Just an FYI, I have given something resembling a crit to everyone who entered my Oh! Calamity! week. They are in the old thread.
|# ¿ Jan 1, 2015 15:26|
|# ¿ Jan 19, 2019 04:05|
|# ¿ Jan 3, 2015 01:56|
Congratulations, Anomalous BloPROOOOOOOOMPT!
|# ¿ Jan 6, 2015 05:33|
I think you need a slightly better wordcount program.
|# ¿ Jan 26, 2015 07:50|
|# ¿ Jan 28, 2015 08:29|
And all the Stars 1115 words. Aladdin.
When the Emperor first refused the Princess’ request to give her the moon for her birthday, she locked herself in her room and threw a tantrum. The Emperor crouched with his mouth to the keyhole, trying to cajole her out with words like “Hey sweetie, you know the moon is actually an incredibly long way away, right? And my wise dudes tell me that it’s also really, really big, like, obnoxiously large. Wouldn’t even fit in your room, probably.”
But the Princess continue to cry, and screamed that he didn’t love her, because if he did he’d get her the birthday present she wanted, which was the moon, and why did he have to ruin her life, she hated him and wanted to die.
The Emperor, of course, wanted to prove that he actually did love her, quite a lot really, and since material possessions were the accepted method of demonstrating this, he issued an edict, or a decree or something, whereby whosoever should assist him in granting the Princess her birthday wish, vis-à-vis the moon, would have whatsoever their heart most desired. Within reason, like, don’t push it, all right?
Hundreds of citizens lined up to take their turn at trying to help the Emperor procure the moon, but after the first few people got beheaded for being a bit too cute and trying to make a model of the moon, or paint a picture of her holding the moon, most of the people lined up outside the palace suddenly remembered they had somewhere else to be.
Days passed, and with only a week to go before his daughter’s birthday, the Emperor was still completely moonless. The Princess, while no longer locked in her room, was still sulking quite fiercely, and would often hold her breath while glaring at him, or sigh dramatically and say “I might as well just die, since no one here cares about me enough to get me what I want,” or pointedly not hear anything he said, while saying loudly to any nearby servants “Did any of you hear anything? I certainly didn’t!” The servants soon found it prudent not to be around during such an exchange, as disagreeing with the Princess regarding whether anyone had spoken tended to end in a severe whipping, whereas pretending they hadn’t heard the Emperor speak tended to result in being struck about the face and neck with a chair.
With two days left before the Princess’ birthday, a young tailor knocked on the palace doors. After the guards were severely beaten for dereliction of duty in allowing a commoner to approach and touch the palace doors, the tailor was brought before the Emperor. “Yeah, what?” asked the Emperor.
“If it pleases you, your Excellentness,” said the tailor.
“Skip to the point, or kiss your head goodbye,” said the Emperor.
“I hear you’re in the market for a moon,” said the tailor. “May I ask, would it be acceptable to her Radicalness if she had a means to visit the moon whenever she wanted? It could be like a holiday house.”
The Emperor motioned for one of his servants to go check if that would be all right, and while they waited for the servant to return, the executioner got busy sharpening his axe, while staring pointedly at the tailor. After a time, the servant came back and whispered into the Emperor’s ear.
“That is acceptable,” said the Emperor.
“If you give me a week,” said the tailor, “I will provide you with such a means.”
“You have one day,” said the Emperor.
“As it pleases your Excellentness,” said the tailor, and after he was shown out of the palace, he went to a nearby public restroom and threw up.
However, true to his word, the next day the tailor showed up at the palace. This time, the guards stopped him before he reached the door, and knocked on it themselves. The tailor was brought before the Emperor.
“Well?” said the Emperor.
The tailor reached into his pocket and brought out a small box. A servant took it from him and brought it to the Emperor, who opened it. “A ring?” asked the Emperor. “Did you not hear what happened to all those artsy types who tried to get cute with the request?”
“Your Excellentness,” said the tailor, “you have but to rub the moonstone on the ring while wearing it and thinking of either the moon or the palace, and you will be transported there.”
The Emperor handed the ring to a servant, who he ordered to test it. True to the tailor’s word, when the servant put the ring on and rubbed the moonstone, with a streak he disappeared towards the moon. After a few minutes, the servant reappeared in a flash.
“Did it work?” asked the Emperor. “Were you on the moon?”
The servant shrugged. “As far as I know. I’ve never been to the moon before. It looked pretty lunar, though.”
“Excellent,” said the Emperor, and he took the ring from the servant. Then he turned to the tailor. “Now, about your reward. I believe the edict specified whatever you want, within reason.”
The tailor bowed and said “If it pleases your Excellentness, the kingdom could really use a decent soccer league.”
“A soccer league,” said the Emperor.
“Yeah, like, fields, clubhouses, that kind of thing.”
