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  • Locked thread
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.


WHAT THE gently caress UUUUUUUUUUUUP BITCH rear end LEPER!!! GET READY FOR THE BEAT DOWN OF THE NEW YEAR MOTHERFUCKER!


MEEEERRRRRRRRRRRCEEEEEEEEEEDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!!!!!!!!!!



Sitting In A Tree, S-T-U-K As Can Be

Words 490



“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.”



1: http://smartbitchestrashybooks.com/...y-teresa-howard

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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.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OwDqz2P0YTw


Well done Leper! You better watch yourself. You ain't seen the last of 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.


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.

In

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.

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.


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
1098 words



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.

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.


Roguelike posted:

Critiques for Week 74

...but those guys put their hearts into their stories

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.

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.


magnificent7 posted:

Your mom's got a pretty voice for a dude.

ps I write for poo poo, that's a given.

Holy flaming Christ, either gently caress him or brawl him. Either way stop posting unless you're throwing down a story.




The Leper Colon V posted:

No story still.

The Leper Colon V posted:

Nope, this is not a story.


The Leper Colon V posted:

This one ma- nope.

The Leper Colon V posted:

No stories anywhere.


The Leper Colon V posted:

6 posts. 0 stories.

Mercedes posted:

Either way stop posting unless you're throwing down a story.

Mercedes fucked around with this message at Jan 8, 2014 around 04:32

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.


magnificent7 posted:

Fine. FINE.

I challenge you to a brawl. 500 words [/s]of pure telling, NO showing[/s].


Yea, because people want to read boring stories that make them go cross eyed with the want to kill each other.

The Saddest Rhino posted:

I will judge because I'm feeling charitable / masochistic.

MAGNIFICIENT7 VS SEBMOJO VS MERCEDES THUNDERBRAWL 2014

Write 500 words of pure telling without showing. Your theme is: Magic Realism*. Extra favours with me if you are able to set your piece in a non traditional White People / English-speaking community.

* I do not care how you interpret that. Go figure it out.

If either of you drop out I'll make fun of you on the Internet.

You have until 11 January 2014 12 noon PST. Go.

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.

NEW PROMPT

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.

Rhino, I'll judge with you (if you would have me) and bring the popcorn.

Mercedes fucked around with this message at Jan 8, 2014 around 21:12

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:

for that, merc, you're putting in an entry too.

oh, and in on this ridiculous brawl

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!!!!!!!!!

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.


magnificent7 posted:

The gently caress, you can just addendum a brawl?

My addendum: Tell Don't Show.



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.

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.





Thank you so much for coming back to us.

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 should probably do this before I forget to.



In

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

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.




BRAWL ENTRY MOTHERFUCKERS! MAKE WAY!!!!!
Tenten Has a Mean Serve
497 Words


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

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.


THAT'S RIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS! CHRISTMAS CRITS ARE HERE!!! kill me

Symptomless Coma
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.

Fumblemouse
ElfSong

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.

Roguelike
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?

Chairchucker
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.

Kaishai
Fighting Time

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.

Nikaer Drekin
Granny Stitch

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.

Purple Prince
Kronos

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
Winter Olympics

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.

sebmojo
Trifecta

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.

docbeard
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.

Tyrannosaurus
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.

crabrock
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.

Bad Seafood
Portraits

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!

DreamingofRoses

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.

Bitchtits McGee
Partial transcription of Stone Tablet

Haha, gently caress you. You’ll get a crit when you decide to show up again, record fucker.

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.



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!

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.


Quidnose posted:

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.

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.


To Beard or Not To Beard
475 Words


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.

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.


magnificent7 posted:

^ gaaaaahhhhhhhhfuck.

Death Everlasting. 452 turds.



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.)

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.



No regrets! Onward, full steam ahead! Mag7 has posted both his brawl and his week's submission. You owe me 25 cents, Rhino.

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.


ThirdEmperor posted:

Fuggit. I'm bored and everyone else is getting their brawl funsies.

Magnificent7. You can do better than that. Brawl me.

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!


