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  • Locked thread
Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


It's about time I'm back in this poo poo and write some more eroti- stories.

Toilets are no longer death traps

Mercedes fucked around with this message at Jan 5, 2016 around 03:18

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Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Sitting Here posted:

Okay. You know what. I've clearly got a lot of septic fiction to work out of my system, but it would still smell like roses next to anything this gaggle of baby-fisted jokers could possibly inflict on the world.

Who is bold enough to judge the first melee of 2016?

Alright you goat fuckers. It's time to write some terrible story for me to judge.

BROMANCE



You know how it is. Platonic love between two dudes. They're inseparable - until they're not. You guys have TWO weeks and 2,000 words to write about the fall-out between two people who once would have been considered one person. You have a poo poo ton of words and I swear to GAWD if you waste them with piffle wiffle I will make sebmojo end you.

You want in on this, I better see some motherfucking

2,000 words
Due: Jan 18 23:00 EST

Bros:
Sitting Here
Broenheim
Schneider Heim
Entenzahn
Klapman
Fuschia tude

Mercedes fucked around with this message at Jan 9, 2016 around 19:08

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Bromancers

I plan on judging this as fair as possible but for me to avoid the thread for a week is too much. So when you're finished with your story, please hand the story to Kaishai, our resident AI, and she'll post it for you.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


sebmojo posted:

I'll be judging this with Merc. Piffle paffle will be extirpated with the ruthlessness of a Word-Mengele.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7hjdC8-jbw

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Jeza posted:

In with “Fix walkable area in subway so Dropsy can't walk beyond the darkness.”

Well call me a racial slur and hand me a noose, never thought I'd see this magnificent bastard again.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


MERCBRAWL 2016
BROMANCE




Alright you fuckwits. This was a good brawl - mostly. Everyone brought their A game *cough* and wrote entertaining poo poo - mostly.
ENOUGH BULLSHIT, HERE'S THE WINNER!!!!

THE UNFORGETTABLE PRICK

This was entertaining to read, had "nyaw" moments between the bruv's and the bruv's girls, legit tense moments when the bro's girl is trying to get his bro out of prison. Even though it had it's problems, it was the most robust out of all the stories. sebmojo and I both think Entenzahn wrote this one, but it could also be Broenheim.

Now for the rest - The Forgotten Lakeside was a real close contender for the win, it was a really nice read; something I could definitely see in a literary magazine. It just had two major issues that held it back. The first is that we felt the story didn't really have characters, it was just a series of events. It was the lack of dialogue I felt. Second is that the MC was passive. The way the story was presented, it was like stuff just happened to him. Again, mainly the fault of a lack of dialogue. Anyways, besides my gripe, I really enjoyed this one. Obviously, Sitting Here wrote this.

From the Grave could have been awesome if it wasn't for the forced motivations of the bros. The one bro's first idea is to attack the city of his other bro? They don't even parlay to see what the gently caress or why the gently caress any of this is happening. Not very brolike. This one had a ton of potential, but even with almost 2000 words, it felt rushed. I thiiiink Broenheim wrote this, if he didn't write The Unforgettable Prick.

Something's Waiting For Us - Goddamit. Piffle wiffle. Hiding information from your readers isn't cool and mysterious. It's annoying as poo poo. I didn't care about your bros because you never showed them being bros. Oh sure, you hinted at and told me, but that's weak poo poo. Also, you forgot your plot. I feel Klapman wrote this one.

Problems etc - Entertaining, kinda. A few jokes and funny situations kept me gritting my teeth to force myself into reading, but goddammit, there is absolutely no sense that I got your two bros were once inseparable bros. At most, they're just rivals. Bros don't knock each other down, they build each other up. Also ease up on the fantasy trope cliches, jackass. I have a feeling Shnieder Heim wrote this one.

And finally Fuschia. Dear, poor, "I can't follow instructions" Fuschia. Your story was clunky and it bored the hell out of me. I had to grit my teeth and force myself to read your story. Next time you want to open your story with your main character waking up, eat your keyboard instead. Nothing happens for the first half of the story it felt like. And by the time something DID happen, I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to move on with my life.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


I'm so gonna regret this. In.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


In. Flash rule.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Harbinger
Words 405


---Final transmission between National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) and International Space Station (ISS) 13:22 4/2/2026---

“HQ to ISS, I repeat, can anyone hear me? Please respond.”

[A whistling wind is heard over Paul Simmens’ transmission] “NASA, we have a problem.”

“Thank God someone’s alive! Paul, is that you? What happened up there? We’ve had no feedback was from the ISS for over an hour.”

“The ISS is gone.”

“Can you give us a status report? What’s going on up there?”

[Ten seconds of dead air] “I was out on a space walk when…”

“Where are you now? Are you inside the station? Can you access the communications equipment-”

“I’m outside. I’m floating unattached.”

[Operator is silent]

“There’s a tear in my suit. My, uh, O2 isn’t gonna last for much longer.”

