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Fuschia tude
Dec 26, 2004

THUNDERDOME LOSER



Uniform
1011 words

It was that time of year again at the bank, the time when everyone was on edge, and the constant clicking of keyboards only stopped long enough to watch one more poor bastard head into the boss’s office. Jon had watched a half-dozen of his coworkers go in there today, and then march out again ten minutes later with the glazed look of the walking dead. And now his name was called.

He ran through excuses in his mind—it had been a tough year in this economy, clients were hurting, he was this close to netting a big fish in the Midwest. It all sounded hollow, even to him. He was doomed.

Jon trudged into the office, and his shoes dragged with the weight of a hundred missed opportunities. Macy looked up from his desk as the banker stepped inside the Ops office, and shot out of his chair like a marathon runner prepping for a race.

“Ah, Lee, good man. There you are. How have you been? Everything good? Everyone well? No, don’t bother to sit down, you’ll be out of here in a minute. That’s right, we have another job for you. I think you’re up to it. I trust you not to let me down. You’re going to the Singapore branch. You’ll be leading a new division there.”

Jon tried not to let out a sigh of relief on the way back to his desk.

---

He’d be crazy not to take the job.

“I’d be crazy not to take the job,” Jon said. He didn’t look up from his bowl of soup.

His wife tried to stab him with her eyes. “You would be crazy you do take the job,” she said. “How you know Singapore?”

“I know some of the guys there, from this office,” he said. He poked at his noodles. “Cin, you know how slow business has been here lately. I’d have a chance to join a successful team and grow us as a multinational from the biggest financial and banking hub in the hemisphere. And... it... come on, it’d be fun!” A long noodle slopped back into his bowl.

“Yeah, and then you go to Shanghai for even more money and big fun. And then Mexico, Africa, who knows, growing big big now, right? And you don’t ask me!” She jumped to her feet and the chair slammed into the wall behind her.

“Cin...” Jon reached across the table for her, but she jerked away like she felt an electric shock.

“No! You had sense, you’d stay! You had sense, you see how we have everything here, all good, no need to move!”

“Cindy, let’s talk about this.” He was almost pleading.

“No talk.” She leaned on the kitchen door, reaching for the knob with one hand, as her other pointed at his chest. “You can go, have your fun, make big money, big mistake.”

She went out slammed the door behind her.

The noodles went cold on the table.

---

She did come to join him. Eventually. After he had already flown to Singapore twice, visited the branch and his new office, picked out an apartment to live in. A place with an extra bed and bath. He always knew she would come with him. And she did.

But she didn’t have to be happy about it, and she was going to make her feelings known. She wrinkled her nose as soon as she got in the cab at Changi. “This car smells like wet cat,” she said. Her eyes darted around the interior.

“It’s raining, Cin,” Jon said. The city always took on a musty smell during the rains. He fidgeted with the handle of the briefcase on his lap.

“It smells like wet cat in here!” she said, louder this time. “Don’t they have car cleaning service in this town? It’s disgusting.”

The driver pretended not to hear.

It was going to be a long drive.

---

The move went well enough. Numbers were looking good and had improved markedly year-over-year. Jon’s new boss spoke glowingly of him at meetings. And even Cindy was starting to calm down and settle in to the new place.

He had tried to get her more involved in local life. “Join a club or something,” he suggested.

She said nothing, just changed the channel on the TV. He shrugged and went to bed. He was so tired these days. He couldn’t make her do something she didn’t want to do.

---

“I hate Singapore.”

Jon didn’t look up from his work. Cindy leaned on the table in front of him.

“That’s nice, Cindy.” He closed his eyes and rubbed the center of his forehead with his thumb. “Look, I need to finish this report. It’s due in less than twenty-four hours. We’ll have time this weekend. We can talk then, OK?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Please.”

“No. We talk now. I’m going back home, where I have family, friends, everything. There’s nothing here. No people, no country, just busy busy. Busy busy all day! You have no time, you never have time, well I’m done. You do what you want. I don’t care.”

“Cindy...”

“I’m going.” She pushed off from the table and stood up.

