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  • Locked thread
Nikaer Drekin
Oct 11, 2012


"In," Nikaer Drekin pontificated harshly, "with what will probably be a sort-of sequel to one of my personal favorites of my TD entries!"

I guess with a toxx as well, since I sort of poo poo the bed last week.

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CaligulaKangaroo
Jul 25, 2012


In!

PMush Perfect
Sep 30, 2009

MY PAPER SOLDIERS
FORM A WALL
FIVE PACES THICK
AND TWICE AS TALL




"...gently caress." Colon V cursed, "I've gotta drop again. Call me a basic baby bitch."

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Grimey Drawer

The Leper Colon V posted:

"...gently caress." Colon V cursed, "I've gotta drop again. Call me a basic baby bitch."

lol. Why do you even sign up?

Whalley
Mar 5, 2004

Drinking shows a real commitment to becoming a cooler person!


The Leper Colon V posted:

"...gently caress." Colon V cursed, "I've gotta drop again. Call me a basic baby bitch."
I'm in the middle of an interstate move, have no Internet access, no computer, a history of "oh my god this is awful" and i'm still going to submit my terrible poo poo to get better. You're a basic baby bitch. Once I have everything set up here I'm challenging you to a preemptive thunderbrawl because gently caress, I don't brook no basic baby bitch. What a basic baby bitch you is.

Oxxidation
Jul 22, 2007

a negative influence


The Leper Colon V posted:

"...gently caress." Colon V cursed, "I've gotta drop again. Call me a basic baby bitch."

I'd like to say I expected better from you, but then we'd both be liars.

Schneider Heim
Oct 17, 2012


I'm in.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

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


sebmojo posted:

Next time you enter you will need a toxx or your entry will be ignored.

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry

The Leper Colon V posted:

"...gently caress." Colon V cursed, "I've gotta drop again. Call me a basic baby bitch."

Introducing:

The Flash Law

It's like a flash rule, but follows you from week to week like a drunken cat-caller on the street.

I hereby decree, by the power vested in me by my scary red avatar, that The Leper Colon may now ONLY sign up if they also have a fully prepared submission.

That means that, for Leper only, the submission due date is Friday.

Leper, if you think you can skulk off for a few weeks and I'll forget, you have severely overestimated how much of a life I have. I WILL remember.

Entenzahn
Nov 15, 2012

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

The Leper Colon V posted:

"...gently caress." Colon V cursed, "I've gotta drop again. Call me a basic baby bitch."

lol

written on my Samsung Galaxy S2 on my one-hour commute to another day in my 70-hour workweek, now please excuse me I have to polish my second draft. Entenzahn OUT

P.S. there's punctuation errors in your dialogue

Joda
Apr 24, 2010

When I'm off, I just like to really let go and have fun, y'know?



Fun Shoe

Since uni work kept me from submitting a story last time I'm in with a

Baudolino
Apr 1, 2010

THUNDERDOME LOSER

Could I get a flash rule?

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Grimey Drawer

Baudolino posted:

Could I get a flash rule?

Your story must have a happy ending. Specifically two people staying together.

crabrock fucked around with this message at Mar 8, 2014 around 04:10

JonasSalk
May 27, 2012

THUNDERDOME LOSER

Flash me, baby. The Salkster is feeling froggy.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Grimey Drawer

“Wait, I’m sorry! I told you I felt sick. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Mrs. Bennet sighs. “Ok, I believe you. You’re usually so sweet and quiet. Why don’t you head back to the nurses’ office and come back when you feel better.”

You go to the nurses office and tell her you don’t feel well. She takes your temperature and tells you to lay on the bed and wait. When she’s not looking, you take the thermometer out and rub it between your hands. You get it up above 101 and it beeps. You quickly shove it back into your mouth before the nurse comes back in the room.

She takes the thermometer out of your mouth. “Whew, 101. Better call your mom.”

Your mom picks you up and tucks you into bed at home. You watching TV and think about asking Molly to the dance. Tomorrow is your last chance, and you better make good.

Friday

You eat a healthy breakfast and kiss your mom on the cheek as you say goodbye. You grab your bike and take a shortcut through the park. The only thing on your mind is getting to school early to ask Molly to the dance.

You park your bike and run into the building. You round the corner and don’t see Chauncifer standing in the way until it’s too late. You run into him, sending him flying to the ground. Molly turns around when she hears the commotion. You look at her, and then back down to the weird little kid who smells like cheese.

You think back to Gus the day before. How you felt when he knocked you over. You realize that there’s only one thing to do, and you offer your hand to Chauncifer.

“Sorry guy, I didn’t see you.”

Chauncifer takes you hand and you help him up.

“It’s ok, I guess,” he says.

“Hey, sorry about yesterday. I was being a jerk.”

Chauncifer watches the floor and says nothing.

“I didn’t feel like myself yesterday, and I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry.”

You look up to see if Molly is watching, but she’s already gone.

“If you want, you can punch me right in the jaw,” you tell Chauncifer.

“Really?”

“Ha ha, no. But I’ll stick up for you the next time somebody picks on you. I know what it feels like.”

“Thanks, that’d be nice. Nobody’s ever stuck up for me before. Everybody bullies me, even our family pet threatens to eat me.”

You walk Chauncifer to class and take your seat at the back. The hamster cage still stinks like piss, but you’re distracted rehearsing your introduction to Molly and hardly notice.

