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Okay so this is pretty simple.

Write the edgiest short story you can and post it here in this thread before February 28th and if you win you’ll get points for it.

You don’t even need to bet anything. Just write.

Do remember though, we’re going for edgy not fucking pornographic, so don’t go into graphic detail about ejaculating into your cat or whatever the fuck you sick freaks are into.

If anything try to make your story uniquely edgy in some way. Just writing about shooting up your school because the head cheerleader laughed at you when you asked her out isn’t going to cut it. I mean you CAN write about that, but it’s not likely to win unless everyone else also fails to have any imagination.

Anyway I’ll be judging. I might pick a couple other people to help, but in any case I’ll be reading through all of them and making the final decision on an ultimate winner.

There can be only one.

I don't know if I have the time to work on this. Or rather, I don't think it'd be responsible to divert time from what I'm supposed to be doing. But this is tempting, haha.

Oh hey, a thread where writing a synopsis about how much the world hates me is accepted and encouraged. Will have a story done by the deadline.

Count me in library master.

Fuck it, I'm in.

I think I can speak for everyone when I say I am not surprised.

Hey, man, I can speak for myself.

I'm not surprised.

A thread in which I can write imaginary rants and even get points for them, instead of a usual penalty? I think you can count on my entry. You can also count that it will be very stupid, of course.

I'm in, EdgeMaster! Huh wait... I think autocorrect did that. I feel too lazy to correct it though so I'll just edit this later.

I'll be the edgiest of all the edgelords.

Ifunny is a great source for inspirational edge.

Hopefully I won't wait till last minute for submission.

I'm the edgiest person I know. I'm in. 

I'm probably just going to write about one of my friends because he is the definition of edgy.

Finally! Time to write a story about dicks!

hows everyone doing? Anyone close to getting this done? I'm interested. 

 

It feels like I'm in the latter third, which probably means I'm about halfway done, because stories always seem to get longer than you'd previously hoped as you translate them into narration from the summaries in your head.

Awesome Sentinel. Keep it up. I'm interested for sure. 

I WILL HOPEFULLY NOT LET YOU DOWN, MY MAN!

Uh... I have about 80 words written down. I'm a lazy fuck who puts things off until the very last minute, don't judge me.

Wow, the thread managed to stir Fleshy out of his normal lurking mode.

I gave everyone more than enough time to do this contest, so I imagine most people are going to sit around doing nothing and then suddenly there will be a bunch of submissions on the 26th or 27th.

lol I DONT LURK! Lear longingly maybe. 

Seriously though, I'm curious to see what stories people bring to the table. 

I am working on it right now. It will be something, for sure. I might just give everyone cancer with it.

Sort of hope Breezy can join this one. Given her love of splatterpunk, I gotta think this would be right up her alley. (Already PMed her about it)

I'd like to see something from Insanebutvain as well, but the chances of her not being lazy are really slim.

Is she even still around?

Breezy? Yeah, she lurks mostly, but I spoke to her earlier this month.

Should it be a storygame or a short story?

Considering I just said to post it in this thread, I figured it would be a short story, but if you really want to try to make a CYOA in one post, not going to stop you.

Just because I have so much faith in writers here completing things on time, this is my entry for the contest:

Bob was pissed because he just knew he was cool enough for the head cheerleader. When she laughed at him, he got mad and pulled out his gat and shot her in the kneecaps.

There you go. Now if no one else enters, that's the winner, right?

Such development. Such edginess. 

 

Thank you. Did you see the part about shooting her in the kneecaps, instead of just shooting her in the head?

Not just one kneecap either!

Robin Hood robbed maids of their maidenhood.

s0 3dgy m8

So far Bucky is winning.

Dammit! I thought I had this one in the bag.

Metal legs. Metal arms. Metal... heart.

Tool of war. Tool of peace.

Tool.

Of.

Art?

Gary was an edgy man. His whole life was just one big, tense ball of fear and frustration. He was so irritable that if you poked his ass he would snap your neck. One day, he died. He was now a ghost. He died again. He was now a ghost again. Now he was more edgy. The end.

"if you poked his ass he would snap your neck"

That's the definition of edge right there.

True.

This contest just got real.

Current line up:

1st Bucky
2nd Ogre
3rd Minnie
4th Tim (I’m guessing his was a submission)

Severely disappointed in the lack of edge so far. Can’t even properly cut up a disease ridden whore with this shit.

The best you could do is just jam it into her with brute strength and then wiggle it around in her polluted womb so you killed the crack baby fetus inside. Then you’d have to finish the job by repeatedly smashing her face into the piss soaked public bathroom floor while she cried and bled out as you laughed the entire time.

Here, inspiring music list: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bVKy2Va7Ds0&list=PL0B32E3617986964A

Wait, what? Where are these stories?

They are up above. Emphasis on SHORT stories. 

Oh shit, yeah. Thanks.

Lolno

It's a fallout reference.

I think I just wrote my favorite tit joke of all time. I'm very excited to finish and post this at some point.

Well, it didn't actually end up being as edgy as I wanted, but whatever. Fuck you, it's what I'm giving you.

Steve's Shit

"Hey, Pike! Pay attention, you fucking fag! We're talking to you!"

Howard Phillip Pilkington, better known to his friends as Pike, sat in the back seat of the shitty truck. He sighed, peering his head out the window as Kaiser, Blondie and Buck.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"You know a lot about cars, don't you?" Blondie said. "Get the fuck out here!"

"Give me a sec," Buck says.

Pike sighed, spitting out the window.

"No, I'm just the one who remembers it's always the fucking fuse!"

Should've bought a Honda or something. Nip's make the best cars."

"Give me a sec," Buck says.

"Fuck Schlitzaugen wagons!" Kaiser said. "Should've bought Volkswagon!"

"I don't remember either of you offering to pay towards this!" Blondie complains. "I bought what I could! 3

"Give me a sec," Buck says.

"Well it's your shitty...!"

"Try it now," Buck says.

Pike sighed, before turning the key as the engine roars to life.

"Lovely," Pike said, smiling. "How'd you fix it?"

"Used the heating fan fuse, swapped it out," Buck said. "Let's go going."

Pike climbed into the back. Anthony went to climb into the car before Blondie caught him by the scruff of his neck.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, you little cunt?" Blondie smiled, throwing him into the side of the car.

"I'm coming!" Anthony said. 

"Let the kid come!" Pike said.

In reality, they were all kids. Buck, the oldest, was barely eighteen, his face proudly showing a sparse few hairs that could barely be called a beard. Blondie and Pike were seventeen, while Kaiser wasn't even sixteen more than a month. Anthony, Blondie's brother, was fourteen, and looked it.

"Fine," Blondie said. "Let's go."

The group piled into the car, and Blondie began driving. Pike drew a fag from its packet, pressing to his lips and tasting the cheap tobacco as he searched for his lighter as Blondie popped a Max Resist CD into the CD player.

"Hey, don't you fucking dare!" Kaiser said. "I ain't poisoning my body with that smoke just because you're a fuck hole dip shit!"

Kaiser was, as could be seen from the swastika-covered muscles that bulged on his bare arms, a health freak. His youthfulness and rumors of a Jewish heritage led to a desperate need to be "harder" than the others while playing up his family's German ties. Ironically for a skinhead group, with a German, three Americans and an Englishman, they were one of the most diverse groups of the town.

Pike frowned, putting away the cigarette. Suddenly, Anthony giggled with uncharacteristic glee for someone who usually tried to pull off a deeper voice to seem older.

"What?" Buck grunted, looking back. 

"Look, it's a Sped!" he giggled.

The group looked, to see a the squinty eyes and retarded smile of a genuine retarded girl. She walked oblivious to the boys, a large drink in one hand and a cheeseburger in the order, her dress swaying in the room.

"It's a fucking spaz!" Pike said, smiling.

"Hey Ant, what are the odds you'll knock her drink in her face?" Buck asked.

"Uh..." Ant said, looking at her.

"Don't be a little pussy!" Pike said.

"Pull over," Ant said, nodding.

Blondie nodded, pulling off to the side. The group watched as Ant clambered out of the car, creeping over to the girl. He walks awkwardly up to her, looking up and down the street for any good Samaritans likely to cause some shit.

Then, he struck, knocking the cup of mountain dew straight into the retard's face. She let out a yelp like a gorilla being shot with a dart as the others burst into howling laughter.

"Drink up, you dumb 'tard!" Ant yelled

Suddenly, the retard burst forward like a viper, grabbing Ant's arm. Ant yelped, pulling at her, but she held strong.

"Ah! Fuck, help!" Ant yelled. 

The group burst forward as both Ant and the retard shrieked and howled at each other. 

"Just fucking get out of her grip, dip shit!" Blondie yelled.

"She's got some Mongoloid strength!" Ant yelled. "Fucking get off me, you ape!" 

Kaiser was first there, striking quickly. His fist slammed into the retard's massive forehead as she let out a massive shriek, falling backwards while still clinging onto Axe. Kaiser hit her again, knocking her to the ground as she finally released her grip. Pike landed a boot to her malformed face, as Buck laughed, reaching a hand up down her dress's bustline to grope at her breasts.

"Uh, that's fucking sick!" Blondie says. "She's liked fucked up ugly, dude."

Buck gave him the finger, popping his hand up her skirt and chuckling.

"She seems to like it, don't you, retard?" he laughed as the retard hollered like a child. "Shut up or I'll sho...!"

"Hey, what the fuck do you think you're doing!" a voice yelled.

"Bollocks, let's get out of here!" Pike said.

The group turned, as Kaiser left the retard with a goodbye kick to the head as Buck spat on her, before the group hurried to the car. Ant was barley in the car before Blondie pulled away, as the car sped off down the street.

"Fuck me, did you finger fuck a mongoloid, Buck?" Kaiser asked. "You twisted fuck!"

"She liked it," Buck grinned, satisfied with himself.

"Hey guys, look what I have!" Ant said, holding up a small, white pearl-like thing.

"What the fuck is that?" Pike asked.

"It's one of the mongoloid's teeth!" Ant grinned, proud of himself.

"Fuck me, why'd you take that?" Blondie asked, as Ant shrugged, smiling.

"Black magic or something. Niggardy diggardy doo, I'm going to put a spell on you! I is gonna make you retarded!" Ant said, putting on an exaggerated black accent before making monkey noises as the others laughed.

Night fell without any other incident, as the group did little else other than smoke or in Kaiser's case, complain about the smoking.

The group stood in a gas station, counting crumpled notes and dirty coins to see if they could buy what more fags. Pike stood outside, leaning against the car. He paused, watching a limousine pull into the station.

"Fucking hell," he remarked, watching a man in his late fifties with a full head of grey hair stepping out. The window rolled down slightly as the old man began to talk through the window to the passenger, glancing at Pike.

"Do you have a fucking problem, man?" Pike asked, snarling. 

"Of course not," the old codger smiled. "Tell me, you don't use, do you?"

"What?" Pike said, confused. 

"Are you clean? Do you use drugs?"

"What the fuck's wrong with you, you cunt? Piss off!"

The man smiled and nodded, getting back into the limo.

Pike stared at the limo as the others walked outside to the car.

"You alright, Pike?" Blondie asked, handing him a fag.

"Cheers," Pike said. "I'm fine. Let's go."

The group continued driving around the house, doing pretty much nothing as they wasted their time with the same old bullshit of youth.

The rickety truck drove along the road through the near abandoned part of town, full of the bare concrete bones of unfinished construction sites with a few apartments being all that was worth seeing, Kaiser leaning out the window in an attempt to gulp down fresh air.

"Fucking hell, I want drink," Blondie complained.

"We could find someone to buy it. Is Sid out, yet?"

"Sid's got an extra two years for stabbing some kike with shiv," Kaiser said.

"Oh fucking hell, she has some nice tits on her," Buck said, staring out at the window. 

Pike stared out the window, seeing a fairly pretty girl with long blond hair and a large pair of tits... with a fairly extended abdomen.

"Dude, she's fucking pregnant!" Blondie said.

"Buck's got a type," Pike remarked.

"Uh... you'd like mash the baby's head in with your dick."

"It's fucking dark and she's all on her own. I'm just being a good citizen is all," Buck said. "Pull in. Kaiser, don't let her see you?"

"What? Why?"

"Your tats, man. Don't want her legging it when she sees them?"

"What, not proud of your race?" Kaiser said.

"Not proud of yours, hebe?" Buck replied.

"Oi, fuck off!"

Buck laughed as Blondie pulled into the side of the street. Buck hopped out of the car, grinning as he put his Southern drawl on overdrive. 

"How are you doing tonight, darling?" he asked.

"Oh, hi," the girl replied shyly.

"So, what's a sweet little thing like you doing on the street this late? You might get hurt, or worse yet your little kid! How far along are you?"

"Oh, I'm..." she began to say, before you saw Buck's face shift from a grin to a suspicious glare as he peered behind her.

"Can I fucking help you, man?" he asked. "Fucking try to rob the girl, I fucking dare you."

Pike leaned forward to get a better look from the back seat to see a man approaching with the dim skin of a negro. A lighter skinned Negress girl who looked to be around six or seven stood nervously behind him, staring at Buck.

"Excuse me? That's my wife, man!"

Buck paused, his suspicious look turning to a sneer as he turned to look at the girl.

"You're dating a fucking nigger?!" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Hey, you better...!" the negro began to snarl, before Buck turned at him.

"Fuck of, burnt boy. Bet you're fucking happy with yourself, stealing a girl and shooting her full of spoiled gunk mutts like that fucking cunt behind you!"

The negro moved forward with a snarl, grabbing him by the collar as he snarled. Pike, Ant, Kaiser and Blondie burst from the car, standing ready to fight. The negro's eyes widened as he noticed the rest of you, before Buck drew his hunting knife from his belt.

"Fucking nigger," he grunted as he forced the knife into the negro's stomach twice.

The negro grunted in pain as Buck shoved him up against the car, repeatedly piercing his flesh. The race traitor and her mutt screamed, turning and desperately running off down the street.

"Get in the car!" Blondie yelled.

"We're driving the cum dumpster down," Buck snarled.

The woman must've heard Buck as they turned and burst down off the road and into one of the many unfinished construction sites.

"What do we do?" Ant asked.

"Follow them!" Buck snarled, taking control of the situation.

"What about the negroid?" Pike asked.

"Leave him. I hope you get a faggot doctor who gives you AIDS, nigger!" Buck spat, before the group burst after the pair... or trio, as it were. 

The group ran the pair down to the construction site, before pausing as they stared around as the unused construction equipment and concrete and steel shell of an office building that was never finished. The girl ran toward the building, but her pregnancy and the child she was pulling made her slow. The boys ran after her, sprinting as fast as they could. Finally, Kaiser got close enough to grab her, yanking her back and onto her back before Pike kicked away the half-nigger's legs away as it and smacked onto the ground with a cry of pain.

"Stop fucking running," Kaiser said, grinding the child's face into the ground.

Suddenly, the group paused as there was a car horn. A limo, the limo from earlier, pulled into the construction site. Everyone turned to stare at it nervously. 

"What the fuck?" Blondie asked. 

Suddenly, the driver's door opened, as the old man from earlier appeared, smiling. He nodded as the skinheads just stared at him in uncertain silence.

"Please, help me!" the mother screamed.

The old man walked to the passenger door of the limo, opening it.

"Here we are, sir. Five boys, one girl and a mother-to-be," he said.

A gnarled, withered black hand appeared, wrapping around the car door. An unnaturally tall figure appeared, it's body adorned with long black robes that look closer to a funeral shawl. It's face was horribly, nothing but a horrifying, gaping mouth covering the entire head, going sideways down the length of its face. Dozens of thin, needle-like teeth click and clacked as the creature inhaled and exhaled, with the sight of black, thorn like teeth knotting around its flesh as it chews patiently. A trio of long, black tongues, thin as ropes and flickering appeared, tasting the air.

"What the fuck is that cunt?" Kaiser said nervously.

The creature walked forward slowly, staring at you without seeing. It creeps forward slowly, its tongues flicking.

"I can smell them. They're delightful. Sweat... flesh... blood... terror..." it hissed, piercing its very soul.

Buck let out a yell, charging forward as he pulled out his hunting knife. The creature moved with lightning speed, catching Buck and breaking his neck with an audible snap of bone. Then, it grabbed Ant who stood near to it, holding him in the air as the others stared at it, unable to help.

"Hello there, child."

It slowly raised Ant into the air as the others stared in horror as the tongues wrapped around Ant's limbs as he screamed out, flailing desperately. The creature's mouth expanded as it began to swallow Ant whole, his desperate screams for mercy or help emanating. Ant's feet disappear down the creature's throat as the creature closes it's mouth, Ant's screams ending. The creature paused, stepping forward as Kaiser, Pike and Blondie backed away nervously. The mother stared up in horror, as the creature walked towards her. It pressed a boot down on her hand, leaning down. The tongues burst forward, stabbing into its belly as it leans down, its tongues squirming into her stomach as she lets out pitiful screams. The tongues tore open her belly, pulling out a thin, fleshy body dripping with blood. Pike thought he could see eyes and a mouth twisted in horror on the thing. The creature lifts up the fetus as it twitches and spasms, before dropping it down its mouth, swallowing with a squelch. The mother now dead, it steps over her dead corpse, looking at the rest of the group.

"Run!" Kaiser yelled.

"After them, Josef, if you would," the creature asks.

The old man quickly begins walking after them as they ran desperately, the girl now with them. They headed into the building, desperately looking for somewhere to hide, but only finding barren concrete rooms. 

"What the fuck do we do?!" Kaiser yelled.

"We need somewhere to hide!" Blondie screamed.

The group pushed forward, the three terrified skinheads and the little girl, before finding themselves at a dead end.

"Fuck, turn back! Turn b...!" Kaiser said, before pausing as he saw the old man standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorway and wheezing.

"Uh... I'm without my youth..." the man says, as if apologizing. 

The old man straightens, revealing a revolver in his hands.

"Fuck, charge him!" Kaiser yelled, running forward.

The old man fired, Kaiser's head exploding as he collapsed to the ground. The old man twisted around, firing his gun four more times as rounds smashed through Pike and Blondie's legs as they collapsed to the ground, screaming. The girl tried to run past him, but the old man grabbed her.

"Oh no, you're mine!" he smiled, pushing her against the wall. "Don't worry, darling, I won't let master have you. You're mine."

The man rubbed his hands along the girls neck as her screams turned to sobbing as he ran his hands along her body. Pike and Blondie lay there, too wounded to move, the pain almost making them pass out. The old man sighed, holding the girl's head tightly as Pike and Blondie stared at them.

"Unzip my pants," he whispered.

The girl continued to sob, as the old man wrapped his hands around her hands, leading them as he unzipped his pants. 

"Touch it," the man whispered, his voice filled with longing.

The man's pants fell to his knees, revealing scarred, pale flesh and nothing else. The man forced the girls lips to touch the deeply scarred flesh  as he sighed.

"I... I..." the man said, so desperate he looked pathetic. 

The man's eyes narrowed as he drew a long, thin blade from his side. He drove it into the girls stomach, letting out a moan and a sigh of relief. He penetrated her stomach with the knife again and again, piercing her intestines as he groaned in ecstasy. He ran his sword through her belly one last time, letting out a last groan. He sighed, wiping his blood covered hands on the dying girl's face. His breathing deep, he continued to wipe the blood across his face, before snarling as he began driving his thumbs into the girls eyes as she screamed, these screams more pitiful and weak than her last.

"Don't fucking look at me, whore!" he snarled. "Fucking slut! Cum dumpster bitch!" 

He drove his knife into the girl's throat, gouging it out. She ran out of strength and the life flooded out of her, and he gently held her lifeless body, lowering it to the ground. As he kissed the girl's bloody corpse on the lips, the creature appeared in the doorway, walking into the room slowly.

"Finished already, Josef?"

"Yes, master," the old man nodded.

"Quite quick this time."

"She was very beautiful."

"Go back to the limo. I can finish these ones," the creature said. 

The old man, Josef, nodded, turning and walking out of the room. The creature walked slowly towards Blondie, who screamed desperately as he tried to get away with his bleeding limbs. The creature leans down, it's long black tongues forcing their way down his throat and choking his screams. They search through his body as Blondie convulses and tries to scream without breath. Suddenly, the black tongues emerge, holding various organs in their grasp. One has twirled around a bloody heart that still beats desperately as the creature swallows it, another bursting his stomach and spraying stomach acid over the corpse as it swallows it. The creature swallows down its organ, before the creature lets out a satisfying sigh, turning to you. It looks down on you without eyes, it's tongues licking the blood off its teeth.

"Go on!" Pike shouted shouted. "Fucking kill me! Go on!"

"Kill you? I would never, my young man! I have raised with manners. Here's a rule about cuisine. Always savor the last bite. Trust me, child: I intend to."

I see Steve wrote a bunch of words up there.

After scanning his drooling mongoloid like beatings on the keyboard, screaming for the mediocre ideas to get out, he still utterly failed in this task like he fails at his fucking life.

This lacks so much edge that he basically posted the text equivalent of his pathetic limp herpes encrusted dick. Shit couldn’t break a virgin’s hymen, let alone hurt her.

Yeah, he’s winning so far, but that’s only because he couldn’t shut the fuck up so he had to get something right eventually. Which is pretty damn sad in the scheme of things given that he only barely managed to beat out Bucky’s lazy ass one sentence of turning Robin Hood into a serial rapist.

But this is Steve we’re talking about so what else is fucking new?

Anyway he's got my validation now since I know he wants it so badly. He's probably jerking off in glee and crying for joy, the fucking freak.

'Yeah he's winning so far, but that's only because he couldn't shut the fuck up.' Hahaha awesome. This is like a Gordon Ramsey reality show. I'm tempted to post a sub par story to get a scathing review. 

Go ahead and post a good one, I'm sure that will get a scathing review, too.

One can hope!

Not very edgy, but whatever. 

Tricks Of The Trade

Being a magician's assistant sounds painful enough. Being a magician's slave indentured servant is a whole nother level of hell all together. 

Jessca Longley, now known as Zara, was sold to Mon Deggo 3 years earlier. Mon Deggo, a 32 year old master of illusion, owed a large amount of money to an investor called 'Master'. This investor was more evil than Mon Deggo could even think of. Deggo purchased Jessca thinking her pleasant look would bring new customers, thus more money. 

