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I'm in for this stupid mega-brawl thing. I don't care if it's past the sign up deadline. Also you people aren't even worth the time it would take me to think of an insult, so whatever.
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May 25, 2016 21:04
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| # ¿ Jul 27, 2024 03:27 |
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In for Week 200
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Jun 1, 2016 23:14
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Arivia posted:That's fine, I just don't want to lose to a plagiarized Star Trek scene with some of the nouns replaced again. Looks like I'm not the only one who was bitter about Sitting Here's win for 4 years lol
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Jun 3, 2016 00:35
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Collapse (1293 words, Thursday, Anime genre: Magical Girlfriend) Delete the bad ones, too. Dr. Kloctopussy fucked around with this message at 06:44 on Aug 9, 2016 |
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Jun 6, 2016 07:51
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Hammer Bro. posted:Tipua (1000 words) The big problem with this story is that I have no loving clue what anything means. Like, I can see the individual actions/occurrences, but their significance is a complete mystery. It makes it hard for me to find anything else to crit, honestly.  I'm sad, because I feel like there is a cool world underlying all this, but I can't get a handle on it. It's okay for one thing to be of unclear significance until the end (though it's still not my favorite), but I can't really understand what any of it means even at the end.quote:The Waka drifted to a stop half a league from harbor. Its sails were tattered, its hold depleted, and its crew exsanguinated. No one knew why Tangaroa sent the boats back. was exsanguinated a word you had to use? B/C that means drained of blood, and I have no idea what that means (assuming it's a metaphor). quote:fac·ile
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Jun 7, 2016 08:45
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MEGA BRAWL go away post Dr. Kloctopussy fucked around with this message at 06:44 on Aug 9, 2016 |
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Jun 11, 2016 05:48
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Thranguy posted:Torn by Dr. Klocktopussy Thank you Thranguy and Kaishai!
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Jun 19, 2016 08:04
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I am an investigator. ....INvestigator you might say. Edit: especially if you were J.A.B.C. who made this joke in the very first investigator sign up........ Edit 2: 
Dr. Kloctopussy fucked around with this message at 23:27 on Oct 20, 2016 |
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Oct 18, 2016 01:50
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Some experts assert that there are a number of unspeakable living horrors who are integral to the continuing operations at Voidmart. Your character has reason to believe that these creatures are not being fairly compensated for their labor. Special Promotions 1991 words I think my disguise is finally working. I’m past the cashiers, and Voidmart security is nowhere in sight. I sidle up to the meat counter, cool as a cantaloupe. The clerk, vigorously hacking away at a rack of ribs, meets my eyes, and keeps chopping, not saying a word. “Do you have any Unspeakable Living Horrors?” I ask, with only a small tremor in my voice. I follow him to the end of the counter labeled “Exotic Meats and Treats,” and we peer down into the case. A bowl of eyes stare back at me from between thick piles of flesh. I think I’ve had too much coffee, because it looks like one of them just winked at me. “Gotta ask the manager,” he finally says, and hits a call button. A crack splits the wall behind him, and spreads into a doorway. A middle-aged man lurches through, limbs jerking unnaturally. His eyes are completely black. My stomach knots tighter with every inch he covers. David, his name tag says. I suspect David has seen some kind of Horror. Possibly of the Unspeakable Living kind. “No returns,” he says before I even open my mouth. “Only exchanges for an item of lesser value.” He pushes a styrofoam tray of meat into my hands, and turns away. It’s purple, spongy, and smells of fish, even through the cling wrap. The sell-by-date is yesterday. “Wait,” I call out, but but the doorway is already shrinking behind him. I can’t let him go—he’s the best lead I have. The clerk is trying to wrestle a giant crab leg back into the freezer. I only have a split second to make a decision. I don’t think of myself as a “maverick.” No, Abby Upson is more of a Rules-Exist-For-A-Reason kind of girl. But I’ve been butting my head up against a wall of Voidmart lawyers for weeks, and I’m sick of it. If there are Unspeakable Living Horrors working here, I will find them. And if they aren’t being fairly compensated, you can bet your butter I’ll be recommending a formal agency action. I work for the EEOC, for graciousness sake. We’re a federal agency! You can’t just put us on hold for 340 hours