Lunch finally rolls around, and you hurry outside for a breath of fresh air. You smell the “tacos” they’re serving for lunch, and they smell a little too similar to hamster poo poo.

You take a couple of deep breaths, run your fingers through your hair, and shuffle over to Molly.

She puts down her book and looks up at you.

You stand above her a changed man: ditcher of class, eater of donuts, changer of deliquents, apologizer to weirdos. You realize she’s not that scary.

“Hi, I’m Jake.”

She smiles back. “I know that, silly.”

“Oh.”

She pats the grass. “I saw what you did for Chauncifer. That was nice. Here, sit down.”

You sit.

“We sat next to each other in kindergarten, don’t you remember?”

You think back. There was a girl he sat next to, but he had to be moved after her mom complained that he ate his boogers. Oh no, that was Molly?

“I had the biggest crush on you,” she says. “Then one day you moved and then you never talked to me again.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say. “The teacher made me move, I didn’t want to.”

Her cheeks turn red and she looks down, picking at the grass. “I felt like I was invisible to you. I thought you hated me.”

“Hate you? Me? Never! I didn’t realize that was you.”

“Gee, that doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better.”

You flinch at your own idiocy. “I mean, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember, and I didn’t realize that you were that girl the teacher made me move away from.”

Molly looks up at you. “Do you mean it?”

You open your mouth to ask her to the dance when you hear somebody yell “heads!” and look up. Gus comes barreling toward you, looking over his shoulder with his arms outstretched. A football flies over his head and he jumps for it, missing and landing on top of you.

“Ow! Gus!”

Gus stands up and brushes himself off. “Sorry Jake, didn’t see you there. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” he says with a wink.

“In fact you did, I was just about to ask Molly to the dance.”

Molly’s friend interrupts just as Molly is about to answer. “I saw that crash, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Shannon,” Molly says.

Shannon turns to Gus. “That was a crazy cool fall. You should be a stuntman or something!”

Gus looks at you and you give him the stare. “If you think that’s cool, you should see what I can do down a flight of stairs!” he says to Shannon, leading her away from you and Molly.

You are alone again, and you smile at her. “So, what do you think? You and me, go to the dance tomorrow and catch each other up on what we’ve been up to since kindergarten?”

“Sounds like a date!”

Your insides jump up and down. “Ok, but right now I really think we better go stop Gus from doing whatever stupid thing he’s about to do.”

Molly grabs your hand. “We better hurry,” she says, pulling you behind her.

The End

crabrock fucked around with this message at Aug 4, 2014 around 06:52

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

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


LIMITED TIME ONLY

Flashcedes Rulestm!!!!

Cool! Wow!

I have two to give out, first come, first serve! Get your Flashcedes Rulestm now!

Exclamation points!!

Magnus Gallant
Mar 9, 2010

by Lowtax


Grimey Drawer

Mercedes posted:

LIMITED TIME ONLY

Flashcedes Rulestm!!!!

Cool! Wow!

I have two to give out, first come, first serve! Get your Flashcedes Rulestm now!

Exclamation points!!

I want one.

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

High marks for compassion, low marks for survival skills





Mercedes posted:

LIMITED TIME ONLY

Flashcedes Rulestm!!!!

Cool! Wow!

I have two to give out, first come, first serve! Get your Flashcedes Rulestm now!

Exclamation points!!

Hit me.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

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



In your world, men are subservient to women and cats.


There is a doctor and there is a beard. Neither title nor face-bush belongs to a man.

Mercedes fucked around with this message at Mar 7, 2014 around 19:36

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Grimey Drawer

Mercedes posted:

In your world, men are subservient to women and cats.

oh hey, he lives in my world.

Remember: you can do Mercedes' rules if you want, if it helps, but since he's not a judge we will not hold you to them.

crabrock fucked around with this message at Mar 7, 2014 around 20:49

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

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


I can give out oooooone more Flashedes Rule; but I warn you all who may consider such a thing: Jesus

I won't feel bad if no one wants to take the rule.

Mercedes fucked around with this message at Mar 7, 2014 around 20:06

Oxxidation
Jul 22, 2007

a negative influence


Approximately 6 hours remain for signups

This workweek has ground away every speck of my saintly patience, so please try not to pratfall any harder than usual.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010


Sure, why not. Something something flowery I gotta go to work in ten minutes so whatever.In.

Kaishai
Nov 3, 2010

Scoffing at modernity.

I'm in.

Oxxidation
Jul 22, 2007

a negative influence


Signups are now closed.

Joda
Apr 24, 2010

When I'm off, I just like to really let go and have fun, y'know?



Fun Shoe

Oxxidation posted:

All dialogue must include said-bookisms and they must, without exception, be as elaborate as you can make them, while complementing what is actually being said.

For clarification: Does this mean that every single line of dialogue has to be su/prefixed with said-bookisms, or are we allowed to use said/says or nothing at all if said-bookisms break the flow too much?

Oxxidation
Jul 22, 2007

a negative influence


Joda posted:

For clarification: Does this mean that every single line of dialogue has to be su/prefixed with said-bookisms, or are we allowed to use said/says or nothing at all if said-bookisms break the flow too much?

Nope, gotta use 'em. Have fun!

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

High marks for compassion, low marks for survival skills





But we have official approval to use "says adjectively" for the low low price of -25 words off our word count.

That's what that flash rule means, right? RIGHT? Right.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Grimey Drawer

docbeard posted:

But we have official approval to use "says adjectively" for the low low price of -25 words off our word count.