“Have you followed protocol-”

“I’m holding the end of my tether. The ISS is gone and I’ve used most of my fuel to stop myself from entering the atmosphere. There’s nothing else for me to do but wait.”

“When…,” [Five seconds of silence] “when you say the ISS is gone...”

[Paul Simmens takes a raspy breath] “It’s destroyed. I saw everything happen, but I don’t exactly know what I saw.”

“Just… do your best, Paul.”

“We’re not alone. I saw… a ship literally blink into existence and immediately after that, the ISS was shredded by an invisible force. I was clipped by some debris. By the time I stabilized myself, the ship was gone and the ISS is in pieces.”

[Operator is silent]

“Listen, you’re Mike Winchester, right? My time is just about up, so I need to ask you a favor.”

“Yea, Paul, anything.”

“Marie Sinclair, she’s the receptionist with the black hair. She’s a good friend of mine who happens to be terribly shy. She really likes you but freezes up whenever she tries to talk to you. Ask her on a date, would you?”

“Well that explains a lot. Sure, I can do that. Anything else I can do for you? Send a message to your family?”

“Something like that. I’ve probably seen too many action movies, but if there’s an alien invasion and we beat those sons of bitches, let them know I’ll be up here waiting to watch them run away with their tails between their legs.”

“Yes sir.”

“I’m gonna watch the sun set one last time. Goodbye HQ. Paul Simmens, out.”

---End transmission---

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.




Interprompt!


Lizards.

100 words.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


crabrock posted:

stop pandering

Lizards are delicious a poem

*munch munch munch*
They go good with some barbecue sauce
Maybe even mustard

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


I probably shouldn't sign up because I have my board exams coming up, but loving hell do I love magical realism.

In

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


I'm in

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


BATTLE OF THE HASHBROWN
900 words
Flashrule: Anime Shounen
Flashrule: Super awesome words


“You bitch! How could you do this to me,” Chip yelled incoherently, body fluids flying out from his nose, eyes and mouth. “I slave away at the factory to provide for you and this is how you repay me,” Is what he wanted to say, but it came out as a blubbering rant.

His treacherous potato wife glanced up at him with all her guilty eyes as she miserably laid in bed juxtaposed to a zaftig pile of tater tots. In a rousing defense, she kept quiet.

Chip got his poo poo together and wiped his nose on his shirt, ruining the fabric with his copious mucosa. “I tried to meet your needs, baby, but it’s hard!”

His wife was having none of his lip and countered with a profound silence.

Chip’s eyebrows shot up his forehead in a comical fashion. “What do you mean, ‘You did this for us’? The two of you were waiting for me to get home to surprise me?”

His wife and her friend were frozen in a tableau of succulence, inviting Chip to join them in polyamorous bliss. All he needed to do was accept their starchy embrace.

“You’ll never have my wife!” he bellowed, lunging across the bed. He snatched the pile of tater tots in his hand and crushed them until they squeezed between his sausage fingers. He snapped his arm outward and the pile of mush that once was a sexy pile of tater tots slapped audibly against the bedroom wall. “As for you,” Chip growled, turning his gaze to his wife, “you’re going to get what coming to you.”

In a deliberate move, Chip squirted Heinz 57 on his wife in a disgustingly sexualized manner. He fell upon her, teeth cutting past her skin and into the starchy insides. Her lifeless eyes stared outward as her husband tore chunks out of her.

Chip ate his wife loudly, liberally applying the condiment before each bite savoring the fifty-seven different ingredients. It wasn’t long until he was curled up on the bed hugging himself tightly. He began to bawl. “I didn’t even give you a name!” he wailed.

“I don’t need a motherfucking name.”

Chip sat up and turned toward the voice. He shielded his eyes from the floating and glowing potato.

“You have devoured me for the final time. It’s time for you to meet your maker.” The potato streaked across the room and collided with Chip, sending him skittering across the bed and tumbling over the edge in a flurry of blankets and limbs.

The potato pulled Chip up by the shirt and slapped him across the face. “Are you ashamed?!” she vibrated in the precise pattern to form those words without the use of vocal cords.

“Never!” Chip headbutted the potato and it shot across the room to impale itself against a wall. “You’re delicious and I love eating you with with soup and meat with a little bit of salt and pepper to taste! Holy gently caress, I’m hungry again!”

The potato exploded from the wall and levitated in front of Chip. “You mustn’t be allowed to live to devour my kind anymore!” Electricity arced from the potato as it gathered it’s strength. “I, Salty Yam, will end you!”

Chip unsheathed a fork and knife and faced his supernatural foe. “I thought you didn’t need a name,” he quipped.

Salty Yam bobbed in the air, its features belying nothing. “You’re facing death by potato and my lying about having a name is what you’re taking from this?”

“I live on the internet,” he said, expertly flourishing his dinnerware and settling into an anime inspired fighting stance with no actual basis in real world martial arts. “Weird poo poo is my middle name.”

“DIE!” The potato erupted forward, delivering deadly blows in the span of one blink.

