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  • Locked thread
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome


Congratulations, Anomalous BloPROOOOOOOOMPT!


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.

Fast prompting.

Good prompting.

Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

hi anonymous blowout nice to see you again where the gently caress is our prompt get the goddam lead out k

Mar 22, 2013

it's crow time again

Twist and me got beef. We got brawl-level beef.

Someone brawl-prompt us before we spill this beef all over TD

Mar 21, 2010
Fiji gayjeans

Benny the Snake
Apr 11, 2012

edit: never mind :ohdear:

Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

Djeser posted:

Twist and me got beef. We got brawl-level beef.

Someone brawl-prompt us before we spill this beef all over TD

Twisting in the Queef Wind with Djeser Brawl

The flood is coming; what is to be saved and what is to be lost?

800 words, 13 Jan 2359 PST

oh and this is a :toxx: so don't go loving up on me, no extensions

sebmojo fucked around with this message at 07:57 on Jan 6, 2015

Nov 3, 2010

Scoffing at modernity.

Results are on the last page, Mr. Gayjeans.

Mar 21, 2010
Fugu google

Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

Screaming Idiot
Nov 26, 2007




anime was right
Jun 27, 2008

death is certain
keep yr cool

anime was right fucked around with this message at 06:49 on Oct 27, 2015

Anomalous Blowout
Feb 13, 2006


It makes no attempt to sound human. It is atoms and stars.


Hello friends and welcome to THUNDERDOME CXXVII: DOMIN' ALL OVER THE WORLD. It is the year of Our Lord 2015teen and my New Years Resolution is to travel more.

Won't you go on this journey with me?

Write me a story that takes place in a country you've never been to. I'll take you at your word as far as where you have or haven't traveled. If you lie, you're lying to fudge the rules of an internet contest worth literally no money for people you'll probs never meet, so you're the one who comes out lookin' kinda sad there, pal.

But wait! There's more!

Your plot must also feature a competition. A war? Rad. The World Cup? Sure. Two dudes playing dominos in the background? Sure if it's plot-relevant. A love triangle? Ooh baby.

Thrill me with your stories of competitions abroad.

WORD COUNT limit is 1000 words. However, you get a 200 word bonus if your story is from the POV of whoever loses the competition. That doesn't mean it has to be first-person or anything gimmicky like that. Just prominently feature a sad, sad loser, because that's probably what you'll be.

SIGNUPS are due by Friday, 9th January at 11:59 Pacific Time.
SUBMISSIONS are due by Sunday, 11th January at 11:59 Pacific Time.

Myself, Djeser, & Sitting Here

Bad Ideas Good
Schneider Heim
Nubile Hillock
Your Sledgehammer :toxx:
Screaming Idiot
Grizzled Patriarch :toxx:
Benny the Snake
Morning Bell
Ironic Twist
Jick Magger
December Octopodes

Anomalous Blowout fucked around with this message at 01:01 on Jan 10, 2015

Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk


anime was right
Jun 27, 2008

death is certain
keep yr cool

anime was right fucked around with this message at 06:48 on Oct 27, 2015

Jun 26, 2013

More in than the belly button of a 200 kg person.

Bad Ideas Good
Oct 12, 2012
In, because I don't know how to quit you, Thunderdome.

Jan 9, 2012

When SEO just isn't enough.
I always come crawling back. In.

Lily Catts
Oct 17, 2012

Show me the way to you
(Heavy Metal)

Feb 8, 2014


Bad Seafood
Dec 10, 2010

If you must blink, do it now.
Oh right so this was going on.

:siren: Surreptitious Twist Judgment :siren:

Muffin and Twist, you two have left me in quite the jam. Generally speaking, brawls tend to be very one-sided, or come down to who loses a race to the bottom. Well instead you both turned in strong submissions, and I've spent the last week trying to make up my mind about which one I liked better. Close as we get to a photo finish, though instead of ten seconds it takes up ten days.

Muffin, despite your grumbling, you still manage to churn out a respectably lean piece. Afforded a generous word count, you went for an economy of words (albeit by circumstance rather than design) and some nice, sparse imagery. A week later, your images still linger in my head; particularly autumn and winter. That said, it's a good thing the two of you agreed to a pretty prose brawl because it is definitely the imagery that does the heavy lifting. Although you deliver on the prompt as promised, your man for all seasons doesn't leave much of an impression beyond the powerful symbols associated with him. His trials and choices are universal enough that they could apply to anyone, but also vague enough they could have been written by anyone. You would have done better to delve into the specific and draw forth the universal.

Twist, you went the opposite route, something far more ambitious. In contrast to Muffin's sparsity, you presided over a carnival of images. Almost too many, you might say. It all flowed together well enough, but after the initial awe I found very few of them stuck out beyond your opening and ending selections. I would have preferred it if you'd whittled it down to smaller number of stronger images and sensations. But it works well enough for what your aims were, and your protagonist is enough of her own character that she becomes an image in and of herself. She and you both played to the seasons, and I was fond of your uses of echo. Unfortunately, the ending spoils it a bit. You invoke mythic names and imagery, only for the object of her affection to be...some random guy? Your choice to end on fear and bewilderment is also an odd one.

Twist's aim was to challenge himself and improve. I'd like to say he did both. Muffin obliged him, and showcased his prowess even under pressure. But if there can only be one winner, I guess it'll have to be Muffin. Sometimes less is more.

Oct 30, 2003

Bad Seafood
Dec 10, 2010

If you must blink, do it now.
Also, my surreality crits from the tail-end of the last thread, for those of you who missed it.

Jun 26, 2013

Stick Wins at Pissing

E: 1377 words (yes it's over, I'll take my lumps)

Gramps didn't tell many stories about his time in Vietnam.

He wasn't shy about sharing his opinion on most other topics, and he was good value when he had enough beer in him, particularly if you were fifteen and bored shitless because your family had dragged you to a rickety cabin out in the deepest bush on what they claimed was a holiday. Technically, the cabin was part of a farm; Kevin only believed this because a cow in the throes of some urgent bovine emotion had bellowed outside his window every time he'd begun to drift off to sleep the previous night.

