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In. Give me one.
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Feb 23, 2021 07:33
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Noah posted:In. Give me one. Orangutan surfing civilisation.
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Feb 23, 2021 07:34
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Thank you for not giving me regular ireland.
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Feb 23, 2021 07:35
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I will take MAD HOLE country of the SCREAMERS
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Feb 23, 2021 08:08
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In. Snow Wizards.
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Feb 23, 2021 08:17
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Intelligent killer whale raiders for me!
Baneling Butts fucked around with this message at 08:41 on Feb 23, 2021 |
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Feb 23, 2021 08:37
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In, with the Island of the God Watchers pretty please. Also, thanks for the critiques. Azza Bamboo the "today of all days" line was supposed to be a foreshadowing of the announcement of her being pregnant but now that I've stepped away from it for a while it doesn't work that well. crabrock You're totally right, I didn't realize I was structuring it in a question - response - question - response way, thanks for pointing it out, something to be mindful of going forward! Casual Encountess Yeah, I initially read the deadline as a deadline for signing up and not for publishing the story itself, only afterward I realized I'd screwed up. All is good, still wrote something. Btw where can I find a Discord invite link?
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Feb 23, 2021 09:11
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In with Expanding Tisser Empire.
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Feb 23, 2021 10:57
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In with Kanga-Rat Murder Society
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Feb 23, 2021 11:33
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in, gimme a far off land
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Feb 23, 2021 12:55
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I will redeem my supposed to be funny last story in this round. Also with fake Australia
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Feb 23, 2021 13:18
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im the wolf napolnecs
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Feb 23, 2021 13:46
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In with Raji Land, Home of a Million Sleepers can I get an extra rule
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Feb 23, 2021 13:51
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island of the god watchers
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Feb 23, 2021 15:06
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in, bay of bones
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Feb 23, 2021 18:19
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Sperglord Firecock posted:in, gimme a far off land CRATER AREA FORMER HOME OF TRACKING SITE
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Feb 23, 2021 19:13
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Yoruichi posted:CRATER AREA FORMER HOME OF TRACKING SITE are the savage bat tribes involved
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Feb 23, 2021 19:17
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Sperglord Firecock posted:are the savage bat tribes involved You tell us 
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Feb 23, 2021 19:21
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Yoruichi posted:You tell us VALID thanks
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Feb 23, 2021 19:29
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Simbyotic posted:In, with the Island of the God Watchers pretty please. https://discord.gg/WghJ3KER Don't respond to crits in here, just shove them deep inside where they can fester properly
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Feb 23, 2021 19:54
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I’m down, but I refuse to choose so please assign me a country and an extra rule.
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Feb 23, 2021 20:07
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I'll judge
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Feb 23, 2021 23:26
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Idle Amalgam posted:In with Raji Land, Home of a Million Sleepers ibntumart posted:I'm down, but I refuse to choose so please assign me a country and an extra rule.
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Feb 24, 2021 01:12
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Obliterati posted:
Sometimes high noon takes a little longer to come than usual. That's okay, no worries! It just means both it and everyone underneath it are pathetic weak babies, fated to be baked in the heat of the sun! On the request of both brawlers this deadline is extended to 3rd March, 2359 UTC.
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Feb 24, 2021 11:13
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Sitting Here - Sebmojo Brawl: A Noon So High It's Illegal in Amsterdam
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Dominion of the Devils (Insect Revolution)
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Feb 25, 2021 03:39
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In, Island of the God-Watchers
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Feb 25, 2021 12:17
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Week 446 crits for Simply Simon and a friendly penguin Simply Simon - Hospitality So this was pretty fun, even if I had to read back at the beginning to see where you telegraphed Black getting swatted. Once the tiny super sentai people showed up it was smooth sailing. The piece suffers a little bit for having too many talkers, but that's a hell rule for you. a friendly penguin - Wiped Out This piece is mostly dialogue, which works because the two characters' voices are distinct enough. It's pretty natural and easy to read, you've dated the story well enough, but it feels lacking in a way that the story just sort of ends. It feels a little too light on the drama--Dave even got arrested, but it's resolved off the page and they don't seem to learn anything from it (maybe it isn't a rare occurrence for them?).
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Feb 25, 2021 12:39
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In with Home of the Horrible "Hung-Ups," the Death Worshippers
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Feb 25, 2021 22:16
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crabrock posted:ok sure Ya know, this garbage-tier poo poo has been stuck in my craw all week. I know that nuance and complexity isn't exactly your strong suit (obviously your skills lie more in the "failure to submit" area), but this was not a complicated scene and the fact that your flaccid brain wasn't able to wraps its little mind-tendrils around it speaks to your laziness rather than any shortcomings in my writing (as garbage-tier as it may be). I just can't let this low effort poo poo go by unchallenged. So, fight me.
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Feb 26, 2021 17:52
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toanoradian posted:Sign up deadline: Saturday 0700, GMT+7 Deadline. The gates to New Earth have closed.