Chip flailed his arms in a convincingly uncoordinated manner, but each attack was parried accompanied by a sound similar to machine gun fire. The window in his room succumbed to the sudden change in air pressure and exploded out, showering the grass with glittering shrapnel.

The two combatants were a blur as they defied physics in their struggle for dominance. Each death dealing blow was expertly parried with a thunderous clap. Each riposte turned aside with a counterattack of their own. Their dance of death was a maelstrom of destruction and the house was quickly crumbling around them.

After a vicious collision, the earth opened up and swallowed the house in its gaping maw. Chip had multiple open wounds and spreading bruises along his soft doughy body while Salty Yam was peeled in a couple of places.

“It’s not too late to run away,” said Chip. He grinned. “You’re looking… a little fried.”

Salty Yam shrieked and closed the distance between them breaking the speed of sound and Chip’s dick.

Salty Yam hovered behind Chip covered in his blood and reproduction system. Chip quivered. His blond afro returned to it’s natural black and greasy state he slowly lost the ability to levitate.

Chip coughed blood and laughed weakly. “It seems like… I’ve been foiled.” He passed out due to blood loss and fell into the darkness of the earth.

Salty Yam rested a pair of sunglasses on her body and turned to look at the setting sun. “It’s about time someone lay Chip to rest.”

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Black Griffon posted:

Oh who cares, I'm sure we'll all survive this too. And besides I'm an OG from the old potato days and I'll break a rule or two if I feel like it.

Edit: loving brawl me, kid.

What happened with this? Looking for your balls/tits?

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


magnificent7 posted:

To make up for no sub this week, I'm happy to do four crits if anybody's up for it.

Pick one at random!

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Sitting Here posted:

please don't use this thread to troll for followers on your various social media accounts

edit:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5622075/1/Of-Blood-Queens

lol

You should write about this.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Mercedes you slutty piece of poo poo writing filth. Fucker. Always falling back on your Black Jesus weaksauce cause you ain't nothing but hoes and tricks, you unfunny cock smuggler.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


This is gonna be a great weak for getting disappointed!

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


I'm doing it. In. Electronic. Africa.

Mercedes fucked around with this message at Sep 7, 2016 around 05:36

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


I'm gonna be late with my story. I'm working with a stinkyhole of a nurse who goes apeshit if I'm in my phone or doing anything non work related

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.



“Liberian Police Used Deadly Force on Peaceful Protest, Acquitted”

1973 words



The world pulsed into existence with a deep reverberating thrum. My companion, a raggedly dressed old man, gazed wide-eyed and mouth agape as people and cars digitized all around. When the sounds of the city took us, I still managed to hear him whisper, “Oh my God.”


“Zokaya,” I said gently, placing a hand on his filthy shoulder. He flinched away from me, staring at my hand in wonderment. I calmly placed my hand back to my side. “You asked me what the catch was. I felt it unfair to tell you until I showed you first hand what you are getting in return.


“This is Monrovia. The virtual Monrovia. There is one difference between this world and the real world.” I pushed disdain into that word. “The real world doesn’t care about you. It’s happy to crush you under its heel and discard you to the dirty alleys. No one cares that for forty years you had to fight for the privilege of eating garbage and sleeping on cardboard.” I had his rapt attention.


This world,” I punctuated the statement by jabbing my finger toward the ground, “this is your world, Zokaya. It is yours to shape, yours to control and if you deem fit, yours to destroy.” I clasped Zokaya on the shoulder again, and this time he didn’t pull away from my touch. “If you can imagine it, it can happen here.”


He looked into my eyes briefly then turned to admire the world. “What do you want?”


“You’ll live here in paradise for one hundred years. You won’t get sick. You won’t grow old.” I squeezed his shoulder. “In return, you can’t go back.”


The breath caught in Zokaya’s throat. I removed my hand from his shoulder and left him to his thoughts.


“How do I know you’re telling the truth,” he paused, turning to face me, “about all this?”


I smiled. Got him. “Think about what you want, with the intent of having it right now.”


A few moments passed until a long black limousine pulled up beside us and a waiter wearing a black suit with white gloves stepped out holding a silver domed tray. Zokaya looked to me briefly, as if he were asking for permission. He turned his gaze back to the tray and slowly, almost reverently, he pulled the lid up and away.


I saw him blink rapidly; fighting off tears as he looked at a porterhouse steak garnished with asparagus and roasted brussel sprouts. “I’ll do it,” he said, wiping his eye with the back of his hand.


“I’m glad to hear it,” I said, curtly inclining my head toward him. He wasn’t even paying attention to me anymore. He had his eyes closed as he savored what was probably the first steak he’s had in decades.


I took a step back and the world shot away from me in streaks of light. In my periphery, ‘00:00:12’ flashed, informing me how long I was asleep in the real world. Vertigo assaulted my senses as gravity’s influence whipped me around like a dog shaking a chew toy. The sensation abruptly ended, my eyes flew open and with great urgency I turned and violently retched over the side of my chair.