Kevin dumped the last load of dishes into the sink and sourly dropped a handful of cutlery on top of them, one piece at a time. He eyed off the tray of apple crumble Mum had just put on the table. It smelled warm and sweet.

"It's got to cool off," she snapped at him, and flicked him in the face with an oven mitt.

"Jesus, Mum!"

"Stop being miserable and go get your bloody grandfather for dessert. He's gone outside to smoke. I'll be serving this in five minutes and if you aren't back you miss out because everyone's going to want seconds." She shook her head. "You'd think we're dragging you over hot coals, bringing you on a holiday like this."

Gramps, it turned out, was taking a powerful piss off the end of the porch, beer in one hand, stream arcing into the night air and drumming on the ground. He belched in satisfaction. "Got to be at least ten feet," he proclaimed. "Bet you don't have the bladder to beat that at your age."

Kevin quashed the competitive impulse. "If Mum saw me doing that I'd never be able to pee again without a bag plumbed into me."

"Soft," the old man grunted. He slumped into a chair and lit a cigarette.

"Mum's made a crumble and there's ice-cream. If you want some we better go in when you're done smoking."

"Got to go when you've got to go. Reminds me..." Gramps muttered, as if Kevin hadn't dared to mention dessert, "... the pissing contest we had just outside of Nui Dat. Couldn't forget that one."

Kevin quietly sat down in the other chair. Gramps was at least eight beers in, prime wartime reminiscence territory. This story should be worth hearing. "Did you win?"

"Nup. I was in with a chance for a while there, but..." Gramps sighed. "Guess I better give you the set-up."

He crushed out the stub of his cigarette and took a gulp of beer.

"1 ATF was dug in pretty well at Nui Dat. It'd been a quiet few months and we were going stir-crazy. We had a decent supply of booze and we could score pot off the Vietnamese, but we were young men and we were hearing about all the fighting that we weren't involved in.

"When we were offered a chance to get out we jumped at it. This one was non-combat, it was a week or so setting up a medical staging area. We were just there to hump some supplies and sandbags around and hopefully get onto a few pretty American nurses.

"One of the blokes that was along was this little feller nobody liked. He had this thin blonde hair and these little round glasses and he was preachy religious. We called him Stick."

Kevin blinked. "Stick?"

"As in had a stick up his arse, boy. A real little poo poo, he was. Didn't even drink. He dobbed us in a few times before he worked out that most of the brass were pretty happy to turn a blind eye when we didn't cross the line.

"Anyway, we found ourselves with a bunch of liberty time this particular day, and it turned out the only nurse around was a grandmother in her fifties. So we were sitting around getting pissed as farts and then one of the guys climbed up on an embankment and took a bloody enormous piss out towards the treeline. For the next few hours we were all getting drunker and drunker and trying for distance. We agreed that the winner would get a packet of smokes from each of us.

"So Stick finds us doing this and has a pink fit. Tells us we're disgracing Australia and he goes off to be by himself. And then Bob tells us that he's managed to get a hold of some acid off one of the Yanks, and he's come up with a plan for old Stick there.

"Long story short, we went to Stick and said we'd seen the error of our ways and took him a nice cup of coffee to make amends, and then we left him lying on his cot and genuinely believing that he was riding a Huey up into Heaven to talk to God first-hand, and we went back to our pissing.

"I was in the lead because I'd just come up with a technique that I was sure was a winner. I'd give it a few little tugs before letting it rip..." Gramps demonstrated with a hand motion and Kevin winced, "... and that seemed to tighten up the pipes and put some extra force behind it.

"So I'm up on the wall pissing and then all of a sudden there are gunshots out behind the treeline and I hear bullets whip past me through the air. I fall backwards and piss all over myself and the camp behind me is starting to poo poo itself because there weren't supposed to be Viet Cong anywhere within twenty miles, but there's what sounds like a whole battalion taking pot shots at us.

"I dunno how long we're lying there without weapons anywhere nearby, keeping our heads down because we're drunk and packing poo poo, and waiting to see what happens next. And then suddenly I see these luminous white arse cheeks passing me by. Stick has got up, stripped bare arse naked and come out for a stroll. His hair's all sticking up and he's slowly waving his hands around his head and making whoosh noises.

"We're all screaming at him to get down and he doesn't even hear us, he hops over the embankment, strolls out into the field and stands on top of this mound of dirt. There are bullets kicking up dirt all around him and parting his hair and he just stands there, staring out at the trees, and then he screams GOD HAS GIVEN ME THE MEANS TO OVERCOME and he grabs his dick and starts pissing everywhere. I mean, I've never seen that much piss come out of such a small man before or since, and he's spinning on the top of this mound of dirt so it's spraying out around him like a sprinkler, and Jesus he's getting some distance on it.

"Funny thing is, the VC let up firing while he's doing this, my guess is they're all just staring at him and thinking what the flaming gently caress?

"And right then an air strike comes rolling in and the whole tree line goes up in flames and dirt for hundreds of yards, and Stick is standing there, silhouetted against the eruption with his dick in his hand.

"Before all the debris hits the ground he turns around and marches back into camp, and as he passes us, even though my ears are ringing I swear I hear him say That was very satisfying, it felt as though the Lord was urinating through me. And then he goes and lies back down."

Gramps shook his head and fished another beer out of the cooler. He twisted the cap off and took a long, contemplative swig as he stared out into the darkness.

"So... what happened after that?" Kevin asked.

"Ah, we all filed into his tent and very solemnly deposited our smokes around him as he lay there unconscious with his balls out. I mean, there was no topping that."

Gramps tapped another cigarette out of his packet and lit it. "Little poo poo kept them, too, and he didn't even smoke."

The crumble had all been eaten by the time they got inside, but Kevin thought it was worth it.

SadisTech fucked around with this message at 03:08 on Jan 7, 2015

autism ZX spectrum
Feb 8, 2007

by Lowtax
Fun Shoe

(I am in)

autism ZX spectrum
Feb 8, 2007

by Lowtax
Fun Shoe
:siren: CRITS :siren:

Schneiderheim, “New Habits”: Starts off with a lot of garbage exposition and dialogue, then keeps going. I see what you’re maybe trying to do, introduce us to weak characters that turn out to be superhuman, but at your halfway point all we’ve learned is a bunch jargon and some half-baked ideas about that one guy’s past. The whole time I read the story the characters just seemed like British upper-crust twinks. Nothing happens except for men reminiscing about other men. The story veers dangerously close to fanfic, since if I wasn’t accosted by god awful superhero bullshit day in and day out I wouldn’t have the faintest loving clue what you’re talking about.