GO




...WAIT!!! Your rule, gentlemen. Your story cannot start at the beginning, nor finish at the end.

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.


Captain Trips posted:

That was Michael Corleone.

Meinberg posted:

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?

Or are you going to bitch out and make some poo poo posts like the lovely poster you are?

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.

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.


sentientcarbon posted:

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?

Epic Prompt
The Garden
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.

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.


Peel, you cocksucker. Hurry the gently caress up and post the next prompt so I can snatch the next Dishonorable Mention.

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.


The Leper Colon V posted:

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.

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.


The Leper Colon V posted:

Not with a tone like that you won't.





I'll wait for you on the outside.

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.


No Longer Flaky posted:

God drat it. Two losses in three thunderdomes. Not saying I didn't deserve it or anything. I defer to outsiders judgement

I won't lose the next thunderdome. This is an early entry but I won't lose it.

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.

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.


Listen up you loving, vile, scum-of-the-earth-newbie cock smugglers. I've had a long, long day of nothing but school and I want to unwind.

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

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.


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?”

“Sure,” Sam replied. “Start on three?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” David said.

[Personal pet peeve of mine. Spell out your numbers when its in a dialogue unless the character is saying a date or something. I feel it looks better.]“3. . . 2. . . 1. . . GO!!” Sam saidIf you want to purvey that Sam cheated, you should have written “Sam said AS he jumped out the window.” The way you have it, he wasn’t cheating at all. He counted and then went when he said go.. Then jumped out the window. For clarity sake, seperate a character’s actions as well as their dialogues into different paragraphs. That way, you don’t have to over use the character’s name like you’re doing here.David followed a second later. Fuckin’ cheater. David knew he shouldn’t have let him count. The air whizzed past his face and the pressure on his eyes made them water. Don’t tell us what’s going to happen, and then a sentence or to show that action happen.In a few seconds he’d impact with the ground. He made his body as compact as possible against the air-resistance to gain speed, but he still didn’t catch up with Sam. Stupid fat-rear end Sam. Sam smashed into the pavement, his fat belly splitting up the middle like a paper bag giving way after being over-stuffed with orangeslol, gross.. The two arms he had used to shield his face snapped, his wrist bones ripping through the skin in his arms. Then David hit the pavement himself and blacked out.

A few minutes later David came to, his body slowly pulling itself back together, the bones in his arm fusing back together. He looked over at Sam, whose fat was worming it’s way back into his belly. He hadn’t regained consciousness yet, so victory was still possible. He rolled to his back, and took a couple deep breaths, his car was only a few feet away. His arms, legs, ribs, ankles, and collarbones burned as the shattered bones fused back together.

“I’m gonna beat you Sam, you better hurry uppppppDon’t do this. Have you ever tried to pronounce all those p’s? The importance of reading your poo poo out loud.!” David called mockinglyTry hard not to use -ly words. They most of the time don’t really add anything. Describe David doing something in a mocking fashion instead..

Sam groaned, a low guttural sound, his head rolled back and forth as he squirmed on the ground. The muscles in his neck had lost all semblance of strength from whiplash. “Uhnnnnnnnnn,” gurgled out his lips through gritted cracked teeth.

David stood up, he stumbled into the hood of the car. “I win!” He yelled, then he did a jig.

Sam groaned again and slowly stood up. “How do you recover so quickly?” Sam grumbled, “You got some drat good genetics.” Again, say it out loud. Sounds forced.

Look at this lovely scene break!

The tracks were down the street from office building, they got there for the beginning of happy hour. They made their way down the long opening concourse then found their regular seats at the bar, overlooking the tracks.

“Mac Green racing today Eddie?” David asked.

“Nope, his bike is still being repaired. He should be good to go tomorrow or the next day they’re thinking,” Eddie said. “The usual for you boys?”

“Yep,” David replied.

“Two pitchers coming up,” Eddie said. Look at all this filler dialogue. Wasteful.

A low gumble came rolled through the stadium, the ten racers had entered the track. Only a few minutes left until the race started, betting was about to close.

