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BeefSupreme
Sep 14, 2007

DOUBLE BEEF ACTION

New World Orders
555 words (Comedic Entry)

Okay, ladies, thanks for coming! If youíll all take your seats, we can get started. Jeanine, if you could come in here and join us, please? Yes, I know there is guacamole, I made it.

Great! Again, thanks for joining me today. I know itís been a long time since weíve all been together in the same room. What was it, five years ago we graduated? Seems like longer. Iíve really missed you girls. Life just isnít the same without all my sorority sisters! The bond we shared, all living together, talking about boys, getting made up for those fraternity partiesÖ I know you remember, Suzanne!

No, weíre not just here to Ďhang outí, Kiana. Iím about to tell you why weíre here, if youíll be patient. Now, I know most of us are in the workforce now, like the good 21st century women we are! A few of us are married, which, all things considered, is a little bit surprising. And one of us is pregNANT! Okay, quiet down. Quiet down! What hasnít changed for any of us, though, is that wherever we are in life, weíve got to make ourselves look pretty. Weíve got to wake up in the morningóJeanine, can you stop stuffing your face for 5 minutes? As I was saying, weíve got to wake up in the morning and put on our best face.

I want to tellóno, show all you ladies an incredible product I have discovered, thanks to my friend Karen. Hi, Karen! Karenís great, you all should talk to her later. Now, let me show you all what Iím talking about. The complete 2017 line of Ella Marshall cosmetic products, built for every woman! Umm, excuse me, Darla, if you could watch your language, please. That was uncalled for. What has gotten into you all? Anyway, I donít know what youíve heard about Ella Marshall, but Iíll tell you about my experience with the companyóand let me tell you, itís been nothing short of incredible. Now, I donít have to work because my dear Martin makes plenty, but we all know itís nice to have a little extra on the side. When Karen got me involved, I started small, just around the neighborhood. Pretty soon I had some regular customers, a few orders a week, and just like that, a little business of my own. Of course, first and foremost itís an incredible product! I use it myself, as do all my customers. But really, theyíre not customers, theyíre friends.

Yes, I know you flew all the way from Atlanta, Suzanne! I wouldnít ask you to come here unless I had something important for you to see! I want all of you to get involved with Ella Marshall, and start making a little bit for yourselves. What do you mean, is this a pyramid scheme? Of course not. Well, no, I havenít made any money yet, but thatís because Iím just getting started. Once all of you get involved, and start working with Ella Marshall, and then get others to join inó

Eileen, will you sit down? Ladies, sit down, Iíve barely just started! Why does it look like my face is melting? What is that supposed to mean? Yes, Iím wearing Ella Marshall right now. Wait! Sit down! Come back! Please!

Well, poo poo.

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GenJoe
Sep 14, 2010


Casino
613 words

Thereís this girlÖ sheís down in marketing, but works on this floor... I think her name is Cheryl? Yeah? Been here for a few years? Iíve been seeing more and more of her, over the past month or so ó and please don't think I'm being loopy for saying this, but I am convinced that she's figured out my bathroom routine. Honest-to-god, that's the only time I ever see her.

Itís like, and this isn't overtired Shannon saying this... this really happens. Sheíll be camping out in the handicap stall when I walk in, so Iíll go over to the one next to it. And then, right when Iím about to be, you know, done, Iíll hear a flush through the separator. Sheíll wait at the sink, wash her hands, and when I walk up, sheíll flash me a smile through the mirror. Sheís good ó she does it at that exact moment where itís unavoidable, you know? And at that point I have to give the obligated ďHowís it going?Ē, like thatís me giving my blessing on the next fifteen seconds of chit-chat ó and then thatís it. Iíll see her the next day ó but sometimes she waits two.

One time I bluffed her out and waited for, I donít know, five minutes after she got up? I opened the stall door and there she was, doing her makeup.

Itís like, people are either intimidated by me, and theyíll duck their heads when I walk past or they'll clear out of the kitchen when I'm grabbing coffee. But then thereís the people who want something out of me ó like this girl, maybe if she just spends enough of those fifteen second intervals, then she'll get to where I am one day. And I'm at the point where it's like ó come on, are you sure you want that?

I caught up with an old friend from college last night. We went to grab dinner and she asked if she could bring her kid with ó he's sixteen, probably going to start looking at schools soon, you know, and making career choices soon after that. And the whole night, it wasn't really about us catching up... it was more her trying to get her kid to engage with me. "Oh, Shannon, how's your work treating you? You know where Shannon works, right Austin?" Stuff like that.

