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God Of Paradise posted:I've won a couple of stupid awards being a stupid reporter. insecure person spotted. please stop talking.
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Nov 28, 2014 23:19
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God Of Paradise posted:Second attempt at writing a 1200 vignette you're going to win so many more awards
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Dec 1, 2014 04:46
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For Want of a Bird’s Eye View 1179 words Little Bird http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=2831&title=For+Want+of+a+Bird%92s+Eye+View crabrock fucked around with this message at 20:22 on Jan 1, 2015 |
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Dec 1, 2014 06:38
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put a link to the story in the writocracy.com archive tho, so that future generations of TDers who are reading the old threads can see the story. I leave the title, word count, and a link to the archive you can lock your own stories in the archive so that nobody can see them but you.
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Dec 4, 2014 05:35
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not 100% sure cache cab didn't kill himself tbh
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Dec 5, 2014 07:56
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ok, in, but you're not going to like it. aimin' for that loss
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Dec 6, 2014 03:20
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Drink: Zombie excerpts my shame journal 989 words http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=2865&title=excerpts+my+shame+journal crabrock fucked around with this message at 20:23 on Jan 1, 2015 |
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Dec 8, 2014 05:43
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crits? okquote:Ram Chowder, Chief Executive of RamCorp, i think that naming your company after your first name is kind of weird, imo lifted his coffee mug, hefted it in a beefy hand, and hurled it the length of the cherry and inlaid sandalwood boardroom table. It spun as it flew, pronoun antecedent says table flew leaving a comet trail of black coffee splatters, before impacting with a sullen thud on the irritatingly well-haired skull of Henry Skoggins, his VP in Charge of Being an rear end in a top hat; a position to which Chowder had mentally assigned him while the mug was still in flight. was hoping it was a real position i was hoping this would go on a little longer because i wanted to see him drill anyway but i have faith he will do the drilling, but still it would have been nice to see it. crabrock fucked around with this message at 07:36 on Dec 8, 2014 |
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Dec 8, 2014 07:25
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but WHY does it sit?
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Dec 8, 2014 23:54
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give me the most boring poo poo you can think of
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Dec 9, 2014 03:13
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systran posted:
thunderdome is a cool channel where we talk about drugs and okcupid and 401ks
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Dec 9, 2014 18:56
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I just treat people badly to address my issues of inadequacy, so if SH u could please put "shut the gently caress up, Benny" into the OP too that'd be great.
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Dec 11, 2014 22:55
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thanks for NOTHING kaishai, your crits are horrible and so are you. I hope you step in a puddle that is deeper than you thought and your socks get wet 
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Dec 13, 2014 00:19
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Painted Lady 1200 words http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=2882&title=Painted+Lady crabrock fucked around with this message at 20:23 on Jan 1, 2015 |
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Dec 15, 2014 01:52
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In to do injustices to Catch-22
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Dec 19, 2014 14:39
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here is dis We Are What We Are 1090 words http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=2903&title=We+Are+What+We+Are crabrock fucked around with this message at 20:24 on Jan 1, 2015 |
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Dec 21, 2014 23:42
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Fanky Malloons posted:Hmmm, what is it they say about fast judging again? I have oft heard it labeled "good judging"
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Dec 23, 2014 03:09
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systran posted:Thunderdome: Weekly Flashfiction Contest Thunderdome 2015teen: Make a weekly promise to write flash fiction but then get too busy
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Dec 23, 2014 04:13
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Benny the Snake posted:Thunderdome 2015: This is a No-Benny Zone oh what a surprise, you've brought the topic back around to yourself again. neat.
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Dec 23, 2014 04:32
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 Sebmojo vs. Entenzahn  Write about something you hate. Make me hate it too through your character(s)' eyes. Spare no expense in belittling, berating, and slandering said object, person, place, activity, idea, time period, dance move, common appliance, app, or water-dwelling mammal (crustaceans are off limits). Obviously, write an actual story, not a vignette. Also actually follow the loving prompt, this isn't rocket science. Don't try to get cutesy and argue with me later that really love is the most extreme form of hate or some bullshit. Just straight up wreck something. I want to read pure, unadulterated hatred. You have a week and fifteen hundred words. If they are not in by the time I sip sparkling cider on Jan 1st, I will report your toxx. I am not as soft as the doof.
