WHAT THE gently caress UUUUUUUUUUUUP BITCH rear end LEPER!!! GET READY FOR THE BEAT DOWN OF THE NEW YEAR MOTHERFUCKER!
Sitting In A Tree, S-T-U-K As Can Be
“You seem to be in quite the pickle, Sergeant Skittles,” said the dog, Sir Barkley, his lips unmoving as he looked up at the cat in her precarious perch in the tree. “I bet you want me to do the whole song and dance and fetch our human for you?”
Sergeant Skittles blinked slowly. Thick dark lashes rested on her high cheekbones, like fuzzy caterpillars floating in a bowl of sweet cream1. “I’d rather be the neighborhood bicycle than call on you for anything of importance. I have this under control,” said Sergeant Skittles.
“Well then,” said Sir Barkley as he laid down and got comfortable, “that is a very tall tree you are sitting in.” His lips peeled back like curtains in a toothy grin. “Did the bird you chased up there teach you how to fly?”
“Mongrel, don’t you have a red rocket to clean or a leg to hump?”
Sir Barkley slapped the grass with his tail. “At least I have all of my parts.”
Sergeant’s ears pressed against her head and her eyes went into slits. “You slipper-fetching, man-serving -- Oh, our human! Get it to help me down!”
The human walked across yard and tussled Sir Barkley’s ears. “Ock,” said the human. “Ock, ock.”
Sir Barkley rolled over and the human rubbed his belly. A minute passed, and a voice called from the house, drawing the human away and leaving the animals alone again.
“Man, those tummy rubs feel awesome,” said Sir Barkley.
“What the hell, Sir Barkley?” asked Sergeant Skittles. “You didn’t even try to get the human to help me down!”
“I sure didn’t.” He contentedly slid around in the grass.
Sergeant Skittles stared, dumbfounded. “W-why?”
“You gave me fleas.”
Sergeant Skittles recoiled her head. “Fleas? Is this what this is about?” she asked. “We both had fleas and it sucked! I’m sorry you got them from me.”
“Not just the fleas. I had to wear a cone around my neck for a week.”
Sergeant Skittles suppressed a laugh as the visuals streamed through her mind’s eye. “That was terrible.”
Sir Barkley got up. “Have fun spending the night outside, Skittles.”
“Wait, wait!” she called out after Sir Barkley. “I’m sorry, I really am. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“I want you to call me by my full name from now on.”
Sergeant Skittles hesitated. When she finally spoke, she did it slowly. “You want me to call you ‘The Round Mound of Rebound Charles Barkley the Bad Mamma Jamma’ every time?” She shifted in her perch. “That is far too stupid. Even for you.”
“Oh look! It’s a car. I think I’m gonna go chase it now,” said Sir Barkley as he went racing down the street.
Sergeant Skittles watched in disbelief as her only hope of getting down vanished. “Well, old girl. You seem to be quite in a pickle.”
|# ¿ Jan 1, 2014 23:27|
|# ¿ Mar 19, 2019 15:02|
Well done Leper! You better watch yourself. You ain't seen the last of me.
|# ¿ Jan 2, 2014 04:30|
Mercedes crushed the Red Dog 20/20 can in his spindly grasp, leftover beer foaming out of the top. He flung the beer carcass to the ground and stumbled to his computer with eyes firmly crossed and pants indubiously soiled. He pulled his computer chair out with the intention to sit on it, but his rear end found the floor nonetheless.
With his forearm, he pushed all nonessential items off the computer desk with a glorious swipe. The monitor swayed like a ship in the open sea. No matter, Mercedes pounded the keyboard like it owed him money and after what it seemed like an eternity of misspelling a word and hitting backspace far too many times, his masterpiece was in front of him in all its luminescent grandeur.
He nodded, swelling with pride. "I'll show these fuckers," he said, right before he lost his balance and attacked the keyboard with his face; bits of the alphabet clattering against the floor.
|# ¿ Jan 2, 2014 18:44|
Hey guys, I'm gonna explain my story. First, it's a metaphor for SHUT THE gently caress UP AND POST YOUR STORY
Black and Tan
Dearest reader, this story begins smashingly. Pun intended. The windows of this Korean restaurant called “Solomon’s Baby”, imploded in a shower of glass and lawsuits when a Mercedes-Benz riddled by bullets sailed through it and landed on the few people too stupid to comprehend that airborne cars cannot brake.
