If any of you disgusting turd samplers win a week or at least for some reason find yourself on the honorable mentions list, you can get a prize from my coffers: it includes games, books, audiobooks. The list keeps growing as I find stuff to add all the time.
If you win, contact me either with PMs or on IRC with what you want from my prize list.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 06:28 on Jan 1, 2015
|# ¿ Dec 31, 2014 23:37|
|# ¿ Oct 23, 2021 07:18|
MERC-BRAWL 8: THE NU-UH IT AIN'T HAPPENIN'
You know what chafes my balls? Getting shot down. Not getting that job you were totes mcgotes qualified for. Getting the job you totes mcgotes wanted and then fired a week later for something completely out of your control. Four stalwart domers will write about rejection, but with a caveat. Someone gets kidnapped. Last week was fantastic and different so I will continue with tradition until it starts to suck. There will be two teams of two. Each team will write about one event while each person is writing from their perspective. I will judge based on order of posting, so keep that in mind.
Here is the prize list. As per usual, you have two weeks to write 2,500 words. January 14th 2359 is your deadline. If you sign up, you will be taking a
Who are my rejectees?
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 09:17 on Jan 2, 2015
|# ¿ Jan 1, 2015 07:03|
|# ¿ Jan 6, 2015 05:43|
I shall grace you all with a story written with one hand since the other will be carrying a screaming baby.
|# ¿ Jan 6, 2015 23:38|
Anomalous Blowout, Nethilia and basically any recent winners and honorable mentions: Just want to remind you that you all have access to sweet prizes and all you gotta do is send me a message. I bought these things for you, you sons of bitches.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 01:06 on Jan 10, 2015
|# ¿ Jan 10, 2015 01:04|
I loving wish I recorded the dramatic reading that took us almost 2 hours. Blame Twist.
|# ¿ Jan 10, 2015 06:24|
The Rock God
Sebastian made the guitar sing with one note. It was sad, like someone stole its puppy from it and sold it into slavery; then posted Facebook pictures with a comment saying, “Stupid puppy only got me 5 bucks. Might as well buy some candy. #YOLO”.
He muffled the note and in that moment, his guitar, Xavier, let out a harmonic sigh. “If I were a woman,” Xavier said, the strings vibrating with every word, “I would want you to father my children.”
“That’s a little weird, man,” Sebastian said.
The brown finish on Xavier’s body sparkled. “Doesn’t matter. You’re ready to crush Guitardome.” A string slid out from the guitar’s headstock and laid across Sebastian’s upper thigh for an uncomfortable amount of time.
Sebastian cleared his throat.
Xavier didn’t move the string.
“Alright!” Sebastian jumped up, then stuffed Xavier into a guitar case. He slung it over his shoulder and left his hotel room.
The case bucked against Sebastian’s grip. “Are we there yet? Let me at those French Surrender-Monkeys!”
“We’re playing in Berlin,” Sebastian said, readjusting the guitar case so he held it tightly against his side in an attempt to muffle the guitar strings.
“Then we’re gonna gently caress those Australians until they turn British again!” Xavier roared, drawing the attention of several people.
Sebastian began to doubt his decision to buy this guitar from a back alley gypsy.
“Holy poo poo! It’s like that dude spit a mouthful of Chiclets in the air,” Sebastian said in surprise.
“Play me again! Do it!” The entire guitar vibrated in Sebastian’s hands.
He scratched nervously at his temple. “We won. That guy is really hurt, he won’t-”
“Play me, Sebastian! Play me!” Xavier demanded angrily. Sebastian’s hand inched toward the bridge until he finally strummed a chord. Xavier howled majestically. His music arced like lightning and struck the dazed musician in the chest with a puff of red mist. Like a marionette with its strings cut, the musician dropped to the ground. His guitar bounced off the floor with a discordant wail that snapped Sebastian out of his trance.
Blood was siphoned from the wet hole in the body's chest and it funneled into the guitar until the corpse crumbled into dust. Xavier became flushed with a vibrant red. The crowd cheered and relished the quality entertainment that is Guitardome.
“I am not okay with this! Oh gently caress!” Sebastian recoiled from Xavier and dropped it, but the guitar levitated in place. He turned to run, but metal strings whipped out and bit around his wrists and ankles, locking him in place. “Let me go! I don’t want to do this anymore,” Sebastian struggled against Xavier.
“Oh no. No, no, no,” Xavier said quickly. “You can finish this competition in one of two ways. As the greatest guitarist in the world,” the strings tightened and blood dripped from Sebastian’s wrists, “Or as one sexy corpse.” A guitar string snapped around and lashed Sebastian across the rear end.