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Dec 24, 2014 17:43
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in
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Dec 27, 2014 03:44
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gently caress you ignorant rear end holes you're all dumb as poo poo and know nothing about my writing abilities, i'm also in my mid 30s so you're just literal children. you're all weak and make the worst attempts at fronting which is evident in the typical fat carb munching nerd passive aggression in the last two posts. i would have owned all you biches in high school and college and own you today in social status, wealth and happiness per capita
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Dec 27, 2014 17:49
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 Treasure Mountain 1500 words I was fifteen when the dusty scoundrel that called himself “The Captain” burst through the doors of my family’s inn. In a flurry of bubbles and wizened, tattooed skin, he claimed a table and demanded a bottle of seaweed rum. He took up residence in one of our finest rooms, and seemed to eat his weight in oysters every night. Though he claimed to have vast riches, when it came time for the bill, he always deferred. When he was heavy into the rum, he’d regale passers-by with stories of dry land and climbing mountains. He paid me two sand dollars to keep my eyes out for a one-finned merman. A dangerous sod that wanted what The Captain had in his rusty chest. What he kept in there, he would never tell. It was a stormy night on the sea above when I saw the one-finned merman. Lightning struck the water, sending bright arcs down to the seafloor. Everybody had taken shelter in their clamshells and coral homes except one. He stood in the doorway of my family’s inn, silhouetted by the sea bolts, and yelled: “I am here to repay The Captain for the wrong he done me.” I fired a harpoon and he swam off, but not before The Captain heard him and fell to the sand, sick with dread. He never got better, despite the merdoctor making him abstain from his seaweed rum. A few days later, we found him floating upside-down near the top of the ceiling. I took it upon myself to break open the lock on the rusty chest, hoping to get the sand dollars that were owed to my mother. What I found instead of money was a map. It was of a mountain, and near the peak was a red X. It was then that I knew the stories he told when he was drunk held more truth than I had initially given him credit for. I tucked the map into my shirt and relocked the truck. That night, somebody broke into The Captain’s room and ransacked the place, including the chest. I didn’t have to see the one-finned merman to know it was him. I took the map to two of the colony’s most trusted mermen, the package delivery guy and the fire merman, or Chip and Dale, respectively. I found both in a nightclub and sought their counsel. “Aye, a land-treasure map. I’ve heard tales, but never thought I would see one,” said Chip. Dale stuck his thumbs under his suspenders. “I’ve heard of these land pirates. They prey on passenger vessels trying to make their way across the continents to new, bountiful seas. The windswept plains are lawless and cruel, many a merfamily have died on the journey.” At this I perked up. “We should definitely try to find that treasure ourselves.” Chip laughed at first, but then his smile hardened into a stern countenance of serious consideration. “You know, it just might work, if we had the right crew and a sturdy land vessel.” We rounded up a bevy of seasoned landmermen who knew their way around a mountain, and got an advance on any treasure we’d find to purchase a land vessel. It had eighteen wheels, a captain’s chamber up front, and a large tank of water behind it for the rest of us. We set roll on a beautiful sunny day. After we’d broken out of the surf and rolled up on the beach, I looked back toward the ocean, and knew it would be a long time before I saw it again. The glass of the land vessel was as clear as the Caribbean waters, and we rolled along at a steady pace with the mountain on the map looming in the distance. It was on this voyage that I got to know the merman who went by the name of Sebastian. He had golden, glittery suspenders, and a red sash around his waist. He wore a bandanna and black hat, but most telling of a merman who had spent many years ashore, was a tattoo of cow skull on his upper arm. I asked him about it one day, when the grasses were still and the skies blue, and he sat me down and told me the tale of the cow. Legend has it that cows are mermen who had been sloshed out of their land vessels during a storm or bumpy ride. Mermen can’t survive on land, but the mergods, granting mercy upon those poor souls, transformed them to have legs so that they could walk, and big bellies to eat grasses when there were no clams to be found. They wandered the plains as a warning to the merpeople who would dare venture out of the ocean and into the mountains: beware. One particularly dull day I was hiding beneath a rock in a section of the land vessel that was usually empty when Sebastian and a friend swam over. They didn’t see me, and they talked of plans to kill Chip and Dale and take the treasure for themselves. I had to hold my hand over my mouth to stop the bubbles from escaping, and waited until they had swum away. I immediately informed my friends of Sebastian’s