“Any tips on these guys Eddie?”

“I heard this new guy Rodriguez has been tearing up the pro tracks in Mexico. He’s going places, he wont be racing in this league for too long. Can’t see these guys touching him,” Eddie said.

“Good enough for me,” David said. He placed a small bet on Rodriguez, using the computer terminal on the bar. “You guys hear they passed down the verdict for the ponzi scheme fucker. What was his name,”

“Broeger?” Sam asked, “that trial is still going on?”

“Yeah- Broeger. They passed down the sentence, he’s getting a month in the vats. Can you imagine that? A whole month in the vats, acid burning away at your skin. Constant pain,” David shuddered, “remind me to never steal.” OMFG this is dragging on and on and nothing is happening.

“Shiiiiit,” Sam said, and finished off his beer and signaled for another. There's no rhythm to your prose. Sometimes it's choppy, sometimes it's smooth but it's never a rhyme or reason. “Serves him right ruining all those people’s lives. Wonder how many people are homeless cause of that poo poo.”

“Still, a month? That’s a long loving time.” David asked.

The last few seconds ticked off the clock on the monitor then betting was closed. The monitor switched to a top down view of the racers as they lined up. Rodriguez was riding a ruby red cycle, and was in the furthest lane on the outside. With a shot from a starters pistol the race was commenced.

Rodriguez got off to a bad start, he fell to the back of the pack. Rounding the first turn one of the home town favorites, Big Deke, smashed his front wheel into the back-wheel of the racer in front of him, causing him to lose control and smash into the wall. His cycle smashing into two pieces he rolled four times ending sprawled on the track. Rodriguez ran over one of the downed riders arms, his back wheel swinging wide from the bump, but with a jerk he regained control. gently caress, that was a close one. loving Deke. Come on Rod, lets go.

Rodriguez closed the distance, then took a hand off the handlebar and began fumbling with something in his pants leg. Driving one handed at these types of speeds was dangerous. What the gently caress is he doing? He’s loving around with my money, not taking this poo poo seriously. Rodriguez brought his second hand back to the steering wheel, but it looked like something long was in his hand.

Coming to the final straightaway Rodriguez closed the distance fast, he had taken second place and only Deke was in front of him.gently caress, Deke’s letting him catch up, he’s gonna try and take him out. Deke, you loving poo poo. Rodriguez pulled alongside Deke. Deke attempted to ram him, but Rodriguez responded quickly, and then smashed him in the face with a metal rod. Deke tumbled off his bike, which rolled riderless into the grass in the center of the track. Rodriguez crossed the finish line in first, his hand with the rod clenched in it raised in victory.

“Fuckin’ told ya didn’t I Davey?” Eddie said with a grin.

“That you did. Next rounds on me Sammy,” David said. The clean-up crews were making quick work of the carnage on the track. A retired fire truck trundled along the track to wash away the pools of blood left on the track.

“This next race is going to be slippery, O’Connor was always good with water on the track.”

“O’Connor it is then,” David said.

The second half is poo poo. Complete and utter poo poo. Eddie was just there to move poo poo along. What the gently caress happened to Sam? Okay, I was going to ask what happened to Sam, but apparently the dialogue is so samey that the characters speaking could have been anyone and it wouldn’t have made a loving difference. Work on adding character to your characters.

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.

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.


Author: WeLandedOnTheMoon!
Wordcount: 1281

The Lingering Wounds posted:


Weak opening line. Oooooh, there’s glass on the floor! So ominous. Gag. There was glass on the floor.

Marv didn’t expect to hear a crunch under his frayed boot when he walked through the door. Looking down, he noticed mars black paving stones pressed into the hardwood, the remnants of what appeared to be a knight, queen, and king from a glass chess set. Marv was always black, because that was the only way that his wife Charlie would play with him; he always won, except when he didn’t.

Charlie had been drinking. Stepping over a toppled floor lamp, Marv looked into the bathroom. There was vomit in the sink, and the water was running. Turning to the kitchen, Marv found Charlie leaning against the counter, her hand resting in a pool of Malbec as she picked through the remnants of a barren dishwasher.