“Oh you bastard!” Tohya cursed in surprise. He dropped the thick cord connecting me to a large computer. “I didn’t even get a chance to piss, mate.”


I spat bile from my mouth and waved him off. “I’m a natural, what can I say?” I spat again, trying to rid my mouth of the acidic aftertaste. “Once he finishes uploading, start prep for him and the other bodies, ya? I need to get myself cleaned up.”


“Yea, I figured we’d have to do this soon. The election is in what?” Tohya turned, leaned back and squinted to look at the swimsuit edition calendar on the wall. “Two days, mate. You think seven bodies will be enough?”


I groaned as I pushed myself out of my chair. “I wish we had more time and more bodies, but we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got. Besides, we’re going in like a surgeon’s knife, not a drunk man’s cock.”


Tohya burst into laughter. “Jeez, mate, go get cleaned up.” He reached behind me and tapped on the thick cable connected to the base of my skull. There was an audible click and he gently pulled on it. I felt a slight hum in my head and briefly my senses flared; I smelled fresh chewing tobacco, I saw colors I had no name for, mercifully I tasted bubblegum instead of vomit, my skin pricked and then just as sudden as the onset, I was back to normal. Tohya placed the cable on the table and I saw a shimmer of color as the microscopic filaments played with the light while it slid back into the cord.


“We’re going to make history,” I said as much for my benefit as his. “Liberia will have a chance for a free election and it will be because of us.”


“And all it’ll cost are the lives of a few bad apples.”


I nodded, looking at the seven homeless people who unknowingly signed up to spearhead the liberation of Liberia.


~


I opened my eyes and found I was looking into my face. “Hey beautiful,” I said in a voice that was not mine.


“Hey yourself,” my original replied. “Hold still while I make sure the conditioning took.”


With a button press, my body went numb. I watched him - myself study the graphics as my body attempted to react without my input. “For my sanity, what do I call you? And don’t say father or I will punch you in the mouth.”


He chuckled, his teeth reflecting the light from the holographic monitor. “I think we should use code names…” he mused.


“So Jackal it is.”


Jackal shivered visibly. “That was unexpectedly creepy. You voicing my thoughts like that. No wonder copying your consciousness to multiple bodies is illegal.”


“The world can’t handle this much sexy.”


Jackal gave me a sideway glance. “You haven’t seen yourself in a mirror lately.”


I inspected my teeth with my tongue and found many of them missing.


“Zokaya,” we both said simultaneously.


With a flourish, Jackal tapped a button and I felt the control come back to my limbs. “All the neural connections are are firing as expected. Try out a couple of moves to see if you’re calibrated, will you?”


“Sure thing,” I said. As I stood up, I felt a natural urge to move like a ninja ballerina. I was fluid and relaxed, yet I could tell there was great capacity to do serious harm. With machine precision, my body went into lightning fast Krav Maga drills. I had no actual experience with the martial art, but the nanomachines coating my neurons and strengthening my muscles were driving this bus and I was just a giddy passenger.


There was a low whistle from behind. “Money well spent, mate. Ain’t no one gonna expect an old dude to move like that.”


I turned to face Tohya. “You got skills.”


“Shut it, you suck up.” He smirked. “You and three others are going to hit police stations. We got the good and bad cops all categorized so just let the biosensor do its thing first so you know who to grease. Don’t kill the good cops. You’re more robot than man at this point and you have plenty of options when it comes to nonlethal neutralization.


“Carve out the cancer and be thorough. We only have one shot at this, mostly because we’re broke now.” Tohya pointed at me with two fingers, the cigarette held between them. “I also have a surprise for you when this is over because ‘ethics’ and all that.”


I grinned, my gap filled mouth for all to see. “I do like surprises.”


~


As I walked into the Liberia National Police station, my logical mind told me I should have felt nervous, but this body’s conditioning kept me at an unnatural calmness. I clinically scanned for my targets, made easy by the red halo surrounding them. Even easier because I could see the shapes of their bodies through the walls.


Time decelerated as my brain overclocked my ability to process information. Four marks in the room. I slid right up against a walking officer and before he could react to my sudden movement, I had displaced his center of gravity with my own, drove an elbow to his temple and drew his pistol. Four shots that sounded like one continuous explosion of sound found each of their marks. Spurts of blood blew back from each head, spraying the unfortunate people behind them with bits of bone, blood and brain matter.


Time snapped back to normal and I charged through the shocked mass of armed officers. As I reached the stairs, the police finally came to their senses and the emergency alarms wailed overhead. To my left was a red outline behind a closed door. I snapped two quick shots, one made a hole in the door and the second made a hole in his head. I dropped the pistol’s magazine into my waiting hand and then threw it to the stairwell where I came from. I forcibly manipulated the air among the throng and the word ‘grenade’ was heard from their midst.


