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The Something Awful Forums > Archives > Comedy Goldmine > Thunderdome 2016teen: Fast Writing, Bad Writing
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022

Okua posted:

21:
"Herds know the hour of their going home
and turn them again from the grass;
but never is found a foolish man
who knows the measure of his maw."

Actually the Stomach is Way Bigger than the Eyes, I Mean That’s Just Basic Anatomy 1495 words

“Do we have to go to Cowboy Randy’s?” I dunno why I bothered asking the question. I knew the answer was yes, and I knew why.

It was Dad’s birthday. Every year on Dad’s birthday, we went to Cowboy Randy’s Steakhouse. Every year, Dad attempted the Cowboy Randy’s Big Steak Challenge. Every year, Dad fell short. Sometimes, he projectile ‘fell short’ all over the floor of Cowboy Randy’s Steakhouse. This had been the case for as long as I could remember; Dad’s relationship with the Cowboy Randy’s Big Steak Challenge predated those he had with any of his children.

“It’s only once a year, Mary,” said Mum. “Your father deserves to pick where we have dinner tonight.”

~

We sat at the same table every year. We were ushered to our table by a man in a cowboy suit.

A grown man.

Wearing a cowboy suit.

“Howdy pardners,” he said, “I’m Cowboy Randy, and welcome to my Steakhouse. Can I offer any of you likely looking wranglers something to wet your whistle?”

I don’t know what kind of cowboy movies this idiot had been watching.

We got a jug of water for the table. Mum looked at the wine list for about a minute before sighing deeply and saying, “You know what, just water will be fine.” Yeah, she knew she was going to be driving home while dad either stuck his head out the window or hugged his knees.

After a while, Cowboy Randy came back to take our food orders. I ordered a schnitzel, Tod ordered the ribs, Mum ordered a salad for herself and a small pizza for Kristen. Kristen was young enough that she did not yet understand the pattern that Dad’s annual birthday dinner followed, so she was excited about eating out and having a whole pizza to herself. Dad pretended to think about his order, then turned to Cowboy Randy and said “Now, what’s this Big Steak Challenge you’ve got here?”

“Ah,” said Cowboy Randy. “That’s only for our hungriest buckaroos. One kilogram of finest Cowboy Randy’s steak with a generous helping of Cowboy Fries, all washed down with a mug of our finest ale. Anyone who can get through it all in half an hour gets their photo on the Cowboy Randy’s Big Buckaroos photo wall, and a free shirt to commemorate their victory!”

Dad nodded. “I’m always up for a challenge. I’ll try that, please.”

Cowboy Randy nodded, read our order back to us, and then swaggered away to deliver our orders to the kitchen.

~

“I’ve definitely got it, this year,” said Dad.

“I’m sure you’ll give it your best,” said Mum.

“It’s all about eating everything in the right order and keeping a steady rhythm,” said Dad.

“I saw a doco about professional eaters,” said Tod. “Can you believe people make a career out of competitive eating?”

Dad shook his head. “I think that would take the joy out of it.”

I nodded. “You really need the down time to let yourself forget how unpleasant it tastes on the way back up.”

Mum frowned and shook her head at me, but Dad didn’t hear; he was distracted as Cowboy Randy returned with the first of the orders. Kristen got her pizza and Mum her salad. It was just after Cowboy Randy went back into the kitchen for the remaining orders that the windows facing the service station across the road were smashed in.

As the glass shattered inwards, three figures tumbled in. Two dive rolled in, winding up in a crouch with shotguns pointed in front of them. The third, the one in the middle, jumped through feet first, like a fly kick, and landed on both feet with two submachineguns pointed out in front. All three figures were wearing balaclavas, which is weird because it was Summer, which is definitely not balaclava weather at all. That last figure said in a loud, deep male voice, “Oi! Give us all your money!”

As none of the staff were in the dining area of the restaurant at the time, there wasn’t any immediate response. Then Cowboy Randy came out with the last three meals.

I’ve always been impressed with how waiters can carry more meals than they have hands. It’s not really an important narrative point, I just think it’s super cool and worth commenting on.

“Oi you,” said the figure again, “give us all your money or we’ll bash you!”

“Howdy pardners,” said Cowboy Randy, to his credit refusing to drop character even under duress. “Just let me serve these cowpokes their meals and I’ll get right to you thieving varmints.”

No doubt taken aback by being addressed as varmints, the balaclava wearing trio patiently waited while Cowboy Randy gave me my schnitzel, Tod his ribs and Dad his colossal meal.

“Here,” said the apparent leader of the would-be thieves. “That steak’s huge. You sure you can handle it?”

Dad shrugged. “This is not my first rodeo.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Cowboy Randy. He set a mug of ale down next to Dad’s meal, then pulled out a stopwatch, saying, “Your time starts now.”

“Eh?” asked the balaclava leader.

“It’s the Cowboy Randy’s Big Steak Challenge,” said Cowboy Randy. He pointed over to the photo wall. “He’s competing to join the ranks of our Big Buckaroos.”

“Oh yeah,” said balaclava. “You know, I used to be able to put away a meal or two. Hook me up with one of those, I reckon I could outeat this turkey.”

“Uh, boss,” said one of the others, “I’m not sure we really have time for this.”

“No,” said the other, “I thought we were just going to grab the cash and leave.”

Balaclava frowned, turned and looked at them. “Is that so,” he asked. Then he shot them both in the head. “Insubordination!” he said. He shook his head. “They’ve really got to learn to appreciate the finer things in life.”

“Hmmm,” said Cowboy Randy, “you know, by a strange coincidence I think we actually have a spare of those meals back there, let me just check, all right?” Even under the circumstances, he returned to the kitchen with a swagger. Somehow, it made me feel better to know that no matter what, Cowboy Randy would always be Cowboy Randy.

“I’ll wait until yours gets here before I start, then, shall I?” said Dad. He always was competitive.

“Jolly good,” said balaclava.

Cowboy Randy was gone less than a minute before he returned from the kitchen with another huge meal. He shook his head. “Would you believe it, it turns out the cook accidentally made two of these. What are the odds?” He presented the meal to balaclava with a flourish, and set down the ale next to it.

~

Dad settled into an easy rhythm. First the chips, interspersed with sips from the mug of ale. Balaclava had pulled up the balaclava in question to uncover his mouth, and seemed to have started on the steak. I kept an eye on the two of them, but also ate my schnitzel, because for all of my complaints about Cowboy Randy’s Steakhouse, their schnitzel was fantastic. And I was hungry. I ate my schnitzel in about the time it took Dad to eat the chips and down half of his ale, and balaclava to polish off the steak. It was at this point that it became apparent that Dad’s was probably the superior tactic.

