ISentinelPenguinI, The Novelist
One day I had a test, and the teacher farted, and then this kid bent over to pick up his pencil, and everyone was scared because they thought they heard a gunshot and there was a school shooting, but actually it was a deafeningly loud flatulence emitted from the kid who picked up his pencil, with such tremendous force and pressure that his pants had ripped open and were smoking. And everyone was laughing, but the kid was pissed.
He got up on his chair and screamed something like, "OH YOU THINK THAT'S FUCKING FUNNY DO YOU!?"
He grabbed one of the girls, and there were many gasps, "I'LL FUCKING SHOW YOU ASSHOLES FUNNY!"
He shoved the girl out of the way, and took a massive shit on her desk. The class laughed, and even applauded. For the first 2 minutes, at least, but the kid would not stop shitting. Eventually it overloaded the desk and started to drop onto the floor. At 5 minutes, the giggles gave way to horrified screams. Worms and blood started to appear within the shit, and the oils of his eyes were diluting with lymph and starting to drip down his face.
10 minutes, and he was shitting this constant stream of worms like a faucet, they were pooling out underneath him and writhing over each other, burrowing into whatever they could find. The floor was too hard for them, but they found the girl's shoes. You could hear them chewing on everything they could find. They made little clicking noises wherever they bit on something, it was like dumping one bag of marbles into another... But then they found the girl's flesh underneath her shoes and socks, and boy howdy...
The worm hoard sort of swarmed her and started burrowing into whatever bits and bobs they could find. As they chewed, it sounded like those aforementioned marbles were being poured into a bowl of semi-hard jello. A thousand little splats in an orgy of blood and gluttony.
"CAERBOG PROVIDES!" Screamed the fart kid, "CAERBOG EXTRICATES!"
He just kept shitting worms and screaming about our glorious holy lord and savior Caerbog. Just sitting there. The worms turned to eyeballs all melted and grafted together, and the molten skin of his rectum slowly started dribbling down between his legs, but he just kept going. His real eyes were totally gone by this point, and actually his bare testicles were dangling out of one eyehole by their epidydimus, but what was even funnier was that a little horse fetus (Couldn't be more than two months) was desperately trying to escape from his head, but he was too big to fit through the eyeholes, so he just kept squealing and stamping impotently at the walls of his flesh prison.
Eventually, the eyes and the worms and the shit were creating this massive pool of shit that was ankle-deep over the floor of the room, and the girl being eaten by the worms was now a skeleton full of boreholes and tiny bitemarks. The class started really laughing their asses off as her jaw fell off, and one kid even fell out of his chair laughing and was devoured by worms, eyes-first.
The kid just kept on shitting. His legs had been worn down by worms into just nubs of flesh, so no one was surpised when the entire lower part of his torso burst open and started spraying eyeballs and bloody shit everywhere.
"CAERBOG PROVIDES! CAERBOG EXTRICATES! CAERBOG EXTRICAAAATES!" he screamed. More kids laughed themselves into the waist-deep pile of worms.
The teacher just stood on his desk with a look of utter disappointment on his face.
"Caerbog does not exist, you zealous religious faggot." Said the teacher, driving a knife into his belly as the holy purgative fires of Caerbog began biting into the flesh of his taint.
Long story short, the kid got a detention, and our sides fucking exploded that day. Even the fucked up skeleton whose desk he shat on was laughing. You can still hear her laughing if you put your ear to her grave. It's just underneath the floorboards of the basketball court.
It was so hilarious though. You had to be there for the full effect. He was just squatting over her desk with the same strained look on his face the whole time. I mean, while he could still squat and move his face, I guess.
If you came to this page in hopes of learning more about me, you're boning up the wrong tree.
this is a loosely satirical and somewhat more gamey version of the game that isn't really a game. thanks to the creative juices of Bardockwest. The ORIGINAL: http://chooseyourstory.com/story/randomly-walk
I discovered a thing that JJJ wrote. It told me all about this quiz-making shit. I followed the instructions, even though I disobeyed JJJ's opening lines by starting this WITHOUT a basic knowledge of any of that weird scripty shit he recommended. This was low-effort as all hell, don't ever use the classic editor for anything you care about.