And this kid... this kid's clearly not interested in any of it. I mean, it's not like he was the quiet type. You could see that he wanted to talk, just not about schools and not about his future. At one point his mother got up for the bathroom, leaving us, and he brought up that new movie Scorsese's doing, and I sat there nodding my head like I hadn't seen a movie in years. Like I didn't even know what a movie was ó so the conversation trailed off and he stared back down at his menu.

Put a person in front of me who either hasn't heard of, or who doesn't care about my position here, and I can't even keep their attention for three minutes? But this girl in the bathroom, one time she asked what I had had for lunch, and I told her about a cold-cut sandwich I put together, and to her that was the most interesting thing in the world.

So I got home last night, and my friend shot me a text saying how great of an evening she had and that the three of us should do it again when I'm free maybe? And I got into a shirt, slipped into bed, and watched Casino for the first time.

The Cut of Your Jib
Apr 23, 2007

THUNDERDOME LOSER

Week 235 [Monologues for Women] Submissions (2 entries)

Roaming Data (in Binary)
700 Words

Black Box, Avant Garde Lighting

I think Iím awakeóbut Iíve made that mistake before. Itís getting hard to tell what separates days from the nights. Sure, I see the moon. Itís bold and bright. Thereís a rainbow halo, and those little pillowed clouds. It means the air is frigid. If I looked closely Iím sure Iíd see crystalline spiderwebs running up and down the bannisters.

Thereís a cat. Some indoor-outdoor cat that roams the neighborhood on its own terms. It comes up on the porch on the coldest nights and rubs against my legs. Its fur is wiry, mottled like frost covered tire tracks in the mud on the edge of an intersection where there have been too many accidents.

I almost let it inside once, but it scratched at the storm door when my inside cat came to investigate. Indoor cat just sat and stared like a dumb lump. She finally saw another being that was just like herself. Didnít care. Thatís not right - not alike. Same species, but altogether different. She watched that other cat scrape against the glass with the dispassion of an observer on the outside of the cage.

Day after day, night after night, the same couch is there, the same bed. The same dish and spoon. Thereís nothing outside the door that isnít right here in warmth and comfort. Except the ghost of a cat.

A little ghost that vanishes when the spectres of headlights appear on the crest of the hill. The big rolling cage that the driver thinks theyíre controlling. It growls and clanks along at 3:45 every night, before anyone else is awake, never even knowing that a little cat is hidden away, watching. Until, I suppose, little ghost decides itís brave enough to meet a big ghost up close.

Iím watching too. Behind the curtain on the door waiting for my little ghost to return. Iíve never seen the driver. There has to be one, right? Then I realize it wonít be too long before all those trucks will rattle along empty, unseen ghosts flitting through the air telling it where to go and what to do.

Theyíre already everywhere. Iím clutching the curtain so hard the lace is stretched out of shape. No matter how hard I squeeze, Iíll never be able to wring all the ones and zeros from it. Itís too late for that. I feel it connected to the house next door and the one beside that and the truckís out of earshot but its pull yanks the lace from my grasp. Thereís one frayed thread caught on my fingernail.

I notice the house across the street has a strand of Christmas lights still up. And in the flicker of red and green I can see the inevitability. We want to be ghosts, connected but not too close. Iím in my little house next to other lonely houses, and weíre all trying to suss out some meaning through one-way conversations with dippy cats sleeping on the backs of sofas.

I donít know where ghost cat went. Off doing its flesh-and-blood thing. I could hold a digital seance and find out exactly where it is. Track it on a map where every street is the same gray and every yard has the same sea-green grass. Spirits stalking a ghost reduced to a little red dot on a touch screen. But Iíll let it have its privacy. Thereís not much of the night left.

Soon, the sun will rise, and the air will feel clean and crisp. People will leave their little houses and hide themselves until they come home and tell their cats what they really wanted to say. And they wonít notice all the ghosts swimming all around them, through them. Collecting little pieces of them. Or maybe thatís exactly what they want.

Just before the sun breaks, I see little ghost cat peek around the corner of the house. My indoor cat mewls for food and I look down to pet her. When I look back, ghost cat is gone. Gone to sleep away the messy hours. But I know itíll be back tonight, hoping this is the night I finally let it inside.

óóóóóó

Game Over, Game On
700 Words

(To audience)
The day I saw Mr. Darcy swim in the pond was the day I became a woman. Itís funny how thereís this global misremembrance of that scene and itís been conflated with bits of Love Actually in to this Fabio moment of him climbing out of the water and his wet shirt clinging to his chest. We got a creepily hot statue out of it, anyway.

(To Sam)
You reminded me of Mr. Darcy, at first. Hereís the thing about you, Sam: You never got to the part where you realized youíre an rear end in a top hat and changed your ways when youíre called on your B.S.