That's what that flash rule means, right? RIGHT? Right.

right.

Starter Wiggin
Feb 1, 2009

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


My Lake Jucas brawl entry, prompt 'Pack Mentality':

Adventure
697 words


Backpack yawned and stretched his zippers. The sun was finally up, and that meant the store would be opening soon. "Today's the day; I can feel it in my pockets," he thought. "Today is the day I get to go on an adventure."

The store opened, and customers began to trickle in. Some of them glanced briefly at Backpack; he made sure to look spacious and comfortable when they did. But most of the people walked right past Backpack and on to look at his siblings.

His sister Osprey, with her wide straps; his brother Arc'teryx, with his sleek, minimalist design; his other brother North Face, with his cool mountain tattoo: these were who people wanted to go on adventures with, not Backpack.

All day long, Backpack was overlooked. He couldn't understand why. His zippers were shiny, his pockets were roomy and numerous, his straps were adjustable. Here he was, ready for an adventure! But still people ignored him.

Backpack began to get depressed. "Fine then, I don't need to go on an adventure. I bet we'd only do stupid stuff anyways. Probably we'd just walk to some boring college class, or go on an overnight to Rainier, or walk the entire length of the Great Wall of China! Oh, who am I kidding? I need to get out of here! I need to be part of an adventure!"

The fluorescent lighting came on in the store, and the windows began to grow dark. Backpack knew the store would be closing soon, and he'd be left here another day. Another day of hanging here on his hook. His safe, boring hook.

There weren't a lot of people left in the store now. The odds of Backpack getting to start his great adventure today were looking slimmer by the minute. He had just begun to prepare himself for another day of waiting when he realized someone was looking at him. Him! Not his siblings, not the door, not each other, but him! He puffed himself up, stretched his straps as wide as they would go. He would smile, but that usually scared people and he didn't feel like watching the cops tackle another hysterical person to the ground.

A little girl came over and reached towards Backpack. Her hands grazed his strap as she grabbed the bag hanging directly to Backpack’s left. He sagged, his hopes dashed once again.

The little girl rifled through the other pack, roughly undoing its zippers and jamming her hands in its pockets. Backpack watched the scene unfold in front of him. “That should be me,” he thought. He noticed the girl’s face fell when she ran her hands over the other bag, its lack of outer pockets a clear mark against it.

“Wait. It still could be.”

Backpack knew this was his chance to shine. He jangled his zippers to grab the girl’s attention, and made sure that his outer pocket was as prominent as could be.

The little girl came over to Backpack. She lifted him tenderly from his hook and swung him over her small arms. She ran to her mother, laughing. "Mom! Mom! Look! This one has Dora on it! Mom, see? And it has a pocket on the side that I can put rocks and birds and snacks in! Mom! Please, Mom? Can I please get it?" The little girl hopped all around her mother, Backpack bouncing with her.

Backpack was elated. Rocks and birds and snacks? If those didn't sound like the ingredients for a great adventure, he didn't know what did. Backpack listened for the mother's reply, though it was hard to hear over the little girl's constant chorus of, "please, please, please," each punctuated by a hop.

The mother crossed her arms and tilted her head. She looked at the store clerk, and he put up all ten of his fingers. Backpack didn't know what that meant, but he hoped it was a good sign.

The mother nodded, and the little girl took off running with a squeal. "Yayyyyyyyyyyyy! Thank you Mom!" She ran around her mother once more, and then took off towards the doors, towards an adventure, Backpack clinging to her tiny shoulders.

Lake Jucas
Feb 20, 2011


And mine, Starter Wiggins.

The King of Throop Avenue
709 Words

“Hold it!” bellowed the King of Throop Avenue and the Pontiac obeyed, rolling to a stop at the intersection. The King fixed his gaze on the trio of school girls, “Alright, now cross.”

Long ago, the stop signs at the intersection of Throop Avenue and Hart Street were stolen. Unbidden, cars raced through the intersection like wild animals, heedless of pedestrians and other cars. It wasn’t until the King of Throop Avenue began his vigil that order was restored. At least that was how the neighborhood kids told it.

“Thank you, Mr. King” they said as they walked passed into the bodega.

“You girls have a good day.” he told them, waving the Pontiac on.

Every day, the King of Throop Avenue held court on this corner, directing herds of cars from his aluminum folding-chair throne. Under his watchful eyes, schools of children safely swam the gaps between oncoming lumbering SUVs. He kept the flocks of bicyclists in check and well away from the prowling taxis that zipped between lanes. All was harmony.

An old corolla came up to the intersection. “Keep it coming!” the King commanded. The corolla’s driver put his foot on the gas, put without warning a pack of young, white men darted out in front of the car. The corolla jerked to a halt while they meandered across.

“You could have gotten hurt!” the King shouted at them.

“Mind your business.” one shouted back. As they passed, the King overheard them whisper about schizophrenia and laugh. .

The King hobbled over to his throne and eased himself into it. His knees were troubling him again. He rummaged through his cooler - the royal treasury - and found one of the bologna sandwiches Mrs. Delancie made him and started eating. In quiet moments like these he thought about how the neighborhood was changing. The word ‘gentrification’ was on the tip of everyone’s tongues.

The bodega’s door chime roused him. One of the girls rushed out. “Where’s Mr. Bear?” she cried, “Has anyone seen Mr. Bear?”

“Did you lose your stuffed animal?” the King asked.

“Uh-huh. I just had him!”