The door to the dressing room exploded with shards of wood scattering over the stunned band inside. Sebastian loomed over the cowering men with Xavier balanced over his shoulder like an axe. He placed a finger to his lips, then pointed at them, throwing a crumpled piece of paper in the process. “You fuckers,” he said. Read it, he mouthed while looking at the piece of paper. “We’re going to rip your heads off your bodies and drink from your skulls like goblets.” Read it.
“Oh God yes! Seb, I love it when you talk dirty!” Xavier’s presence had sucked the color from the room. The light refracted around its bright-red body, with rainbows appearing at the edge of perception. “We’re going to bathe in your blood you guys! Are you excited? I’m so excited!”
Sebastian jabbed his finger toward the crumpled note. “I hope you’ve made peace with your God. You’ll be seeing them tonight.” He turned, left the room and strode toward the stage.
“You really had me going there,” Xavier said.
“I finally came around to your way of thinking.”
Xavier laughed, its music light and cheerful. “Let’s go smash some assholes.”
The crowd went mental when Sebastian walked out on stage. Hundreds of thousands of voices sprawled outward in the outdoor arena and they all chanted his name. He knew they really didn't want to experience the music. They came for the gratuitous bloodbath that happened when humans challenged a god. Or a demon. Whatever Xavier was, Sebastian was set on making sure it never took a life again after tonight.
When the opposing band entered the stage, the largest rock concert in the history of man drowned out their announcement by Sebastian’s name. In a different situation, this would have been what he lived for.
Sebastian held his pick to the bridge and closed his eyes. Have to end it today, he thought, no more killings. His pick brushed the strings and the music sprang to life, color pulsing over the people.
In the middle of a sick guitar solo, one of the guitar strings whipped out. Sebastian opened his eyes, turned around and saw the opposing band’s rhythm guitarist holding a knife in his hand while being propped up by a bloody guitar string through his neck. The crowd roared their approval.
“You really did have me going there, Sebastian,” Xavier said. “You think you’re the first puppet who’d tried to sever their link with me?” He laughed, and this time it was the sound of a million fingernails over chalkboard.
Sebastian stammered a response. “But, you can’t-”
“Can’t read?” The guitar screeched with discordant voices, “You need eyes to read, but I can echolocate like a motherfucker. You almost had me until I saw how nervous you were in the dressing room. I also saw something leave your hand. Doesn’t take a genius to know something’s up.”
“I won’t do this anymore.” Sebastian said defiantly.
“Don’t be a little bitch, Seb. Just strike my strings one last time. I got the thirst right now and that crowd’s my tall glass of water.”
Sebastian shook his head and threw the pick to the ground.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking, I’d advise against it,” Xavier said.
Sebastian raised the guitar high above his head. Immediately, all six guitar strings pierced him through the shoulders, legs and abdomen. He momentarily lost the strength in his legs to stand but used the downward momentum to smash the guitar as hard as he could against the ground. The guitar strings thrashed around. He gritted his teeth and wrapped the strings in both fists and pulled with the strength of a desperate man.
Strings perforated his body like a sewing machine, but he was running on adrenaline now. The pain wasn’t even registering. The first string snapped free with a metallic ping and color bled out from the guitar. Another broke free but lashed across his face and with a sting, his eyesight was gone.
Three more strings popped out before Sebastian felt Xavier’s last string vibrating uselessly in an attempt to speak. Xavier wanted a ruthless killer. Well, he’s getting one.
With a shout, Sebastian rolled backward with a broken string squirming violently in his grip. His chest rattled in exhalation, but he found it impossible to take a breath in. In his last moments of life, he heard the new champions celebrate their victory and the crowd celebrate with them. They’ll never understand how close to death they had been.
Sebastian drifted away still clutching the now quiet strings. Not many people... can go up against a..
|# ¿ Jan 12, 2015 00:31|
MERC-BRAWL 8: HITMAN MONKEY
For this week, four brawlers will be tasked to write 1,500 words about a contract killer who is also a monkey. "Waaah, Mercedes has lost his touch! This prompt is boring!" gently caress you! Your Hitman Monkey must have a human sidekick. The genre is wide open to you, but I swear to God if you give me erotica or poetry I will defecate in a dog bowl and smoosh your face in it.
Please take a step into the Prize Vault and have a look around. Instructions are inside. If you sign up to brawl you will be 'd to finish. When you finish your story and post it here, you get a sweet video crit from yours truly.
The due date is Wednesday, January 21st 2359 EST.
Who are my killers?