The only three people left eating were Dad, who was starting on the steak, balaclava, who was part way through the chips but appeared to be struggling, and Todd, who was just finishing the ribs.

Hey, they were massive ribs.

As Dad got halfway through the steak, he slowed down a bit, but still seemed relatively comfortable. Balaclava, by contrast, looked slightly unwell. “You know,” said Dad, “if you can’t finish it, you can probably ask for a doggie bag.”

Balaclava pointed one of his guns at Dad. “I’ve got this. Worry about your own meal, old man.”

Dad shrugged and kept eating.

The police busted through the window that faced the parking lot just as Dad swallowed down the last bite of steak. Balaclava was violently ill all over his guns, and didn’t put up much resistance as the police detained him and gingerly removed his guns from him and put them into barf bags.

“You know,” said Cowboy Randy, “the front door wasn’t locked or anything. It’s totally fine to come in that way.” The police took away balaclava and the bodies of his accomplices.

“Now,” said Dad, “about that Big Buckaroo photo wall.”

“Sorry,” said Cowboy Randy, “you were three minutes over.”

~

Dad didn’t seem too disappointed on the drive home. As Mum said to him, “There’s always next year.” And besides, if he hadn’t waited for balaclava to start, he totally would’ve had it.

* # ¿ Dec 4, 2016 19:11
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# ¿ May 21, 2024 15:43
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022




 Congratulations Hawklaprooooooommmpt!

* # ¿ Dec 6, 2016 02:47
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022

steeltoedsneakers posted:

Lurk more. Kayfabe more.

Nah.

* # ¿ Dec 14, 2016 10:31
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022

Sitting Here posted:

:toxx: who will judge

I AM JUDGING FOR WINABI.

Write a story where the protagonists are animals. Not anthropomorphic animals that wear clothes or whatever. Not animals who make pop culture references and foxes get on well with rabbits instead of eating them or whatevs.

Animals like the ones from Farthing Wood or whatever where they live in dens or wherever the heck animals live and they have every day actual animal concerns to deal with and whatevs you get the idea, and if you don't get the idea you MIGHT NOT WIN.

1500 word limit. Due Next Wednesday, 12 midday, by my own clock on my own wrist.

* # ¿ Dec 15, 2016 09:50
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022




 FAST JUDGING GOOD JUDGING

* # ¿ Dec 19, 2016 11:19
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022




 Congrats Beef, for real I was starting to worry that we would have to award the 'winner' to the 'least bad' story, (your stories were all bad) but you basically had me from the name of your protagonist, and I thoroughly enjoyed every part of your story.

ALSO

Prrrrrooooooompt!

* # ¿ Dec 19, 2016 12:17
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022




 SittingMojo Anibrawl

OK tricky one here. Both pretty good stories but very different. SH's has very pretty words. So pretty and intricate in fact that I just could not deal with it when I first read it directly after waking up and before having breakfast. Mojo's on the other hand had much simpler language, but it worked; it fit the character and it fit the story.

I reread them both after procrastinating a whole bunch and having breakfast. Was able to better process SH's story, and also noticed a couple grammatical nitpicks I had with each of them.

While I still found Mojo's story easier to follow, I am awarding the win to SH's story because the words were v. pretty and nice, the story mostly made sense once I was fed and able to concentrate, and it evoked kind of a non-human POV thing that I really dug.

TL;DR SH is the champ and Mojo is a butt.

* # ¿ Dec 21, 2016 06:14
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022




 Crits, I guess.

Mrenda posted:

The Jester's Sickness
833 Words

Were people entitled to a job, to earn a living, have a roof over their head and have money to buy Jenny another baby loving shower present? OK so here is the first of many pointless overly angry comments about JENNY. Jenny never appears in the story and Marie's annoyance at her got old really quickly. Jenny had offered to hire her for the eldest’s birthday, at half the rate on her website. “For a friend,” was the plea. Marie was tempted to take it. Those two sentences were awkward and took me a couple reads to 'get'.

She adjusted her red nose. A degree in the performing arts, two off-Broadway performances (Five Stars in the New York Times), and now she was adjusting her giant clown honker in her clapped out Toyota. She could barely manage to get bookings and all this to buy a charm bracelet for Jenny rich-bitch Murray’s new poo poo machine. SRSLY if this protagonist hates Jenny so much why even go to the baby shower, and follow up point I find it difficult to empathise with a protag whose main defining feature so much is BABIES ARE THE WORST I HATE JENNY

“We texted this morning, we told you this. Alton gets tired. We told you the time could change. You said you’d worked with children like mine before.” I don't really get what that last bit even means. YOU GOT THE TIME WRONG, YOU DON'T HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO WORK WITH SPECIAL KIDS what

A sick nine year old, and she’d hosed up the time. Marie could feel the heat beneath her cheap makeup. This was her fourth gig in eight months. Word of mouth hadn’t worked. She had to take the job. She knew she could fake it for an hour. But there were no phones allowed at the reading. It had a chance of going into production, even touring. It would pay her well while this clown gig would buy spoiled Jenny Murray a 13 carat gold bracelet for the newest vomit-monster she was only having for eventual child support. Feels like some of these bits should be past perfect rather than past tense. And at least one of them was, but there are still other bits that seemed wrong. Oh also shut up about Jenny. You know, if you'd deleted every single line about Jenny, maybe you'd have come in under the word limit. Food for thought.

“Alton is nine today?”
“He’s mature. It’s aged him.” Father or mother? I mean maybe it doesn't matter, but still a little confusing.
“How many children came?”
“Just one. He hasn’t spent much time in school to make friends.” Gonna need a comma here rather than a period and new sentence, me bucko. His father said. “Sally, his little cousin.”

He put his arm around the motheradd a comma here IMO also 'the mother' in this context feels really weird, maybe 'his wife' or if they're living in sin or whatevs, 'his partner' I dunno just referring to her as 'the mother' feels really weird. who turned away. Sandra knew the dampness cloying beneath her layered makeup didn’t compare to what was welling in the father’s eyes.wait who's Sandra, is that THE MOTHER?

“Go in, please. And be careful.”
Marie smiled. “It’s ok.”