The King scanned the area and spotted it in the middle of the road on the far corner. The girl went to sprint for it but the King stopped her. “I’ll get it. Kids shouldn’t be out in the road.”

He was halfway across Hart when he saw the shiny new Prius barreling down Throop, directly towards the stuffed bear. “Hold it!” he shouted, but the driver didn’t slow. He looked through the windshield and saw that the woman driving was on the phone, distracted.

“Hold it!” he flailed his arms over his head, but the woman never noticed him. The car kept coming. The King cast a glance back at the little girl and saw the horror in her eyes as her teddy was about to be run over.

He lunged.

The driver slammed her foot on the brakes and twisted the steering wheel. The Prius managed to swerve out of the way and narrowly managed to miss the King. Heart pounding in his chest, he scooped up the teddy bear.

The woman hopped out of her car, “What is wrong with you? I nearly got into an accident!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” he said.

“Seriously, are you crazy? You’re lucky I don’t call the cops. Stupid nig-” she slammed the car door shut and sped off.

When the King of Throop Avenue returned to his corner, the girl ran up and hugged him. “I can’t thank you enough! You have no idea how much Mr. Bear means to me!”

The King smiled at her. He reached into the royal treasury, and with as much pomp and ceremony his trembling hands could muster he drew forth a freezy pop. She grinned delightedly. “Be more careful with Mr. Bear.” he said, “You don’t want to lose him.”

That night, as the King of Throop Avenue’s watch came to a close, he crossed the street and lingered where his daughter had played decades ago, at the spot where the car didn’t swerve out of the way in time. He let himself not be the King of Throop Avenue for a moment, and for the first time in years he cried.

Oxxidation
Jul 22, 2007

a negative influence


24 HOURS REMAIN TO SUBMIT

If you people make me read through the bulk of your crap on a workday I swear to god

Fumblemouse
Mar 21, 2013


STANDARD
DEVIANT


Grimey Drawer

My trip to Lake Starter and what I brawled there

Lake Jucas

The King of Throop Avenue
709 Words

“Hold it!” bellowed the King of Throop Avenue and the Pontiac obeyed, rolling to a stop at the intersection. The King fixed his gaze on the trio of school girls, “Alright, now cross.”Fixing his gaze sounds quite intense, but it's left hanging - we pick it up later by context - he's paying attention - but seems a little skew whiff here. Possibly pervy

Long ago, the stop signs at the intersection of Throop Avenue and Hart Street were stolen. Unbidden, cars raced through the intersection like wild animals, heedless of pedestrians and other cars. It wasn’t until the King of Throop Avenue began his vigil that order was restored. At least that was how the neighborhood kids told it. this could be more interesting if the children flexed their imaginations a bit

“Thank you, Mr. King” they said as they walked passed into the bodega.

“You girls have a good day.,” he told them, waving the Pontiac on. they're already in the Bodega - possibly on the other side of the the road if he was talking to them

Every day, the King of Throop Avenue held court on this corner, directing herds of cars from his aluminum folding-chair throne. Mix that metaphor, baybee Under his watchful eyes, schools of children safely swam the gaps between oncoming lumbering SUVs double adjective seems a little clumsy, and 'schools' of fish rarely meet lumbering sharks. He kept the flocks of bicyclists in check and well away from the prowling taxis that zipped between lanes. All was harmony.

An old corolla came up to the intersection. “Keep it coming!” the King commanded. The corolla’s driver put his foot on the gas, bput without warning a pack of young, white men darted out in front of the car. The corolla jerked to a halt while they meandered across.are they darting or meandering?

“You could have gotten hurt!” the King shouted at them.

“Mind your business.,” one shouted back. As they passed, the King overheard them whisper about schizophrenia and laugh. . <- too many

The King hobbled over to his throne and eased himself into it. His knees were troubling him again. He rummaged through his cooler - the royal treasury - and found one of the bologna sandwiches Mrs. Delancie made him and started eating double and is clumsy. In quiet moments like these he thought about how the neighborhood was changing. The word ‘gentrification’ was on the tip of everyone’s tongues. Is this a word he's familiar with? What's his reaction to it?

The bodega’s door chime roused him. One of the girls rushed out. “Where’s Mr. Bear?” she cried, “Has anyone seen Mr. Bear?” I have no sense until now that the girls are of teddy bear age

“Did you lose your stuffed animal?” the King asked.

“Uh-huh. I just had him!”

The King scanned the area and spotted it in the middle of the road on the far corner this seems contradictory - in the middle but on the corner?. The girl went to sprint for it sprinting and girls of teddy bear age seem incongruous but the King stopped her. “I’ll get it. Kids shouldn’t be out in the road.” This would be a good time to indicate somehow how serious the King is about this - something in his voice, or how he stops her, perhaps, thus foreshadowing the ending

He was halfway across Hart the geography has escaped me - which road is he crossing? the intersection confuses things, somewhatwhen he saw the shiny new Prius barreling down Throop, directly towards the stuffed bear. “Hold it!” he shouted, but the driver didn’t slow. He looked through the windshield and^hhh he saw that the woman driving was on the phone, distracted distracted is possible obvious from context

“Hold it!” he flailed his arms over his head, but the woman never noticeddidn't notice. The car kept coming. The King cast a glance back at the little girl and saw the horror in her eyes as her teddy was about to be run over.

