guy he's been best buds with since high school and then decides to drive into the Grand Canyon, I guess. The problem with this story is that I just don't much care about any of the characters, so the death of all humanity matters a lot less than it really should.

The death by plants idea was kind of novel I guess.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

Cacto posted:

The perfect life (721 words) (Drive You Home by Garbage)


Quite liked the premise, and the way you had your protags react to their situation. One errant quotation mark (space on the wrong side of it) which was a bit weird. Overall a nice little story.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

Entenzahn posted:

This was a story once

It was nice

Yeah it was decent. I liked the pun in the title, so well pandered. The voice saying 'please don't kill me' or whatever was too obscure, I had no idea what was going on there. Like, I guess you (and Muleboy) are making a big thing about the fact that Captain Fist killed the hell out of a bunch of villains. Is he not supposed to do that? I don't really get it. Vigilantes play by their own rules, I thought. Oh well, whatevs.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

blue squares posted:

musical flash rule: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PHrkv4JRnC0
relevant lyrics:
Ocean bursts its banks and all the waters goin my way
Even though you're poison babe I wouldn't even hesitate
This lie inside your head inside your little heart now
Lightin up the fire and the citys painted blood red


DON'T PREFACE

Posting the song is OK, but don't explain which bit you're using, just write your story.

OK that said, I liked it. Some people will occasionally say that you can't write a story that is all or almost all dialogue, and with all due respect, those people are wrong. Also dumb. The dialogue here worked because it showed us the relationship between the two protagonists, and also progressed the plot. Only real quibble is, what pill did he have that kills you almost instantly and you can't vomit back up? Also it's totally depressing, so there's that as well.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

Baby Babbeh posted:

The Left Behind
782 words

“Ruby,” she said, looking down at her toes.

“She isn’t here,” she added. Probably don't need a new paragraph when it's the same person just continuing what they were saying.

“I’m sure she’s alright,” Tom said. “She probably just found someplace dry to wait out the storm, like us.”

~

Yet Lisa loved that cat as she loved all small things, so Tom still found himself up to his ankles in his sodden yard, alternatingly -ly or -ing, but not both. cursing and calling Ruby’s name. He was absorbed enough in this that he didn’t see the woman walking toward him until she called his name. He turned, his face registering his shock when he saw her.


I quite liked this one, apart from the little things mentioned above, and also apart from the fact that when he catches up with Rose, the narrative acts like he doesn't know who it is, and describes her as 'the woman' and stuff like that, which is freaking weird. Please don't do that.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

Gau posted:

jan Sewi telo Poli (758 words)
Flash rule: "Shadowboxer" by Fiona Apple


I did not like this story. The way it was told made it impossible for me to connect with any of the characters, or any of the events. Impenetrable rubbish.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

Jitzu_the_Monk posted:

Switch
788 Words

Min thought to call Gerald for advice. The phrasing of this is pretty weird.

~

The next day, Min wandered the square. As she looked for Shuang, she passed countless nuns, rabbis, and imams. She was moving through the crowd when she spotted a white van parked in an alley. Its backdoors I reckon two words, not one. slid open and a bald man in a monk’s robe stepped out.

~

Min scanned the crowd. At last, she spotted Shuang. Min advanced, but on the way something caught her eye. It was Gerald, standing close to Shuang. He bent down, picked up a rock and threw it toward the police. It clanged against the side of a tank. Then other men dressed in similar robes hurled rocks of their own. None of them came close to hitting an officer.

“My God!” gasped Min. “They’re giving the cops a pretext to—” Thanks, Captain Min Obvious.


It was all right, but I don't like characters who tell me things that are obvious from the previous paragraph.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

Beef Steakwell posted:

The Morning After
Word Count 727
Flash Rule: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9P5qOg8jdQ (Really loved this song by the way)



I'm glad you liked the song, but I kind of regret giving it to you. At the time I wasn't thinking of the lyrics, I was just picking songs I liked, but on reflection, especially in light of my experiences in Old Testament Studies week, I should've realised what you would do with it. There is a part of me that can't blame you, after all the Old Testament is full of cool stories. Having said all that, my advice to anyone who decides they want to do a retelling of a story from The Bible is as follows: don't. Your version will almost certainly be pointless and less good than the original.

Doesn't only apply to The Bible, of course.

EDIT: Ten posts in a row! Ah, ah, ahhhhhhhhh.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

Tyrannosaurus posted:

Ding
789 words + 44 from Week 100

-see archives-

I really liked how you interpreted the prompt. It was fun and funny and these reasons - and the protagonist trying to be cool - are why you won.

Clandestine! posted:

Harpy
Flash Rule: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z36Z0Fo-7zQ (Polyester Bride - Liz Phair)



Mentioned by my cojudge some time last year, but there just wasn't much point in having her be an actual literal harpy. Not bad apart from that, but 'twist' endings like that are dumb and I hate them.

Anathema Device posted:

Problem
739 Words



Bit anticlimactic. Like, some actual conflict is about to (presumably) happen, but you just end it.