AQIMFTBHOIA DLC: THE UPDATE DESCRIPTION
Since some of my questions contained outdated information and I needed to make sure everything was in working order, I unpublished this thing. Since I understand this to be something that generally fucks with ratings, I'm gonna add 5 more questions so you have more of a reason to rate it again. Also, every question now has a stupid answer. These are the ones that are so blatantly wrong/non-answers that they give you negative points... Some are better hidden than others. Aside from most of the endings being revamped, there are two new endings! One is for people who're spectacularly awful at quizzes, and the other is an ending for people who go off the beaten path... By being really bad at quizzes.
No, I will not add a thing at the end that shows your score. If you want to know your score, you have to dick-measure in the comments yourself. Drill Sergeant Nasty has always been an accurate barometer for how well you did, in my eyes.
fucking bullshit ass fuck dammit shit asshole tits on a duck fucking a pile of dipshit dumbfuck ass.
Flame Wars Dice Roller.
Just a little story to see how I can place my pictures around text.
In a strange world where World War I hasn't even happened yet, Law and order is the only accepted form of justice. Until NOW.
Enter Mild-Mannered Clifford T. Boot, 2nd class passenger on the world-famous vessel, the Titanic. Haunted by the shadows of his war-torn past, Clifford bought a ticket to the United States of America looking for a new life. But trouble always finds Clifford, and when an innocent widow and her child are kidnapped by a cult dedicated to resurrecting Napoleon, he has no choice but to return to his old ways and save them... Because for some motherfuckers, mass tragedy doesn't come soon enough.
Articles WrittenA Tutorial for Teachers
Recent PostsThink Tank: Hogwarts Woes on 8/20/2019 7:18:33 PM
It's been mentioned before, but let's face it:
If you live in a world where you can cast Instantaneous Death on someone, not only that, but tie people's tongues in literal knots, wipe people's memories, move things out of your reach on command, turn people's snot into giant bats that attack them, and your real power is 'friendship', then you've pretty much fucked up. Schools can have enough problems when only about 5% of students, are special needs intergrating in a public school system but when an entire 1/5 of a boarding school are shortbus kids, imagine the inconvenience for everybody involved.
Think Tank: Hogwarts Woes on 8/20/2019 7:07:00 PM
The reason they don't use ballistics is because they can be easily tracked by forensic analysts. The whole Wizarding World is secret because they live in fear of muggle militaries.
Hatter's Sketchbook on 8/15/2019 11:45:15 AM
Oh, yeah! It's not like he was the bad part of the nightmares.
Hatter's Sketchbook on 8/14/2019 11:04:08 PM
The Chopped Picture is brilliant. Gorbacholi looks exactly the way he did when he first appeared in my nightmares.
Chopped: The Netflix Review (when they had those) on 8/12/2019 5:01:32 PM
Well, this has certainly been a learning experience. A bit tragic that this seems to have ended at the climax without a good Final Cooking Battle. But at least we had a good time! While writing prompts around a singular story and theme have been very fun, I think there are few takeaways that we need to address on our way to the next season.
1: The Killing System (and how to stick to it.)
I appreciate that this episode, as inadvertently as it did, actually managed to stay true to the show, and would have killed a new chef every round. But the inconsistency with which we were able to keep chefs participating meant we might have ended up with a very short show if we kept killing people off. Luckily, if we kept going, I don't believe that would have been the case. Everything seemed to shape up juuust perfectly as we killed off one person each round almost unintentionally. We likely would have had the episode running smoothly (as smoothly as some snuff series about gladiatorial death-cooking can go) from beginning to end, with what would have been minor hiccups in hindsight.
But I'm gonna be honest, it almost never happened on account of flakes. Judges held up the contest with their slow and minimal input (more on that later) and we almost didn't have enough chefs to start until Shouja literally saved the show. It was a small miracle that we managed to cobble together a one-elimination-per-round matchup with consistent competitors.
My major suggestion for improvement would be, indeed, to give all chefs the chance to make it to the final round without eliminations and score them based on overall performance. This will make the finale a lot of work, but the finale would probably be a lot of work anyway. My other suggestion would be to allow more than 4 chefs to participate. This would allow us to have random spectacular deaths as some chefs will inevitably fail us, and also allow us to make sure that at least two chefs compete all the way to the final round. We'll have it be a chef marathon. How will we be able to fit that many chefs? Well, it all comes down to the features that I propose be removed for the next round:
2: The Supporting Cast (Or: A case of too many moving parts.)