The parents stepped aside. Passing the doorway a chlorine smell, sterility she associated with the elderly burned at her nose.Not a fan of that sentence. She breathed deeply, clamped her jaw tight and turned towards the room that held the sick, young boy. Nodding her head side to sidenodding side to side? what she passed a wave down her neck, through her torso and out to her limbs to loosen her body.the hell did any of that mean She burst through the door, arched her neck with her head high and screamed like a demented penguin, ah yes, penguins with dementia are renowned for their screaming :/ “TICKLE ATTACK!”

His skin was a deep, rich yellow,I dunno deep and rich are positive attributes to give to a colour, and makes me think that everything is A-OK with Alton, it just doesn't seem to fit with the ALTON IS SICK thing you seem to be trying to cultivate or whatever like I get that being yellow is meant to indicate that he's unwell, but those other adjectives undermine that imo and one of the oxygen tanks had tubes hooked under his nose. His eyes drooped and his head nodded.

“Tickle Sally.” He pointed with a half raised arm and curled fist. what's a curled fist i tried to emulate what that would look like and idgi Sally looked scared.



“Oh my god, I didn’t mean to.” Marie fell to her knees and picked up the Lego figure she had just destroyed. A chariot with dragons, and a woman were snapped in half. The chariot a dedicated model with thin, delicate parts. “I’m sorry, Alton.” She said it without even looking at him. Why did she say she could do this? She was a poo poo clown, never-mind performing for a death’s-door child. A LEGO Medea? That's not even a thing. It'd be cool though. never-mind as a hyphenated word? THat's just silly, it's two words you buffoon.

“I wanted to read to Sally, Mom! Not a crappy clown.” That's an awkward pairing of sentences IMO, also if he wanted to read to Sally, why would it have been a problem that Marie was an hour late? That's an hour of reading time he's squandered there. He was really fighting now. His mother ignored him and walked to her handbag draped over the couch under a framed Wicked poster.



“But, soft!” Marie took off her red nose as she rose from the child’s broken toy. “What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun."

The young, sick boy’s eyes rested as he sat back into his chair. "Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon." wait who says this line? I read it as Alton joining in with the recital but now I'm not sure.

Marie’s chest filled as she saw his breathing calm.

OK the ending is kind of decent because it ties together with Marie's classical training so that's cool but the angry words about Jenny were just kind of over the top and annoying, and I didn't greatly sympathise with Marie TBH. Over all this story was kind of not very engaging.

* # ¿ Dec 29, 2016 17:21
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022




 Thunderdome 2017: Read the OP you big dumb jerk it's not even that long also it's a hard limit and stop prefacing your posts I hate you all

* # ¿ Dec 31, 2016 13:16
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022




 Here come (some of?) the last crits of 2016.

Jagermonster posted:

Ride of the White Knight
780 words

Justin steeled himself for confrontation as the bus crawled through rush hour traffic. Too often Justin read about women being harassed or groped on public transportation. Justin knew what he would do if he ever witnessed some scumbag doing stuff like that. A palm strike to the nose would stop the assaulter dead in his tracks. Several jabs would send the shattered nose bone up and into the brain, killing them. Hmmm OK I get it I get the joke you're setting up please don't disappoint me

Justin gripped the hand rail as the bus made a sharp turn. He never sat. So many men sat, taking seats meant for women. Women deserved better. They deserved a good guy like Justin. Oh I see, he's a 'good guy' I mean I think the preferred nomenclature when being mocking about this kind of silliness is ;nice guy' but whatevs I get it I'm picking up what you're putting down. Seems like it might be dumb and bad but I've been wrong before.

Justin's arm shot up a little bit as he imagined himself confronting some harasser. He stopped himself before he completed the full palm strike. He glanced around to make sure no one had seen him spasm around. Yep hate this protag which I guess is the point but not in a 'ooooh he's a jerk' way more in a 'this is a dumb caricature from an overtold joke' way.

All it would take is one confrontation and Justin would be known for the hero he was. A palm strike straight to the nose - Bam! Someone would film it and it would go viral. Women everywhere would feel safe knowing Justin was out there. I mean not much else to add here. I get it, what a pathetic loser, lol etc.

And Justin would get so many blow jobs. He debated whether it would be ethical to accept one from the woman he saved. Other women would want to give him blow jobs too. Justin took a seat to hide his erection. I actually don't mind this sentence though it's kinda funny I guess.

The bus stopped at Verring Avenue. Justin jumped up so she wouldn't see him sitting. The bus stood idling for a moment. Justin's hopes fell. Maybe he had mixed up her work schedule. Or it had changed. Or she was just running late. Then he saw the top of her golden head. Oh good just in case we hadn't entirely gotten what a pathetic schmuck this guy is you made him a stalker that's just swell.

She handed her money to the bus driver and smiled. Justin would do anything to kiss those perfect red lips. Justin turned toward the window so she wouldn't catch him staring.

"Hey!" a deep voice yelled from the street. A guy in an Ohio State hoodie climbed onto the bus.

"I have to go to work, Kyle," she said.

"We aren't done talking!" OH man this guy's pretty 'alpha' will the nice guy prevail? LET'S FIND OUT

"Yeah, we are," she said.

Kyle closed in on her. Justin's hand tightened on the hand rail. With a jolt, the bus started rumbling down the street again.

Kyle grabbed her arm. "Don't just walk away from me like that."

"You better take your hands off me right now."

Justin took a step forward. "Hey!"

She looked back to Justin. So did Kyle and the rest of the bus.

Justin closed the distance between them. "Back off!"

"gently caress you, bro," Kyle said.

Justin stopped within striking distance. "I said back off."

"And what are you-"

Justin jabbed the heel of his palm up toward Kyle's nose. It stopped just short.

Kyle's fingers dug into Justin's wrist. "You just take a loving swing at me?" WHAT A TWIST! THE HEAVILY CARICATURED NICE GUY FAILED TO MURDER THE ALPHA BRO? OUTRAGEOUS

Justin tried to tug his arm back. He jerked it forward and down like they teach in Karate. Kyle's grip wouldn't give. Justin panicked. He lunged forward, head first, aiming for Kyle's nose.

Justin ended up bent over, with Kyle's other hand on the back of Justin's neck. Justin slapped at Kyle's arms. They were as solid as the metal poles on the bus.

Kyle's knee shot up into Justin's face.

She gasped. "Stop it!"

“This guy attacked me!” Kyle said.