“...How are you getting a ticket?”

“They already bought me. I told you.”

He put his head in his hands. “Cindy, tell me you didn’t ask your parents and—”

“They’re good. I need good, Jon. You’re not good.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“You’re not good. You don’t care about anything but money. One day, you’ll know. You’ll see.”

She flew out that night.

---

As the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turned to months, the constant drain wore on.

Jon had put twelve years in with the company, and besides numbers in his bank account, what did he have to show for it? He felt the need to break out, violently, to do something spontaneous and crazy.

He picked a country at random and bought a one-way ticket. Maybe he could learn something. Maybe, at least, he could forget.


That of your five sound senses
You never be forsaken,
Nor wander from your selves with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon.

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

Obliterati
Nov 13, 2012

Ask me about being the most Magnificent Bastard in EU4 Multiplayer.

Liberté, Egalité, Baiserité
901 words

Look, will ye stop a minute? I’m trying tae answer yer question for fucksake.

Cheers. So day one is all laughs and bad jokes. Ah'd be tireda getting hosed too; they'll be in bed by morning. Day two is digging in, surveying the position. Standard Operating Procedure. Then it's day three and naebody's laughing any more. The main street is stoppered up tight, furniture layered with paving slabs. I’d wanted tae come home – hell my whole regiment did – but no this way. I ken you'll no believe me, but it's true.

I raise my head above our line and spot Valerie on the barricade. Should have known she'd have a hand in it. She has a megaphone.

“Soldier boy. A chat?”

“Ye cannae talk tae her, Captain,” Waterson says at my side. “It's an illegal assembly.”

I sigh. I've been a while wearing brass, but I remember my common sense. “These ladies arnae known for their law-abidin nature, ken. Think about it, Lieutenant.”

“What can they dae, overcharge us? They're just whores.”

“They're fuckin sex workers, and dinnae you forget it. Where are we, Lieutenant?”

Waterson looks around at the tenement blocks and the fortified street. “Home, sir.”

“Does it look like Afghanistan to you, Lieutenant?”

“No sir.”

“Then mibbe,” I say, “we can keep a wee bit of fuckin peace this time. Pull the line back.”

He looks at me a moment with narrow eyes, then he turns and talks intae his radio. My men edge away, step by step. Valerie jumps off the barricade and walks towards us, ever so casual, across the nae-man's-land. Her ladies raise banners behind her. No relaxation without representation! Hell no we won't blow!

Waterson and I meet her in the middle by a burnt-out motor. Valerie is the same as always. The same electric blonde I remember, the same fake fur coat. The same figure. The statue will look pretty good, I tell ye.

“Dinnae mind the ladies,” she says. “They're just lettin aff steam.”

Waterson snorts. “They're daein a lot more than that, hen. How's about you disperse now, ai, and we'll say no more about it.”

She glares at him. “Shut it, lover boy. Allie says hi.” He blushes, stammering.

I brush off his protestations of innocence. “What dae ye want?”

Valerie spreads her pianist's fingers and begins to count. “Wan: leave us alone. Two: go an arrest the pimps. Three: leave us alone. We're in business for oursels now. All very reasonable, like. No need tae escalate this, soldier boy.”

“We've got orders,” I say.

She smiles. “It's alright. Ye can stick around.”

I wave behind me. “You know what comes next. I cannae let you keep this up.”

She laughs. God help me, she actually laughs. The crowd above her joins in. Can they hear? “Aye, no poo poo Sherlock. Question is, will ye dae it?” She turns her back and walks away.

I'm getting tae it, ya bastard, gies a minute.

She jumps back up onto the barricade and disappears behind it. What happens behind a sex worker picket line? I don't know, I've never been. Have they telt ye how it was?

They start filing out slowly, climbing down. They've got everyone: the old madams are helped along, robes wafting; the fresh young ones are wearing almost nothing but skin. Valerie is in the front line. Of course she is. They break into a run.

“Warning shot,” I order, and my first rank fires. That order I dae give, shoot me. The rounds scream over their heads. Can they even hear? They come on. Waterson looks to me.