straight and ban us from the premises. Also, my report is due tomorrow and my boss says this is my “last chance not to screw everything up.” So, I make a run for it. * Behind the door huge conveyor belts stretch into the distance. Employees on the closest one are removing old sell-by stickers and putting on new ones. I put the tray David gave me onto the belt. “Get back to work!” a man yells, stomping towards me. “I don’t work here,” I say. Oops. “I mean, not in this department.” “Which one?” He says. His hands are creeping slowly closer to the truncheon hanging from his belt. I’m scraping my skull to think of an answer when I see a cart stacked with about a hundred cardboard Elvises. “Cardboard Cut-Outs.” He grabs me by the arm and drags me through the maze into a dingy back-office hallway that would fit right in at the EEOC. He stops in front of a door that says: Margaret Schultz Lower Sub-Supervisor Cardboard Cut-Outs and High Explosives[/i] He opens the door without knocking and shoves me forward. “One of yours,” he says, and stomps off. Margaret blinks up at me from behind the desk. She is putting a sock on a mannequin foot. “So it won’t get cold,” she says. Then, as if coming out of a dream, her eyes actually focus on me. “Who—?“ “I’m new,” I blurt out. “Abby … Smith. Transferred from Meats.” “Paperwork,” she says, holding out her hand. You’d think, working for the government, I would have thought of that. Nope. “David said he would send it over.” Margaret sighs and types violently into her computer. It lets out a moan that sent shivers down my spine. “Nothing here. Typical Meat Department incompetency." She hands me a giant stack of paper. “These are the departmental waivers. Sign here.” she points to the top sheet. I start to look at them, but she tells me to just sign. It’s not like I actually work here, so I do. “I don’t suppose you’re familiar with the employee handbook?” “Not really…” “God, ever since David went to see the CEO--” she stops, and clamps a hand over her mouth. “What?” “Nothing. I guess since you just transferred I can make an exception—only this once, you understand?” She passes me a tablet. “Employees are responsible for knowing and complying with all Voidmart Policies. You have one day to familiarize yourself with the book. If you need to refer to it again, you can rent it for $20/hour.” She turns back to her computer. Outside her office, I look at the handbook. There doesn’t appear to be a search function, so I flip through the index until I reach the U’s. I have to flip several hundred pages. There it is: Unspeakable Living Horrors. No page number, just See: Beetles. I flip back to Beetles. See: Unspeakable Living Horrors. Very helpful. “Tired of beetles swarming your ceiling?" Says a sweet, grandfatherly voice over the intercom. "Try Voidmart’s patent-pending Buggy On Down Spray, available in the Pest Management Department!” I look at the ceiling. Beetles are streaming across it, leading down the hallway and around a corner. I follow them until they disappear between the cracks of a locked door. * A small, wrinkled man glides up to the door, leaving a trail of wet slime on the floor behind him. “Managers only,” he says. “Oh, I’m Abigail Smith, the new Lower Sub-Supervisor of Cardboard Cutouts,” I say. “Then where’s your keycard?” “Margaret said they were having trouble with the computers.” “Typical Cardboard Cut-Outs forgetfulness,” he replies “Not a brain in the department. Present company excluded, I hope. Anyway, you’ll want that key card so you can get your management discount in the cafeteria. As a Lower Sub-Supervisor of course, you only get .2 percent, but once you make it to Junior Upper Sub-Lead-Manager like me, you’ll get .8! Of course, that means going through…” I space out while he lists about a thousand different management positions. A tentacle creeps out from under his trench coat. Is today Halloween? “I even heard that Vice Presidents get a full 3 percent!” he concludes with a wistful sigh. Just then, Margaret turns the corner. Uh-oh, this could be bad. But she doesn’t even look at me. She’s pale as paper and clutching a pink-bordered envelope to her chest. “A summons from the CEO,” the small man whispers, eyes locked on the pink-rimmed note. He is trembling. “Wow, It’s really great how the CEO takes such a personal interest in the employees here!” I say. He shakes harder. He must be upset that he hasn’t gotten to meet the CEO himself. “Don’t worry,” I assure him, “I’m sure it will be your turn soon.” He gulps, the wrinkles on his neck flexing, whirls around, and punches the keycode into the door. * He’s gone when I step through behind him. I’m in a long hallway, which leads to more hallways. Every twenty feet is an intersection. I turn right. It looks exactly the same. Long, straight, and with dozens of hallways splitting off. No doors. I turn back. At least I know this hallway has the door at the end of it. Wait, did I turn left or right? I look both ways, but the tunnel appears to go on forever. Very strange, but I’m sure I can find my way back when I need to, after all, it’s a straight line. So where are the beetles? Suddenly the hallway ends at a huge wooden door bound with iron spikes, like something out of a fantasy movie. It’s even guarded by two men in full armor carrying spears! Or maybe pikes. Who can even tell the difference between all that stuff. “Upper Management Only,” says the man on the right. Dang, what was that last guy’s title? Upper Sub-Junior something? I can’t remember. Besides, that 3% discount at the cafeteria sounds good. “I’m the new Vice President of Pest Management” I say. “I assume you have the usual protections?” Asks the man on the right. Nope, but I don’t want to blow my cover in front of two dudes with halberds or whatever they are, so I say sure and they open the door. * I’m in a damp, dark cave. Voidmart must be using it to provide natural cooling. Very cool to see green building principles used at somewhere as huge as Voidmart! I follow some clicking noises--beetles click, right?