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 Welcome to HyperFiction, a game where we flex our funny bones and work together to write a comedy story! HyperFiction is a Comedy Writing Game™ I used to play at Heckler’s Online, way way back when AOL switched over to a front page of colorful buttons that lead you to a variety of terrible internet hangouts. I have no idea where the name came from, but figured I would maintain it to start, at least, in the off chance that anyone remembers this old game and is drawn in by the thread title. (As an aside, if any of you happened to be named IcyMonkey, MongooseDM, GZThompson, or Ryana21, 15 year old me says hello and would like to catch up). HOW IT WORKS HyperFiction is, at its core, a writing collaboration based around creating funny stories. I’ll pull a quote from one ‘MastiffPoo’ off our old off-site Tripod page to explain (with some modifications): 1997 posted:Welcome! The rules for this game are pretty simple, so let's get right into it. Below our OP, you'll see our most recent story. It's funny (and modest). It's also not finished. Read it until you can't read no mo', and then it’s your turn to submit how you think the story should continue! Here’s the Cliff’s Notes version since I know writers are the worst readers, second only to English teachers (LOOK AT ALL THE LITERARY HUMOR ALREADY!): 1. People post a whole bunch of plot beginnings, the last plot-ender chooses the new plot beginning and explains why they chose it. 2. The person who wrote the beginning gets points redeemable for jack poo poo and then watches in despair as people submit horrible followups until the deadline. 3. Said poor sap chooses the next continuation to the story and then passes a bag of points and the torch of probable alcoholism to the winner and the process repeats. 4. At some point someone decides enough is enough and an ending is chosen. Return to step 1 and repeat! SOMEONE SAID SOMETHING ABOUT POINTS That's right! Whenever you win a plot or do something awesome, the Host of the Mostment can assign Points, completely at their discretion. We'll be keeping a running tally of our Point Leaders so that dick waving and ridicule can commence! As soon as you submit an entry for a week, you get added to our leaderboard, even if you didn't receive any points. (Sad for you.) How do you get points, you ask? -If your entry was chosen as the story continuation, you'll get a nifty 50 points, as well as the privilege of being the host for the next round! -If you write the ending to a story, you'd get 100 points. You always have the option of writing an ending, although usually the current host will say when one is wanted. -If we're starting over and your plot beginning gets chosen, you also receive a whopping 100 points! -If you don't enter at all, you'll get 0 points! Those are the minimum points you'd get for winning. Hosts also often give out bonus points for runners-up and things like that, and can also take away points from people if they are feeling extra malicious (or are up against some extremely profound bullshit writing).  BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE! Sometimes two submissions are turned in that are just too funny to pass up. In this case, the Host of the Mostment has the option of creating the much lauded PLOT SPLIT! Plot splits work as follows: To see our hero eviscerated for his flaws, click here! For a gentler, happier place, read on! At that point the hot mess of having submissions for two or three or four plots at once occurs and we get multiple hosts and it should be a giant shitshow but that’s my problem to figure out in my copious amounts of free time, not yours. As plots slowly end one at a time we’ll shift our focus to the remaining ones (rather than trying to start up new stories in the middle of the ongoing one) until everything is wrapped up nicely and we’re back to Square 1. SOMETHINGS OF NOTE HyperFiction works best when you loosely base it around the main tenant of improvisational comedy: Say “yes.”. If several writers have very nicely given us a fantastic lead up of our heroine’s struggle against the Underground Sandwich Cartel, it’s a little rude to start your submission off with her unexpectedly getting run over by a mack truck and then a shift of character to her sentient shoe which was orphaned back home. That’s not to say that these things can’t be funny, but the main thing is that although it is a game where we compete with each other for sweet, sweet points on our list of Accolades of Arbitrarily Assigned Awesomeness (And Alliteration…Again), ultimately it’d be nice if we did that rarest of things: actually write a story that is funny and not a giant mess. (It is rare, trust me.) Unlike some of our other lovely writing contests like ThunderDome! or the new GamerDome, there are no penalties for being awful or flakey. You won’t get your sweet avatar whisked away, you probably won’t get Toxxed if you’re a shithead who backs out after swearing you’ll write something this time. You will get ridiculed and berated the next time you show your face (or even if you don’t), and you might even get a scathing critique from our Host of the Mostment, but beyond that this is a kinder, gentler place (at least in terms of lasting digital repercussions.) I’ll take it upon myself for now to compile things from hosts weekly into the reserved posts below, meaning that until I get a better idea on how to run this we won’t have more than 2 plot splits at a time (probably a good idea to start anyway). I’ll also host the first story, details to follow in Reserved Post #1. Happy Writing, Terribles~ DISCLAIMER: I in no way, shape, or form own or am affiliated with the creation of the original HyperFiction or the Heckler's Online conglomeration, and I hope this poo poo isn't copyrighted anywhere, but it'd be nice if I didn't get sued!