The Judges had, arguably, what could have been one of the most fun jobs in the entire series. They were supposed to give their opinions on dishes- Describe tastes, react to wacky shenanigans or odd cooking choices, play off each other and their fellow chefs, and add some extra drama, flavor, and rivalry to the competition already taking place. It was a brilliant idea- a clash of culinary figures and the chefs who cook for them.
There was a reason why, even though a lot of the judges in the show were somewhat boring straight-men, that the dialogue between the judges and the host interviewing them was what took up a good 50% of the Chopped runtime. It's interesting to hear these thought processes, to fill the audience in on the experience of dishes they haven't had, using ingredients they might not have even tried (or ingredients they're familiar with with an interesting twist!) The judging panel this episode was a diverse cast of eccentrics and wild personalities, so we were in for a raucous ride from the very beginning!... Except, we weren't.
Let's take a look at the Judges this episode. How do you think they did? Who was your favorite one? Don't look at the applications, that's cheating! If the only part of this thread that still existed was the Appetizer round up until the fight where it ended, which one of the judges would you like the most?
The only judge post was Ozoni calling in an impromptu ad break? Oh, huh. So it's confirmed that the judge characters were about as compelling as all the extra CGI aliens in the Star Wars Special Edition. But why were they all so uniformly non-present?
One potential reason might be that everyone who was participating as a judge was participating (as far as I know) in an ongoing contest as well, but I think it might go a little deeper than that.
The chefs have a very simple task ahead of them. Take four ingredients, plan a tasty meal, try to make it sound as pleasant as possible while hopefully establishing character with your chef, and try to make things interesting for the cameras using whatever improv tools you were given by context leading up to this.
What do the judges have to do?
Read 4 short stories, take personal opinions on what they think the meal would be like into account, offhandedly comment on people's actions or somehow interview chefs in the middle of rounds, open up live dialogue with other people's characters, and do it all within various time limits to keep the chronology of this collaborative story happening in sharpish order. Yes, for all the polish and brilliance this would have added, it sadly did not pan out that way, because it was a much weirder and more nitpicky task than most would have initially thought.
Getting a concrete sense of time and everything in the story happening at once in something like this is, indeed, fairly difficult. It's the reason none of the judges actually pulled it off, and the reason that Mizal, the only character that we actually see doing that job, only did most of her judging after the rounds were said to have occurred.
Fiscean honestly didn't get enough credit for what he did with the tools he was given. Without much pre-planning, he was able to use the time limit for dramatic tension, react to what other chefs were doing, and tie each round together to make it seem real by being able to react to what other people were doing. Being in Ranjit's head during those rounds was a treat, and it honestly did make him root for him as the rattled but unbroken underdog.
What Tim did was also brilliant despite what astonishingly little we actually gave him, with his only canonically stated role being "live studio audience". With it already implied that the common rabble could call in with commentary as they pleased, and with the judges being the only official opinions on the dishes given, Tim still decided to go above and beyond to flesh out the episode and add a real sense of participation.
Tim was willing to juggle the varying roles of judge, gameshow host, even a little backseat chef, snuck in worldbuilding details, and all in a concise package with injokes and audience members. Tim's efforts were a beautiful display that we honestly didn't deserve. Tim was utterly wasted in this role.
This was A Waste of Tim, and that fills me with disappointment.
So, what's the solution to this horrible lack of participation? I personally feel like we should simplify the tasks available. Just let the participants all be chefs, who really only have one job to do. The non-compliant will be able to be executed easily, in a way that makes sense in-universe, no participants will be saddled with anything as overwhelming or underwhelming as judges and live studio audience respectively, and all in all, we're just a lot more likely to get participation when less variables stand in the way of it.
3: Other suggestions to keep in mind for next time,
Arbitrary restrictions for bonus points: E.G. you may only include vegetables that aren't green, you can only cook meat from animals that don't have teeth, no ingredient can have more than 3 vowels in its name, etc.