“Don’t you think it’s irresponsible to get drunk around all this glass?” Marv asked. “You could cut yourself.” Why would he care? It won't actually hurt her.

Charlie looked up at Marv. “You threw my dog out of a loving window, so guess what? I don’t give a poo poo if you think I’m irresponsible, because I could have twenty drinks and I’d still make better decisions than you, rear end in a top hat” She pulled an old casserole dish from the rack and hurled it into the living room, nearly hitting him if he hadn’t dipped his shoulder. He winced as the dish exploded against the coffee table.

“Jesus, Charlie” Marv shouted, “give it a rest. That was almost two years ago. You know it was an accident, and I don’t feel like I need to explain myself to my pregnant wife when she is shitfaced. What is it, the third time this week? You need help.” This doesn’t sound like they’ve had this conversation for the third time this week. Also, his dialogue sounds stilted.

Charlie reached into the utensil separator, removing a serrated bread knife. As she stepped into the living room, Marv noticed how the redness in her face made the green in Charlie’s eyes particularly vivid. Her knuckles turned wan as she gripped the wooden handle with an intensity she only found at the bottom of a vodka bottle. “How the hell do you accidentally throw my dog out of the window, Marvin?” she asked while approaching him in the hallway.

Coincidentally How was this is a coincidence?, the last recorded birth and death occurred simultaneously on January 21st, 2015, at 7:51 pm in the West End Hospital of Kumasi, Ghana. The story has that the hospital was overcrowded that day, turning the hallways into makeshift care centers. It was there where, shoulder to shoulder, life and death met with synchronicity. This exposition came out of loving nowhere. I think you tacked this poo poo on to stay in line with the prompt.

Nobody could explain the events that followed, but it appeared as ifYou will explain what’s going on. humanity itself was put on pause. Human cells stopped their natural decay, and they recovered from any damage within seconds. Oddly enough, this was not the saving grace of every injured and sick person, no, quite the opposite actually. Although their bodies recovered from any new damage nearly instantaneously with only a short-lived pain, any ailment that they were suffering from when the immunity caused their body to reset became the new norm. One could put a bullet through the brain of a cancer patient and he would recover before his body hit the ground; however, try cutting out one of his tumors and it would grow back before the incision was sutured. So although death was put on hold, the pain and side effects of the lingering wounds that were afflicting the poor souls of immunity were as permanent as the eternal life we were cursed with.

After the immunity hit, humanity seemed to stagnated. It appeared as if people lost the capacity to learn new concepts and ideas.Using words such as ‘seemed’ and ‘appeared as if’ weakens your sentence. Most scientists gave up looking for a cure. Universities closed, while schools remained open as babysitters for the working population. Even learning small things, like names and addresses, became more difficult. Still, the world soldiered on through the brain stasis and the immunity; it had to.

And we’re back to the story proper. The exposition could have been handled better. Dropping hints through your characters actions instead of having this impenetrable wall of information.

Marv recoiled at his wife’s advance, slumping his wide shoulders and grimacing. He didn’t want to get stabbed today. “You know what I mean,” he said. “I didn’t know it would kill him. Todd had just thrown himself from the window and said that the fall into the alley was fun. He said I’d bounce off the pavement like a super ball. When I jumped off with Brutus, I didn’t know that I’d-” again, this doesn’t sound like a conversation that’s happened before. Marv stopped as he noticed Charlie raising her knife hand. She wiped the tears from her eyes. Marv stepped towards her, brushing a strand of rosewood hair from her face before holding her free hand in his.

“I can’t believe you” Charlie said with a sniffle.

Something about her tone of voice struck an indignant nerve with Marv. “You know, you’ve hurt me before too.” Marv barked with a lowered brow.

“What?”

“You heard me. You hurt me all the time. You say the most hurtful things to me and don’t care. You call me immature, you call me retarded, you tell me that I’ve ruined your life. You hurt me and never even acknowledge it.” I think in the course of your story, the entire dialogue would have been passively made better if you didn’t have the qualifier that this poo poo has happened multiple times before.