dastardly plan, and we agreed that there were simply too many of them to fight. We hatched a plan to bolt into the forest as soon as we arrived at the base of the mountain. The land vessel was outfitted with several smaller pods that we would have to take further up the mountain. We had the only map, and without it the land pirates would be lost. We reached the base of the mountain at dawn the next day. Chip, Dale, and I crammed into one of the pods and drove away from the land vessel before the land pirates could enact their murderous machinations. We followed the landmarks toward the X, until we reached the mouth of a cave. We enabled the lights on the pod and dove into the darkness, water sloshing from the pod. Almost instantly we saw glittering sand dollars, gold-covered shells, and diamond plated conches. Tridents and harpoons and sashes woven with golden thread glistened when beams of light washed through the caverns. “It’s real!” said Dale, using the claw arm of the pod to fetch a jewel-encrusted starfish. “And it’s all ours,” said Sebastian behind us. We turned our pod around and saw that the land pirates had gotten into their own pods and found us. “But how?” I asked. “You sloshed water the entire way. It was easy to track you, sealubber.” The pirates surrounded us, and I counted them in my head: Sebastian, another pirate with a fabulous unbuttoned shirt, another with a sparkling bowtie, and several others in various states of undress. All of our hired crew had followed us, and left nobody to guard the ship. I floated near Chip and whispered. “If we make a break for it, we could get to the land vessel and roll away. Their pods wouldn’t have the range or speed to catch us.” “True, but what of the treasure?” We have the bejeweled starfish, it alone could recoup our costs and then some. “It’s not enough, we must get more.” “It is the treasure or our lives,” I said. Dale had floated over, and he agreed. “We have to make a swim for it.” I nodded. I pushed the lever to send the pod rocketing forward. The pirates, distracted by the treasure mountain, did not notice until we were already past them. Chip pressed himself against the back of the pod, crying over lost treasure. He couldn’t stand the thought of living without a resplendent belt buckle, and threw himself out of the pod. The last we saw of Chip before we plunged down the mountain was him flopping on the pile of golden shells, gasping for air with a grin wider than the Mariana Trench. I heard the pirates yell after us, but we were already well on our way down the slope. We attached our pod, and I swam as fast as my flipper would take me to the Captain’s bowl at the front. The eighteen-wheeled land vessel roared to life and spit black smoke into the sky. It lurched forward, and I thought Dale would be lost in the resulting slosh, but he held onto plastic plant anchored in the rocks. The tires spit dust and rocks back at the pirates’ pods, cracking one and sending two pirates flopping onto the dirt. That was the last we saw of the pirates, and the rest of our trip home was uneventful and lonely. Some nights I still dream of the island. I wonder if the mergods had mercy on Chip and turned him into a cow, and if he’s busy grazing among the treasures. But I will never go back. One trip on land is enough to last me a lifetime.
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Dec 29, 2014 05:38
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Almost impossible. The sheer amount of work that mostly Kaishai has done to archive every story, brawl, and interprompt, as well as record if crits were done, has taken literally WEEKS of her time. Actually recording crits, most of which are only useful to that person, and won't actually be seen by other people, is just not feasible nor necessary. In the future, I may add the ability for somebody to archive their own crits on their stories, but in all honesty if they're important to you then copy them down into a word doc at the end of your story or whatever. Then again, if you want to do all the work yourself, of going through 2+ years of thread and thousands of crits, be our guest. I'm sure if you emailed them to us in an easily copy/pastable format then we'd be up to it :P
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Dec 29, 2014 08:27
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What if it's a girl or robot?
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Dec 29, 2014 17:07
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Benny, you ARE an egotistical jerk. Almost every post/IRC chat you have is about YOU. Just stop posting about yourself and call Nubile Hillock a cock-smuggling bandito like a normal person. (he smuggles them in his butt)
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Dec 30, 2014 03:42
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Mercedes posted:Maybe next year. i still believe
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Dec 30, 2014 05:39
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Screaming Idiot posted:
I know, right? Also people didn't hate yours this week, at least in IRC people were saying they liked it, so keep it up.
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Dec 30, 2014 06:57
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in it to HM it
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Dec 30, 2014 07:31
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