--to a small subcavern. I peek in, and see a giant spider, at least fifty feet tall. “Excuse me,” I ask, “Is this where I can find the beetles?” The spider hisses at me, it’s eight eyes rolling. “No one bothers to learn the differences between arachnids and beetles anymore.” It rears up on it’s back legs, revealing a sphincter dribbling white paste. “Perhaps we should teach you.” Hundreds more eyes light up behind it, and chitinous rustling fills the air. “Oh no,” I say, “I wouldn’t want to take up your valuable time. If you could just point me towards the beetles, I’d be much obliged.” The spider drops its front legs, wobbles a bit, then finally stutters “Next left, then fifth door on the right, number 84,440B.” I thank it for it’s kind assistance and move on. The caverns are softly lit by bioluminescent plants and the sound of dripping water echoes soothingly from the walls. It’s quite nice, actually. Thanks to the spider’s directions, I find number 84,440B easily. Inside are the beetles. “Excuse me,” I say, raising my voice to be heard over the steady hum. The beetles draw together and form themselves into a roughly humanoid face. I think they could be described as an Unspeakable Living Horror, but only if one were very rude. It would probably not be very polite to mention Pest Control, either. “I’m Abigail Smith, the new Director of Diversity,” I begin. When the swarm of beetles nods in what I assume is acceptance, I continue, “I’m doing a survey to ensure that all of our employees are content with their current situations and level of compensation.” I sound pretty professional, I think. The swarm’s vague impression of eyes sweep down to the floor beneath it, where a bare human skeleton lays. It hums in a way that sounds mostly positive. The skeleton stands up and walks to a large pile of rubber suits at the edge of the cavern. It puts one on, and looks more-or-less like a normal person, albeit a bit jerky on its feet. It pulls on a Voidmart uniform and throws itself onto a cart already piled high with similar employees. Of course, the dead don’t require any compensation. A very efficient arrangement, you must admit. “Well then, thank you very much for your cooperation!” I say, and wave goodbye to the beetles. All-in-all, I think this has been a very successful investigation. I type out an email to my supervisor at the EEOC: No evidence of anything unusual or illegal at Voidmart. * In a lickety-split I’m back into an actually nice part of the corporate offices. A door swings open as I walk by, and I turn to read the nameplate: Abigail Smith Director of Diversity My own office! I sit down at the desk and check my email. There’s a note from the CEO! Congratulations on your promotion! Let’s meet soon  : I know I’m going to just love working at Voidmart!
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Oct 24, 2016 09:56
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In
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Oct 26, 2016 21:29
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Junk 239 words I’m in front of the kitchen sink, pumping, and watching tiny people and their dogs scramble across Bernal Heights through the window, when the pigeons come back. One turns a slow, orange eye on me, and my fist jerks closed, squeezing the pump handle so hard my breast is sucked against the clear plastic cup, and a spurt of milk hits the side of the bottle with a splash. I’m sorry, I tell it. It looks away. * Jonathan had been yelling at me to “get that loving junk off the porch,” for days. He was sick of “seeing Craig’s loving junk every time I walk in the front door” and if it was here when he got home, he wouldn’t be walking through that door ever again. I put on some old sweats and gloves and got to work. Something like half a rusted out motorcycle was there, in pieces. I was off-balance in my strange body. I felt the tire bumping against my newly rounded belly as I tried to ease it down the stairs. I hit a step funny, and I had to let go. At the bottom, I saw the nest, the egg, already broken. Cradled in the shattered white shell was an unmoving, wet lump of feathers. When Jonathan got home I was still crying. “They’re pests anyway,” he said. * I unscrew the bottle and pour the useless milk down the drain. I’m sorry.
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Oct 31, 2016 07:59
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Oct 31, 2016 09:16
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