A tall black man in a slim fitted Calvin Klein suit climbed out where the windshield should have been. Raphael looked so cool as he brushed bits of glass from his suit and tossed the car keys to some dead dude on the ground, saying a killer one liner. “Don’t scratch that paint. I got her yesterday,” he probably said. I don’t know, you’d have to have been there. Walking around to the back of the car, Raphael pulled a dead man from the trunk and dragged him along the ground by his arm.
Sitting at a table surrounded by dirty cops with drawn guns, a gray haired man sat eating sushi as if there wasn't a loving car and dead bodies littering the restaurant floor. "Old friend," said Solomon, "He’s not one of mine. I don’t outsource."
Raphael snapped his fingers and an army of black dudes in sleek black suits rushed into the restaurant and lined up beside him. It was as if they had rehearsed their entrance to perfection. "No matter. Nigga was wearing alligator shoes. I’m a top ranking member of the PETA." Raphael held his hand out and his henchmen handed him an assault rifle. “I’m here to finish you, once and for all!”
"My rival." Solomon shot up from his seat and snapped his fingers. His bodyguards looked at each other uneasily before they remembered what the signal meant. They awkwardly shuffled around until they mirrored their foes across the restaurant. "I’m glad you showed up when you did. I think my seafood might have gone bad." He slapped the plate to the ground. "No one kill Raphael, he is mine."
Raphael pressed his lips together and his eyes misted over. "And you are mine."
If my focus wasn’t all on Raphael’s face, I probably could have told you in magnificent purple prose how Solomon got that katana he’s holding right now.
"What are you doing Sol? We have guns and grenades and poo poo," said Raphael.
Solomons eyes clouded over in a brilliant white. "You shouldn't bring guns to a demon fight." And then the demons came.
Reader, stay with me. It was a chaotic moment and I admit I have been sneaking some scotch when you weren’t paying attention, so details might be a little fuzzy. Solomon’s crooked cops dropped to all fours and their bodies shifted and changed into more of a canine shape. The hellhounds ran forward, their police hats somehow still secured to their heads.
Raphael’s men were firing bullets while diving in slow motion and poo poo. Sure, it looked cool, but I’m not certain what they were trying to dodge. Even worse, now they were on the ground staring up at the hellhounds. Raphael himself went charging through the restaurant while some crazy, epic music was obviously playing on a loop in his head. He was shooting his gun and throwing grenades like they were going out of style, but I don't think he was aiming at anyone in particular. "Solomon!" he shouted, sounding elated.
Solomon charged at him as well. His sword reminded me of that one time I dropped acid in the 60's. It was trailing light as he flourished it around his body. When the two rivals met, the weapons clashed together. The men struggled against each other and I swear to God Raphael leaned in and smelled Solomon.
They pushed off each other and circled one another -- ignoring the sounds of explosions and men being treated like chew-toys.
"I hope you have more than this to offer, old friend," said Raphael as he discarded his spent weapons.
"Again, in a losing battle, you think you are winning.” Solomon gathered dark energy at his side and his muscles strained as if he were trying to carry something far too heavy for him. “I’ll show you how wrong you are!” The room lurched. His arms broke free of the invisible restraints and then everything went black.
Like, literal black. Not those bullshit endings you read in amatuer stories. There is nothing but class here, esteemed reader. I think Solomon snuffed out the sun.
“This is how you were going to prove to me how wrong I was?” said Raphael.
“I think I hosed up,” Solomon whispered.
“You sure did.”
He sure did, reader. He sure did. And that is the tale of how we’re all going to freeze to death.
Hah! I’m just kidding, honorable reader. Man, you should have seen the look of disappointment on your face. What Solomon actually did was tear open a portal directly above him. Smoky tendrils flopped out of there like a handful of snakes coming out of someone’s mouth.
“Stop this madness, Sol!” Raphael pleaded. The evil that poured out from the portal had knocked him onto his knees.
Solomon reached down and grabbed Raphael by the lapel. He flung an arm back, pointing at the portal which now had a face squeezing through. “This is what it has come down to Raphael! We both knew our forbidden love would end this way.” He then kissed Raphael, right on the lips. For an uncomfortable amount of time.
Nope, still kissing.
“Our forbidden love would end with demons running rampant through the world?” With tears in his eyes, Raphael pushed Solomon away. “I knew our break up was hard on you, but I never imagined you would have lost your mind. I no longer know you, Sol. I’ve been holding back, but no longer!” Raphael, with hands glowing white, reached out, and goatse’d the air.
The space above him shimmered, then tore open -- a choir of black cherubs burst forth and beat boxed with holy fervor. Dollar bills shot out from the portal and Black Jesus pulled himself through, but paused at the lip.