(To audience)
Why do we want the gentleman douchebag, anyway? Who wants to be the long-suffering love interest? Itís got to be mostly Colin Firth, right? You can tell heís just a sweet guy struggling to play Jane Austenís version of a bad boy. Thatís the charm.

(To Sam)
Well, Iíve had enough. Yeah, go ahead. Act like you donít careólike you never cared. Thatís fine. You want to ignore me? Well, for once Iíll get to decide the conversation. Whatís one shred of remorse cost? More than youíve made on your YouTube blog and the Kickstarter for your lovely 8-bit game, thatís for sure. Now, youíre putting the controller down.

(To audience)
The cross-pollination of manners comedies with modern nerd culture has been less than successful, so Iím not sure where I meant to end up when I compared this tubby console-jockey to Colin Firth, but the character arc of the romantic hero (or lack thereof) still stands. Weíll see if Sam manages a tortoise roll to flip himself off that raggedy beanbag chair or if heíll spare me his indignity.

(To Sam)
Iím over getting angry that you donít even react until I directly insult you. No eloquent lies, no feints and thrusts to act engaged. Nah. You never were Mr. Darcy, forget the money. Not even a self-made Captain Wentworth. A caveman grunt is good enough. All I see is Orson Welles in that wine commercial, muddled and lost. The difference is Iím still waiting for you to make your Citizen Kane.

(To audience)
A wise person once asked ďWhy, in all those stories, do all the men have to be post-apocalypse dead in order for a woman to be a badass?Ē Maybe Iím not going to swing a sword around or fire a fifty-caliber rifle through some zombies, but I know Sam has some hopes and dreams. We might have shared them if he had played it a little differently. Hereís what Iím going to do: Beat him at his own game.

(To Sam)
Up off your stank catcher now? Good. Itís eaten enough of your Totinoís farts. I heard it crying earlier, ďNo more! Mercy!Ē Hereís whatís going to happen, Sam. Iím going to make my own game and Iím going to get it to market faster than you. Iím going to outsell you, and Iím going to be the critical darling you wish you were. See you on the other side of Metacritic.

Meg rushes out of the room, slams the flimsy door and slides down it in a slow collapse. She sits in the hallway for a moment, breathing heavily.

(To audience)
Welp. That was the easy part. I thought for a second that I was going to fuel this entire thing on spite. Sure, itíll be great when he eventually comes begging me for a job in QA; but, you know what? I donít feel anything for that goon in there. I donít care about beating him or proving something to him.

If I motivated him to actually follow his dream, well, more power to him. I welcome the competition. Now all I need to do is figure out an idea, get a programmer, get an artist, and make a game.

Next week Iíll poo poo a brick. Maybe Iíll sneak in and use that drat beanbag chair. But right now Iím awash in hope and excitement. I feel the little needle pricks all over when you realize youíre about to do something beautiful. I canít wait.

End of Act 1, Scene 2 (of 3)

The Cut of Your Jib
Apr 23, 2007

THUNDERDOME LOSER

Love Actually
gdoc ate my balls

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk

archives

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Jan 8, 2018 around 21:18

Julias
Jun 24, 2012



Desperate Jasper
1122 words

Prompt: "This psychiatrist deals with neuroses, narcissism and dysfunction every day. And that's just at home."


ďSamantha Bess Salvai! Matthew Lee Tennesy!Ē

Those words echoed through the house, shattering the tranquil aura that the streaming morning dawn brought in as it glistened upon the freshly set snow. Both children had sheepishly slinked downstairs, and tried to exit through the back patio, only to find that the door was locked and that the key was stashed away.

Clarise Salvai stood guard at the front door, preparing to lash out at the juveniles. Once again, they had left a large mess in the kitchen from the previous night, leaving out dirty dishes and food to spoil and attract bugs. Clarise, having come home from a thirteen hour work-shift the previous night, had to take responsibility again for the two entitled children.

ďWhen are you guys going to start taking care of yourselves? I canít keep on wiping your asses forever, you know! Youíre both sixteen turning-on-twelve. I come home exhausted, with a massive headache, after having to listen to crazy people all day, and Iím greeted with nothing but filth. Both Ronnie and I bust our butts to provide you two a nice home, with plenty of food and clothing. We make sure youíre not wanting for anything, and you two just spit in our faces!Ē

Samantha started to cry. Clarise then gave Samantha a gentle kiss on the cheek.

ďThere, there.Ē

She then turned her head to Matthew, but was startled by an expression of frustration plastered on his face. Clarise flinched.

ďYou think you know everything, donít you? Just because youíre a fancy therapist, you think you know everything about everybody, donít you? You donít! You think youíre perfect, and have all the answers, and that weíre just burdens-ď

Smack

Clarise, still shaking, glared down at Tennesy.

