It's been 12 days, and not a single short story has been properly posted by any of you. You've all lost. It is a sad day, a VERY SAD DAY! and you should all feel nasty and terrible for having caused it.
No time for grieving though, you've had like 12 whole days to get the fuck over that. Screw what I said about Numero first and a half, you're not going to get to do any of that. You failed utterly and entirely, so there will be no backup.
I'm going to rope in everyone who posted in the last piece of shit. @Mizal @Orange @MinnieKing and also @crescentstar because she probably likes this kind of thread, and @Chanbot because for fuck's sake we need to get you to write something less unholy.
Anyway, Prompts. This week's theme is "People who wear Tuxedoes!"
1: The Mafia. How the fuck does it work? Nobody knows. But hey, they do make some cool stories about them. Write a story about a crime syndicate of your own design, whether it's Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Steampunk, comprised entirely of Predator aliens, or whatever. Bonus Frijoles for each subverted Mafia movie/Yakuza movie trope you can throw in.
2. Hollywood has recently coined the oxymoron phrase "Financial Thriller" to describe a genre made mostly up of all the boring logistical segments of Jason Borne, but with none of the security cameras and cool gadgets, circling around rich douchebags fucking other rich douchebags on the ass for no reason other than to be rich douchebags. Try writing one of those. If you can cobble something together that manages to be both financial and thrilling, than bonus frijoles unto you.
3. Write about a secret agent with bizarre and unusual methods. Bonus frijoles if it's not even clear they're an agent until they turn in their espionage assignment or whatever.
If Usain Bolt entered a race with two other people, but the two other people died shortlt after the race started, and then he had to stop halfway through the race because he shit himself, I feel like nobody wins that race.
Frijoles are not the same thing as points. They're better than points. You'll see what I'm talking about once you have more than anyone else.
^^; I'll try something. Maybe.
Alright... I feel like this is a bunch of bs. xD I had given up by the time I got through it.
What history doesn’t know is that the Amazons was an effing mafia. Hippolyta wasn’t just the most famous almighty queen of a ferocious tribe of women. She was the almighty godmother or whatever people called it of a belligerent pack of she-wolves. Not really.
They happily traveled through Europe and the northern parts of Africa to found many cities and conquered others. The ones they conquered, they required heavy tributes from them and threw fits when they didn’t get whatever spices or gold or metal they wanted.
The Amazons were split into three different groups under a single queen—Themiscyreians, Lycastians, and Chadesians. They all fed her riches and wealth and whatever she wanted. Below each tribe ruler were cavalry leaders that led their own forces of warriors. They were the largest organized crime society in the godsdamned world as of then, holding fighting competitions to elect their generals and procreating with the Gargareans despite wanting to kill them. They were the “slayers of men” after all with their javelins, axes, bows, and lovely crescent-shaped shields.
Despite being the legendary creators of cavalry, they couldn’t kill dragons. Which made them sad. The Greeks attacked them around that time, so they took out their anger on the Greek men, who were all graceless and sweaty. They lost and something about a boat and Scythia and killing some more people. Eventually, they merged with a group of young Scythian men and learned Scythian because the men were too infatuated with the women that they couldn’t learn amazon.
Perhaps that was the end of the great mafia, or perhaps that was just the beginning of a darker organization of killer women. Of course they still ruled on, becoming rich and wealthy and all that from tributes and intimidation. Who knew how they began? Who knows how they ended if at all? *brow wiggle*
You're right, a totalitarian, feudal military society works a lot like a crime syndicate. But there's a big difference between a Feudal government and The Mafia- Namely that The Mafia is breaking the laws, not being the laws. This was just a summary, and then a vague conspiracy theory ending, of the Amazons doing Amazon things and not a story about crimes at all!
You've failed me! For a story idea that evokes awesome visions of Wonder Woman chewing cigars and waving Tommy Guns around at its laziest, you've gone and managed to limbo your way under my every expectation and not even meet the basic requirements!