“The nigga of man has -- Oh HELL naw, I ain’t dying today,” said Black Jesus as he turned around. “Nigga, just got my poo poo lined up.” The portal closed behind him leaving Raphael in quite the lurch.
Solomon shook his head. “Your best isn’t good enough, I’m afraid.”
“At least I got to see you one last time.”
And then, venerable reader, the demon leaned out over the portal and snatched Raphael in its gaping maw, leaving nothing but the Jordans.
|# ¿ Jan 6, 2014 01:34|
Critiques for Week 74
You can rightly go gently caress yourself and whatever horse you rode in on.
I will brawl you at any goddamn given time and crush your heart under my heel.
|# ¿ Jan 7, 2014 08:41|
Your mom's got a pretty voice for a dude.
Holy flaming Christ, either gently caress him or brawl him. Either way stop posting unless you're throwing down a story.
No story here.
No story still.
Nope, this is not a story.
This one ma- nope.
No stories anywhere.
6 posts. 0 stories.
Either way stop posting unless you're throwing down a story.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at Jan 8, 2014 around 04:32
|# ¿ Jan 8, 2014 04:19|
Yea, because people want to read boring stories that make them go cross eyed with the want to kill each other.
I will judge because I'm feeling charitable / masochistic.
I am terribly sorry my good friend Rhino, but a story about magic realism that's all tell will make people want to claw their eyes out.
We in the Thunderdome do love to be entertained. An Addendum!! Magic Realism is still in, no show is out. Its replacement?
I'm glad you asked.
ANIMES I want you guys to give me your best Mary Sue motherfucker set with a Magic Realism backdrop. And I want to be entertained goddamn you. And gently caress you if you had to start over again. I can tell you right now it wasn't going to be a good story without any show.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at Jan 8, 2014 around 21:12
|# ¿ Jan 8, 2014 20:51|
for that, merc, you're putting in an entry too.
You goddamn son of bitch. I have other poo poo I'm working on and I don't have time-
gently caress YEA LETS DO THIS MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!!!!
|# ¿ Jan 8, 2014 21:07|
The gently caress, you can just addendum a brawl?
If you want to write in a way that will nearly guarantee you a loss, go right the gently caress ahead.
Good stories both show and tell.
|# ¿ Jan 8, 2014 21:57|
Thank you so much for coming back to us.
|# ¿ Jan 9, 2014 18:07|
I should probably do this before I forget to.
Erogenous Beef's Flash rule When men speak ill of thee, live so as nobody may believe them.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at Jan 9, 2014 around 21:50
|# ¿ Jan 9, 2014 21:44|
BRAWL ENTRY MOTHERFUCKERS! MAKE WAY!!!!!
Tenten Has a Mean Serve
Kana clenched her fist and held it in front her large, crazily dilated eyes. Her eyes were like half the size of her face -- she was probably related to a deep sea squid or something. “Stupid! I will crush that bitch Mikel tomorrow and by doing so I will convince the love of my life, Jacques, that I am the right one for him!”
The tennis racket enveloped Kana’s fist with his hand. “Your exposition is tiiiiight,” sang Tenten, the strings of his face vibrating with his fighting spirit. “Now to whoop her in the fiiiiight!”
Kana’s bedroom rumbled as her own fighting spirit pulsed from her body. “We’re gonna smoke her in the match tomorrow!”
“Give me some skin~!”
They both lept into the air at one another screaming at the top of their lungs. A jet stream streaked behind their bodies as they approached each other like colliding stars. When their hands connected, the windows exploded and cars up and down the street showed their displeasure with their blaring alarms.
The next day at school, Kana exited her math class and came face to face with Jacques. He looked very cool.
“Hey,” he said.
Kana’s face turned red and an impossibly large droplet of water hung off the side of her head. "Jacques," she replied, her voice soft and subdued. "Will you be watching my tennis match this afternoon?"
"Yup." He flicked his hair from his eyes and snapped his fingers at her as he walked away. “See ya.”
Kana's world exploded in colors and her creepy, pancake-sized eyes dazzled with star lights. He actually talked to her. All this time, she thought Jacques never knew who she was.
"He's so dreamy," Tenten sang as he wriggled himself from from his bag.
“I’m gonna win this match so loving hard, he’s going to want to marry me.”
( ﾟ Дﾟ)
After school, Kana stood on the court across from her rival Mikel. A gust of wind flipped her skirt up a bit and one of the boys watching from behind got a gushing nosebleed.
"Let me at her!" Tenten shouted and lept into Kana’s waiting hand.