ďListen, and listen well, Matt. I love you, with all of my heart. If I didnít, youíd be out on the streets. Iíd never leave you alone nor run away from you. Weíll talk later. Both of us have to get going. And donít you dare tell anybody at school that I slapped you-got it?Ē

***

Stumbling up the stairwell, Clarise juggled her purse, her winter coat, and her lunchbox as she fished for her keys from her back pocket. Reaching the landing, she produced an audible sigh, and unlocked the featureless metal door, slithering through the tiny hole into her office.

Without much thought, Clarise shoved her belongings out of sight, underneath the large desk, and checked her hair and makeup in the mirror. With everything in place, Clarise turned on the coffee machine, and looked over her cozy chamber. The wooden desk was decorated in accolades and pictures of her colleagues and family. Across from it were four cozy armchairs, personally picked out by Clarise and Ronald Salvai, filling up most of the empty space in the homely office, lit by a pair of dull lamps on each side of the room.

Shortly after taking the first sip of her coffee, Clarise heard a firm knocking reverberate through the air. It was coming from the large sturdy wooden door, decorated invitingly with floral pattern trimming and a sleek nameplate that reads Dr. Salvai, Ph.D.

ďCome on in. Make yourself at homeĒ.

***

For the next two hours, Clarise listened to the woes of her newest patient, Jasper Holden. It was a grocery list of the usual anxieties that plagued her patients: Lack of fulfilment in life, monetary worries, strained relationships with friends and family. But Jasper was different. Unlike most patients, who come voluntarily or at the behest of family, Jaspar was delivered straight from the local psychiatric ward. He had been on death watch for several months, after multiple attempts to slit his own wrists. Clarise couldnít be sure if most of what Jaspar was telling her was even true or not; it did not seem to line up with the patientís files that had been delivered to her beforehand. She could not even broach any of the subjects in the file, because Jasper would steer the conversation awry.

Nearing the end of the session, Clarise asked Mr. Holden about any concerns of his. The fellow, who had been quite talkative up to this point, suddenly became pensive, and began looking up at the blank, featureless ceiling. After what felt like minutes, the patient replied:

ďWhatís the best way to die?Ē

Clarise was hit with a cold wave. She felt like puking.

She responded: ďWhy do you obsess so much about death, Mr. Holden?Ē

ďIt hurts, you know. Nobody loves me, and the world would be a better place if I disappeared. Iím just a burden on this system, even the other doctors think so. But they wonít let me die! They think that theyíd bear the guilt, but the truth is, I want to go away. Iíve resolved this since Iíve come to terms with the fact that Iíve ruined my familyís life. I canít bring back my wife, you know, and even my children and my parents refuse to acknowledge my existence. Iíd be better off dead.Ē

Resolving herself, Clarise steadied herself as she stood up. She walked over to Holdenís side, and sat down on the arm of his chair.

ďListen, and listen well, Jasper. Our family has a motto. We Tennesys are fighters. We donít give in, and we donít give up, no matter what! Lifeís hard, so what! Nobody has it easy, but killing yourself only hurts those around you. Suppose there is life after death. Huh? Could you live with the guilt of what your actions have caused for countless people? Suicide is the cowardsí way, and the ultimate selfish thing somebody can do! Thereís no redemption once youíve gone and done it!Ē

She continued, ďIf you truly feel bad about how you have lived your life up until this point, then try to change it for the better! Try to have a positive impact on those around you. Do good deeds, and resolve not to sink back into your old nasty habits, if they cause you so much pain. It isnít gonna be easy, but thatís what true love really is.Ē

***

Hours later, Clarise stepped out of her office onto the back landing, having finished her lunch. She produced a lighter from her pocket, and lit herself a cigarette, a luxury she only enjoyed when she was away from home. The events with Jasper played out in her mind over and over again, as if she was trying to pinpoint a specific frame of the film in her mind.

ďOur family has a motto. We Tennesys are fighters. We donít give in, and we donít give up, no matter what!Ē mused Clarise, snubbing out the fresh cigarette in the melting snow.

ďYeah right.Ē

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003


Admit that this problem can't be solved with a spreadsheet.
689 words

Drunk? I guess that depends on your definition. I have ingested 420 millilitres of alcohol over a period of six hours and forty-two minutes. Sure that would make some people drunk, but what with differing tolerances, metabolic rates, etcetera, it would be hard to definitively answer yes. If it helps Iím about eighty percent sure I could pass a field sobriety test right now, but thereís no straight lines on the carpet so itís not really an option.