Jessca, usually the object of Deggo's tricks, suffered many injuries. She lost most of her sight in her left eye when a 'magic dart' trick went awry. She lost 4 fingers on her left hand when Deggo insisted she feed the leopard by hand. 'Don't be afraid, he won't bite', Mon Deggo had said. Isn't that always the case? She was raped repeatedly. Mostly after a bad show. 'You'll learn to put on better shows.' He had said. He was a talker. He was also a mediocre illusionist. 

Jessca learned the routine pretty quick. 3 weeks a month, festivals and traveling. The last week, a big show for a big client. At the end of this month was a client that Mon Deggo called 'very importnat.' Jessca made her plan. She was going to be free within the month. 

She knew that the big finish was the vanishing box trick. She would step into the box, fall through a trap door, and head back to the caravan with the money. Usually. She knew this time, she was going to make an escape. 

The night before the 'very important client' was exceptionally rough. 20 shillings was the take for the night. Mon Deggo was not pleased. Jessca gained a fresh black eye for her lack of value to the show. This made her damn near fully blind. This escape would be all that more difficult. 

The 'client' owned a very large house. He was a large man with a large collection of concubines. At worst, Jessca would get caught and returned to Mon Deggo, at best, she would probably turn from assistant to mistress. It was worth the risk.

45 minutes in, the show was almost over. She stepped into the box, trap door opens, and just like that, freedom. 

She made her way to the women's quarters and hid for the night. Mon Deggo wasn't pleased to leave empty handed, but the importance of the client left him no choice. 

The next morning, Jessca was introduced to the client from the night before. 

'Please, introduce yourself m'lady.' 

'Jessca sir.' 

'Please, call me Master.' 

Subtly fucked up. Nice.

Exactly what I was going for! Thanks!

October 2028

"Zachary! Come take the trash out!" Mom yells.

Being in his preadolescent beginnings of angst, Zachie didn't even reply, he just stormed downstairs, grabbed the trash bag, and walked outside, slamming the door on the way. When outside, he looked around to make sure nobody was watching, and lit up a cigarette that he had stolen from his mom's purse. Dealing with his dyke of a mom always stressed him out, and he was sure his mom would understand his habit if she knew, since she started up smoking again 3 years ago when his father went to "get some milk" and ran off with the 17-year-old girl he was fucking in the basement while your mom was at work.

Suddenly there was a bright flash in the sky, and for a moment Zachie saw a shimmering in the air, then nothing. Zachie stared at the sky for a long time, until his mother screamed at him to get his useless ass in the house. Running inside, he saw his fat, shaven-headed mother staring openmouthed at the TV a bottle of scotch dangling loosely by her side.

"Zachary, will you come look at this shit! The news is pulling some kind of prank!"

 Zachie rolled his eyes. "Mom, I told you not to call me by my full first name! It's Zachie!"

 His mom turned to him. "Don't tell me what to do, you ungrateful shit! I should've had you aborted when I had the chance! Now come look at this!"

Zachie edged closer to the TV, and his jaw dropped when he saw that some kind of creature was speaking while the hot bombshell of a newscaster was in the background being railroaded by 3 more of the things with long tubes for their "little guys." And-

"Are those eggs they're pumping into her?" Zachie said out loud, completely revolted.

Then the creature on the TV spoke.

"Attention, citizens of Earth. my people, the Savron, have taken over your puny planet. There are no more laws. All governments of yours have been forcibly dismantled. There are only two rules that you must adhere by. Firstly, we will be taking 75% of your planet's resources, to sustain our own and for a second reason which we will be explaining shortly. Secondly, all women who are in the menstrual cycle will be coming with us, so that we can use them for breeding purposes. The reasoning for dismantling your laws and leaving you 25% of what's left is because, quite honestly, you humans are a savage species, and watching you fight over what's left will be highly entertaining."

"Hell no!" your mom screams. "I haven't hit menopause yet! There is no fucking way I'm going to be some brood mother for a bunch of freaks! Zachary, go get my shotgun!"

Zachie's mind was whirling with the possibilities. "Sure, mom." He was actually surprised that his mom wasn't getting suspicious, since he usually wasn't this submissive, but considering everything that was going on, he figured she had bigger things to worry about. He smiled, and muttered under his breath  "She sure does."

Five minutes later

"Hey mom, I got the shotgun you wanted."

"Good! Now- WHY ARE YOU POINTING THAT AT ME, YOU RETARD! THEY'RE COMING!"

Zachie smiled. "No laws, remember mom? And with only 25% of the world's food left, I need to eat somehow. And considering that you've spent most of your life eating up all the food in the house, I think it's time you gave back."

His mom's eyes widened in fear as she realized his meaning. "You're gonna EAT me, you sick fuck? After everything I've done for you?" She shook her head slowly, not willing to believe the end was near. "Zachary-"

Zachie pulled the trigger 4 times, shooting her in the stomach and causing her steaming intestines to splatter across the walls and slump out onto the floor. In her dying moments, she squealed like the pig Zachie always knew she was, and he was filled with joy as he watched the life fade from her beady little eyes. A joy that intensified as the screaming started outside, when chaos from the fall of the government and the police department began, meaning nobody was safe. Now the fun would begin.

 

So, Zachie's pops ran away with the 17 year old girl he was fucking while my mom? Other than that, that cliffhanger man, don't make us ask for the cannibal feast being described.

Damn but yea other than the one small typo I'm proud of myself  

Yeah, just messing with you man/woman/apache.

Great, entries from Mr. wheelchair and the nobody. Let’s get the cripple out of the way first.

Fleshy hasn’t written shit in years and he thinks now all of a sudden he’s good at it when he never was in the first place.

Right off the bat he tries to apologize for his shitty submission by telling me it isn’t really edgy. Well fuck you, Steve already tried that with his stupid fucking story and it didn’t work for his prancing ass, so it’s not going to work for you either. 

Pro-tip, if you’re already so pathetic to lack the confidence to win, why the hell should I even read this bullshit in the first place?

But I did read it because Ben’s mom was done sucking my dick and I didn’t have anything better to do.

As you promised, it sucked at being edgy, but if you really thought I wasn’t going to see through your totally transparent attempts at satire or parody or whatever the fuck you were trying to do, you’re as retarded as you are crippled.

Come on man. Zara? I think we all know who that’s supposed to be. And she becomes the property of some guy called “The Master?”

Real fucking subtle you asshole.

Steve might be a cock chugging degenerate, but he did it way better than you did a long time ago. Don’t quit your fucking day job of begging in the streets for money and leeching off people that actually walk for a living.

On to the nobody.

Now I remember this fucktard. He was the loser that got SHAMED in the December contest. Glad to see he managed drag his fat ass from his anime dickgirl porn web sites long enough to submit something for my contest. Whoopee.

Honestly there’s barely anything to say about this story because it’s so goddamn by the numbers boring as shit. It’s like he listened My Chemical Romance for an hour in his basement and thought he was the edgiest faggot ever.

Ben would have been better off spending his time jerking it to his hentai collection because the results of that would have been exactly the same. Namely, an unimpressive mess that he shouldn’t be proud of.

Keep writing stupid shit like this and you’ll stay in the fucking SHAME pit, you fucking dicksnot.

End I think you just took the edgelord prize, here

At this point, I really do think you're gonna win your own contest.

Time for Lancelot to give De Sade a run for his money.

Come morning, Daryl stepped out of the building, his rundown apartment in the middle of the city, and set his sight on the busses; he was expecting a certain yellow vehicle. He had been diagnosed with testicular cancer 3 months ago, during a routine checkout at 3:00 am, right after masturbating his neighbors' dog and fucking him in the ass. "Guess I was the one who was fucked after all" he remembered thinking. Daryl often said he felt never-ending love for all things, living and not, and apparently that's how god responded to his... unsightly demonstrations, not limited to the sexual context.

He was told his illness was incurable at that point. But that didn't stop Daryl from enjoying his life to the fullest, in fact, that only motivated him to "spread the joy" to anyone he could. First, he went to "St. Siddy School for Young Men", a pretty respectable Christian boarding school. Daryl's alma mater was where he first lost his "little buddy's" virginity, anally speaking, the pleasure came to his older cousin Steve, when Daryl was in kindergarten. There, our protagonist felt the joys of tying a nun down and making her take his and his entire class' loads, from all holes. They thought it would be extremely funny to tie her to the gigantic cross at the back of the school's auditorium. It was hilarious to all of them, except when Daryl did it with every other one of them, to then dispose of the victims at the lake in school grounds, leaving him the "traumatized sole survivor" of some psychopathic pervert.

This time around, Daryl aimed straight for the teacher's lounge, where he knew his favorite cousin, Steve, would be: oddly enough, he became an English teacher. After reaching the teacher's lounge, Daryl proceeded to take out his semi-automatic guns, silenced of course, and mowed down every single one of the people there, leaving blood, bones and flesh splattered all across the room. Even after that, there were still survivors: Steve and a fat man, whose massive folds of blubber had stopped most bullets. Daryl thought of the best way to deal with this, and soon after stabbed both of them with a spoon, knowing the dull borders of it would make each injury way more painful than any knife, tipping through the flesh until he reached the bones. With that taken care of, he used the microphone in the room, and, imitating an old man, told all of the students to go to the gymnasium. there, he had set up a "sports drinks booth", and incited every student to take a sip of the beverages before locking the doors. Unbeknownst to them, however, all the drinks had a little bit of piss and gasoline, causing a lot of stomach pains in the next ten minutes. After twenty minutes, the smallest kids had shit and piss all over themselves, incapable of resisting the deadly mix in their bodies, crying. After half an hour, Daryl broke in through a window and lit a match on fire, letting it drop to the stained floor, watching as it soon started a massive fire inside the place: children screaming everywhere, panicking in vane as they burnt slowly, but steadily, pushing and punching one another to reach the exits, getting smashed against the concrete walls by more desperate kids, until the smoke from the fire suffocated anyone still alive. Objective one was completed.

After a while of laying low, Daryl hired a young lady, probably 14, 16 at most, to have sexual relationships. That part was... as normal as he could allow it, his true objective laid further ahead. Tomoe, as she was called, came home to her abusive mother, who received her with a glass bottle to the head, and taking all of her hard earned money by force. Daryl had followed, and with the help of a ladder, got into the second floor, to spy on his victim. Tomoe cried herself to sleep, and once that happened he turned on her computer, got on her Facebook (dumb bitch had it always logged on), and uploaded some graphic pictures that he had taken in secret of their encounter.

Needless to say, next day in school ('cause even whores need education), was hell to Tomoe. Endless name-calling, getting beat to a pulp by all the rich girls, and things mysteriously disappearing and appearing in her locker; as her books vanished, used condoms, some even filled with vomit, spray-painted slurs ranging from "ass crack eyed bitch" to "jap shit ninfo" made sure to make her want to end her life. So as soon as she came home, she searched for a knife, a razor, a pair of scissors, anything to end her suffering, but only found her mother, kicking her daughter until blood came out of every hole in her face. Daryl had made sure that his little show wouldn't end sooner than expected. Tomoe had to endure pills, rope, and any potentially dangerous object around her disappear when she most needed them, apart from every single person on her school mocking her. A guy brought a metal bat, and waited for Tomoe to arrive just to hit her right in her stomach, causing her to vomit all over herself and to spew blood. A girl had cut all of Tomoe's hair from her back and carelessly carved "will fuck for food" into her bald head with a sharpie. She was cornered into a bathroom stall where she was made to drink water from the toilet and eat somebody's diarreah, to then strip and have pictures taken by anybody who wanted them, apart from having to do many other things. Finally, after 30 days of constant torment, Daryl left a pair of toy scissors in Tomoe's bed. The process was long, and painful, but Tomoe finally felt at peace... until Daryl called emergency services on her. He had also filmed the whole process.

So, you might be wondering, what does Daryl want to do now, after torturing so many people, and probably fucking a few animals. Well, I don't know. He doesn't know either, but if we've learned something, then... let's just pray that whatever happens to the children in the yellow school-bus is quick and painless.

Get yourself a manpon son, because you’re about to need a box of them.

You wrote several WALLS OF FUCKING TEXT and said absolute pussy fart. Jesus fucking Christ, I just look at this story and think why the hell do we still let cousins breed with each other in this country?

This is without a doubt the blandest entry yet. It’s like you copied what Ben did and still got it all fucking wrong because you’re a permanent member of the window licker club. Do everyone a favor and break the glass of one of those windows you’re licking and cut your goddamn wrists with them.

What’s the matter, don’t have that cunt Wibbons to hold your semen encrusted hand to help and try to pass the blame to this time? No, wait. Let me guess, you meant for your lame ass entry to suck because “You don’t care” right?

Sure, why not use that excuse, everyone else seems to be doing that like a in this contest. You’re not very original, let alone imaginative so it’s a fucking perfect excuse you. Goddamn mouth breathing moron.

“Give De Sade a run for his money.”

Give me a fucking break. I hope the fucking ghost of De Sade comes back to your house tonight and beats your fucking raisin nutsack into a bloody pulp with a rubber hose while giving your mom GHOST AIDS.

The only thing that’s running around here is Lancelot, and he’s running for the toilet due to his asshole getting so spread wide from the raping that he’s got loose bloody shit leaking down his legs.

Good thing this isn’t an unfamiliar feeling for him.

Go cry into your pedo daddy’s arms, bitch boy.

Alright, this is way out of my area of expertise. What defines a good 'edgy' story? I'm just seeing feeble attempts to make the reader cringe by pointing out demeaning or offensive imagery, with a hearty serving of insults. I wasn't interested in this contest when it was announced, but now I'm interested in writing something, if nothing else than to get the EdgeLord's Ramsey-esque critique.

Do you really want some pre-teen's misconception just aborted and shat all over your lap?  Shut the fuck up and write.

I'll be writing something macabre themed

We should have asked that quite a while ago.

It’s not like it would have mattered in your case, you still would have failed fucking spectacularly.

And the next time Swift wants to interject his own brand of autism and not actually contribute anything of importance, he can use a fucking image that doesn’t stretch out everything. It’s a writing contest thread, not his asshole.

Though given the entries so far, I know it's hard to tell the difference.

I'll probably write something that's longer than a sentence today.

Just a list of the contestants so far to keep track of in no particular order:

Steve

Fleshy

Ben the Bunny Fucker

Lancelot

Bucky

Ogre

Minnie

Ben

jep

Stryker

Virt

I'm on the edge of my seat waiting to see who wins. O-O

Ed was a peculiar fellow. He lived in a house on the edge of a cliff, on the edge of a nearby town, which was itself on the edge of the nearest city. His house was as peculiar as its owner, with lots of protruding edges that appeared to serve no purpose other than some sort of weird aesthetic. The inside of the house was no different, with many random outcroppings of floor, wall and ceiling, all with lots sharp edges.

This made it a dangerous house to move about in, and was the reason that Ed only moved around along the edges of the rooms, if it wasn’t for the fact that he preferred to move along the edges anyway.

Ed himself appeared rather edgy, with a sharp jawline, and cutting blue eyes. The way he dressed could be considered ‘edgy’; all blacks and dark purples. His leather jackets and trousers had lots of metal buckles, all of which had unnecessarily sharp edges. He always carried a knife, and a whetstone to sharpen its edge. He also tended to carry a large supply of plasters.

Some might consider Ed to have what could be called an unhealthy obsession with edges. He did not wash in a way that most would consider normal, but instead sat on the edge of the bath and washed individual body parts separately. When he ate, he would perch on the edge of his seat, his food all placed on the edge of a plate that was positioned precariously on the edge of the table.

Today was a usual day for Ed. He had got up, had breakfast, cleaned breakfast of off the floor, and the proceeded to plan the costs of shooting up the local school. He had then thrown darts at a picture of his parents, watched an episode of Glee, and was now having a relaxing session of cutting himself whilst thinking of all the different ways he could blame his problems on society.

Glancing out the edge of his window he saw a van pull up at the edge of his property. Fear flooded through him as he saw the people jump out of it. It was the people in coats that wanted to hide him away in the white room with no edges again. He sidled along the edge of the room and out the front door, and then ran around the edge of the house, dodging any dangerous protrusions, the mental hospital workers chasing after them.

Behind his house was the cliff, and he ran to the edge. “You can’t take my edges from me,” he yelled at them. “I am the edgelord, and I shall never be taken alive!” He plunged his knife into his chest, and toppled backwards over the edge of the cliff.

“Thank god for that,” muttered one of the mental workers to the other. “He was such a pain in the ass last time we took him in.”

“What a fucking nutter,” said the other.

They looked down as Ed’s body was dashed against the rocks below, before high fiving and returning to their van.

 

--------

Edgy means lots of edges right?

 

Another Ben? Can’t you fuckers have different goddamn handles? It’s hard enough to tell you two apart from the shitty writing.

Fine since the other ben is a lowercase “b” loser who was trying to talk shit earlier, you get to be Ben, and he’s Ben the Bunny fucker. Congrats, you achieved a minor victory of being just slightly less of a dipshit than the other guy.

As for your story, ha ha motherfucker. You used the word edge in various ways thinking it was cute.

This isn’t a fucking pretty pretty princess contest you faggot. You want to be “cute”, go dress up in your mom’s stripper clothing and go join her on jobs where you two can bond over who can suck dick the best.

And just as an aside:

Contrary to popular belief I didn’t create this contest just to insult you fucktards, I actually created it to help Bucky’s ass out. Because I was getting PM after PM from assholes asking me “When’s Bucky’s next contest? When’s Bucky’s next contest? GUAH RHAG BLERRRRG!”

It’s like fuck, stop PMing me, go PM Bucky about it you fucking dickheads.

So I created a contest so Bucky could focus more on being a fucking alcoholic, then what does he do? Creates another fucking contest making me look like a goddamn dick.

And I was originally just insulting Steve since he is constantly insulting me in multiple threads like a school boy with a crush because he desperately wants the attention his father never gave him, so short of actually bending him over and going in raw with a broom handle like the gimp he is, I gave him a big fat thrill by showing some more attention by insulting him back.

But then Fleshy got all fired up about wanting to get roasted because he thought it was part of the game, so it sort of spiraled from there and that’s how Hitler happens.

That was fucking gorgeous. Congrats to you.

To all dipshits that are named Ben, fuck off and eat your daddy's asshole or something. Nobody wants your shit here.

Ben 10 sucks the most out of all the bens

Obviously, since he has so many forms to suck with. King of blowjobs, and then he's followed by his incest friends, Ben the bunny fucker and whatever the other guy was.

Well, while we're all waiting for Bunny Ben to clear his name after his girlfriend dragged it through the mud, I'd just like to point out that if this is all legit, then this contest is potentially the cause of splitting up a couple.

Feel the fucking EDGE.

It is a delightful feeling, Master.

Reminds me of a Dothraki wedding

Consider me interested. Teen angst will come in handy, lol. 

Anderson was cruising to the Beatles, taking in the scenic coastline as his Tesla drove itself home.

‘This is the good life’ he thought, as an unknown caller popped up.

‘This Anderson of Anderson-Kleiner-Perkins?’ came the squeaky voice

‘Yes?’

‘You won’t remember me, but this is LilPrince44’

‘Who?’

‘Toldya. I wrote that poem about my parent’s car crash on ___. You roasted it, you ripped it apart. I’ve called to thank you’

‘What the fuck?!’

‘I was depressed, that poem was my out. You told me to kill myself. Your comments saved me, I figure. Gave me a purpose, killin’ you, ya psycho. I went through all 3,021 of your posts and your FB. I found your name, number, address, age.‘

‘I Google mapped your house, nice crib by the way. I saw your car, and then I knew I had you,’ the kid’s teenage voice cracked with happiness.

‘This is a sick joke, I’m cutting this call!’ Anderson said as he pressed End Call.

‘I mention I burnt my parents’ insurance money hiring hackers?’ the voice resumed from the car’s stereo.

‘I own your car. I own you. Apologize, now!’

‘You have got to be kidding me. It was a throwaway comment on the net, are you serious?!’

‘I didn’t hear an apology. Too bad, I was feelin’ merciful.’

LilPrince44 hit Enter on his dad’s old computer, and the car veered of-road.

‘Say hi to ma and pa!’

LilPrince recorded Anderson’s final screams and the final resounding crunch as the car went over the cliff and crashed into the rocks below. He planned to replay Anderson’s last cries for years to come.

‘Worst I'll get is juvie again. Prolly shoulda asked Anderson though, he was a lawyer’ LilPrince thought as he turned the TV on to Cartoon Network.

Should have another one ready in a few days, that one will be more macabre.

Narrator’s Introduction

Our protagonist, Peter, was used to having sexual intercourse with women day and night in various positions- doggy style, reverse cowboy, and so on. So you can imagine his surprise when he was the one being penetrated- and not in an orthodox way. Lianne, his now ex-girlfriend, had just crammed a bread knife into the entrance of his member. Here we observe Peter’s subsequent reaction and the events that follow.

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“YOU FUCKING CUNT! OH GOD IT’S UP MY DICK!”

“THAT’S WHAT YOU GET, YOU CHEATING FUCK!”

Peter was not in a comfortable position at the moment. The knife that was currently lodged in his penis was giving him great discomfort, to say the least.

Peter started to scream, beating desperately at Lianne, the woman holding on to the other end of the knife. However, she merely twisted the blade, tearing apart the thin walls of Peter’s urethra. Blood began to pour from the tip of his penis, as if he were undergoing a sort of menstruation for males.

At this point, Peter passed out due to shock and blood loss. He was thereby spared some of the pain of the events that were to follow. Now, before I tell you any more of the details of Peter’s graphic castration, I must briefly explain why Lianne is behaving in such a barbaric manner.

As I, the narrator, mentioned in the introduction, Peter was not limited in sexual activity to just his girlfriend. Of course, this was a great source of friction between the two- Lianne had been suspicious of Peter’s escapades for a long time, and eventually caught him in the act- the “act” being a prostitute vigorously licking his hairy scrotum. Lianne was not pleased with this behavior of Peter’s, and took it upon herself to dispense a little vigilante justice, to say the least.

Of course, this was a bit hypocritical on her part, as she had been having sexual relations with the next-door neighbor for months now. A black gentleman by the name of Jamal, who had a significantly larger member than Peter. In fact, Lianne was four months pregnant with their baby- of which Peter was fully aware that it was not his. Of course, he didn’t care- he was too busy with his hookers and mistresses.

With Peter now silent and immobile, Lianne could really get to work. Yanking the knife out with a spray of yellow-red blood, she decided to change her target, shifting her knife from the shaft to the scrotum.