So it comes tae the question. Will I? Fire on all these ladies? Enter infamy? I want ye to write this bit down.

“Stand down!”

I say that. Write it down! Ye want tae know why my lads dinnae listen? It's because everything's a mess. Everyone's shouting, the street is full of noise and the lassies keep coming. Storming on, high heels clapping, thundering down the road. They don't gie a gently caress.

“Stand down, goddamnit!”

You never went to war, did ye son? Green lads like you, ye must think armies are perfect machines of violence. They're no. They're a bunch of boys trained to get shot at. This isnae what they're for. They panic. They freeze.

“Hold yer fuckin fire-”

The lines meet and merge. Pairs break off as ladies grab old clients or find new ones, swirling in the flow. Two armies become one. My lads make their choices too. The crowd grows and charges off down the street, towards the city chambers. I hear they ran into your lot on the way there.

I stand watching the world go by. I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's Valerie. She leans over, and gently kisses my check. “Good tae see you,” she whispers, and lets herself be swept away. I am still, feeling the rhythm of my breathing and her saliva drying on my face. The rest is history, ai? Or will be soon enough. When she started all this, was she planning oan you?

But aye, there you go. Was it so hard tae sit still for five minutes and listen? You can go make yer report now, comrade, but when you see her – you will see her, aye? - ask her something for me. After the Revolution, is love gonnae be free?

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002

aka sticklegs



Grimey Drawer

Piggie Steps
1286 words

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?...le=Piggie+Steps

crabrock fucked around with this message at Dec 31, 2015 around 22:58

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


from atop the crown of stone

Everybody called it the trippy tree. It was not beautiful, but its dense branches wove together like the arms of a thousand lovers, and where the branches came together they made stout cradles for the teens to sit in and smoke. The trippy tree had graced the top of the tallest hill in the city since before there even was a city. From the embrace of its high branches, you could see the whole city sprawled out before you; a great beautiful strange thing laid bare.

In spring, the hill's high branches became a beacon for every bird with a song to sing. In spring, Arthur and Jay lay together in the same cradle, watching the sun set. Jay's hand lay across Arthur's; he ran his thumb across the tips of the other man's fingers, and smiled. They didn't speak until the stars were well out. The tree protected them from the worst of the wind, and the found warmth in each other regardless. A plane buzzed across from the southeast, and Arthur pointed to it.

“Where do you think it's going?” he said. Jay grinned. He loved this game.

“It's going to Copenhagen,” he said. He didn't need to hear the next question. He closed his eyes, and in his mind's-eye he conjured up the stuffy aeroplane interior.

“There's a pair of architects in economy class,” he said. “They just got married, and one of them has been asked to lecture at the uni. She's into designing low-cost stuff for people in poverty, and he's mad about the philosophy of cities; is it the same city if it's a different city in the same place- that sorta thing. You'd think they argue, and they do, but they always kiss in the end.”

Arthur shook his head. He bit his lower lip and turned his face away a little, like he did when he was trying to hide a smile. His thick blonde hair was known to eat combs. He squeezed Jay's hand. “It's going to the moon,” he said. He waved his free hand across the sparkling sky- no city lights up here to hide the stars. His hand crossed a billion miles in a second and that made Jay laugh- from their perch atop little old earth, Arthur was bigger than the stars, sun, sky and all the other gorgeous poo poo up there.

“The man on the moon,” said Arthur, “is very lonely. The loneliest. It's just him hobbling along with a big wooden staff. When he finds a nice big moon rock, he sees how far he can throw it; gotta keep himself occupied somehow. That's where the plane's going. There's only three things onboard: the pilot, Richard Branson, and a big fluffy dog. They're delivering the dog to the man on the moon so he won't be so lonely.”

While he was speaking, Jay drew closer and thread his arm around the man's waist. Even though Arthur was too skinny for his own good, it took a few different tries to get it under there comfortably. They both shifted together, until they were face-to-face. “That's nice,” muttered Jay. “Nobody should be lonely.”

