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Entenzahn posted:
ENTEJESER BRAWL OF THE MILLENIA!!!!! You know what pisses me off? Really gets me in the giblets?!?! When poo poo happens to me because of powers outside of my control. Mostly due to IT DOESN'T MATTER!!!!! You two cumbaskets are to write an 1000 max word story of your choosing. The caveat is that it must pull anger out of your reader. You will automatically lose if I become angry because your story sucks. I want to feel empathetic anger. Someone treated poorly, someone cheated. I want to feel their frustration! One week from today, chodes! Mercedes fucked around with this message at 19:06 on May 24, 2014 |
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May 24, 2014 18:56
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Entenzahn asked for a Flashcedes Rule and he shall have one!!! You I'm giving you two words, work them into your story as you see fit: CEREAL. MOUSETRAP.
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May 24, 2014 19:16
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Anoint me. Maybe I'll write a story!
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 01:21 on May 27, 2014 |
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May 27, 2014 01:17
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Erogenous Beef posted:To make it more official, and update the due date. :/
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May 28, 2014 10:57
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Alright you two dick socks, I'll have to give your stories multiple read-throughs before I give judgement. Be proud in knowing that neither of you wrote garbage and now I have to stab holes in your stories stomachs and see which one holds it's contents the best.
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Jun 1, 2014 18:36
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Like a Wrecking Ball 1080 words "Give it back Ma-ma. I'm sorry Ma-ma, give it back!" “Cut!” yelled the angry director from offstage. “What the gently caress was that, Carlos?” Carlos’s cheeks flushed and he stammered. “I was trying to lend some sophistication to my characte-” The director was now in Carlos’ face, his knuckles white as he clenched his clipboard. “No, you’re wasting my time.” He jabbed Carlos in the chest with a finger. “Stick to the script, that’s what we’re paying you for. Your character is mentally handicapped, so give that to me!” The director turned and walked back to his chair. He muttered obscenities to himself until he sat down. “Action!” Carlos felt the shame wash over him. His family would have never approved of him taking the part, but he hadn’t been able to find work for so long. He exhaled in preparation. At once, he took his character persona; eyes crossed, upper lip pulled high over his teeth and his arm crooked to his chest. “Nuuu!” said Carlos, choking on the dust as he wailed. “Ma-muh! Give back Ma-muuuh!” His wails were more of a caricature of what a real person with a mental handicap was. He tried to act the character differently but the director has his vision and god forbid he have any say in it. Carlos became the character. The stage became alive. It transformed into the extravagant ballroom the stage could never be. People faded into existence and they raced in panic; the mob of dancers tried to shove their way to the exits. He fought his way through the crowd. The ballroom bucked violently and the chandeliers dropped from the ceiling. They did not shatter when they hit the ground, instead, they stopped instantly; inertia gave way to the fantastical elements. The chandeliers slowly made their way to the center of the dance floor, swirling in the whirlpool of frozen chairs, tables and well-dressed people. Carlos wanted wanted to help his mother, Astor, but fear clamped his muscles and he couldn't think. What was he to do? What could he do? One moment everyone was dancing and the next the floor turned to quicksand. When the dancers reached the center, they vanished. Carlos had to do something, anything. He bit his lip. The pain freed him from his paralysis. He leaned into a run. At the precipice of the maelstrom, he lept. When his feet touched the ground again, the scene ended and Carlos was back on stage. * * * “Five minutes, Carlos!” said a stagehand. Carlos looked up from his laptop and waved at the woman. “I’ll be right there.” He turned back to his Skype call with his older brother. “Sergio, you’re excited about the movie, but I don’t think you should see it.” “I don’t care how bad the movie is. I support all your movies,” said Sergio. “It’s not that the movie is bad, which is probably will be, it’s that the director is forcing me to make Down syndrome look so insulting. I just… I don’t want you to-” “I don’t care. I’m a grown up, you won’t hurt my feelings. I’m watching the movie!” said Sergio, defiant with a large grin on his face. Carlos couldn’t help but to laugh. “Alright, you win. You can go the premiere.” He stood up and stooped over the laptop, sliding the cursor to hover over the ‘End Call’ button. “But remember, you asked for this when I tried to spare you. Love you,” he said. He ended the call with a smile on his face. * * * The ballroom had changed. It was now a nightclub with neon lights cutting through the smoky room and a powerful bass thumping through his chest. He hobbled forward on unsteady feet, staring at a sea of people all dressed exactly the same way. Everyone wore skimpy one piece suits and a ‘Number #1’ foam finger on their left hand. It would have been impossible to find his mother in this crowd if it wasn’t for the large wrecking ball that swung overhead. Carlos shouted for his mother, but Astor couldn’t hear him over the music. Carlos looked around, trying to figure out how to reach his mother. At the front of the club, next to the DJ’s platform, was a steel ladder leading up to the walkways. He pushed his way to the edge of the dance floor and froze when he saw his reflection. Only