“I mean, I expected you to ask for riches or my daughter’s hand in marriage or something. I get the impression those are popular requests.”
“I don’t mean to cause offence,” said the Tailor, “I just really like soccer, is all.”
“No, no, that’s cool,” said the Emperor. “It shall be done, and all that.”
And with that, the tailor was shown out of the Palace.
Almost a year later, the Emperor refused the Princess’ request for the Sun. “I don’t think you understand, sweetie,” he called through her keyhole. “Not only is it absurdly far away, much further even than the moon, and, like, ludicrously big – hundreds of times bigger than the moon even – I’m reliably informed that it is also hellishly hot, and would almost certainly kill anyone who got too close to it.”
An edict went out again, but the tailor consulted his djinn buddy, who said “Nuh uh, that’s just crazy talk man, you should stay the hell away from that palace and just enjoy playing soccer.”
So the tailor stayed the hell away from the palace, and the Princess never got to possess the Sun, and instead threw a tantrum that lasted for a month or so. Eventually the Emperor got sick of it and grounded her and took away her moon ring.
|# ¿ Feb 2, 2015 06:49|
FAST JUDGING GOOD JUDGING
|# ¿ Feb 2, 2015 08:07|
http://forums.somethingawful.com/sh...5#post430948706 <- Me claiming my rightful crit.
http://forums.somethingawful.com/sh...0#post430818376 <- My amazing story of love and betrayal or whatever that one was about.
|# ¿ Feb 27, 2015 06:06|
Then we won't read it. You don't get to flounce in and collapse on the fainting couch each week. Lots of people have lovely poo poo going on in their lives in here, and they write.
|# ¿ Mar 5, 2015 06:35|
|# ¿ Mar 10, 2015 09:37|
I don't see that in the rules anywhere, what the hell man, just make up rules whenever you feel like it, this is bollocks.
|# ¿ Mar 16, 2015 07:07|
This prompt is pretty wizard, so I'm going to write a story this week I guess.
|# ¿ Apr 22, 2015 17:59|
|# ¿ Apr 23, 2015 01:32|
My tip is, before you edit your TD entry, go take a walk somewhere you haven't taken a walk to before.
This doesn't make any sense, I've walked to every room in my house.
|# ¿ Apr 23, 2015 07:35|
That Was a Pretty Wizard, Wasn’t It? 487 words
Wendy the Wizard Woodpecker perched on Leroy the Log. She cocked her head to one side, as if to say “Get a load of that dumb cat trying to stalk me.”
Leroy stoically made no discernible movement, as if to say “Yeah, cats sure are dumb.”
The cat slowly stalked forward, its tail sticking conspicuously out of the underbrush like a periscope, except a way more noticeable one, and one without the ability to see at all. Wendy ignored it and went back to working on some really cool holes that she was making in Leroy. Leroy didn’t mind, it was all good, man. She could tell by his cool demeanour. The cat reached the failed attempt at a Miniature Hadron Collider that Wendy had attempted to fashion out of a stump last June. It didn’t collide Hadrons very well, but it seemed to serve a useful purpose anyway.
As the cat passed by the Miniature Hadron Collider, a piece of it (the Collider, not the cat) peeled back, scooping up the cat and flinging it back from whence it had come. Wendy bobbed her head and Leroy did nothing in laughter at how dumb the cat was.
Very dumb. That’s how.
After a few minutes, during which Wendy had made some really neat holes in Leroy – and Leroy now looked pretty fly for a whitewood log, let me tell you – they noticed the unmistakeable tail of the cat (the one that was super dumb) returning, albeit from a different route that did not go anywhere near the Miniature Hadron Collider.
Wendy bobbed her head like “This dumb cat is a glutton for punishment, eh?” and Leroy stayed still and looked fly like “I know, right?”
Wendy went back to making holes in Leroy, but, like, really cool ones, and almost before she realised it, the dumb cat’s dumb tail was right in front of her.
The cat pounced from the thick underbrush, teeth and claws all out, ready to do war, but its teeth and claws found air as Wendy flapped just out of reach. Before the cat finished its leap over the log, Wendy’s eyes narrowed and energy flowed from her beak to the cat’s body. The cat paused in midair, seeming to swell just a little bit, and then split into, like, a billion pieces, which rained down around them, some of them landing on Leroy, although Wendy managed to dodge them all.
“Gross, dude,” Leroy’s complete lack of movement seemed to say.
“Sorry, that’s my bad,” flapped Wendy. “I really meant to just leave that dumb cat in midair or something, but whatevs, this works too.”
And then Wendy returned to pecking cool holes in Leroy, and Leroy went back to looking cool. And the dumb cat eventually decomposed and went into the ground as nutrients for Leroy, so it all worked out all right, really.
|# ¿ Apr 27, 2015 07:00|
Three Dimensions, More or Less 1272 words
You said 'same' twice which looks really awkward and you have used too many adjectives for shelves, it's really not worth the alliteration.