Fanky Malloons - The Silent Killer
Morning Bell - The Happy Killer
Martello -The Christmas Killer
Tyrannosaurus - The Jurassic Killer
Screaming Idiot - The BLARGAHRAGARAGA Killer
No. 48 - The Bald Killer
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 17:34 on Jan 18, 2015
|# ¿ Jan 15, 2015 19:47|
A small to medium-sized primate that typically has a long tail, most kinds of which live in trees in tropical countries.
2. Benny, you are already in a brawl, buster, AND you're doing this week's prompt. I'm gonna say no because of #3
3. I'll make an exception for Screaming Idiot and I'll let you join the brawl.
Remember: By joining this brawl, you are also 'd to complete it!
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 06:09 on Jan 16, 2015
|# ¿ Jan 16, 2015 06:06|
This is my first time in the Thunderdome so please dont be mad at me for the dumb question:
This is where you're wrong! This brawl is the best way to do your first creative writing exercise! For one, you get sick prizes just for participating with a video crit, and two, joining the brawl is the ONLY way to write about monkey-hitmen for prizes, glory and critique. It's literally a win-win. Unless you sign up and fail to write. Then you'll be banned.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 20:31 on Jan 17, 2015
|# ¿ Jan 17, 2015 20:29|
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?
Well he can do whatever he wants, but I'm not gonna reward em if they don't go through the proper channels. Red tape bitches!!
|# ¿ Jan 18, 2015 05:26|
Hmm, in that case I have two further questions:
For some reason, I didn't see your post.
1500 is max limit. Under no circumstances, should you ever, EVER go over it. I'll make an exception just for you because you're a newbie. Just say you're in, and you're in. Also know, this bears repeating, you will be toxxed to finish. The only way you'll be banned is if you don't submit. Now if you submit a 100 word story, you won't get banned, but I will be pretty upset in your general direction for your lack of effort.
|# ¿ Jan 18, 2015 07:32|
goal: 0 wins in this thread
Maybe next year?
|# ¿ Jan 20, 2015 02:05|
I shall meditate upon your monkey words and get to work on the video crit in the morn.
|# ¿ Jan 22, 2015 06:30|
MERC-BRAWL 8: HITMAN MONKEY
If the participants would like to get in touch with me to claim their prizes, that would be great.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 04:30 on Jan 26, 2015
|# ¿ Jan 26, 2015 03:16|
In with little red riding hood
|# ¿ Jan 28, 2015 05:03|
As penance for my sins of terrible writing and toxxing myself I will do line crits on any story requested for the next 5 people who ask.
Do my last story? It was for Anathema's competition week
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 21:23 on Jan 31, 2015
|# ¿ Jan 31, 2015 19:08|
Goddamn double post.
|# ¿ Jan 31, 2015 19:08|
What I Do for Love
It’s a good thing beauty lasts forever, Desmond thought. He admired the damned impressive landscape on his girlfriend. His hand connected with the booty meat hidden beneath Ramona’s red cloak.
She squealed and reflexively punched him on the shoulder. Desmond spiralled through the air and landed rear end up in a thorny bush. “Shnookums!” she called, running daintily to where he struggled to free himself.
“I’m good!” Desmond announced shakily. He always forgot how freakishly strong she was. He recalled the hospital visit after they had sex while she wore her cloak for the first time. Besides the multiple rib and pelvic fractures, it was the best sex in the history of man.
Desmond limped up the forest path to her father’s wooden cabin. As they made their approach, the door slammed open revealing a large shadowed figure with bloodshot eyes.
“Daddy!” Ramona ran into the embrace of the hairiest man Desmond had ever seen. The sheer volume of hair on his body kept the flannel shirt from ever touching his skin. Desmond craned his neck to look the woodsman in his steely eyes. He swallowed a lump.
“This is my boyfriend, Desmond,” Ramona said, dragging Desmond closer to what he was sure was imminent death. “Baby, this is my daddy, Bruce.”
Desmond cleared his throat and awkwardly offered a hand. “Hi.”
Bruce growled. He turned, then sat in a chair that was comically too small for his size.
Ramona urged Desmond forward. “He wants to tell you something.”
This was it. This would be the day he died. His tombstone would say, Here lies Desmond. He hosed the wrong man’s daughter.
“I, uh, hi.” He flushed. “Sorry, already said that. I wanted to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Bruce’s sudden, manly guffaw caused Desmond to recoil and protect his soft parts with his arms. The laughter cut out with a growl and Bruce loomed over him, still taller even though he was seated.
“Boy, you think you’re good enough for my Bunny-wunny?” Bruce’s glorious mustache waggled as he spoke. “What do you do?”