He lunged.across an entire road? - big lunge! Could be better described as to what he had to accomplish to save the tedster

The driver slammed her foot on the brakes and twisted the steering wheel. The Prius managed to swerved out of the way and narrowly managed to missed the King {keep action immediate - never have words that slow down action if you can avoid it[/b]. Heart pounding in his chest, he scooped up the teddy bear.

The woman hopped out of her car, “What is wrong with you? I nearly got into an accident!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.,” he said.

“Seriously, are you crazy? You’re lucky I don’t call the cops. Stupid nig-” she slammed the car door shut and sped off. Oooh - the N word. Edgy. Or half of it. Edg.

When the King of Throop Avenue returned to his corner, the girl ran up and hugged him. “I can’t thank you enough! You have no idea how much Mr. Bear means to me!” The little girl likes to lay her emotional state on with a trowel

The King smiled at her. He reached into the royal treasury, and with as much pomp and ceremony his trembling hands could muster he drew forth a freezy pop. She grinned delightedly. “Be more careful with Mr. Bear.” he said, “You don’t want to lose him.”

That night, as the King of Throop Avenue’s watch came to a close, he crossed the street and lingered where his daughter had played decades ago, at the spot where the car didn’t swerve out of the way in time. He let himself not be the King of Throop Avenue for a moment, and for the first time in years he cried.

this could really do with some tightening up, and you need to learn how punctuation works in sentences with quotation marks (a couple would be forgivable, but this is consistent). try https://www.grammarbook.com/punctuation/quotes.asp

As a story it's Ok. It's not brilliant, and the emotional ending (dude's action reminds him of the past and so he cries) is something of a cliche and an easy ending. In order to give it a bit more impact, we needed to feel that the King's mission is his true calling from his words and actions. We get more that this is something he does, than this is something he is. Tie his actions to his reasons for doing them perhaps. tightening up the action and giving the reader a clearer picture of the setting will help with making the action more dramatic

The connection to the prompt is pretty loose, but it's in there. I don't know if you could call 'pack mentality' a theme, though, it's more background/incidental, so you lose a couple of points there.

Ok - let's see what they competition has to offer.




Starter Wiggin posted:

My Lake Jucas brawl entry, prompt 'Pack Mentality':

Backpack yawned and stretched his zippers.


What a crackling example of well thought out homage this wasn't. The fact that your main character is entirely passive for the duration of the story isn't the worst part of it (though, seriously, ask yourself is this a story that you would want to read?). Clearly, in this case, you have failed to observe the OP which clearly states

quote:

*I will say this one time. FANFICTION IS NEVER OK EVEN IF YOU THINK YOU ARE BEING CLEVER BY HIDING THE FANFICTION IN WHAT AT FIRST SEEMS TO BE A SERIOUS STORY FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK i will slap your face into ugly little pieces

Here's a clue - If I write a story about a klutzy girl called Bella having an S&M relationship with a broody guy called Edward in a world without vampires - it's still fan-fiction. If I change the names to Ana and Christian, it's Fifty Shades of Grey and I'm incredibly, stupidly rich.

If you want to have the faintest chance of passing Fan-Fiction off as something that isn't, well, Fan-Fiction, DO NOT GIVE YOUR CHARACTER THE SAME NAME AS THEIR ORIGINAL COUNTERPART. Borrowing a character from someone else's work is verboten in the Dome. I'm not even particularly familiar with Dora the explorer, and might even have thought that you were just particularly unimaginative with your choice of name for your anthropomorphic carrier, but you had to have Dora herself emblazoned on BackPack to remove all doubt of the connection. Own. loving. Goal. You don't even have parody for defense - it's just the BackPack character, doing gently caress all on a wall.

Disqualified. You have brought eternal shame upon the Dome and yourself.




Starter Wiggin loses with extreme prejudice

Oxxidation
Jul 22, 2007

a negative influence


12 HOURS REMAIN TO SUBMIT

God Over Djinn
Jan 17, 2005

onwards and upwards


Hey oxy/beef. How do you feel about indirect quotation ('He said that he was going to win.')

Oxxidation
Jul 22, 2007

a negative influence


If you want to start trying to exploit loopholes this late in the game then exploit away. I'll be sure to take it into consideration. And I mean that as ominously as possible.

Nitrousoxide
May 30, 2011

do not buy a oneplus phone




Five Shots (731 Words)

The crowd cheered as Jamie was hoisted into the air by the stagehands. The host screamed, “You won Jamie!” as he spread his arms wide and raised them, inviting the crowd to cry even louder.

Jamie was shoved into a silver car as it spun around it's pedestal, his eyes still stared ahead but reddening somewhat. His mouth moved silently as the host continued, “You just won an SLS-Roadster courtesy of Mercedes!”

The stagehands jerked him free of the leather seat of the car despite Jamie's tight grip on the steering wheel and carried him on their shoulders to the next prize. The host bellowed, “And a brand new house! I'm sure you'll have all the girls scrambling for you now!” The picture showed a large mansion, the grounds in front of it had to be several square acres in size. The perfectly manicured lawn and grounds must have required at least three groundskeepers to maintain. The house itself was three stories tall; i's brick and marble facades painted a picture of permanence and stability.

The crowd ooh'd and hollered in laughter as the stagehands moved Jamie on his tour of his prizes. They came to a stop in front of the a poster, easily two yards tall and twice that wide. The brightly colored poster featured a group of spring breakers clad in swim suits on the beach as the sun beat down on them overhead. The host pontificated, “But I'm sure you won't want to stick around that dusty old home all the time! That's why you've earned an all-expenses-paid vacation to the location of your choosing! That's right anywhere in the world!”