Instead, I cut myself on the pages of less sinister, but no less dangerous volume, a 9th edition 'Practical Papercraft for the Occasional Occultist'.
Well first, you need something like 'a' or 'the' in front of 'less sinister' I think, and second, Practical Papercraft is clearly way less dangerous than a book that turns your head inside out.
Rough or worn edges of the book being handled are usually a great preventer of mishaps.
What? What does this sentence mean? I think you are missing a word or something because that doesn't make any sense.
Nobody cared to share such info with me, so I happened to be a soft handed senior student when it came time for me to take the task of fetching and replacing some of the most rare and dangerous volumes of recorded magic in all of wizarding history.
I don't like this sentence either, it feels longer than it needs to be and has lots of words like 'happened' and 'came time for' and 'take the task of' that could be replaced by much fewer words and be easier to read.
For some reason, that book is constantly going missing despite being one of the heaviest set of texts to ever make print, it has 10 volumes!
I reckon maybe a colon or a period or something would work better instead of that last comma.
Anywho, the Papercraft book tends to generate such excitement for folding with its readers that most people tend to take the pages straight out of the bindings and begin to practice right then and there.
You used 'tend' twice in the one sentence which is bad IMO.
In the opposite hand I held the red hot colored ink stamp, an ancient anti-theft device to prevent more books from disappearing like the Sourceresses volumes, ready to mark the new book with the magic words, "PROPERTY OF THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY ARCANUS, PLEASE DO NOT STEAL".
'Red hot colored ink stamp' sounds confusing. Are you saying the color is 'red hot'? Or are you saying that it is red hot, and also colored?
The proximity of the red hot stamp caused the horsehide to begin to get nervous and sweat.
This makes it sound like the latter, but I dunno.
Really? That's how you're going to treat the only thing that actually happens in this story? "I don't remember anything about it, but now I can do wizard stuff?" Uggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
So, the main problems with your story are as follows:
Your sentences are too long and too wordy. It's OK to do this occasionally IMO, but if it's all the way through your readers will get bored; and
It's all exposition. There's no moment when I, the reader, feel like I am immersed in a thing that is happening, I just get to read the report about it later. A little bit of exposition is all right, and the tone could've carried it a bit for a paragraph or so, but that's all there was to it, so it was pretty dull.
My advice: next time, try to avoid exposition, and try to use some shorter sentences.
|# ¿ Apr 27, 2015 08:55|
I might add that the not responding to crits thing is about politeness, too. No one is forced to take anyone else's crit seriously, but they have spent their time and effort reading your story, and if you think something they have said (such as your overuse of voice) isn't valid for any reason don't throw their effort back in their face by telling them- just thank them, take the parts of the crit you find useful, and move on.
Further to this, we often tell people 'take it to fiction advice'. This isn't just a fancily worded 'piss off', the fiction advice thread is a useful one if you want to go further into why your stories suck.
|# ¿ Apr 27, 2015 20:53|
Untitled Opening (445 words, including title.)
Violet was outrageously excited. She’d missed being able to dance at gigs while she’d been temporarily wheelchair-bound. Although Bowie had been a pretty fantastic experience, gigs like that with decent wheelchair access direct to the stage had been firmly in the minority. It was highly fortunate that the Taylor Swift tour had coincided with her being able to ditch the wheelchair, although her mother hadn’t been totally confident about letting her go by herself, so she’d convinced her older brother, Paul, to come with her. It was gonna be so ace.
Paul had asked how she could possibly hate Katy Perry so much and yet want to go to a Taylor Swift gig, which was just crazy because while Katy was just the worst, TayTay was amazing and the best and she and Violet were totally gonna be BFFs once they somehow met backstage or something. And Paul had rolled his eyes at this point, and Violet had punched him a bunch of times.
Which was all beside the point now that they were in the arena watching the warm up singer. The warm up singer was pretty forgettable, so Violet decided to take the opportunity to go to the toilet. “You don’t need me to wait outside for you, do you?” asked Paul.
“Outside?” asked Violet. “You’re not gonna come in with me?”
“Uh,” said Paul.
Violet shook her head. “I’m fine. Mum worries too much. Just stay here and enjoy the mediocre stylings of whoever this is.”
On her way back from the toilet, Violet stopped for a moment outside an important looking door. Maybe it was the door to TayTay’s dressing room, which seemed unlikely given its location – in fact it seemed more likely it was a maintenance closet – but you never know, right?
“So, we’re all clear on the plan, right?” said a man’s voice.
“Yes, shut up all right, we’ve all got it,” said another man’s voice. Violet, deciding that this conversation was probably more interesting than the boring warm up act, opened the door slightly and peered in.