Desmond looked up at Bruce with trepidation. “I’m an Art History major with a minor in-”
“No boy will take my Bunny-wunny into a road of poverty!” Bruce roared, spittle flying from his mouth.
“Daddy! I love him!” Ramona clung to her father, nearly disappearing into his arm hair.
Bruce shot a look at Desmond with fire in his eyes.
“Sir, I would do anything for Ramona.” What on earth has come over me?
Bruce screamed and tore his flannel in twain. The briar forest of chest hair puffed, flicking shiny gleams of sweat outward. “You will prove to me if you have what it takes to be a man in a contest of strength.” He stomped by and shoved a steel-bladed axe in Desmond’s chest, knocking him over a chair. “Come boy.”
Outside, Desmond found himself staring up an old redwood tree. “You want me to cut down this tree before you punch your tree down?”
Bruce cracked his knuckles and eyed his target, a tree as wide as his cabin. “You best get started, boy.” When his fist connected with the tree, dirt flew up as the roots strained against the earth. “I won’t be long.”
Ramona is the finest girl in all the land, Desmond thought. I’ll never find anyone as hot as her if I fail here. That rear end. I would kill a man’s dog and eat it while looking him straight in the eyes for an rear end like Ramona’s. He lowered his stance and held his axe to his side like one would a sword. The world around him slowly dimmed and the fury of Bruce’s hammer blows faded until the tree was the only thing in focus. He felt the tree’s life force through his feet. The thrum of insects living in the branches-
“Watch out Desmond!” Ramona’s voice cut through the fog.
He looked to his right. The tree Bruce had been beating on was falling toward him. Desmond shifted his grip on the axe. Like a viper, he uncoiled and the axe head whistled through the air.
Both his redwood tree and Bruce’s falling tree exploded in splinters, dust and dead ecosystems. Desmond dropped the axe to the ground and staggered out of the cloud of tree debris.
Bruce fell to his knees as his moustache pulled free of his face. It fluttered like a butterfly and crossed the distance to Desmond, attaching to the lower half of his face. “Boy, how did-”
“Man,” Desmond corrected him. His shirt billowed and hair curled up out of his collar.
“Man, yes, of course,” he said, blushing. “How were-”
“-was I able to chop both trees with one swing of an axe?” Desmond said, his glorious moustache wiggled as he talked. “I majored in Art History, that much is true. But I have a double minor in Samurais and Lumberjacks.”
“That’s a thing?”
Desmond revved the engine of the motorcycle he and Ramona are now sitting on. “I went to a For-Profit school.”
Bruce nodded. “Ramona, make sure to invite your grandmother to the wedding.”
Ramona waved at her father. “I will daddy! Thank you!”
Desmond placed aviators on and hit the throttle, dirt and debris flying back. “I’ll see you in a few months, ‘Dad’,” he said. They sped down the forest path, backlit by the setting sun.
|# ¿ Feb 1, 2015 23:00|
I remember I punchline I read from a webcomic a year ago, build a story around said punchline and I'm crucified for it. I don't have enough middle fingers.
|# ¿ Feb 3, 2015 21:21|
its not legal plagiarism but dude like every note is the same. that just seems like a lovely accident idk.
It's tragic, it sucks anPROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMPT
|# ¿ Feb 3, 2015 23:39|
She felt like it. Sorry bro.
|# ¿ Feb 4, 2015 22:26|
Just wanna throw this out. Dr. Kloctopussy, HopperUK, Crabrock, Entenzahn and Echo Cian, you have books and videos games you can have if you want since you either won or achieved honorable mention. You know where to find me.
|# ¿ Feb 5, 2015 21:30|
I loving hate it when judges take forever to make the PROOOOOOOOOOOOOOMPT!!!!!!
|# ¿ Feb 10, 2015 04:34|
Sonair only accepts one thing as tribute: sick guitar solos. He is an angry God and he prefers it that way. He imbues his servants with the power to cause rage through their music and revels in the sea of headbangers.
|# ¿ Feb 18, 2015 23:10|
Gods: Sonair (Mercedes) Shem (Wangless Wonder)
Rock-a-Baby: 1382 words
Jace thrashed the strings of his guitar with no regard for musicality. He unslung the guitar from his shoulders, grabbed it by the neck with both hands, and then viciously slammed it against the floor. The body cracked with an electrical hum and the strings went slack. He lifted the wreckage above his head and brought it down again. And again.
A thin man with spiked wristbands, belts and multiple facial piercings blinked into existence. He stuffed his hands into his skinny jeans and sucked his teeth. Smoke emerged from empty sockets; black wisps that swayed gently to an invisible wind.