it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. He had black hair, but his reflection had blonde hair wrapped up tightly into two pigtail buns on his head. His make-up was heavy and he felt the sudden urge to dance. He shook his head and blinked multiple times. Nope, he still looked crazy. Carlos didn’t understand what was going on, but he knew he didn’t have much time. Carlos struggled up the ladder. He tried removing his foam finger, but right after he took his eyes off his hand it was there again. He rolled himself on to the steel catwalk. He then hooked his arm over the chain rail to keep himself steady as he pulled himself to his feet. He walked slowly; his sudden fear of heights was very real. When he looked below to see where his mother was, his vision swam and he lost his balance for a moment. He dropped to his knees and steadied himself against the rail. He looked down and saw his mother swinging on the wrecking ball. A feeling of dread overcame him. How was he supposed to get down and help his mother? He peeked his head out and shouted down at her. Again, no response. “It’s all futile,” said Carlos. He stood up, stuck his tongue out and twerked. “Cut!” The director’s voice brought Carlos back to reality. “I like that last line. It’s not the actual line, but I like it better.” He clapped Carlos on the shoulder. “You’re good, we don’t need you for the rest of the day.” * * * “The movie was poo poo,” said Sergio. He shook his head at his younger brother. “Dude, I warned you and you didn’t listen!” Carlos protested, throwing his hands up. “Your acting was poo poo! It was like watching a puppet up there.” “Harsh.” “I could have done a much better job,” said Sergio with a grin. “You could have been my stunt double.” “You’re something else. Wanna get some food?” “Only if you’re buying. You owe me for making me sit through that movie.”
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Jun 2, 2014 02:19
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 THE ENTENJESER BRAWL OF THE MILLENIUM VERDICT  This was a close competition but only one of you will have to go on a pineapple diet. The winner is:  Djeser
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Jun 5, 2014 19:36
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I kid, I kid. Please don't yell at me. Mercedes fucked around with this message at 20:13 on Jun 6, 2014 |
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Jun 6, 2014 19:41
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:
If anyone wants some first hand research, ladies 
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Jun 17, 2014 02:59
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Sign me the gently caress up!!!
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Jun 18, 2014 00:12
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What song am I getting?
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Jun 18, 2014 23:09
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You motherfucking motherfucker!!!!! Edit: This was intentional, you bastards! Kaishai, you're dead to me! Mercedes fucked around with this message at 00:16 on Jun 19, 2014 |
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Jun 19, 2014 00:11
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sebmojo posted:Who will judge? Elementary Story Power Hour Sebmojito  Djester  2000 words. One week. Young adult popcorn reads. I'm a child, entertain me. Go!
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Jun 21, 2014 21:13
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Where are you coming from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0359hSerDeE Word Count: 892 In a futile effort Simon wiped the blood with shaking hands from his eyes, but the cut on his forehead was too fresh and new blood was quick to replace. A high pitched ringing cut through his pounding headache, likely the result of a concussion. Simon looked up through the webbed windshield of the stolen car and cussed. He turned to his right and cussed again. Zelda was in poor shape. She was slumped forward in her seat; pallid with skin shining from fever sweats. Her blue hair hung limp and wet, covering her face, but her chest still moved. Simon stared at the bloody bandage on her hand before he cautiously reached over, peeling back the layers and keeping watch for any sudden movements. The skin around the two bite marks were swollen and red. Viscous black ooze pulsated out from the puncture wounds in time with Zelda’s slow heart beats. It was too late for her. His eyes travelled down to her rings and he wondered if he should remove them and pawn them off. With a sudden snarl, Zelda snatched Simon by the wrist with a painful iron grip. He instinctively tried yanking his arm back, but she was too strong. She turned towards Simon and snapped at him, but luckily, her seatbelt jerked her back into her seat. Her upper lip peeled back like curtains revealing green curved daggers for teeth and a deep growl rumbling from her throat. In a panic, Simon reached for his gun but it wasn’t there. The smoke made it difficult but he saw the outline of his gun on the floor near his foot. Through the smoke, Zelda’s other hand lunged out at him finding purchase on his shirt sleeve. He slid down his seat and grabbed his pistol, then snapped it up and repeatedly pulled the trigger. Zelda’s hand slid off Simon’s forearm and into the space between the seats. Simon stayed pressed against the car door. His chest heaved rapidly and he couldn’t keep his breathing under control. With his free hand, he fumbled behind himself for the door handle. The door jerked open and he tumbled backward into the grass. Simon moved around the car, keeping the emptied gun trained on Zelda. He opened her door and jumped back, looking at his companion. Nine bullets fired yet the only visible wound was on her neck. He approached again, nerves raw and twitching at every perceived movement while he reached for her gun. He grabbed the gun and losing his footing in the retreat, fell back on