Not waiting to see their reaction, I rounded the corner and exploded through a set of double doors into a room of two targets and far too many innocents. I threw the empty pistol at the closest officer, overclocked my brain and danced through the sea of clutching hands and swinging fists. A wrist slid into view. I snatched it and up-ended its owner over my shoulder. He flew over me, I reached up and snatched the pistol right from his holster and got off one shot, threading the needle through multiple moving bodies. One target went down in a spray of blood, clutching at his throat.


One more left and he was running away. I went to turn the gun on him, but someone was already moving to knock my arm upward. My skin pricked with power as electricity coursed under my skin. I felt my body grow weak as a quick burst lightning arced through the bodies, dropping a large number of people to the ground. I chased after the fleeing officer and right before I made it out of the door, a bullet struck me in the shoulder and I spun. As I fell, I trained the iron sights on the running man through the wall, prayed the the walls were thin enough, and emptied the gun with unerring accuracy.


The officer’s legs turned to jelly and he face planted.


Not long after I hit the floor, I felt the searing pain of bullets perforating my body.


~


The world pulsed into existence with a deep reverberating thrum. The city of Monrovia was gone, replaced with stone houses, and a castle in the distance. Standing in front of me a young and muscular Zokaya with a mouth full of pearly white teeth and a long sword balanced over his shoulders.


I noticed a man with long pointed ears walk past.


“I was told to expect a visitor, but I didn’t think it would take years,” Zokaya said, taking my hand in a firm shake. “Thank you for this. Really.”


“You’re welcome…,” I trailed off, jutting a thumb back at the elf.


Zokaya smirked. “I played a ton of Dungeons and Dragons 27th edition back when I was a kid.” He hefted the sword off his shoulders and tossed it to me. I caught it and staggered under its weight. “Come on, we got a gorgon to slay.”

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


You thought I was gonna be late, did you?

Well then gently caress you! *violently grabs testicles* Skin of my teeth, motherfuckers!

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


fpgp

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Sitting Here posted:

yeah alright, I guess the concussive trauma I gave you last time probably made you forget how hard i routinely own you

for whenever the brawl prompt goes up

Whenever the second failure of a parent spawn toxxes up, this is what you two will be writing about.

Do I love you?

You have until October 1st, 2359 EST, my marriage anniversary, to write a story of an immortal coming to terms with their love for a mortal soul. Your writing styles do not make me vomit, so you'll have a maximum of 3,000 words. I swear to God if you let me down, I shall be very cross with the two of you.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.



gently caress you, I'll brawl you, you piece of poo poo

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


What the poo poo?! I thought I was brawling this cock smuggler?

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

Week CCVXII: SOCIAL JUSTICE WARRIORS, ATTACK!



It’s been a quiet, maudlin few weeks in the ‘dome - somber stories about the frailty of human life, and a creeping sort of existential dread. That’s all well and good, but it’s time for a change of pace; your story this week must be METAL AS gently caress. That’s not to say it can’t confront grand themes of the human experience, but it should endeavour to do so with (for example) as many mecha-vikings, dragons, babes (or hunks), wizards, battleaxes and improbable explosions as possible.

But that’s too easy, so we’re gonna mix it up. None of your characters may be straight, white men, and your story must pass the Bechdel Test.


There are no genre restrictions on this week, so long as the judges get a palpable “gently caress YEAH” rush while reading: space babes wielding laser blasters to fight off mecha-pirates? Awesome. A group of suburban teenagers accidentally bring about the apocalypse by rocking too hard? Deathgasmic. If you’re still lost, the judges be posting a series of album covers for inspiration during the week. You may use them as you see fit.

Nb: if your story comes off like a Saturday Morning Special about TOLERANCE, you will have failed the Viking Gods and will receive an automatic DM. On the flipside, no weird porny stories about girls kissing each other while riding dragons or whatever - sexuality is not forbidden, but be smart about it because if you fail, you will fail hard.

No fanfic. Poetry is acceptable, but must be EPIC.

Signups: 11:59pm Friday PST
Submissions: 11:59pm Sunday PST

There is no word limit but I'll stop reading when I get bored.

LEADERS OF THE GRAVEN HOST
Glorious Leader Muffin, Lord of Homosex
Sittinghere, Blood Pontifex of the Seven Steps

WARRIORS
SkaAndScreenplays
ghost crow
Thranguy
sebmojo
Daeres
The Cut of Your Jib


gently caress!!!! I'm stuck doing some crap brawl

Let me Judge!!

Mercedes fucked around with this message at Sep 27, 2016 around 21:36

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Enten, I need an extension on my story. A few days would do it.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Sitting Here posted:

You currently have until the 3rd. I need a real good reason to give you longer than that.

Oh, pfft, I thought I had until the first. Nevermind, carry on

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


llamaguccii posted:

*** Submission for LOSERBRAWL ***

Take What I Have, You Gluttons

Word Count: 450

There isn’t a single thing he hasn’t already written worth submitting. He stretches. His fingers pull one another taut as he extends his wrists up over his head. He knows it’s bullshit, but it’s a consistent lie. It’s a lie that he can swallow down with the whiskey. Jameson. He mulls over if the name would work for the rugged character he’s been contemplating. He decides it can’t. Or more, it could, but he simply can’t write the character. And he can’t give a bullshit character a bullshit name any more than he can write a drat story. He used to be able to write a story, but that was when he had something to say that mattered. Or at least was interesting. Or revolting. Hell, anything that deserved more than a quick skim.