The crowd erupted in cheers They pushed onto the barrier separating the stage from the audience as their the calls and hand waving became more fevered and urgent. The announcer raised his arms again, sporting what might just be a little bit of an erection as the continued, “And that's not all Jamie!” he bellowed, “You've won one million dollars!”

Jamie wretched as the stagehands hoisted him up onto their shoulders to cart him around the stage. The crowd was in a frenzy now as it broke through the barricades to rush at Jamie. They pushed the stagehands aside, grabbed Jamie and hoisted him above them and began shuffling the kid on top of them.

The Jamie did his best to curl into a ball as he was jostled around on top of the crowd, but the hands of the people kept pulling at him forcing him to lie straight.

The announcer's voice laughed over the loudspeakers, “Now everyone, let's not forget Jamie's family! I'm sure they're extra proud of their boy!”

Six mammoth screens descended from the ceiling behind the announcer. As they lit up one by one they showed each of Jamie's family members. First, on the left, his father Thomas. The stagehands handed Thomas a revolver, spinning the chamber before locking it in place. Thomas closed his eyes and put the gun to his head. As he pulled the trigger the gun fired knocking his head toward the gun as skull and brain matter spewed out from the opposite side of his head.

The next screen lit up, and the next, and the next. Four screens in total lit up and each showed one of Jamie's family members as they placed that revolver to their head and pulled the trigger. In each case the gun fired and they quickly slumped to the floor. The fifth screen lit up. This time showing Jamie's brother, Tommy. He could barely hold the gun and tears streamed down his face as the host urged him on. After a minute of Tommy sitting there bawling as hard as he could, the stagehands moved in to pull the gun away and turn it over to Jamie when Tommy suddenly put it up to his head, pulled the trigger and slumped down next to the rest of his family.

The final screen lit up, showing Jamie as his brother fell out of his chair. His eyes glassy, the nearby stagehands reached for Jamie and lifted him up as the camera panned out to show the rest of the set.

The screens winked off as the host consoled, “Shame that the missing bullet had to be in the last chamber, but that's the risk you run when you play, 'Five Shots!'”

Baudolino
Apr 1, 2010

THUNDERDOME LOSER

Counseling. 945 words.
January 4th.

Behold the doctor. He sits in his luxurious leather chair. Outside shiny towers of glass and steel glint in the bleak January sun. The window behind the doctor`s back offers a fantastic visage for his visitors.

In front of him a man and a woman sits. Bot wear grey formal clothing. Their faces are turned away from each other.
“ Why don`t you start Clarissa? Why are you here?” Said the doctor.

Clarissa cleared her throat before answering “ We both want a divorce but we have a son, so we want to make one last try. We want to work it out, don`t we John?”

The man smirked as he heard Clarissa`s response” I am here because I need your signature Clarissa. Just sign the drat papers and stop this expensive Charade. You are not going to change my mind anyways. There is no We left to protect”.

The doctor turned towards John before asking “ Are you uncomfortable with being here John? Trust me you are not the first. Perhaps you are right and this is just a charade…but why not give it try. There is no harm to you here. I believe Clarissa will pay all my fees by herself”.

“ That`s right John. This won`t cost you a dime. Can`t you just give a try, for James`s sake? Clarissa said.
“ Why the gently caress couldn’t you think of James when you decided be a loving slut! loving the loving pool boy Clarissa, arrgh! Just what the gently caress were you thinking?” John roared in response. His face suddenly red hot.
“ He was always there, and you were always away. Even when you were home you kept away. Wanking away In front of your computer. Do you understand how much that hurt?”

“ John, Clarissa, I understand that you are both very upset right now. But shouting at each other is not the way forward. Please refrain from swearing our foul language whilst in this room. This is supposed to be a gentle and healing space” The doctor said and stretched out his arms.

“ Clarissa, is it true that you were unfaithful? “ The doctor said.
“ Yes, but there is a reason for that” She said.
“ Slut!” John muttered to himself.
………
February 6th

John and Clarissa entered the doctor’s office once again. They quickly sat down.

“ Welcome back, did you manage to do the exercises I told you?” The doctor said, the shadow of smiled barely visible upon his lips.
“ Yes!” John and Clarissa said. “ It really made a difference to take time to argue thrice a week” Clarissa continued.
“ Well I’m glad to hear that And the other exercises?” The doctor said.

“ Aha, yes it was actually quite nice to be…intimate once again” John said and gently stroked his tar-black tie.
The doctor turned his gaze towards Clarissa and asked” Do you agree with what John said?”

“ Well, I guess it was nice. But..there has been little improvement from John I think” Clarissa said.
“ You mean, lack of tenderness whilst in the act?”“Yes, precisely” Clarissa said.

“ No wait just a minute, I did the whole foreplay thing, just like in that pamphlet you showed me Aaand, I bougth that fancy lube you told me about. That stuff if expensive. What more do you want from me?”
“I don`want to talk but this, not here” Clarissa responded”
“All right” John said and raised up his arms and as if in surrender.

“ Ofcourse, let`s move on. But let me just say John that…the bedroom is not the place to be selfish, it`s the place for each spouse to give worship the other. I want to you reflect upon that going forwards. But don`t stress it. The important thing is that you are both trying. That`s great. 80% of success is just showing up !.“ The doctor said.