his rear end. He switched weapons and shot a round into Zelda's head just to be sure. He grabbed a backpack that sat at her feet and pulled it out of the car. He opened it and rummaged through the contents, becoming more frantic in his search until with a long sigh he pulled a silver vial from the bottom of the bag. He pulled a canteen from his backpack, opened it up and slipped the vial inside, then threw everything on and jogged into the forest. --- Simon struggled to move his limbs. He leaned heavily on a thick branch he was using as a walking stick. His hair was plastered to his head and his face glistened with sweat. He needed a moment to rest. He leaned against a tree and slid down. Simon gasped in pain, sucking in air through his teeth and turning his head towards his shoulder. He pulled up his shirt sleeve and his heart dropped; there were four scratch marks across his deltoid and a viscous black ooze welled up from the wounds. When did this happen? He wasn’t bit or scratched in the escape. Zelda had been injured though, he’d had to shoot a weredog off of her- Zelda. When did she scratch him? His mind raced. In the car. In the struggle. "No, no , no, no," he repeated, his voice cracking under duress. He unfastened the canteen from his belt, nearly dropping it in his hurry. In his hand, he held what was hopefully the missing link to create an antidote that would revert the effects of the Dog Police virus. They sacrificed a lot getting this. Winslow, Tommy and even Zelda. He could save himself if he were to drink the contents. But surely the weredogs would be on alert. He’d doom the rest of humanity if he didn't return with an antidote. He rubbed the vial with his thumb and bit his lip with green teeth. ---- Over the horizon, a group of humans noticed a large trench-coated figure walking towards them. They shouldered their rifles and placed the target's head in their sights. A bullet cracked through the air and the weredog slumped to the ground. The humans approached the body to confirm it was dead. They paused, trying to comprehend what they're looking at. It was a late stage weredog, trenchcoat and hat, but with a backpack on, a branch tied to it with old meat hanging out in front. On its side was a canteen with writing on it. One of the humans approached the body, reached down and plucked it before reading it out loud. "We didn't make it, but hopefully our sacrifices aren't in vain. Check inside the canteen. Keep the fight alive. Tommy, Winslow, Simon and Zelda."
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Jun 23, 2014 04:49
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BITCH YOU TRIPPIN Your blackness has gone on far too long Nethilia. There can only be one token black writer on these forums, and bitch, you gots to go! Time for a brawl. We'll finally see who's the blackest!
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Jun 26, 2014 05:36
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Nethilia She's an ex-KGB, narcoleptic, NARC detective who is haunted by the brutal murder of her pet turtle. She takes poo poo from no one and often lets her imposing physique do the talking. She's living on borrowed time.
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Jun 26, 2014 06:57
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PoshAlligator posted:Well, here's my entry. https://soundcloud.com/xavier-marchena/ritz Yea, this just happened.
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Jul 1, 2014 02:13
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You are drat loving right I'm in this poo poo!!! Black Jesus: Nigga of Man, black, dreadlocked, smooth-talking holy man of a run down lovely church deep in the hood. Is also not the real Black Jesus. Mercedes fucked around with this message at 06:16 on Jul 1, 2014 |
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Jul 1, 2014 06:13
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DOGOGBYN https://soundcloud.com/xavier-marchena/dog Your welcome.
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Jul 1, 2014 06:19
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 BLACK ON BLACK BRAWLLady Luck: The Fickle One Words: 1992 “You’re out of your goddamned mind, Brennan,” said James McCallister. “I still wake up in cold sweat every now and again. I’m always dreaming about the kids we couldn’t help,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not trying to force you back into SVU-” “Even though you are.” “-It’s just I miss working with you.” said Brennan. “You’re a good cop.” McCallister snorted. “You are! Thirty years together. You’re my longest relationship! I won’t even take another partner cause it feels like I’m cheating on you.” “David, I just can’t...” “You mean you won’t,” said Brennan. “I can’t.” Brennan stood, leaving money for the coffee. “If you have a change of heart…” he said, turned, and left. *** The monolith of a man eyed McCallister with a sardonic grin. “You should stick to the slot machines. It hurts me to see you throw that money away.” “Do you see these?” McCallister asked as he spread his arms out and opened his empty hands. “Look at all the fucks I don’t give. Look at them flutter away!” The bouncer patted him down then stepped aside. “Instead of throwing your money away, you could just give it to me. I can use some new shoes.” McCallister smirked. “There’s no fun in that.” He walked passed the bouncer and entered the dark and smoky room full of game tables, pool tables and the kind of tables you place drinks on. On stage was a black woman who glimmered in her dress and jewelry. Her smoky voice carried a sultry tune into her microphone while a jazz trio accompanied her. No one knew any names. It’s what made this casino the best. Nothing’s better than good old anonymous gambling. Especially since it’s illegal. McCallister was on fire. The roulette loved him tonight. His chips were stacked up high and people were showering him with attention. He dropped a five week salary his lucky number, white-knuckled the edge of