Kana nodded with a grunt. She flung the ball sky high, giving her time to power up. Both Kana and Tenten were yelling in unison by the time the ball came back down. With a sonic boom, Tenten collided with an overhead smash and sent the ball rocketing through the air with such force that it ripped Mikel's head right off her body. The corpse collapsed in a bloody geyser.
The crowd roared at Kana’s decisive victory. She slammed Tenten straight into the ground -- he muttered an "Ow, gently caress!" as his face smashed into the court. Kana hiked a leg up on the net and struck a pose, flashing a peace sign.
Then Kana and Jacques lived happily ever after, until he cheated on her with one of the girls in the harem where he lives in.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at Jan 11, 2014 around 05:19
|# ¿ Jan 10, 2014 22:41|
THAT'S RIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS! CHRISTMAS CRITS ARE HERE!!! kill me
The Battle of Cathexis & Jean
This is a pretty weak opening paragraph. Doesn't really grab my attention. Even by the third paragraph, nothing really happens to grab my attention. In fact, I got nearly through your story before I got to the interesting part. You don't have this luxury drat you.
I'm not sure I like this story that much. Don't get me wrong, you made what is basically an all dialogue story work -- I just don't jive too much with it. The writing itself is solid so I don't really have much to critique.
The Year Hapful Turned Utah Blue
At first glance, your opening paragraph is an eyebrow raiser cause it doesn't make much sense. The second and third sentence obviously. I spent far to much time rereading those sentences and I'm just going to give up and blame it on lovely writing. This is the summary of your story: I know person, she got into a staring contest, won, and then became president of the united states. Does that sound stupid to anyone else but me?
Will the Time Worm be Unbroken
Good opening, I love how you describe Beard-man. On a whole, the story is great, the plot is well done with the time worm time loop that happening; my only wibble is the part when Kyle eats the worm, your writing loses clarity. Maybe it's because a ton of poo poo happens at once and poo poo's moving a million miles per hour, who knows! I just had to reread it to make sure I didn't miss anything. Strong work.
Strong opening. "Hooked" me right in. I absolutely loved what you did with your story too. If a week were to have multiple winners, yours would be right up there. Definately at the top of my list for this week's entries.
Goddamn you. I was riding the high from reading Kaishai's story and you give me a weak expositiony opening. And it's so boring, I struggled to get through this. Lucky for you boredom was the worst of your transgressions. Nothing jumped out at me as "wtf, idiot" so I guess you did an okay job. If you wanted to put someone to sleep. zing.
God Over Djinn
For a Young Supervisor
The only thing that saved your piece from being a snoozefest was the way you manipulated time in your story. I'm a huge fan of stories that are told backward. The plot was good, the way you wrote it was too try and the ending was weak. Good try though.
I'm not a fan at all of this story, and I'll tell you why (obviously, because I'm doing a critique on this); it feels like an excuse to write out a long fight scene. It's hardly a tall tale. All the characters are simply too human, and the only thing of note is that the main character is a murderer and no one cares.
V for Vegas
Wait, this was an actual submission? Holy poo poo Vegas. Your entry made me laugh out loud in a few places. It was genuinely funny. But next time, write a story drat you.
The opening did a great job of hooking me in. Of course I want to hear about the time you met yourself you crazy person! Then you build up the story with ridiculousness until the duo has the ultimate battle and the future him sacrifices himself to save the world. What I like about this one far more than the other stories that involves fighting, is that this one’s plot is so much more prominent and better.
No Longer Flaky
Johnny B- Dealer Extraordinaire
Another “I’m gonna cover up the lack of plot with lots of fighting and action, woooo” You’re not Micheal Bay, and this ain’t a movie. Also, you don’t need to do the all caps thingy. We know the guy is screaming by context and by the fact that you tagged it as such.
My Excuse For Not Writing A Story This Week
Great job. Your title was a great opener and I was immediately hooked into reading. I don’t really have too much to say about this. The tone you set was great, my cup of tea. You started out tame and went into crazy at a nice pace and I chuckled often. Near the top of the pile that week. Strong work.
Submitted But Not Published… Big Ben
*slow clap* You’ve come a long way Big-T. A great premise, an awesome curse and wrapped it up nicely. This was in the running for HM, but you edged out by other stories that had more of an emotional impact and used the loving around with time rule. I think in future TDs, you should try your hand on more tall tale-like stories or fairy tales, you might have a knack for them. Keep writing, I liked what I read.