“I just want to go over it one more time,” said the first voice, which was attached to a short man with a beard, who Violet named Rolf in her head.
A taller man with no beard, (Fritz, decided Violet) which appeared to be the second voice, said “Is this really necessary?”
“Kidnapping is hard,” said Rolf. “If we want to successfully kidnap TayTay, everyone needs to know their role.”
Violet closed the door again. She would need to get backup if she wanted to foil a kidnapping and become TayTay’s BFF. She headed back to where Paul was.
|# ¿ May 15, 2015 02:27|
I don't know that this is a rule or anything, but putting the title of your story in bold is cool and good IMO, and people who, in the past, have not done this, should commence the practice (or practise I forget which is which) stat.
|# ¿ Jun 1, 2015 09:16|
You're welcome to join in any week where I just won and am now judging, Benny! Unfortunately that's not often, I guess everyone is biased against me or something?
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2015 11:36|
I'm one of these, FYI.
09[19:16] <AClassyGhost> Next TD I enter I'm toxxing myself and requesting a flash from all three judges
This weekend, Phil Walsh, the head coach of the Adelaide Crows Football Club, (that's Aussie Rules BTW) passed away. Your flash rule is to honour his memory by working Aussie Rules footy into your story somehow.
|# ¿ Jul 4, 2015 08:24|
that's a good falsh rule
I'll give you one if you know what I mean mojo
There's a crow in your story. I dunno what it's doing, that's up to you.
|# ¿ Jul 4, 2015 23:09|
INTERPROMPT 2: JUST INSULT SOMEBODY
I JUST READ SOME WORDS WRITTEN BY SOME PEOPLE AND LET ME TELL YOU, SOME OF THEM? SOME OF THEM WERE NOT VERY WELL WRITTEN WORDS.
I dunno who they were by yet because JUDGEMODE but rest assured, FJ has been occurring.
|# ¿ Jul 6, 2015 10:45|
|# ¿ Aug 25, 2015 11:39|
I will two, please. I would like to two.
|# ¿ Aug 25, 2015 14:06|
Are there any stories of people coming here, and being at first truly terrible, or at least mediocre, and then perpetually improving and eventually winning and embarrassing you all and poo poo?
Nope we all stay terrible forever sorry.
|# ¿ Aug 28, 2015 13:09|
Beatings Can’t be Priced 1228 words
I was stopped at the lights when Han pulled up alongside me and rolled his window down. My window was already down because I wanted everyone nearby to hear how awesome my taste in music was. Han tried to say something, but my music was up a little too loud. I turned it down.
“Sorry,” I said, “I missed that.”
“Nice ride.” He was pretty clearly being sarcastic.
Han snorted. “I was pretty clearly being sarcastic.”
“Zing,” I said. “You got me good, Han.”
“Your ride blows,” said Han, “and word on the street is so does your mother! Later, loser.” The light turned green, and Han’s car sped off.
Now, I can accept his harsh words regarding my ride, but where I’m from, a man does not make cheap innuendo about another man’s mother. I was honour bound to lay a severe beating down on his head. I accelerated after him.
I caught up to him easily; Han had made the classic mistake of judging my car by its outer appearance. My ride was, in fact, a perfect and righteous machine of steel and iron and moonbeams and amazingness. We were on a straight bit of road, so once behind him, I put cruise control on and then jumped out of the window, touched off of a light pole, and landed on my car’s roof. Han was waiting for me on the roof of his own vehicle. We faced each other down, bracing slightly as our cars each hit a dip, and then I took a running jump off of the front of my car.
He jumped from the back of his car at the same time, and we met in midair. He blocked a kick I aimed at his head, and then I dodged a punch to the testicles, which is a weak move by a weak and cowardly man - the kind of man who makes cheap innuendo about another man’s mother, and upon whose head I was destined to lay a mighty beating - and then I landed on the roof of his car, and he on the roof of mine.
There was a roundabout coming up, so I quickly climbed in the window of his car and grabbed the wheel. “You’re not Han,” said a voice next to me.
“No,” I said, and didn’t elaborate, because I was focussing on the roundabout, and it’s very important to concentrate on your driving while navigating a roundabout. They’re really confusing, especially multi-lane roundabouts like this one was, and I didn’t want to crash the car, because even though Han was a weak and dishonourable man, it was a pretty decent car.
Han had evidently decided on a more direct route, and as I exited the roundabout in his car, my car came sailing over the roundabout with him leaning down over the front where he had pushed off from the road, and landed on some pedestrians on the sidewalk in front of me and slightly to the left. I swerved his car this way and that to dodge the limbs that came flying my way.
“Ah,” said the voice. “There’s Han.”