Cacto, “The Will”: I’m sure there are grammatical errors and what have you, but I’m not the sperg to consult on that. I sort of have a love/hate relationship with this prose. On the one hand you’ve got this Victorian period piece thing going on which you pull off quite well, but then you shoehorn elements that really don’t fit: A/C and television. It sort of ruins the immersion, but the piece is tongue-in-cheek enough to handle that if this work is part of a larger fictive universe. The biggest failing of this story is the almost Deus-Ex ending. You could have turned this into a sort of whodunnit, but there’s absolutely not enough character development to even try and pin the blame on someone.

Nethilia, “Out of my life”: Wow, a strong contender. I don’t understand one part, though. You seem to introduce a whole host of characters that never get explained. The husband walks into the room with “five guys” but who they are and what they’re doing remains a mystery! The only real issue I have with this is that you use the word “backseat” (which I’m surprised is actually a word and not two!) twice in the same sentence. You managed to write characters compelling enough to make me read the whole story and actually care about the ending.

Sledghammer, “Two Bullets”: A somewhat competent story about two bloodthirsty cops. Seriously, what police force on earth is going to let a cop keep the bullet casings he used to shoot a guy? Who the gently caress is going to shoot a guy and then be chipper about the same day? These cops, apparently. Also, a rookie named Ramirez? Really? I personally found the “then” and “now” breaks infuriating, but at least they managed to tell a story. No new ground broken anywhere here.

Fumblemous, “Football and Fireworks”: pretty good, but the whole time I read it I was sure the girl was a ghost and that this story would have a bittersweet ending. Turns out that nope, it’s just some fantasy bullshit and you go off on a tangent about adventures and a gate or something.

Sittinghere, “Touch and go and touch again”: I’m not sure how I feel about this. I’m not sure if there IS anything to feel about this. A series of overly florid discordant images strung along on some quasi-religious mythos. Too many pretty words, too many abrupt transitions and you actually, honestly loving managed to cram the word whimsical in there. WE ALREADY KNOW IT’S WHIMSICAL WE loving READ IT DIDN’T WE????

LOU BEGA’s etc, “Penny Puncher”: It starts. With sentences. Too short. Holy gently caress though, are you SERIOUSLY sidestepping the chance at opening with a boxing match and instead writing a few lovely words about pennies and mats? Jeeeesus. Surprisingly little action in a story about MMA, and with the title I was really hoping that Sayid would be bested by trickery, like, say, a roll of pennies concealed in a fist or something. But this story pulls no punches (get it? GET IT?) and winds up flat on its back (GET IT!?)

Walamor, “Decisions”: You’re lucky there are worse entries, but this is some serious horse poo poo. It doesn’t really meet the prompt; we have NO IDEA who these fuckers are or what they used to do. Maybe if you’d actually used more words like you were supposed to there’d be something to critique. Actually, who am I kidding. It would be another few hundred words of absolutely nothing loving happening.

Anomalous Blowout, “When you need it most”: I don’t think this would have won in another week, but your prose was tight and you did tell a story. I wasn’t totally satisfied with the depth, though. The arc is fairly shallow, the story doesn’t build as much as it ends. You show us two vignettes to establish a precedent then the story resolves on the third. A solid system and you gave us a decent ending, but I still want more, dammit.

Docbeard, “Good night miss Miller”: Spies and a confusing ending

Ironic twist: Some sort of confusing rehash of telltale heart or something like that. There’s too little character development and far too much focus on the lump in the floor. I didn’t come here to read about lumps, dammit.

jonked, “ The Pearl”: A very strong start to the story, I love breakfast fic! You lose points for not involving buttermilk or maple syrup, though. It’s a decent story with an awful ending and bizarre tense shifts. I don’t know what the gently caress happened! I sort of care, but the wife is some kind of weirdo caricature of a woman, barely even human. It was getting pretty intense up until he found the pearl, but then instead of some kind of tragic ending or some sort of coming to God moment you decided to give us margaritas and INTRODUCE CHARACTERS IN THE LAST loving ACT.

Kurona bright, “stump talk”: Way, way too many characters. Confusing relationships. Some of them aren’t even needed in the story. You spend a lot of words describing two guys kissing when it’s not important to the plot. I’m guessing the “twist” here was supposed to be that Andrew is her brother, and not (as the reader is supposed to assume) her boyfriend? I got the vibe that maybe she was using one of the two guys as a beard and vice versa and the brother thing was supposed to be a twist? Either way, nothing loving happens.

Crabrock, “waves”: I devoured this story in the hopes it would be about dicks, but what I got in the end was a sort of sadness. I liked the reference you made to light's beam/wave duality, but I fear it was lost on other domers (because they are not as smart as us, you see). Actually, I'm not sure how I feel about all that exposition right at the end and with those final facts in mind, what sort of friendship was there? It seems ShittyBecky was just a burden SmartBecky.

Benny the Snake, “the Christmas truce”: Is this supposed to be historical fiction? It really seems like you’re gunning for the ww1 Christmas truce, but it doesn’t make the least bit of sense. Charlie Brown came a long time after that war ended, the uniforms weren’t just green and brown and I’m like, 80% sure it wasn’t a civil war. More to the point, you waste a TON of words just copy/pasting bible verses. What the gently caress? OH wait, okay, I got to the end and welp, you done hosed up. There’s not enough pointers here to tell us this was an alternate universe or set in some distant future. You could have set this during the civil war by simply replacing the uniform colours and the word “airstrike” with “artillery barrage”. You didn’t bother trying to establish the setting or the characters, and what's worse you didn't even give us a plot! You did, however, have those bible verses. Maybe God will have mercy on you, because the judges won’t.