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Jan 10, 2015 02:13
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OUR CURRENT STORY: Shiver Me Duckies Host of the Mostment: Maugrim CURRENT DEADLINE: TBD It's good to have swag, Captain Scallywag thought as he turned away from the buxom readhead that lay to his right, reached over the buxom blonde and fished for the swaying box of cigars on the nightstand. Empty jars of rum fell off to both sides, clattering across the floor, rolling back and forth, back and -- Wait, "swaying"? The door to the Captain's cabin burst open and Captain Scallywag stomped outside, infusing the salty air with a manly odor of rum, sweat and adventure. First Mate Snooters, who'd always had the annoying habit of inadvertedly walking up on you from behind, screamed a surprise greeting in Scallywag's ear and raised his hand to a salute. Captain Scallywag swatted it aside. "We're pirates, dipshit," he said. "S-s-sorry, Captain," Snooters said. "Why are we out at sea?" "You gave order to s-s-sail, Captain." "I did no--" Scallywag held in. Actually, the last few days were kind of a haze. "Uhh... yes, of course. Good on you, doing the thing I said you should do!" There was a commotion starboard. Sailors had lined up along the reel, hooting and cheering at something out at sea. "What's all this?" Scallywag roared. He pushed his men aside and froze in place. Ducks. Feathery little agents of doom, twitching their razor-sharp bills left and right, fluttering their wings, ready to take off and pinch any foolish Captains that woul obstruct their nebulous agenda. Ducks. Why did it have to be ducks? "We're getting close to Duck Island, sir," one sailor said. "Turn around!" Captain Scallywag totally didn't screech like a frightened schoolgirl. "But Captain, the treasure!" "Treasure?" "You said there was treasure to be found on Duck Island," another sailor said. A third sailor stepped up. "There will be treasure, won't there, Captain?" They looked at him with childlike anticipation. Captain Scallywag couldn't disappoint his men. Not if he didn't want to risk a sharp increase in fatal "accidents" amongst the ship's management staff. "Straight ahead to Duck Island!" he said. May God have mercy on our souls. (Entenzahn) The buxom redhead stretched languorously and fell out of the hammock. "gently caress," she said. "No time for that," said Captain Scallywag, helping her up. Her name was Vivien and she was his favourite bed partner at the moment. The buxom blonde had her uses, but being composed largely of straw and rubber, was unsuited to his current needs. "You have to tell me why the hell I've brought us to Duck Island." "Um." She said. "Something about payback?" "No no no. Treasure. I said treasure, right?" "Um... maybe? You said gently caress a lot. And duck. gently caress ducks, was the general tendency of your argument." She gave up a futile search for clothes and wrapped herself in a bedsheet. "And their luck. gently caress ducks and their luck." Of course. He'd nearly forgotten. The gambling ring. Half his fortune, gone in a single unlucky toss of the bones. The quackling mockery of the audience as Captain Blackbeak swept up the chest of jewels and waddled off into the night. "In that case," he said, "we're going to need a plan." He swept his hat onto his head and Vivien into a theatrical kiss. His hat fell off and rolled under the bed. "Well done, sir!" cried Snooters, applauding enthusiastically. "Snooters, get the hell out of my cabin." "Aye aye, cap'n." "And get everyone armed. That treasure will be guarded by fowl sorcery, mark my birds... er, words." (Maugrim) Quidthulhu fucked around with this message at 01:37 on Jan 18, 2015 |
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Jan 10, 2015 02:13
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Reserved for current Plot Split 1.
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Jan 10, 2015 02:13
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Reserved for current Plot Split 2.
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Jan 10, 2015 02:13
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What the gently caress, go big or go home, reserved for current Plot Split 3.