Now…John what are your thought`s going forwards. Do you feel like there has been an improvement since last month?” The doctor said.
“ Well I`ve decided to move back to the apartment for now. That`s got to count for something” John said and clasped Clarissa`s hand.
“ Indeed, this a substantial development. The doctor said.
"And how do you feel about this Clarissa, is it strange to have him back? Some women might have grown accustomed to the single life by this point.
…….

March 10th.
The tan young couple smiled as they entered the doctor’s office and seated themselves.
“ We have some bad news for you doc” John said, his hands resting upon a fresh pair of yellow pants.
“ How so? “ The doctor said.
“ Well, we have decided to not get a divorce” John said.
“ In many ways I think we are closer than ever” Clarissa said and smoothed out a crease on her brigth red blouse.

“ And now you both feel ready to move on? Have you forgiven her betrayal John?”
“Indeed I have. During our trip to Thailand all resentment just..evaporated” John responded.
“ And do you Clarissa feel like John is paying more attention to you, outside as well as inside the bedroom? ” Said the Doctor.
“ Yeah, he is much better about these things now" Clarissa said.

“ Good, my job here is done. “ The doctor said and smiled broadly. It`s far from usual to see such a quick improvement. It`s always delightful when it does happen. So , why don`t we just stop here, and I won`t bill you for this hour” The doctor continued.
“Sounds good” The young couple exclaimed. They shook hands with the doctor and left.

Cache Cab
Feb 21, 2014


Title: To Say Goodbye
Wordcount: 940

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

Mark the blacksmith stoked the fire with his massive arms, calling out to the other workers: “Get more fuel on that fire!” he bellowed. It was hot and he could barely breathe, but at the end of this shift he’d collect the paycheck that would allow him to buy the ring he’d had his eye on.

He toweled off after his shift and headed straight home and signed onto his computer. He knew his online girlfriend would be waiting for him.

Her face splashed on the screen, and after the usual pleasantries, he tilted his webcam down toward the floor and knelt to one knee. "I love you,” he espoused. “I think we should get married," he proposed.

Gertrude covered her face so he could not see her cry, but her head bobbed up and down. She finally recovered, and pushed her glasses back up. “You’d have to secure the divorce from your ex-wife,” she speculated.

He didn’t like the sound of that. “Fine, I’ll catch the next flight out,” he complained.

#

Mark’s technically-still-current wife, Tabitha, lived with her parents on a few acres out in the middle of nowhere. “I hate Kansas,” he stated flatly.

The local airport had no rental car service, so he bought an old bike from a shop on the way. He barely made it down the bumpy dirt road to their cabin. She was expecting his visit, but he hadn’t told her the reason he had come.

Mark knocked on the door, and her father answered. He scowled at Mark, but didn’t say anything. He turned back inside and called out to his daughter. “Mark’s here again,” he remarked.

Mark followed the old man into the rustic kitchen and was left alone with only Tabitha and himself. She motioned to a chair. He rubbed his posterior. “I’d rather stand, thanks,” he asserted.

He opened his bag and set the divorce papers on the table. “I’ve already filled out all my information,” he informed her.

She crumbled it and threw it in the trash. “I will not sign this,” she refused.

He slid his hands into his pockets and, feeling exhausted, panted, “I’m getting married again.”

Tabitha stood unblinking for a moment “Go to hell. Run, jump, swim, I don’t care how you get there, just go!” She verbalized.

“I need you to be on board,” he railed her.

She smashed her fist on the table. “But you said it wasn’t me, it was you,” she expounded.

“I was wrong, it wasn’t me,” he gently notified her.

“It would be a lot easier for me if you were just gay. You sure you’re not?” she queried.

“I do own several colorful hats,” he jested. “But no, just the normal one man and one woman becoming two. Or three, if you count our dog Rufus,” he added.

“You named your dog Rufus,” she muttered. That was what he had named his dick when they were together. She rolled her eyes, and Mark thought he saw the anger fade; as if she suddenly realized they were never meant to be together. “You deserve to be happy,” she vowed.

The tension had eased, and Tabitha shook her head and walked out the door. He followed her down to the pond where they had spent a summer fishing and swimming years ago.

Tabitha picked up one of the poles laying on the ground. “You know after you get married, she’s just going to eat sweets all the time and get fat,” she snickered.

He ignored her and threw a rock into the water. “I wonder if it's reached the bottom yet,” he pondered. In the shade it was hard to see down more than a few feet. “I really like the greenery here,” he opined.

She laughed and made a decent cast to the middle of the pond. Mark picked up the other pole and tried to best her, but it went wide. “Oh poo poo, watch out!” he broadcasted.

She ducked and his lure bobbed only a yard from shore. “I’m really smart,” he keened.

They spent the next several hours laughing and reminiscing. On a horse ride around the lake, they discussed their lives since they had split. Tabitha admitted she had met somebody, but blushed with Mark pressed her for more details, and refused to give any.

#

When they got back to the house he saw a Hummer parked on his bike. He jumped off his horse and ran over to it. “Who could be so careless?” he derided. “Who broke my bike?” he spoke.

Tabitha hung her head. “This is my Uncle Chuck’s new car. With all this new oil money flowing in, people are getting a little crazy with the spending. I guess you can take my new Vespa back to the airport,” she moped, pointing to the seafoam-green scooter parked on a piece of sheet metal.

Mark was happy about not having to bike all the way back to the airport, and Tabitha took him aside. She told him about her boyfriend: a man from Dubai that had come to the states to oversee his family’s oil business. He was rich, and as soon as he finished his job here, he was going to fly her to Paris.