The Legend of Earl Hammerton
You killed it this week. You made Earl seem every bit as much the legend, flawless and efficient, the kind of man people would make a legend about. My favorite part was how you conveyed how strong of a typer Earl was that smashed the lower floors to pieces with the power of his fingers. I laughed, I coughed (I was getting over being sick when I first read this) and I shared it with my wife. Great job, you deserved the win.
oof. I forgot this was a stream of consciousness piece. I don’t know what to tell ya other than “Yay? You did it?” It’s lost on me, and I don’t know how I would critique this. Sorry buddy!
I’m not gonna lie to you. This was a rough read. The rhythm of your words are all sorts of hosed up, you’re struggling with grammar in some places too. Having actual dialogue would have probably helped. It’s a hot mess. Perhaps drop it in the Fiction thread and have someone do a line by line for you.
Partial transcription of Stone Tablet
Haha, gently caress you. You’ll get a crit when you decide to show up again, record fucker.
|# ¿ Jan 11, 2014 02:12|
Come mag, it's time to sack up! You have 35 hours to do a brawl. If you need help, jump on IRC and we'll help you along. Leave no domer behind!
|# ¿ Jan 11, 2014 16:35|
Leper Colon got two flash rules in the space of 8 hours and still managed an entry. Don't you dare not submit this week.
Mag, I sent you a pm and specific instructions. Do it. Write. What's the worse that can happen? You lose? So what? Learn from it, write again. You don't get better by not practicing. Get out of your head and show us what you have drat you.
|# ¿ Jan 11, 2014 19:24|
To Beard or Not To Beard
The giant beard, scuffled into a laboratory cluttered with all sorts of unused machinery and discarded beakers. The hairs on his body bristled everywhere as if he were victim of static electricity. How dare they accuse him, the world’s greatest scientist of having no vision, no drive?
The beard froze and giant letters blazed out in front of him to spell out his name. Dr. Baron Springbottom. The words flew away with a whoosh and Baron regained his speed.
He’d show those pompous fops a what for.
Another beard wearing a top hat and an absurdly large wing-shaped mustache shuffled in behind him. He got Baron’s attention with a quick rap on the table. Using his bountiful hair, he spelled out words for Baron to read.
“Yo, yo, they ain’t seem too impressed
even though you the best.
You discovered this portable
plant holder and it’s adorable!”
The dapper rapper froze as large letters zipped in front of him, spelling his name: Dr. Seamus von Wingtips. Again, when the words flew away, time returned back to normal. A small human boot then spat out from beneath his thick hair and landed on the counter.
"Seamus," he signed angrily. "We are going to cut me open and figure out what makes us tick.”
"Are you mad?" Seamus signed incredulously. “This ain’t even rad.”
"For science, my good beard!" Baron laid down on a table and pointed at his associate. “Do it… for science.”
Seamus’ beard animated tears falling from where the eyes would be if they were a humanoid. “For science!” Thousands of beard arms sprung out from Seamus, each holding a pair a scissors. His body glimmered in the florescent light of the laboratory, blinding Baron with his brilliance. With a flurry of movement of a dervish he threw himself into his work.
Clumps of beard flew willy-nilly as the expert beard-hands of Seamus culled away the hundreds of centuries of growth. Colonies of animals, all manner of machinery and even other beards fell away from the unrelenting snips of the world’s best barber.
The scene froze and among the floating mass of hair, words shot right in: Dr. Seamus von Wingtips, Master Barber and Beautician. The words slid out of view and Seamus continued with renewed vigor.
With the last vestiges of beard, Dr. Baron Springbottom signed, “SCIENCE!”
In the aftermath, Seamus cringed and held a mirror in his shaky grasp. In it, Baron saw himself for what he truly was.
Seamus shook his head in disbelief. “You’re a human woman!” he signed, too stupefied to create a fresh rhyme. His beard adapted the shape of eyebrows for the sake of raising them.
The words zoomed in again. Baron wasn’t a beard after all.
|# ¿ Jan 11, 2014 20:00|
Bruised, bloodied and beaten, our contender drags his carcass across the Thunderdome sandy arena. The crowd had all but given up, but they turn and explode in cheer, throwing poo poo upon our unlikely hero. With a twinkle in his eye, Magnificent7 waves to the crowd and promptly dies a hero's death?
(Good job posting a story! Knew you wouldn't let me down.)
|# ¿ Jan 13, 2014 05:49|
No regrets! Onward, full steam ahead! Mag7 has posted both his brawl and his week's submission. You owe me 25 cents, Rhino.
|# ¿ Jan 13, 2014 19:38|
Fuggit. I'm bored and everyone else is getting their brawl funsies.
A CONTENDER APPEARS!