Lianne began to cut through the thin skin of Peter’s ballsack, soon reaching its spherical contents. Lifting apart the flaps of the slit she had created, she slowly removed the two bloody testicles, veiny and fat, from their sac. Peter had officially been physically emasculated.

It was at this point that Peter regained consciousness- and immediately wished that he were still knocked out. He felt nothing but pure agony and suffering. He felt as if the fires of Hell had been eating as his crotch. He felt as if all the women in the world had each dealt a blow to his balls, the last of whom was wearing a leather boot covered in spikes. Peter slowly looked down to see a manically grinning Lianne holding his testicles in her hands, gently licking the blood off of them.

“Insane...fucking...bitch…” he moaned, having trouble pronouncing his words through the pain.

“Your balls taste a lot better than usual, Petey. Did you go something with them?” giggled Lianne, as she bit down on one of the testicles, sending a spray of fluid out of the throbbing sac.

Screaming once again, his voice surpassing the pitch of even that of a woman, Peter reached out his hands in a blind panic. By some miracle of God, his left hand fell upon the knife, which Lianne had set aside to fondle Peter’s exposed balls.

Using all of his remaining strength, Peter grabbed the knife and brought it down onto Lianne’s shoulder, still screaming in agony. His cries of pain were joined by hers, as the blade tore through tissue and muscle. Peter lunged forward, shoving Lianne, off the bed and onto the ground.

Panting with pain and pure rage, Peter crawled on top of Lianne, blood dripping from his ruined crotch area onto her.

Peter let out a primal roar of vengeance, yanking and tearing off Lianne’s underwear. He brought down the knife onto her exposed clitoris, cutting it clean off. Now, ordinarily, the stimulation of one’s clitoris would bring great pleasure to oneself, but this was an obvious exception to that rule.

Lianne let out a shriek exceeding that of even Peter’s, as blood sprayed out of her little stump like a fountain. Peter brough his head down, eagerly lapping up the bean-juice as it flowed out. Clearly, castration had not done wonders for his mental state.

Peter then raised the knife once again and crammed it into Lianne’s opening, shoving it inside as deep as it would go. The blade tore through the walls of her vagina, as Peter yanked it out and slammed it in again and again. Bits of pink flesh flew everywhere as her crotch soon resembled nothing more than a half-eaten pastrami sandwich covered in hot sauce and bacon bits.

Peter felt his strength quickly sapping, as blood loss took its toll. But this was far from enough. He needed to teach this psycho hypocritical bitch one last lesson. Getting on top of her once more, Peter sliced open Lianne’s abdomen, exposing her womb. Ignoring her screams and thrashing, Peter slowly removed her four month fetus from her shredded insides. It was limp, blooded, doughy, and altogether disgusting.

“Fucking cunt….so this is the fucking mutt you made with that jigaboo, huh? I’m not letting this little monkey live in this world, either.”

“No...Peter, please…don’t hurt my baby…” begged Lianne, starting to sob at the sight of her child.

Ignoring her pleas, Peter slowly got to his feet and staggered over to the kitchen, where he began rummaging around the drawers. Then, he found it. The blender.

Peter quickly plugged it in, and set the fetus into the blender. Fortunately for him, it was just small enough for it to fit snugly, and he greatly appreciated that fact as he placed the lid on and pressed the power button.

The blender came to life, the blades starting to spin and quickly speeding up. The fetus was hit time and time again by the spinning blades of the culinary tool, rapidly tearing it to bits. Blood, bone, and tissue were flung all around the blender as the fetus was turned into a delicious shake. After nearly five minutes of blending, it was over. Peter took the cap off and examined the contents. A foamy pink froth topped the meaty drink, with chunks of flesh floating at the top. The liquid itself was a dark red color, punctuated by the occasional chunk of bone. The perfect drink to end a miserable whore’s life.  

Grabbing the entire blender, Peter limped back over to Lianne, wincing at the intense pain his crotch emitted with every step. It didn’t matter, though. It would all be over soon.

Peter got on top of Lianne for a final time, plugging her nose and tipping the contents of the blender down her throat. She gagged, and desperately thrashed her head around, but it was no use.

“How do you like the drink, Lianne? I made it myself-with a special ingredient. I call it Blackie in a Blender.” Peter giggled, as Lianne made choking sounds and cried as she realized she was drinking her own child.

Her misery ended when she choked on a piece of bone, her face turning purple as she struggled for air. But Peter remained resolute, holding her down as she slowly died underneath him. Blood and tears streamed out from his eyes, and her thrashes turned into twitches. Lianne was no more.

Peter slowly slid off of Lianne and fell to the floor onto his side. His strength and vision were both slowly fading, with the pain lifting as well. Seeing how he was about to die as well, Peter decided to try a bit of his own creation as well. He lifted the blender to his lips, and drank the last few drops of liquid.

Smacking his lips, his lips stretched out into a blissful smile. “I don’t know what she was crying about,” Peter murmured out loud. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

And then he died.

I liked this one, only thing is would the pieces of bone be large enough to choke on?
(At 17 weeks, your baby is nearly 11cm long from crown to rump and weighs about 140g. His skeleton is mostly rubbery cartilage...)
Should have fact-checked. Your story is worthless now, it's not even realistic.

Shut the fuck up you stupid colonial cunt. How about you submit your own entry instead of nitpicking others like your mom picks at her vaginal warts?

 

Who the fuck are you to call me a cunt? You haven't even fucking been here for a month you pathetic limp dick, stop begging for approval from everyone else here because we've all seen our share of shitty writers who think they're a fucking prodigy because they got an A on their english paper once in grade 5. Don't think you're special, shut the fuck up, write some better shit or leave.

I don't really mind being called a shitty writer, but I hate hypocrites. Which you clearly are, as evidenced by your poor excuses for stories. While I was scanning through the pile of horseshite that is your profile, I physically cringed at your bio. "Lil bean"? "Expert hoe"? "Love: that dick?" Wow, look at how much of a whore I am. I have little to no personality so I have to make up for it by flaunting my saggy vagina everywhere I go. 

The only dick you're ever getting is from one of the inbred animals that live on your little prison island. 

I know I’m supposed to be an insufferable dick in this thread and cutting down anything regardless of how good/amusing it actually is, but this minor exchange between Jep and IBV is just Lol City.

Don’t derail too much though, I really don’t want to have to clean it up like I had to do with ben’s baby mama drama which sadly went overboard with the clutter.

In this thread? When did you start limiting it to here?

Nah the sheep fuckers are the kiwis.

I was referring to your kangaroos and koalas. 

Ahaha you edited out the whorish parts after I pointed out how they made you look even more moronic. Hilarious and sad. 

I agree with you on that part, my bio needed a change haha

Does that mean you're no longer an expert hoe? Did they retract your degree?

I think it's sort of subjective, like to some people I might be but I still have lots to learn. I'm always expanding my horizons though, and learning more ways to be a hoe, so maybe one day I can reclaim my title.

I think you'll have to fight Steve for it, at some point

Yeah I bet steve sucks even more dick than me

And I do it better.

Hey steve, have you ever sucked your own dick?

If I could, what the fuck do you think I'd be doing wasting my time on here?

Maybe you should try getting into yoga.

I'm gay, not a fag.

Fags are gay

Pffh, that's blatant homophobia. Not all fags are gay and not all gays are fags.

Yeah vain, you hypocritical fuck, how dare you criticize Jep's dogshit story even slightly when you haven't even published shi... oh, you have. Well then, alrighty.

The objective here is to be edgy, not to write something of substance- and there is nothing more edgy than drinking a fetus milkshake. 

And I was criticizing the quality of her stories, not their lack thereof.  

Pfffh, if edgy was what you were going for, you failed at that. "Uh! I'm gonna be gross and weird!" Edgy is more than throwing whatever offensive terms you know together like you're throwing shit at a wall to see what sticks, although that metaphor definitely works for the story.

Look, you wrote a story that had a little girl kissing an old man's bare crotch, so don't lecture me about "gross and weird". 

Nothing wrong with gross and weird, but when that's ALL you're offering, you're not being edgy, you're being the kid at the back of the class who tastes his own shit.

But you'd have to be fucking stupid to submit a story if you know it's shit. What's the point?

The point is to be edgy. 

You're a fucking halfwit. If you're not describing, in detail, the effect of the rotary blades dismembering the still-soft skull tissue of a fetus, then get the fuck out and let the adults right. Christ in heaven

Bah, you assholes fucked up the thread by sissy fighting with each other. Wonderful.

That being said, most of this shit has to be cleaned up. Sort of a shame since some of it was amusing, but it’s just too much clutter.

If you’re going to fail at being edgy in this thread, do it in story form in the future.

 

For those that missed it all however, here are the highlights:

1. Lowercase “b” ben’s girlfriend (AKA Bunny) bitching at me for beating up on him for his shitty story.

2. ben bitching at her for making him look like a pussy that can't fight his own battles and struggling to figure out how technology works in order to clear his name.

3. ben breaking up with her over all this silly shit and the rest of the CYS crowd mocking him and various members offering to take their spawn away so it doesn’t have to grow up in that environment.

4. Banner, Minnie and Lance trying to out edge one another and just looking like the really retarded version of the 3 Stooges instead.

Anyway, in case anyone wants to enjoy the lulz, again and again.

https://web.archive.org/web/20170220095107/http://chooseyourstory.com/forums/creative-corner/message/21517

 

Back to our regularly scheduled program.

Look guys, its the Indian and the Englishman re-enacting Back Passage to India.

Here I was thinking that that MAYBE Slumdog Stryker would finally get this contest right since he comes from a country that routinely doesn’t give a fuck when it comes to brutally raping and burning women and generally sees them as lesser beings along with participating in honor killings like the fucking brown savages they fucking are.

So SURELY Stryker would know all about the fucking edge, having to live through that third world hell while he goes to his sweat shop job making two rupees a day so he can save up enough at the end of the month to fuck a disease ridden hijra.

(That’s another name for an Indian tranny for you unworldly idiots out there. We got one on the site and his name is Negative. Learning about inferior degenerate cultures is fun!)

But of course once again, much like a night with coins’ mom, I was severely disappointed.

The writing sucked as is to be expected of some third worlder. If Stryker had just posted a pictures of him and his ignorant idol worshipping family bathing in that literal piss river of shit known as the Ganges while rotting corpses floated by, he would have accomplished the task of being edgy a hell of a lot better.

Maybe Stryker should have had jep assist him, because it’s obvious his people need the help of some faggot Englishman to get anywhere in life.

Speaking of jep, it’s a fascinating look at how far Britannia has fallen when backwards members of their former colonies are showing them up in a simple contest.

Guess that’s why they lost them in the first place if jep is an example of the average Englishman nowadays. Then again so was Jimmy Savile.

Yes, that’s right, I am comparing jep to a fucking dead child raping asshole because that’s about the same level of how useful jep's contribution is to this contest right now.

jep should have stuck to drinking tea, insulting Steve and sucking cocks because at least then these would have been things he’d be good at.

Shit, after reading his story, maybe jep should have outsourced his writing to Stryker. He couldn’t have done any worse.

0_0

After reading that I can't tell who wrote worse

She laughed.

It was as if time had suddenly grinded to a halt; every motion of hers you remembered in explicit detail, every microsecond of her mocking laughter maliciously clawing its way into your very heartstrings - a battering ram that tore down walls and crushed your very being in its unforgiving, vice-like grip. The sound seemed to go on forever, hammering down onto your fragile soul again and again, relentlessly ruthless, until you could feel no more; see nothing but red. Red like the tattered ribbons of your heart that she left in the wind for all to see.

It is that same laughter that now echoes in your ears as you raise the hunk of metal onto your shoulders; they point at you and scream.

You remember shaking your head at Cookie as tears roll down your swollen eyes and you take another bite of sugar-laden chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.
'She laughed,' you sob as Cookie rolls over in an attempt to stand straight, its flea-ridden, grossly obese body not dissimilar to that of yours.
'I asked her out and she laughed.'

They raise their hands and shriek, as others explode into arterial sprays and leave colorful streaks across white floors and dirty blackboards. It is like music to your ears. You giggle madly in a state of perpetual bliss.

And then it is all over. You close the tab labeled http://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/611958, wrap Cookie up in a crushing hug and begin crying again as it struggles to breathe underneath all those shiny rolls of fat.

Nice one.

 

Inspiration: 'Just writing about shooting up your school because the head cheerleader laughed at you when you asked her out isn’t going to cut it.'

Props to End for getting some writing pumped out on this site. Apparently we are all masochists. 

Inspired by something I said huh? Pity you weren’t more inspired to write something worth my fucking time.

First of all you put in a link to Newgrounds in your story. What the shit. This is a goddamn writing contest, nobody wants to fucking know what badly animated hentai flash game you are currently getting your rocks off to. We already know you're a fucking desperate loser.

Actually, I don’t even know who the fuck you are, but as I look at this mess that I guess is "writing", I can only imagine that you’re the illegitimate child of E.L. James after she shoved L. Ron Hubbard’s frozen sperm up her pussy with a turkey baster.

That’s how fucking devoid of any literary talent you have.

Get your chicken ass out of here and go find a cock.

I'm glad you like it, daddy :D

He sat at the piano, dark hair falling in his face as his fingers flew across the keys. The mallets struck the strings, and beautiful music poured out of the open casing. The gentle pressing of foot keys accented the music perfectly, and the music swept him into a daze. He had played his instrument for the king for only a few days, and his mind raced with nervous thoughts. He couldn't believe the king of such a tyrannical kingdom would request for him. A peasant, simply, shrouded in purple robes and covered in grace. In his haste, his fingers missed a key and he stumbled for a moment. The king arched a brow, and he nearly yelped as he finished his piece. The courtroom fell into silence as he stood, silent tears tracking down his face. The monarch stared into the back of his head like eyes of fire, and he turned without a sound.

"Tiberius Blackthorn, you are dismissed. Clean up that pitiful face of yours, and head into your chambers. We are expecting guests in the morrow. Prepare your next piece," said the king with a lazy wave of his hand.

Tiberius nodded curtly and wiped his face, sweeping out of the room in an embarrassed air. He brushed past other servants in the winding corridors, their eyes never leaving their posts. They were lifeless, almost. As if made of plaster. Tiberius practically ran to his room, throwing the doors open and shutting them with a bang. They were ceiling-level tall, the gold lined designs on the marble revolting. He used to think of them as elegant and beautiful; well, not anymore. Those doors held him prisoner now, in a castle that would never release him. There were no possible ways to escape. Faces in the crowd painted and dressed up laughed at him--they were wolves in sheep's clothing. He hated this place, he hated the king, he hated everyone. 

The pianist sat at the foot of the bed, the large open-air windows providing golden light to the room. It mocked him and his name, and he tried to pull the curtains shut over it. They were gossamer thin, like spiderwebs, and could never block the light out. He sighed in frustration and tromped over to his bathroom. The polished mirror showed him something he had always aspired to be: a prince, dressed in elegant hues of purples and whites, the odd scarf he was demanded to wear cutting at his neck. Tiberius untied it with a snarl, setting it to the side. He opened a drawer, and as usual, all of things he had been hoarding had been removed. Things like sharp blades, strings, and bits of cloth were gone. He huffed and slammed it shut.

Tiberius heard a sharp knock on the door, which he quickly responded to. He wrapped the scarf around his hand and opened the door.

There stood a pretty young lady who held a violin in her arms. "Hullo," she said in greeting, hushed and quiet. 

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" He asked, about to close the door. "I don't think His Majesty requested you to be here."

"I take orders from the Mistress of Herondale," said the girl, smiling at him. "She says that I am to accompany you to the court meeting tomorrow morning. I suppose it wouldn't be too much for me to stay with you."

Tiberius shook his head vigorously. "The Mistress wishes you to stay with me? How dreadful--I can't imagine you sleeping in the same room as I. Ask the princess about this. I can't--I won't..."

The girl slipped past him and into the room. "It's fine. I won't disturb you." She paused. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is Victoria Hemmington, and I am a violin player. I have taken orders from the Mistress that we are to play 'Loss' by Lucas King. It is mostly piano music, although I have composed a lovely violin piece to go along with it."

"Hullo, Miss Hemmington." Tiberius shut the door demurely. "I don't have a piano in here, since the only one is in the king's courtroom. I would request to go practice with you, but I am...under strict confines to stay within the area of my room. To violate such a command...I can't dream of it."

"Oh, you don't have to. I wish to play here, for you." Victoria said softly as she unlatched the elaborate casing. She lifted the violin to her shoulder. "The king does not have to know about this. Shall I begin at a metzo piano?"

Tiberius gave her a small smile. "Feel free too, Miss Hemmington."

She nodded and drew her bow across the strings. Instantly violin music filled the air, making him shiver from his toes to the tip of his head. It was deeply sad and made him feel the memories cascade down his face in the form of tears. His mother, taken, his sister, executed. Her face grew rather peaceful as she played, her dark lashes fluttering shut against her skin. Butterflies swam in his stomach and he went to fetch the small flute hidden beneath his bed. He set the lip plate to his face and begun to play along, inventing the notes as he fell across the music with her. 

After a few breathless moments, the duo stopped playing and stared at each other. A wide smile curved his tentative lips. "I suppose we should retire to bed soon," said he as he tucked away the flute.

"Agreed," Miss Hemmington concurred, putting up the beautiful violin in its case. The golden light ceased to flow freely from the open window, and the sun hung lazily on the horizon. 

"If you would prefer it, I will sleep on the floor. You can take the bed," Tiberius said quietly, already making himself comfortable on the large rug that encompassed the majority of the room.

"Nay, do not speak that way. Sleep on the bed, Tiberius. I intruded on you, let me have the floor." 

"Silence. We will share it. I will not have you sleeping on the floor and getting a crick in your neck before we preform," he said slyly, hopping up onto the mattress. 

Miss Hemmington said nary a thing before climbing into the bed, tucking herself in. He entered behind her, both of them too worried to change into nightclothes.

"Good night, Miss Hemmington," he whispered lightly.

"Sweet dreams, Tiberius," she muttered back, in the night silence.

Both of them fell into a deep sleep until the morrow lurked up.

---

He woke with a start, the sharp rap at the door ringing in his ears. "Sir Blackthorn, Miss Hemmington, His Majesty is requesting you in a few hours for the court meeting. Clean yourselves up and get into dress, quickly, please," said the nervous voice of a doorman. "I would not want to make him angry."

Tiberius shook Victoria awake. "Victoria, we must hurry. The king requires of us our presence."

The young woman gave him a sigh before sitting up in bed. "Let me fetch my gown. Please, do change into something more fitting."

The doorman went silent before speaking again. "He said quickly."

Both children sprang to get ready. "You are dismissed. We will be there soon."

In an hour's passing, they were dressed in fine silk and cloth. He wore a dark suit and she was garbed in her own elegant white dress, a stark but pleasant contrast. She had curled her dark hair and wore blue jewelry to match her eyes. Tiberius held out his arm, and she took it as she held her instrument in her other hand. "Let us go," he said to the lady quietly.

They headed down the corridor together, arm in arm, much like a couple to be wed in an elegant church. Doors swung open invitingly for them as servants hurried to provide to the lords and ladies drinks. The courtroom doors banged open at the king's calling, and the two entered the room.

"I show to you the two finest musicians in all the land," regaled the king, sweeping his arms to display the two on the floor. Tiberius  took a seat at the piano and she stood right beside him. 

Tiberius looked up to her and nodded. The both of them launched into song, the tearful piece moving many of the audience members. One, however, would not be swayed. The Mistress of Herondale looked on as the stranger crept into the seats behind her. Smiling darkly to himself, he waited until the piece would finish.

The music tore through the room, making some moved to tears. The sound of the delicate droplets plinking against the floor contrasted against the somber music. It fluttered like a butterfly with elegant wings. The mallets struck the strings once more, and the bow drifted lightly across the strings. 

After a few moments, the music came to an abrupt and saddening ending. The courtroom erupted into sobs and deafening applause before they were interrupted by a lone person shouting in the back of the room.

"I say to thee, King Hawke of Rivierre, you are a despicable ruler. You killed my mother, you killed my brother, you killed my sister, and you gave my lover away to the Mistress of Herondale. I say to all of you in this courtroom, it is easy to think your deaths as an accident. No one would believe that a humble prince of Norta would have done this. So I have rigged flames to go off in this very room, much like the colors of my kingdom." He yelled, raising an arm. "This only happened because SOCIETY made me do it. SOCIETY says that I'm supposed to be calm and composed. SOCIETY is a ring of puppets, and I intend to bring it down, starting with the man that runs it all."

The courtroom fell into a horrified silence as he jumped down onto the floor and picked up Victoria by the shirt. "And you, my love, will be avenged. I will kill that Mistress of Herondale, and we will die a beautiful death." He turned to Tiberius. "And you, peasant pianist, will be released from this prison of silk. Join me in heaven. Spit on them in hell!"

The flames leapt into action and set the room ablaze.

For the girl who once wrote about a site member being gang-raped, this is disappointing.

Where is this story? Where? I must know! Tell me!

Wow, I think we just accidently found the most deranged person here in the midst of all this drivel. Sick fuck. 

Weren't you the one who wrote the story wih the fetus milkshake?

Writing about a fetus milkshake is much less deranged than wanting to see porn of a site member. 

It's just a story, so technically I wouldn't 'see' it, I would just read it. I would see it in the same sense that I saw your main character take a fetus and blend it up, then make the mom drink her own fucking baby. Which is actually more deranged?

The inaccurate, poorly researched story about a fetus milkshake?

How about you stop typing your bullshit and instead shove your fingers up your disease-ridden slit? You'd be doing us both a favor. 

Jesus fucking Christ, can a man just jack off to whatever and whoever he wants without some twat slapping his wrist and telling him no? Fuck off, will ya'? I'm sick and tired of this kink-shaming bullshit.

Looking back on it, that was really hysterical. Why...?

And now it’s Edgelord: the Hello fucking Kitty edition.

I nearly didn’t even bother reading this pile of pig vomit just because of the filthy weeb anime avatar, but then I remembered this was the girl who wrote shipping fiction of prehistoric jerk off scenes where Mizal got burkkaked by everyone in CYS.

Or something like that anyway. Don’t remember the specifics, just remember AYT wrote something that freaked out Kiel which means if she freaked out that tantrum throwing degenerate, then maybe she’d strike oil a second time.

And of course she fucking choked like anime school girl #8931 getting mouth raped by anime monster #7942. Sort of appropriate for a girl that used to insist on being called “Throaty.”