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Jan 10, 2015 02:13
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ACCOLADES OF ARBITRARILY ASSIGNED AWESOMENESS (AND ALLITERATION...AGAIN) 1. Entenzahn - 100 pts 2. Poison Mushroom - 55 pts 3. Maugrim - 45 pts 4. Juanito - 10 pts 5. Sitting Here - 7 pts Quidthulhu fucked around with this message at 01:35 on Jan 18, 2015 |
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Jan 10, 2015 02:29
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I submit for your consideration the beginning to a story called, THE DAUBILOON Esmeralda heard a wet snuffling in the deep night beyond her curtains. Never one to shy away from danger or poor decision-making, she slipped into her boots and went outside, flashlight in hand. "Snuffurglorg," went the mysterious thing. "Hello?" Esmeralda called, uncertain. Her sense of caution had just put its shoes on and caught up with her, out there in the dark. The snuffling stopped for a moment. Then a great, gurgling cry erupted into the night. "HARRRROOOOOOOOOORF!" Esmeralda's first instinct was to bolt for the house, but the soggy pathos in the unseen creature's wail tugged at something in her heart. Following the miserable snorfs and hiccupy gurfs, she made her way to the darkest corner of her yard, sweeping her flashlight back and forth. Finally, she found it, huddled in the corner made by the tall fence. The sight of it was enough to make Esmeralda cover her mouth in horror.
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Jan 10, 2015 02:39
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What the gently caress am I doing why am I doing this? Once Upon A Personification Of An Abstract Concept Once upon a time, in a faraway land called Metaphor, there lived a man named Comedy. There was also a woman named Comedy, who was quite upset that the man named Comedy getting all the attention, and a black man named Comedy, who was quite upset that people only paid attention to him when he did a very specific thing, and got mad at him when he didn't. (The man named Subtlety hasn't been born yet in this story.) The man named Comedy lived in a village called Genre, and Genre had a problem. The people from Genre had lived together a very long time, but none of them could ever cooperate and figure out how to best get things done. That day, they were all trying to decide how to throw a parade. "We shouldn't overcomplicate things!", said Action, as he always did. "Nobody needs all these twists and turns, they're just here to have a good time! Set up a sword fight, an explosion or two, maybe a bit of tasteful nudity..." "You don't give people enough credit," replied Psychological Thriller, who was busy jacking off David Fincher like usual, "Give them something to challenge their preconceptions and views of the world. Maybe kill a couple women right at the climax." This last comment immediately had Horror and Comic Books interested, but everyone else was still a bit dubious. And so, they argued back and forth and back and forth, and it was all Comedy could do to not scream, until finally, he couldn't take it any more! "This parade is stupid!" He shouted suddenly, standing up for dramatic effect. "It's full of heavy-handed preaching but can't even decide what it wants to preach about!" Everyone looked at Comedy expectantly, and a few of them grumbled. If he didn't like their ideas for what to do with the parade, why wasn't he coming up with any? Comedy knew what they were thinking, his writer wasn't competent enough to not mix up their knowledge with his. "You want to know what I would do? Fine, I'll tell you." Comedy paused, also for dramatic effect, but just then, someone burst in unexpectedly. Someone who everyone in Genre knew, but none of them had ever wanted to see again. And they spoke four words that made everyone present realize that this parade was never going to be the same again. Edited for very minor grammatical errors. girl dick energy fucked around with this message at 16:57 on Jan 10, 2015 |
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Jan 10, 2015 03:44
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Birth of a Super-Villan [sic] Sherman used to wear cowboy boots, but they hurt his feet too much. Now he wore second hand Reebok shoes which worked okay, because they were black and comfortable. But stomping around in sneakers just didn't have the same effect as cowboy boots, and it was necessary to find another method to make sure his presence was felt when he was out. He finally found the perfect cane. A long, skinny, metal pipe that he could turn into a deadly weapon at a moment's notice. A wooden cane would have been nice, but this piece of pipe worked well, because it was easy to make a lot of noise, with little effort. People felt his presence. He could see it in their eyes, as they winced as he banged his cane on the sidewalk. He didn't even need to be walking to bang his cane. He'd find a good bench near his apartment building where he could keep an eye on the entrance. He wasn't allowed to sit in front of his apartment building anymore after the stupid janitor had complained to the landlord who'd gone to his grandma because of some cracked floor tiles in the building entrance. He had cracked the tiles while testing the cane's strength. Sherman scowled, it was a small price for them to pay for all of the protection that he provided for free while he was living with his grandma, temporarily.