"Please," Justin managed to say before Kyle kneed him again. Something popped in Justin's face. His right eye lost vision. Pain coursed down Justin's spine into the pit of the stomach. His head felt like it would burst. Kyle kneed him again, then let go. Justin collapsed to the floor.

Kyle raised his foot. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be Kyle's head punctured like an inflated balloon, not Justin's smashed like a watermelon. Justin was the hero.

Justin heard a thwack. Kyle's foot came down to the side of Justin's head. Another thwack.

Justin rolled over. Kyle covered his bleeding face. Her hand shot out like a cobra, striking him twice in the stomach. Kyle doubled over. She brought her first up and slammed it down on the side of his head. Kyle collapsed on top of Justin. Oho the tables have turned, this sister is doing it for herself, FEMINISM OORAH

The bus screeched to a halt. "What the hell is going on back there!" the bus driver said.

"Please call the police," she said.

A woman in the front said she already had. "And an ambulance for the other one."

"Hey!" Justin heard himself say in a small garbled voice from somewhere behind him. "Back off!"

Someone laughed. "This poo poo is going to go viral!"

Justin closed his eyes and listened to himself getting kneed in the head over and over.

I hated this story, and it's mostly because you set the protag up in such a way that it was obvious he was going to be a hopeless failure. And it was full of dumb and bad caricatures.

* # ¿ Dec 31, 2016 16:38
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022

Hawklad posted:


Tribal Wisdom
793 words

All of humanity is jammed in the City because the Earth has turned to poo poo. This is an OK start.

It was a mad rush at the end, before the virus finished everyone off. Scientists stuffed survivors and startled natives into glorified shipping containers along with last-minute cultural scraps and fired us into orbit until the rockets ran out. All in the name of preserving human biodiversity and art and history until we could return. Only that part didn't happen, did it? The virus is still down there, waiting, and it's got hooves and wings and flippers in which to hide while we rot away up here. Didn't mind this paragraph either.

So we joined together, safety in numbers, a giant, spinning, swaying mass of aluminum trusses holding together a motley menage of habitats, solar panels, recycling stations, production facilities, and radiation shields ever tilting towards the horizon. Somehow we survive. But this place, what we call the City? Well, it's become poo poo too. It was never supposed to last as long as it has. What's left of humanity is more stratified and divided and distrusting as ever, only now we're crammed together, totally dependent on each other for survival. Maybe we were before, too, but we just didn't realize it. Hmmm yes OK this is some reasonably told exposition.

At first everyone was worried about the indigenous tribes, how they'd survive up here, but in the end they were more adaptable than the rest of us. They made the City their own and now much of it is under tribal rule. OK good set up and now into the story.

Which is why I'm currently in low Earth orbit, lashed to a waste conduit, facing four masked San Bushmen hopping and dancing around me, hooting and clicking, while their gnarled old chief looks on. Oh OK but now surely you'll finish with the back story and get into the actual story.

This tribe had recently taken over the Sector Nine Food Production Lab, and the UN needed someone to open negotiations to get it back. I'd taken a few African Studies classes in college and was itching get my first assignment so I volunteered. In retrospect, a bad decision. Come on now it's only an 800 or so word story, you've got to get to the actual story part some time.

Flaunting my expertise in exotic African languages, negotiations started with me calling the tribal chief's mother a "cock-starved hippopotamus." Talks broke down quickly after that. Hmmm well I guess this part is almost story rather than exposition?

So now I'm a prisoner. The San tribal habitat is enormous, nearly one hundred feet long, bamboo huts sprinkled across a dirt floor from which hopeful tubers protrude. The tribespeople studiously ignore what's happening with me and the chief and the warriors. Instead they go about their business planting seeds, cooking stews, and tending the fires that make their habitat hotter than the Kalahari. Still exposition then? Well OK

My only hope is to try to talk my way out of this. "A deranged mountain goat approaches," I say in their language. I need to let them know I mean no harm. OK So here's the story! Right! Swell!

Apparently I'm not convincing, for the largest warrior steps forward and sinks his spear into my right leg. Pain shoots upward, but only for a moment. My leg goes numb and a warm feeling starts to spread from the wound.

This recalls a tidbit of information from my college days: Kalahari tribesman favor a slow-acting but deadly poison derived from a native beetle larva.

"Hey!" I say. "Water my donkey!"

The old chief shakes his head. "No," he says in clear, precise English. "It's diamphotoxin. Slow, but quite effective." What a twist, the native speaks English!

They're all laughing now, dancing around me, thrusting their spears into the air. It's weird because you've kind of subverted the initial WHOA THIS IS TOTALLY RACIST impressions with the buffoonery of the protag and the chief speaking English and saying long fancy words, but they're still shaking their spears ridiculously, what's that about?

"Look, you can't just kill me," I plead, switching to English myself. "I'm an envoy from the UN. On an important mission." The numbness has reached my groin and I feel the muscles there begin to relax.

"So why did they send you?" the chief asks.

"I have a minor in African Studies," I say. Two classes short, actually. OK I mean sure, this part of the story is being told in 'now' so to speak, but they're just giving us info that was kind of there in the exposition.

"And I have a degree in Civil Engineering,"WHAT A TWIST!!!!!11111! the chief says, "but nobody's responded to help me fix the oxygen feeds. We've got so much extra oxygen up here we're lighting fires to keep it under control."

"So that's what they're for," I say. "I thought it was just...ambiance?" It's at this point that I can't help notice that nothing's happening in your story except that ALL OF OUR PRECONCEPTIONS ABOUT THESE SUPPOSEDLY IGNORANT TRIBAL CHAPS HAVE BEEN TURNED ON THEIR HEADS and now they're talking a lot about these aforementioned preconceptions.

The whole lower half of my body feels like it's floating now. The chief stares the the THE THE? WHAAAAAT? puddle at my feet. "Well that's unfortunate. Looks like you've only got a few minutes before the toxin reaches your heart."

He reaches into a leather pouch at his waist and pulls out a cell phone, punches it with a leather finger, and puts it to my ear.

"UN operations division. What's your emergency?"

"Code six! Envoy in trouble!" I say, panicked. I report my location. The code will bring a rescue team to save me.

The chief sighs and pulls a horse needle of antitoxin from his pouch. He motions the warriors to cut my bonds.

"Maybe now I can get my drat pipes fixed," he says, and buries the needle into the side of my neck.