the table and watched the silver ball bounce around. The dealer called the number when the ball stopped. “Thirty-seven.” The dealer had said something else, but the whole table had surged in a frenzy at his victory. His head buzzing with elation, McCallister flagged down a waitress to order another Manhattan and then their eyes locked. He recognized her. She knew him. Holy gently caress, she knew him. The waitress hurried away. McCallister knew he was made. He excused himself from the table amidst groans and boos, and stuffed his pockets full of chips while fighting to keep his composure under control. The exit was close but the cage wasn’t very far out of the way. He had an entire year’s pay that burned holes in his pockets. If he left now, all that money would be gone forever. He looked around and noticed no one was paying any attention to him. He brushed his hand against a pocket containing chips. A win streak like this only comes once a lifetime. McCallister approached the cage and unloaded all his chips on the counter. The clerk’s smile never reached his eyes. “Yes sir, any particular denominations would you prefer to have?” He spoke slow and deliberate, as if he sensed McCallister was in a hurry and made it his mission to deny him speedy service out of an unseen slight. “I’ll take large bills, it doesn’t matter,” said McCallister, urgency creeping into his voice. The clerk gathered the chips closer to him. “So hundreds, fifties…?” His voice trailed off. “It doesn’t matter,” McCallister said again. “Excuse me sir?” A thick Irish voice surprised him, causing McCallister to turn around. Follow me please?” “I actually need to leave. I’m just about to grab my earnings-” McCallister stopped talking when he felt the nose of a pistol shoved into his ribcage. “I wasn’t actually asking.” He shoved McCallister away from the exit towards the back of the club. “After you.” McCallister stumbled into the office with a vicious shove. Two other men walked in behind him and they both brandished pistols in their hands. “Take off your clothes,” the red-headed Irishman commanded. “I don’t really swing that way, but listen, I just want to head home and sleep. I’m really tired, long day.” The Irishman holstered his pistol and smiled. “Oh, our apologies. We didn’t mean to keep you up past your bedtime.” He walked forward and made a motion to help McCallister up off the floor. Instead, the motion swiftly changed into a stiff jab that whipped McCallister’s head back. “If I have to tell you to remove your clothes again, I’ll lay down some plastic for you so you don’t ruin my carpet.” McCallister didn’t have to be told again. He stood in his underwear. “No wire.” The Irishman pulled up a chair. “Why are you here, pig?” McCallister blanched. “I’m off-duty. Just having a good time at your fine establishment-” “Who else knows about us?” The Irishman bored his eyes into him, as if he was going to steal his soul. “No one,” McCallister said. “If you’re lying to me, I’m going to make earrings out of your testicles.” “This place isn’t on anyone’s radar, I swear!” “Detective McCallister, it seems tonight Lady Luck smiles upon you.” He tossed McCallister his clothes. “I’m going to let you live in exchange for a small favor.” McCallister’s blood ran cold when he heard his name. The waitress identified him. loving girl. loving greed. Lady Luck is a fickle bitch and she just hosed him in the rear end. *** “You know, James, you won me ten bucks!” said Brennan as he drove. “Everyone was so sure that you’d never come back.” “That’s great, Brennan,” said McCallister, exasperated. Gambling didn’t hold any appeal for him at the moment. “You know anything on the vic besides what in her file?” he asked, changing the subject. “Not much,” Brennan pulled into the hospital parking lot and they exited the car. “She just showed up last night with a wrecked face and signs of prolonged sexual abuse. I wouldn’t be surprised if she loses her eye, but I’m no doctor.” “Family?” McCallister’s stomach was in knots. The more he heard, the more he didn’t want to do what he was sent to do. “No one’s turned up yet.” The detectives turned the corner and stopped in front of two beat cops guarding the room. They flashed their badges and the policemen stepped aside. Inside the room, a young black girl stared out the window from her bed. McCallister heard Brennan click his tongue. “What is it?” he whispered. Brennan shook his head. “I had no idea it was a friend of the family. We’re wasting our time here.” McCallister didn’t reply. It shouldn’t have made a difference, but he suddenly felt doing the job would be easier. “You two policemen?” The girl’s voice startled McCallister. Her voice had an unmistakable edge to it - it reminded him of soldiers that have seen too much. “Yes. I’m detective McCallister and this is detective Brennan. We have a few questions we hope you can help with.” “You can’t help me,” she said. “Well, I guess that’s that. Time to go,” said Brennan as he made his way to the door. “Wait a second, David,” said McCallister with urgency. “Girl, what do you mean that the police can’t help you?” Don’t get invested. Just unlock the windows and walk away. “He has people who work for him in the police.” For the first time, the girl looked at them. She had bandages wrapped around her head that covered her left eye and her face was purple with bruising. McCallister found it hard to breathe. “What’s your name?” McCallister spoke after what seemed a century of silence. She didn’t answer for a long time. McCallister opened his mouth to repeat himself, but the girl spoke up. “Valerie,” she said. She regarded McCallister icily. This girl can’t be thirteen years old. “What happened to you?” he asked softly. Valerie shrugged her shoulders He pressed on. “Who did this to you?” Valerie shrugged again. “I don’t know his name. He’s in the Mob, probably.” “What does he look like?” McCallister was almost pleading. He needed to know. “He’s about as tall as you with red hair. He talked funny too.” The Irishman. McCallister