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Feb 27, 2021 00:31
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Hawklad posted:Ya know, this garbage-tier poo poo has been stuck in my craw all week. I know that nuance and complexity isn't exactly your strong suit (obviously your skills lie more in the "failure to submit" area), but this was not a complicated scene and the fact that your flaccid brain wasn't able to wraps its little mind-tendrils around it speaks to your laziness rather than any shortcomings in my writing (as garbage-tier as it may be). I just can't let this low effort poo poo go by unchallenged. this is both an accurate statement and a waste of my time, much like your story was. you'll wish i failed to submit when i'm done with you. brawl challege accepted.
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Feb 27, 2021 01:50
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crabrock posted:this is both an accurate statement and a waste of my time, much like your story was. you'll wish i failed to submit when i'm done with you. Hawklad posted:Ya know, this garbage-tier poo poo has been stuck in my craw all week. I know that nuance and complexity isn't exactly your strong suit (obviously your skills lie more in the "failure to submit" area), but this was not a complicated scene and the fact that your flaccid brain wasn't able to wraps its little mind-tendrils around it speaks to your laziness rather than any shortcomings in my writing (as garbage-tier as it may be). I just can't let this low effort poo poo go by unchallenged. THUNDER! —THUNDER! —THUNDERDOME, HOOOOOOO! I admire a dying genre of story that is currently being held up by Netflix’s She Ra: Your challenge is to write a story featuring: - A strong protagonist - Who wields a magical sword - Whose magic is activated by some catchphrase - And they fight some villain of some kind. 1500 words. Due 27th March at 08:00 GMT Edit: 3rd contestant Dr. Kloctopussy posted:I will take all y'all on. Edit: A month is a long time. If you Azza Bamboo fucked around with this message at 02:19 on Feb 27, 2021 |
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Feb 27, 2021 01:55
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Azza Bamboo posted:THUNDER! —THUNDER! —THUNDERDOME, HOOOOOOO! loving excuse me? You're going to have a brawl about a magical sword without me? The Thunderdome master of writing about magical swords? Author of a 11,169 story called Vampire Dad and the Magical Sword from Space (Part 1)? I THINK NOT. I will take all y'all on.
Dr. Kloctopussy fucked around with this message at 02:23 on Feb 27, 2021 |
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Feb 27, 2021 02:12
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A new challenger has entered the swordfight. (I'll judge your words, too, DocKloc)
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Feb 27, 2021 02:17
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in with the United States of Lions
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Feb 27, 2021 03:34
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QuoProQuid posted:
You're way off the deadline, but I'll allow you in if you take this flash rule: Gorilla Communes is involved in your story.
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Feb 27, 2021 08:08
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| # ? Feb 28, 2021 16:24 |
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Hemp Bonds 1494 words The border with the Gorilla Communes was totally lit. Spotlights raked across the concrete and barbed-wire. Towers loomed with bored-looking machine gunners scanning the horizon, as if a bunch of drugged-out hippies were about to try and invade the Expanding Tisser Empire. Fat chance. Those dope fiends were too busy loving in vast yurts atop, like, hemp blankets, or whatever. Some very sloth-like part of me envied their excess. Late nights at my trading desk, skull plastered to my Bloomberg terminal, amphetamines starting to wear off and the pill-girl gone home hours earlier, sometimes I felt like ripping off my shirt and going primal. Like shaving off my hair and disappearing into the prairie and living off the land surrounded by other shirtless, hairless, primalish men and women. I’d take a new name and completely rebrand. Won’t ever happen, though. I was a company man. My hotel, five-miles from the border, was filled with nausea-inducing geometric carpets and employees that looked like mannequins. The firm never sprung for five stars. As a Junior Bondsman, my entire reason for being was to make as much money buying high-yield securities from any moron willing to sell. Bonds, all day, every day, my every waking moment wrapped up in the near-panic-inducing obsession over yield and float. And now, I was going to be the first trader to convince those Gorilla fucks to sell me their debt, wrapped up with a pretty bow, weed stink and all. ## The Gorillas approached the zone dressed like professors, one woman and one man. They smiled at the border guards, produced their papers, and after two hours of questioning, they crossed the narrow gap in the fencing. “Welcome to the Tisser Empire,” I said, giving them my best smile. I knew I was all sleaze: tall, slicked-back hair, black pinstriped suit. The lady, a skinny broad with round eyes behind chunky black glasses, shoved a hand in my direction. “Monica Lampur,” she said, and we shook. “This is my associate, Gregory Howath.” “Luke Fischer,” I said. “Thanks for making the trip.” These people weren’t the spaced-out druggies I expected. The guy was a little paunchy and looked pale as death, but the chick was fit, her skin tanned, and she had that glow people got voluntarily working outdoors. I took them to the one safe place in the whole Empire—Panera Bread. After the States broke up post-revolt and the Tisser formed, most American companies changed their names and pivoted to their new reality, but not Panera. They doubled down. Shorter waits, cleaner food. The Gorillas loved it. Monica