He wasn't thinking so much about the man on the moon. He kissed Arthur once; a peck on the lips- a little physicality and no more. Arthur pulled him closer, and kissed him more deeply. When they pulled back, they pressed their foreheads together and lay in silence for a few minutes. Goosebumps blossomed across Jay’s forearms, and he wasn’t sure it was from the cold. The branches shifted in the wind.

As night turned to dawn, they lay together, and Jay thought about the man on the moon throwing rocks, and the big fluffy dog running off to fetch them. The city lay sprawled out miles below, and the two men lay together in the branches.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


to answer your question, yes I got the timezone wrong and had to rush the ending

Kaishai
Nov 3, 2010

Scoffing at modernity.

Submissions for Week CLXIX: Thunderdome O' Bedlam are now CLOSED!

Take a moment to regret the sorry mad fools who wandered from their words with Tom: Broenheim, paranoid randroid, Djeser, C7ty1, ZeBourgeoisie, and worlds_best_author got lost on the lordly lofts of Bedlam, the latter to his sorrow. To still get crits from at least one judge (eventually), they should submit something within twenty-four hours.

Ironic Twist, Schneider Heim, and I will convene soon to discuss your fates! Look for results between Monday night and Tuesday evening.

flerp
Feb 25, 2014


My story's not coming out by the time results are up, so whatever, but I will post my redemption by 11:59 PM PST November 8th 2015. As per Kaishai's request, it will involve mermen.

edit:

paranoid randroid
Mar 4, 2007



aw gently caress i didnt register that critical EASTERN TIME part of the deadline.

oh well, here it is anyhow

I went down to Satan's kitchen
To break my fast one morning
And there I got souls piping hot
All on the spit a-turning.


Satan Diversifies

1,277 words

Victor Syzzak, senior lesser devil in the acquisitions department of Dismater and Associates, Perdition, shook his head in disbelief and lit a cigarette with a touch of his pinky finger.

“So this fuckin’ guy, right? I show up in his summoning circle, fresh off the seven-fifteen express, right? Still shakin’ the subway stank off my cuffs. And before I can even launch into the whole canned ‘avaunt thee, mortal’ routine, this guy shoves a stack of papers in my face and he looks me square in the eye, and you know what he says to me?”

“What’d he say, Vic?” said Baelgi Dweol, professional yes-devil and useless idiot, in Victor’s estimation anyway.

“He says” — Victor put on a snippy voice — “‘if you could just peruse these documents before we begin, they lay out expectations for a return on investment and a few general stipulations.’”

Baelgi snorted and thumped the tincture of wormwood cooler with a fist. “You’re kidding me.”

“Can’t make this up, man. Motherfucker wanted a retainer. Wanted references.”

“Who asks for references when they’re selling their soul?”

“That’s what I’m thinkin’! And I look at him and I’m like, references? Well gee I dunno, does Pope Benedict IX ring any bells? I do business with people who mean business, champ. My time’s too drat valuable for this.”

“Humans,” Baelgi said with a note of distaste. “Can’t live with ‘em.”

“Too right, man.”

A shout came across the crowded acquisitions office floor. “Yo, Vic! ‘Mater wants you in her office!”

Victor snuffed his cigarette in a discarded cup by the trash can and slicked back his heavily gelled hair. “Welp, there’s my cue.”

“Think it’s about the VP slot?”

“gently caress else could it be, huh? Don’t worry, B. They call me up to the bigs, I’ll see to it you get my old position.” Victor hustled off, muttering, “When this joint freezes over, maybe,” once he was out of Baelgi’s hearing.

---

“Temptation? You’re sending me to temptation?” Victor said, aghast.

Dismater, ancient and stately with an infernal diadem of the greater fallen burning like a baleful star on her brow, frowned.

“Yes,” she said.

“Temptation is dead, chief. You’re castin’ me out into the wilderness here. What about the VP slot?”

Dismater’s fingers drummed on her desk. She was growing testy. “You know how mergers are, Victor. We’re bringing in one of Belial’s seniors to fill the vacancy while we integrate the departments. An integration which, I might add, makes you redundant. Would you prefer to be let go?”

“In this economy? No way.”