All that writing and not a goddamn edge to be found. This shit is duller than Ogre and at least he burps once in awhile.

AYT should stick to fantasizing about getting violated by tentacles and writing bad emo poetry in her notebook about all the boys that she likes, but they don’t pay attention to her. Which basically means all the male members in her whole school.

This is my favorite part of this entire contest.

Daddy, they're tryna be an insufferable dick like you are. But I know you're actually an adorable fluffy puppy on the inside, dw.

In all seriousness though, I know this is a competition about edginess and all but there's no cause to actually be offended around a few pieces of writing that are simply meant to be enjoyed as humorous parodies.

Tiberius Blackthorn? Herondale? The names could've been switched up a bit, but instead they were copied straight from Cassandra Clare. No other comments on it. Just unoriginal names.

Be Mine

Blood. Blood is everywhere. Dripping down the lacy, white tablecloths. Covering the drapes, the chandlers, the walls, and everything in between. I lay in shock, cowering under one of the tables, wondering if it's over yet. I don't hear any sounds, but that doesn't mean it's over...

Twenty minutes ago, everything had been fine. It was Valentine's Day. My boyfriend decided to take me to a new fancy Italian restaurant that had just opened downtown. The waiter had taken our orders and poured us some wine. As he was walking away, shit hit the fan.

Out of nowhere a man in a ski mask ran into the restaurant and started shooting. Our waiter was the first to get hit. He head suddenly exploded and his body crumbled slowly to the ground. Everyone started screaming and trying to run, but most were gunned down before they got very far.

I exchanged a terrified glance with my boyfriend right before ducking under the table. Tony tried to follow my lead but got shot in the leg. He hollered out, falling to the ground. He clutched his calf tightly, trying to stop the bleeding. I started crawling towards him when suddenly two boots came into view right beside him. I hear the shot moments before a hole suddenly appeared on his forehead. I watched as his eyes glazed over and the life bled out of him. He toppled sideways. I bit back a scream.

The boots disappeared. I stared at Tony 's body blankly as memories of our time together flashed before my eyes. I was jolted back to the present by a woman's pleading voice.

"Please. Please don't kill me. Noooooo, please. Not that...."

The woman lets out a blood-curdling scream that ends as abruptly as it began. Her head suddenly rolls by my table. Vomit floods my mouth, but I bite it back. My eyes start watering, and I almost start coughing but finally get myself under control. I listen carefully for any sound. Nothing.

I hear steps head back toward the front of the restaurant. I cautiously stick my out from under the table. The man stops at the first table. He nudges someone with his boot. The person doesn't move, obviously dead. He moves to another body. Repeats the process. A moan comes from the man. Suddenly, the masked man swings a machete I didn't notice in his hand. The machete crashes into the man's skull, splitting his head open. I duck back under the tablecloth, not wanting to see anymore.

The man continues around the restaurant. He kills anyone still breathing. When he gets to my table, I hold my breath. The man pauses to inspect Tony, then continues past. I let out a sigh of relief. He must not realize I'm under here. I wonder if anyone else was doing as I was. If anyone else was still even alive. Tears welled in my eyes. I didn't want to die.

The man finally stops moving. I pray he doesn't decide to start looking under the tables.

"Come out, Jess. I know you're in here," a vaguely familiar voice calls out.

Holy fuck! He knows my name??

"If you come out now, it will be better for you. I promise I won't hurt you."

I struggle to remember where I've heard that voice before. My mind comes up blank.

"Goddam it! Come out now, Jess. Or it's gonna be very nasty for you!"

I continue cowering under the table, far too terrified to do as the voice demanded. I hear a loud crash and realize he flipped a table over. I hear another, closer crash. It's followed by a scream. Blood splatters the tablecloth in front of me. I jump, rattling the table. Shit!

I try to crawl out from under my table, but it's too late. The table suddenly disappears from over my head as it's pushed onto its side. I turn and look over my shoulder. The man is directly behind me. He grabs me by hair and pulls me roughly to my feet.

"You should have listened to me, Jess," the man says sadly right before his fist connects with my face. I pass out.

When I come to, I'm tied to a chair in the middle of an unfamiliar room. It smells of dust and mildew. I look down and notice I am naked except for my underwear. I try to move to cover myself, but my hands are bound behind my back. I look around but it's too dark to see anything. A bare, flickering lightbulb provides the only source of light. The corners of the room are very dark.

Suddenly, a man steps out of one of the corners towards me. He walks slowly closer until I can finally make out his features. He looks familiar, and it takes me a minute but I finally come up with a name. Howard. One of my ex-coworkers. I fired him over a year ago. The creep was lucky I hadn't pressed charges for sexual harassment. He had become infatuated with me and hadn't accepted the fact I didn't return his feelings.

Everything abruptly comes back to me. The restaurant, Tony, all of those people he murdered.

"Why did you kill all of those people?" I ask, not really expecting a response.

"Because they were happy. They were in love. Why should they get to be happy? Why did they deserve to be loved? And I didn't? Fuck them!"

Howard steps closer to me and runs a hand gently across the side of my face. I resist the urge to jerk my head away.

"Why wasn't I good enough for you, Jess? Why did you reject me? You made me lose my fucking my job. You made me lose everything!" He suddenly slaps me viciously. I feel blood drip from the side of my lip.

"I'm sorry," is all I can think to say.

"No, you aren't. But you're gonna be!" He pulls my head back by my hair, bringing tears to my eyes. He brings his face closer to mine. I nervously glance at his lips.

"I'm not gonna kiss you, you fucking bitch!" He laughs as he lets go and steps away. He walks towards the far wall. A light suddenly flickers on. Along the far wall is a work bench covered in various tools. He lightly runs his fingers across several of them before finally grabbing a hammer. He steps back towards me.

"What are you gonna do with that?" I ask with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

He doesn't answer. Just steps closer and raises the hammer over his head. Realization dawns as he brings it down towards my kneecap. I turn my head away as it connects. Pain blinds me, becomes me. It takes awhile for the pain to recede enough for me to think clearly again.

Howard is looking at me with a strange mixture of love and hate on his face. He walks back to the table and returns with a scalpel. He smiles as he runs his eyes up and down my body. Probably debating where to cut me.

"Please don't do this," I beg. He laughs.

"I haven't even started yet." He suddenly stabs me in the side of my stomach. I scream as the blade pierces my skin. He yanks the blade out. It hurts even worse coming out. I scream again and pull against my restraints.

"Howard, please. I will do anything you want, please. Please don't kill me."

"Anything?" He thinks it over for a few moments.

"Anything! Please, just don't kill me...."

"Okay. But I'm not gonna untie your hands. Understood?"
I nod my understanding as he steps closer to me, stopping directly in front of me.

"And if you try anything stupid, I swear it will be worse for you. You will wish you had never been born."

"Okay, I promise. Just please don't kill me."

He cuts the rope binding me to the chair and beckons me to stand. He leads me out of the room and across the hall to another room. A huge bed lies in the middle of this room. He motions me towards the bed.

"Bend over the side of the bed!" he commands.

I slowly walk over to the bed and bend over it. He walks behind me and begins rubbing his groin against my backside. I whimper. He pulls away and something lashes violently across my backside. A whip. He beats me with it repeatedly until I can no longer stand. I collapse onto the bed, and he suddenly is rubbing against me again. I swallow down my revulsion and pretend to enjoy it. He unbuckles his pants and takes me repeatedly until I finally pass out from exhaustion.

When I come to again, Howard is standing over me carefully bandaging my side. I watch as he presses the bandage into place.

"Finally awake I see," he says happily. "I love you so much baby. We will be together forever."

"What?!?"

"What? You must know that I love you. I've always loved you. Since the day I first saw you, I just knew we were meant to be together."

"You are a crazy motherfucker! Why won't you just let me go? Please?"

He snarls and reaches out and punches my stab wound. I scream as agony engulfs me.

"You fucking cunt! You tricked me! I thought you loved me, but you were just pretending last night weren't you?" He punches me again, this time in the groin. I gasp. He pins my hands over my head and binds my hands above my head. I struggle futilely. Maybe I shouldn't have called him crazy.

He suddenly flips me over onto my stomach. He spits onto my backside and before I can comprehend his intentions, he slams into me. I scream out in agony as he pounds me repeatedly. Just when I think it will never end, he pulls away.

"That's all you're good for, ya know. You're nothing but a fucking whore! Probably even enjoyed that. Well, you ain't gonna enjoy anything else ever again...."

Two weeks later, authorities found a body in the woods outside town. A woman's body. The woman was raped and brutalized in every possible way. He breasts had been removed. She had strangulation marks on her neck. Cause of death was unknown but probably happened around the time her heart was removed from her chest.

Howard smiled to himself as he read the article in the paper. He got up from the table and walked into his closet. He knelt down at the altar of a shrine he had built there. Pictures of Jessica hung over the shrine. He kissed the heart placed at the base of the shrine.

"Oh, Jessica. My love. I knew your heart would belong to me one day."

Fucking Christ, when I thought this couldn't get any edgier!

Welcome to the twenty first century.

Well gerbloeioaixjfnjeiwodjjchfjoqosi, I think in the 21st century people would know not to spell out twenty first...

THIS is folks, THIS is what I’m fucking talking about!

THIS is the first fucking edgiest thing in this whole pathetic parade of drooling attempts and flaccid fails!

THIS is what I’ve trying to explain to the rest of you bellends since the beginning of this contest and THIS person finally fucking got it!

And this is also what I will be saying to someone else and not Breezy because she fucking failed just like the rest of you miserable lot.

Well that’s what I get for placing faith in a self professed expert that’s going to bring Splatterpunk back.

Now I know Breezy has a bit of a reputation of getting stabby and hysterical when people are mean to her, well I'm not worried because it’s obvious that she lost her whole psycho bitch persona since the last time she actually wrote anything here and exchanged it with boring middle class soccer mom that is perfectly content baking fucking cookies and attending PTA meetings.

Hope that works out for you, because your writing career sure isn’t.

Bravo... that expectation whiplash after the fourth line

Lmao. Made me laugh for the first time this week. And ps don't hate on soccer mom's.... We can still have edge at times.

Please don't poison my orange slices or run me over with your SUV

Oh fucking hell just stop. Sorry Breezy, but your entry has got to be the worst of the fucking pile. The stalker guy is cliche, the whole setup of some guy going crazy because a girl doesn't want to fuck him has been written and rewritten so often, I mean it's happened in real life a couple times too. Bit of a boring choice for a plot line. I didn't really feel any emotional connection to your main character either. Maybe because you were writing it as if you were the main character, and you as a person just annoy me.
Like 'oh pls dnt h8 on me im trying my best,,,, LOL showed u!! soccer mumz can b cool 2!!! ;) :0'
This wasn't edgy at all.

I still don't even know what edgy is - aside from End's roasts.

edgy

adjective

socially dangerous or daring; intellectually provocative; tending to induce unease or stress in viewers. Especially used to describe artistic and intellectual work.

Okay, so rape, murder, animal sex, and pooping are not requirements. Thank you, I was getting confused. ^_^

That's just what gets End hard though so I think everyone's just trying to suck his dick

Bold words coming from someone who’s practically been on my dick trying to pathetically copy my routine since you arrived in this thread.

Instead of getting off your lazy Aussie ass and actually writing something of substance, all you’ve been doing is getting your ass handed to you and passed around like the daddy issues whore you are in your attempt to impress me.

If anything you’re the biggest dick sucker in the thread. Congrats, you really are an expert hoe after all.

Now shut the fuck up and either write a goddamn story or get the fuck out of the thread.

Copy you? Fuck off End, this whole contest is you trying to feed your pathetic ego by getting worthless pieces of shit to write whatever turns you on, then being extremely edgy by insulting them all. You want people to beg for your approval because the power rush goes to your head, but I don't fucking know why because this site is so incredibly obscure and any sense of superiority you have here is probably born out of desperate need - I'd hate to hear how depressing your real life is.

You can sweet talk me all you want l’il bean, but you’re not getting daddy’s approval until you write a story.

Until that time, try not to catch another venereal disease at the next furry orgy you attend when some random stranger in a fursuit is fucking you in the ass.
 
Because yeah, like we all totally believed that was your “friend” and not actually you in that tale of decadence.

What's the point of writing a shitty 'edgy' story? All of these are basically the same and edgy is a shit prompt. Also yes it was me at the furry orgy, can't wait for next year's convention, I'm going for the record of most dick taken while wearing a full fursuit.

I don't always think about shooting up schools, for that just isn't enough. For the kids that made fun of me and for the teachers who would never make it stop.

There can only be one true school shooter, and columbine can never be beat. So ill just cry and cut my wrists, dreaming of what could be.

I imagine bending over bitchy Suzy and make everyone in class watch, for if I can get her to cry then it would be enough.

I wish going into the locker room, and tossing live grenades. For the limbs and blood that would coat the cement oh that would be fun.

Then there's the principal, that fucking prick. I will stand on his desk and point the gun to his head, and pull it on his sack. Then I would titty grab the 70 year old secretary for my fetish for saggy tits would be reliquished.

I want to be more descriptive, for I want to make it last. For once I do what I will do I will only have one chance.

I wish to kill my parents, for what they did to me. For the marks and bruises and the stick that had been used it would come back and bite them.

I would leave the church alone for they treated me well, hanjobs in exchange for suckie suckies are always a good trade.

I will find my internet girlfriend, the one that turned out to be a dude, he deceived me and said LEL FEG and sent a pic of his dick. I will find his IP, and I will hunt him down. I will bend him over, and show what a true FEG I am.

For anal is a horrible thing, a thing worse than death. Unless you're a sick fuck who enjoys it, then maybe it's okay only on Sundays.

Back on Topic.

For those who enjoy what they do, in making me upset. Know that I probably won't do anything and just continue watching instead.

But know if I were edgy, or a sick twisted anal-loving FEG. Then you would be the first to die, if I weren't such a pussy.

“I will find my internet girlfriend, the one that turned out to be a dude, he deceived me and said LEL FEG and sent a pic of his dick.”

Stop beating around l’il bean’s crab infested bush, we all know that was probably Steve.

And “Feg?” Are you fucking serious? You actually fucking censored yourself in this contest? I have a hard time believing that you aren’t an anal loving “Feg” given that you did this stupid shit.

With all that impotent self loathing you dribbled out, it sounds more like you’d probably prefer getting pegged in the ass by Suzy wearing a rainbow colored dildo, while your classmates had a good laugh and spat on you, you fucking miscreant.

You might as well chop your cock off for all the good it’s going to do you in the future. I’d tell you to chop your balls off as well, but we already know you don’t have any.

And while I know you tried in your inferior shitstain of an entry, there really aren’t enough fucking words to describe how much of a worthless pussy you really are and that’s saying something given that Lance is in this fucking contest.

Get the fuck out of here, fag.

Updated list of contestants so far.

Steve
Fleshy
Ben the Bunny Fucker
Lance
Bucky (2)
Ogre
Minnie
Ben
Jep
Stryker
Virt
AYT
Breezy
Digit

So since we're all a bunch of dull degenerate fags who can't write shit, who's currently sucking the worst?

Actually, in case it's me, I don't wanna know.

Hamburg, Germany : Late August 2017

Little Emma sat with her parents at a riverside bistro on a glorious sunny day in the dying throes of summer in Hamburg, Germany. She had the bright blue eyes and light blond hair that Hitler used to kill for. Mama said her grandfather had them too, but he was a quarter Jew. And Hitler did kill him.

Papa scowled as he read the morning paper. "Honey, I was only joking a few months ago when I suggested moving to Norway, but if things don't change, I'm going to start meaning it."

"What's wrong Daddy?" asked Emma, covering her mouth, still half full of biscuits and gravy.

"Nothing, Sweetie," said Mama, kissing Emma on the cheek. She turned to Papa, tone darker. "We can talk about it later."

"No. She needs to know." Papa folded the paper and frowned. "The German people spend too much time hiding from the truth. Both our own and others. Some people are just bad. The filthy sand-"

A big hole opened in Papa's head. And blood splattered the table. Screams and gunshots filled the air. On instinct Emma turned toward the source of the noise, even as tears welled in her eyes.

A sand man with a diaper on his head fired round after round into the crowd. Through the din, he bellowed, "Alhamdulillah!"

Mama grabbed Emma from behind and tossed her over the terrace. As Emma tumbled toward the river, Mama attempted to leap after her. The little girl saw the shrapnel rip into her mother's back before she heard the boom. Then she plunged into the water, desperately wishing she lived in Norway, far from the filthy sand people.

277 words

Haha ok this story is both edgy AND funny.

Oh it’s Bucky again. His alcoholic ass finally decided that his earlier premature attempt at being edgy was a poor display even for him.

However, I’m glad to see Bucky took time out of his busy schedule of getting shitfaced drunk from the routine Vodka enemas and waking up with a healthy sense of self loathing and a puddle of his own vomit. I guess we should all be clapping our hands that the AA meetings have had some progress this time.

So far Bucky’s biggest competition in this contest is that sodomite Steve which means it should be a walk in the park. Unfortunately for Bucky, he’s so fucking plastered 99% of the time, he can barely stand up, let alone walk and frequently stumbles over himself like a fucking child with cerebral palsy before he can even make it to the keyboard to type one fucking word. Maybe Fleshy should let Bucky borrow his goddamn wheelchair.

Not that it would matter since he’s just as coherent as said special child when he gets to the keyboard in the first place. His alpha male routine of “I’m the toughest motherfucker on this site”, might cause the nancy boys like Malk to shit their Mario Party Underoos and get Mizal’s XXXL panties wetter than the Amazon Rainforest, but that don’t mean shit to me.

Fuck this story and fuck Bucky. Fuck him sideways with a broken beer bottle.

I'll share some of the vodka with you ^_^

"A sand man with a diaper on his head"

Please tell me it was a shitty diaper. I want details, like bloody shit stains covered his head, and he bellowed a war cry so fierce that it made the filthy diaper on his head tremble and shake, sending loose pieces of ass food across the room. He peered at her with his left eye, as his right was stuck shut by the glue that glittered in the sunlight from his dad's dick hole.

You know, good stuff like that 

So I'm being roasted by the handicapped now?

Flesh, normally I would push you down a moving escalator but I guess I'll join now.

But no, no, no. I'm not joining because of your useless dick ass, but for the potential abuse from father.

If only you knew the consequences of what your actions would entail for the entire paraplegic community. Tell your friends that rolling away won't save them from the upcoming wrath, you noodle leg miscreant.

Couple things...

I didn't say anything 

Crippled limp dick jokes, really? Wildly inaccurate, and simply painfully unoriginal. We already have a Dane Cook. We don't need 2. 

Playing dumb now? 

Zara? You think I don't know what you were trying to write about? I mean, I didn't think your sense of subtlety was crippled, but I see that they may be the case.

Allow me to reiterate, I'm joining to be abused like the filthy degenerate I am deep down inside. Just like everyone else apparently, because there is simply no greater motivator. 

Seriously whAts with the Zara references? It's a name I've used many times. This is like the chevy chase roast, painful and I feel dumber for it.

The pain is intended. I'll just assume Zara and her master has zero correlation with anything.

...

I'm still writing my entry about the handicapped, though. Because nobody else has done it, despite this being a contest to out edge one another. 

Ah, but there's some fierce competition with the fetus milkshakes and such.

Meh, I do not plan on winning anyway.

Now normally I don't object to Thara being called out for being a cringy twatburger, but seriously? I mean, we normally let felons who steal from successful people off with 30 days in prison, tops, but Dane Cook is fucking overdone at this point. It's been decades! Amy Schumer is a much more apt, less overkill comparison. Especially because it's been so fucking overlooked.

Let this conversation die already, fucking furry. I know you have some weird fixation with me with the amount of times I'm mentioned in your profile, but let him compare me to Dane Cook.

Seriously, I would delete your post if I could, because hopefully that would give you time to go fuck a dog or cat, or whatever it is that you furries fuck. Anything that stops you from sinking your teeth into anything Thara related, you obsessed cringy fuck.

I think you're the only one who has the fixation. I typed in random numbers, because I assume you have more rules than whatever I typed in. You didn't even bother to make a point with that, you just somehow connected it to my statement on Comedy Morals through some miracle of moon logic, which leads me to believe that, for some reason, you've read through my profile and were somehow bothered by it. There are holes in your edge, which makes the machete too flimsy. You need to work on that.

Speaking of things you need to work on, now you're accusing furries of fucking animals, and calling me cringy back without even a spin on the old pleasantries. It's like you're not even trying! Sure, if I was being randomly accosted by a Dutch guy and said "Wah, uhh, go back to your waffles!" that would be silly. It needs to be artful in order for the edge to come through. You need something with a new spin on it if you wish to truly discriminate against a minority in a way that doesn't seem as forced at this clearly is. If you're randomly accosted by a Dutch guy, say, "Don't you have a dyke to be fingering right now, windmill-fucker?" ~Original Joke, Do Not Schumer!~

This fuck-yelling Thara is different than the other one, though. The one who justifies her utter lack of balls and creativity by the fact that she's now morally obligated to go around killing wheelchair people is way more entertaining and respectable than sarcastic Thara, so I'm gonna hold back on any further criticism just in case you take it as a sign that you should flip back. You've genuinely improved, and for that, I thank you from the bottom of my unendingly irritated heart.

But seriously, at least put a credits section at the end of the derailment. The people who wrote your jokes for you have careers and families.

Fuck. What is this incoherent gibberish? It's reminding me of the comments that you recommended for featuring that End told you to fuck off with.

But, no more derailments. I have had my fill, but thanks for letting me know that I am improving. 

Wait, was that a thing that happened? Thara, how often do you reminisce about things I've said? I'd say something edgy, but I'm honestly starting to worry.

Well, after this post I at least know not to ever get on your bad side. You clearly have a problem with everyone who isn't just like you, you and BlueSabre would fit well. And if this is some bad attempt at a joke, then it didn't come out as such. Go insult End instead and see how it goes.

I don't really have any reason to insult my father. 

Jesus fucking Christ on a goddamn wheelchair, can't an ableist make some jokes about the crippled without some blind fuckwad slapping their wrists and telling them no? Fuck me, you're almost as bad as Virtualide! Fuck off, will ya'? I'm sick and tired of these pussy ass bitches thinking that this a nice, comfy place when it's actually a fucking verbal war zone! Fuck!

There's no safe spaces here, anything goes in the enlightened pursuit of edge.

I'll drink to that any day of the week! *Raises up a fetus milkshake*

I think it was more of a lemonade...