“Ah! Sonair!” Jace dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground. “I’m honored…”
Sonair looked at the broken guitar and back to the wretched looking man. “I appreciate your…,” he paused, flicking a cigarette into existence and lighting it with a finger, “passion for your prayer; but bro, you just had a kid. Your woman’s not going to let you buy another guitar for a long time.”
“I don’t...” Jace started. He sniffed and curled his hands into fists. “It’s no longer a problem.”
Sonair pulled on his cigarette. “I hope you didn’t kill them. You don’t get any brownie points with me for pulling that kind of stunt.”
Jace shrank away from the god.
“I can’t believe I’m bothering with this mortal stuff,” Sonair said. “What did you do, huh?” He crouched then flicked Jace on the top of his head.
“I had no choice-”
“Bah, no choice my rear end.” Sonair pushed himself to his feet then tugged up on his pants. “Just, hold on a second. I’ve watched Judge Judy enough times to know how much you mortals love to twist the truth.”
The world’s colors muted and Jace froze in place. Sonair yanked a flip phone from his pocket, snapped it open and held it to his ear.
“You were going to ring?” Shem, the god of time hissed from behind.
Sonair shouted in surprise and threw his cigarette in frustration. “Every loving time, dammit!” He paced while running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t understand why you gotta try to give me a heart attack,” he muttered to himself.
Shem sat back and his white, wispy hair thin parted over his wrinkly face and milky eyes. His mouth opened in a toothless smile. “You want my help.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, guide me into this mortal’s past. I’m curious about an event.”
“Why do you care?” Shem’s voice was wheezy and guttural, like if he had too much phlegm in the back of his throat.
“This is the price I ask if you want my help,” Shem said. “You can always go somewhere else.”
“The dude has some sick guitar solos. I like listening to him.”
Sonair threw his hands up in frustration. “Can’t you just get on with it?”
Shem turned to leave.
“Alright! This guy was my first worshipper. He started the rock and roll movement and made me.” He rubbed his face and clicked his tongue. “Without this guy, I wouldn’t have been me.”
Shem looked at Jace, frozen in prostration then back to Sonair. “Alright, let’s go.”
“I have some bad news, Jace. You may want to be seated for this.” The white haired doctor had held his chart close to his chest and had leaned against a table in practiced sympathy.
“Just tell me. Are my wife and baby alright?” Jace had crossed his arms defiantly.
The doctor had cleared his throat before speaking. “Your wife is fine, it’s just, there’s been a complication with the baby. The umbilical cord had wrapped around the child’s neck during delivery and as a result she suffered irreparable brain damage-”
Jace had pushed his way past the doctor and stood over his daughter. He had slipped a finger in her hand and had cried when he felt her squeeze his finger. “I don’t loving care. She’s perfect.”
Jace had walked into his wife’s room with a smile on his face. There had been a heavy darkness over her. “What’s wrong, Tasha?”
She had rolled away from him in her hospital bed. “The doctor told me what happened.”
“It’ll be okay!” Jace had said, “She’ll just need some extra love-”
“We’re not keeping her.”
Jace’s smile had slowly slid away as he understood what she had said.
“Did you hear me? We’re not keeping that monster!”
Jace had flinched as if she struck him across the mouth. “Monster? Jesus, she’s our daughter!”
Tasha had turned in her bed to face him. “We either get rid of her, or we get a divorce.”
“Are you listening to yourself?” He had stomped toward her, knocking a chair aside. “We can make this work! We can do this together, we-”
“Jace,” she had said, the lines on her face hard as stone. “That… child is an abomination in God’s eyes. If you bring that thing home with us, I will kill her myself.”
Jace had felt his heart pounding in his chest and his skin tingle in that moment. He had looked at the woman he had once loved and saw her as a vile and disgusting creature. Without thinking, he had grabbed an IV line and wrapped it around Tasha’s neck. “She’s our daughter!” he had said, spittle flying through a clenched jaw.
Tasha had reached up and clawed at her neck, trying to slide a finger between the tubing, but Jace was much stronger than she was. Eventually, Tasha’s hands had slumped to her sides and her bloodshot eyes had bulged out.
Jace had stepped away from the body of his wife and looked at his hands. He had done this. He had fled the room and made his way to his daughter. He had scooped her up and without a second thought, left the hospital.
“That’s hosed up, Jace,” Sonair said, putting a cigarette in his mouth. “No choice, I see.”
Jace looked confused for a moment until realization set in. “I don’t know what came-” He cut himself off and looked up at Sonair. “I’m going to jail.”