Kaishai posted:

Winter's Tokens
(622 words)



Honestly this one didn't really do it for me. I didn't get the significance of... well anything really. I'm assuming there was some significance to Theo's weird collection of corpses and making something with the feathers but no idea what it was. The story itself was all right I just didn't really get why I should care about what Theo was doing.

JcDent posted:

Alabama Shakes - Hold On

Not Much
(784 words)

A Korani corvette is a nice ship, both in space and historical recordings. It‘s a lot less nice when it has crashed in the middle of the shantytown, and leaking hypercore liquid is pooling in a deep hole.


I kind of liked this opening. You bought a little bit of good will, which was gradually used up as NOTHING HAPPENS. Your protagonist sits there and ponders his destroyed bar, and the very end of your story is he decides to bugger off, the end. Oh and in the process of telling a story of NOTHING HAPPENING EVER, you swapped tense on us like a BILLION ZILLION TIMES and made a few other simple spelling errors, and honestly no other story came even close to losing.

THINGS YOU SHOULD CHANGE NEXT TIME:
Pick one tense (I recommend past tense, it is easier. He did. He skated. He said. He died. Etc.) and stick with it.
MAKE THINGS HAPPEN. A PROTAGONIST SITTING BY A CRATER AND JUST CONTEMPLATING THE POSITION HE'S IN IS NOT A THING HAPPENING.
Proof read. Maybe get someone else to proof read.

Obliterati posted:

The Fog Must Lift

(784 words)


What is this? Second person present tense or something? Weird.

It worked. I was impressed you made such a weird storytelling style work and not really feel forced at all. Only weird moment was realising that a Morrigan was some kind of critter, not a person's name. But yeah, good story, I enjoyed it and that is why you got an HM.

Echo Cian posted:

Hawk's Cry (720 words)



Interesting concept which you unfortunately do not do much with. Feels more like a prologue or something. Nothing really wrong with the story, just feels incomplete.

Ironic Twist posted:

From a Great Height
787 words

E: Archives

I don't really get what was happening right at the end, was the oxygen literally leaving the room? I don't really 'get' these drugged up stories, apart from it seems to be DEPRESSING and pretty well written I guess.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

Fumblemouse posted:

wordcount:784
songlink: that would be a spoiler.

Willful Indescretion

17/11/2014

Just an FYI, I really liked this and would've been tempted to give it an HM. Djeser would not consent to an HM on the basis that it wasn't even really a story and was kind of a parade of stereotypes, but honestly I didn't care that much because reading it made me feel happy.

Sitting Here posted:

Uneasy Lies the Head That Wears a Party Hat
787 words



As with T-Rex's winning entry, I enjoyed your interpretation of the prompt. This story was cute and nice and also made me feel happy, even though you left off an 'e' from 'no one' near the end there.


I liked this, I thought it worked.

I didn't really like the ending though. I get the lack of clarity was sort of the point, with the protag drifting in and out of consciousness, but it was still kind of annoying.

ThirdEmperor posted:

The Day After - 787 Words


Your spacing on dialogue was annoying, you can knock that off IMO. Not a whole lot happens either. It's well told enough, just a little sparse.

Grizzled Patriarch posted:

Death I Think Is No Parenthesis (521 words)

Which is why, when I got your email this morning, I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.

Re: that ending.

What.

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

[EDIT: removed for publishing reasons]

Too freaking weird for me. I don't even get what's going on.

SealHammer posted:

Recon
769 words


Things to do for your next story: have things happen within the narrative, instead of having two people drop a bunch of exposition on us. "Remember that thing that happened?" "Yeah, that sure was a thing that happened."

UGH.

Fuschia tude posted:

Bond
656 words


In this story, nothing much happens. Next time, make more things happen.

sebmojo posted:

Because they have transistors
787 words


Fun and funny. I liked it. Well pandered.

ceaselessfuture posted:

Under the Ice
780 Words


Honestly, I found it hard to figure out who was married to or in love with who. Work on clarity please.

Your Sledgehammer posted:

Whenever This World is Cruel to Me
713 words


Didn't like it. It was dumb that the protag suddenly knows that everyone else must be gender flipped. Having the protag gradually discover that everyone else is the opposite gender than they were and somehow always were the opposite gender, including their BFF HURRAH TIME TO SLEEP WITH MY BESTIE, is not a story.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

Schneider Heim posted:

Bystander Effect
775 words


This is actually the first time I have read this. I kind of liked it, but it felt a little bit preachy.

autism ZX spectrum
Feb 7, 2007



Fun Shoe

Kaishai posted:

glorious words

My robotic heart beats with renewed vigor for your, kaishai.

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry

Kaishai posted:

Young Nubile Hillock Learns a Lesson
(908 words)
Inspired by the judging theme for Week 48.

One morning in Thunderdome Elementary, Nubile Hillock was doodling bitcoins in his notebook when he heard Ms. Sitting Here say from the head of the classroom, "You'd better have remembered your stories, you little fuckers, because they're due at high noon."