Well you're fucking wrong, it's a goddamn milkshake! He didn't put any fucking lemons in that fucked up beverage, now did he?

I really hoped my post would get more people angry. But hey, at least one good post came of it, bravo! :)

Just think folks, 6 more days of this, ain't it great?

Anyway POINTLESS BONUS MUSIC ROUND!

So ya
Thought ya
Might like to
Join the contest

To feel the warm thrill and fuzzies
Of being the best

Tell me is something eluding you, sunshine?
Is this not what you expected of me?

If you wanna be edgy, and join my vanguard
You just have to crush the rest of the fucktards

Are there any degenerates here tonight?
Get ‘em outta the site

There’s a penguinite
Furries ain’t right with me
Get him outta the site

Now that one’s a slut!
And that one’s a shithead!
Who the hell let all these faggots into the thread?

There’s one that’s blind!
And that one’s just bland!
If I had my way, I’d have all of you

BANNED

(15 points to the first person who gets the reference)

Pink Floyd - In the Flesh?

15 points!

Basic Shitty Internet "Erotica"

The room was dim. the small corner of the room was a bed. On that very bed the three sweaty bodies were now nearly completely mingled, like a game of twister gone quite wrong, as they were almost finished with their threesome fest. The male of the group breathes deeply. He never imagined how much work this was going to be keeping both his girlfriend and the beautiful black haired stranger girl, that they had picking up at the bar, happy. It was quite difficult. 

Meanwhile, this stranger was becoming to enjoy the man more and more. She secretly started to wish that the girlfriend, named Debby, was out of the picture so that she could have this man all to herself. A sly thought suddenly comes to her mind. She thought, "I'll get the man tied up so I can take care of this Debby" 

There were a few more thrusts and wiggles as they were almost all orgasming now. They all take a deep breath as they head down for more. 

 

The stranger, whose name the man later learned was Susan, sudden blurt out with an excited smile, "How about we tie, Roger up. And have some fun with him."

She gave a small wink at the man. "What do you say, Debby?"

Both Debby and Roger thought that sounded like it could be fun so they agreed. Within minutes, Roger was bound and gagged to the bedpost. Debby and Susan began to tease him as they stripped and rubbed against each other vigorously. The fun and games would soon end, however...

Susan with a small aggressive push pinned Debby down to the floor. Debby looks slightly surprised but thought it was just more of the fun. She soon realized it was no game, however, when she felt a cool, shape blade against her throat. 

"Please, what are you doing!?" Debby screamed.

"Taking what I want" Susan said calmly as she slow dragged the blade across Debby's throat. 

Soon a small trickle, and then a stream of blood flowed from the open gash on Debby's neck. Roger looked on in horror as he saw her bleeding. He struggled against his bonds but was unable to escape as he watched helpless as his girlfriend died.

Susan smiles as she gently strokes the dying girl's hair. Then with a sharp tug, Susan rips out a chunk of the hair causing Debby to scream in pain.

"Please, what did I ever do to you?" Debby whispers. It is now difficult to talk and breath as the blood slowly filled her lungs.

Susan simply smiles as she continues her gentle stroking of the hair. A grin pulls over her face as she then brings the knife up again and stabs directly into the heart. Blood gushes like a geyser from this new wound. Debby will be dead in minutes. The deed is done. Susan stands up and looks at the lifeless corpse and the pool of thick red blood around it. 

She then glances back up at Roger. She looks him over seeing his pitiful face and him cowering in the corner. She no longer sees him as attractive.

"This has been fun. Don't you think so, Roger? We should do it again sometime," Susan says flatly with a small smirk as she walked out of the door leaving him bound in the darkness.

And here I was thinking I was going to finally get to go a whole day without having to be subjected to looking at another garbage mountain of failure in text format by some internet fucktard I don’t even know.

So, I take it that this skugga idiot is some CoGite that got thrown out of there for not being enough of a faggot. It’s the only explanation for this tepid display that skugga mistakingly believes to be the height of “edgy.”

The problem is, even when you’re the least faggiest person and “only” giving out hand jobs at the gay orgy, you’re still a fucking faggot.

I’m sure skugga was one wild trouble maker at CoG what with only using binary pronouns to describe gender. Probably made all the hermaphrodites over there faint and hyperventilate as he had total disregard of their safe spaces and laughed about it all before he was banned for 200 years.

Then he came here and now he’s just another bottom bitch wannabe that can’t even be heard over the top of the other slug shit pretenders wailing and drooling whatever nonsensical shit they believe is going to get them to be recognized as an edgelord.

It’s like the fucking ninth level of hell where there’s a giant pit of disgusting blobby masses crawling around mindlessly and I’m trying to figure out just which one of those disgusting blobs can actually be whipped and molded into shape and become something that passes for being useful. Well Skugga is one of those that gets fed to the hellhounds instead.

And the title of this didn’t even need that many letters. “Basic shit” would have described it just fine and been a lot more accurate.

That's very kind of you. But really even give this excrement any attention at all and encourage more of this abysmal behavior?

The Wheel Deal 

It was a hot summer day, the sun was merciless as if attempting to scorch the very earth and it's inhabitants. But, it was on this hot day that the annual Handicap races were being held. Paraplegics of all sizes and races came all across the world to compete. The prize, one free all expense paid trip to Ihops. A well sought prize for the many mobile warriors. Who all held determination in their eyes. They wheeled themselves to the destination in which the race would take place, entire streets and blocks tapped off for many to witness this grand spectacle of speed meets seats. 

The usual top three were there, among many dozen of racers. 

There was Donnell, a young black man who despite his born predicament, never failed to speak his mind to anyone that would listen. His motivation, a wish from his mother Raqueisha to stay out of the streets that had taken his late older brother's life. His brother was a known felon, and he was unjustly killed by a police offer while attempting to rob a gas station. 

But he didn't do anything wrong. He was a good kid that wanted to become a lawyer, the officer didn't have to take his life like that. 

Oh well, that's besides the point. Another dead useless hoodlum that wasn't going to actually amount to much anyway, I mean a lawye-- 

Moving on...

Our next racer was Ricardo, who's very birth and origin was that of a undocumented mystery that eluded even the most talented of federal agents. His whole family was there, all thirty of them came out to support Ricardo. Each one of them having a total combined number of three hundred years on their extended vacation in America. Of course all of their visas, long expired. But it's truly the thought that counts in this tale.

Now brings us to our last and final racer, a blind teenager of mysterious origin as well, but their lack of sight was never a handicap.

Yes, our last racer was Maya, whom possessed augmented abilities of hearing, perception, and being incredibly fast. She was a consistent winner and runner-up of these races, as well as the favorite of many to win this year's contest. 

The other racers are background characters, they really don't matter.

"Yo, Maya! Is your hoe ass ready to lose this year?" Donnell said as he wheeled himself to the girl, his cornrows tied extra tight for this marvelous day of competitive competition. 

"Lose? Fuck off, nigger." Maya replied in flippant fashion, earning a chuckle from Ricardo who also wheeled himself to his two fiercest rivals.

"Relax, friends, let's just all do our best." Ricardo said, hoping to defuse the tense and uneasy atmosphere with a charming handicapped smile.

It seemed to have the desired effect as both Donnell and Mayana wheeled off, each grumbling something under their breaths, inaudible, but definitely something about illegals.  

-----

Elsewhere...

In a totally unsuspicious van parked in a desolate alleyway.

"Moham, are you ready my comrade?"

"Yes. It is time to for us to move. No more will the imperfect beings desecrate this earth."

"Good, good, that is what I like to hear."

After that brief conversation, they broke from their English and began typical sand nigger clucking so let's just move back to the story.

The race is well on a way, Ricardo currently in the lead, neck to neck with a stubby man in a dusty unwashed bear suit. A mixture of crusty stains on the material, semen and dried blood creating a ingenious harmony of sorts.

"I won't lose this!" Ricardo repeats repeatedly outloud, earning the glare of the crazed bear-man.

"After I win, I may just take your body back to my humble abode. Chop you into pieces and roll my wheels up your numb ass hole to you're screaming for merc--"

Suddenly a explosion is heard, many limbs fly around haphazardly in the air, sailing in different directions. As if on cue, many vans pour from alleyways and other secluded areas, and dispatching several tanned gunmen, whom all screech in unison into the air.

Almost immediately, they starting mowing down the handicapped and loved one's with great marksmenship, wheelchairs are sent toppling over as blood paints the street. More explosions follows, sending scorched wheels and leathered seats sailing, alit with flames.  

"Aw, what the fuck bro!" Donnell screams, wheeling to a 180 to face Maya who stands (eh?) seated in absolute frozen horror at the scene that's currently playing out.

"My abuela!" Roberto screams, tears cascading down his face as he races to the other two, as fast as his wheels would take him. 

"Aye nigga, what the fuck we 'gon do about this?" Donnell is the first to speak up, looking around angrily as more and more wheelchairs turn over with each passing second. The screams and cries of dying handicapped people filling the air in distorted cacophony.

"We... we have to go. We can't do anything in our condition." Maya is the first to speak, though she couldn't see what was happening, the sounds of horror were amplified by her near superhuman hearing and whatever.

All around the crippled trio, scenes of rape and murder play out in a twisted showing of perverse dominance. Suddenly, however,  a bulldozer begins mowing over the already bullet riddled corpses of the dead handicapped racers.  Donnell, Maya, and Roberto try to race away from this, but their wheels are jo match for the speed and power of the bulldozer.

All three are flattened and gruesomely and only Maya barely clings to life. She tries crawling to her decimated wheelchair but is stopped as booted feet step on her spine and head.

"P-Please let me go!" She tries to plead but the terrorists only speak in their usual language.

One kneels down, tugging off her pants before whispering in her ear. 

"You are my woman now, whore."

Maya is ultimately raped to death, unable to even move or fight. This event soon becomes known as the "Wheeled massacre," and is remembered as a great reminder to never trust those with working legs or feet.

The handicapped may have lost this battle, but their sacrifice on this fun-filled day will never be forgotten. 

THE END 

The font is weird but that's your problem to fix. 

Fuck you!

Much obliged. :^)

Holy shit, Thara FINALLY fucking wrote something.

And once again because she constantly needs fucking help with the simplest of tasks, I have to hold her hand as usual. Fixing the fucking font...are you fucking kidding me with this shit?

Anyway, we have ALL been waiting for the fucking day when she didn’t just fuck around on the forums and be a passive aggressive bitch to everyone.

This was to be a real special day for me especially. I was hoping to finally be a proud internet father and point to my internet daughter and say “See? She really does have writing talent! Suck it, haters!”

She can finally stand alone, instead of me constantly having to defend her bratty trouble making ass and saving it when she inevitably gets in over her head.

Well I can see those days are still not behind me.

Fucking hell, this is a goddamn mess. I can’t even…just…no.

Y’know with as much as you’ve followed me around all the way back when you were just a twisted little girl reading my stories on Infinite Story and forming lord knows whatever fantasies in your demented little head I would have thought you of all people would get the fucking edge.

But no, instead of using your time wisely and making an effort to at least emulate my style in some way, you have instead squandered the years.

Fucking YEARS.

I have been holding your hand for some time now, helping you write, giving you advice and basically protecting you from getting verbally raped by the rest of the prison population here, yet you still insist on acting like self entitled child expecting me to save you all the time.

YOU’RE A GROWN ASS WOMAN NOW, FUCKING ACT LIKE IT!

You had every advantage!  You should have been the fucking EDGE MISTRESS!

You should have been destroying the fucktards, not joining them!

You should have been bringing sharpness to the EDGE, not blunting it to shit!

You were my daughter Thara…

I…

I…

I never loved you!

FAIL! LOLOLOLOL!

I-I just wanted to make you proud...

Oh man, this amount of abuse is almost too good.

Thank you again father. You're better than my real other dad ever was.

I just love these.

Still waiting on these worms to come:

Malk
Mayana
Mizal

I know Malk is supposed to be submitting something soon and according to him, his little panty waist ass is getting queasy just by writing it. What a fucking sissy. He’s probably just sick from eating paint chips again.

Mayana was full of fucking promises at the beginning of this contest and then apparently she fucking flaked out. She better submit something if she wants to prove that blind people aren't just a drain on society.

Finally Mizal keeps going on about how she doesn’t know how to be edgy, which is a load of bullshit because she constantly struts around here insulting people trying to be edgy on a regular basis.

Hey "Queen Bee" get your hands off your fupa and back on the keyboard and submit something you cunt.

We all know Mother Briar is Queen Bee anyway. 

Still, I am excited for whatever Mayana plans to write. If she plans to join that is.

No worries, I still plan to submit something, there's still time left.

You're my favorite to win.

I'm expecting much edge and hatred at the world that has robbed you of sight. 

Don't get your hopes to high up, I'm not good at being edgy. The protagonist in my story isn't even going to be blind, just a girl with some daddy issues, because I'm not original. It is mostly finished, will be done tomorrow.

Name her Thara and I think you win.

It's time to stop. 

Yes, as it's me who's the one who gets too weird.

Sure, Thara does love her daddy. But she wouldn't even insult him, far less kill him. The story of Thara will have to wait for some other time.

I know it doesn't have the high-density, wrist-bursting edge that some of these fucking degenerates put into their stories, but I'll fuck my own ass if I didn't at least have some proper taste along with it! It's a classy Noir caper! Fucking CLASSY!

I know I might've written Dio for what was obviously a Deicide concert, but I'll puke fetal pigs if what I created wasn't PURE FUCKING ART!

And by dammit, if Brad-furry tentacle rape and a god that manifests itself as a talking snatch surrounded by a forest of dicks that cum nets of arteries isn't edgy, then you can go fuck yourself! I don't see any of that shit in your stories, you judgemental amshelek-chasing  fuck!

PRAISE DREGGNION!

Fun sidebar! Amshelek means "Cavernous Vagina" in Kazakh. Leave it to the guys on the edge of central Asia to come up with a one-word excuse for your dick being too small. Though, given the amount of fucking fatheads in this thread, I'm sure Endmaster has to deal with looser mom pussy than any reasonable motherfucker should.

I was just about to ignore this post since I figured it was Sentinel just ranting about stupid bullshit that only his furry ass cares about and generally being a cancer on the site as usual.

Upon closer inspection of his rantings I see he's actually submitted a story. I guess the syphilis that he caught from L'il Bean at the last furry convention hasn't completely eaten his brain yet.

Though I guess it has eaten enough of his brain that he couldn't follow simple fucking instructions. I said post your story in the fucking THREAD. A link to his shitty story is not what I fucking asked for.

This is fucking remedial.

As for the story itself, it's shit like everyone else's, but I can't tell if that's because Sent's dying of brain disease and is drooling and babbling like a three year old at this point or it's just the general stupidity he had long before that happened.

In the end it hardly matters because he's a furry and everything he does is fucking worthless anyway. So fuck him and his spongey rotting gray matter.

THIS IS FUCKING REMEDIAL!!$&%%*%$&@!$%!!!!!

I believe I just found @Bucky on the google document while I was there. Lol.

Here we are, another retaliation by his edginess against the furry. How exciting.

Yeah fuck that, not even going to bother reading 22 pages of useless shit.

Alright, I'll get back to being edgy in a second, but I gotta ask you something serious real quick so it'll be better next time. Apparently, people not understanding the things I'm saying has been a running theme these days, and that's just confusing befucklery, because I can tell what I'm saying pretty well and I don't know what to clarify or how to improve, because no one ever explains why.

Is it a case of bizarro narration, where you can sort of get at what I'm saying but it's all stream-of-consciousness, or do you not connect to what I'm saying at all, or are there big paragraphs, or...?

In short, your rants are long and ramble. Earned or not (probably earned), you have a reputation for it now, and it's become hard for some to determine if a post you're making is either serious, a rant, or blah, blah, blah, we all stopped paying attention.

To be fair, those assumptions should probably be withheld to your lounge posts only, but you know, it's CYS.

Typically, your actual writing is no less readable than anyone else's, but your starting narration is throwing a lot at the reader.

"The jukebox had been playing the same song for hours. A Pre-war fellow named Robert Johnson was begging an imaginary wife to hurry up so he could catch a train. In a less affectionate manner, Canbol was urging Leonard to get out of the water he had tried to literally drown himself in the other night."

Three named people, an imaginary person, and several lines of non attributed dialogue beforehand. I don't think it should be surprising that this is asking the reader a lot to try and follow right off the bat. At least G.R.R.M. let us know who was speaking and their general relationship to other characters in the story before he threw an entire continent of named characters at us.

Ah, yeah. At the risk of sounding like I'm full of shit, I was trying to capture the confusion of waking up in a barrel with people yelling at you over music, but I did throw in a lot of shit about the setting in afterwards. Probably should've cut it, since I dropped the ball on the whole "Confused Withdrawal Addict" theme halfway through, but I did throw in a bunch of riffraff about the setting in other unrelated parts, too, iirc, so I guess that should've been trimmed in hindsight as well.

You did it, you pulled the Aristocrats line didn't you. I'm honestly surprised it took so long for it to show up

YES! That's it! I was surprised too. I'm just glad somebody got the joke!

I'm still not sure why everyone went the hyper-violent, hyper-gory route with these. Anyway this thread is pretty stupid but I wasted two hours of my life throwing something together anyway.

*******

Blacker than the inky void between the stars, the Dark Nova leapt out of hyperspace beside the blood-red planet. Dirk Shadowdaggers, intergalactically famous secret mercenary assassin, strapped himself into his battle suit. Made of the indestructible metal known as darksteel and covered in spikes, it made him appear as the fearsome knights of old in medieval times on Olde Earth.

Hours before, his ship gliding through space like shark on the hunt, he had received the distress signal. A group of colonists on an obscure farming planet on the outer rim begged anyone listening for help. There being no ship faster than the Dark Nova, Dirk made the trip in only 0.2 light years, record time.

Clanking his way over to the computer in his heavy metal boots, the assassin examined the tactical situation. “Nothing I haven’t handled before,” he scoffed to himself.

With an order to Nadia, the sultry A.I., the ship began its descent to the target area.

Some sort of creatures were swarming below, and as he approached their location he got a clearer view. Most of them appeared to be…or to have once been…human. Their skin had an unhealthy pallor and hung loose and saggy, and there were greyish purple blotches surrounding puncture marks. They wobbled about as though drunk, but seemed to be intently focused on doing something with some kind of purple vines that had overrun the area.

The ship landed silently behind them. None of the creatures had noticed its presence yet and so Dirk had a moment to consider his strategy. The Dark Nova was equipped with state of the art L4-53R lasers and devastating PL4-5M4 cannons, making it a force to be reckoned with anywhere in the galaxy. In fact there was enough advanced weaponry installed to win a small intrasystem war.

But that wasn’t his style.

The hatch fell open with a clang and light poured from the interior, revealing the shadowed silhouette of an intimidating form in heavy armor, the dark knight atop his steed. An engine roared to life and his motorcycle shot forward, leaving trails of flame behind it. Dirk pulled out his signature weapon, a massive battleaxe with a blade made of blazing crimson force field energy. It could slice straight through the darksteel scales of a mechadragon, and years ago he had done just that on more than one occasion. (During the great Mechadragon War of 3014, which had left scars on his heart greater than those any weapon could make.) When lying awake at night, he thought of the double bladed weapon as the Hellforged Axe.

With a wild yell he drove straight into the thick of the unsuspecting swarm, using the element of surprise and his assassin training to cut them down left and right. Now that he was up close and personal with the creatures, he noticed there were things squirming and writhing in the pouches made by their hanging skin. Actually it was obvious now that some of them were not so much sagging, as bulging, the eager movements of the worm-like creatures within clearly visible just beneath the pale rippling flesh. Everywhere he made contact with a ‘plant zombie’ as he now thought of them, he deftly sliced them to pieces with a flick of the wrist, leaving the cauterized limbs in neat little piles, a kind of morbid abstract art. The severed arms and legs lay in piles like lumpy, bloated sausages stuffed with maggots.

As for the purple vines, they were slippery things, coated in a clear, foul smelling liquid and tipped with thorns. There were so many of them they’d have made maneuvering on the motorcycle impossible for anyone less skilled, but Dirk drew on both incredible reflexes and the knowledge gained during his years as a professional gladiator in the notorious motorcycle death arena of Harley V.

Suddenly, without warning, completely unexpectedly, Dirk was surprised by a vine uncoiling itself from the general mass and shooting straight toward his skull!

He smirked and easily evaded it. “Heh. You’ll have to do better than that. Eat hot forcefield blades!” Dirk hollered.

He swung the Hellforged Axe, and in a flash the vines for twenty feet all around him were scorched bits of mulch on the ground. From somewhere behind him there came a high whining sound, and he whirled to see three wasp-like insects with vivid violet stripes and abdomens the size of footballs buzzing angrily towards him. With only a split second to react, he whirled his axe around, bisecting two of the insects in one smooth motion and then leaping upwards, twisting in mid-air and coming down nearly on top of the other, striking it to the ground with the flat of the Hellforged Axe and then landing back on the seat of the motorcycle and yanking hard on the handles till he spun in a tight circle and came back around to drive the motorcycle’s spiked wheels over the stunned wasp creature. With a loud popping sound, thick white goo came spurting out.

A split second later a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he spotted a line of squat green humanoids creeping along a nearby ridge, their attention focused on him and the chaos he was wreaking as they stared in shock. Their mouths bristled with fangs and tusks, and they carried sharpened wooden spears.

He knew bad news when he saw it, and so Dirk pulled out his BL4-5-T3R rifle and sent a flurry of hot plasma death in their direction, grinning as every bolt made contact, leaving massive holes in their torsos, lined with curling, blackened edges of flesh and the smell of cooked meat hanging in the air. In moments the vines had moved in and the bodies were unrecognizable lumps beneath the virulent growth.

With an electric whirring sound, the wheels of his bike folded sideways as he switched it to hover mode, and following the growth of the vines back to their source, he soon found himself just outside his true destination, the main colony site of this obscure planet known only as 2-3DGY on the galactic maps.

In the village below, dwellings made of repurposed shuttles had already been overgrown by the purple vines. The colonists has formed a perimeter around a central complex and were engaged in dousing the encroaching tendrils with tanks of poison strapped to their backs, while militia stood guard ready to put a bolt in any zombie or wasp creature that showed itself. As suddenly as a very sudden thing, the scene was flooded with bright white light as Dirk’s motorcycle leapt with roar over the crest of the hills. Skidding and spraying chunks of earth behind the wheels, the bike ripped down the slope.

