What's a SPORTS without FANS?
I'm a fan for kurona_bright, whose glorious brightness will carry the ocks to victory.
After the Ocks Win
Ock, Ock Ock Ock, Ock Ock. Ock Ock Ock OckOck? Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock? Ock. Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock Ock. OCKＯＣＫOCK!
|# ¿ Jan 22, 2016 07:53|
|# ¿ Jan 26, 2021 00:20|
In with a
I'm late in entering for a double prompt, but I'd still like to request one if possible. Mea culpa, I will allow both prompts to be judge-assigned. I will also take a flash rule, because I hate myself. If I won't be given a double-prompt, fair's fair, please just assign me a single prompt + the flash rule.
|# ¿ Feb 13, 2016 02:08|
Every Gambling Man
Every gambling man knows the quote, “Money won is twice as sweet as money earned.” It’s an engine, one of hundreds, that keeps them running as their money runs out. Robert used the line every time he questioned his own desire, refusing to upgrade it to an addiction. He reasoned it’s not a problem if it’s everyone’s problem, which is why he drove six hundred and twenty miles to run out that month’s living expenses.
No place on earth better served the gambling man than the Free Game Casino, where just walking in earned every luxury-hopeful a single slot pull. It was enough to earn the casino a waiting line, stretching from the golden gates to halfway through the parking lot. A side entrance was the first of many comps for big spenders looking to lose their money faster. Robert entered through those doors and was cashed in by a too-happy cashier for a thousand dollars, the minimum. Robert thought she was prettier than his girlfriend, but a dull pressure on his morality kept him from flirting. He was annoyed when the next man in had no problem chatting with her, getting airy giggles in return.
That man followed Robert.
Robert kept swinging his head around, as though looking at all the games, just to catch glances are the guy. He was nowhere near as big as Robert, but had the right look of dangerous from a slight slouch and smug expression. Wondering if he had been transported into a spy movie, Robert hoped the bastard would try something, a great excuse to knock his face in. Robert was forced to let his fantasy go when he sat down for his free slot pull and the man sat beside him. Of course he was only there for that.
“Good luck,” Robert said, not wanting to be rude. He firmly gripped the old-fashioned slot lever.
“You too, Robert.”
Robert pulled his lever hard, but the machine was tough. “How do you know my name?”
“Hahaha, I heard you when you cashed in. My name’s Juan.” Juan pulled his own lever, then held out a hand to Robert.
Robert shook it and his slot went wild, whistles and alarms telling everyone around that Robert had just made big money. The hand was small in Robert’s, but he treated it as gently as he would a baby, as it was a rule of gamblers that you didn’t spite your good luck charm. Juan’s slot beeped once in negation.
Floor service and bouncers hustled to Robert. He half-listened and half-fantasized as he was told of his one hundred thousand dollars, trying to calculate how far he could upgrade his beater of a truck. Well, if he did a lease-
After Robert wandered away, his spot was flooded by people arguing over who was next. It was a blur, those hours that followed, full of booze and bragging and planning. A few more slots were played, but lost, as Juan had left long ago. A complementary room let Robert retire for the night.
Robert’s debate between overpriced room-service options was interrupted by three soft knocks. A plain envelope was slid under the door. No one was in the hallway. Robert tore the envelope open, also tearing the letter inside and giving himself a papercut. Sucking at his wound, he read, ‘Egg Gambling, Room 001.’
One bandage later, Robert stumbled through the hotel halls. Whatever ‘Egg Gambling’ was, it sounded more interesting than thinking of yet more ways to insult his boss before he quit his job. The strangling restrictions of a call center job was something no man should need to live through. Aha, thought Robert, he could make his boss a noose from the phone cables.
It was a smoky room, with two hotel security and three other men. One smoked a cigar. Another wore a hat. The third was Juan, who waved to Robert. “Yo.”
Robert nodded. If this was anything close to slots, he had a good feeling since Juan was there. “Egg betting?”