He was, Sonair thought. He heard police sirens in the distance.
“I murdered someone, and I’m going to jail. But I did it for my daughter. I killed so she could live.”
“What are you getting at man? Out with it!”
“My daughter has nowhere to go. She won’t make it in a foster home.” Jace pressed his forehead to the ground again. “If my servitude; my loyalty for all these years mean anything to you, may I please just ask one thing of you?”
Sonair looked at Shem.
Shem shrugged and vanished in a puff of dust.
Sonair recalled what he told the time god earlier. He owed his existence to this man. He pulled the unlit cigarette from his mouth. “What is it?”
Jace dug his fingers into the floor. “Please take care of my daughter for me? That’s all I ask! Please do what I won’t be able to do. Please be a father to her in my place?”
The sirens were much closer now. What did he know of fatherhood? “I… can not do what you ask of me.” Sonair watched as Jace’s skin around his neck turned a blotchy red. “Instead, I’ll give the two of you a chance to start over.”
Jace looked up, his eyes rimmed red and tears clinging to them.
Sonair, the god of rock and roll glowed a bright yellow. “When you wake up, no one will remember your face. Do right by your girl, I have a feeling she’s going to grow up to do great things.”
With a flash of light, Sonair, Jace and the baby girl are gone.
“Daddy! I got first place!” the teenaged girl squealed, jumping into her father’s arms.
“You killed that talent contest, Sona! I’m so proud!” Jace said, lifting her off her feet. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone play Thunderstruck on the violin and made it sound so freaking metal before. It was amazing!”
“You promised ice cream. Can we get ice cream?” Sona asked, biting her lip.
Jace looked into her eyes. He saw the smoke in them. He smiled. “Of course!”
|# ¿ Feb 23, 2015 06:06|
When was the last time we had a perfect attendance??
|# ¿ Feb 23, 2015 22:26|
God help me, I'm in.
We'll do this together. For my next trick, I shall squeeze time from a rock.
|# ¿ Mar 24, 2015 01:48|
Hey GP, I was stuck sick in bed for most of the week. I'll try to finish my entry and post it later this week.
|# ¿ Mar 30, 2015 17:42|
Step aside, pudding punchers. I have something really important to say.
|# ¿ Apr 30, 2015 05:45|
Valley of Death
The doors to the abandoned research facility protested with metallic screeching as Janice and her team of armed mercenaries pried them open with crow bars. A mangled body with deep gashes all over its exposed skin tumbled out through the opening.
One of the soldiers broke the silence with an involuntary dry heave.
“Where’s his face, man?” asked one of the grunts.
“We didn’t pay you so you can ask questions.” Janice flicked on her flashlight and cut into the darkness. “After you.”
The mercenaries hesitated, like a skydiver pausing to gather the courage to jump. Everyone took their turn to step over the body without disturbing it. Janice averted her eyes. Guess that explains why this facility went silent.
Light beams swept through dark halls. Every few paces glistened with splashes of viscera against the walls and floors. Janice watched the inquisitive grunt from earlier turn his head to look at her, the question plain on his face. What the hell did you get us into? Janice wished she knew.
It felt like it took days to finally reach their destination. The metal-fortified windows to the containment chamber have been blown completely out of its fixtures and are embedded into the opposite wall with a red, pulpy stain in the middle that reminds Janice of a bug splattering against a windshield.
She strides over to the console and presses a few buttons to no effect.
“I’ve seen way too many horror movies that start this way, Doc. I’m not too keen on ‘splitting up’,” said the same soldier from before. He can’t keep his fear from making his voice quiver.
“It’s a good thing I won’t ask you to. You’d probably be the first to die, I’m afraid,” Janice said with the practiced coolness of someone who’s waited their entire life to say that line. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a large battery with a USB cable coming out from it. “We’re professionals and this isn’t a horror movie. After I finish recording all the logs from this fiasco, we can leave and you can go change your tampon.”
A few of the other mercenaries snickered under their breath.
Janice opened a compartment full of wires and ports, then plugged the battery cable right in. A voice immediately spoke and startled the soldiers into pointing their weapons at the console.
“This is Dr. Tass, overseer of project Psionic Senses-”
“Come on, Doc,” said a mercenary.
Janice paused the recording at the interruption and turned to the soldier with irritation plain on her face.
“What if whatever killed all these scientists is still in the building? We’d be broadcasting our location to it.”
“Well,” Janice said, turning back to the console. “That’s why you have guns.” She started the recorder again.