I shall judge this.
Your prompt is to tell me a story. 500 words.
It's due next week Monday 11:59 EST!
...WAIT!!! Your rule, gentlemen. Your story cannot start at the beginning, nor finish at the end.
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2014 01:28|
That was Michael Corleone.
Well, since I'm pretty sure that poo poo posting is not allowed in the Dome, I'm going to go ahead and assume that you're asking for a brawl. In which, I will oblige you. Shall we say something related to the Mafia, due in by this time next week?
I WILL ALSO OFFICIATE THIS MOTHERFUCKING BRAWL
Your prompt, you idiot newbies. The Amish Mafia
You have 500 words and one week. Make it happen you lovely humans.
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2014 04:19|
Special Achievement in What The gently caress: Mercedes (seriously, was your beard story an entry for a brawl I didn't notice? So confused.)
To ask is to look upon the face of madness. Are you prepared for such a task young Thunderdome winner?
Word Count 72
Amir stood stoic upon the mountain. His mountain. Above him, a choir of angels sang his graces and the heavens opened up -- a beam of glorious light streaking across the sky to illuminate a garden at the base of his mountain.
A single tear blazed the way down his dirty cheek. There, basking in the wondrous miracle of holy light, awaited his promised 72 virgins.
Praise be to Allah.
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2014 19:07|
Peel, you cocksucker. Hurry the gently caress up and post the next prompt so I can snatch the next Dishonorable Mention.
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2014 19:31|
Mercedes, if you're chomping at the bit to write, you up for that brawl rematch?
Oh joy. A pity brawl. No, I'll pass for now. I'll brawl you when you have more entries than failures.
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2014 19:43|
Not with a tone like that you won't.
I'll wait for you on the outside.
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2014 20:04|
God drat it. Two losses in three thunderdomes. Not saying I didn't deserve it or anything. I defer to outsiders judgement
My God. There are no words or gifs that can properly portray how much I want to pull you in for a black man's shoulder bump.
Good luck dearest goon, and do not let your gigantic balls hold you back.
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2014 21:04|
If you have written less than two TD entries and you want a free crit, the first two to speak up will get a free crit post haste.
edit: You can reach me in IRC. none crit left.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at Jan 15, 2014 around 03:45
|# ¿ Jan 15, 2014 03:26|
Week #75 - He's Not Quite Dead
Author: No Longer Flaky
Life's a Rat-Race
Alright, Flaky, lets start with the macro problems of your story. Essentially, your story everything interesting about it right about the time the two chaps get up from the ground. After that exact point, everything else is so mind numbingly boring and pointless.
Seriously, you had the good fun parts in the opening; you think the race is gonna be a regular type of running down the stairs horseplaying and whatnot, and then they jump out of the loving window. I was digging it. Then there was a complete loving 180 degree turn in story tone and direction. Literally, there wasn’t even a segway into the next scene.
I suspect that you were making the story up as you go along. I highly recommend for your next entry before you write one word in your rough draft, make up a summary. It only has to be a few sentences in length, but it needs to include the plot of your story and the motivations of all the characters in it.
Keep that poo poo as a reference when you’re writing up your rough draft and you loving try your goddamn hardest to convey motivations. Now, on with micro poo poo.
Life’s a Rat-Race posted:
“Race ya to the car?” David asked. “Winner buys the first round at the bar?”
The second half is poo poo. Complete and utter poo poo. Eddie was just there to move poo poo along.
Honestly, you could have easily cut the later half and ended up with a better story. Also, Rat-Race is not what you think it means.
|# ¿ Jan 15, 2014 04:08|
The Lingering Wounds posted:
Author: Rainbow Unicorn
Man to Machine posted:
|# ¿ Jan 15, 2014 23:10|
Yeah, I got nothing. I'm a cowardly rear end in a top hat, withdrawing from this week's.
Princess, if you keep pulling out, you'll never make it to the ball to dance with me. No Longer Flaky is more man than you and I'm not even sure if that person is a man. Next time you wanna join a prompt, you should toxx yourself. It's getting embarrassing how many times you've dropped out.
|# ¿ Jan 16, 2014 20:54|
I'm feeling frisky and I want to try a different way to crit a story. Preferably if someone new to the TD would step forward, but anyone would do. I want to focus on dialogue. Post a link of your story for the past prompt and I'll grab the first one. Again, we won't dock you words for doing this.
edit: Thank you kind sir. I will get working on it.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at Jan 17, 2014 around 00:41
|# ¿ Jan 17, 2014 00:21|
Click here to listen to your critique.