OK so this story is 'protag dumps exposition on us for almost half of the story, protag chats with tribal chief, tribal chief outfoxes him to get a rescue team sent.' I dunno it's just kind of dull. Too much exposition, too little anything I should care about. Kinda boring conversation too.

* # ¿ Dec 31, 2016 16:51
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022

Chili posted:


Dangling - 725 Words

19 tamers have failed before me. As I cling to a cloth tether and my legs swing freely, I can't quite appreciate the view, fearing that I am the 20th. Dunno how I feel about present tense in that last bit.

In principle, the job the royal guard hired me to do seemed simple: tame the King’s griffin and make him presentable for the royal festival. Sure, a host of tamers had been maimed or killed on the job, but I was different. Where they failed, I would succeed.

Or at least, that’s what my mother assured me. Hmmm OK

If ever I were to have a child of my own—an unlikely prospect as I feel the muscles in my fingers cry in agony—I don’t think I’d tell them they are special. In fact, I’d do quite the opposite. Maybe I’d tell them they are worthless. I’d give them something to prove! OK so honestly don't hate anything about the story up to this point except that really, nothing much is happening. All the 'action' of the story has occurred prior to the start of the story, and now it's just some random musings.

But no, my, “unique scholarly brain would surely be able to temper the wild beast.” Thanks, mother. Don't you sass your mother young man. :colbert:

It wasn’t as if I didn’t try. I did! After I signed up for the job, I read everything I could find about griffins. Half lion, and half eagle, griffins were fascinating, and research was rampant. I read about their temperament: cynical and proud. I read about their weaknesses: not many, but they didn’t seem like to GOT THESE IN THE WRONG ORDER YOU BUFFOON! (Buffoon is a v. fun word, I recommend everyone use it.) fire. I read about their strengths: flight, power, and a kick that could separate a head from any beast’s neck. This bit reads a bit awkwardly, maybe 'any beast's head from its neck?' Otherwise it could be any head being separated from a completely unrelated neck. Most importantly, however, griffins will find ways to test a human’s worth.

I devised a plan. When the royal guard ushered me into the griffin’s den, I ignored it, and started a fire as far away from it as I could. I treated the fire casually, interacting with it as a mere tool to cook a dinner of whitefish, which--I learned through my readings--griffins couldn't resist. Hmmm OK so this is the main story I guess because things are actually happening that I should care about. Telling story in flashback is OK I guess let's see how it turns out.

It worked. Moments later, in my peripheral vision, I saw the griffin approaching me. I kept my gaze on the fire but set a plate of whitefish to my side.

He ate in peace, but when he finished, he rose to his hind legs. According to my readings, this meant trouble, but I was ready. I stood up and grabbed my stool. It was a special stool I requested, and it was crucial to my plan. It had five legs, and when I turned it upside down and stuck the legs in the griffin’s face, he got confused. Target confusion, I read all about it. The griffin didn’t know which leg to focus on and got overwhelmed. Well OK this seems highly improbable (HE SAID OF A STORY INVOLVING A GRIFFIN YES I KNOW SHUT UP VERISiMULITUDE IS A THING OK I KNOW THIS IS A SIDE NOTE AND NOT SPECIFICALLY REALLY ADDRESSED TO YOU BUT I'D JUST LIKE TO SAY THAT ANYONE EVER WHO SAYS, OF A STORY, THAT IT DOESN'T NEED TO BE REALISTIC BECAUSE IT IS FANTASY, SHOULD PUNCH THEMSELVES IN THE FACE) OK so that outburst over with, let's continue with this story.

He backed off and then I saw a look in his eyes that was new. A look of respect. v. expressive eyes.He bowed, and with his beak, he picked up the long, cloth tether that was attached to a harness around his body. He walked over to me and placed the tether in my hand. I took it.

And then, before I realized what had happened, we were in the air. I was amazed at first, and couldn’t believe my good fortune. Here I was being personally flown by a griffin around the royal courtyard!

But then, the griffin didn’t stop flying.

And then, I recalled that griffins—when they are fond of humans—allow them to ride on their backs.

And so, here I am, dangling. I’ve been holding on as best I can for the past hour but I know I don’t have much strength left. The griffin has been content to circle over a canyon Wait over a canyon? How the hell does the King keep a griffin as a pet when the griffin can literally fly up and away over a canyon any time he pleases? and his stamina to do so will certainly outlast that of my tensile fingers. what's a tensile finger I recall from my studies that griffins can fly indefinitely, so long as they hunt airborne prey and rest on thermal waves.

Now, I have a choice. Do I let go, or do I hold on as long as possible? In my studies of philosophy, I have read that action is always the nobler pursuit over inaction. That, if one is torn on a decision, one should choose the path that requires a bold choice.

I make my bold choice.

I fall.

As I fall, it occurs to me that there was perhaps a bolder choice to make: climb the tether and face the griffin. Wait he didn't even think about doing that? Perhaps this was its way of testing me. Why this occurs to me now, as I plummet to my death, is far beyond my comprehension. Though I think read somewhere—

Protag is dumb ending is bad.

* # ¿ Dec 31, 2016 17:07
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022

Entenzahn posted:

But I smiled
794 words

Brian sat in front of the Christmas tree like he was some kind of puppet that nobody had played with in years. It was hard to watch him like that, chest lazily rising and lowering, not saying much through the festive music that played in the background. Here was a 12-year-old boy, and I’d tried my best to prepare a nice Christmas Eve for him, but I’d no idea how to do it, and it was never gonna be nice anyway. Decent start IMO.

It’d been about three months. Drunk motherfucking rear end in a top hat up in Reno smashing his ride into the sidewalk, taking people with him. Making an orphan out of the boy. You think being godfather is mostly a ceremonial gig. You hope. You don’t want to imagine what’ll have to happen. Well then. This is a cheerful start.

I’d never decorated a Christmas tree before, and it showed, looking more like the Lucky Charms leprechaun had puked his guts out all over a firn. Fun story I used to think fern was actually spelled this way and still occasionally try to in my head until I'm all like no that's dumb but anyway the point is YOU DONE MESSED UP ENT But I guess it didn’t matter. We were mostly doing it as a formality anyway. Chrissake, what was supposed to happen? I mean, you couldn’t just not celebrate Christmas. But there was no celebrating it either. Like you don’t want him to cry, but he sure as poo poo ain’t gonna laugh. I am picturing a gruff old guy here. Like an old guy with a heart of gold but a gruff exterior who often accidentally yells at the kid but deep down really loves him and so there'll probably be a Christmas miracle where they all learn the true meaning of Christmas or something.