felt sick to his stomach. He left, leaving the room window locked. No one fucks with children and gets away with it. *** “What’s the matter with you, James?” Brennan asked. “You’ve been acting strange ever- are you crying?” “I hosed up. I hosed up really bad,” he said, blinking back tears. “The hell happened?” McCallister told Brennan all about the illegal casino, how he was made and what he almost did to Valerie. To his credit, Brennan listened quietly until he was finished. “So what happens now?” asked Brennan. “If you say ‘wait until this paddy kills you’ I’m going to swat you across the mouth.” McCallister’s eyes were bloodshot. “I have nothing on this guy. No name, no background, no way to get him without loving myself over,” he said. “So we plant evidence. We’ve done it hundreds of times.” “This time it’s different. He’ll kill me the moment he sees me. And it’s invitation only so you can’t go in.” McCallister leaned back into his chair and placed both hands over his face. “Well our witness from the hospital did tell us she escaped a human trafficking ring inside that building. It says so right here on her statement,” said Brennan as he finished forging said statement. McCallister looked up at him with a sort of wonder. “Come on, we gotta break a piece of justice off in this Irish rear end in a top hat. No one fucks with the boys in blue.” *** “Don’t-don’t-don’t!” said McCallister in a harsh whisper as he aimed his pistol at the bouncer’s face. “I actually like you. Don’t make me put a bullet in you, son. Gun on the ground, nice and slow.” The bouncer did as asked and another police officer placed some handcuffs on him. “This is just a job to you. You’ll get off easy if you cooperate.” The bouncer growled, breathing heavily, but he said nothing and allowed the officer to escort him off the premises. McCallister, Brennan and other armored officers stacked along the wall. Brennan counted down with his fingers, reached over, yanked the door open and then the police raided the casino. Pandemonium spread quickly. Armed guards who were masquerading as players pulled their weapons to fire at the police, but the boys in blue were ready for heavy resistance and they dropped each thug to the ground, a few bullets heavier. McCallister had one goal in mind. He raced towards the back office and shouldered through the door with such force that the frame exploded in a shower of wood. He spun to the left, but before his aim caught up, pain erupted from his chest and neck. He stumbled backward, yet with all of his remaining focus, he aimed at the Irishman and fired. The gunfire had died down. The casino was quiet except for the injured and their moaning. Brennan and two others entered the back office with guns drawn doing a final sweep when they found McCallister against the wall with his neck and clothes wet with blood. An officer put fingers against McCallister’s neck to check for a pulse while Brennan watched without emotion. McCallister gritted his teeth and sucked in air. “Ow, gently caress, that poo poo stings man.” He pulled at his vest. “It’s suffocating me man, get it off.” “Your neck, you’re bleeding...” “gently caress it, barely nicked me.” McCallister tried getting up, but the pain forced him to stop that nonsense. “Do me a favor, David, carry me to the cage. I need to have words with that cocksucker in there. When he pays what I’m owed, I’m buying everyone and their family dinner.” McCallister laughed again, enjoys the effects of adrenaline while it lasted.
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Jul 6, 2014 01:49
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The False Prophet Word Count: 781 “My niggas and sistas!” The prophet Black Jesus held a diamond bedazzled suitcase up high over his head, “Our LORD and savior Black God has given me an icon in his image to show us how much he loves and cares for us! He came to us in the high tide from this very night!” “Excuse me, Mr. Jesus?” Out in the congregation, a dirty white man with a scraggly blonde beard raised his hand up. “Why would any god choose to be a suitcase?” Black Jesus set the suitcase down on a garishly decorated table, full of linens, golden candelabra, and half naked, coked out women. He stood in front of this man and held out a hand. One of the altar girls ran up beside him and dumped some baby powder into his cupped hands. “What is your name, child?” “Morris...” “In the name of the Father, Myself and the Holy Spirit,” said Black Jesus in a righteous fury and then bitch-slapped the sin from Morris’ mouth. A cloud of white enshrouded his head and settled in his beard and hair, giving him the appearance of an old saint. “You are blessed by the Holy one himself even though you insult in ignorance!” The congregation murmured an amen. Morris sneezed. “Niggas! Sistas! It is time to partake in God’s flesh. Bring out the cocaine and the malt liquor! It’s time for worship!” *** Black Jesus was coked out of his goddamn mind. “How you feeling Beej?” slurred a woman right before she did a line off someone’s rear end. “If I were to rate how high I was on a scale of one to a hundred, I’d be very loving high right now.” A revelation sparked in Black Jesus’ mind and he shot straight up, throwing a girl who was resting her head on his lap to the floor. “I’ve just had a revelation! Black God spoke to me, goddammit!” “Praise be to the gee oh dee.” said Morris as he was startled awake due to Black Jesus’ outburst. “...Where the gently caress are my pants, man?” “We don’t loving need pants where we’re going, Saint Morris. We’re going to recreate a tableau!” “Black Jesus, I need another hit,” interrupted a short blond girl as she staggered up to him. Black Jesus’ face went dark. “Morris, I need you to be the right hand of Black God.” Morris noticed that Black Jesus’ hand was wrapped in bandages. “What happened to you, Nigga of Man?” “Bitches.” Black Jesus shook his head. “I need you to do two things. First, slap yourself, cause nigga, you white as hell. You can’t be saying