I know itís your job but you really neednít worry. I have a system. Whenever someone in the office does something wrong I take an amount from this bottle of everclear, and put it in my water bottle which I sip throughout the day. Quantities are determined through a calculation which takes into account the likelihood of a certain action getting someone fired, divides it by the number of people in the office, and then undershoots that by a comfortable margin. The spreadsheetís stored on the company intranet, bring it up and Iíll give you an example.

This morning Komakech, you know Komakech from sales, got Sadie in to do a dictation. Iím not sure youíre if youíre aware, but Komakech can type at over sixty words per minute. Thatís fast, professional typing-pool fast. I can do forty, and from what Iíve observed through the glass walls of your office you can do about thirty. You should work on that, by the way. Now Sadieís a secretary, sure, but she can only do forty as well. I mean, ďdicationĒ isnít even really a thing these days, typing speed is barely worth the space on a resume any more. Point is, you know as well as I that whatever sheís doing might well involve dick, but thereís sure as hell isnít any tation going on.

Look down column A. Itís a list of all the things that go on here. A3: Fraudulent time-card entries. A7: Excessive sick leave. A17: Smelly food in common areas. Of course youíre HR, I donít need to tell you all of this, do I? Now, here it is, I know this one off by heart. A237: Fellatio (office hours). Of course weíre being charitable in assuming they stopped there. Now we cross reference that with this column, andÖ 19 mls. Now today I have Bombay Sapphire, which is 80 proof, which in turn is forty percent alcohol content by volume, so with some basic maths I measure out 47.5 mls with a syringe and add it to my water bottle to sip throughout the day. Now, thatís for a pretty significant offence, as Iím sure you would agree. Normally I use an eye-dropper.

Like today I was doing the expenses, and you wouldnít believe the stuff that gets through there. Now I know the salesmen need to schmooze the clients from time to time, but the fourth time ďGeneric Car Parts LimitedĒ showed up on Boydís form I googled it. Itís on the corner of Lincoln and Broadway and from what I can see on street view is simply called BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS. Youíd think weíd at least spring for one of the classy downtown places. So a couple of dozen dodgy receipts come through, each one is a half a dropper, and by lunchtime Iíve got a slight buzz on, which I can enjoy safe in the mathematically derived knowledge that my conduct is still better than the average employee.

The real masterstroke is that I calibrated the whole thing from when Rodgerson got canned. The man was a souse! It took a full seven hundred and twenty millilitres of alcohol, ingested in the first ninety-four minutes of last yearís work do, for him to be shown the door.
I honestly appreciate your concern, but now that weíve got all that squared that away, letís talk about all these other issues Iíve raised. The strip clubs, the receipts - click on the second worksheet and youíll see everything else Iíve documented. The thing is Iíve been trying to cut back, and for that to happen thereís going to have to be some BIG changes around here.

Julias
Jun 24, 2012



Evidently I need to find a way to get myself motivated. So I'm perma-ing that I'll do redemptions for Weeks 193, 196, 227, and 228 by March 31st, 11:59PM EST. In addition, I must also submit at least one story for a new Thunderdome prompt between this post and that deadline.

(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006

I failed to submit because I was so excited about New Zealander Tim Price winning the Burghley Horse Trials on the quirky but freakishly talented Ringwood Sky Boy

Julias posted:

Evidently I need to find a way to get myself motivated. So I'm perma-ing that I'll do redemptions for Weeks 193, 196, 227, and 228 by March 31st, 11:59PM EST. In addition, I must also submit at least one story for a new Thunderdome prompt between this post and that deadline.

gently caress you.

Also, submissions closed

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


sebmojo posted:

Potential
600 words

So one night, after dinner, I fall out of grace with electricity.

It happens when Iíve just scraped the leftovers into the waste disposal and I hit the switch, with wet fingers - I know, dumb, right? BLAMMO, a sinus obliterating spasm of gently caress thumps through me and I yelp and drop to the floor like a stunned goose.

ďWhat the poo poo was that,Ē yells Miles from the couch in the other room. I donít say anything. Iím flat on my back like a flounder dropped out of the pan and onto the black and white lino, opening and closing my mouth

Iíd met Miles 18 months previously at a sushi place, pissed on cheap red wine. He charmed the crap out of my friend Sally and Iím ashamed slash proud to admit I flung myself at him in a fit of drunken pique. Proud because it was highly effective drunken pique: three months later weíre engaged.

It occurs to me as Iím lying there that it may have actually been a bad idea. I remember the lightning bolt clarity of thinking yes, yes, when he asked me, but that's all it is - a memory, a bright after-image in my minds eye.

Two days later weíre getting a taxi and fourteen thousand volts of static electricity leaps into my outstretched finger and hightails it down to my feet. ĎJesus,í I say, jumping back. Miles gets in the car. I scuttle in after him so I donít have to touch any more metal.