The option to prepare appetizer, entree, and dessert in any order you want, but knowing that you might get saddled with non-optimal ingredients in later rounds which were intended for other genres of dishes.
More than 3 rounds if the amount of non-flaky participants is greater than 4.
A Letter to the Next Poster on 8/9/2019 9:43:47 AM
Dear Next Poster,
The Bottom Left doesn't really exist. Ignore it. Respond only to this branch.
Chopped: Inter-Round SMACKDOWN on 8/8/2019 6:28:59 AM
Let me know if I left anything out!
Chopped: Entree Round on 8/8/2019 5:52:29 AM
I intended for it to be a very faint and unsalted garlic bread. It would actually make the bread sweeter and a little more roasted to fit better with the rest of the sandwich
Chopped: Inter-Round SMACKDOWN on 8/7/2019 8:16:59 PM
[The following post has been officially sanctioned by Mizal and Fic. Any and all severe detriments are entirely canon until proven othewise.]
A small cricket chirped along to the clock in her seat, watching with baited, bloodthirsty breath as the Time of Killing grew ever nearer. But something was different about this round. That Indian woman- What was her name? She was falling behind... It seemed... Odd. She must have been distracted by something! Maybe her brain was in a different timezone. That's how these things work, right?
So much time, so little progress. The other chefs were almost finished with their dishes after that weird interval where everyone seemed to fall into a spice-induced trance, but ironically, Anatika seemed to be the most held back by her own clever sabotage. Even the one who wanted to see death the most was shocked by how alarmingly little time was left.
4 seconds on the clock!
The chefs finished plating their dishes and stepped forward. All except one. Anatika, who had barely passed the point of beeting her curry when the alarm went off. She knew what this meant- Gross incompetence had no place in the CHOPPED kitchen. Gross incompetence would be punished. If she was going to kill Ranjit... Well, she'd have to make use of what little time she had.
With a primal scream, she grabbed a meat tenderizer and charged toward him- Somebody in the audience called out, "Chef Gorbacholi! Your saucepan is still on!"
The big man turned around worriedly and stepped forward to see what was going on, and then it happened. The little cricket's eyes widened with joy and anticipation. Was it happening? The thing she had wished for? It felt like so long! An hour maybe! But she might have waited 9 days!... In some ways, it even felt like she did. But at least she was finally seeing it.
Chef Gorbacholi had entered a physical altercation with another one of the contestants. The spiky hammer hitting him square in the chest first, and the rest of the charging woman crashing haphazardly into him shortly after. The chef couldn't even see what hit him on account of his height, and was more shocked than anything as he spun around to see what was happening, elbowing Ranjit in the face.
Maybe it was just survival instincts because he'd been elbowed in the face by a 6 foot, 400 pound man. Maybe it was due to the high tension of the situation. Maybe it was because of Gorbacholi's callous disregard for the man who'd died in front of him earlier. Maybe it was the fact that the boisterous chef's Italian and pugilistic antics reminded him too much of a deeply buried trauma he faced early in life. Maybe it was because his convenient accent caused him to inadvertantly call Ranjit a rude word.
Or, maybe, it was all these things in a great stew that was finally boiling over- but for a moment, the Ranjit of the outside world died, and what rose to action instead was a being of fury... And murderous intent.
As Sal tried to wrestle the weapon out of Anatika's hands, he heard an ear-piercing scream. A scream he barely had time to react to before he heard someone breaking a bottle of olive oil on the table. He could tell by the distinct timbre of the droplets against the floor! Wasted olive oil? Who would dare to-
Glass shards embedded themselves deep in Gorbacholi's back as Ranjit stabbed him with the bottle. Once, then twice, then getting interrupted by another firm elbowing from Gorbacholi, trying to keep them both at bay.
"Yeah! Get him! Fuck him up!" the cricket yelled, waving a tiny foam finger. It wasn't entirely clear who she was cheering for, maybe it was more of a general sentiment?
"You can't kill me!" Anatika screeched, "You can't! I won't let you! I won't die without seeing the light drain from that filthy cheater's eyes!"
"YOU DIDN'T TELL ME YOU WERE A WOMAN, YOU HARLOT!" Ranjit screamed, from within his primal berserking state.