“You want me to hurt you, Marvin?” Charlie asked. With that, two flashes of silver against his forest green shirt, a heavy gasp, and a holler. Marv collapsed, blood spurting from his chest with every shallow beat. Lying on his back, the blood shot higher as his heart beat harder, until the blood stopped completely sentence reads awkwardly. Cutting the shirt from his chest, Charlie watched his wounds clot, and moments later, heal. “I loved Brutus more than anything in this world.” She said as she cleaned Marv with the sections of his dry shirt.

“I know.” He said with a sputter. “I’m sorry.”

Charlie noticed the purpled bruise on Marv’s shoulder, as familiar to her as a birthmark. Charlie was at the basketball game when Marv took that hard fall. Her heart raced even thinking about him slamming into that hard wood with a thud.Why does this matter?“I know” she said.

Holding the crimson blade parallel against her distended stomach, Charlie was at her breaking point. “I’m sorry” she said, “I know you think this is the hormones talking, but I can’t handle it anymore. It’s been 30 months; the sickness, the moodiness, the alien inside me, it’s all too much. I can’t handle this pregnancy anymore.”

“What can we do?” Marv asked while sitting up, “Isn’t this just how things are now? The doctors said if we wait you might go into labor someday; they’re not sure.”

“Marv,” Charlie started, [“I just stabbed you in the chest, and you areyou’re sitting and speaking like you just woke up from a nap. What makes you think that my body will ever let me go into labor?”] It’s super important to speak your dialogues out loud to make sure they sound natural.

“What makes you think that you can do something about the baby?”

Charlie wiped the blade against her shirt. She rotated it, readjusting her grip in the process before wiping the other side. “I have to try.”

Marv looked into Charlie’s eyes and, for a moment, they were back at Flannery’s on Mission Street that first night when she beat him back and forth across the pool table. “I’ll play you as many times as you want tonight and I guarantee you won’t win a game.” She told him. Over and over he tried for what must have been three hours, buying her a drink for each game she took. At first he tried to win, but his resolve melted with each halfcocked smile that she’d flash, until he was just happy to be in that moment. I don’t see the point of this paragraph at all.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked.

She kissed him. I wish you would have alluded more to the idea that she planned on cutting the baby out of her stomach. Just asking to grab the towels leaves it pretty vague.

“Get the towels.” I won’t bullshit you. I’m not a fan of this. I feel you could have done a poo poo load better if you focused the story, cut out the useless exposition and have it come down to Charlie’s attempt to cut the baby out. There’s potential for sure. At least for your sake, you can attempt to edit this down; it can still work.


Author: Rainbow Unicorn
Wordcount: 1285

Man to Machine posted:



Charlie sat back on the bench, relishing the bitter taste of burnt tar on her tongue. She took another drag from her cigarette and eyed her new partner. A young one, newly inoculated. The opening isn’t terribly interesting, but at least you used it to paint a picture of your character, so it’s not totally wasted.

“You nervous?” she tried to say it lightly, teasing without shaming; she’d probably been fidgeting and darting glances out the windows that way on her first time up, too. For a moment she wondered if he’d heard her over the noise of the engine.

“Some,” he admitted. He licked his lips in a way that seemed like habit. Lucky for him chapped lips were a thing of the past.

Charlie blew out a long line of smoke. “You know who I am, huh?”

He blinked. As though the familiar mix of fear and worship in his gaze hadn’t been obvious from the start. His tongue flicked out over his lips, again. “Charlie Sanders,” he said. He left off the ‘professor.’ Good. “Name’s Mason.”

“Mason,” she acknowledged, holding out a hand in professional invitation. He took it and they shook once. He wore gloves. Charlie chuckled. His expression darkened, but she waved him off and shook her head, rubbing out the nub of her expired cigarette in a benchside ashtray that liked to spill its contents everywhere at the first sign of turbulence. “Not laughing at you,” she assured him, kicking at the ashes scattered by her feet. “How old are you, Mason?”