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Jan 10, 2015 15:51
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Shiver me Duckies It's good to have swag, Captain Scallywag thought as he turned away from the buxom readhead that lay to his right, reached over the buxom blonde and fished for the swaying box of cigars on the nightstand. Empty jars of rum fell off to both sides, clattering across the floor, rolling back and forth, back and -- Wait, "swaying"? The door to the Captain's cabin burst open and Captain Scallywag stomped outside, infusing the salty air with a manly odor of rum, sweat and adventure. First Mate Snooters, who'd always had the annoying habit of inadvertedly walking up on you from behind, screamed a surprise greeting in Scallywag's ear and raised his hand to a salute. Captain Scallywag swatted it aside. "We're pirates, dipshit," he said. "S-s-sorry, Captain," Snooters said. "Why are we out at sea?" "You gave order to s-s-sail, Captain." "I did no--" Scallywag held in. Actually, the last few days were kind of a haze. "Uhh... yes, of course. Good on you, doing the thing I said you should do!" There was a commotion starboard. Sailors had lined up along the reel, hooting and cheering at something out at sea. "What's all this?" Scallywag roared. He pushed his men aside and froze in place. Ducks. Feathery little agents of doom, twitching their razor-sharp bills left and right, fluttering their wings, ready to take off and pinch any foolish Captains that woul obstruct their nebulous agenda. Ducks. Why did it have to be ducks? "We're getting close to Duck Island, sir," one sailor said. "Turn around!" Captain Scallywag totally didn't screech like a frightened schoolgirl. "But Captain, the treasure!" "Treasure?" "You said there was treasure to be found on Duck Island," another sailor said. A third sailor stepped up. "There will be treasure, won't there, Captain?" They looked at him with childlike anticipation. Captain Scallywag couldn't disappoint his men. Not if he didn't want to risk a sharp increase in fatal "accidents" amongst the ship's management staff. "Straight ahead to Duck Island!" he said. May God have mercy on our souls.
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Jan 10, 2015 21:48
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Nice submissions so far! Just in case anyone didn't see, I moved the deadline to Monday for a faster turnaround to start!
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Jan 10, 2015 22:09
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Picking the story starter tonight, anyone else interested in submitting a starter do so before midnight PST~
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Jan 13, 2015 03:05
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Week I Judgement Thanks to those of you who stepped up and submitted story beginnings! I'm looking forward to seeing where we go from here! The best thing is that every story left us with places to go, which I love! Everyone who participated gets 5 points for creating entries that made me want to read more and to find out what was going on. Sitting Here gets an extra 2 points for Snuffurglorg, a word I imagine would be commonplace if Dr. Seuss wrote Cthulhu fan fiction. Poison Mushroom gets a whopping 50 points for a story starter that I REALLY enjoyed and almost picked, but felt would be a little too hard to pull off right now. I'm hoping to keep it in the anals [sic] of posteriority [sic] in hopes that some future Host will snatch it up. Our winner, numero uno story starter, and first host that's not me (thank god) is Entenzahn, who somehow stalked me hard enough to find out I have a secret love of pirates speaking far too intelligently for their likely historical socioeconomic situation and thinking in sentence fragments that suddenly change the direction of their speech. You earned your 100 points, buddy, and I'm looking forward to submitting something m'self. Alas, I am taking 5 points away from you for forcing me to open two drat windows next to each other to format all the italics in your story. This nearly was yours, sir. I will let Ent take over from here with smug, and I'll even let him set the deadline. Unless I page him to the thread and he, well, doesn't, in which case I guess I'll set the deadline and PM him crankily a bunch of times. HyperFiction! Quidthulhu fucked around with this message at 09:23 on Jan 13, 2015 |
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Jan 13, 2015 09:18
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I'm keeping this short because you're all going to disappoint me anyways (but I love you for trying). The new deadline is Saturday, 17.01.15, 23.59 CET, at which point I will pick one lucky entrant to free me from this throne of fools and reside over the noble guild of duck piracy storytellers in my stead. godspeed you horrible little monsters
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Jan 13, 2015 11:36
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The buxom redhead stretched languorously and fell out of the hammock. "gently caress," she said. "No time for that," said Captain Scallywag, helping her up. Her name was Vivien and she was his favourite bed partner at the moment. The buxom blonde had her uses, but being composed largely of straw and rubber, was unsuited to his current needs. "You have to tell me why the hell I've brought us to Duck Island." "Um." She said. "Something about payback?" "No no no. Treasure. I said treasure, right?" "Um... maybe? You said gently caress a lot. And duck. gently caress ducks, was the general tendency of your argument." She gave up a futile search for clothes and wrapped herself in a bedsheet. "And their luck. gently caress ducks and their luck." Of course. He'd nearly forgotten. The gambling ring. Half his fortune, gone in a single unlucky toss of the bones. The quackling mockery of the audience as Captain Blackbeak swept up the chest of jewels and waddled off into the night. "In that case," he said, "we're going to need a plan." He swept his hat onto his head and Vivien into a theatrical kiss. His hat fell off and rolled under the bed. "Well done, sir!" cried Snooters, applauding enthusiastically. "Snooters, get the hell out of my cabin." "Aye aye, cap'n." "And get everyone armed. That treasure will be guarded by fowl sorcery, mark my birds... er, words."