“So there you have it. A transfer to temptation it is.”

Victor held up a hand. “Wait, waitwaitwaitwait, this integration thing, you’re gonna need someone to liaise that. I can—”

“We already have someone, Victor.”

“Yeah, who? Dweol?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Oh ffff-rick! You’re joking, right? You ever seen him type? It’s like watchin’ someone try to pick grains of rice out of a sand dune.”

“Victor...”

“C’mon chief, I got you a Pope. How many guys you got can say they closed on a Pope?”

Dismater silenced him with a look that seared a nearby potted plant into ash. “I hate to rain on your black mass, but that was 1046. This is 2015, and frankly you’ve fallen off hard. The choice is yours: take your transfer or get your carcass out of my firm.”

---

The next time Baelgi saw Victor was two months later, hunched over the bar at Dzhugashvili’s. He was nursing what appeared to be, based on the legion of empty glasses, the latest in a long line of drinks.

“You don’t look so good, Vic,” Baelgi said as he slid onto the stool next to Victor.

“Eat all the poo poo, Dweol,” Victor replied, without raising his eyes from where they were fixed on the bar top.

“Whoa, okay. Hostility. Unnecessary. Who pissed in your brimstone?”

“The entire” — Victor unfolded from his slouch, tilted his head back and spread he arms wide — “span of fuckin’ creation itself! That’s who!”

“Is this about—”

“Temptation!” Victor hissed, pounding his drink in one gulp. “Mother fuckin’ temptation. I’m gonna die there, B. They’re gonna find me, just a pile of desiccated devil-stuff in an empty suit.”

“C’mon, Vic. Can’t be that bad,” Baelgi made eye contact with bartender and held up two fingers. A round of something sulfurous in two highball glasses arrived shortly. “Thanks Joe,” He said. The bartender nodded and went back to puffing on his pipe.

“You know what I did all day?” Victor said after a long pause. “Go on, guess.”

“Tempt, maybe?”

“Outreach. ‘Vendor-initiated customer facetime,’ they call it.”

“So you did sales, big whoop.”

Victor grabbed him by the lapel. “It’s some fuckin’ Willy Loman poo poo! I feel like I’m pushin’ vacuum cleaners! And man, does the call center find me some real winners. Buncha freaks too dumb to crack a grimoire. I spent all day tryna convince some jerk livin’ in a basement with cartoon posters on the walls that he could be neck-deep in primo tail if he’d only just sign on the dotted line.”

“You’re being a serious drama queen right now,” Baelgi said, pulling himself free.

Victor shoved him. “gently caress you. gently caress you!”

“Chill, man. You’re making a scene.”

Victor slumped over on the bar again. “I can’t even compete with cartoons, B. He didn’t want just any old tail. He wanted his platter-eyed cartoon girls to be real and I couldn’t make that happen. Can’t make life outta animation frames; that breathing into clay routine is Upstairs’ wheelhouse.”

Lacking anything better to do, Baelgi patted him on the back. “Gonna be alright, Vic. You’re gonna get through this.”

“I closed on a fuckin’ Pope!”

“I know.”

“Aw gently caress, who’m I kiddin’? Wasn’t even technically Pope at the time.” Victor wiped his nose on his sleeve. “What’s the point? Of any of this?”

“Iunno. Making payroll. Getting in the black.”

Victor sat up and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Why though? We get all these souls comin’ in, and what do we do with ‘em? We don’t hardly torture ‘em anymore, ever since Lucy shut down the pits durin’ the big imp walkout. And we ain’t been on the soul standard for ages.”

“Fiat currency,” Baelgi grunted.

“What?”

“It’s in this book I’m reading.”

“Why you always readin’ stupid garbage? Gonna turn you into a crazyfuck.”

“Makes some good points about the Infernal Reserve.”

“Whatever. Point is, what’re we doin’ with all these souls but puttin’ ‘em in a big hole in the ground and just stackin’ ‘em up and up and up and up like we’re tryna beat the high score or somethin’? At least Upstairs they get to run around on clouds... playin’ fuckin’... kazoos...” Victor burped and then fell sideways off his stool.