There were gasps from the audience all around, the accusation causing enough rage for even the small Anatika to shove Gorbacholi aside, "I CAN'T AFFORD THE OPERATION, YOU SHALLOW CUNT OF A MAN!"
She leapt forward and tackled Ranjit into the nearest kitchen counter, attempting to smack him in the face with her hammer, before her wrist was grabbed again by Gorbacholi.
"There has been too much violence!" He declared, trying desperately to pry the quarreling exes apart, but Anatika was ready for his attempt this time, taking a knife from the kitchen counter and stabbing Gorbacholi in the gut, "Ah! Mamma mia!"
The momentary distraction was enough for her to get away and turn back to Ranjit, but Ranjit was ready for her this time, punching her in the mouth as hard as he could in a fit of berserker rage- He cut his knuckles on her teeth, which had been forced all the way through her very lips with the sheer effort!
Both of them were screaming incoherently at this point, and Anatika slammed Ranjit back against the table again. He ripped the faucet off of the sink in a bout of hysterical strength and bludgeoned her across the face with it, then, as she doubled over, ran forward and staggered Gorbacholi with a series of blows until the faucet bent too far and became unwieldly. He tossed the makeshift club away and attempted to kick the bent-over Gorbacholi in the face, but...
This time, Gorbacholi was ready, grabbing Ranjit's leg, then slamming him as hard as he could in the chest with his fist- knocking him to the ground and stunting his breathing! He picked up the stunned Ranjit by the arm and started to flail him around to keep Anatika at bay as she approached with... A barbed wire baseball bat!? Where the blazes did she get that!
"Yeaah! More DEATH!" Chirped an entirely uninvolved Cricket, sitting atop her wallet that was now significantly thinner in the "Bribing Security" pocket.
Gorbacholi swung Ranjit as she swung her bat, managing to parry the blow, and tossed the man on top of her, giving him time to try and grab the bat. Ranjit attempted to crawl off, dragging his dislocated arm behind him, as Anatika, refusing to let go of the bat, was hoisted in the air by Gorbacholi!
With his hand on her back, and his other around her wrists, he shoved her up over his head in a most unconventional pro wrestling hold, then, in a few strides, walked over to her kitchen station and bodyslammed the woman into the island. Shattered glass and curry flew everywhere as she broke through the marble countertop- broke the sink off its upholstery and was gored by the plumbing underneath. Where once there was a kitchen counter with a sink and food, there was now a shattered canyon containing a burst mess that eerily reminded Gorbacholi of the sauce of the last armed and dangerous chef he had bodyslammed this way.
"WHY!?" Chef Gorbacholi fell to his knees, shouting at God, "WHYYYY!?"
"MURDERER!" Ranjit shouted, though he didn't seem all that genuinely concerned about the mess that was Anatika, "DID YOU THINK I'D FORGET, AFTER ALL THESE YEARS!?"
With the knife in his hand, he swung wildly, cutting up the tree hairy trunk arms that Sal instinctively blocked with, not stopping until-... He suddenly couldn't move his hand?
With a stern, deadly glare, Chef Gorbacholi had caught the knife in his hand... Shoving it all the way through just to grip Ranjit's hand and hold it still. "Enough."
He shoved Ranjit to the side, giving him enough time to yank the knife out of his hand and suplex-toss Ranjit as he charged again, all the way into the pantry. Shelves clattered as Ranjit was launched by a human catapult, who lay spread-eagle and bleeding on the kitchen floor as the show's... Version of what could tentatively be called 'medical staff', finally decided to show up.
Chopped: Entree Round on 8/7/2019 11:46:19 AM
Gorbacholi mulled over the beverage in his mouth for a moment, trying his level best to detect what flavors it held- The first was sugar, and lots of it, but it seemed as if there was... Substance, to the sweetness. He tasted all manner of flavors- Most notably cherry, mixed with blackberry. There were also little hints of things like vanilla, licorice, and... Amaretto? Things he certainly didn't expect to find in the flavoring of an American soft drink, but today was full of culinary surprises. This drink was a symphony of a thousand confusing choices playing one particularly interesting note. So what was the harm in adding a few more instruments?