Tyrannosaurus, “teeth and time”: Hits the prompt, but it didn’t blow my balls out of my pants. If you’re gonna wave your dick around and only use 700 words they better be loving poetic. It’s a vignette, and I’m not sure if you should even expand the story as is, or if it should be relinquished as a passing thought in some sort of delightful magical surfer universe.

Bad Ideas Good, “charolette”: You misspell the name in the title and you don’t even bother to try and make the snake sound like he’s hissing. You should definitely take this to the farm. It shows some promise as there are glimpses of a narrative voice and a few humorous touches. There are problems that kill this story, though. First off, you’re like the THIRD loving PERSON TO START THEIR STORY WITH BREAKFAST. Second, your scene breaks are brutal. Third, the middle part might actually be a story and is the only part worth reading, but you ditch it. Fourth, the beginning and end are confusing because of the surreal aspects. The actions aren’t clear and the setting is bizarre, mainly the part about 50 witnesses.  

Alright, I know some of you aren't up there, but that's because I'm gonna do line by lines. Also, some of you that are up there are also getting line by lines, but I got too excited when I was writing crits so I guess y'all get two??!?!

autism ZX spectrum
Feb 8, 2007

by Lowtax
Fun Shoe

Screaming Idiot posted:

Like Old Times

Prompt: Old acquaintances

Words: 1300

Markie ran down the sidewalk, naked, blood flowing from a bullet wound on his side, cigarette dangling from his lip. One hand held a cheap pistol, the other held a phone. :frogsiren: I know I'm always pushing for action in the openers, but this is almost cheesy and over done as a hook. Besides, you had a much better place to start your story, but we'll expand on that later.

"Where the gently caress are you? Do you have the poo poo or not?" Duane's voice sounded tinny over the phone.

"It's in my pocket." Markie looked over his shoulder to see if his pursuers followed. They hadn't. Markie wasn't lying -- it was in his jeans back at the flophouse. "Duane, think you can send a van down? Got some guys on my rear end and I'm bleedin' pretty fuckin' bad here."

"Bleeding...? Jesus Markie, you didn't-" :frog: pretty good until this point

"I fuckin' did! Get me a van! I'm near 32nd, just past Geno's Pizzeria! Tell whoever you send to come loaded just in case!" Markie was thankful he took the good stuff -- his side barely hurt, though the blood loss made him woozy. :frog:misleading, the "good stuff" was left at the house, was it not?

Christ, what'd Andy think if he saw me? Markie paused to catch his breath and take a puff of his cigarette, looking over his aviator shades. Fuckin' unbelievable. My own fuckin' girlfriend sells me out to Eddy. Fuckin' Judas-oval office got what she deserved. :frog: I see you have a theme in your story. That theme happens to be WHO THE gently caress IS ANDY

Duane sighed over the phone. "I'll send Chuck-"

Markie yelled into the phone. "Not loving Chuck! There's a reason we call him 'Chucklefuck Chuck' and it ain't 'cuz he's funny! Send Ortiz, Duane! Send loving Ortiz!" Wish you could send Andy.

"Alright, keep your pants on!" Markie heard Duane turn away from the phone to talk to someone nearby. "They're on the way. Look for Ortiz's van. I'm out." :frog: WHO THE gently caress IS ANDY

Duane hung up, and Markie ducked into an alley to crouch behind a garbage can to hide from Eddy's thugs and any prying eyes. He was thankful the streets were deserted -- a man wearing nothing but a pair of aviator shades and a bullet wound wasn't the weirdest thing to walk the streets at night, but it was up there. :frog: I'm tired. So tired. Why do thugs always end up in alleyways behind garbage cans? Where, outside of Clicheville, USA do you even FIND garbage cans in alleyways at regular intervals. Wouldn't the cops know to look there by now?

"Julie," Markie muttered, flipping through her pictures on his phone. "Why'd you have to do that to me? You know Eddy. Selling me out wasn't gonna make him forget the money you owed. Was it worth it, Jules? Was it worth a fuckin' hole in the head?"

Andy, what do I do now? Christ. Duane's gonna be pissed that I ran out without the poo poo. Maybe Eddy's boys got it? Jesus, I hope not. :frog: WHO THE gently caress IS ANDY

Markie sat, arms draped over his knees, barely feeling his nuts resting on the cold, wet pavement or the wound in his side. He shivered though, feeling the chill in the air for the first time since he was flushed out. He ran a hand over the wound and winced, though less at the pain and more at the sensation of the open wound against his fingers. Just grazed, thank god. Had enough fuckin' bullets pulled outta me.

Markie leaned around the garbage can and sighed as he saw Duane's van pull up. His phone vibrated.

Ortiz's voice came from the phone. "You see us? We followed the blood on the sidewalk."

"Yeah, I see you. You got some first aid poo poo with you? My side's startin' to hurt. Also," Markie winced, "you got some extra clothes? I'm, ah, underdressed for the weather." He got out from behind the garbage can and raised his arms, revealing his nudity to the large Guatemalan behind the wheel of the van.

"Markie, what-oh, madre de dios!" Ortiz threw his phone aside and opened the window to his van. "Get in here!"

Markie opened the door to the windowless van and jumped in, shutting the door behind him.:frog:Could have just left this close the door line out and used it to explain WHO THE gently caress ANDY IS He breathed a sigh of relief at the warmth, but groaned at Ortiz's glare.

"Put it out." Ortiz gestured to the "No Smoking" sticker on the windshield. Markie knew better than to argue with the terse bodybuilder, so he wet a finger, pinched out the cherry, put it behind his ear.

"Can't wait to hear the explanation for this," grinned an emaciated man with a patchy mustache and broken, dirty teeth. "So how'd you gently caress up this time?"

"Shut the gently caress up, Chucklefuck." Markie grabbed an old blanket from the behind the seat and wrapped up. "You got anything on you for pain?"

Chuck looked to Ortiz, who nodded, then grabbed an unmarked bottle from the glove box. He handed two pills to Markie.

"I'd give you more, but Duane wants you straight. He wants to know what happened." Chuck gave a sympathetic shrug, then another rotten-toothed grin. "Same here, actually."