He’d never had the capacity to write anything worth remembering, but people had read him at the airport, maybe, on a long flight when they’d ran out of peanuts. Or in the shitter, at least, while they waited for a sympathetic roommate to replenish the toilet paper from the hall supply closet.

He writes the date on the top of the page like this is a loving journal entry, and he’s a fourteen-year-old girl, and somehow spilling out his emotions on the page is going to amount to something.

October 3rd

Today is a lovely day. I hate life.


He laughs, takes another drink. He doesn’t hate life. But he hates the day he optimistically joined their ranks of writers. The day he decided to give more of a poo poo about the words than the people that read them. The day he split his soul between the devil of diction and the god of syntax, and only got a handful of lukewarm critiques in return. It wasn’t a lovely life. It was a lovely occupation.

He changes his entry.

Every day is lovely because I hate writing.

He lights a joint. It was more accurate, but still not completely true. He didn’t depend on writing for his livelihood, yet he couldn’t seem to survive without it. He was an addict, lusting for a fix even when he knew what the brutal end result would be. Writing was his dirty little call girl. His subconscious routinely slipped her a key when all his mind really wanted was some loving peace and quiet.

He inhales, erases the entry. The blank page and the viewers beyond mock him. A crossfaded passion of contempt and unrequited respect creeps into his fingers as he strikes the keys, annihilating the page.

gently caress the readers, and gently caress you, too.

He hits submit and doesn’t feel the need to gratify them again until Sunday.
This is loving METAL

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Entemerc Brawl

Hjalmar the Eternal, God-Emperor of the Alpha Prime Centuri


Hjalmar had not realized until this very moment how annoying it was to have; ballpark figure, 10 million volts of electricity paralyzing every muscle in his body.  It would be nice if these lack-witted rebels eased up on the voltage so he could at least control his diaphragm or even his bladder.  The not breathing bit was quite a nuisance, but soiling oneself really does a number on one’s dignity.

He wondered what their plan was this time.  An assassination can only be attempted a certain number of times before one goes from determined to mulish.  The question itched in his mind until one of their backwater spaceships bounced horizontally into view.  Hjalmar selflessly ruled this world with an iron fist for a couple of centuries and these twats couldn’t give him a more dignified transportation method than dragging him down the street by the ankles?

Upon reaching the spaceship, Hjalmar heard the pneumatic hiss of doors opening and felt the chill of the air envelop him like a lovely blanket.  The world suddenly lurched and he found himself airborne.  The elation of weightlessness abruptly ended with a face full of floor.

The doors closed again and Hjalmar groaned.  He stopped at the realization that the rebels were no longer shoving a thunderstorm’s worth of electricity in his rear end.  A facsimile of a smile split his face and his teeth; already slightly too long and needle-like, lengthened and sharpened as he gathered power.  Liquid smoke billowed upward from his eyes and he turned to eviscerate his enemies.  It was at this time, much to the displeasure of Hjalmar, a deluge of liquid nitrogen exploded into the cramped space.

-A tiny interlude-

Hjalmar’s brother, Bjorn, smirked as he asked, “You allowed them to get the jump on you?”

Hjalmar shrugged indifferently.  “I was bored.  They’ve tried to overthrow me so many times and failed spectacularly.  I merely gave them an opportunity.”

“And then they shot you through space for a really long time.  We thought you were actually dead,” Bjorn said, his smirk gone.

“How thoughtful of you,”  Hjalmar said. “This is what happened next.”

-The story continues-

The sudden heat was like running face first into a tegolapti’s webbed taint.  Hjalmar looked back unhappily at his prison for who knows how long.  At least it was air conditioned.

His ears pricked up when he heard a voice nearby.    “Let’s see what I’m dealing with this time,” he grumbled to himself as he drudged in that direction.  It didn’t take that long to reach the origin of the voice.  To be fair, any length of time compared to his impromptu vacation among the stars would seem miniscule.  He balked when he recognized the language.  “Humans.  Of all the places I end up, I’m stranded in the anus of the galaxy.”

There was only one human; a squat stubby creature with questionable balance making its way up the hill in his direction.  It stopped and opened its mouth in wonder.  “What a strange koala bear!”  Hjalmar noticed it was missing many of its teeth.

Hjalmar cleared his throat and the sudden human mannerism bought the human’s rapt attention. “Hello human.  I am Hjalmar the Eternal, God-Emperor of the Alpha Prime Centuri.  I must speak to your superiors.”

The human’s eyes lit up at the prospect of a new best friend.  “Oh yes, of course,” she was breathless with excitement, “I’m Poppy, would you like some tea?”

Finally, some proper hospitality.  Hjalmar couldn’t recall the last time a world on the cusp of being conquered acted so cordially toward him.  He nodded agreeably and followed the humans.

