OP needs more swears and pictures of Tina Turner being glittery and pouting in the post-apocalyptic desert. B+, would probably Dome again I GUESS.
|# ¿ Dec 31, 2014 23:34|
|# ¿ Jan 18, 2022 02:31|
|# ¿ Jan 3, 2015 02:38|
Crits are for anyone who wants to do them, chimp.
And they're also a good way to develop a painful awareness of the flaws in your own writing. Chomp.
|# ¿ Jan 5, 2015 22:47|
Yes. Me. I will do the thing.
|# ¿ Jan 15, 2015 19:52|
(Semi) serious anthropological question: When you say monkey, are you including great apes, or only the lesser primates?
|# ¿ Jan 16, 2015 02:19|
This is the Thunderdome, if you want to write about a monkey hitman then stop being a little bitch and write about a goddamn monkey hitman. Who cares if Mercedes gives you permission?
|# ¿ Jan 17, 2015 21:41|
add this to the OP too imo
|# ¿ Jan 19, 2015 01:31|
I understand why not being a douchebag might be tough for you though.
SHUT UP YOU STUPID VIRGIN.
Not My Circus 1588 words (sorrynotsorry)
“Oh my God,” sighed Miranda, “If it’s that goddamned Brazilian again, I will lose my poo poo.”
“Charlie!” she called, “Phone!”
“Charlie get the goddamned phone!” she shrieked, baring her teeth.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Charlie slid out of the ring where she had been practicing elbow drops from the top rope, and waddled across the gym towards Miranda’s table.
BZZ- Charlie flipped open the phone, hit the answer button, and held it out.
“Put it on speaker,” hissed Miranda, “how many times do I have to tell you?” She shook her head and scooted closer to the phone,
“Reni, I wasn’t kidding when I said I would add $50,000 to your bill every time you call me.”
Reni ignored her, yammering away in Portuguese. Miranda covered her eyes with her palms, taking deep, calming breaths while she waited for Reni to stop talking.
“”Allo?” he said, finally “Miranda, are you there?”
“Reni,” Miranda said levelly, “I am a professional, I know what I’m doing. Stop. loving. Calling me.”
She punched the disconnect button and stuck both middle fingers up at the phone.
“This one’s jumpy, eh?” said Charlie.
Miranda grimaced, “He thinks we can’t pull it off in Ciudad Jaurez. Says it’s too risky. I swear he only thinks that because I’m a woman.”
“Well, he has a point,” Charlie shrugged, tugging at her mask, “I mean, killing a pretty dangerous guy at a public event, where he’ll be surrounded by other pretty dangerous guys?”
“Don’t you dare take that off,” snapped Miranda, “and don’t you dare agree with that idiot. Everything’s going to go exactly according to the plan - we’ll do the hit, and I’ll get that sonofabitch who turned me into a loving monkey.”
That sonofabitch was Ramón Alvarez, a man who looked and acted like a backyard bred chihuahua on stilts. He was short, skinny, whined a lot, and had tried to buy Miranda a drink in a bar in Guadalajara, which she refused.
“Don’t you know who I am?” he pouted.
“Yes, actually,” said Miranda, “it’s why I don’t want to drink with you. Besides,” she smoothed her hair, checking her disguise in the bar mirror, “I’m working.”
Ramón sucked his teeth, spat, and turned away “Whore,” he muttered at her reflection.
Unfortunately, who Ramón was was actually a pretty big deal. His infinitely more attractive and charming older brother, Hector, was a local crime lord with lofty ambitions, a man who dreamed of expanding his Guadalajaran drug- and human smuggling-based fiefdom to the rest of Mexico, and maybe even all of South America. He wanted to be the biggest of the big -- numero uno -- and Ramón was his numero dos. Though he lacked the gifts of beauty, charm, and the ability to see women as people, Ramon apparently possessed a large amount of skill as a witch doctor.
That skill, combined with Ramón’s evidently fragile ego, led to Miranda waking up the next morning in the body of a capuchin monkey, with a barely-legible note slipped under her hotel room door congratulating her on being “a peic of garbaj vermine”, because Ramón wasn’t blessed with skill of literacy either.
“Oh my gosh!” shrieked Charlie, “You’re so cute! I can carry you in my purse!”
“No, you can not.” said Miranda, staring in horror at her tiny, horny fingernails. “God, this is so embarrassing. It’s a good thing we finished that contract last night. Jesus Christ. A loving monkey. Who does that?”
“Did we cross yet?” asked Miranda from the depths of Charlie’s oversized purse.
“No, shut up,” Charlie whispered back.
“You don’t have to whisper. This is the Mexican border, they don’t care if you’re crazy.”
Miranda huffed and curled up in a corner of the purse, “Telling me to shut up, you shut up,” she muttered, plucking at her tail. She could hear Charlie talking to a border guard now. He was very excited to meet La Niña, the world’s only midget luchadora and wanted to know if he could have her autograph, and maybe a picture? Miranda rolled her eyes. Being a monkey wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to her, but it
was pretty high up on the list.