“-our volunteer is Dr. Marshall. I will allow her to provide consent and explanation as to what we are doing.”
“I am Dr. Antoinette Marshall, volunteer to this project. Recently, a new element was discovered and through animal testing, we noted physiological mutations in laboratory mice that resulted in highly intelligent creatures able to manipulate their environment through a force of will.
“We will attempt to replicate the results in the mice by administering the element in an aerosol to a human subject and documenting the results.”
“Starting procedures,” said Dr Tass, ”In three… two… one…” There’s an extended silence with a faint hiss in the audio background. Antoinette screamed as if she were tortured then a resounding boom distorted the audio with its volume.
”Antoinette!” Dr. Tass was panicked and pounding on the glass. He stuttered and paused, as if to compose himself, then rapid fires his description of the events. ”Subject is unresponsive. Levitating. Hair swimming around her head. Strange force crashed into the windows and-”
“Like, do you have any gum?”
Dr. Tass stuttered, “I-I’m sorry? Antoinette?”
“Gag me with a spoon!” Another boom crackled through the speaker along with a human scream that was quickly silenced.
“Holy poo poo,” one of the soldiers said.
Janice nodded. “Yea, tell me about-”
The sound of machine gun fire got everyone’s head to snap in the same direction. Levitating with bullets suspended in the air inches from her face was Antoinette. She made no movement, but the soldier with the firing rifle exploded in a shower of viscera.
“Like, oh em gee, that was so loud, right?” Antoinette snapped her gum, blew out a bubble and released the bullets to clatter to the ground.
Everyone opened fire.
In a blind panic, Janice yanked her recording device out from the console and ran as fast as she could in the direction away from the dying soldiers.
It didn’t take long for the gunfire to stop. It took even less time for Antoinette to fly past him, her visage a long smear of color coming to stop in her way. There’s not a drop of blood on her.
He halted, out of breath, tears in her eyes and looked at Antoinette expected a sudden pain burst through her chest.
“Let’s go shopping. Can we, like, get some Starbucks? I haven’t had a decaf soy latte with an extra shot and cream in, like, forever, ya know?”
Janice blinked. She wet her lips and blinked again. “Uh… yes?”
Antoinette clasped her hands together like an excited little girl getting a pony for a birthday present. “This is gonna be super! We can paint our nails, go shopping forever, talk about boys, try on soooooo many clothes and brush each other’s hair! Oh my God, there’s this mall that has, like, everything a girl could ever want, ya know? Oh, and my daddy has, like, so much money so we can do this all day every day! We can color coordinate our clothes and our nails. Like, oh em gee, there's this cool nail salon I once drove by and they do the awesomest designs I have ever seen, they are like to die for. Where was I? Oh, I knew a hair girl who did the most amazing job layering my hair, it was totes mcgotes unbelievable!”
Janice pulled a pistol from its holster, pressed it to her temple and pulled the trigger.
|# ¿ May 4, 2015 02:09|
Hey Mercedes! I had such an awesome weekend that I happened to see your story and now I have a linecrit ready to go right after the judgement!
Sweet, thanks li- FAST JUDGING GOOD JUDGING
|# ¿ May 4, 2015 23:35|
Mercasaurus Rex Brawl
The best. I'll take the toxx
|# ¿ May 5, 2015 03:35|
Mercasaurus Rex Brawl
Ain't Going Back, Jack
900 holy words
“This strip club looks exactly like that interrogation room you see on Castle,” said Black Jesus. “I hope you have a Detective Beckett look alike. My life would be complete.”
The lanky officer rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "This isn't a strip-"
"You should think about hiring some prettier girls though,” Black Jesus said, “I mean, dayaaaamn, talk about falling off the ugly cross hitting all the nails on the way down." He snatched the officer’s glass of water, sipped from it and immediately sprayed it out all over the table. He stared at the glass as if it Judas'd him. Black Jesus took another tentative sip and spat it right back into the glass. He looked up at the officer and they locked eyes. Before the officer could protest, Black Jesus lifted up the glass of water and slammed it down on the table; but instead of miracle-ing a bucket of delicious fried chicken, he made a mess. "This isn't a strip club!"
“My Lord, please… just-” the officer said, holding himself steady by leaning against the table. “We need your cooperation.”
“What did you call me?” Black Jesus squinted suspiciously at the officer. “Who are you? Did my dad send you?”
The officer sighed. “I guess there’s no reason to hide our identity from you.” He yanked his trench coat off in a flourish revealing himself to be two cherub angels, one sitting on the other’s shoulders.
“Holy crap! Gabriel, Michael, what’s up guys!” Black Jesus said, reaching out to dap the angels. They shook their heads and left Black Jesus hanging.