that poo poo. The matter wit’ you?” Black Jesus held up three fingers. “Two, slap the poo poo out of her. Bitch needs to know you don’t disrespect the Nigga of Man like that. I’ll meet your rear end downstairs; and for gently caress’s sake put on some pants.” Walking down the steps Morris was busy working his belt when the sudden sound of pandemonium grabbed his attention. Black Jesus stood at the edge of the baptism pool whipping his congregation up in a frenzy. Black Jesus shouted above the cry of the crowd and they quieted to a low murmur. “The loss of our great God, Black God is a travesty. But all it not lost!” Black Jesus put up four fingers. “One, The Great Black God has come back to us somehow. BEHOLD Sister Karen has returned with our Lord Almighty!” Sister Karen waved to the crowd appearing very awkward. Black Jesus continued, “Black God has given me the gift another icon, a smaller miracle in the form of this jewel encrusted dildo!” The crowd cheered him on. The ladies lost their poo poo when Black Jesus tossed Black God’s phallic miracle at them. “Black God loves his honeys, that’s for drat sure. Two, Black God has instructed his son, me, to prove to you that he is the one true God by walking across this pool of water!” He steps to the edge of the pool and lifts his arms into the air. “LORD! Fill me with the holy motherfucking spirit!” The holy spirit fills Black Jesus and then he does the krump with such spiritual fervor that many attending the Black Mass pass out from Holy Ghost overdose. He stopped the dance. He placed a foot on the water tentatively. With a nod, he placed the full weight of his body on his foot and belly flopped into the water. Black Jesus erupted out of the water, arms flailing. “Help! I’m black! I can’t swim!” Morris shook his head and heads back upstairs to steal some drugs and money before he moved on.
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Jul 7, 2014 01:30
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Mercedes posted:Elementary Story Power Hour https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWnN_PbhEus If you want a written crit, I can do that, just know it'll take awhile. Started a new job with a new menu and blah blah blah.
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Jul 7, 2014 21:21
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Sign me up crabrock. It's time to crush some heads!
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Jul 7, 2014 21:26
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Mojo, I highly recommend trying to get that story published somewhere. I think it was that good.
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Jul 8, 2014 01:03
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Best in show: Muffin and the KUNGFU  Best Collab: Djinn and Trex Most Interesting:  Black Jesus
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Jul 12, 2014 18:17
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Lou Begas Mustache? More like Sue Vicky Butt-throb. You better cut your hair with a straight blade cause when I use your head as a personal ball rester, I don't like rough surfaces. You should also purchase a neck brace. For safety purposes. Hint: I'm going to crush you with my manliness.
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Jul 13, 2014 04:23
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Till Death Do Us Part, You First Words: 474 “I have to say, Mrs. Ock,” said Jeff Bernstein, of Bernstein & Bernstein, “Your requests are getting quite ridiculous. All the power cables in the house, all the tires and windows from a car, all the shelves from the dressers; There’s no way a judge would grant this stuff.” I don’t give a gently caress, Janus thought. She also thought about headbutting that Jewish lawyer right in his huge loving nose and she would have, if it wasn’t for her soon to be ex-husband and his black lawyer entering the conference room. The black lawyer slammed both fists on the table and spoke, his angry black man eyes boring into everyone present. “Listen up, you motherfuckers. This isn’t even about getting paid anymore. I’ve literally done nothing but this case. I swear on sweet baby Jesus, I think I’ve forgotten how to lawyer because of the two of you sucking up all of my time with your bullshit.” Janus huffed indignantly. “Well if a certain someone would just give me what I asked for, then we wouldn’t be in the situation, now would we?” That certain someone stood turgid in defiance. The arteries in his neck and forehead were distended - engorged with hot blood. “...,” he said silently. There was power in his stoic gaze and everyone in the room couldn’t help but respect him for it. “I can’t take it anymore!” Janus shouted. “I once loved you, but you let our marriage fall apart because you never talk to me!” Mr. Ock gripped the table and in a needless display of violence, flipped it. “I’ll wait outside,” said Jeff Bernstein with a hint of depression. “Once you two are done, I’ll come back and collect my things.” The black lawyer shook his head. “No, we’re not doing this again.” He grabbed Mr. Ock by the shoulder in an attempt to pull him away from his wife. Mr. Ock did turn, his pants tight and near bursting at the zipper. Black Lawyer saw the lust in his eyes. Untamed and unbridled. He saw his career in shambles in those eyes. No one would hire a lawyer whose first and only case was a fifteen year deadlocked divorce case. He turned his head and looked out the window. He lifted it open and without thinking twice, hopped out to his death. Mr. and Mrs. Ock stared each other down. They couldn’t be bothered by a black man committing suicide. That had issues they needed to work out. “Give me what I want, Ted,” said Janus, holding her ground against the tidal wave of his will. Mr. Ock opened his mouth and foam frothed out. “O-ock,” he said. “Ock ock.” “You do still love me!” said Janus. And they lived happily ever after until the lawyers were called in again the next week. So, it wasn’t really forever.