I’d never learned how the boy celebrated Christmas and I didn’t think he’d care enough to tell me in advance, but back in my childhood, I’d always gotten a gift on Christmas Eve. Now there were a few of them under the tree. I didn’t earn much, but I’d tried my best, GOD BLESS YOU WORKING CLASS HERO and at the very least I was young enough to remember what I’d liked as a boy. That was probably the only thing I actually knew something about. I don’t just mean about the gifts, but that too. Running through the stores, past stacked-up boxes with bright, bubbly letters promising you some good family fun. What do you get a child that has nothing left?

There’s the same Santa Claus actor sitting in a display in the middle of the mall each year. Kid sits on his lap, whispers his Christmas wish into Santa’s ear, and then afterwards Santa tells his elves, and they slip you a note so you know what to buy.

I knew what it was going to say. Even before I’d seen their faces, or heard their I’m-Sorry’s.DID YOU JUST PUT AN APOSTROPHE ON A PLURAL YOU JERK?

“Thank you,” Brian said as he unpacked a stupid video game, and I caught myself holding him a bit too close. Stopped myself from apologizing. Didn’t want to make a drama out of it.

Of course he wouldn’t like it. He wouldn’t like anything. All the gifts under the tree were the same crap: plastic toys and digital entertainment stored on discs. Time wasters. Useless distractions for a boy who had a void to fill. Um actually video games are awesome how dare you.

“I-- I got another gift for you.” I bit my tongue as soon as I’d said it, but there it was. A gift I’d hidden in the closet. Because I’d chickened out. Because I’d gotten scared it’d just make him sad. But there was no making him sad no more. That ship had sailed.

If there’s one thing I could do right as his godfather, I could at least try to make his Christmas wish come true.

The present was hidden on the top shelf, behind the paper towels and washing agents. Most of my gifts looked like a one-armed frat boy had wrapped them inbetween That's two words you nincompoop shots, but this one was especially bad: a crumpled, dark red wrapping so rough it reflected the lights in a Picasso pattern.

Handing it over seemed to take years, and then I instantly regretted it. But I smiled. It must have come out all weird. Least that’s what it felt like.

Brian carefully unwrapped a large photo album. On the pages there were pictures of his parents, memorabilia, written notes from their daily lives and other odds that gave you a glimpse into the kind of people they’d been: concert tickets and recipes and the old polaroids his dad had used to shoot.

In the back, there were some letters.

“They started writing to you when you were still small,” I said. “I don’t know when you were supposed to get them. I thought--” And then I’d run out of words to say and my throat had run out of space to fit them through. And the loving Christmas music kept singing along in the background while Brian leafed through the album with quivering lips on a stone face.

“Thank you,” he finally said. He set it down, carefully, almost as if putting a child to bed. Then he shuffled over to me, hugged my side, and breathed into it until I realized he’d started crying.

And I was right there with him.

OK so my esteemed judges weren't overly fond of this one. I kinda liked it apart from the things I criticised. It was definitely better than the previous stories. Yeah it was a bit of a feelgood cliche, but I don't mind those so whatevs.

* # ¿ Dec 31, 2016 17:21
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022

Benny Profane posted:

The Entertainment
799 words

“Balls,” said Dr. Wembley, who had never had much of a talent for cursing. Dunno what you're talking about, nothing wrong with that curse word.

“I’m sorry,” came the voice over the phone, “could you repeat that?

“Oh--,” said Dr. Wembley, “Apologies; I was just, ah, talking to my assistant.”

“...right. So, ten-thirty, yes?”

The clock on the wall showed just a few minutes until ten. “Of course. We shall eagerly await Madame Secretary’s arrival.”

***

Dr. Wembley hurried along the corridor towards the Entertainment Ward, trying to keep things at a brisk walk. His assistant Johnson, shorter than Wembley by a solid head and a half, had no recourse but to scamper at his side. OK this is good, I can see this in my head.

“And you’re only just finding out about this now?” said Johnson, dimly.

“Obviously,” said Dr. Wembley. “She has requested a direct exhibition of recent results from Project Entertainment.”

“Meaning, the charts you had me fabricate for you while you were on vacation.” oho the plot thickens

“Johnson, I know that I say this an awful lot, but I feel I must once again remind you that you are eminently replaceable.” This is good imo, good banter

“Yes, Dr. Wembley.”

Upon reaching the door to the Entertainment Ward, Wembley gestured irritably in front of the security sensor.

“Access denied,” said the door, in its pleasant yet firm tone that Wembley found quite insufferable.

“If I may?” said Johnson, waving his hand back and forth once.

“Access granted. Welcome, Dr. Johnson,” said the door, sliding open.

“What an unbelievable waste of money,” said Wembley. He pushed past Johnson, only to stop abruptly upon entering the Ward.

It was, for the most part, empty. Beds stretched into the distance, atop which tangled cords and bulky headsets of discarded Entertainment Units lay scattered.

“Where -- where are the Subjects?” said Wembley.

“Well, there’s one, I suppose,” said Johnson, pointing to a bed towards the end of the hall. In the bed lay a man, face obscured by a large head mounted display, tracing soft and rhythmic gestures in the air with a plastic controller. His other hand pumped away merrily beneath the blankets.

“Is he…?” said Wembley, lost for words.

“It would appear so, yes.”

“Oh dear. And the others?”

“The break room, perhaps?”

“The break room?” said Wembley, a high note leaping into his voice. “But -- how were they able to tear themselves away? The mental anguish of separation from The Entertainment should be neurologically unbearable!”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I guess so,” said Johnson. “I mean, for the first few days or so, yeah, they seemed pretty into the whole thing, but most of them started getting bored pretty soon after, and then once they worked out how to get porn on the devices that’s pretty much all they do now.” OK so, they're TVs? And if they didn't want them to just watch porn, can't they just disconnect that channel or whatever?

Wembley’s mouth hung agape. All words were beyond him. The only sound was heavy breathing and the periodic rustle of a scratchy woolen blanket. woollen I think. Two 'l's. EDIT: OK KAI HAS TOLD ME THIS IS A US vs CORRECT ENGLISH THING SO NEVER MIND

“Johnson, I’ll handle this. Go and receive the Secretary in the foyer, and stall her by any means possible.”

***

Wembley burst into the break room. All of the Subjects were indeed there. Around one table crowded with empty beer bottles, several men played cards. On a couch, four men held game controllers and hooted at a large television. Wait so is that bit dramatically different from 'the entertainment'?