Juan pointed to the table. Robert finally noticed a gigantic egg sitting in the middle. It was grey flecked white, the size of a head, and emitted a soft ticking noise. “Any time you feel sure, you can bet what’s inside the egg. If you’re right, you get ten times.”
Robert clicked his dry tongue, forced into time with the monstrous egg’s ticking. The smoking man coughed after inhaling more cigar. A guard pulled out a seat for Robert. Judgement long-ago erased, he sat. “Egg betting?” He repeated.
Juan replied, “This is real gambling, for real men.”
Robert wasn’t sure about ‘real gambling’, but he liked the idea of being a real man. “What’s the minimum?”
“One hundred thousand.”
Robert’s judgement recovered as he shot from his seat fast enough to knock it over. The egg rocked a bit, with its ticking also thrown awry. A guard grabbed Robert and, despite his struggling, slammed him against the wall. “You do not disturb the egg,” the guard commanded.
“Can I leave?” Robert asked, feeling his drinks working their way back up his throat. The wallpaper was rough against his arm.
Juan didn’t look concerned. “Wait for someone to bet.”
Robert was guided back to his seat, which was helpfully ready again. He sat and grunted. drat guard, if Robert had a better chance, he’d have disturbed him right in the eggs. He vowed to never come to the Free Game Casino again.
“You have a wife, Robert?” Juan asked.
“Girlfriend.” Robert automatically responded.
“I bet she doesn’t understand what it’s like to gamble. I bet she yells at you every time you do, even if you win. I bet she spends the winnings anyway.”
Robert tried to respond, but could only nod. It was all true, but Robert didn’t mention that sometimes the money he gambled was hers. He heard the ticking skip a few beats.
“You love her?” Juan asked.
Every tick of the egg sabotaged Robert’s attempts to think, so instead he spoke, “We’ve been together almost two years. I think she’s expecting me to marry her.”
“Hahaha, do you want to?”
Robert was sure the ticking was now annoying on purpose. Every time it almost fell into a pattern, it changed. If it was torture, Robert could only wonder why him. “She doesn’t love me for my money like a new girl would, that’s a plus.”
Juan snapped his fingers, as though he’d just thought of the perfect idea. “Where do you work?”
“rear end in a top hat boss?”
“I bet when you won, you wondered a bunch of ways to stick it to him. I bet you want to use your money as freedom. I bet it makes you feel powerful.” Juan smiled.
“You reading my mind?” Robert asked, but was having trouble reading his own.
“A lot of guys like you come here. You think the difference between a winner and loser is luck. If you could do any job Robert, what would it be?”
Robert did his best to cover his ears and think, but the ticking had already reached inside of him. Instead he collected together scattered words and said, “Truck driver.”
Juan clapped. “The open road, that freedom you want, no one to lord over you. Yeah, good job. Your biggest dream is being a real man?”
Robert didn’t have time to be insulted. Tick. Tick. Tick. “I am a man.”
“You feel like one?”
“Yeah, just a cog in the machine,” Juan agreed. The cigar man finished one and lit another. The hat wearing man yawned.
The egg rocked. Robert called out, “Everything I have that the egg is full of mechanical bits.”
The rocking sped up. Cracks began to form on the surface of the egg as Robert watched with a nervous lust. Everyone else observed with a neutral expression. The smoke in the room seemed to grow thicker.
The egg hatched.
“You lose, Robert.”
|# ¿ Feb 15, 2016 06:47|
Thanks for the crits!
|# ¿ Feb 16, 2016 18:43|
We're still supposed to write horror, yeah?
|# ¿ Feb 17, 2016 00:29|
In with Get a Mentor
If you’ve got a big goal you’re trying to accomplish this year, find someone that already has what you want and try to learn as much as you can from them. Often we’re too proud to get advice, but this can be the biggest shortcut to getting what you want that goes largely overlooked by goal seekers.
|# ¿ Dec 27, 2016 18:31|
Thunderdome 2017: How I Learned to Start Writing and Love the Crits
|# ¿ Dec 31, 2016 21:24|
Resolution: Get a mentor
I finally undid the lock through my suits’ awkward gloves, unleashing the fleas into the spacious home. I stepped backwards, over a sudden cat, my world then consisting of yowls and head pain. “Dickfuck,” I named the cat. Well trained, Dickfuck ran over and tore into my mask’s proboscis, savagely ruining it like only Dickfuck could. The fleas were busy greedily leaping into his fur.