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Jul 14, 2014 04:54
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crabrock posted:...it was about a divorce. You were the only person that didn't even PRETEND to make it war themed. Oh. My fault. I didn't get the memo where it had to be absolutely literally about war. Divorce doesn't share any qualities of that. No sir. My mistake. I won't happen again. I'm in.
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Jul 15, 2014 05:39
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Tyrannosaurus posted:Bad Seafood. Your free space is now "Sympathetic portrayal of a figure who is normally viewed in a negative light" I AM CALLING IN MY FIRST GOLD STAR MERCEDES WIN FLASH RULE!!!!  Find a way to give this star a large part of your story.
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Jul 16, 2014 01:33
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Hey systran. Once you're done sucking Benny off and getting yourself all cleaned up you should brawl me. You've been cranky for far too long and receiving a good rear end-whooping is what you need to realign your chi or feng shui or whatever the hell you got stuck up your rear end. Or you can refuse and continue with your passive aggressive sniping. Whatever floats your boat, buddy.
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Jul 16, 2014 07:08
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Sithsaber posted:1. It was 22 words over "Officer, I was only going 22 miles over the speed limit!" "Why you being a little bitch, I only stole 22 dollars out of your wallet!" "Honey, I only slept with 20 women besides you. Oh, and 2 men." Mercedes fucked around with this message at 18:32 on Jul 18, 2014 |
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Jul 18, 2014 18:29
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Sithsaber posted:So I should be fined, not given five years. I may be wrong, but I thought going over or significantly under the limit led to word penalties which over time would lead to more word penalties. "Officer, I was only going 22 miles over the speed limit!" "Next time be careful son. You are hereby penalized 25 miles per hour. If you're in a 10 miles per hour zone, you better be going in reverse." "Honey, I only slept with 20 women besides you. Oh, and 2 men." "My heart is broken. If you want this marriage to work out, your new infidelity limit is 5 women and 1 man." That is how dumb you sound right now. Word limits are there for a reason. You break them at your own peril. You would know that word penalties are not a thing if you would have lurked a little bit more or read the drat OP. You've been told to read the OP many times, yet every time you smash your face on the keyboard I get this burning sensation behind the eyes that tells me you haven't. Read the OP
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Jul 18, 2014 19:46
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I might have to fail on this one. We'll see what time work lets me go.
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Jul 20, 2014 22:45
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I'll See You Soon 1154 Words There wasn’t any pain at first. Bastille looked away from Layla’s eyes, down to where he felt the cold steel of a kitchen knife sliding out of his stomach and the warm blood replacing it. He put pressure against the wound to stymie the blood flow, but his hands were trembling so much, they were useless. Then the pain arrived. It was slow and dull at first, but intensified within moments until Bastille kicked his legs trying to control it. Funny how he didn’t remember ever making it to the floor - or how quickly the pain faded away. With unfocused eyes, he looked up at Layla, but she refused to meet his gaze. So tired, thought Bastille as he closed his heavy eyelids. He jerked awake. “Layla, help me,” he pleaded, his voice small and pitiful. She turned her back to him to set the bloody knife in the sink. Bastille struggled to his feet. “It was an accident! Really! Just get me to the hospital...” He reached for her shoulder. And passed through her. Bastille stood dumbstruck. Layla scrubbed her hands in the faucet, keeping her head low and staying quiet. He saw himself on the ground slumped against the wall. His shirt was stained a wet dark red and his skin was ashen. He didn’t know how long he stood there staring at himself but was eventually snapped out of his reverie when he heard a car pull up on the driveway. Bastille saw the car when he peeked through the kitchen window. He’d recognize that lovely pick-up truck anywhere. Layla’s ex-boyfriend. What the hell was Jay doing here? Jay was a bigger guy, in a nasty NASCAR shirt that was a size too small. He waddled through the front door carrying a large tool box. “It’s about loving time.” Jay bellowed tossing it on the kitchen table. “Was starting to think you liked the guy.” “Let’s just hurry up...” “Layla!” Bastille shouted, willing himself to be heard. She helped Jay lay down a tarp and move his body over to it. As Bastille’s body was moved his hand brushed against him and he felt his fingers twitch. Bastille knelt next to his body and touched his hand again. He concentrated and flexed his fingers. He just needed to show Layla that he wasn’t gone just yet. Bastille positioned himself mirroring how his body lay on the ground. A moment passed before everything went