T-T I got lazzyyyyyyy. >_<
I had a loanshark wearing a suit in Innkeeper and Fazz didn't rate me low for it, so I'd say you're golden.
The prompts were suit-inspired, but it was never explicitly stated in the rules, so you're free to write whatever you want as long as the fantasy crime people are actually fantasy crime people and not whatever hamby-Pamby was happening in Crescent's story.
I haven't been on the forums much recently (or at all tbh), but thought I'd try my hand at prompt 1.
The Predator alien sat uncomfortably at the bar, pulling at the collar of his shirt. He didn’t like tuxedos, much preferring his body armour, but the new Predator mafia syndicate demanded a strict dress code. It didn’t make much sense to him, but rules are rules. He pulled at the collar of his shirt again.
“Hey look, it’s Johnny two times!” announced a grating voice. A tall Yautja swaggered over and sat on the bar stool next to him. “I’m sorry to say Johnny, but I heard the boss is somewhat displeased with your service.” He leaned in closer. “How many times you gonna fuck up Johnny. That’s twice now that you cost the family its money. Perhaps I should send Don Sain’ja your head. I’m sure he’ll reward me well.”
“Fuck off Paulie,” said Johnny.
“What was that?” asked Paulie, a grin on his face. “Is little Johnny two times gonna get angry with me?”
“Fuck off Paulie,” said Johnny again, louder this time. He necked the two shots on the bar in front of him, and then stood up and drew the two swords he had at his waist.
“Whoah there buddy,” said Paulie, an amused grin on his face. “We’ve left those ways behind remember? You gotta use a tommy gun, like the one big Tony has.” He gestured at the other large Yautja that stood behind him, tommy gun in hand.
Johnny growled, and looked around the bar. There were several mafia members sat around, all ready to leap to Paulie’s aid should a fight begin. He growled again. Several hands moved to guns, ready to fire in a moment’s notice.
But before the fight could begin, a massive human walked in through the bar door and said, in a monotone voice that should never have been used in anything other than an action film, “I’m back.”
Paulie looked over. “Hey, is that Arnold Schw
It was meant to be a reference to the Sopranos, which ends mid sentence.
Aha, classy references. Ben is winning so far. Not that he has any competition at all, but if he did...
First ever try:
"Mitsy always wanted to be a secret agent, but unfortunately she failed the civil servants test."
"But she still stole the tuxedo!"
"Yes. Yes she did."
"Do you have her in range yet?"
"No. Not yet."
Mitsy Fitts was not quite twenty years old, yet her affinity for trouble was fit for someone half her age. Her short blonde hair and steely grey eyes bore a striking contrast against the men's tuxedo she wore. She stuck her thumbnail in her mouth, biting it as usual. Her thoughts returned to the test. She didn't think she could blow it. Well, not as badly as they said. How could she have known Belaria wasn't a country. It sounded right.
Walking down the bleak wet street, she turned a corner. It had to be here somewhere. It just had to be. She knew she had a nose to be a spy. It got her into enough trouble. Why just a few months ago - what was that? Just then she spotted movement near one of the apartment buildings. Was it him? Flicking her thumbnail from out her mouth she began to cross the street. Suddenly -
"Hey, same to you girly!"
Some random guy getting out of his car suddenly broke the eery silence. Startled, Mitsy looked at him with wide eyes. He suddenly made a fist with his right hand. His left violently grabbed the inside of his right elbow and flexed with his fist pointed up. Confused at this unexpected and strange gesture, Mitsy continued across the street.
"Is she in range yet?"
"She just gave some guy a cutis and he gave her the moutza."
"Well, are you ready?"
"Clive, I said: Are you ready?"
"Oh, yeah I am Stu."
"Well, take your shot."
From the rooftop, Clive had his target in perfect range. The shot wouldn't ring out. Not a soul would hear it. He fired the tranque, and Mitsy Fitts went down.
Mitsy had a wonderful dream. She was floating around the Earth taking note of all the weapon installations, which all the governments of Earth, had parked in orbit. When suddenly she was drowning!