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Jan 15, 2015 17:37
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"Aye, aye, captain!" Snooters bellowed into the captain's ear. Captain Scallywag flinched, nodded at Snooters and headed back to his Captain's cabin. Treasure on Duck Island. Everybody knew there was treasure on Duck Island. The treasure at Duck Island was supposed to be enormous. But Duck Island was a place that people didn't usually return from. Many ships had their entire crews decimated .If anybody actually survived, they are usually too damaged to describe what they experienced, and were only able to mutter about the ducks. And those were the people who actually had maps, Captain Scallywag mused. He had no map, no real knowledge of the island, or even clues as to where the treasure might be. It was too late now though. He couldn't risk a mutiny, much less near Duck Island. He needed a treasure map, and quickly. He looked around his chambers. The redhead and the blonde were snoring. He yanked a dirty sheet from his bed, and quickly cut a large square out of it. Scallywag examined the square of fabric. It was stained, and worn, and would work fine for convincing his crew that it was a reliable source of treasure. Now he needed to actually draw Duck Island, or something. He cursed, and tried to remember other treasure maps of Duck Island that he'd seen on the past. He should have been paying more attention, but he didn't expect that he'd need to recollect these things for his own. He grabbed a worn quill, the only one that he had, and a small ink bottle. The little ink left was mostly dried out, it's not like he was doing much writing these days. He spit in the bottle, and stirred things around, that helped a little, but not enough. He cleared his throat, hocking into the bottle, and stirred a bit more. Better. Scallywag dipped the quill into the ink, and started drawing. He didn't know the shape of the island, but a rough oval would probably be okay. He drew an oval, adding squiggles and random scratches along some of the island border. That could be some rocks, or whatever. He shrugged. He tried to draw some trees, and then wrote a number next to them. Good luck deciphering that, he grinned. He drew a cave, a mound of dirt, or a lump, open to interpretation. He attempted to draw a skull for danger. He paused to examine his work. The skull looked like a sad face, not at all like a skull. Scallywag grimaced, it would have to do. He drew a feather, since there was no way that he could draw a duck, but the feather looked more like a turd. He added some more symbols, squiggles and numbers on the map, and finally included an X in the middle of the crude map drawing. This would have to do. He heard a commotion outside, shouting from his men, then quacking, increasing in volume. He blew on the map to make sure that the ink was dry. There was a banging on the door, and then the door slammed open. Scallywag jumped, and shoved the map in his pocket. The quacking was deafening now. Some feathers floated in, as Snooters entered, "S-s-s-orry, captain, we've got a problem."
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Jan 15, 2015 21:49
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Look at all the reading I have to do. Juanito I am oddly charmed by the way your narration slowly descends into madness and lethargy to a point where things just start looking "like turds". The prose doesn't justify so many words for "He drew a crude map" but then I really like where your entry leaves off. So you take the plot in a direction that gels with me, but it's very wordy and not a strong piece on its own. Maugrim on the opposite, your piece is super clean and I really like both Vivien and the idea of having a ducky antagonist called "Captain Blackbeak". But I wanted a zany story about a duck-phobic pirate captain so I'm not sure how I feel about the sudden shift to a literal Ocean's Eleven remake starring: Johnny Depp. I almost want to split plots here but that would be lame, like those children contests where everyone wins. gently caress that. Maugrim gets it because I really want to see Captain Blackbeak. But I'm giving five of his points to Juanito, who actually followed his orders. Maugrim +45 Juanito +5
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Jan 18, 2015 01:18
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OK so that's two unexpected wins in a week. I should stop posting and making life hard for myself. The new deadline is whenever I wake up and check the forum on Sunday, 25th January. Since I'm on UK time, that probably means you should write your stories before you go to sleep on Saturday if you're in the US (if you're in NZ you have a bit more leeway). Let's get this island invasion underway. Godspeed!
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Jan 18, 2015 01:45
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Maugrim posted:The new deadline is whenever I wake up and check the forum on Sunday, 25th January. Welp. Sorry, Quidnose. Thread looked fun but I guess Thunderdome is keeping everyone busy.
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Jan 25, 2015 17:14
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We'll try again some other time, maybe reviving this story. Thanks to those who contributed!
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Jan 29, 2015 03:27
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