“Yes,” I said, and glanced over to see who I had been talking to. I was transfixed. Next to me was the most gorgeous woman I had ever laid eyes on. I mean, not completely transfixed, I could see the road in my peripheral vision, and was able to swerve as more body parts kept being thrown up from underneath my car, which was still on the sidewalk. I leant on my horn, and when Han turned around, I gave a sweeping hand gesture that was supposed to convey my disappointment that he was allowing my vehicle to continue ploughing through pedestrians. He at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed, and leaned over to grab the wheel and move my car back onto the road.
“So who are you?” I asked the heavenly vision next to me.
“I’m Han’s mum,” she said. “Call me Enid.”
“What? There’s no way you’re old enough to be Han’s mum.”
She giggled and hid her face behind her hands, and I took the opportunity to quickly check to see if she was wearing a ring. “Oh, stop it you, you’re making me blush.”
“Listen, Enid,” I said, “I would love to take you out for a lovely meal or to the ballet or something some time, but right now I have to go out there and severely beat your son.”
Enid nodded. “That’s quite all right, I heard what he said about your mother. That’s not the way I raised him, I am at my wit’s end with him sometimes! Oh, and the ballet sounds lovely.”
I pulled up alongside my car, and gestured to Han to pull over, because he clearly couldn’t be trusted to fight on top of speeding cars without accidentally driving through a bunch of innocent bystanders, none of whom (presumably) had made any cheap jokes about either of our mothers. He climbed inside my car and turned off onto a side street. I followed him, and we both pulled over and turned off the engines. “I’ll see you maybe this Sunday evening, at the Palace Hotel Theater?” I suggested to Enid as I got out of his car, and she smiled and nodded.
Han looked a little embarrassed again as he handed me the keys to my car. I frowned as I gave him his keys, and had a little bit of a look in my car. There was a bit of blood on the seats, which I was going to have to clean before Sunday if I was going to go to the ballet. I frowned again, then turned and faced Han.
Han rushed at me, but I flipped over him and kicked him in the back. He stumbled and fell on his face. I did a backwards flip, landing with one foot either side of him, then kneeled down with my knee in his back and my mouth next to his ear. “Now, Han,” I said, “ordinarily I would give you a pretty brutal beating, because jokes about mothers are very serious and cannot be tolerated. Do you want to know why I’m considering not doing that?”
“Yes please,” said Han.
“A savage beating is the appropriate price for you to pay for disrespecting another man’s mother,” I said. “I think we can both agree on that.”
“Ummmmm,” said Han.
“Nonetheless,” I said, “I am considering allowing you to pay for your actions in a different way. You see, your mother is going out to see Swan Lake with me on Sunday evening.”
“What’s that,” asked Han, “a film or something?”
I shook my head. “Don’t worry about that, Han. The reason I’m not going to beat you, is she’s going to need a lift on Sunday, and you can’t drop her off if I break all the bones I was planning on breaking. You see?”
“Mmmhm,” said Han.
“Lovely,” I said. “So, there’ll be no more unpleasant innuendo about anyone’s mums, right?”
“No sir,” said Han.
“Good.” I picked him up and put him back in his car. “Sunday evening!” I reminded Enid, and she smiled back at me and nodded.
And then I got back into my car and drove home.
|# ¿ Aug 30, 2015 14:44|
|# ¿ Sep 1, 2015 10:59|
Stories need a title and word count, IMO.
|# ¿ Sep 4, 2015 07:36|
In, give me one of each.
|# ¿ Sep 12, 2015 04:44|
Giant Robots are Cool and Awesome
"G'day Dave," said Captain Tyrone Banks. "We need to check in real quick, all right?"
"Um, excuse me," said a woman at the front of the line. "There's a queue here."
"Sorry," said Dave, "I really do have to serve these guys." He scanned Captain Banks' ticket, and those of Captains Kate Walker and Jade Marcel, and Tom the work experience kid. All four of them then grabbed their satchels and headed to the nearby wall, which they walked through.
"What. Did they just?" asked the woman.
"No idea what you're talking about," said Dave. "Now where were you off to today?"
She was off to New Zealand, as it happened.
Meanwhile, Captain Banks, Captain Walker, Captain Marcel and Tom the work experience kid had gotten into their space robots and were pressing buttons and whirling dials and stuff for launch. "Is it all right if I put some tunes on?" asked Tom. "I just find it helps me concentrate when I'm fighting monsters, and also it's just a little bit cooler."
"Sure," said Captain Marcel. "Long as you can still hear the rest of us, knock yourself out."
“Rad,” said Tom, and slipped a cassette of kickin’ rad 80s tunes into the tape deck of his roboty thing.
A flower shape opened in the roof of the airport, and the four space fighting super robots flew smoothly into the air. “Right,” said Captain Banks, “where are those monsters?”
Back in the airport, a man at the front of Dave’s queue pointed to the four robot shaped aircraft and said “Hey, those look a little bit like flying robots.”