"Not much to it." Markie dry-swallowed the pills. "You know I owe money to Eddy, yeah? My idiot girlfriend ratted me out." :frog: I thought our man Markie Mark owed money to Eddy? Why is it his girlfriend? Why would ratting out her boyfriend settle a debt? This doesn't make any sense and I don't particularly enjoy this primer in Cliche Criminal Names and Stereotypes 101

Chuck smirked. "Yeah? Then what?"

"Julie and I was loving when Eddy's boys kicked in the door. She barely had time to get her mouth off my cock when they plugged her between the eyes. Another got my side-" :frog: Why would they shoot her first? The physics of this don't make sense in any way. They would have to shoot through his spine or shoot her in the neck or temple to accomplish the actions you described. If they were really after him then they wouldn't waste time pushing him away, would they? also WHO THE gently caress IS ANDY

"Better not get blood on my seat," Ortiz interrupted.

"-and I grabbed my phone and my gun and skipped out." Markie closed his eyes and lay his head back on the seat. "God, I'm tired." :frog:just how bad are these crooks? Did Markie Mark leave through a window? Did they carry a single musket and were forced to reload after shooting Julie? So many unanswered questions

"That's blood loss for you." Chuck made a sound like a snorting weasel. "Shame about Julie; bitch had nice tits. Now she's suckin' cock in hell."

Ortiz's massive, scarred fist crashed against the side of Chuck's face. "She's dead, Chucklefuck. Have respect." :frog: This action also doesn't make any sense. How would he punch Chuck? I'm guessing Chuck is sitting in the back of the van. A work van (a "windowless van") only has two seats. Ortiz is in one, and directly across from him in the passenger's side sits Markie Mark. How the gently caress is Ortiz going to clock the Chuckler if that guy's sitting in the back? He turned to Markie and shook his head. "You got the poo poo? You told Duane you had it."

"No, I said it was in my pocket. Which is in my room." Markie closed his eyes and shivered in the blanket. "Jesus, I'm freezing. Can you drive me back to my place so I can get it?"

"Not a good idea." Ortiz started the van, and they took off.:frog:I can't believe these guys would just SIT THERE this whole time. Can't they talk and drive? Or would that be altogether too much action? That's a problem I keep seeing here. All the action here happens in the past or is implied. All we get left with is talking and sitting. "Let's get you to Duane. We'll get you some clothes and look at your side, then he needs to talk to you."

Markie yawned. "Wonderful. I'm gonna sleep on the way there."

The drive was short, and Markie was rudely awakened by a smack to the head. He wrenched open an eye to see a pair of Duane's men grab him by the arms and yank him into a run-down trailer. The men threw him to the floor.

Duane turned away from his dinner and scowled at Markie. "So you really did it. You hosed me again."

Markie got to his knees, holding his side. The bleeding stopped, but the pills did little to stop the pain. "Wasn't my fault-"

"Ortiz told me on the way up here. I told you to come straight to me you stupid gently caress! Not to stop at your place for a blowjob!" Duane stabbed his fork into his potatoes and spat. "Guess what, fucknut? I had a couple other guys look over your room, and they told me the loving cops are there! Do I need to tell you what this means?" :frog: You could have told us what Markie Mark was doing, or trying to do earlier. You could have started with a cocksuckin' shootout instead of a naked blood-stroll. But you didn't, instead we wait until now to find out what's going on. Good job, dickweasel.

Markie swallowed and paled. He shook his head.

Duane's fury melted away as quickly as it'd come, leaving a fatherly expression. "But hey, it's okay. Sure, you lost me some expensive product..."

There was the sound of a toilet flushing, and out of the bathroom walked a familiar face. :frog:A FUCKIN FACE STEPPED OUT OF THE BATHROOM!?! JESUS gently caress WHAT'S GOING ON

"Andy, my boy," Duane said, gesturing to Markie. "I believe I have Eddy's package for you. Unwrapped, I'm afraid." :frog:Are we talking about dicks? Because it sounds like we're talking about dicks. There better not be any forcible sodomy after this line. I'M loving WARNING YOU

Andy grinned as he pointed a gun to Markie's:frogsiren:WHO :frog: THE :frogsiren: gently caress :frog: IS ANDY head and winked. "Heya, partner. Shame things turned out like this, but I warned you way back when I left for Eddy."

"You see, Markie," Duane said as Andy hauled Markie to his feet, "Eddy's willing to cover the cost of my lost product... and then some. And he even sent Andy to collect you."

"Let's go for a ride, partner." Andy smiled, gun unwavering. "Like old times." WHAT OLD TIMES? YOU DIDN'T EXPLAIN ANY OF THIS, THIS IS BULLSHIT AND YOU'RE AN rear end in a top hat

Feb 16, 2011

I eat your face
I hate this prompt because it will make me do research in my limited free time, but I am in because I promised on IRC I would be.

Apr 12, 2006

Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW

This crit rules. But forcible sodomy could have saved the story since it would've been the only thing to happen that wasn't a mind-numbing cliche.

Idiot, I gotta say - this is still way better-written than your Kevin-son-of-Thomas-the-ark-of-the-covenant poo poo. I think you need a wordcount limit all the time.

Jan 27, 2006
Had some extra free time this weekend so I’m posting crits. In keeping with this week’s theme, I’m characterizing each story as a typical acquaintance from high school.

1. Screaming Idiot - Like Old Times

- Markie is running down a city sidewalk, naked, carrying a gun and gushing blood from his side. See the problem? It seems weird that the streets were “deserted” considering it’s the type of place that has a 32nd Street and a Geno’s Pizzeria. Even at night, shouldn’t he be bumping into pedestrians, pushing them aside as he runs past? Aren’t they screaming, clamoring, or at least pointing at Markie?

- I’m getting a little lost at the beginning because you’re introducing characters who don’t initially seem distinct from each other. We’ve got Markie, some guy who happens to be the protag. Then Duane (some guy), Andy (some guy), Eddie (some guy), Chuck (some guy), and Ortiz (some guy).

-If Markie is “just grazed,” how is he “bleedin’ pretty fuckin’ bad here,” enough to leave a trail, feel woozy, and wince at his “open wound”? Make up your mind about the extent of this injury.