ďThis poo poo is wack,Ē I explain to my betrothed and he looks at me.

ďThey used to make electricity with rabbit fur and amber,Ē he says. I wait for him to explain how thatís relevant to my current situation e.g. being the neighbourhood bike for any shiftless electrons that want to take me for a spin, but he does not.

At the restaurant the coat rack gives me a shock, followed by a zap from the chair back, a jolt from the dessert , and a good old fashioned wallop from the pull chain in the ladies loo. The toilet shock is the worst because it's the hundred and fifty first shock I've received from the hateful world. I'd had hopes it would stop at a hundred and fifty; counting them is how I've been passing the time between jolts.

Back at the table I slump back into my chair and tap at the coffee and the after dinner mint. Nothing. I take a wary sip. I don't know how a coffee could electrocute anyone but I'm taking no chances.

"So we're down to a hundred and fifty guests," he says. "My mum wants to bring her bridge club."

I look at him with exhausted eyes and blink. "Yes, fine. Bridge. Done." Miles' mum is a combination of Dame Edna Everage and Torquemada, but is perfectly lovely as long as you don't have to talk to or be around her.

Then Miles frowns: "You'll be OK with your electricity thing at the ballroom? We've got dance practice tomorrow, the next ten Wednesdays, remember?"

He keeps frowning, like I'm something I've forgotten. It's funny, so I laugh. Then I reach out and touch his hand. I'm steeled for the zap, for the jolt, for the shock, but there's nothing. Nothing at all.

So I pat his hand, his soft hand with its zero potential, and I push my chair back, and I stand up, and I walk out of our life forever.

The door shocks me, and I smile.
Did you just write real person fic where you're a woman and you have rolicking electric sex with Fumblemouse

edit: im sure zapping people is a kink and i intend to investigate

edit: yes it definitely is

edit: whoa boy howdy is it

SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at Feb 6, 2017 around 08:11

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk


don't doxx me

flerp
Feb 25, 2014


my kink is bad fiction

BeefSupreme
Sep 14, 2007

DOUBLE BEEF ACTION

my kink is fjgj

Uranium Phoenix
Jun 20, 2007


RADIOACTIVE DUST SURGE DETECTED


Everyone should crit more.

I don't really know much about monologues, and they're sort of hard to critique in isolation. Instead of the usual critique pattern I've been doing, I'm going to use this structure:
1. Genre, First impression
2. What emotion is prevalent in the piece?
3. What kind of person is the protagonist?
4. What larger story does this allude to?
The goal is (I think) to have a strong emotion, something developed about the character, and hopefully not fall into typical stereotypical speeches that characters who are women inevitably get. It also, I think, should only allude to a story, not try to be one.

Chernabog posted:

Princessdom
Genre: dramatic. This monologue tries to attack sexism head-on and turn the "princess" stereotype around to some degree. I thought it was sort of corny and not very inspiring. The emotion I get is "reflective", since it's a person reminiscing about their career. The protagonist is clearly defined as a compassionate person. I don't know what kind of story surrounds this. "Person talks about why they made certain life/career choices," maybe. I disliked this because it felt stereotypical and like it reflexively had to address sexism, which is a reason you get so many monologues about surprise sex/childbirth/abortion in the first place. This isn't really just about yours; a lot of the monologues did this. To some degree, it's hard to avoid because sexism defines people's lives in so many ways. The reason I think a lot of men's monologues are so memorable and interesting to people, though, is because they seek to define a character on their own terms; they don't need to be reactive. Of course, to completely ignore sexism risks ignoring the unique experiences of women, but I've rambled on this tangent long enough.

newtestleper posted:

Admit that this problem can't be solved with a spreadsheet.
Genre: comedy. I liked this because it developed a really funny character with an interesting way of looking at the world. It's all very business-like, but totally ridiculous, and is both funny and achieves a critique of cultural structures through the comedic parts. The protagonist is analytical, honest, and clever. The story could go a lot of directions, but it seems like a comedy about a dysfunctional office. It feels like it would be a fun speech to give.

BeefSupreme posted:

No War But Lass War
Genre: dramatic. Pun: bad. I liked that this hinted at an interesting story, and disliked how... it sort of felt like a bond villain monologue, in that it did too much explaining. The primary emotion is resolute fearlessness. The character is obviously dedicated. I think a play or story that followed the Soviet women who fought in World War 2 would be really interesting. At the same time, it feels like this monologue is repetitive. It just says "haha you foolish Germans don't let your women fight, us Soviets do, you're dumb as heck" and repeats that several times. It also seems like it's either telling the Germans something they already know, or revealing intelligence to no gain. Maybe don't tell the enemy how the agents in a village killed four of their soldiers? I think a way to play up the strength of the monologue would be to focus on the "Am I making you nervous?" bit, where you start to build the sort of powerless-person-feels-powerful vibe, the kind you see with from Loki in Avengers or Hannibal in Silence of the Lambs.