“I think it’s the new Comac aircraft,” said Dave. “They’re a Chinese company.”
“Ah,” said the man. “Makes sense.”
They found the monsters hiding behind the traffic control tower. “Right, you lot are in for it,” said Captain Marcel. The four of them flew their robots over to the monsters and started pummelling them mightily. (The monsters, not the robots.) They were giving them what for, beating them senseless, when suddenly the monsters all flew right at each other and turned into one big monster.
“That’s gross,” said Tom.
“OK,” said Captain Banks. “Time to do our cool thing where we combine all of our robots into one bigger robot.”
“I never really got that part,” said Captain Marcel. “If we’re stronger as one, why not go to that straight away?”
“It’s cooler this way, though,” said Tom.
“Kate,” said Captain Banks, “can you please do the thing?”
Captain Walker did the thing. Her robot picked up Captain Marcel’s robot and jammed it into one side of itself so it was an arm, and did the same with Captain Banks’ robot on the other side. Then her robot’s feet grabbed Tom’s robot and jammed it in down the bottom. Kate gave a thumbs up.
“I guess I’ll make the call,” said Captain Marcel.
“Yeah, he likes you best,” said Captain Banks.
“Are those strange Chinese aircraft sticking to each other out there?” asked the bearded gentleman at the front of the queue.
“I wouldn’t have thought so,” said Dave. “I don’t think any of our aircraft have that sort of capability.”
“And it looks like they were fighting something out there.”
“Nah,” said Dave. “We don’t have any military aircraft here. Excuse me, I gotta get this.” He picked up the phone. “Hello, Brisbane Airport, this is Dave speaking.”
“Dave,” said Captain Marcel, “we’re doing the thing, how would you feel about helping us out?”
“The thing?” said Dave. “I was never really big on the thing.”
“Come on, please?” said Captain Marcel. “I will totally owe you one.”
Dave sighed. “Yeah all right. I’ll be right up, just gotta get someone to replace me.” He looked around. “Hey, Terry?”
Terry looked up from his mop. “Yeah?”
“I’ve gotta go do the thing, can you take over from me for a bit?”
“Sure thing,” said Terry. He slid behind the desk while Dave rushed over through the wall. “Now, where were we?”
“Did he just? Also, aren’t you the janitor?” asked the bearded gent.
“We’re doing a lot of cross-training,” said Terry. “Good to be skilled in other areas, right? Now, where are we off to?”
“Oh, man,” said Dave, once airborne.
“Problem?” asked Captain Marcel.
“Forgot my nausea tablets,” he said.
“You’ll be fine,” she said, “we’ll be gentle.”
This is going to be the worst, thought Dave.
His bladey looking aircraft flew up towards the big robot, and the arm that was Captain Marcel’s robot grabbed his ship. “We’ve got you,” said Captain Marcel.
“I am definitely going to be unwell,” Dave said.
The big robot flew at the big monster, which for some reason had elected not to attack them while they’d been forming into a big robot and grabbing a sword, and they swung the sword at the monster and cut off its head.
“Another job well done,” said Captain Banks.
“Awesome!” said Tom.
Captain Walker gave a thumbs up.
“Good job, team,” said Captain Marcel. “Dave, how’re you feeling?”
Dave was not feeling well, and the inside of his cockpit was coated with what he’d had for breakfast. “I think I’m gonna take some sick leave,” he said.
“So, those Chinese aircraft definitely just killed some massive monster, right?” said the unaccompanied child who was now the only person in the queue.
Terry looked around. “Yeah. Pretty cool, right?”
“Yeah,” said the kid. “Pretty cool.”
|# ¿ Sep 14, 2015 09:09|
<Chairchucker> Tdbot, should I enter this week?
<TDbot> Jeremy stood in silence, then reeled back and hocked a gob of spit at Monty's face. | Making Friends Over Syrup by Nikaer Drekin - http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=1092
That's a yes.
|# ¿ Oct 7, 2015 06:19|
The First Time Always Hurts Not many words.
The first time I died was an accident.
Well, the safety video we watched the next week maintained that ‘there are no accidents’. But what do the people who make those videos know, anyway? They’ve never died.
Safety harness snapped. Nothing wrong with our maintenance checks; it was a manufacturer’s fault. Lawsuit’s still ongoing; their lawyers maintain that since I came back, it doesn’t classify as ‘wrongful death’. I think the jury’s sympathetic to my position, though.
Media hung around for about a week, but then a Kardashian had a baby or something and they lost interest. The story had pretty much run its course, and it didn’t seem likely I’d die again in the near future.
“You’re so lucky,” my brother told me. “I’d give anything to be invincible.”
“It still hurt.”
He shrugged. “You don’t seem any worse for wear.”
“It still hurt.”