Poison gas invaded my nostrils, my emergency bug spray leaking. I ripped the offending canister from its lawsuit worthy facial storage, taking a quarter of the mask with it, and tossed it away with all the grace of a head injury. Naturally, it landed in the fireplace. Dickfuck hissed at the explosion.
I picked myself up, then the cat, then my ability to reason and threw all three out the window. Thankfully, the debacle had been on the first floor. Less thankfully, my gloves couldn’t hold onto the cat, earning me a face full of Dickfuck. I wrestled away his claws from my face and stood again. Inside, the fleas were a cascading wave of black dots eager to join the spreading fire. As proof of brain damage, the constant popping noise made me taste butter.
Cravings aside, I decided to abandon the house, a struggling Dickfuck in hand. It was time for Billy.
Billy, ‘Never Bill’, owner of Billy the Bug Bully’s and my “””mentor”””. He greeted me by throwing his beer can at me and asking, “You look like poo poo Schmitt, what’s with the cat? Try to gently caress it?” His laughter was loud and incapable of being described cleverly.
“I s-set the house on fire,” I quickly mumbled.
Billy tugged at his golden, greasy ponytail. “What?”
“The cat set the house on fire,” I said more clearly. Dickfuck hissed.
Billy stretched himself to his full six-foot seven-inch frame, “You set the loving house on fire?”
“Look, i-it’s not my fault, Dickfuck-“
“The gently caress you just call me?” Billy clasped his hand between my shoulder and neck.
“N-no, the cat, listen, I-“
“Oh I’m listening, and really, I’m not upset,” Billy said and, surprising me, released his hold and gently patted my shoulder. “I should have expected it.”
“You’re such an incompetent piece of Schmitt. You’re lucky I gave you this job, who else would hire you for this much money when you actually look better in a bug suit. Really, when are you going to get it through your head that the business comes first? You know what your problem is? You just have no respect for me. You should be copying me, but instead you keep loving up. That’s not how you earn your pay. I’m not upset, but I am taking the cost of your suit, the lost profit for spraying that house, and an extra twenty bucks from your paycheck. Understood?”
“Y-yeah,” was the only thing I could reply. Dickfuck complimented my reluctance with another hiss. Then a louder hiss. Then Dickfuck freed himself from my hands and pounced to capture Billy’s ponytail.
“Get your gay sex cat off me, Schmitt!” Billy shouted.
I stepped forward, only to trip over Billy’s beer can, my elbow driving into Billy’s beer cans. He reacted by slamming his fist into my ribs.
Dickfuck rescued me by biting down on Billy’s ear and pulling hard. If that was the way it was going to go, I didn’t care anymore. To the kneeling Billy, I took the opening to remove my awkward gloves and stuff them in his always open maw.
Dickfuck, finished with his treat, climbed down Billy’s back to maul his exposed asscrack. I slammed my knee into Billy’s chin, and he was out. For some reason, Dickfuck didn’t stop kneading Billy’s rear end.
I checked that Billy was still breathing, and was relieved but disappointed that he was. “Who needs a mentor like him. You should be my mentor instead, Dickfuck.”
|# ¿ Jan 2, 2017 08:00|
Thunderdome 2017teen: Prose and Cons
or my own
Thunderdome 2017: How I Learned to Start Writing and Love the Crits
|# ¿ Jan 2, 2017 19:29|
Hmmm, what if we....
Thunderdome 2017teen: Prose and Cons of Writing A drat Thing
|# ¿ Jan 2, 2017 20:56|
|# ¿ Jan 26, 2021 00:20|
Thunderdome 2017teen: Writing In Agony
|# ¿ Jan 3, 2017 03:20|