“Twenty-four,” he answered. The thought came intrusive and unwanted: one day people might say that, twenty-four, and while this young man meant it at face value, twenty-four, two-and-four, four and god damned twenty, Bloat.one day it might mean twenty-four hundred, twenty-four thousand, up and up until people forgot the concept of age and stopped asking the question entirely. Charlie lit up another cigarette.

“You’re not really cold, are you?” she pressed on, punctuating the question with a short puff, brows raised.

“No,” Mason admitted. “Not since…” a brief pause, then a shrug. “Not cold, not hot. I’m just sort of here, aren’t I?” His eyes locked onto hers and Charlie heard the unsaid accusation. And it’s all your faultChoose if you’re going to have internal monologues italicized or not, you can’t have both. It’s distracting. . Well, of course it was. It meant the synthetics were doing their job.

Immortality had been her gift to mankind. The price was one little shot and a couple weeks of puking your guts out, among other inconveniences. She’d warned them back then, her young, fresh-faced, genetically approved little specimens, you’ll wish you could die before it’s over. It had been a joke, then. A quick little clip delivered with a smirk that said but it’ll be worth it, and you know it.

A few more puffs, a long jet of exhaled smoke. She’d spent five years of her life quitting the drat things, back when years meant anything. “Did you know you’d find me here?”

“No.”

But he said it too quickly. Charlie sighed. Word was getting out, and she was running out of new wastelands to explore. Around them, the plane stopped its climb and leveled out, coasting some thirty thousand feet above empty, flat fields. With luck they’d be full of artifacts, remnants of cultures long extinguished. Charlie liked to collect them. She liked to think someone would remember that once people had been different, varied, mortal.

“They made it an opt-in, you know,” Mason interrupted her thoughts.

“I heard that.”

After You’re over using the italics. most of the adult population had already been inoculated. The miracle synthetics. You couldn’t shoot kids up with the stuff, but right between twenty-three and twenty-eight, that was the sweet spot. Weeks of messy hell as the body shed all its meat-based circuitry, and then the young stayed young and the elderly aged backwards, and you thought your wife looked like her mother before!

Charlie hypothesized that that’s when the unease really began -- no one much liked finding out they were flirting with grandma. The atrocities that followed, the rationing and purging and world-conquering glory… that all came later because people flirted with their grandparents the world went to poo poo?, and there was a lot less complaining by then. Immortality hadn’t exactly done wonders for the collective moral conscience. She took another drag. Puff, blow, kick at the ashes on the ground. Someone else would clean it up later.

“I’m an opt-in,” he clarified, unnecessarily. “Most people still are. And I didn’t come here to meet you specifically.”

“An interest in cataloguing history, then?”

“Adventure,” he corrected her. “Who would have thought I’d actually meet the great Mother herself hiding all the way out here? Most people think you signed up to get shot off into space.”

Well, they had to put their criminals somewhere.

“I’ve thought about it.”

“Already? You’re only, what … a hundred and fifty? Sixty?”

“I’ve lost count.” That was a lie, but if age was soon to be irrelevant, why cling to it? “They give you all the warnings?”

“The whole long list,” he said. “On my way from man to machine, and all that. But who the hell wants to die just because they’re afraid of getting bored?” He shook his head. “Maybe one day I’ll head off into space, too -- just to see what I can find. You really want to die?”

“Not yet,” Charlie admitted, but the more accurate statement was not anymore. Eventually the synthetics had dulled the guilt, and now though she could understand that it was sad, what they had done, she felt only an academic sort of interest in the history and the persistent desire to light up a third cigarette. She wondered when the synthetics would take that from her, too. I’m almost done with your story and NOTHING HAS HAPPENED.

The overhead speaker crackled to life. “THIRTY THOUSAND, C,” the pilot informed them.

“Time to go,” Charlie announced. Mason was grinning. Opt-ins. Maybe they believed in the vision, the perfect utopia, a society of peaceful immortals prepared to spend eternity searching for new places to exist. Maybe that’s how they would eventually find their progress: no longer in generational handoffs, but in the exploration of new frontiers.