Hopefully hearing someone else saying the words you wrote is beneficial to you.
|# ¿ Jan 17, 2014 01:59|
I'll take one
|# ¿ Jan 17, 2014 18:06|
Due date is tonight, Monday, midnight, right? I've been revising revising revising. If I read the due date wrong, I forfeit by stupidity but not vanishing. My 500-word story is coming. If it's late, then I'll post what I have right now. If it's not, I'll post it in another hour. Just let me know.
|# ¿ Jan 20, 2014 18:37|
Magnificent7 VS ThirdEmperor
You fucks. You made this hard for me. Not because it was close (it was), nor was it because I had to deliberate on which story left me with a deep emotional impact (they both did, and it was confusion), it was because I couldn't understand the point to either of your stories. I had to bring in a second person to help.
The win barely, BARELY goes to THIRDEMPEROR only because his
Watching you two brawl it out reminds me of two awkward teens losing their virginity together. One ends up crying, the other ends up with performance anxiety.
I'll post crits with everyone else's crits.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at Jan 21, 2014 around 04:25
|# ¿ Jan 21, 2014 02:49|
Why did I agree to judge!!?? gently caress MEEEEEeeeee....
Big improvement from last week. Your story started out a bit rough but you pulled it together by the end and even topped it off using a red herring.
The first of the poo poo stories. Like nearly all the other poo poo stories, I hated it. It was eye rolly all the way through. Best fitted for a visual medium if you ask me (you didn’t, but I’m telling you anyways, gently caress you.)
gently caress yes, this poo poo made me laugh out loud. I love the noirish poo poo you got going on here with some random dude trying to find out who took his sandwich. One of my top votes.
And back to the poop. Not a fan. If you’re gonna use poo poo, the tone of the story has to be funny, and your delivery needs to be tighter than your rear end in a top hat. This semi-serious cock-smuggling poo poo needs to stop.
What the hell man. What is up with the << poo poo. Your grammar and usage of grammar thingies is atrocious. Use doc.google.com or something. And no criminal is stupid enough to just spurt everything just because the investigator has proof. This isn’t Bones.
I don’t like your protag. He’s a doucheface. Emily adds absolutely nothing to the story. She’s basically there as a device to make us feel sorry for doucehtag. You’re telling a slapstick story straight faced, and it didn’t work. Your mystery need work and it needs closure. He ain’t solved poo poo. Why couldn’t anyone call the police? No one is acting rational here.
I think you got robbed. You didn’t deserve a DM, but at the same time I didn’t like your story either. I think the constant scene breaks took away from your story, It would have worked better if you had twice the word count, but instead of just made it staccato, and not in a good way.
This deserved the loss, or at least a DM. Not only was this not a mystery, but we requested you not write fantastique type of stories. I was annoyed the whole way though cause your stupid protag didn’t have a goddamn name. AND you were over the word limit.
All you needed was some poop and you’d be set.
You started off alright, but then halfway through your drat story you blew your loving load and then kept on uselessly thrusting yourself towards some kind of finish line. The end of your story should have been the end of the mystery.
Your story left all the questions unanswered. And there really was only one question. WTF did mom do to get all these cray cray people decapitating people with ninja flips and cool runnings. Your writing is fine, your mystery sucks.
Your story is good, except for one thing. Your use of hypoxia and cyanosis. This is the reason why I cannot enjoy medical tv shows. How the gently caress did he wake up? No seriously. Hypoxia is death by lack of oxygen, and cyanosis in the finger bed is what happens when there’s no oxygen in the blood, but you describe it as robin’s-egg blue. That’s loving blue! There’s no loving way he could have woken up from that unless some miraculous reason someone administered oxygen to him, even then, he’d be too loving groggy to even move. I just.. I just… whatever.
|# ¿ Jan 24, 2014 02:57|
Ah, it shouldn't count, but still, you were over the word count.
|# ¿ Jan 24, 2014 04:17|
Early sign up? Sure, why not.
In with 30 AD
|# ¿ Jan 27, 2014 22:34|
I don't think I have time to finish this story. I'm gonna have to kill it.
|# ¿ Jan 31, 2014 20:20|
Decade: 30 AD
Word Count: 882
“I’m Jesus. Look at this bitchin’ halo,” announced the Son of Man to the moonlit garden he knelt in. The birds chirped in the night as if in response to his proclamation of greatness. “Shut up,” he tough-talked the animals. “You chirp again, I’m gonna miracle you into a fish. I’m talking to my Heavenly Father.”