“Heh, good effort folks, but let the Shadowdagger show you how it’s done!” Dirk crowed.

Dirk grinned and aimed straight for the thickest infestation of vines. Spiked tendrils shot out at him, but he dodged this way and that, coolly evading them. Only two vines managed to latch onto his arm, one instantly shredded by the spikes on his armor, and the other he busted free of with a well-timed flex. But just when he thought he was in the clear, seemingly from out of nowhere several of the giant purple wasps zipped in, a horde of plant zombies staggering behind them. Dirk laughed wildly. “Finally, a challenge!”

In an instant, he’d sliced two wasps into a dozen tiny, oozing bits with one swing of the Hellforged Axe. Deftly changing the angle of his strike, he took down another, and another, his movements a blur too quick for the watching colonists to follow. Then, he yanked back on the handles of his bike, making the machine rear up and blending another wasp into a chunky slurry while simultaneously snatching two others out of midair, crushing one with a gauntleted fist, and simply biting the other right in half. It tasted like spoiled milk and a space marine’s infected toe after a ten day march in the jungles of D’fasa without a change of socks. “Heh. Breakfast of champions!” Dirk exclaimed, coughing and spitting.

Now the zombies were upon him! “Aw, and now you all want some too...” Dirk chuckled and smirked, pulling out his nano-edged katana and slicing the nearest zombie open from groin to belly. Without the neatly cauterized wounds from the forcefield laser Hell axe, its sludgy grey innards emitted a smell like rancid Ranch dressing after it’s been stuffed in the rotting vagina of a dead camel and left to broil in the sun. Tears sprung to his eyes, both from the force of the stench and the flashback it gave him to the Camel Vagina wars of 3077, where he’d lost his first love.

Without thinking, he’d already cut down two more zombies, noting in passing that these two were filled with fat, violet-striped grubs that came tumbling out at the first cut. “Bulgers and saggers, huh?” Dirk pontificated, reminiscing on the details he’d noted of the ones he’d fought before. “So that explains that,” he concluded. “But enough with the vine-wasp zombie orgies!” he declared decisively.

Pulling out his R4-V3N laser cannon, a massive gun commonly used in anti laser-tank warfare, he needed only a split second to aim as he rained blazing white fire down on the the largest masses of vegetation, that which had overgrown the colonist’s dwellings. Explosions shook the night.

In the aftermath, the awed colonists came forward one by one to thank their axe-wielding savior.

A local took his hat off and rubbed at his temples as examined the charred rubble. “Er, so the chemicals we were using slowed the rate of growth, and didn’t trigger the protective instinct in the wasps and drones the way cutting or burning the vines did. We basically had things under control at this point, but…thanks for your help anyway. It was certainly very uh, direct. Though, it did sort of have the side effect of blowing up all our houses. We’re going to have a lot of homeless families this coming--”

“Let me tell you something,” Dirk interjected. “You go to school, get a job, build a home, raise a family, then buddy, I say you’re not living much of a life!”

The man coughed. “Er, what are you trying to say? I love my family, and my job, and this town we built was doing very well until--”

“Heh. The life of a baahing sheep just isn’t for Dirk Shadowdaggers. I don’t take orders from anyone else. Which is why I joined the top secret Deathstab mercenary assassin order, where I killed my first man at age nine and surpassed my trainer at age eleven. Looking around at a place like this, these people living these lives of mindless drudgery, shackled to their so called ‘loved ones’ and doing what society tells them they have to do just makes me sad, you know? If only everyone realized what a lie they were living and followed in my footsteps.”

“So you’re saying, everyone should go become mercenary assassins? Er, everyone here, or more like…everyone in general?” the man scratched his head and seemed to consider that. “Well I gotta be honest, I’m not sure everyone here would have the means or inclination for that kind of life. Most of us left crowded worlds for a life as peaceful farmers. Oh, and, ah, as a..secret mercenary assassin...don’t you technically do mercenary or assassin work for an employer of some kind?”

“Heh. You’d think so, but money means nothing to me. I live for the stellar wind in my hair and go where the stars lead me. Nothing to my name but a fully equipped warship with an advanced AI hottie and an endless arsenal of advanced weaponry and armor,” Dirk shrugged. “Maybe it’s not much, but I’m a simple man with simple needs.”

“Uh. Maybe we’ll just rebuild our houses...” the man mumbled, turning his attention to a woman and a couple of small children nearby. One of the kids clutched a stuffed rabbit, stained with viscous fluids from the vines. It was a Holland lop. Just the sight of it gave Dirk vivid flashbacks to his years as a bunny farmer in Nebraska, and it was only with difficulty he steeled himself and kept his focus on the present.

This colony, it sure was burned to shit. The vines, and the wasps, and the zombies, and the fat zombie-incubated larvae...as gross as they were, they didn’t go building unnatural structures of steel on planets where they didn’t belong, disturbing ecologies they didn’t understand. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was humans, who were the real monsters.

The woman had approached by this point and she and the man stepped aside to have a brief conversation. Dirk figured he would rate her ass a seven, maybe a seven and a half if she were wearing tighter pants, or if he had a few beers first. Unfortunately his years as an unwilling test subject for an experimental super soldier program had rendered him incapable of metabolizing alcohol or drugs, as a side effect of giving him immunity to all known poisons in the galaxy.

“Excuse me, Mr...Shadowdaggers?” the woman asked, interrupting his thoughts. “We were wondering if you’d seen any signs of the local Genkhu tribe? We lost contact with them when the vines got out of control.”

“Heh. What?” Dirk queried, inquisitively.

“The Genkhu are the native species on this planet. Short and green, with tusks? They’re sort of primitive and carry spears. I think they’d have been smart enough to stay out of the way of the infestation, but I’m still worried about them.”

“Oh, them. Heh. I saw them when I discovered the vines. Sorry lady, there’s nothing left alive out there.”

The woman turned away, upset, and Dirk nodded to the man with a chuckle and a smirk. “Guess you didn’t have things as under control as you thought you did, huh?”

***

It was with the familiar old regret that he reentered his ship and ordered Nadia to set a course. The people here had been nice. That woman with the ass, especially. Another place, another time, and he could see himself settling down, making a life here. But no. The woman hadn’t given him her comm number. She’d seemed confused when he asked, and hurriedly made an excuse to leave. But that was just as well. Shadowdaggers would always be a lone wolf. He knew deep down inside that others would just never understand him. And every time he closed his eyes, the memory of his first love still haunted him. Dirk was already nineteen years old, but even if he lived to be a hundred, he knew his heart would never change.



Dedicated to the giant fascist baby who deleted my other posts.

Well look here, Mizal showed up to actually submit a story. Here I was thinking she’d be too busy crying and masturbating next to a bucket of ice cream to participate.

Though she’s probably still doing at least one of those things and the bucket of ice cream is never far from her.

What can be said about Mizal that hasn’t been already said about her? She’s a mean old cunt that’s unhappy with her lot in life so she takes it out on you young folks to briefly make herself feel better.

I mean at least with me, you guys know that when I abuse you I’m only doing it for your own good because I actually care. This whole fucking contest is proof of that.

But Mizal? She’d physically piss on you all if she had the chance and hates you guys regardless of what lies she may tell you in the forums about actually liking you all.

Speaking of lies, did you know she was the one that wrote that super hero story?

Yep, she was pissing and moaning that her writing wasn’t getting enough attention (notice I’m the ONLY one that showed any attention to her stories and that’s only because she was begging me to) so she had Steve act like her puppet complete with her fist shoved up his ass and post her story to see if it would get any attention with his name attached.

Think about how sociopathic that is. That she would actually use you lot in a social experiment like that just to trick you and feed her own fragile ego.

What a sad nasty woman.

Her future is going to be her growing older, fatter and more bitter and eventually having a goddamn stroke while her pork pie hands are reaching for another tub of ice cream.

She’ll sit in her chair uselessly for about five days being unable to move under her own power and only able to go “DAAAAAH! BLEEERRRRG!” as she tries to call for help, but nobody of course comes except for some of her 200 FUCKING CATS.

During this time she’ll be shitting and pissing herself, creating a stench so awful that even her cats won’t want to be near her and as the smell hits her nose and she can feel the discomfort of the squishy wetness between her legs and under her ass, a single tear will roll down her fat cheek because it will be at that exact point that she realizes that if she hadn’t been such a fucking asshole to everyone she might not be in this terrible situation in the first place.

Eventually sweet merciful death will take her in the form of another blood clot to the brain, where upon her corpse will putrefy for another week until the health department comes because someone complained about the smell coming from the shithole shack that she was living in.

They’ll come, drag her bloated body out, and then it’ll get raped for a couple days from the demented morticians that picked her up which means this will be the closest thing that Mizal will have ever known to “love” except she won’t be able to appreciate it because, y’know, dead and all.

Then finally they’ll dump her decaying stinking ass in an unmarked grave where the worms finish off the job.

And that will be the story of Mizal.

The highlights of that fairly thorough evisceration? None of it touched the story. Congrats Mizal, looks like you have this one in the bag :D

In other news, Steve did NOT write that story?

Lol, I knew it wasn't Steve's story from the start.

Which made the thread more entertaining for me.

LOLLOLLOLLOLLOL!

Uh, you don't make a good troll.

Well, that's rude. I did post in that thread as a personal favor to you after all.

I probably wouldn't have if you didn't ask me :l

Of course he didn't that piece of shit, Steve actually has talent.

Jesus, get off your knees, fuckwit. I can do better.

Glad to see Mizal’s fist is still up your ass so you can white knight her.

It was a speed writing thing I'd previously posted it in a prompt thread. End spoiled the experiment but I'm not sure to what extent, otherwise it proved pretty conclusively people here are blind to writing styles and also, just don't read.

Well played, in that case

I didn't spoil it actually, the only person I told was Thara and that's only because she told me she was getting PMs from Steve asking her who she hates more you or him.

Your puppet Steve was the one telling people to shit on your story for the lulz.

I didn't actually end up asking Thara because I realized I don't trust her in the slightest.

Then, why did you ask to borrow me? Well, you didn't have to ask me outright anyway. Me and End were already talking about it anyway. 

And you did say that my post was helpful... but, meh. I guess like one or two people were fooled at the end of the day, so successful experiment, I think :P

I was going to ask you, but then I thought about it and decided otherwise.

Your message said to specifically fuck with mizal. If I didn't take like two hours to respond, and the fact that you were already offline by the time I made my post, I'm sure you would've asked me like you asked other people apparently.

But dammit, if I knew you were going to go the "but I didn't ask you outright" route, I would've responded to your messages sooner.

You're rather sly, I give you that :<

If you had responded immediately, but once I had time to think about it I decided otherwise.

So that's why Steve sent me a message asking me to shit on his story. Lol. 

I figured that's why you suddenly appeared out of the blue like that.

Hahaha, okay I knew it had to be Steve or End. The fact End kept telling me it was Steve while Steve was barely around made me suspect the wrong person.

So, experiment compromised, dammit. Back to the drawing board on that one I guess.

Okay, had a chance to read this now. Thank you for paying attention to me End-sama. <3

Though this is barely an insult, it's so eerily true to life. And realistically I'm going to be devoured by the cats once I grow too fat to either feed them or fend them off. It would take waaaay more than a week for anyone to notice, though. Benefits of country living!

This story though, damn. It was literally painful to write. There was supposed to be this whole section where he traveled to a nearby research facility pointed out as the source of the infestation, but I hit the 2000 word mark and was just like, fuck this, fuck everything, I'm ending this right fucking now gdssggfhj.

That's a reason I can't write flash fiction lol.

The whole thing sounds like what the freeform role players geek out over, when writing up their character sheets. Of course the crap they spew once play actually starts, doesn't stack near as high as you've managed.

Well done!

Somewhat disappointed in the glaring lack of blood grooves however... ;)

Thanks for the gold star! And yes, you spotted the hidden subtext of 'freeform RPers are the most ridiculous form of life on Earth'.

Though it's not just the freeformers. Long after I lost all interest in RP, I could entertain myself stalking them in their lairs, just browsing profiles and backstories.

 "She’d physically piss on you all if she had the chance"

:^D

Honestly, i'm only upset when people mentally piss on me.

I vote EndMaster to win the EdgeLord contest. I just came here to see if this is something I might wanna do. But it doesn't matter, either way, because EndMaster just won his own contest, in my eyes. And I'm probably overstepping the bounds of my noobness at this site by posting this comment. Oh well.

Updated list of contestants so far.

Steve
Fleshy
Ben the Bunny Fucker
Lance
Bucky (2)
Ogre
Minnie
Ben
Jep
Stryker
Virt
AYT
Breezy
Digit
Skugga
Thara
Sentinel
Mizal

Malk

BlackH

Failure

    Four men, haggard and hungry, sit in a crater. A thin pool of icy water coats the bottom of it. The tattered remains of Soviet uniforms hang off of their thin frames. Ice crystals rapidly form around their noses. Their fingers are fumbling and uncertain  as they pass around a cigarette; the last of a pack looted from a dismembered German. He had begged for death, even as they stole his smokes and left him to expire in a puddle of his own blood and shit. 

    “We need to get back to the platoon,” one of them says as he peeks his head over the crater wall. He shudders as a sniper’s bullet tears through his head with the singsong crack-BANG! of a high-powered rifle. His head ruptures into  a fine red mist and chunks of his desecrated  skull rain down on his squad. He falls back into the puddle, leaking  blood and brain matter out of his head like a heifer on its period.

    “Fuck!” one of them — a bearded man who had been fat before the war — screams, only to have a hand clamped over his mouth by the man next to him. 

    “Shut the fuck up, Boris!” the other man whispers, “We need the Germans to think that he was on his own!” 

    “Get down, Vladimir!” the biggest man snaps, grabbing them both by the collars and dragging them into the crater. Boris cringes as the other man’s cranial excretions drizzle on his face like caramel on ice-cream. Much to his horror, his stomach rumbles at the thought. 

    “Vladimir,” Boris whispers, “Where is the food?” 

    The tall man lets out a low sigh. “I dropped it when the Germans fired on us.” 

    “You stupid fucker!” the third man, Yuri, snaps. 

    “It was either that or end up like Alexei!” 

    “We need to get out of this trench,” Boris whimpers. He eyes the top of the crater. 

    “The sniper will kill us!” says Yuri. 

    “How do we know he’s even out there?” Vladimir retorts. 

    “We don’t,” Yuri admits. 

    “I have an idea,” says Boris as he grabs Alexei’s still-warm hand. 

    “What the fuck are you doing?” Vladimir snaps. 

    Boris hoists the corpse, and waves the lifeless hands over the crater’s edge, in a mock gesture of surrender. 

    “See? He’s obviously g-“ Boris was interrupted by another gunshot. Alexei’s left arm is nearly blown off. It sprays Boris with a fine mist of  hotblood. He gazes in horror at the exposed spike of bone jutting out of Alexei’s mangled arm. Yuri grabs him by the collar and pulls him back down into the dirt. 

    “You fucking moron,” Vladimir hisses. 

    “Now the sniper knows there are more of us in here!” Yuri adds. 

    “Fuck!”

    An hour later, Yuri felt the tickling of thirst in the back of his throat. 

    The marksman stayed only for  hours. From the bombed-out ruin of the brutalist, concrete tower-block, he could plainly tell that there were at least two Russians in the crater across the street. Still, orders were orders, and he had to move on. He left his position, moving further into the city of Stalingrad.     

    Two pass. Soon, the hole reeks of shit, piss and blood. Still, the three men refuse to move, living in terror of the spectre of the sniper in the apartment. All three are nigh-delusional with thirst and hunger. Yuri looks at the stewing hole of shit, piss and brain mater that they found themselves in. 

    “You’re not seriously…” Boris trailed off as he realizes exactly how thirsty they all are. 

    “We need to,” Yuri insists. 

    “You’re insane,” Vladimir mumbles through his dry throat, but he sound entirely unconvinced. 

    “Shut the fuck up,” Yuri mumbles as he lifts the soupy mess of viscous liquid to his throat. “Bottoms up, boys.” he says before he begins to lick the soupy, faecal mess of blood and brains off his fingers, like a child might lick the dough off a cake-mixer. The rest of the men begin to eat like wolves, putting the disgusting mess to their throats as they slurp up their former comrade like hungry octopi. It is a struggle to keep it down. 

    Afterwards, they all lie on their backs, groaning in discomfort. Yuri glances over at Alexei, who has begun to decompose. Alexei seems somehow displeased with the situation, but alas, he has no mouth (or head) with which to complain. 

    The three men fell asleep, thirst satiated. None of them slept, as they were kept awake by the sounds of far-away machine gun fire and the death of their own dignity. After a few hours, Boris promptly vomited all over himself, soaking his uniform with  regurgitated shit and blood. Boris fell unconscious, shortly after. 

    “You know, we need to eat,” Yuri says meaningfully, glancing at the sleeping man.     

    “What about Alexei?” Vladimir responds, nudging the fly-infested corpse away from him. 

    “He’s rotten.” Yuri responds, “Boris. We should eat Boris.

    “Right. But how?” 

    “We push Alexei out, and we use your bayonet.” Yuri meaningfully gestures to the empty Mosin-Nagant, that had lay neglected since they entered the crater. 

    “Let’s do it.” 

    The two men take a moment to steel themselves, before they shove the headless, armless corpse out of the crater and into the street. With a final effort, the roll the rigor-mortis stricken man away from the crater. 

    They open up Boris like a fish. He awakens with a sickening gurgle as Yuri and Vladimir shoved the bayonet deep into his chest cavity, and down to his waste.  Blood filled his longs. His limbs twitch uselessly as blood pours out of his gutted torso. Vladimir snatches the rifle from Yuri, and brings the stock down on Boris’ skull. The man’s head bounces against the ground, before Vladimir strikes again, visibly cracking the skull. Boris’ fingers twitch three times, before he expires. 

    The two men feast like the starving, mongrel dogs that used to roam the streets of Leningrad. With their trembling hands, they pull his entrails over the tattered remains of his shit-smeared uniform, and rip him to pieces. Yuri pauses only once, to choke back the vomit rising in his throat. They leave Boris an empty, shredded husk. 

    After a moment, Vladimir speaks. “We should leave.” 

    “You’re right,” Yuri admits. 

    “Who goes out first?” 

    Yuri reaches into Boris’ pocket and pulls out a coin. A 1937 Reichsmark. “Heads.” 

    The coin lands, and the face of a German political peers austerely out from the mud. 

    “Fuck,” Yuri murmurs before leaping out of the trench. An agonizing moment passes by, as he awaits the fatal sniper’s bullet. It never comes. “We’re clear!” he joyously yells. 

    Vladimir exits the trench, trying to ignore the filleted corpse of Boris, which gazes at the sky in mute confusion. He suddenly feels a powerful dizzy spell come over him, and he leans onto Yuri. The two men stagger, and fall onto the cement with a pained grunt. They struggle back to their feet. 

    They begin the arduous march back to friendly lines. It’s agony, and each weakened step is a battle. Diarrhea leaks down Vladimir’s leg. At last, they round one of the city-corners and approach a machine-gun pillbox. 

    They raise their hands in unison. From inside the emplacement, two voices have a harsh and brief exchange of words. 

    “They’re Russians!”     

    “Deserters, more like.” 

    “But sarge-“ 

    “Fire!” 

    A blast of machine-gun fire rips out from the emplacement. For a moment, Yuri and Vladimir look almost comical; two jerking, spasming marionettes dancing to the tune of an unseen puppeteer. The weapons-fire stops, and the two corpses fall to the ground, steadily leaking out blood through a half-dozen bullet-holes each. 

Malk, the crappy cappy

I still remember when this little fucktard used to white knight fucking Warrior Cat fans. Can you believe it? Now he’s submitting edgy stories in the hopes that I’ll acknowledge that he’s completely changed and is the edgiest kid on the block.

The only thing that’s changed is instead of being a white knighting faggot, he’s just a plain old faggot now.

Malk probably wrote this whole fucking story while his pasty unhealthy ass was shitting on the fucking toilet. He should be the poster child that the Ugandan preachers point to when they’re preaching to their population of “Do not eat the poo poo.”

I’m fucking serious, that’s like ALL he fucking talks about at the secret villain lair. That he’s going to shit, how he’s going to shit, what it felt like to shit and when he’s going to be shitting next.

Fuck bran muffins, this guy is eating raw fucking twine if he’s shitting this much.

Either that, or he’s been getting fisted so much that he’s lost nearly all bowel control. After all, this is the same guy who once said “Shoving stuff up your ass is the best way to get off and it’s totally not gay because you can fantasize about dickgirls the entire time!”

Fucking pervert.

Between Mizal and Axiom cybering with each other, Steve and L’il Bean competing with how many dicks they took in a week and Malk’s scatalogical fetish, it’s like I’m on a virtual reality set of fucking Caligula except with uglier people.

Jesus Christ, sometimes I wonder why the hell I still even visit that awful place.

But let’s go DEEPA, and look at the actual story which is of course shit as well.

Oh look surprise surprise, he put shit eating in his story. Just another example of how obsessed the guy is with scat porn.

He also wrote about commies. No fucking surprise there either. Jerking it to pictures of young Stalin are just one of the many degenerate things him and Steve bond over.

Though it really says a lot when even a pegboy like Steve says he still wouldn’t fuck Malk if it meant a three way with Uncle Joe’s dead corpse.

You don't pull off monster shits like these without being able to hold it in for at least a couple days. Just sayin'

Anyway, that critique put that fag Kiel to shame

I thought everyone jerked it to pictures of young Stalin...named Malk and Steve.

 

 

Ahahaha, this was great. The story was fucking disgusting, but that was just incidental to earning the real prize. I wish I'd thought of connecting it to his obsession with his own shit.

Though it's fair to point out Malk and Steve also spend a LOT of time talking about masturbating too. (Not that that necessarily rules out sitting on the toilet or writing a story at the same time...)

It's in proportion to the time I spend doing it.

Malk I feel like this would have been ~edgier~ if instead of these guys being randomly shot at the end, they were old men reminiscing over this incident in a nursing home, in earshot of the bed bound roommate they're planning to eat as soon as the story ends.

Also, did they never consider the rats, maggots, ticks, lice, and other tasty and nutritious things they would have been sharing that trench with? Immersion ruined.

If I lose nothing by entering, I'm just gonna write out random words with no story element to it whatsoever.

This is my submission

This is it... the biggest event of the year, and I'm invited! I walk up to the front door, take out my .44 Colt handgun from the holster, and knock on the door.