dark. Bastille forced his eyes open; the sudden light stung and he groaned in pain. “Holy poo poo, fucko’s still alive.” Jay snatched the knife from the sink, handing it to Layla. “Do me a favor and finish what you started while I get the trash bags ready?” Layla took the knife and knelt over Bastille, holding the blade over his heart. She paused, looking uncertain. Bastille locked eyes with her and he fought his sluggish body to move his lips. “Please... help...,” he mouthed. Layla’s eyes were tear-lined and puffy, but her mouth was set in a straight, tight line before plunging the knife into Bastille’s chest. Bastille fell out of his body and through the earth. *** Black Satan grinned, bringing a blood-filled goblet to his lips. “You’re going to have to speak up, Bastille. I’m not quite sure I heard you right.” “I want you to grant me power long enough to get revenge on someone I once loved.” Black Satan tossed the jeweled goblet back over his head before he leaned forward in his throne. “Your Layla is already going to hell. I don’t need your help in getting her soul.” “What about her family then? Her mother!” “Her mother cried rape and two innocent black men were executed. I’ll be seeing her soon.” He stroked his goatee. “I’ll tell you what. In the years you’ve been patiently awaiting your turn to see me, your Layla had a daughter.” The malevolent glint in Black Satan’s eyes was unmistakable. Bastille knew what the devil was asking for. “I’ll do it.” “Splendid!” Black Satan clapped his hands, light flashing from each ring on all his fingers. “You have twenty-four hours.” *** Bastille stared at the young girl sitting behind a janky stand. She couldn't be more than six years old, with curly strawberry hair and looking like a miniature Layla. He walked up to her, giving a smile that she returned. “Hot Kool-Aid?” she lifted a coffee pot with both hands. Bastille couldn’t help but laugh. “Sounds delicious.” “Twenty-five cents!” Bastille smirked. “Is your mother here? I’m an old friend.” The little girl pointed to the house behind her. “She’s inside. Do you want some hot Kool-Aid?” Bastille felt Black Satan’s power pulse in his hand. “I’ll tell you what - what’s your name?” “Elaine.” “I’ll tell you what, Elaine. I don’t have any money on me right now. Let me pay your mom a visit and I’ll be back with money from her.” “No money, no goods!” Elaine pouted a little. “Fair enough.” Bastile held his hand out. “Let’s shake on it. I promise to get some money, come right back out and buy some of your delicious Kool-Aid.” “Deal!” Elaine placed her small hand in Bastille’s and her body went rigid. Her skin went ashen, and her eyes rolled back in her head before she fell to the ground, stiff. Bastille left Elaine’s body on the sidewalk and walked up the driveway. A large truck with a vanity plate reading "JAYBN01" sat in the driveway. Good. That bastard’s home too. Bastille pounded on the front door until Jay opened it. He wore a newer NASCAR shirt. Jay’s eyes widened in recognition, but Bastille didn’t hesitate, wrapping his hands around his throat. His death was quick; his skin went pale. Bastille discarded the corpse, walking through the house until he found Layla watching the news. She turned her head and and once she recognized the man standing there she screamed and tumbled out her chair, backing away, backing away from Bastille. Her terror felt loving amazing. "Yep. The man you murdered all those years back." He smirked and marched towards her, reveling in her terror. "Jay's dead, thought you should know. Oh, and I see you have a daughter." He smirked and shook his head, gesturing to the front lawn. "Sorry, my bad. Had." “NO!!!” Layla sobbed, clutching Bastille’s pant leg. “Our baby! You killed our baby girl!” Bastille flinched back. “Our baby girl?” The darkness in his hands throbbed with devouring need. “I’m so sorry, Bastille! I was pregnant and I didn’t want it so I called Jay and I -” Bastille slammed his fist into her face. Then her head, then her face again, as he straddled her chest. Over and over, and over, sobbing. Black Satan slow clapped. Bastille jerked up to find himself back in hell. “I hope you had a great revenge. Welcome home.”
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Jul 21, 2014 05:44
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Jul 21, 2014 05:53
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Bad Seafood posted:Need sleep. Vengeance is finally miiiine!!!!
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Jul 21, 2014 14:35
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I'll judge with you if you'll have me
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Jul 22, 2014 17:17
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Yo yo YO Doc! Let me get a sweet crit for that week yo.
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Jul 23, 2014 20:38
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I'll do a video-crit of 2 people who are not getting a crit from either Enten or the good Dr.
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Jul 23, 2014 21:01
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| # ¿ Apr 26, 2024 17:34 |
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Dr. K Crit https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rwzVwj_laFk Multitasking is hard.
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Jul 25, 2014 01:05
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