All in all the story is cliché and forgettable. Apparently the only people who exist in this world are a bevy of generic, cookie-cutter mobsters and their victim(s).

Your story is: That guy from high school who made it a point not to stand out in any way. You’d almost forgotten about him, but now ten years later you bump into each other at the mall, and walk on without saying hello.

2. Cacto – The will

-This one is hard to get through. It’s a slog to read a story that advances mostly by stilted dialogue.

-Davinia, Edmund, and Sam are not very distinct from each other. They are all rich assholes with similar personalities. In fact, they are so similar that I’m not sure why the story needs Sam. Imagine cutting Sam and telling the story from Edmund’s perspective. It would be practically the same thing.

-It would help in getting the reader to care about your story if you’d give the reader a character to root for. Davinia, Edmund, and Sam are detestable, we don’t know much about Harvey, and all Ludwig has going for him is eccentricity. I mean, at least you succeeded in making it easy to hate Davinia, Edmund, and Sam. But hating characters doesn’t amount to much if the reader doesn’t care about anything else in the story.

-I’m assuming Ludwig is the killer because he said that he “knew exactly what to do.” If that’s the case, I’m not sure what his motivations were. He’s presumably Beth’s lawyer or at least the executor of her estate. He doesn’t seem to be in the will, so why blow up the house and kill everyone in it? I’m not sure how he benefits. Yes, Beth’s family is awful. But murder? This is the type of murder fantasy that makes me wonder at the psychology of the story’s author.

Had I been judging, I would’ve voted DM/Loss.

Your story is: The rich kid in high school who thought he was interesting because he wore khakis every day and used to unironically call everything “quaint.” You forget about him after graduation, until noticing ten years later that he posts something dull to Facebook every so often.

3. Schneider Heim – New Habits

-This fits the prompt very well.

-You made me curious about the history between Blake and Solveig, and the nature of the heroes and villains kind of world that they live in. There is a refreshing air of intrigue in this story, and you pace it well.

-Great ending! Great job showing that Blake really has changed, instead of having him do the easy thing and just betray Solveig.

Because of good pacing, tight prose, and a great ending, I would’ve considered this an HM candidate, had I been judging.

Your story is: The popular kid in high school that was pretty chill, and you couldn’t help but like him even though he could be an rear end in a top hat sometimes. You lose touch after graduation, but ten years later you bump into him in a bar. He recognizes you, and buys you a drink. You chat and it becomes clear he’s matured and is really a stand up guy. You agree to stay in touch and now he’s one of your good friends.

4. Nethilia – Out of My Life


She hasn’t been ‘Ginger Kennedy’ since she’d married Gabriel five and a half years ago in a quick ceremony before a judge on a warm March afternoon, with Minnie cradling Joyce over one shoulder and Gabriel’s hands squeezing hers tight, promising to love and cherish both her and the child he hadn’t fathered but wanted to parent. <--Run on sentence!

-I’d recommend paring down the prose just a touch.

-Good job with this. You seem to have a knack for writing stories about broken families. I understood Ginger’s motivations and I felt her anguish.

Had I been judging, I would’ve considered this an HM candidate.

Your story is: Your friend from high school who had it rough as a kid but who overcame it all and is now a beautiful person. You never lost touch after high school, and you’re still good friends.

5. Your Sledgehammer – Two Bullets

-Your story structure is mostly strong. The jumping back and forth through time is executed well.

-I like the bit about the eye makeup at the wedding. Subtle, but clear.

- “His old service pistol was clutched in his right hand.” It would be better if it was just some gun that he owned. I’m pretty sure his old service pistol would’ve been taken from him when he got booted off the force.

-“an angry hole.” Hmm, it strikes me as strange to describe a hole as angry.

-The ending has some flaws. It would have been more dramatic if Larry was still alive when Rich got to the house. Then you could’ve done one of several things that would’ve had significant emotional impact:

For example, you could’ve had Rich talk to a dying Larry, discuss things, maybe had Rich communicate his feelings about having failed Larry despite being indebted to him. Alternately, you could have had Larry threatening Sandra’s life and then Rich would have to make a decision about how to handle things given that he’s indebted to Larry but also has a duty to protect Sandra. Or if these two options are too cliché for you, then you could’ve thought out of the box, but it’s a cop-out (no pun intended) to have Larry be already dead when Rich gets there. They need to interact after all these years and Rich has to make decisions that resolve the conflict which stems from his history with Larry.

Had I been judging, I would’ve appreciated the story overall, but because of the ending I wouldn’t have been able to vote HM. With revision, this story could be very good though.

Your story is: Your good friend from high school, who used to be one of the coolest people you knew. But, he got into a car accident after graduation and developed a traumatic brain injury. Though he started off being one of your favorite people, he ended up as a vegetable.

6. Fumblemouse – Football and Fireworks

-Normally I hate dialogue-driven stories, but this one works.

-Creative idea to make the acquaintance an imaginary friend.

-My one gripe is that the reveal doesn’t come as a surprise to the reader. That is, the reader figures out what Emily is halfway through the story, but Jeremy finds out at the very end. It can be frustrating to understand something early on and then have to plod through a character’s discovery process until they finally understand what you already know. Dramatic irony is hard to pull off, but I get the sense you didn’t intend for readers to figure it out very long before Jeremy anyway.

Overall, I liked the story. It’s a little bit vignette-ish; it doesn’t really have much plot structure. Still, it was creative and interesting, and I’m impressed that you wrote something good despite it being a dialogue dump.

Your story is: Your first real friend in elementary school who moves away. Then you go to the same college and reconnect. After college, you live in different cities for a while, until at last he/she moves back to your town. You meet up and decide that there’s probably a reason why fate keeps crossing your paths and you decide to be close friends from that point on, no matter what.

7. Sitting Here – Touch and Go and Touch Again

-The wildflowers metaphor feels a little shoehorned into the story. It’s a bit forced.

-Hmm. I’m not 100% sure that this is what you were going for, but my interpretation is that Nasatya and Dasra being soul mates in The Eternal Gardens is real, and then the whole bit with the dream tank is just something that they happen to do in one of their incarnations on Earth. For me, none of this was a dream except the Mumbai part.