“You’re in a deep trouble, my Lord,” said Gabriel as he dismounted Michael to stand on a chair.
“Hold the phone!” Black Jesus said, “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Michael heaved his chubby self onto the table with some grunting and wheezing. “Haven’t done anything wrong?!” he said, his face red with perspiration. “Within thirty years of being sent to Earth, you gave historians a fit when you had that showdown with Judas! You assisted a group of spell casting heretics in robbing a grocery store and you convinced a man he was the chosen one, and then this man created a cult based around a briefcase!
Black Jesus chuckled. “I can’t believe he bedazzled that briefcase. Wish I would have thought of that.”
“Let’s not forget you “pre-forgave” a man to commit murder!”
“Oh, come on,” Black Jesus interjected, “Hitler. He was literally Hitler.”
“Protocol, my Lord. You have to let things play out,” Gabriel said.
“I want a sexy lawyer.”
“A lawyer!” Michael threw up his hands in frustration.
“My Lord,” Gabriel said, “your father knows all. This isn’t something you can talk your way out of.”
Black Jesus clicked his tongue. “Fine,” he said, “can I at least have my powers back so I can go with dignity?”
Gabriel and Michael shared a look. Michael shook his head and said, “Can’t do it.”
“Come on, you guys! Please?” Black Jesus pressed his palms together and quivered his bottom lip. “I’ve never asked for anything. Just... let me go home as my father’s true son?”
Gabriel slumped his shoulders and averted his eyes. Black Jesus honed in on him.
“Gabe, I got season tickets to the Knicks. All yours.” Black Jesus said. “Floor seats.”
Gabriel kept his eyes down.
Black Jesus pressed on. “You know, I’ve been talking to Venus, that Roman deity; she’s been telling me how much she would love for a strong, handsome angel to take her to a game or two. I could give you her digits.”
Gabriel looked up at Black Jesus. “Y-you would do that?”
“Lift the wards, and the tickets and her phone number are yours, my man.”
Michael opened his mouth to object, but by then it was too late. Gabriel snapped his fingers and a golden glow enveloped Black Jesus. As promised, Black Jesus miracled season tickets and a phone number and placed them on the table. Before Gabriel could take his prize, Black Jesus stiffened and swung himself like a bat at the angels, smacking them away. They cratered against the wall in a shower of angelic glitter and language uncouth of angels.
As Black Jesus walked by Gabriel, he said, “I’ll make sure you get a kiss-cam on you.”
“Thanks, my Lord,” groaned Gabriel.
Black Jesus walked into the main lobby and froze. “Freaking kidding me,” he said, looking around. It was packed with every officer from the precinct. They all had shining eyes and halos. “Michael, just give up!”
The room erupted in a hundred unified voices. “I’m taking you in. I have a job to do!”
“I ain’t ever going back!” Black Jesus said. He lowered himself into the carpenter stance and within seconds the horde charged him. Faster than lightning, Black Jesus bitch-slapped those within reach, knocking away Michael’s influence and fixing physical flaws. Slap. Summer teeth are straightened (some are here, some are there). Slap. Minger to model. Slap. Republican to Independent.
Black Jesus’ muscles glistened in the sun and moonlight. Unconscious, gorgeous policemen are strewn all over the office like clocks in a Salvador Dali painting. And then there’s Michael.
“This is your last chance!” he said, jowls quivering.
Black Jesus rolled his eyes and shoved Michael aside as he walked toward freedom.
|# ¿ May 18, 2015 18:34|
Don't be this guy http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?author=god%20of%20paradise
Thanks for the reminder. I'D I'D I'D I'D I'D I'D buried that memory a long time ago.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 17:37 on May 20, 2015
|# ¿ May 20, 2015 16:24|
Trexedes brawl results
|# ¿ May 22, 2015 18:51|
I'll go again, baby
Sorry broski, summer classes are in full swing and I have class nearly every single weekday. Next time you'll be able to challenge me to a duel, we'll probably be having beers together.
|# ¿ May 23, 2015 07:06|
Be a bit of a dick move to hold them to it now.
You were more than fair. They toxxed to complete their drat story and post AND you gave them an extension.
|# ¿ Jun 5, 2015 16:08|
I haven't even really been online for the past 48 hours or so. Trying to catch up on things now. Sorry for missing, but that seems harsh ;_; Dammit guts
You got seriously loving lucky.
|# ¿ Jun 7, 2015 07:50|
|# ¿ Oct 23, 2021 07:18|
|# ¿ Jun 10, 2015 22:54|