“It… it defies all logic,” said Wembley, whispering to no-one in particular.

“Oh Jeez, it’s Mister Nobel Prize himself,” said one of the Subjects.

Wembley, aghast, looked at his watch. The Secretary would be arriving shortly. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Your attention, please,” he began, using his loudest public speaking voice. “Let me be blunt: I am going to leave, for five minutes, and when I return, any man who is not in his bed and engaged with his Entertainment Unit will be killed via a to-be-determined, but assuredly gruesome, method.” Harsh. This protag is probably the best part of this story. Which is mostly kinda uneventful.

After a short pause, the men started to rise from their seats, grumbling and shuffling towards the door.

***

Wembley met the Secretary at the door to the Entertainment Ward. “I feel I must warn you, Madame Secretary, that what you are about to see may be disturbing -- the sight of a mind, so utterly dominated by animal craving for stimulation, I'm making these crit comments after having already read the story once through, so this sentence deserves a pre-emptive 'lol' so reduced to base function by science, it can be… upsetting. ”

The Secretary eyed Wembley coldly, and said nothing.

“Ah, very well then,” said Wembley. “Er, Johnson, if you would do the honors?”

With a wave from Johnson, the door slid open to reveal the gleaming Entertainment Ward. Each bed was occupied, and all of the men were silent behind their head mounted displays, tracing gentle caresses is that an SA injoke? in the air with controllers held, for the most part, in their left hands. Throughout the ward, blankets rose and fell rhythmically, and the air was full of the scratchy rustle of bedclothes.

“Oh dear,” said the Secretary, staring incredulously. “Are they all…?”

“It would appear so,” said Johnson.

“Balls,” said Dr. Wembley.

I dunno it was kinda silly. Not really much substance, and the fact that 'the entertainment' seemed very similar (from what descriptions we'd been given) to a TV but obviously wasn't one (because Wembley Stadium got annoyed when they were all watching TV) was kind of confusing.

Chairchucker fucked around with this message at 18:09 on Dec 31, 2016

* # ¿ Dec 31, 2016 17:43
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022

Baleful Osmium Sea posted:


Turning Lock

The Supervisor's exoskeleton went haywire first. It backhanded the adjacent docker right in the face cage with an almighty clang. The other driver stared at her boss, too surprised to swear. Without her touching the control sticks, her own XO-Skel returned the favour by lifting an iron-and-cable-thewed Thewed is a weird word, isn't it? I'm sure it's a real word, but I'd never heard it before. I kind of got the gist by context but still a little confusing. leg and booting the Supervisor right in his metallic arse.I appreciate the fact that you used this version instead of 'rear end'. One by one, the other machines began to fight each other, their human operators powerless. Mechanical graspers clamped down on mechanical limbs, pulling and bending, until they detached in a shower of sparks, uncovered human limbs wriggling like tiny worms. Unbalanced, the XO-Skels toppled over, still waving and kicking in spasmodic jerks.

On a balcony above the fray, Jackie stabbed at the red Override button that should have shut off her autonomy module. Down in the Docking Bay, the noise of metal against metal grew louder, punctuated by electrical explosions. Jackie raced to the central control desk, and initiated the dampeners. The lights went out, replaced by the dull red glow of the emergency bulbs, and an unnerving silence.

Jackie clambered down the Bay ladder. All around her I reckon I'd add in a comma right about here so you can tell that 'her' isn't the possessive pronoun in this instance. giant XO-Skels and their sundered appendages lay in disarray. The Supervisor was clambering out of his harness of his Dunno about 'his' twice. Maybe 'the' harness of 'his'...?horizontally compromised machine. Eventually he stood beside his fallen machine, surveying the carnage. His gaze reached Jackie, control pad in her hand and guilt across her face, and a screaming fit was thrown. I like that turn of phrase.

---

It was after midnight before Jackie finished re-attaching severed pieces of XO-Skel. Honestly that feels quick. Surely welding metal takes longer than that? But I guess it's the future so whatevs maybe they have better welding stuff. She was grateful he hadn't been busted on the spot, Wait, grateful who hadn't been busted? You switched pronouns on me so I'm not sure. but SkelTechs in this region, even amateurs, were rare. As she finished up the unit tests to make sure normal operation had been restored, she heard footsteps behind her.

"How's it going?"

She sighed, letting her shoulders sag a little. "All patched up. Testing's nearly finished."

"I kinda meant you, not these metal bastards."

Jackie turned away from the test readout but failed to look Linda in the eye. "I hosed it up this time," she said, staring at her feet. "Royally. The deployment protocols, somehow the pipeline isn't what I thought. The autonomy module got into production, and I hadn't figured it all out anyway, so…" She waved at the XO-Skels, standing like soldiers in an iron platoon. Well that sure was a lot of tech sounding words

"What did the Supervisor say? Does he have a name? Most people don't really call their supervisor The Supervisor do they? Gotta admit, I enjoyed booting his arse."

"He said I'm a 'goddamned useless bitch' and next time it's a one-to-one limb removal exchange, them and me." She slid to the ground by the control desk, and looked up at Linda. "I thought I was helping. After what happened with Jones and Simmons, I thought, if we could just automate them…. But i Is that a lower case 'i' you pillock?!!? don't know enough to get them to behave intelligently." She hid her head in her hands.

Linda slid down beside her, resting on her heels. "Don't know how you do it. Fixing these pieces of crap for the hundredth time so some drunk docker can crash them into a wall. Can't you, I dunno, transfer out.Give us a question mark here I reckon. Don't they have academies or something? So you can learn to do it properly?"

Jackie looked up. "I've asked the supe. He just laughed. Not enough local SkelTechs."

Linda patted her shoulder. "Let's get him to reconsider," she said, with a thoughtful look. "You can still do pre-programmed stuff, right?" THE PLOT THICKENS

---

Jackie watched as Linda and the other dockers clambered into their gear, tying harnesses and flexing their augmented physiques as they ran through their preliminary tests. A hastily implemented green button glowed on her control pad.

She waited until the XO-Skels were lined up in two equal lines, ready to depart to the shipyard for pickup. Then she pushed "Go". A camera drone leapt into the air then slowly circled the machines.

All the XO-Skels turned 90 degrees, facing one another. Some grabbed their opposites by the mechanical waist, some by the shoulders, and then they linked their free graspers.