He eviscerated the beets with record time using the aforementioned sword of a knife, and lifted a pan onto the stove to sautee the beets with a bit of olive oil. He wanted them to be soft, juicy, and perhaps somewhat absorbent before he did anything with them, so they could take on additional flavors. He also added a little salt in, just to highlight the stuff. Then, he turned to this... 'Dr. Pepper' with a scrutinizing stare.
He poured the can into a saucepan- Usually the first pan he used when he had no idea what the fuck he was doing, and... Assuming there wasn't already apricot flavoring in... Whatever tonic this 'Dr. Pepper' was prescribing, tossed the dried apricots in, hoping he could reconstitute them in (or at least add a more apricot-like flavor to) the impending sauce.
It didn't take much stirring for him to realize that this bubbling water wouldn't last, and he'd have to do something about this sauce before it became a slime. He decided that apricots in sugar-water with a special recipe of 23 different flavoring syrups might not really taste that much like apricot, so he poured in a drizzle of orange juice and stirred it in. A little natural citric acid to bring back some semblance of what the dried apricots may have lost. Almost bringing in his ladle to taste, but stopping himself just short.
It occurred to him that such a concoction might be too sweet- Even offensively so, to his refined palette. There was nothing to counterbalance the overwhelming bouquet of fruit and soda that he had inadvertantly prepared for himself... So he added a spoonful of dijon mustard and began stirring. He took a quick taste, "Hmm..."
With a look of great consternation, he flicked in another loose spoonful of mustard and stirred, trying again, "HMMMM..."
It was simultaneously too fruity and too mustardy, he needed something to marry the two clashing forces, something that didn't quite have a taste of its own, but would resolve this subtle war between savory and sweet.
BAM! He tossed in a little more than half a cup of brown sugar. This would be... Interesting for sure. He began to strip the meat off the bone of the wings as he continued cooking this... Sauce? No, it was more like a syrup at this point, a thick, heavy... Glaze! Yes, that was it.
He got out a pan and turned the heat down, adding just a bit of water, periodically stirring it and keeping the pot hot just to make sure it maintained its liquid consistency. In the meantime, he poured the boneless wings into the pan and seared them until thoroughly pale and juuust juicy enough.
Grabbing a rubber barbecue brush to deftly paint the glaze over the butchered, skinless chicken bits, scrambling them with a seemingly superhumanly durable bare hand to get an even coating on the other side. He picked up a particularly syruppy one to try. Yes, this was absolutely the bizarre caramel flavor he was looking for. He set the pan aside and poured the chicken into a bowl with extra glaze, letting them cool down in order to get a crunchy outer shell. Perhaps this alien beverage wouldn't be the detriment he thought it would!
He grabbed a loaf of Italian bread and started deftly cutting thick layers with his original ridiculously sized knife, the heavy swings dropping right through it like an axe through wood. In no time at all, he had enough to make sandwiches for 4 judges-... If they even had that many left after this round. He added crushed garlic from the previous recipe to butter, and heated that butter in a small cup. When he had enough, he mixed it together with a hilariously small whisk that barely fit between his enormous fingers, and poured the faintest smidgeon of it over what would be the 'outside' side of the garlic bread in a wide arc- Enough to flavour the entire slice, but only faintly!
When the ostensible "garlic bread" slices were all laid out, and adding 3 broad slices of juicy beet flesh to every other bread slice. He then reached into the bowl of chicken, with a crackle and tingling sound of little pieces of sugary glaze breaking off and falling to the bottom of a ceramic bowl, he withdrew several handfuls of red, bejeweled chicken wing out and laid them across the remaining pieces of bread. Fishing out 2 Dr. Pepper-reconstituted apricot slices from the saucepan, he put one on top of each small pile of beets, before putting the sandwich together.
A variety of strange smells met his nose as he pressed the first sandwich in the panini grill. It certainly was a bizarre mixture, but then again, so were the ingredients... He could only hope that this sandwich was not as abhorrent as the sandwiches before.
Panini-pressing was an extensive process, but he managed to get the last sandwich on the plate and step forward with the dish.
"Caramel-glazed Chicken Panini, with beets, candied apricot, and swiss cheese!" He declared, as proud of this creature as it was decently possible to be.