Hjalmar was impressed by the size of the human’s dwelling.  He had to crane his neck just to see the top of the door.  With such large egos, it’s going to be difficult to make these humans understand they need me as their leader, he thought to himself.  He followed Poppy through the house, eyes wide as he studied their assortment of large items that should be too unwieldy to comfortably use.  With his superior intellect, could he have underestimated humans?

He entered a large room with a grand table and what looked like Poppy’s subjects waiting quietly in their seats.  To easily demand such respect and fear that these servants dare not even move a muscle unless commanded made Hjalmar take notice.  Perhaps humans had learned to master the art of magic or psionicism.  He nodded internally.  A worthy adversary.

“You can sit next to Mr. Bunny,” Poppy said, gesturing toward an empty seat.  Once Hjalmar took his seat, she placed a cup and saucer in front of him and poured what logic dictated to be an invisible liquid.

“When may I speak with your leader?”  Hjalmar asked timidly.  This certainly was a first.

“Oh, Papa?”  There was something in her eyes that Hjalmar couldn’t decipher at that moment.  “Papa said he had something he needed to do and that he would be right back.”  She lifted the cup and saluted to him.  “Cheers!” she said, the something in her eye was gone.  Later, Hjalmar would find out, it was dread.

-A short interlude-

“Are you going to cry?”  Hjalmar’s brother, Bjorn asked with raised suspicion.

“Sorry,” Hjalmar’s apologized, “I was just remembering the good times I had with the human.”

“Yes, there is a warmth to your tone when you speak of her,” Bjorn said, frowning.  “Is she the reason why you decided not to enslave Earth?”

Hjalmar shrugged.  “It’s difficult to explain, brother.  It was a mixture of my ignorance about the human species, my overactive imagination and her eventual dependence on me that lead me to becoming attached to Poppy.”

“What about her leader.  The one you thought was the leader of Earth?” Bjorn asked without a hint of sarcasm.

“Her father,” he said, sighing.  “His death was the catalyst for my abandonment of my original goal of subjugation.”

“Well then, let’s hear it.”

-The story continues-

Early on, the food that Poppy kept in the cold box had run out.  She gained Hjalmar’s respect then when she insisted on going out to hunt for food.  He had shown off his powers to her for the first time in an effort to impress and gain favor.  Even though Hjalmar’s power was truly overkill, Poppy was not afraid of him.  Later on she admitted that she was surprised by his display of power, but knew that he wouldn’t hurt her because they were friends.

In human terms, fourteen days had passed.  Hjalmar had noted on several occasions, when Poppy didn’t know he was watching, had cried.  It was small shudders and light sniffling, but afterward her eyes were a little red and her face was flushed.  But whenever he was around, she was always put on a smile for him as if she did not have a worry in the world.

Eventually the men responsible for her father’s disappearance paid the house a visit.  Poppy was asleep at the time.  When the window was smashed and the voices of the men could be heard, Hjalmar heard Poppy draw in a ragged breath.  In the darkness, he turned to her and saw the abject terror in her face.

“Hjalmar,” her voice was so small and pitiful, “I’m scared…”  

Something deep inside Hjalmar broke seeing her like this.  He realized she had no powers.  He also realized that he didn’t care.  “Hide.  I’ll protect you.”

Poppy climbed out of her bed and crawled under it.  “Be careful,” she said quietly.

Hjalmar learned many things that night.  First and foremost, he learned the difference between a child and adult human.  Adult humans were enormous.  Suddenly, the size of the house made sense.

“Oi mucka,” one of the humans said, pointing at Hjalmar, “Anthony kept a koala bear as a pet.”

Hjalmar’s eyes leaked power, lines of luminescent smoke drifting upward.  “I am Hjalmar the Eternal, God-Emperor of-”

The humans screamed in surprise, raised metal barrels and filled the room with a wall of sound and flashes of light.  

Pain exploded on multiple places on Hjalmar’s body and he staggered backward.  A line split horizontally on his face and his teeth elongated into needle points.  A worthy adversary.

In a blur of movement and red mist, Hjalmar appeared behind one human who had a suddenly found he was airborne while what appeared to be his legs were still attached to the floor.  The two other humans had froze when they saw their friend flying through the air in a geyser of blood.  They should have ran, but fear does strange things humans.

Hjalmar did not waste any time.  He was upon them in a hurricane of fury and sharp things.

-Last interlude, I swear-

“You went easy on them?” Bjorn said, astonishment in his tone, “and they still died that quickly?”

“I actually wanted to give them time to warm up for an epic battle,” Hjalmar said, shaking his head.  “Apparently humans are very fragile creatures.  Who knew?”

“But even after figuring that out, you still chose not to rule over Earth?”

“After that, I didn’t want to,” Hjalmar said, “I went back into Poppy’s room and there she was.  She had lost much of her color and was unwilling to approach me, probably because of all the human blood on me.  But the fear in her face was gone.  I can’t even describe how that made me feel, Bjorn.”