Or maybe they would just stagnate forever. Hope was for the young.

The speaker popped. “YOU GOING, OR WHAT?”

“Well, Mason,” Charlie stood -- crouched, really, in the tight cabin. “I think I might have misjudged you, this morning.” She worked the doors open with a grunt, and metal gave way to empty sky, with the white calm wasteland far below. Mason shuffled up behind her, zipping up a windbreaker he didn’t need.

“READY?” There’s no need for uppercase when two words later you tell us she shouted. The pilot over the intercom, I can see, but I avoid using uppercase let people know “this person is talking really really loud! she shouted, gripping the bar and bellowing over the wind. Her eyes watered. It must have been freezing, but she felt it only as a mild tingle, like tiny bubbles in a perfect bath. She loved the way her heart sped up as she stood there and stared down, adrenaline -- or something like it -- working even when there was nothing to fear. It felt so loving human.

He nodded and she flung herself into the open air. Mason leapt after her, tumbling in a clumsy tangle for a few breaths before righting himself in the updraft. They fell together, hair tangling, clothes flapping, limbs splayed out to catch the wind. He caught her hand and clutched it tight, and she knew he was delighting in this experience, in the knowledge that what he was doing was completely insane and consequence free. She heard his infectious whoop of exhilarated glee even over the roaring wind in her ears, and for just a blink, she forgot to feel old. Wait a second. This whole story was just a lead up to skydiving? A story without any conflict is loving boring. Your characterization of Charlie was fine, but you did nothing to convey a motivation that would engage the reader.

You have the chops, your prose is alright and your descriptions are good. But you really need to work on plot structure and character motivations. If I were to make a summary of your story, this would be it.

Charlie and Mason go skydiving.

That’s it. Why does she go skydiving? To feel human, I guess. What keeps her from going skydiving. Nothing. Does she succeed in going skydiving? Yes, with no obstacles in her path. Boring.

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.


The Leper Colon V posted:

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.

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'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

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.


Click here to listen to your critique.

quote:

The Genesis

...Runan playfully nudges me on the shoulder.


1. “What’s your seat number big brother?” I look down at my selection packet and find my ID: BTB, 25210, 2040.

“I guess 25210. And we’re near the front. There must be thousands more behind us.” I look back to find an endless sea of colonists making their way up the ramp behind me.

“Looks like I’m gonna beat you to Xerus big bro! I’m number 8!” Yeah, maybe by about one minute I think to myself, smiling.


I’m met by a beautiful woman who greets me excitedly and asks me to lift my shirtsleeve. I oblige, and she swabs my upper arm with alcohol before being passed a syringe by her equally beautiful partner.

2. “To make the three year voyage feel like a good night’s rest!” She comments to me animatedly as she flicks the syringe. Somehow, I’m not convinced. Medications never seem to work right for me.

“This won’t hurt a bit, don’t worry!”
….

Hopefully hearing someone else saying the words you wrote is beneficial to you.

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'll take one

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.


magnificent7 posted:

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.

So what's that? AM or PM?

23:59

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.


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 story vignettes were basically shuffled around. story better utilized the prompt.

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

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.


Why did I agree to judge!!?? gently caress MEEEEEeeeee....



Rainbow Unicorn

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.

Mr Wolf

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.)

SurreptitiousMuffin

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.

Jagermonster

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.

Baudolino

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.

tankadillo

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.

ReptileChillock

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.

Djeser

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.

Entenzahn

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.

Schneider Heim

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.

Heliois

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.

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.


Djeser posted:



don't ever accuse me of not being a pooplord

edit for serious: Titles actually count toward your word count? Wasn't aware of that.

Ah, it shouldn't count, but still, you were over the word count.

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.


Early sign up? Sure, why not.

In with 30 AD

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 don't think I have time to finish this story. I'm gonna have to kill it.

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.


Decade: 30 AD
Good Sunday
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.

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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.


DreamingofRoses posted:

I'll take the Toxx like a big girl.

It's my own fault for thinking I can write.

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.

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