I’m gonna keep this crit brief, because I liked the story so much that if I offer too much comment, it will become gushing. TD really isn’t the place for gushing praise. Suffice it to say this is my new favorite piece of yours. Maybe consider publishing after some revision?

Had I been judging, I would’ve voted win.

Your story is: Your high school valedictorian AND prom queen, who also bagged the lead role in the school musical and is on the verge of becoming a professional opera singer. Despite being popular, she has a heart of gold and took an autistic kid to the homecoming dance because she knew it would make him feel good. Ten years later, she attends the class reunion, and is super excited to see you.

8. Lou Begas Mustache – Penny Pusher

-This is a solid piece. No complaints. The action was good. I could identify with Alvin’s drive to succeed. I liked that since he was relying so heavily on Sayid to win, he really didn’t stand a chance when fighting Sayid.

I would’ve considered this an HM candidate, had I been judging.

Your story is: Your chill friend from high school whom everyone knows to be a stand-up guy. You never lost touch with him, you hung out for years after graduation, and you’re getting ready to be the best man at his wedding.

9. Walamor – Decisions

-I’m already biased against stories driven by this much dialogue, so do take that into consideration as I crit this.

-I realize the story is about the relationship between these two guys, but I’m more intrigued by the whistleblowing aspect. I wish there had been more detail about that.

-Some of the dialogue feels like any other cliché argument between two people that care/cared about each other. Consider: “I thought we had something. It meant something to me,” “If you truly believed that, why are you still wearing our ring?” or “Or was everything we had just bullshit to you? Isn’t it worth your effort?”

Overall, I didn’t much care to see these two guys bicker at each other.

Your story is: The kid from high school who raised his hand at every opportunity and tried to argue with the teacher. Ten years later, you bump into him at the grocery store and say hi out of politeness, but he looks into your shopping cart and tries to argue with you about the things you intend to buy.

Your Sledgehammer
May 10, 2010

Don`t fall asleep, you gotta write for THUNDERDOME
In, :toxx: me like a hurricane

Also, thanks for the crits, Chillock and Jitzu :)

Screaming Idiot
Nov 26, 2007



And to all of you who offered crits, thank you very much! I'm sorry about the quality of the piece, and I'll do much better in the future because of good, honest criticism like yours. I'll crit a piece or two myself soon when I get the time, most likely this evening after work.

EDIT: Also, if "Just Like Old Times" was generic, I'm glad as hell I didn't go with the first piece I'd written -- a loving zombie apocalypse scenario that turned out to be in the imagination of an old man with Alzheimer's. Even I could tell how bad it was turning out, and I once wrote a story about a Latina cyborg named Rosa Flores Pepper Zesty who beat a monster truck robot with her bare hands.

Screaming Idiot fucked around with this message at 17:57 on Jan 6, 2015

Feb 17, 2007

The best angel of all.

Your Sledgehammer
May 10, 2010

Don`t fall asleep, you gotta write for THUNDERDOME

Screaming Idiot posted:

I once wrote a story about a Latina cyborg named Rosa Flores Pepper Zesty who beat a monster truck robot with her bare hands.

Please post this, it sounds awesome. I mean that completely unironically.

May 7, 2005

I randomly selected a story to crit this week. I immediately regretted that masochistic impulsive decision.

Schneider Heim posted:

New Habits
1178 words

Robert held his coat around his shoulder, trudging back to his apartment after another day of work. boring opening, awkward too, why is he holding a coat over his shoulders like some sort of old-timey belle, instead of wearing it? I already hate that I randomly chose this story to crit on a whim He noticed a thin man loitering around the building, looking lost. usually I don’t need thorough descriptions of characters but describing this man better would go a long way of showing v. telling

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked, putting on his most helpful voice. It did not come easily, despite his service-oriented profession. why are you trying to be so loving mysterious in this story, it’s not intriguing, just annoying tell us what is happening straight up, rear end in a top hat

The man sized him up with eyes that did not belong to someone so infirm. what does this loving mean, does he have bright, healthy eye? Describe them He was weak, no poo poo you already said that but his eyes knew the feeling of power, or once did. what does that even mean? How can you tell that from someone? His eyes knew the feeling of power? What. The. gently caress, man? "Why thank you, officer. OH ROBERT IS AN OFFICER OF SOME SORT, WHAT A loving PAYOFF FROM YOUR EARLIER VAGUENESS! I'm looking for a man named Robert Walts, who lives here."

"May I know what business you have with Mr. Walts?" Robert asked, not dropping the charade. what charade? What is anyone even doing in this goddamn story?

"To give him news: Solveig is dying."

Robert felt the ever-familiar flare of anger through his body, and willed himself to reject it. this is not how emotions work It took him a second to calm his senses. think of a better non-cliché cliché phrase than “took him a second” and I ‘m note sure “Calm his sense” is what you’re going for – he’s angry, his senses aren’t ablaze He assessed the threat. lol what? How? ["Why do you know who Solveig is? Who are you?" grade A threat assessment

"I need your help, Blake," the man said, smiling sadly.

That was a name Robert hadn't heard in ten years. It was also his real name. clunky as gently caress and I feel like you are dropping poo poo on the reader and expecting the reader to be like “OH poo poo” and to keep reading, really intrigued by this super mysterious encounter, but in reality the reader is like “OH THIS IS poo poo WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING” and wishing to himself he didn’t choose your garbage story to read

"Come inside," he said. no paragraph break since its still Robert/Not Robert and giving it its own line with no dialogue attribution is a little confusing


Robert made themselves tea. no, try again – “them” Solveig sipped it gratefully, his thin arms trembling on the table. ok, now this shows that he is weak, thank you for this line, please go replace all the previous words telling the reader he is weak with something similar

"Who did this to you?" Robert asked. Why did you let them? what? Who is this guy even?

"No one," Solveig said. what? That guy is Solveig? This story is really awful, man "It's my cells. They're dying at an accelerated rate. At first my powers disappeared, then my own health deteriorated."