“I’m sure you’ll try to do so anyways.”

“It was this large, warm and fuzzy sensation deep in my chest.  I was happy to serve her and I would do so again.”

“Ever the poet,”  Bjorn shook his head.  “You were only on earth for a short amount of time then?”

“Yes, in human terms, eighty years.  Do your own conversions, I’m very tired.”

-Epilogue-

Hjalmar closed the door to his chambers and pulled out a thick book from under his bed.  He opened it and looked at multiple pictures of himself with an adult human female.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Sitting Here posted:

I'm in

Also, Merc, Ent, Flerp: The idea, now that we've all subbed, is to judge each other's stories by the end of this week. Flerp and I will each give Ent/Merc a score out of 10, and Merc and Ent, you do the same for me and Flerp. If there's a tie we'll all just murder suicide or something, idk. You don't need to coordinate this with your co-judge if you can't/don't want to, just post your scores for each of the stories you're judging.

excellent. We'll finally be together in the end sh

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


MEGABRAWL CLUSTERFUCK EXTRAVAGANZA!!!

I’m so happy I got to read both your stories, you pieces of poo poo. You didn’t let me down by much, but I can honestly say with some more time and polish, both the word vomit you sprayed on your computer could appear in a publication (one with low standards anyways).

Broenheim

I’ll be honest, my mind started wandering really fuckin early reading this story, but I’m sure just saying that and moving on wouldn’t benefit you.

Sitting Here

I vibed with this story fo sho my nizza. The Blooooood was creepy, in a sociopathic underlying kind of way. Where you feel like something's off about someone but you can’t really put your finger on it until they do something obvious, like murder someone and force themselves into their eyes, nose, ears and mouth like some kind of rapey Otolaryngologist .

It was easy reading most of the way through, except near the end when I had to reread a paragraph or two for clarity. Come to think of it, you’re the only writer who consistently have their MC’s bone but make it tasteful enough that no one raises an eyebrow (or anything else). Kudos to you SH.

I like reading this kind of stuff from you; rooted in reality with just enough alien to make it weird.

Broenheim again

Alright, you fucker. The one thing that I hated the most and I think killed the pacing was all the goddamn scene breaks. What the poo poo? I’ve never seen this from you! Why did you start now? It’s dumb, don’t do it again.

I never got the sense that your dream eater who was always bitching about her hunger (we loving get it) had a plausible enough motive in this story. This story needed urgency of some sort, you handsome, steely eyed, piece of horseshit. What we got was the inner musings of some alien who found someone who didn’t dream - tried to fix it, couldn’t. Went out and ate some more, complaining about her poor tummy wummy and then WOOSH the boy can dream. Yay. gently caress you.

...handsome faced bastard.

Sitting Here 9/10
Broenheim 5/10

Entenzahn posted:

in closing, it's cool to act like a cocksucker in thunderdome (we all do it), but merc next time you swing your weight around maybe dont show up several hours late to the brawl you started like some drooling thunderbabby nooblet

enten out

I should note that gently caress you.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


What the heck. I'll-

IN!!!

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


The Ineffable Mr. Bancroft
Words: 242



It began with a thrown snowball packed around a sharp-edged rock. High pitched jeers of prepubescent children cut through the cold, thin air. Hot, thick blood splashed across the fresh fallen snow in rivulets of pink while Mr. Bancroft watched from behind the wooden slats of a window. He abhorred bullies.


Stepping outside, his nose hairs crystallized. The soft snow crunched underfoot as he trudged to the edge of his property. “Boy,” he called out, his voice gravelly with disuse. A murder of crows perched on a skeletal oak tree cawed as if summoned.


The boy edged closer to Mr. Bancroft while keeping his eyes downcast.


Mr. Bancroft grabbed the boy by the chin and forced his head up. On the edge of the boy’s eyebrow, a bright red jewel welled from the cut. Mr. Bancroft wiped the blood away with a crooked thumb. “You want them gone, boy?” he croaked.


The boy’s nod was more of a terrified shiver.


Mr. Bancroft wiped his bloodied thumb against his tongue and peeled back his lips in an alien mimicry of a smile that failed to reach the eyes. The boy ran, his face as pale as the snow.


Mr. Bancroft plodded down the street toward the children, a shadow of birds overhead flitting from tree to tree. The children stopped their playing when a cloud of seed pelted them. The children screamed as the crows swooped down to scratch, peck, flay and eat.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


They didn't understand the brilliance that was my story. They don't deserve it! :P

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.




The two vegan stories, holy poo poo.

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Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Sitting Here posted:

Congratulations to the finalists! I know we have at least two.

I've been pondering the idea of more things like this, where we "rush" a given publication. I know I'm not the only one who would enjoy something like that. Obviously, this would happen outside of the thread via IRC, email, and Google docs. I'd be happy to wrangle people if there's interest, but it would be cool to have a little help in researching ideal publications for this purpose. Lemme know what you think.

I'm down for this

  • Locked thread