“Yeah all right, I get it.” I shrugged and lit up a cigarette. “I thought you were quitting,” he said.
I nodded. “You’re right, these will be the death of me.” He just shook his head.
The second time I die won’t be an accident. I’ve always wanted to go base jumping. And if that doesn’t work, well, I guess I’ll keep trying until I find something that does.
|# ¿ Oct 12, 2015 07:00|
in to write erotic fanfiction about Rogue from x mans
I'm also in, BTW.
|# ¿ Oct 20, 2015 06:45|
The Adventures of Nobeard the Pirate, Age 6 687 words
“Tommy, have you washed your hands for lunch?”
“I’m not Tommy, I’m Captain Nobeard,” he replied.
“Because I have no beard,” he explained. “I’m a fearsome pirate, and pirates don’t wash their hands.”
“Well,” said his mum, “maybe pirates don’t eat fried chicken for lunch, either.”
“Hmmmmm,” he said.
The rest of the family ate without him, but afterwards Monica found him behind the lounge with a half-eaten drumstick in each hand.
“Mum, Tommy appears to have gotten a hold of the chicken.”
“I thought I told you to wash your hands,” said his mum.
“Pirates don’t wash their hands,” said Captain Nobeard. “And they also steal things, all the time.”
Mum frowned. “Do you want to hear about what usually happened to pirates when they got caught?”
“Well,” said Monica, “I’ll just leave you to it, mum, I’m off to the mall.”
“Take your brother with you,” said mum, “before I have him hanged as a warning to all other pirates.”
“What does that mean?” asked Captain Nobeard.
“Mum’s a little stressed,” said Monica. “C’mon, get changed and get in the car.”
“This is how pirates dress,” said Captain Nobeard.
Monica looked at him. He did look kind of piratey. The eye patch was very convincing.
“Fine, whatever,” she said. “Get in the car.”
She pushed him out the door.
Once at the mall, Monica went straight to Forever 21 to try on clothes that she would not be purchasing.
“This is boring,” said Captain Nobeard.
“Why don’t you sing yourself a Sea Shanty?” she asked.
“I don’t know any.”
She shrugged and picked out a dress to try on.
“How do I look?” she asked when she returned. Captain Nobeard didn’t reply, and also wasn’t there.
She changed back as quickly as she could, and then asked the shop assistant if she’d seen a very small pirate around. The assistant gave her a funny look. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“Never mind,” she said, and hurried out to search for him.
Tommy liked animals, and there was a pet store nearby, so Monica went there first. She didn’t find him, but the aviaries were all open and the birds were flying about the store. She decided not to ask the shop assistants if they’d seen him; they looked busy and also possibly not favourably inclined towards relatives of diminutive pirates.
She decided to check the toy store next; on her way she passed by a jeweller, and noticed that instead of being neatly arrayed in the windows, all the jewellery appeared to be in one big loot pile in one of the windows. The shop assistants were trying to re-sort them back into their separate displays. Monica put her head down and hurried on towards the toy shop.
Tommy wasn’t there. There were no scenes of chaos, either, so it seemed unlikely that he’d visited.
“Attention shoppers,” said a female voice over the PA system, “we have a small child at the concierge by the name of...” the voice paused, and when it continued, sounded a little bit annoyed, “Captain Nobeard.” Another pause, and then “Because he has no beard.”
Monica asked for directions with the toy store assistant, and then rushed over as fast as she could. When she arrived, Captain Nobeard was fending off Security with a homemade sword. Security was mostly ignoring him.
“Tommy!” she called. She ran up to him, picked him up and gave him a big hug.
“Pirates don’t hug, wench,” he said.
“I think you’d be surprised about what kind of things pirates do,” she said, “but whatever. Let’s go home.”
She thanked the concierge attendant and Security, and dragged Captain Nobeard back to the car.
The drive home was silent. The silence wasn’t broken until they pulled into the driveway, and a squawk came from somewhere on Captain Nobeard’s person. “What was that?” asked Monica.
“A pirate needs a parrot,” said Captain Nobeard.
Monica shrugged. This was not her problem anymore. “Why don’t you go show your new friend to mum?” she suggested.
|# ¿ Oct 26, 2015 07:00|
You're welcome to use any of mine in the unlikely event that you can find one that uses that structure.
|# ¿ Oct 31, 2015 14:09|
Hey Kaishai compute us some fast judging.
|# ¿ Nov 2, 2015 07:39|
And I wasn't mindful of the deadline (sorry! I'm new here! I am trying to figure this out), but dude, Perth is hosed even without a kaiju.
Write something anyway, then post it late, IMO.
|# ¿ Nov 9, 2015 11:20|
I'm in with a Kai appointed Merman.
|# ¿ Dec 24, 2015 05:34|
|# ¿ Jan 19, 2019 04:05|
Merry Christmas, Chairchucker!