Tabitha signed the documents, and then they sat down on the couch, exhausted. She picked up her book while Mark relaxed with a beer.

“So this guy is from Dubai? If you’re happy together, it must be fate since he’s come such a long way,” Mark ventured. “What’s his name?”

Tabitha put her book down, but did not speak. “His name is Said,” she eventually said.

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Nikaer Drekin
Oct 11, 2012


My piece this week is a prequel of sorts to this entry of mine from last year. I think it stands on its own, though, so whether you go back and read that one is up to you.

Revenge, Pixie Style: A Scribe's First Chronicle
(985 Words)

"One Time That I Helped a Friend"
by Zingiberales, for Miss Barleygrass's Fifth Grade Pixie Class!


One day a long time ago when I was walking in the schoolyard, I heard some little tiny sniffles coming from the edge of the spark-ball leaf. Curiously, I poked my head in that direction, walked over, and saw a little tiny pixie girl sitting there, sniffing and snuffling and crying her eyes out.

"Ah!" I mulled internally. "That girl looks like she needs my help! I will go over and see if I can lend any assistance!"

I walked over to the sobbing, weeping girl and yelped, "Hello there! I heard you crying, is something the matter?"

She whipped her head around it, her eyes puffy and flushed with tears. "Does it look like something's the matter to you??" she bellowed morosely. "Everybody fuzzing hates me. They won't let me play with them anymore. I only wanted those sap-sucking fluff-pots to like me!"

Though shocked by such profane talk coming from one so small, I enquired, "But why do they hate you so much? You don't seem all that different from them."

The girl swallowed a gulp of sorrow. "They hate me because I am better than they are at dodge-ball!!" she lamented. "I raised little red welts all over their rumps because I smacked them with so many dodge-balls. I can't help it, though! It's in my nature," she griped grumblingly.

I contemplated what this outburst could mean. "Do you mean to say," I demanded, "that the Soothsayre told you that you are destined to be a volleyball champion??"

The girl sniffed. "No, silly. She told me I was going to become a warrior."

I gaped, astounded. I had never met a warrior before. After all, the last pixie war had been fought a thousand years before I was even born! I didn't think about that right then. All I realized was, "Wow, this seems like a pixie I should keep my eye on."

I stuck out my hand to her. "My name's Zingiberales, but you can call me Zing," I grinned. "What's your name, Miss Warrior?"

The warrior girl slapped her hand into mine and grudgingly shook it. "Mandrake," she stated succinctly. "You can call me Mandrake."

Mandrake led me off into the woods, saying that she needed my help to enact her scheme of DASTARDLY REVENGE!! against the mean kids who had shunned her away. I could feel my heart going thump-thump as I looked around and realized that I couldn't recognize any of the trees around. I tapped Mandrake on the shoulder.

"What?" she hissed in my ear.

"I really don't think we should be out this far!" I tittered. "My parents will tear their hair out with worry if I'm not home soon!"

Mandrake rolled her eyes. "Come on, Zing," she groused. "This won't take long. And if your supper gets cold, you can just tell your parents you were helping a friend achieve her DASTARDLY REVENGE!! Grown-ups get important stuff like that."

I sighed and kept following her, if only to stick close to a pixie that seemed to know her way around this part of the woods. Soon, we came to a clearing filled with spiky bushes, and Mandrake flitted ahead to inspect them.

"Here they are! These are exactly what we need!" she cackled. Mandrake plucked one of the tiny red berries from a bush and tossed it up and down. "How would you like to play some dodge-ball, Zing?" she wheedled wickedly.

We flitted back to the schoolyard, our arms stuffed with the red, juicy orbs. We hid on one of the higher, curved leaves overlooking a group of pixie kids playing in the yard. They played hopscotch and golem-ball and milkweed-skip, chattering blissfully, totally unaware of our presence. Mandrake tapped me on the shoulder and counted down, three... two... one.

Mandrake jumped out from behind the leaf and screeched, "Hey, you mangy fluff-pots! You limpid, tick-bit stick-heads! Let this be a lesson to you! Now you know that when you snub Mandrake, you will suffer her DASTARDLY REVENGE!! Now, Zing!"

I popped out and we hurled the berries at all the mean pixies, the scarlet juice splattering their faces and staining their wings. They screamed and fluttered around on their underdeveloped wings, and whenever one of them half-heartedly tried to fly away Mandrake grabbed another berry and pelted her, WHAM, right in the gob! I had never done anything that crazy before, but I was having so much fun I didn't have time to be worried. Soon we were plum out of berries, having generously given them all to our unsuspecting targets! We left the whole heap of them glopping around in a sticky, sanguine pile. Mandrake and I stood above them, basking in the glory of a fight well won.

It's too bad we didn't know the berries were poisonous. We must have sweated about fifty thimblefuls when everyone was still in the hospital, but thankfully the poison was just the stinging, burning type and not the deadly type. We couldn't stop smiling when everyone came out okay, at least until they all told on us. Mandrake and I were grounded for what seemed like two eons, of course, but on the way home from school we swiped some lightning bugs and stored them in our closets, so that at night we could flash each other coded best-friend messages from across the leaves.

THE END!!

(To Miss Barleygrass: I used a lot of vivid descriptions the way you taught me, I hope you liked it! Also I'm sorry for the bad language that Mandrake uses, this is based on a true story and she wanted her dialogue to be just like in real life! I can cut those parts out if you want me to read it to the class.)

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