It opens to reveal a young boy, no older than five years old, who looks me up and down before speaking. "Come on in. The party's in full swing."

As I walk in, I see people of all ages, all wielding some sort of pistol or firearm, even the toddlers. The suspense in the air is almost palpable, what with the terrified screams of "innocent" victims and the sound of swords hacking off limbs and guns being fired. It almost sends a shiver down my back when I see the first man. Almost. Body perforated with daggers, bullet holes all over his body, limbs in a shambling mess, barely hanging on by the sinews, and his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a piece of spaghetti, rolling around in a futile effort to get back in its cave. And he's still alive. Screaming those lovely, musical screams.

As I smile in glee, I move on to the next person. Another man. This one is dead, but he had it especially brutal. Eyeballs removed but still connected, as if he could still see from them. His skin has been peeled off, hanging over the fire beside him, cooking to a golden brown, almost ready to eat. As I think about the taste of that glorious skin, I salivate, barely able to keep myself in check. The best part is the cock. A burning hot poker pushed straight into the cock, warped and bent so that it can't be removed. A lovely touch to an amazing demonstration.

The third man is not a man. A still alive woman, with people still swarming over her, giving her the works. As I watch, one of my students cuts a tit off of her and swallows it whole, letting out a sigh of satisfaction from the taste. From there they pull out a flask, catching the dark, rich blood that streams from her cuts, bottling it for later, to mix with some wine. As I try to see more of their project, a bell rings out, and the chef calls to everyone. "Dinner is ready! Come get it before it disappears!" As I look back at the fire, I notice the skin is gone, and I quickly rush to the dining room...

"I'm just gonna write out random words with no story element to it whatsoever."

-_-

What? I got inspired.

Another fucking noob I don’t care about and openly admits that he’s written complete shit. I guess the only positive is he didn’t even have the endurance to splatter endless amounts of text feces all over the screen.

If he was inspired to create this mess, it must have been after he saw his junkie mom passed out on the floor covered in bodily fluids after her two for one deal because she needed to pay the fucking rent and still have enough for the abortion because she didn’t want to have to deal with another annoying brain dead crackbaby like Blackhawke.

You’d think with all the fuckheads droning on and info dumping on Blackhawke in that other thread where he’s asking questions because he’s totally fucking clueless, he would have at least used some of it.

Hey fucktard, next time just write “It was a dark and stormy night.” and then post a fucking link to The Eye of Argon. You’ll save everyone time.

And BlackHawke goes down just like the fucking helicopter while his mom goes down on everyone.

Thanks for the positive review. You spent far less time killing me than any other submission. I was sad at that. 40% of the reason I wrote this was to get your review. Your jokes weren't even original, except for the first paragraph. Thanks for ruining my dream of being dissed by you...

You just weren't worth the effort, looks like.

He's just fishing for more insults.

He got an "Eye of Argon" reference and I think this is the first time I've even made an abortion reference. If anything he got more attention than he deserved.

But I'm truly curious: Was mine at least a little edgy? I feel like I beat the entry that Failure sent in... right?

 

Edgy the edgiest edgelord edged on the edge of edginess as he edged towards the edge of the edge.

“Edgy! Stop being so edgy!” Edgeuana (Edgy’s wife) cried as she edged her way towards the edge of the edge that he edged upon.

“I can’t stop now!” He replied in an edgy tone that sent her over the edge of edginess to the edge.

“Think about our family! I have edged my way around the hedges of the edgiest edge to be with you!” She edged.

“You suck at being edgy!” Edgy the edgiest edgelord who edged on the edge of edginess responded.

“I’m not the one who sucks at being edgy! You can’t just use the word edge a shitload! That’s not what I meant by being edgy!” She cried as the edge she edged toward edged nearer to her foot which just so happened edged toward Edgy who was edging toward the edge of edginess.

“Fuck you!” Edgy the edgiest edgelord who was edging on the edge of edginess shrieked at Edgeuana who was edging her way towards Edgy the edgiest edgelord whose foot like Edguana’s foot was edging on the edge of edginess towards the edge of the edge of edginess like the edge of the edgiest of edges.

“No! Fuck you!” Edgeuana edgedley edged at Edgy whose other foot was edging towards the edge of the edge of the edge of the edgiest edges of edginess.

“I’ve been fucking your sister for the past 20 years!” Edgy who was edging towards the edgiest of edges like the edge of the edgiest edge edged aggressively at Edgeuana.

“I don’t have a sister!” Edgeuana screeched at Edgy whose left leg was edging towards the edge of the edge.

“Well I’ve been fucking somebody who looks like your sister!” Edgy screeched edgedly.

“Allegedly! Stop dredging shit up!” Edgeuana edged towards Edgy.

“Shut up you stupid cu-” Edgy starts before his foot slips over the edge he was edging towards and he plummets to his doom.

This is so edgy it's unreal.

kys Ford

I knew someone would do this eventually.

This uninspired submission is just a minor variation on what Ben (The non-Bunny fucker) did. He thought he was being clever throwing the word "edge" around a lot when all he was succeeding in was looking like a dumb ass.

The only thing this retarded monkey did slightly different is choose a name that matched his entry. And he probably thought he was being oh so witty as well when all he came off looking like is a derivative fucktard that couldn't even copy one of the slightly less shitty entries in this never ending display of drooling morons.

That Kingskills dickhead did a better job of being funnier and edgy in that Star Wars thread.

We weren't ALL shitty? Thanks for the compliment.

I win, right?

Sure. You win Bantastic prizes.

Continue to shitpost in the thread and your BlackHawke handle will win the same.

Me? What do I have to do with this?

Well if you want to play stupid, that's jake with me, but you and "Fallure" have the same IPs.

Now I imagine you'll tell me this is a friend of yours, and whether that's actually the case or not, stop shitposting in this thread.

If I was really going to play stupid, I would ask what an IP is. Oh well.

EdgeMaster 2.0 right here.

Somewhere out there, I know there’s someone just laughing their ass off getting a kick out of all of this. What other explanation could there possibly be? In human nature, people feel the sting of loss more than the pleasure of gain. In other words, the happier we are now the shittier we feel later. But what happens when a person just doesn’t give a shit anymore?

I stared down at my phone. “Just fuck off,” was displayed on the screen in its usual pragmatic font. “Sorry, I’m busy right now. Maybe some other time,” she said, but I knew the truth. It took me a while to get her to admit it, but I did. They all pretend to like me at first, just in case I’m ever useful to them in the future, but they can’t even be bothered enough to have a minute lunch.

The funny thing was though, that despite my knowing of the truth, the chance at a hot piece of ass was usually the only motivator I had for doing any shit. Damn, talking to another slut would be more pain than it was worth. Now all I was feeling was numbness. The type you get when your life is more fucked than porn from the Philippines, yet there is still absolute boredom. It felt like a prison: a prison locked with a key I held yet I couldn’t get out.

I took a knife out of the drawer, put my right forearm on my little wooden table, and started carving like it was thanksgiving. You can call me a retarded dumbass, but what is a guy supposed to do when the coke stops giving you a rush. My arm was dripping. The knife was dripping. Even the table was dripping. Don’t worry, it was already stained, so no harm done. Each rivulet brought me a peak back into the land of the living, yet still…

 I looked around my small studio apartment. Ah perfect, a cockroach. I crept up slowly, making sure not to disturb its serenity. It was then that I stroke, swatting my hand down. The cute little thing was trapped between my palm and the mildew-ridden floor.

“Yes, you’ll do nicely,” I could hear myself speak as I enclosed my fingers. The cute little thing was writhing, fruitlessly struggling to break free from its entrapment. I knew it was suffering. After all, I was trapped too. “Don’t worry, I’m going to set you free now,” whispered me into the palm of my hand. My fingers clasped onto my palm, squeezing out the dread of life from its captive.

The thing was writhing: what beauty. Beads of sweat dripped down my face, and my heart filled with excitement. It was free. The cute little thing was free.

Wait, why was I doing this again? Ahh yes.

I unclasped my fingers and brought the twitching mess to my mouth. “Open up,” I mused, making sure to not leave a scrap on my palm. I crunched on the crumpled carcass and swished the fluids through my mouth. I could still savor the sourness, despite my fucked-up taste buds.

Yes, it should be coalesced enough. I brought my right forearm under my mouth and spit up the mixture, causing the pattern of cascading blood to become marred. As much as I enjoyed the flavor, the tingling sensation of a wound becoming infected is a unique experience unto itself. When followed by the searing sensation that occurs when the scab starts to form, it is truly euphoric.

But something strange happened. The numbness, that damned feeling of nothing, came back in a matter of seconds. “Why… why must you be so cruel,” I contemplated. “Heh, I bet you’re getting a good kick out of all this,”

Yes, I knew he was out there. The creator, the lord, the almighty, whatever the fuck people were calling him these days. I mean, imagine if you had all that power. Eventually you’d start feeling numb too, so there’s something you’d have to do to make that feeling go away. “And how does the creator keep away the numbness?” you might ask. Well, he likes fucking with people. He made us so that every ounce of joy turns into a pound of pain, then we’ll never feel both again.

But I had the answer to defy god thanks to the cockroach, that cute little thing. It was free. Free from pleasure, pain, and numbness.

It was my goal, no, my meaning of existence to free all from this cycle. This prison that we all had the key to, but couldn’t get out of. Who else could do it!? Certainly not all the ants fruitlessly grasping for some meager scraps of contentment in this chaotic world! The ones blindly clinging to life expecting it to put out like it was some virgin at her first college party! No, I was the only one awake enough to see it, and I knew just where to start.

 I got up and grabbed knife and coat. The hapless sheep tend to freak at the smallest things, and my arm was one of those. I unlocked my apartment door. The late-evening sun cascaded a crimson red. “Ahh… what a perfect night it will be to begin the liberation.”

The walk to my soon-to-be axed ex’s house was banal as all hell. Same old street, same old worms, same old numbness. The street lamps illuminated my silhouette onto the cold, coarse pavement. The graveyard I passed just made me more restless. I’d like to think the grave keeper was in on the joke. Maybe he was fucking one of the corpses. I mean after all, a girl has no use for her cage after she’s free. Never mind that though. There was another girl that needed freeing.

Her house was just around the corner. It was an old dilapidated piece of shit: broken and worn down from its past like a used-up crack whore. I walked up street and made my way to the door giving it a couple knocks. Moments later, the door opened and an equally worn-out looking face peered from it.

“What are you here for?” she implored. The raspiness in her voice giving away her bad habits.

“Good evening Anna, may I come in?” I asked with the sweetness of a freshly fucked choirboy. It would be best to not get her suspicious before a bit of the old ultra-violence ensued.

The slut looked like a deer in the headlights. Was there something off about me? Oh… right, I was still gripping my bloody knife. Looks like my inflection wouldn’t be helping matters any. The bitch then tried to slam the door on me. Luckily, I had my foot jammed between the door and the frame, not that it would help any if the bitch got away

I sprinted towards the shrieks through the dust and cobwebs. My prey was running for her life, and at the same time I never felt more alive. Through the hallway, then the living room, until she tripped in her own filth onto the cold tiled floor of the kitchen. I pinned her down before she had a chance to get back up

“Please… Please don’t do this. My baby girl can’t be all by herself,” she pleaded. How pathetically typical, but trying to playing to my emotions was not going to work.

“I’ll make sure she isn’t, but don’t worry about that. I know your torment. I will release you from this hell you call life. Then I’ll fuck off,” I whispered softly into her ear right before the kitchen knife penetrated into her lower abdomen. Her begging swiftly turned back into screams of terror as she writhed around, fruitlessly trying to break free from her trap. All it served to accomplish was to drive the knife deeper. I could feel the cold grip of life slowly draining out of her as her. All the woman was good for now was to help feed the maggots. Actually, her body might still be good enough to fuck.

“Mommy are you ok?” I heard a sweet, innocent voice calling out from the door down the hall. Yes, this was going to be a beautiful night.

It’s a good thing this contest is starting to wrap up, because if I had to spend one more day looking at shit, I might as well have a job at the sewage treatment plant or just visit the inside of Malk's house.

Flamenod is yet another nimrod that is currently spending his time in the SHAME pit for having no fucking gumption to submit a story in the last contest he entered. Given his entry for this one though, I’d say we all got off lucky that we weren’t subjected to his fucking writing more than we had to be.

Anyway, more shit writing. This is so fucking bad, that it’s enough to make even Stephanie Meyer cry. I could sift through the most childish rule 34 fan fiction from Mizal’s internet history and it still wouldn’t be as brain damaged as this pathetic attempt.

I could go on but why bother? It’s getting really obvious at this point that we’re starting to scrape the bottom of the diseased ridden cum bucket given these last three entries.

You sit in your math class, listening to your disease-ridden whore of a teacher drone on about linear regression. You consider getting up from your desk in the back of the room and shoving your favorite packers pencil through through her slit, but decide not to due to the lack of motivation. Your eyes wander out of boredom, and you find yourself staring at...Amy. She's sitting next to you, her back arched like she's sitting on a massive pink dick and her breasts are bulging out, threatening to pop through.her shirt. She catches you slobbering over your now rock-hard 3 inch penis, and slaps you across the face with her homework paper. You hit her with yours, and you two share a game behind the teacher's back. Only a few seconds before class is dismissed, Amy hits you with her textbook, directly on your already crooked nose. 

“You dumb bitch!” You scream, as hot blood drips down your face. She gets up to run out of class before you can hit her, but you block her way at the door and pussy-slap her so hard that blood erupts from her vagina. Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, she's on her period! Laughing, you leave the classroom, licking her blood off your fingers as you head over to World History. For the rest of the day, you think about Amy’s big delicious titties and you don't even notice when Mr. Hayes brushed past you, rubbing his hard cock against your elbow. 

School finally releases, and you leave, getting in your new car that you got for your 17th birthday only two days ago. As you pull out of the school parking lot, you spot Amy walking on the sidewalk toward her house. Thinking about how she nearly broke your nose with her textbook, you put the gas pedal against the floor of the car and speed toward her. You hit her in the back at a hundred miles per hour, and the sudden jolt rips her head from her neck. You screech to a halt and drag her dead body into your car. You pull the scalpel from your dashboard and carefully slice off those beautiful tits, and stick to your windshield. You kick the body from the car and drive off, laughing all the way home. 

Surely you win the game if she can't hit you back, right?

This fucking asshole all of a sudden thinks he's edgy just because he writes a few comments and gets himself to the top of the Marauder list.

Even if the writing wasn’t complete toad cum, Nycto still wouldn’t have a fucking leg to stand on since posted this to me in a PM first asking me “Is this good enough? Should I post it?”

How the fuck are you going to be some fucking edgelord when you’re looking for goddamn validation before you even get started? It’s like fucking hell, stop being a pussy ass indecisive bitch and just post the fucking thing!

This isn’t the first time you’ve been a bitch about shit either, I remember you got all triggered when Ford and some other asshole were trolling you awhile back.

I had to listen to all three of you shitheads piss and moan in PMs about who I should ban or why I shouldn’t ban them. It was a big fucking waste of time that could have been avoided if you’d just had thicker skin and wrote Ford off as the degenerate who liked writing fantasies about having sex with his dad.

While you might have shed the female handle, you’re still a big fucking whining cunt in my book. In fact, you and Azure should go have a duel for the title of biggest whining cunt.

The loser gets raped by hounds and then shot and the winner gets shot and then raped by hounds.

Actually, I never pissed and moaned about who should get banned. If I recall correctly, you asked me about it and I said I didn't really care what you did to them. Thanks for your time though :)

Actually you did ask me why Gatman was still around and when I banned him, you were all thankful about it.

Either way you let yourself get triggered over something stupid. Now stop fishing for more insults. Still waiting for that loser Mayana to show up.

Oh yeah, because of that banning incident where you can still log in. @Mayana Come on, it's your turn.

Updated list of contestants so far.

Steve
Fleshy
Ben the Bunny Fucker
Lance
Bucky (2)
Ogre
Minnie
Ben
Jep
Stryker
Virt
AYT
Breezy
Digit
Skugga
Thara
Sentinel
Mizal
Malk
BlackH
Failure
Flamenod
Nycto

Wibbons

IronP

Two people walk down a lit street. The man has had one too many beers. The woman is wearing pants that look three sizes too small. Both are laughing. They are heading for a night of passion.

They pass a street corner where two men stand. The two nod to the couple. The couple nods back.

The man and woman quicken their pace. A ragged man sits in an alley. They pass before he asks for a handout.

The man trips a little, but the woman picks him up. They share a kiss.

Crying comes from somewhere afar. A child is babbling somewhere in the night. The woman mumbles about parents who don’t work enough for their children.

As they near the man’s apartment which sits high in the sky, they shake their heads. Like always, a woman’s moans come from a dark part of the city. The man complains of how the police don’t do enough against prostitutes.

Back at the street corner, the transaction is finished uninterrupted. One man hurries away to find his momentary enclave of bliss, though it will be his last.

The ragged man is all alone. Far reaching dreams are long since shattered. Each day he wishes to be his last. But no, he is carnally driven to persist though nobody will notice when he breathes his last.

A young child continues to cry. She doesn’t understand why her parents fight. She already knows what they’ll tell her to say. Mother and daughter fell down stairs once again.

The woman ceases her moaning and groaning. She feels her chest and the liquid that is there. In the light it looks black, but she knows that’s wrong. It’s red. Soon, she’ll be gone.

The man and woman wake up in the morning. The woman gets out of bed and looks through the window. It is a rather beautiful morning. In a bustle and with important places to go, countless people are walking down the street.

This is the least edgy thing there has ever been.

I see Wibbons failed reading comprehension like the fucktard she is and missed the whole point of the fucking contest along with being too much of a fucking pussy to even get slightly graphic on top of it.

Y’know I’m not wasting much time on this because Wibbons is a fucking social reject that can’t even fit in with a group of fucking sociopaths. She failed to fit in at the villain lair because she triggered them all by making fun of Mizal’s dead cat so they banned her.

Which would have been edgy, but then like a fucking loser she apologized for it, realizing that she desperately needed a place to fit in and they still never took her back.

She’s been floundering and directionless ever since then.

This story much like her boring life is about as edgy as a fucking Nerf ball. I’ve seen edgier attempts at CoG.

You know what would be nice though? If Wibbons stopped failing at everything and being a complete fucking hepatitis filled tampon at life.

Edgelords Anonymous

Within a dimly lit cellar, the local gang (and screamo community band) Mega Dark Fear Chaos Syndicate arrived. It comprised of thugs, political aspirants, awkward teenagers, and a few elderly folks liberated from the dementia ward a few blocks away. Part of the group was wearing black leather trench coats, aviator sunglasses, skull chain necklaces, and fingerless gloves, all while threatening to cut each other for their poor tastes in style. Others just came naked, since putting on clothes was such a bother and seemed optional anyway.

In the room were a number of rickety metal fold-out chairs that formed a half-circle, after the more comfortable seating was abolished following last week's referendum. This was due to the unanimous agreement that avoiding chronic hemorrhoids was a vice of humanity. Voting itself was comprised of flinging manure obtained from the local petting zoo into vagina piercings, and calling each other highly inspired insults such as "u r da little ass dick fuck face" and "nu ur fat bitch cunt whore".

The final tally was gathered once someone ran out of the room sobbing incoherently, all while trying to snuff cocaine they stole from their recently departed fifth ex-wife's back left pocket, as the body was laying in a casket during the funeral procession. They swore they'd get their revenge by smothering everyone in their sleep with a plate of delicious GHB-laced double dark chocolate brownies, while using their other hand to fap to "Blinded by Fear" on loop.

The place was filled with the usual smell of aged haggis, diesel fuel, angst, and rose perfume. All of the newly acquired chairs were centered around an obnoxiously lavish rococo podium. Upon it stood local legend and licensed group therapist Dr. Jeff. His claim to fame was finding the cure to being dead was as simple as drinking his specially formulated vitamin enriched glacial melt mineral water, and not letting yourself get shot in the back by calling him a two-bit fraud. 

Dr. Jeff greeted those entering with his usual jolly, "shut the fuck up and sit down you ignorant little shits." 

A few of them sluggishly took their seats. The rest were setting up a meth dispensary and lacerating themselves in the back of the room, vaguely listening. Pleased that at least a few could follow instructions without needing to put up the gallows and penetrate someone's mother again, he continued. 

"My assistant Mr. Bernsy is joining me for this therapy session."

He motioned to a hulking masked figure in one corner wearing an untied bright pink bathrobe, a lilac necktie, fuzzy slippers, and was wielding a pair of brass knuckles. His birthday suit was especially impressive underneath. Nobody with their spine or cervix in tact ever seemed to question his attire.

"As usual he won't be speaking much, but will menacingly pace while giving you judgmental looks from the corner, in a futile attempt to make you all feel bad about yourselves. As you should, because you're all insufferably disgusting socially rejected nihilistic schizophrenic druggies, otherwise you would know better than to believe a word I say. I'm a doctor, so you can rely on my expert opinion."

An elderly looking man from the ward hesitantly lifted his hand.

"Can I ask a que-"

"No! You will not speak until I say it's your turn, you discarded half-witted lethargic spineless wilting crop of adultery from a disease-ridden skimpy-clawed scum-sucking whoremongering crayfish with a spastic flaccid dysfunction."

He slowly put down his hand and pulled out his favorite brown bottle of liquid medicinal optimism. After which he instantly relaxed with a dumbfounded smile on his face, like a newborn getting to stroke the womb while getting drunk sipping amniotic fluid following the mother's consumption of a keg of 170 proof vodka with breakfast. To this day, nobody knows whether he really has dementia or he just keeps his blood alcohol intake above .20 while taking a handful of cids each morning.

"As we do every week, let's begin with introductions starting from my left and ending with the rightmost person who isn't already dead from overdose, suicide, being shot in the back, or recurring stupidity yet."

A teenage girl spoke up from one side, displeased that she had to start things off. "Hi I'm Betty. Nobody understands me, you're wasting my time, and I hope you all die in a vat of boiling battery acid."

This was followed by the best dressed man in the room, which wasn't saying much, wearing a pressed suit, a stripped bow tie, and meticulously shined shoes. "I'm mayoral candidate Peter J. Kanman. Make sure to vote for me in next month's election, to ensure everyone continues to receive contributions towards their healthy pharmaceutical utilization!"

A few groans could be heard from behind.

Next was the old man, now intoxicated and high, who tried asking the earlier question. "Greetings comrades, Dave has returned. I think your colon is looking especially nice today. It'd be a shame if something happened to it."