cooed over the pastries, and Gregory refilled his soda twice, giggling like a little boy. I got them tucked into a corner booth then opened my laptop. They picked at steaming microwaved sandwiches with confused but delighted fingers. “I’m not here to gently caress you,” I said, which was trader-speak for, my company sent me to gently caress you. “Fox Associates wants a stake in your commune and is willing to put up real money.” Monica leaned toward me. “You realize we don’t have money, right?” “That’s not a problem,” I said dismissively. “We’ve done trades with communes before.” Another non-truth. “No, but literally, we don’t use money.” Monica looked at Gregory, who seemed almost sheepish. “I was an accountant in a past life,” he said. “I went over the border four years ago. They sent me here to tell you there’s no possible way we can sell bonds.” “There’s always a way,” I said, tapping at the spacebar nervously. “Assets. Futures. Whatever. You don’t even need to use your own money. We have plenty.” “You don’t understand,” Monica said, her voice acidly polite. “We only came to get a hot shower.” I pointed at my screen filled with complex derivative schemes, tranches of debt piled on top of each other, triple-B rated loans re-rolled into synthetic securities with new ratings, beautiful, occult, obscure piles of dubious cash, like that could explain everything. “I’m sorry,” Monica said, which to me sounded like, get hosed. And fair enough. “Fine,” I said. “Enjoy your time in the Tisser. We’ll eat, check out the hotel, and revisit this later.” Monica made a face like, well, if that’s what you want, and they tucked into their lukewarm meals. ## Back at the hotel, Monica disappeared upstairs while I parked my rear end at the empty bar. Gregory joined me, and sipped a Diet Coke like it was the last drink on earth. “I feel bad about this, you know,” he said. “We only accepted your invitation to, like, get away for a day or two.” “It’s fine,” I said and the bartender returned with my beer. “You can’t blame us though, can you?” Gregory asked. “I mean, you are the Expanding Tisser Empire, after all.” “We’re not going to enter your territory,” I said. “You saw that fencing. Do you have any clue how much of a pain it is to break it all down?” “No, I don’t,” he said, stirring his drink, ice tinkling against glass. “But it’s what you guys do.” “Look, we might take some land at the edges, okay? A couple miles, no big deal. The expansion thing, it’s sort of baked into policy around here, but still. I’m looking to trade, not conquer.” He went quiet for a minute. “She’ll kill me for telling you this, but—“ He hesitated, looked around. “We do business with your government. God, it’s so boring out there, you know?” “Business?” That got me interested. I thought the Gorillas were off-limits. Everyone said so. But the Emperor existed outside limits. He shook his head then cleared his throat. “I’ll talk to Monica, okay?” “Whatever you can do.” He downed his Diet Coke and ordered another. ## Monica beamed at me across the hotel’s conference room table, her hair wrapped in a towel. “We can’t do it,” she said. “I told you before. No money. No debt, no cash, nothing.” “You have stuff out there,” I said. “Hemp fields. Agriculture. Surely you sell some to the Emperor.” She glanced at Gregory, lips pulling down. “We might,” she said slowly. “But I don’t know how it helps.” “We can work with agriculture,” I said. “The Tisser gives you something for all that crop, right? I’m willing to bet on the value of your harvest.” She leaned back in the chair and studied me. “You’re pretty determined.” “Look, Gorilla lady, I don’t give a poo poo about my government,” I said, and liked the way her face twisted. “I don’t care about you people living in some weird culty gently caress shed where everyone’s married and everyone’s pregnant. I care about making a trade.” She took a long breath and slowly let it out, like a meditation thing. “Hemp bonds,” she said. “Hemp,” I repeated, nodding. “But I need to know what the Tisser gives you.” “Movies,” Gregory said, then looked abashed when Monica stared at him like she wanted to slit his throat. “Movies?” I asked, trying not to laugh. “Entertainment,” Monica said, her fingers drumming on the table. “The Empire still makes film and TV, and the communes can get dull. Despite all the loving.” I leaned back in my chair, totally floored. “Holy crap. You people are junkies like the rest of us.” It shouldn’t have been so hard to believe. People were people. “Sell me bonds backed in agriculture and I’ll send you a shipment of every drat show I can get my hands on.” “Plus music and books,” Gregory said, earning him one last dirty look. I spread my hands. “Folks, you want hardcore porn, you got it.” And with that, I knew I had them. ## The truck rumbled toward the gap in the fencing. It was packed with DVDs and paperbacks. The guards barely gave it a second look. Beyond the zone, in the heavily wooded border around the commune land, something moved. I figured it was my Gorillas. I leaned forward on the hood of the car and held up a pair of binoculars. Trees, trees, trees—and there, something on the edge of the forest, raising up toward the sky. It was a Gregory, tied and bound to a long stake. I recognized him despite the missing nose and the flayed skin, his clothes plastered to his bloody raw flesh. The Gorillas raised him like a totem. The truck continued forward and stopped in sight of the flayed man. The driver got out, per the agreement, and walked back to the zone. Three women came forward to claim it. I recognized Monica as she got behind the wheel and slowly rolled away. They left Gregory, dead or almost there, to rot in the morning sun, his body slumped forward. I looked away. Poor bastard. He loved Diet Coke. I stowed my binoculars, got into my car, and headed back home. My bosses were so happy, they practically shoved a bonus down my throat.
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Feb 28, 2021 11:43
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