Benagain posted:

Death and the dog
Genre: dramatic. I liked this one, because I like people who know poo poo yelling at idiots for being idiots. Very cathartic. Obviously you've got anger and frustration coming through, but because of the subject it also defines the character as someone who cares a lot, and so we feel sympathy for them, and someone experienced, because they've seen this all before. This could either be about the vet or the person they're yelling at, but with a line like "you never thought about a goddamn thing past your own happiness" you have a strong theme implied. It also defines the character on its own terms, and is fun to read.

sebmojo posted:

Potential
Genre: Dunno. This was an interesting story, and a neat way to show the compatibility (or lack) of a romantic couple. It's a poo poo monologue, though. There's no dominate emotion because you've written a short story instead of a monologue. This is clear because you have back and forth dialogue, and dialogue within a narration. That it's in first person doesn't change that. I don't feel like you've defined the protagonist as anything but 'regrets hooking up with a guy, sort of'. Well, anyways. "Feel out of grace with electricity" is a good line. I also don't think you were the only person to write a short story instead of a monologue.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk

good crits, because fast

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003


Thanks for the crit!

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006

I failed to submit because I was so excited about New Zealander Tim Price winning the Burghley Horse Trials on the quirky but freakishly talented Ringwood Sky Boy

FJGJ

Kenfucius's Little Heart Attacks
sparksbloom's Social Studies
curlingiron's Damsels & Diplomacy
Uranium Phoenix's Who Holds the Walls of Byzantium
Uranium Phoenix's Lovebugs
GenJoe's Casino
& newtestleper's Admit that this problem can't be solved with a spreadsheet

Those all receive Honorable Mentions this week. Are they perfect? No. But they were fun pieces that had interesting, dynamic characters and were filled with juicy, performative lines that would be a lot of fun to act. I could legitimately give these to my students and have them perform them and it would be great fun to watch. Good job.

No dms. Nice.

Jay W. Frik's Moonlight Goes Back Home committed probably the biggest sin for a performance piece and that was to be boring. The character is bland and the speech flavorless and the most interesting stuff appears in the stage directions. That earns it the loss.

Thranguy's The Seventh Portrait is loving grande, y'all. First, I'm just super impressed with it on a technical level: it's a Shakespearean style iambic pentameter soliloquy ending with a rhyming couplet. That's a lot to try and tackle. Second, the guts of it are powerful. Great story. And very, very performable. There's a ton for an actor to play with and get excited about. Much like how Shakespeareís soliloquies contain some of his most original and powerful writing, this entry contains the best of the week. A clear and uncontested winner.

Thank you everyone for not ruining this prompt. I am not filled with hate and rage and that's probably a first. And probably a last.

Chili
Jan 23, 2004

College kids ain't shit


Grimey Drawer

Uranium Phoenix
Jun 20, 2007


RADIOACTIVE DUST SURGE DETECTED


.

Only registered members can see post attachments!

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010

'Read over your compositions, and when you meet a passage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out.' -Samuel Johnson

Thunderdome Week #CCXXXVI: Three-Card Combo

We're all nerds here, right? And we all like assignment prompts, right? Well, have I got a deal for you:
Magic: The Gathering week. When you get in, I or another judge will assign you three random Magic:The Gathering Cards for your prompt. You can use anything about them: the rules text, the flavor text, the art, the name, with one exception. You cannot use any proper noun on them. (Exception: in the rare case where the proper noun is a real-world historical or mythological figure, go right ahead, if you want.) Same thing goes for fantastic races: you can use real world mythological creaturesí names, like Goblin or Dragon, but not MTG-Specific ones like Sliver or Mogg.

This is mostly an inspiration-type prompt, so donít feel the need to shoehorn more prompt elements than will actually fit in your story. Unless you submit something that has literally no connection to any of your cards youíre not likely to get into prompt trouble. (If you get all you need from just two cards or even just one, that's perfectly fine.)

There's one other catch, though. Since I don't want a bunch of generic fantasy, one more rule. Your story must be set on Earth, and in a time between 100 years ago and today.. You absolutely can use an alternative history or secret history magical version of Earth, but it must still be recognizably Earth.

But... if you really need to tell a story set in your special elfland or ancient rome or deep space or something, Iíll let you ignore this rule if and only if you toxx yourself for this week.

Also, Stories about games, especially M:tG-like games, will piss me off. You'd better be extra sure of yourself before trying them, because ignoring this advice is a good way to get a DM or loss.