Just Like Riding an Underwater Bicycle 932 words
Rear Admiral Pollock was watching the inflight movie, Help, I’m a Fish, when the call came over the intercom. “Hello passengers, this is Caroline, your cabin crew leader for this flight. Don’t read anything into this, but we were just wondering if there were any pilots on the plane? Paul and I, he’s one of my other cabin crew, were just making conversation really, and he asked ‘Hey Caroline, how many pilots do you think are on this flight,’ and I said ‘Hmmm I don’t know, why don’t we check?’ which leads us to this question right now, so, by a show of hands, who here is a pilot and, to make it interesting, could specifically fly, just as a random hypothetical example, this plane we’re in right now?”
Rear Admiral Pollock considered this for a moment. When you thought about it, a submarine and a plane were basically the same, right? I mean, sure, one goes through water and one goes through air, but the same basic principles applied. Yeah. Yeah, he could totally fly this plane. It wasn’t any bigger than a submarine, anyway. He raised his hand. After a few seconds, a lady dressed in the uniform of the airline came down the aisle, bent over next to him and said “So, Sir, you can fly this plane?”
“Yeah, I’d say so,” said Pollock.
“How interesting!” she said. “I’m Caroline, why don’t you come on up to the cockpit and we can chat further about your ability to fly this plane? Or other things, we could chat about other things I guess, but let’s start with this plane and your ability to fly it.”
Well, this was a rare treat. “Why certainly,” said Pollock, “that would be lovely.” He followed her to the front of the plane.
Once in the cockpit, Pollock looked around. It was nice and cosy and cramped, just like a submarine. Yes, he felt right at home here. “Oh, how convenient,” said Caroline, “both the pilot and the co-pilot chairs are vacant right at the moment. I’ve no idea how that came to be, but why don’t you go ahead and try one of them out?”
“Wow, this is an amazing experience,” said Pollock. “If I’d known this is the kind of treatment one can expect from this airline, I definitely would’ve flown with you beforehand. Are you certain it’s all right if I…?” and he indicated the pilot’s seat.
“I don’t see why not,” said Caroline with a wink, “I won’t tell the pilot you’ve been sitting in his chair if you don’t.”
Pollock settled into the pilot’s chair with a satisfied sigh. Ah yes, this was the stuff. Caroline settled into the co-pilot’s chair next to his. “Don’t forget to fasten your seatbelt,” she said, as she did her own up.
He did so, and then looked around at all the lovely dials and switches and lights and things like that. “Some impressive machinery here,” he said.
Caroline nodded. “Why don’t you show me what you can do with it?”
“Are you sure?” asked Pollock.
“Yeah, why not?” said Caroline. “Give her a bit of a workout. Why don’t you try to, oh, I don’t know, show me how you’d do an emergency landing somewhere down there?” She waved at the area with her hand.
“Hmmm,” said Pollock. “A lot of forest down there.”
“There is, a bit,” said Caroline.
“That lake down there, I reckon that’s where I’d do it.”
“Show, don’t tell!” said Caroline.
Pollock did that thing where you interlace your fingers and push your palms outwards – cracking your knuckles, that’s what it’s called. He cracked his knuckles to show that he meant business, and then grabbed the steering column. “I guess first, though, I should maybe tell the passengers to put their seatbelts on?”
“Let me handle that,” said Caroline. She grabbed the intercom, and said to the rest of the plane “Hello there passengers, me again, Caroline your cabin crew leader. You may have noticed I’ve just switched on the seatbelts sign,” and as she spoke she pressed a button to make it so, “so I’d encourage everyone to make their way back to their seats in the next, oh, let’s say ten seconds or so, and fasten their seatbelt. Also, once you’re there, why don’t you go ahead and assume the brace position, remember that one we learned at the start of the flight? Bending forward and leaning against the seat in front, or hugging your legs, let’s go ahead and all do that, yeah?” She turned to Pollock. “All right now, let’s see a really nice emergency landing now.”
“This’ll be a cinch,” said Pollock. “I don’t have to rely on some other crewman giving me sightings from the periscope.”
“What?” asked Caroline.
Pollock pushed the plane into a dive, and Caroline gripped the sides of her chair. “You’re gripping that chair pretty tight,” said Pollock.
Caroline tried to shrug without letting go of the sides of the chair. “I’m the same with rollercoasters, no need to read anything into it. Just making idle conversation really, but your comment about periscopes made me curious. How many actual planes have you previously flown?”
“Oh,” said Pollock, “this’ll technically be my first, if we’re not counting submarines. Although I don’t know if I can really count it, since I’m not doing the whole flight, just the landing.”
“Oh,” said Caroline, and closed her eyes.
Which is a shame, because she missed a spectacular water landing, in which very few people were maimed.
|# ¿ Dec 28, 2015 04:07|