“Oh for—” Baelgi muttered. He waved at the bartender, “Joe! What’s the damage?”

The bartender made an attempt to count the empty glasses in front of Victor, gave up halfway through, and pulled a number out of his rear end.

“One hundred and feefty,” he said.

Baelgi dug a fistful of bills out of Victor’s pocket and tossed them on the bar, then slung Victor’s arm around his shoulders and started walking him to the door. “Let’s get you home. My car’s up the street,” he said.

“Can we get tacos? Could murder a taco.”

“Sure, why not?”

“You’re a mensch, B. Sorry I’m a fuckin’ prick.”

“Bet you say that to all the girls.”

“No, I mean it.”

“Okay, I agree you’re a loving prick.”

“Yeah! gently caress me! gently caress this guy!

“Not now, honey.”

The bar door swung shut behind them, cutting off Victor’s drunken laughter.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


interprompt: god is found in the smallest places

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

interprompt: god is found in the smallest places

"WTF Muffin you got the goddamn holy trinity in ur dick," she said.

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003


SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

to answer your question, yes I got the timezone wrong and had to rush the ending

Does it count as a preface when it's in a post after the story?
Yes

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


newtestleper posted:

Does it count as a preface when it's in a post after the story?
Yes
maybe you should take a chill pill my friend

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003


SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

maybe you should take a chill pill my friend

What's that thing where you call someone a bad thing but then actually you're way worse at the bad thing you said than the person you said it about?

You are that thing.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


newtestleper posted:

What's that thing where you call someone a bad thing but then actually you're way worse at the bad thing you said than the person you said it about?

You are that thing.
kiss me

flerp
Feb 25, 2014


you are both the worst hth

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013



if you don't know that muffin breaks the rules and hates when he's called out for it you don't know muffin very well

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

Hey Kaishai compute us some fast judging.

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry

Broenheim posted:

you are all the worst hth

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


anime is the worst we're #2

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


we're not even best at being the worst

Bad Seafood
Dec 10, 2010

If you must blink, do it now.


Even anime is better than prefacing your story.

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

High marks for compassion, low marks for survival skills





Preface your story with anime.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk

newtestleper posted:

What's that thing where you call someone a bad thing but then actually you're way worse at the bad thing you said than the person you said it about?

You are that thing.


kiwibrawl

500 words, 'cold and alone in a place called home', 8 Nov high noon nz time

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Nov 2, 2015 around 11:38

POOL IS CLOSED
Jul 14, 2011

I'm just exploding with mackerel. This is the aji wo kutta of my discontent.


Pillbug

Sitting Here posted:

"WTF Muffin you got the goddamn holy trinity in ur dick," she said.

Later archeologists were underwhelmed by the miniscule scale of the ur-dick. That the primordial dick was measured in millimeters made rational sense, but was emotionally unrewarding for those who had expected something at least on the scale of the Venus figures.

StealthArcher
Jan 10, 2010

This post is a problem I can't live with. And I'm fucking dead.
- Norman "Sweetheart" Rockwel


Nap Ghost

RedTonic posted:

Later archeologists were underwhelmed by the miniscule scale of the ur-dick. That the primordial dick was measured in millimeters made rational sense, but was emotionally unrewarding for those who had expected something at least on the scale of the Venus figures.

The figure was also revealed to be giving off milliHitler radiation when the main examiner called his partner an out of nowhere series of racial slurs and was promptly decked out cold. The statue has been put under quarantine while protective suits are flown in.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

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


blue squares posted:

Hey Thunderdome. I'm teaching creative writing to female inmates at a county jail in my area. For our next lesson, we'll be talking plot structure (basic 3-act style plot, i.e., character tries and fails to solve problem, changes in some way, is now able to solve problem). We use stories as models for our lessons, but stories longer than 5-6 pages are just too long for the format of my classes. And I have had a hard time finding stories that short with good plot structure. So, I'm posting here for suggestions of past Thunderdome stories that have great, standard plots that I can use to show my students how basic plotting works. Thanks so much in advance.