Hillock gulped. He'd entirely forgotten to write his 1,200-word sci-fi story about anthropomorphized cheese graters. Maybe if he asked sweetly and offered a bribe, Ms. Here would let him turn it in late? His eyes flicked to the place on the blackboard where the principal, Mr. sebmojo, had written NO EXTENSIONS with such force that the chalk had gouged deep trenches in the slate. Maybe not, then.

At Hillock's right sat Bad Seafood, and the boy had his nose buried in a Superman comic while his story sat on his desk for all the world to see. Nubile Hillock craned his neck to steal a look. Ms. Here wouldn't get too suspicious if his story was a lot like Seafood's since many of the assignments turned in at Thunderdome Elementary were strangely similar, often because they all involved feces.

Suicide. No fowl play, Hillock read. Even he could spell better than that, and he abandoned the idea of copying off Seafood immediately.

"Nubile Hillock!"

Uh-oh. Ms. Here had her eyes on him. "Yeah?"

"Can you tell me which writer was responsible for the immortal line 'gently caress bitches, man. gently caress 'em'?"

Crap, had he ever read that story? Was it the sort of thing Black Jesus would say? Hillock racked his brain for too long. Ms. Here sighed and asked, "Anyone?" Toward the front of the room, Kaishai's hand shot up. No help there: she never let anybody see her work in advance, and a pile of books covered her paper.

As for the kid to his left... systran scribbled furiously, scowling. Nubile Hillock scooted his desk over a bit so he could see. But whatever systran was writing, it involved Amazon.com; VHS-C video converters; a romance between their gym teacher, Ms. Fanky, and Chairchucker; and no cheese graters at all.

The sight of Chucker's name gave Hillock an idea, though. He 'dropped' his pen--which was to say that he flung it backwards so that it bounced off Erogenous Beef's leg. "Oops!" Hillock said, and he slid off his seat and ran to reclaim his property. As he knelt to pick it up, he whispered to Beef, "Can I borrow one of your dicks?"

Erogenous Beef spluttered some of the beer he'd just sipped from his Thermos. "What the hell, Hillock?"

"C'mon, you don't need to eat them all."

Beef gave him the most exasperated look, and Hillock could tell that the other boy was fantasizing about murdering him with Drano, but--as expected--Beef was a bro. He rummaged in his backpack and flipped Hillock one of the crackers shaped like dicks he kept in there for reasons unknown.

Now Hillock needed just one more thing.

As usual, Chairchucker wasn't paying any attention to the teacher. He had his LEGO dinosaurs out and was staging a fierce battle on his desk. Nubile Hillock ripped a sheet out of his notebook and wrote a quick message:

Mariah Carey SUCKS

He folded the paper into an airplane and lobbed it Chuckerwards. The epistle lodged in the Aussie's fro.

Chairchucker pulled the letter from his hair and read it. Righteous rage blazed in his eyes. He stood, picked up his chair and desk, and flung them at Nubile Hillock, yelling, "HERETIC!" Hillock ducked, and the desk hit crabrock and mangled his penis in some fashion.

"Oh, Chairchucker," Ms. Here sighed; she sighed a lot. "I guess 'mojo's going to want to yell at you. Come on, let's get it over with."

As soon as they left the room, Nubile Hillock sprinted to Chairchucker's desk and grabbed an abandoned dinosaur. Back in his own seat, he affixed Beef's dick cracker to the LEGO with some rubber bands. Ms. Here returned; the classroom clock struck noon. But Hillock was ready.

Everybody else brought their stories to Ms. Here's desk, but he stayed put. "Where's yours, Hillock?" the teacher asked.

Nubile Hillock held up his dinosaur. "Here it is!"

"Hillock, what the gently caress."

"A laser beam shot through a dilithium crystal hit my cheese grater and turned him into a dinosaur with a big, angry rageboner!" Hillock said. He marched the dinosaur through the air, wiggling it so its boner would wiggle too. The boner also dropped crumbs on the floor. He hoped she wouldn't notice that. "Ock! Ock! Ock!"

"Yeah, so I don't even know how to figure out the word count on that."

"C'mon! It's experimental fiction."

Ms. Here's face softened. But then the room door flew open, hitting the wall so hard its glass pane shattered. The school principal stood in its wake, his cybernetic eyes flaring red, the bristles of fur on his hands and head promising that he would turn into a werewolf at any second.

"DID YOU JUST EXPLAIN YOUR STORY, YOU SHITFUCKER?" Mr. sebmojo roared.

"No! No!"

"WAS THAT A FEEBLE LIE I JUST HEARD ESCAPING YOUR MAGGOTY ASSKISSING LIPS? I BELIEVE THAT IT WAS."

"Nooooooo!"

The boomerang of the losertar hit Nubile Hillock square in the forehead. He landed on his back, staring up at the ceiling in a daze of shame. "Too bad, bro," Erogenous Beef said sympathetically, and he threw Hillock another dick-shaped snack in consolation.

Oh my

This is delightful

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Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry

Goodbye, old thread.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clYmRdC66MI

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