“Can I take the mask off, I’m sweating like a pig.”
“No, a luchadora never show her face.”
Charlie sighed, “As a Canadian, I want you to know that this level of heat exposure is literally torture.”
“At least you don’t have fur! Help me with my backpack. Do we have everything in place?”
They were backstage at the Reye del Ciudad tournament, getting ready. Charlie tightened the straps of Miranda’s tiny backpack, and scratched her ear.
“You good to go?” she asked.
“Yeah. You all warmed up?”
“Getting there” Charlie shadow-boxed, hopping from foot to foot, “I’ve still got time.”
“Okay. But don’t overdo it. You’ve gotta get back and deal with security fast ASAP after your match.”
“I know,” Charlie rolled her head from side to side, “I got this.” She held out her fist and Miranda bumped it.
“I’ll see you later then.”
The floor was sticky with what Miranda really hoped was just beer. She grabbed a discarded scarf as she worked her way towards the Alvarez brothers and spread it beneath her as she waited to make her move, watching Hector work his way up and down the rows in his section, talking business with his fellow lowlifes. His face lit up with delight when they announced the next match, featuring La Niña, and he hurried to his seat.
Miranda sighed as she prepared the tiny syringe of poison. She would never admit it, but she had the biggest schoolgirl crush on Hector. But a contract was a contract, and here he was in shorts and sandals as if the universe itself couldn’t wait for Miranda to jab a deadly neurotoxin into his lovely, exposed ankle.
“Sorry dude,” she whispered as she pushed the plunger home. The needle was so fine, Hector didn’t even notice.
Discarding her backpack, Miranda leapt up to the back of Ramón’s seat and then onto his shoulder.
“Hey fuckface,” she whispered in his ear, “Your brother’s gonna die if you don’t change me back in the next 15 minutes.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Ramón, not taking his eyes off the match. La Niña was dominating. Hector roared his approval, wobbled, and fell back into his seat. Miranda dropped the spent syringe into Ramón’s lap.
“You’ve heard of anatoxin-a? AKA the Very Fast Death Factor?”
Ramón paled, watching Hector wave his hands drunkenly in front of his eyes.
“I just shot him up with enough to drop a cow. You’d better come with me if you want the antidote.” Miranda hopped down to the floor and looked up at Ramón, “It’s not called the Very Fast Death Factor for no reason.”
The crowd jumped to their feet, screaming and cheering as La Niña pinned her opponent and won the match.
Back in the locker room, two of Hector’s goons draped him gently on a bench then stood gaping at Miranda.
“Get the gently caress out,” she snapped, “this is between me and little brother.”
The goons stared.
“Go,” said Ramón, “guard the door.”
“Alright,” said Miranda as soon as the door closed, “You probably have about 5 minutes, so I hope your little curse doesn’t take long to reverse.”
“Bitch,” Ramón hissed, “I should have turned you into a cockroach and then stepped on you.”
“Is right now really the time for regret? The antidote is in that locker up there, and I can’t open it with these tiny monkey hands.”
Ramón growled and grabbed an amulet that was hanging around his neck. Something thumped outside, and a high pitched wail was abruptly cut off. Ramon was muttering in a language that Miranda wasn’t familiar with, his eyes rolled back in his head. He dropped the amulet and crushed it beneath his heel, and the floor was suddenly much further away from Miranda’s face. She looked down and saw pink, human feet, then
she looked up and saw Ramón staring at her naked body.
“Ugh, are you honestly that much of a creep?”
She shoved past Ramón, grabbing a towel off the wall and wrapping it around her chest as she strode to the locker and spun the combination lock. She put together a new syringe, and pressed it into Ramón’s hand.
“Inject him in the neck. It’ll take about 5 minutes to start working. Maybe you can think about how to handle rejection better while you wait.”
“gently caress you,” Ramón whined, kneeling next to his stricken brother.
“gently caress you more,” said Miranda over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her.
Outside, Charlie was crouched, panting, in the midst of a pile of groaning security goons.
“Wow,” said Miranda, “How tired are you on a scale of one to ten?”
Charlie stood up and pulled off her mask, “What did you do?”
“I told Ramón I was giving him an antidote.”
“There is no antidote for anatoxin-a.”
“I know,” Miranda picked her way through the maze of splayed limbs on the floor, “It was potassium cyanide. God, Ramón is stupid.”
Charlie grunted in agreement, “You know people say he can turn himself into a jaguar though?”
“Yeah, about that,” said Miranda. There was a crash and a deep growl from inside the locker room, “I hope you’re not too tired to run.”
|# ¿ Jan 21, 2015 20:35|
|# ¿ Jan 18, 2022 02:31|
I shall meditate upon your monkey words and get to work on the video crit in the morn.
Yo Mercedes, I know you're probs busy coming up with sick dad jokes and whatnot, but I believe there's an unofficial rule about FAST JUDGING around here??
|# ¿ Jan 24, 2015 03:46|