"Pugh! Like, what the hell?"
Mitsy looked around the room. It appeared to be someplace familar yet strangely not. A parking garage? And why was she tied to this strange looking chair? And why were there so many people here? And why, why, why was she naked?!
"Like, ew. Why am I so wet? Are you guys like, pervs, or somethin'?"
Laughing, the men glanced at each other. Mitsy knew that look. It was, like, the kind of look her teachers in her school used to give the smart kids whenever she would talk. It made her mad.
"So, like, is this how you people get your, like, rocks off and shit?"
Mitsy made sure to use the phrase "You people", just like a teacher would. Like, when they made you feel like, stupid and stuff. It must've worked, because one of the men came over.
"So, you can't figure shit out for yourself can you, BIMBO?"
Bimbo. It had that certain ring to it that made Mitsy think of clowns. So stupid a word, it has a clown-name feeling to it. At least they didn't call her a bitch or a cu-
"Larry, get that bitch in the trunk! Do like I ask, capishe?"
Mitsy was suddenly floating again. She was too shocked by Larry's strength to speak. Then she noticed it. The trunk wasn't part of a car... It was a flying saucer thing! It really, really was! By the time she had regained her wits about her, they had placed her - and along with the strange chair! - inside the trunk of the ship. And was it HUGE! At least 12 feet long by 16 feet wide and 8 feet high. She could feel the ship move for a second, and then nothing.
Suddenly, a strange man-thing entered. It had an androgynous look about it, with green skin, and pale yellow eyes which shone in the bright white light. Mitsy blinked, she couldn't believe it!
"Like, what the- Like, why are you naked?"
Her mind raced at the thought of being violated by this... this... THING!
"Don't worry, paisan.", the thing stated confidently, "We have a little... test for you.".
"What kind of test?"
"Let's just call it - The Foreign Exchange Interbank Market Regulatory Commission Test."
With that, Mitsy screamed, waking up.
Mitsy was in bed, drenched in sweat. Her laptop monitor was still showing that terrible forum page: "Week of Literature: El the second one". Taking a deep breath, she closed her laptop and placed it on the night stand. She had to take a few breathes before getting out of bed. That's when she noticed she was still wearing that stupid tuxedo. What she didn't notice was the anal probe sticking out from underneath the tails, still sending the signals to the Martian Mafia: The Cosmos Nostra.
Weird secret agent AND an alien mafia! Everwriter wins.
The other guy comes in at a close second, and I'm hesitant to even have Crescent plce at all since she hasn't even met the prompt, but at least she wrote something. So Crescent gets third just to shame all the noncommittal posters who think they can just walk in here and write NOTHING! The entitled cockflops.
That's fine, because it's probably going to take me a while to figure out what to do with the upcoming prompts. Still, SHAAAAME!
I won? Yay!
Now, what did I win?... (and please, don't say "Respect", because I tend to lose that too easily!)
It seems tame here though...
You've clearly never seen The Steve. Either that, or you've come back from a forum without moderators.
I usually only frequent sites where the moderators ARE the trolls. Great places for discussions on politics, religion, metaphysics, and gaming. Unfortunately, I couldn't handle the more "progressive mods" who were advocating violence against those unable to protect themselves - like the infirmed, mentally imbalanced, and anyone who wouldn't worship at the feet of the mods! I did find some people whose ideas were enlightening, in a trollish kind of way.
So, comparatively, it's pretty tame here. (What is "The Steve"? Is that a mod, or a warrior cat? - just askin'!)
Oh, the ambiguously gay person I read about. I get it. While mildly amusing, he stirs up butthurt among the more innocent within the unwashed masses on these particular forums. By the way it sounded a few posts ago, I thought it was someone else. Thanks for the info! :)
I will never divulge the name of the forum on the grounds that it may be a bannable offense somewhere out amongst the 'net. As a friend told me once: Never screw around with things that make other people money.
(Then again, she hated black people for being black just to spite her... It was always hard to tell what level of insanity she was during any given moment.)