BLACK JESUS.

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003


sebmojo posted:

kiwibrawl

500 words, 'cold and alone in a place called home', 8 Nov high noon nz time

I understand that muffin pm'd you asking for extra time on this, blaming it on me. I assure you I won't need it to shut his bleating yap. If he's begging for extra time he can have it.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


newtestleper posted:

I understand that muffin pm'd you asking for extra time on this, blaming it on me. I assure you I won't need it to shut his bleating yap. If he's begging for extra time he can have it.
You know what I'm gonna do to you, Newt?

I'm gonna buy you a nice dinner, then I'm gonna take you back to your place and we're gonna talk for hours. You're gonna be convinced that we're falling in love; you haven't felt like this since you were a teenager. My fingers against your waist send electric tingles up your sides. My eyes are so beautiful. You say "I love you" and neither of us feels self-conscious. Then, I'm gonna gently caress you in the rear end, and leave while you're asleep and never call you again.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002

aka sticklegs



Grimey Drawer

So, the Muffin special?

Ironic Twist
Aug 3, 2008

THUNDERDOME LOSER



SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

You know what I'm gonna do to you, Newt?

I'm gonna buy you a nice dinner, then I'm gonna take you back to your place and we're gonna talk for hours. You're gonna be convinced that we're falling in love; you haven't felt like this since you were a teenager. My fingers against your waist send electric tingles up your sides. My eyes are so beautiful. You say "I love you" and neither of us feels self-conscious. Then, I'm gonna gently caress you in the rear end, and leave while you're asleep and never call you again.

So in this scenario, you would be the Muffin Top?

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk

crabrock posted:

So, the Muffin special?

it's the kiwi fruit surprise

Fumblemouse
Mar 21, 2013


STANDARD
DEVIANT


Grimey Drawer

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

and never call you again.

In retrospect, this was the best part.

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003


Fumblemouse posted:

In retrospect, this was the best part.

worth it

The Saddest Rhino
Apr 29, 2009

I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning


worlds_best_author posted:

Oh, sweet, sweet schadenfreude

worlds_best_author posted:

in


(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)

StealthArcher
Jan 10, 2010

This post is a problem I can't live with. And I'm fucking dead.
- Norman "Sweetheart" Rockwel


Nap Ghost

You are all weirdos.

Obliterati
Nov 13, 2012

Ask me about being the most Magnificent Bastard in EU4 Multiplayer.

StealthArcher posted:

You are all weirdos.

what, no reading

Kaishai
Nov 3, 2010

Scoffing at modernity.

Thunderdome Week CLXIX Results: Thunderdome O' Bedlam

At its best, this week was pleasant. Nothing set our world on fire. Nothing flushed it down the toilet, either, always a nice surprise, yet we would have liked more: more sympathetic characters. More plots that made sense. More endings. And in some cases, fewer words. Did you know throwing subplots into a story until you fill up the word count doesn't automatically make it stronger? Now you do.

There still had to be a winner, and we didn't have too much trouble settling on something we all liked.

THE WINNER: Congratulations, crabrock! Your story didn't aim for the stars, but it was a fun, coherent, self-contained romp that made good use of a difficult verse and entertained every judge.

An HONORABLE MENTION goes to Jocoserious. Good job! You delivered a plot and a satisfactory conclusion; you might have taken the throne if the more compelling Wielder had been your main character. Regardless, you made a solid showing and can wear your laurels proudly.

THE LOSER: If it's any consolation, brotherly, this wasn't unanimous. Unfortunately for you, the goon-approved stereotypes of gamers are tired and dull, your twist was obvious far too early, Lee's obliviousness spoiled the mood you tried to build, and it's awfully helpful if your villain has more breadth than a Post-It.

The lone DISHONORABLE MENTION goes to Fuschia tude for a story in which a man's shrewish wife berated him at every opportunity and yet their separation was painted as a bad thing. We were bemused by Cindy's speech patterns, especially given that the foreign roots they suggested didn't turn out to matter at all.

Thank you, everyone who submitted; crabrock, good luck and Godspeed!

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk

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sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk

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