"The Guild of Heroes could not help?" oh my God shut the gently caress up that name sounds so bad What use are they, then? ? these little inner monologue asides are awful and serve no purpose

"Doc Merlin no turned me away," Solveig said. "My condition is in the realm of science, he said, and any spell that could cure me would also exact a heavy price. And I'm not willing to pay that price, not when it could affect the ones I love." I was just thinking, now that you’ve actually added some concrete details after a rocky start, I sure could use more vague off-putting garbage!

"Your family?"
Solveig shook his head. me too

Robert considered smashing the table, and consoled himself by tapping it instead. "I may be sociopathic, but isn't that what families exist for? Giving moral support?" ok so this guy is a Hulk-like dude, explain this better up top, your tell-y mentioning of it did nothing to keep the reader interested; also, just terrible terrible dialogue, no sociopath would acknowledge his sociopathy, that’s what makes him a sociopath

"I was inconsolable. I became a danger to Marla and my son, so I sent them away."

"This is all difficult to take," Robert said. He may have lived alone for ten years, lying low, fixing the world on a smaller scale than he would've wanted to, but he had made some progress. The little corner of the Earth he lived in was safer, and people could walk in the streets without fear shadowing their every step. But Solveig? How far could the mighty have fallen? ? why is this last bit italicized? It’s part of his prior reflection, which by the way is way to expository and clunky; I just scrolled down to see how much I have left and got really really depressed

"In the end, I'm just human," Solveig said. "And look at you. It took me a while to find you. Marvel Marlowe worked on your trail for weeks. And it turns out that you're now chief of police in a country on the other side of the world." and and and and – go count how many times you use and in dialogue in this freaking story

Robert smiled. Marlowe, greatest detective in the world, flummoxed for more than a day. He was flattered. "I've had time to think while licking my wounds since The Demagogue. But surely you didn't come here to praise how I've turned my life around. You're calling in a favor from me to cure your condition?" boring exposition; reference to mysterious past event does not pique reader’s interest

Solveig looked Robert in the eye. "I'm not calling in a favor. I'm asking you, out of the goodness of your heart."

Robert's muscles tensed. How like Solveig to consider only the best from the people around him! Long-quenched emotions swirled inside him what? Vague , thoughts that he had now considered beneath him. what thoughts Such condescension! Solveig had been the only one standing between him and world domination, all those years ago. What would he give for the man's power? what are you even talking about?

Robert took a deep breath. Just old habits. He had thrown away his pride, but it kept running back to him like a well-trained dog. bad, nonsensical purple prose "So I am your last, desperate choice," he said.

"I may be desperate," Solveig said, "but I didn't want to disturb your exile. I also feared that... my presence would make you revisit unpleasant memories. But I don't want to give up just yet."

"You've said enough," Robert said. "I'll help you."

"You can cure me?" Solveig said, his eyes regaining a shade of its old fervor. Lord of the Sun, Highest of Mortals. Such titles did little justice once you've seen his eyes.

Robert grinned. "But of course. How could I take over the world if I couldn't even save the life of one man?" I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t even care anymore


The subspace gateway closed behind them. Solveig gazed in awe at their new surroundings. empty nerd jargon

"This reminds me of your old lab," Solveig said.

"This is a good deal smaller," Robert said. "Only the most essential devices are here. Meaning..." He sidestepped the miniature black hole cage, the positronic shotgun, and the time machine jammer to reach a contraption that constituted a human-sized glass chamber on a dais, and a detachable control panel. He performed authorization checks and turned on the device. a highly obnoxious amount of empty nerd jargon

"Is that... intended for me?" Solveig asked.

"I made this one to strip you of your powers. It works by overcharging your cells to effectively cause a short-circuit. It was initially supposed to transfer your powers to me, but I've scaled down and reformed, so I scrapped those plans." I still can’t tell if these assholes are supposed to be former teammates, former adversaries, or former frenemies, and now it just seems like you’re stealing from the Tower of Babel story or the general concept that Batman has fail-safes for every super powered being, even his friends

"So if I don't have my powers anymore, that will give them back to me?" Solveig said.

"It should, theoretically," Robert said. "I have never tested it, because Solveig would never be so foolish to enter the chamber out of his own free will."

Solveig smiled. "Call me a fool, but I'm taking the chance."

"Then step inside."

Robert started the device, making final checks. "Feels comfy in here," Solveig said, his voice muffled by the reinforced glass.

"Try not to talk," Robert said. "I'm concentrating." He was torn between two equally attractive options. He had lied to Solveig--the transfer feature was built into the system since day one. Who wouldn't pass up the chance to take the man's powers for his own? He could usher in a new age of humanity that would no longer be ruled by base desires. All he needed to steal Solveig's powers was to set one tiny switch.

The switch was currently set to on.

And yet he remembered Solveig's words. He sought Robert's help because he trusted him. He believed that Robert had changed.

Had he?

"After we defeated The Demagogue, why did you let me go?" Robert asked. He had fought Solveig many times in the past; eight of his teeth were synthetic.

"You helped me save the world, just as I thought you would," Solveig said.

Robert closed his eyes. Their first meeting, their first skirmish: We can save the world together, Solveig had told him. "All this time, and you still believe that?"

"Until I am dust."

Robert flicked the switch.


Afterwards, Robert made himself more tea. I'll need a new set of clothes, he thought. He would never send a naked man outside his apartment--it would be bad gossip.

You're welcome. He still tasted the words in his tongue, a gag reflex to Solveig's overwhelming gratitude.

He repeated the words, over and over. It was a habit he could get into.

Man, you sure created an asinine jumbled mess of a story – it is clear that these two people used to be superheroes and/or villains that helped stop another super something together and then for REASONS went underground then REASONS one needs the other's help which results in EMOTIONAL COMPLICATIONS. Since it isn’t clear what Robert’s internal conflict even is, it completely undercuts the impact of his decision. This story is shining example of a quasi-good idea executed like complete poo poo.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.

In with a :toxx: for my shameful display last week.

Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW

Your Sledgehammer posted:

Please post this, it sounds awesome. I mean that completely unironically.

Jun 20, 2013
I'm in.


autism ZX spectrum
Feb 8, 2007

by Lowtax
Fun Shoe
Post that godawful story in the farm, S.I. TD has enough bad fic as is.

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