Word Limit: Since the best old-school 3-card combos allowed you to go infinite, in that spirit, No Wordcount Limit this week. (Proofreading pro-tip: try to cut your draft down by 5% anyhow. That usually improves things.)

Deadlines: Signups close 11:59 PM Friday Pacific Time. Submissions close 11:59 PM Sunday Pacific Time.

The usual bans apply: no nonfiction, fanfiction, erotica, political rants, etc. (Poetry? sure, knock yourself out if you want.)

Isperia, Supreme Judge: Thranguy
Judge of Currents:Jay W. Frinks
Armorcraft Judge:Fuschia Tude

Manic Scribes:
Djeser (toxxed)
Surreptitious Muffin (toxxed)
Uranium Phoenix (toxxed)
Chili (toxxed)
Kenfucius (toxxed)
Bad Seafood
Sebmojo (toxxed)
Beef Supreme
Metrofreak
Ska and Screenplays
Chairchucker
The Cut of Your Jib
My Cat is Norris
Mercedes
Ouka
Ironic Twist
Hawklad
Julias
Flerp (toxxed)
Benagain
No Gravitas
Obliterati (toxxed)
sparksbloom
a new study bible!
Flensolk
Twiggymouse
llamaguccii

Thranguy fucked around with this message at Feb 10, 2017 around 21:13

Jay W. Friks
Oct 4, 2016

Six of one, half dozen of another.

Grimey Drawer

Can I throw my hat in to judge this MAGIC-al week?

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013



oh boy fuckin nerd games i've never played in

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


yeah sure in gently caress the rules

Uranium Phoenix
Jun 20, 2007


RADIOACTIVE DUST SURGE DETECTED


Magic the Gathering, eh? Sounds like some nerd poo poo to me.

Gonna on my entry just in case I need elves or space ships, or elven spaceships.

Chili
Jan 23, 2004

College kids ain't shit


Grimey Drawer

I don't plan on doing anything fantastical, but just in case

Kenfucius
Dec 8, 2016


Great, I'll have to get my brother-in-law to give me all the details on this stuff.

Plus... what the hell, I'll too.

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010

'Read over your compositions, and when you meet a passage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out.' -Samuel Johnson

Djeser posted:

oh boy fuckin nerd games i've never played in
Telekinetic Bonds
Thing From the Deep
Soul Manipulation

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

yeah sure in gently caress the rules
Fire Snake
Sisters of Stone Death
Runesword

Uranium Phoenix posted:

Magic the Gathering, eh? Sounds like some nerd poo poo to me.

Gonna on my entry just in case I need elves or space ships, or elven spaceships.
Cloudheath Drake
Chilling Grasp
Midvast Protector

Chili posted:

I don't plan on doing anything fantastical, but just in case
Ancient Craving
Death Frenzy
Drawn Together


Kenfucius posted:

Great, I'll have to get my brother-in-law to give me all the details on this stuff.

Plus... what the hell, I'll too.

Orzhov Guildgate
Warstorm Surge
War Elephant

Bad Seafood
Dec 10, 2010

If you must blink, do it now.


Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010

'Read over your compositions, and when you meet a passage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out.' -Samuel Johnson


Hallowed Spiritkeeper
Loafing Giant
Pitchburn Devils

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk

in toxx

BeefSupreme
Sep 14, 2007

DOUBLE BEEF ACTION

Metrofreak
Mar 17, 2009

THUNDERDOME LOSER

I'm in, gimme the exodias.

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010

'Read over your compositions, and when you meet a passage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out.' -Samuel Johnson

Precursor Golem
Unruly Mob
Demonic Consultation

Jhessian Infiltrator
Gaea's Bounty
Disperse

Metrofreak posted:

I'm in, gimme the exodias.
Lightning Elemental
Nature's Lore
Ghitu War Cry

SkaAndScreenplays
Dec 11, 2013



Is this standard legal?

I'm IN

I'd toxx for my recent failures but I'm still waiting on those others to come down.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gZEdDMQZaCU

In

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


My god, this tool. This power. What have you given me, doof? What have you done?

So it begins, the great poo poo-talkening of our time. Fight me with magic, little man.

SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at Feb 7, 2017 around 08:47

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


UNLIMITED POWER

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


somebody send help I think I'm the anime guy who was nice then he touched the bad magic thing and now he's all scary. Doof this is your fault you gotta not-quite kill me and then we kiss while I lie in your arms

The Cut of Your Jib
Apr 23, 2007

THUNDERDOME LOSER

In

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my cat is norris
Mar 11, 2010

#onecallcat



College Slice

I'm in! Cards, please!

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