Somewhere a speaker blared out The Blue Danube. As one, the XO-Skels began to waltz. Jackie heard the Supervisor scream her name. She remotely guided the drone to shoot Linda waltzing him around the bay for a while before she approached, bobbing and weaving around the dancing giants as the drone followed.

"Yes, Sir?" she yelled.

"What the everliving gently caress have you done?"

"This? This is my video application for the engineers' academy."

"You're on report," shouted the Supervisor, his face red and upside-down as Linda dipped him.

"Thank you, sir. Now, about my application. I've got some great footage, lots of close-ups. Just needs your signature."

Jackie ducked as Linda's XO-Skel whirled the supervisor around. She caught a snatch of Linda talking about fixing servo-droids before enlisting.

"No close-ups," said the Supervisor when he next span Span? I'm thinking spun TBH. past, looking decidedly green.

"No, sir," said Jackie, saluting.

I don't really 'get' this ending. The supervisor wasn't going to sign off on her applying to the academy, but now because she upset him again, (with her being on report and all) he will? Ehhhhhh I dunno dude.

* # ¿ Dec 31, 2016 18:18
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022

Erogenous Beef posted:

A Change of Mind (800w)

Samuel Slopbucket Hell yeah that's a name, you have my attention. swished his ragged old mop in a wide arc across the floor of the storage bay, edging as close as he dared to the strange plastic pod that had arrived today. It was far away from the other cargo, and there was a big red circle around it — a sergeant had ordered Sam to not even think of setting foot inside, but there were bootprints Sam couldn't reach without entering. Two officers were watching, and Sam hoped he wasn't about to get more demerits

Across the bay, the Captain eyeballed the distance between the capsule and Sam. Three meters separated a dopey private and the galaxy's last sample of sapiophagica unilateralis, the psychic murder-fungus.Awwwww yeah. I am ready for whatever this story holds. Even with a protective band of foil on his head,lol your captain is wearing a tinfoil hat this is great the captain still felt the thing tugging on his mind. He glanced at his XO. "I'd rather he wore a psychosafing cap."

"He's got a neurosuppressant pump; the fungus couldn't possibly tempt him, sir."

Sam rubbed the bump at the base of his neck and a warm sensation washed over him, like he'd just drank a cup of milky tea. The bump had itched when they'd first put it in, but rubbing it made him feel better.

The XO beamed at the captain. "See? Smiling like a cat."

The captain wished he had the XO's confidence. He'd seen sapiophagica in the wild: a woody stalk with a puff of hairy psi-tendrils atop it, like an oversized dandelion. Mesmerized, two platoons of marines had murdered one another before someone napalmed the fungus. He cupped his hands. "Private, report!"

Sam snapped to attention. "Sir, the private is cleaning, sir!"

"Would you rather be doing something else, private?"

Sam looked at the captain for a second. He'd never talked to an officer before. A lieutenant had spoken to him once, to say Sam's fly was down. Sam had cleaned a lot of johns after that. I am enjoying PTE Slopbucket's inner monologue here.

The captain scowled. "Are you hard of hearing, private?"

"Sir, no, sir!"

"Then answer! Is there anything you want, private? Anything at all?"

"Sir! Uh… a new mop, sir?"

Twenty years of command saved the captain from snickering. "A mop."

"Yes, sir. The marines get alien blood on their boots, sir." Sam raised the mop's head; he'd been patching it with old socks. "See? Eats right through, sir."

"Back to your duties, private. Make this bay shine." The captain spun on his heel and motioned for the XO to follow.

In the hallway, the XO grinned. "Xeno blood is rather acidic—" Wait so like the aliens from Alien? But OK continue

"Button it. You're right. Poor man hasn't a light on upstairs."

#

Sam leaned on his tattered mop. He'd scrubbed the entire cargo bay again, but there were still bootprints next to the plastic pod. The captain had said to make the bay shine, and a captain's orders overrode a sergeant's, right? LOL yesssssssssss Sam stepped inside the circle, keeping his back to the pod so he wouldn't have to look at it. What was in the stupid thing, anyway?

Fifty cartons of finest Denebian whisky.

Sam blinked. He hadn't drank in a long while, but he rubbed the back of his neck and the fleeting desire passed.

Aldebaranese lads' mags, where the girls have three tits.

Sam glanced at the pod, rubbed the back of his neck again and went back to scrubbing.

Is there anything you want private? Anything at all?

"A new mop," he said to the empty cargo bay, and glanced at the pod. Was there a mop inside?

The finest mop in the galaxy.OK yes. This is good. This is great.

Maybe he should look inside. No one had said he couldn't have a peek. He laid his old mop aside and twisted the top off the pod.

Inside was a wooden rod with a thick cottony-white puff on top, jammed into a pot of dirt. Sam yanked his new mop free.

In the armory, the chief of security shot two ensigns dead. In the lounge, a dozen officers tore one off another's clothes and the captain declared a general orgy. On the bridge, the navigator plotted a course to Earth, locked her console and forgot the passcode. Neat. I like this. This mayhem is good.

Sam twirled his mop over his head, grinning. A new mop! And not just any mop. This mop felt like part of his arm. He could clean anything, anywhere!

Everywhere.

Yes, he'd go everywhere, cleaning dirt with his trusty new mop. He felt the mop thrum with excitement.

Where better to start than here? He dunked the cottony-white head into his water bucket, jammed it into the wringer and crushed sapiophagica unilateralis' delicate psychic tendrils to powder. For a moment, Sam felt his mop scream, and then he was holding only a useless stick.

I liked this story. It was fun and funny. I also enjoyed how the ecological terror that is sapio - I'm not even gonna try - was defeated without the protag even realising.

* # ¿ Dec 31, 2016 18:26
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# ¿ May 21, 2024 15:43
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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022

flerp posted:

800 words

In some mythologies, the whole world is on the back of a turtle which is pretty cool

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=5338&title=In+some+mythologies%2C+the+whole+world+is+on+the+back+of+a+turtle+which+is+pretty+cool

OK well now this story is archived so I'm not gonna bother line by line critting SORRY FLERP.

I actually really liked this story and would've been down with giving it an HM. Yeah not much happened but the vibe kinda worked for the character, and I really started to care about Johnny and his turtle. I was also somewhat amused by the fact that he just forgot his phone was off so didn't notice all of his friends leaving. There were a couple of minor errors too but overall it was an oddly pleasant story about the end of the world.

* # ¿ Dec 31, 2016 18:35
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