The clouds parted and sunlight punched physics’ figurative face as golden light shone upon Jesus. He knelt to the east and pressed his palms together, tilting his head at just the right angle.
But then Judas, that snitch-bitch, jumped out from a bush behind him and said, "I'm a traitor, Jesus! I’m taking you out and I'm gonna be rich as fuuuck!"
"Not as long as I draw breath!" said Jesus, turning his halo backwards and flexing his holy muscles, back-lit by the sun. He dropped down low into a carpenter stance and punched all ten of the attacking soldiers with one glorious fist. They turned into delicious raisin bread and fell to the ground. “Looks like your men are loafing around.”
Judas tore off his tunic and it floated on the wind. He faced Jesus - sweat shimmering off his skin because he was also back-lit by the sun. His eyebrows arched as he shouted, charging his foe. Jesus met him head on and their fists collided. Manly secretions shook off their bodies as the sonic boom cleared the garden of any curious birds.
A single blood droplet rolled down Judas’ face. “Not so strong are-” He was thrown back from the clearing with the force of a thousand blessings.
Jesus parted the garden and walked on top of a roaring river because he’s a bad-rear end savior and that’s what saviors [/i]do[/i]. As Jesus walked out of the garden, Judas was waiting - furiously pumping his legs, keeping the pedal powered gyrocopter equipped with a rapid fire ballista hovering in the air.
With sharp snaps of the taut ropes, the bolts shot through the air - but before they connected, Jesus miracled the projectiles into wine. He opened his mouth and drank his fill, not wasting a single drop. "You'll never destroy humanity!" He said, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his thumb.
"Destroy humanity?" Judas cocked his head to the side. “Dude, I just wanna get paid.”
“Wait, so this assassination attempt is because you wanted money?” Jesus miracled a pile of rocks into a mound of gold coins. “Dude, all you had to do was ask.”
“Don’t bring your logic into this argument!” Judas pulled a baby out from behind him and held a knife to her throat. “Give yourself up, or the babe gets it!”
"My only weakness!” Jesus fought against the urge, but self sacrifice won out. “I shall die, so that babe will live."
“Excellent. Nail him up to this conveniently placed crucifix, minions!" said Judas. Soldiers grabbed Jesus and stuck him up. Judas laughed villainously.
“That’s a great laugh, boss,” said Minion A, “gave me the chills.”
“Kiss rear end,” said Minion B.
“You’re a tough bastard to kill, Jesus, but I know of a way to get rid of you.” Judas grabbed a torch from one of the throw-away characters and lit the bonfire that just so happened to be gathered under Jesus.
The fire caught and spread; engulfing humanity’s Savior in its embrace. Jesus' hair shriveled down to his scalp and his skin turned a leathery black, but he didn’t cry out as he died. He was a stoic badass to the bitter end.
Later that minute, Judas and his men dumped Mummy Jesus in a tomb and sealed it with a boulder. Judas walked away - slow and cool - but was thrown to the ground when the tomb exploded and a mummified Jesus floated in defiance.
“Zombie Jesus!” Judas drew a scimitar from a henchman’s belt and he pushed himself back up to his feet. “I’ll put you into the ground for good!” He dashed in, swinging his sword in a wide arc.
Flourishing himself like a flamboyant rapier, Jesus parried Judas’ attack and forced him back with his relentless assault.
Sparks flew from Judas’ weapon as he struggled against Sword Jesus. He blocked a vicious strike that sent him reeling into the blood thirsty crowd that just happened to be there. He reemerged with bloody scratches and bite marks, holding Mary Magdalene hostage. "Give yourself up Jesus and I'll spare this babe!" he said, his eyes mad with desperation.
"Your tricks won't work this time, Judas!" said Jesus, dropping in the plank stance. "MIRACLE!"
Mary Magdalene exploded into holy water, and before Judas could react, Jesus flew right through him, severing the torso from the rest of Judas’ body. “Blood of the Lamb, bitch,” said Jesus, shrugging the linen off his body. Naked, black, and not one bit embarrassed, he teabagged Judas’ corpse.
Mary Magdalene blinked back into existence, wearing a badass halo around her head. “Oh Jesus! My hero!” They then did it, planting the coffee seed that - in nine months - will inherit the earth.
“The nigga of man is out,” said Black Jesus. He left Mary Magdalene totally satisfied and floated up to the sky to join his father for which art thou in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
|# ¿ Feb 2, 2014 20:37|
|# ¿ Mar 19, 2019 15:02|
I'll take the Toxx like a big girl.
You sit your rear end down and you deliver a story or you'll never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again.
|# ¿ Feb 3, 2014 03:49|