Then came a middle aged women, who was stripped naked and had blonde pigtails as a heartfelt attempt to relive her happy childhood memories. One of her fondest was when she waterboarded both of her impaled parents after amputating their legs, so they'd get her a piece of candy from the out-of-reach cupboard. Sadly she didn't think that one through very well and never got the candy afterward. "Hey there, my name is Kelly. Your going to just adore all of the horrible news I have this time!"

Multiple people gasped, realizing that someone had made such a common grammatical mistake, ignoring any leap in logic that phonetically it sounded pretty much the same either way since none of it was actually written.

Dr. Jeff looked over to his assistant, "Mr. Bernsy? You know what to do."

The man from the corner walked over and grabbed Kelly by the throat, drug her out into the street and shot her. After he returned, they continued.

"Hello everyone, my name is Jonathan. Since my wife Kelly is dead now, everyone is welcome to come over and wish her a happy deathday, then we'll hold hands and incinerate the body. There'll be cake and a beheading. Bring your friends if you want. Especially the ones you don't like."

Last was a small man in a ski mask. He was seemingly the only one wearing gloves that still had the fingers in tact. "If I tell you my name, I'll have to take you home for dinner. It's family tradition. I still can't cook, so fuck you."

With another round of successful introductions out of the way, they continued with the meeting.

"Fantastic. I'm glad you could all make it this week, without drowning in your own miserable self-absorbed pompously meager bubbles where every damn snowflake is a factitious miracle of your futilely emboldened depravity."

Dr. Jeff paused to smile at everybody, while giving a big thumbs up sign.

"Onto announcements. Let us take a moment of silence to remember poor Archaball, who was an inspiration for us all. May he rest in piece, and we can only hope they find all of the other pieces of his body too."

Silence briefly filled the room, other than the dispensary, someone whispering profanities at the wall, and the sounds of dying songbirds coming from outside the window.

"The confederate flags can be picked up next week after we get them all back from the dry cleaners. There was a short delay after the owner refused to do business with us and mysteriously disappeared a few days ago. Thankfully the new owner seems delighted to dry clean absolutely anything we request, with enough positive encouragement."

"Last month's picnic, hosted by everybody's favorite blue imperial wizard, was a rousing success. There were only five deaths and two suicides, which is a record low for one of our annual joint get-togethers. If you need any bleach for your white sheets or to simply have as a mixer for the evening refreshments, just let Mr. Bernsy know after the meeting."

"Whoever has the black 2003 Lancer Evo with the lowered suspension, tinted windows, and tasteless gaudy rims. You left your lights on. So we went ahead and bashed them out with a baseball bat, because we were concerned your car battery was going to die like the rest of your family. We'd also like to thank you for your generous gift of the 12 inch dual voice coil subwoofer."

"Regrettably the Hitler photo signing and the swastika speed painting tournament will be delayed once again. I know, don't give me that look. The event was moved to a different location. Please try not to deface the town hall while there's still witnesses next time."

"Complimentary hoods and knives are now available next to the body bag dispenser on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Mandatory charitable donations will now be collected every other Saturday."

"Now, let's recite the Prayer of Sanctification."

Everyone stood up and bowed their heads.

"I will stop being an edgy person."

"I promise to do a good deed."

"And to always tell the truth."

"If I feel like it."

"So probably not."

"You're still going to burn."

"Because I hate all of you."

"Amen."

He pulled a few papers out of the podium and randomly shuffled them around, without actually reading them.

"As you know, our goal here at Edgelords Anonymous is to help our members recuperate from the bane of humanity: every damn person but yourself. The healing process towards becoming productive members of society is a long and difficult pathway, especially if you're missing some of your limbs and being pressured by a subtle yet boldly manipulating fascist cult that's trying to manage every facet of your life under the guise of therapeutic benefit because you're all a bunch of uneducated naive crock guzzling excrement snorting diminutive shits that don't know better while nodding in agreement due to not actually listening to a word I say past the first four words. You're all wonderful people."

Dr. Jeff cleared his throat, before continuing.

"Onto this week's lesson: how to stop randomly killing strangers on the street because you think they vaguely looked your way with an unintentionally implied evil glance. A look that'd probably seem like a friendly smile to anybody with a brain that was not in a vegetative state. We know which category you all fall under."

"As you know, vegetables are incredibly important for your health and mind. Vegan. Vitamins. Omega-3. Gluten-free. Certified. Probiotics. No sugar added. Free-Range. Organic. Multigrain. All of that sounds good for you, so everything else I say must be good for you too. As a result of a healthy and balanced diet, sometimes we'll get the justifiably false impression that everybody is out to get us. Which they are, of course, but we can't easily prove that yet."

"Instinctively genocide seems like a fast and easy way to slaughter the heretics after eating a balanced meal, but this tends to draw too much attention. It would also make it more difficult to write off the ammunition and the recently completed pit of death on our upcoming tax return since we're a non-profit group."

"Getting back to the main topic, there's a number of ways to stop randomly killing strangers on the street. The first and easiest method is to wear a ski mask and/or sun glasses, to make it more difficult to blindly assume where others are staring at, as one of our regulars does already. Though I believe he actually is blind, so that probably doesn't count."

The small man in the ski mask casually flipped off Dr. Jeff, before crossing his arms again, allowing him to continue.

"Since doing that doesn't always prevent the accidental immediate death of an innocent bystander, the second method is simply leaving your machete latched in its sheath. Yes, I realize we've made the highly stylish latchless weapon sheath part of our standardized casual apparel for over eight years now, especially since it's useful for suspiciously lurking in dark alleyways while finding people to drug and spread the miracle of life to." 

"However for the sake of self-growth, it's time for us to change our old ways by adding a latch. This should delay one's action just long enough to see if it's worth reconsidering the warranted mutilation of those who weren't actually paying any attention to us in the first place."

"The third factor we need to consider is the randomness of it all. Killing someone by chance of a scornful look can feel a little tasteless at times. We're all working hard to be upstanding role models for your fellow simple-minded peasants and to move on from our edgy ways, so it's important to put more thought into it. As such, we will now be offering a pair of dice to each member; one black and one red.

"Everyone is welcome to decide which dice to use, a non-random choice entirely of their own accord, and then leave it up to a roll of that thoughtfully chosen dice to pick whether they'll senselessly disembowel them, remove a few expendable appendages, or chastise their children. And if they don't have any children to chastise, it's quick and easy to make more to save for moments like this. You can of course remove other things or even taste their lower extremities too; those are just a few simple suggestions."

"In closing, we'll end with an inspirational poem. Mr. Bernsy?"

Everyone in the room quickly hushed as the name was spoken. The man in the corner, not moving from his spot and shaded by the darkness the low lighting provided, started speaking softly.

Through the world we spread malcontent.
Fist raised toward the burning night sky.
To the ashes all must be sent.

Why do I need to pay my rent?
I'm sure my blade can clarify.
Through the world we spread malcontent.

I don't really like your accent.
Your vocal cord is gone, don't cry.
To the ashes all must be sent.

Why hold such a stupid event?
At least your screams help gratify.
Through the world we spread malcontent.

You picked out an ugly tent.
Try again, but without that eye.
To the ashes all must be sent.

Those pure souls scattered we resent.
While wearing a lilac necktie.
Through the world we spread malcontent.
To the ashes all must be sent.

"Beautiful as always, Mr. Bernsy. You have such a way with words, like being lanced in the heart with a symphony of immortal affliction coming from the cries of toddlers suffocating on rainbow lollipops forged from the tears of crippled orphaned kittens who were forced to eat the bodies of their recently deceased owners who raped them while listening to soviet communist music in the ditch of a waste processing plant." 

"And with that, we conclude this week's session. See you all next week! As always, if you need me, you can find me on my tallest of horses atop the ivory tower downtown."

Iron Pansy once again writing a lot of fucking words and not saying anything of fucking substance. The title however seems to be fitting, because it seems like all of you are trying your hardest to NOT be edgelords.

While this may have even been your poor attempt at some sort of post modern self aware inside joke faggotry, it failed to be fucking amusing and it most certainly failed to be fucking edgy.

It’s just a fucking shit show regardless of what you were actually going for. Another example in a long list of shit on here.

I certainly hope it didn’t take you fifteen days to come up with bowl of festering dick pus because there is nothing here remotely interesting, just fucking banal to a point where it’s boring to insult the fucking thing and your obvious lack of skill.

Skin that was once so pure, now so tainted. The moon light shined through the open window as a gust of cold night air blew the curtains open, the room once again becoming dark when the wind receded. Her eyes were vacant of all life, wide open and unmoving. Fresh, rich blood that once pumped throughout her nimble body has now been almost completely drained, and what little that is left is stagnant and dry. The pale skin reflects the lack of nourishing blood, slowly decaying but not visible to the naked eye. No reasons for death are noticeable on her delicate frame except for two small punctures on the right side of her neck...

...You know what that means?

That’s right, it’s FUCKING VAMPIRES! WOOOOHOOOOOO! YEAH! WOOOOOOOO! FUCK YEAH, VAMPIRES! WOO! Woo! Yeah! Woo... Yeah... Woooo...

A-Anyways, uhhhhh, oh look, here comes a vampire right now!

John Hendrik Smith walked at an uneasy and unbalanced pace on a cold, moonless night towards a rugged clothing store. His birth-given name is Sir Hadrian the Second, but cultural shifts and him having to move to America as an immigrant back in 1899 because of a rather mad and large group of cucked husbands (and I’m talking LARGE here. Like, around 200... maybe 300? Don’t ask him though, he wouldn’t know what the fuck you’re talking about) forced him to adopt the most generic name he could come up with. Another adaptation he made was dressing like the red-neck degenerates that populate and breed like rats in the bum-fuck outskirts of a nearby shantytown. Not by his own devices, the aforementioned shantytown caters entirely to those inbred imbeciles, since they make up more than half of the consumer base.

Naturally, Johnny was pretty pissed when he found about this little fact, so here he was, coming through the unlocked front door and killing the store owner’s bombshell wife who was masturbating with a broken dildo in her bedroom. She tried to defend herself with that same dildo, but that didn’t work so well. She actually did pretty good at blocking his punches and kicks and shit, but the onslaughts proved to be too much for her, and, like a mortally wounded, diseased, beached whale, she fell after a fatal blow to the head. And by fatal, I mean her head literally flew off of her body through a closed window, shattering the fragile glass and the head flies over in an arc right into the closed window of another nearby clothing shop (fun fact: due to the clothing shore John was in stealing all potential customers, this clothing store had to install a few stripper poles and beer bars to still stay in business. They still haven’t converted into a full stripper club because the grandma of the family running it really wants people to buy her shitty sweaters.)  A tense silence follows suit (well, aside from the horrified screams coming from the nearby clothing store), and John understandably had many thoughts running through his tiny, little brain as he froze in shock like a moron.

Well shit, guess I shouldn’t have done that roundhouse kick...

Man, hopefully I don’t have to meet Big Johnny in prison again...

Well, I mean, I guess I can try to escape, so...

 And last but certainly not least:

…Wait, did I leave my oven on?!

That last, crucial thought finally aroused John from his incredibly long pause and he turns around to stealthily sneak out of the house through wide open front door, but is instead greeted by two lanky skinheads, one of them armed with a shotgun. The taller, older one with the 12-gauge looks cautious, with his muscles and face tense. His fast reaction to aiming his weapon dead-set on John serves as a testament to his wariness. The shorter, younger one behind him, on the other hand, is sucking his thumb while staring off into space cross-eyed. The older one’s eyes dart to the decapitated body of his mother, and, not liking that one bit, pierces John with his now blazing eyes, finger slightly pushing against the trigger.

“YOU FUCKING KILLED MY FUCKING MOTHER?!”

“Well, yeah, I did. I mean, I thought that was pretty ob-“

John’s sentence was cut tragically short by a short yet loud bang and a bloody indent with skin and flesh blasting outward in a beautiful display. His dull brain barely comprehended the first blast before a second one quickly followed up; this time aimed a little upwards, aiming for his chest. This one was more concentrated, since the little shithead was inching closer and closer, allowing for an even more beautiful display of blood showering everything nearby. John fell to his knees before tipping over, the shoddy floor rattling as his body made contact. Most humans would die right then and there, but John’s vampire blood allowed him to savor a few more moments in agony. He looked up at the boy, covered in blood and panting heavily, he aimed his shotgun right as John’s head and ended what would be a lifetime spanning centuries…

…Oh yeah, there was that other vampire that I forgot about at the start… Uh… He had a… a fetish for dead people… and that body was in some cabin isolated in the forest… he was uh… he was walking back after getting some groceries… and he… I don’t know, he fucked her corpse or something, I don’t really care anymore…

Oh look a last minute entry. As if I didn’t have something more important to do than insult another lame ass.

Alright, as I said to coins’ mom, let’s get this over with…

What the hell is Bannerlord doing here? Did he click the wrong link on his way to the Coping with Depression and AIDS forums?

I see he’s another one that tried to be edgy and funny and failed at both.

What would have been funnier and edgier though is if Bannerlord instead posted an entry from his diary bitching about how he’s broke all the time because like an idiot he keeps forgetting to ask for money up front from his Johns.

Like how after he’s done blowing a group of random strangers and asks for payment, they just laugh at him, punch him in him bodily fluid drenched face and throw him out of the limo and into the fucking gutter where he belongs.

Then he has to endure the usual walk of shame in his broken high heels and ripped up dress, looking like a sperm bank version of Carrie while everyone laughs at him. Finally gets home and cries into his My Little Pony pillow for hours and repeats the process all over again the next day because he’s a masochistic dumb ass.

End Master isn’t funny. He’s a middle age guy with a severe case of arrested adolescence.

He’s still trying to act like a teenager and thinks because a site full of dumb ass teens, social rejects and degenerates just slightly less sociopathic than himself think he’s the funniest thing ever that he’s a got big dick. It’s pathetic.

All he does is constantly make lame mom jokes, engage in casual homophobia, racism and blatant misogyny like some sort of second rate Andrew Dice Clay circa 1989. It wasn’t funny then and it really isn’t funny now. He probably wasn’t breast fed enough as a child or maybe too much given all his references to incest.

Oh and speaking of which, his writing sucks. Seriously, I have no idea why anyone likes it, though I guess there are a lot of immature idiots in the world. All it consists of is a bunch of straight white male power fantasies that swear a lot and cause a bunch of violence.

I’m sure all the edge lords think it’s a greatest thing in the world, but all intelligent people know what it really is: BORING.

It’s a damn shame that dinosaurs like him are allowed to run rampant on this site and corrupt our youth with his warped ideology while good guys like Kiel get driven away.

Seriously, he really knew how to reach out and touch the young people in all the right ways. Truly an example we should all aspire to.

Well, I can’t argue with the truth. I do have a big dick.

Lol this is gold. From what filthy smegma-encrusted slit did this masterpiece crawl out from?

Nice. You worded that in such a way, that if I tell you who really wrote it, you can say "Ha ha! You're a filthy smega-encrusted slit!"

Yes, I could. 

Final list of the contestants

Steve
Fleshy
Ben the Bunny Fucker
Lance
Bucky (2)
Ogre
Minnie
Ben
Jep
Stryker
Virt
AYT
Breezy
Digit
Skugga
Thara
Sentinel
Mizal
Malk
Failure
Flamenod
Nycto
Wibbons
IronP
Bannerlord

Oh by the way, don’t think I didn’t notice that smiling dipshit Will didn’t mention the Edgelord contest again in his Weekly Faggotry.

Instead he idiotically focused on Ebon and Stryker’s big stinking pile of dueling fail whereas the Edgelord contest was a smashing success. Apparently the contest was just too much honesty for him to handle and he has a bias against the TRUTH.

Will’s so called shitty “Newspaper” is obviously FAKE NEWS. GET SMART CYS.

And that’s a wrap.

Anyway a decision will be made on who failed the least in a few days or so. I have to actually read all these first.

There also might be a couple of other extras and surprises as well. Not sure yet.

Stay tuned!

In the Creative Corner, Will11 has a 300 post blind spot obscuring one of the site's most popular contests ever!

To be fair, just from the Bens alone, we've had a more catastrophic failure than any of the previous contests, and then there's Blackhawke. The reviews and the "winner" would be the only redeeming qualities.

True. Sometimes I forget just how embarrassingly bad people here can be, until a popular thread like this brings them crawling out of the woodwork.

Yeah yeah we're all terrible degenerates who fail at life. If I had a nickel for every time somebody told me I was a failure, Bill Gates would be my bitch. But it was still fun watching everyone get roasted to the point where I'm surprised EndMaster doesn't declare himself the winner since his critiques of everybody who submitted a story was the edgiest thing on this thread.

Correction: It doesn't matter if you made twice as much as Bill Gates, you'd still be everybody's bitch, especially when it comes to your girlfriend. (Or ex, whichever it is at this point. I don't really fucking care.) You're practically End's doormat.

Make sure to wipe your feet well.

Maybe Ben the Bunny Fucker can gain some edginess that'll rub off from End's footwear (I don't know what End wears, so we'll go with "footwear")

He made shoes out of all the dreams he crushed in this contest.

I imagine he wears a pair of sick leather boots. The kind you'd spot on a tough motorcyclist, or see someone wearing at a heavy metal concert.

Coming from the guy who EndMaster gave a full paragraph describing you as a whiny indecisive bitch while simutaneously airing out ur dirty laundry for all to see by going into detail on your whiny, insecure PMs to him looking for some type of validation or to whine about some half-assed bullies.

Was there a point to be made here? I know you're trying to shit on nycto, but there was a certain point halfway through where you started repeating all your words and sounding like you were just saltily blubbering gibberish.

While we’re all waiting for the judges to finish reading all of these, let’s look a little behind the scenes of the insults.

I had quite a few of these pre-written before hand for certain people so it was of course very disappointing when some didn’t show up. However, sometimes this still worked out.

For example Seto was supposed to submit something, but never did. His insult would have gone to waste, if Bannerlord hadn’t tried to trip me up with his last minute entry.

It was a simple matter of just exchanging Seto’s name for Banner’s and eliminating the “Getting cyber fucked on the forums” reference.

Stryker had implied he was going to submit TWO more entries, so I actually took time to write up two more just for him. However as time went on and it looked like he wasn’t actually going to show up, I started cannibalizing parts of his insults mainly for noobs and other no name people.

Some of those bits included the Stephanie Meyer reference, Mizal’s rule 34 fanfic reference and the Eye of Argon reference. I figured Stryker would be MORE insulted by those bad writing implications rather than the rest of the Indian stereotypes I had lined up and never got to use.

Two other insults I had written out and never got to use were for Mayana and Fazz (Who was going to do his in poem form). Both of them were pretty easy to write stuff about for obvious reasons.

Seto was just terrified of being insulted. You would think he could take the punishment, with his experience of being used up and spit out repeatedly. 

I only have disappointment (and shame) for Mayana. 

Lol.

Seto actually said he just really couldn't think of a good idea for the contest. He said he tried and just looked blankly at the paper and nothing happened.

Oh well maybe next time.

Just gonna elaborate on that, and add a bit of last minute edge and cringe-worthy, superfluous life stuff to this thread…

I've just been really tired lately, and besides going to school and work - I haven't really felt like doing much else. I actually called in sick today for both things as well, though I'm not actually that sick. It's just such a chore to actually do things, even something as simple as waking up. 
I actually did have ideas - that wasn't the problem, but when attempting to take those ideas and make a story with them...well, nothing I wrote came out right and nothing I tried worked. So I ended up with the word,”The”. Quality story right there, amirite…
Haha...

And there's the whole “taking myself off of antidepressants” thing. Which, as anyone who's done this before knows, is kinda difficult and is usually accompanied by not-so-fun-feelings and possibly withdrawal symptoms. Not saying I'm going through full-withdrawal, but it's definitely not fun, and it's not helping with the whole “I just don't feel like writing”. Quite the opposite, actually.

Whoo! Edge!
So yeah. 

Tl;dr: I lacked the emotional capacity and motivation to write something edgy.

You should have just submitted a blank post and then said it represented the empty void that was your life.

Feel the edge!

"The" is pretty edgy as well. It represents my life as well; unfinished and basically never going to be finished.

EDGE

"never going to be finished"

Is Seto immortal?

No.

Just empty and unfulfilled.

So, like a ghost? He's undead?

More like; ehhh...I'm going nowhere with my life, there's nothing inside of me, and most likely I'll be dead before I'm 21 :D

But being undead sounds edgy as well, so we can go with that.

*Reads all these posts*

...

I might now be permanently emo.....

Don't worry, it's just Nihilism. We all discover it at around your age. Now know that nothing is good or special, life is a game with no real repercussions, free will is an illusion of animal chemicals in our inherently broken ape brains creating lies of magic and love to distract us from the fact that we are utterly nothing attempting to be something and failing in an endless loop of tears and bloodshed.

Life is a game...?

Is there a respawn button?

No. We're all malfunctioning NPCs who are utterly deleted and forgotten when the universe decides it's bored with us and lets our insufferable biology take us apart.

NOTICE: All further depictions of Seto shall portray him as an undead creature.

I like how Seto put a big smiley face when he said he'd be dead before 21. Lol.

No, it's a figurative feeling. When you reach the end of your life and realize that you never did anything you wanted to do, nothing you did do was of any consequence, and in all likelihood a thoughtless black void is your only reward for all the meaningless suffering.

^

Think of ripples in a pond.

If only you had thought to write your contest entry from the POV of someone making increasingly depressing forum posts.

Aghhh. Why didn't I think of that? I'm so good at writing depressing Forum posts too :(

I have a complaint. I don't think I received any insults.

You did, you got group insulted with Ogre and Bucky the first time around. Those one or two sentence stories weren't really worth messing about with anyway.

Plus I didn't really plan on doing all this until a little later on which I mentioned during my insult towards Ben (The non-Bunny Fucker)

Also you were getting insulted on regular basis just by me calling everyone a "loser" (or something similar) in this thread.

I am really liking this thread.

Especially when I did not have my own being insulted!

Ah, so that's why you were able to respond so quickly and the insult mostly lacked relevancy to my story or myself. Fairly disappointing, but I guess it's my fault for not posting sooner.

I barely read ANY of the stories actually when they were first submitted.

What, you actually think I did anything more than a brief glance at the submissions before giggling with childlike sadistic glee with every new opportunity to insult some hapless sod that actually submitted something?

If you did, then you haven’t been paying attention!

I believe I was referring more to skimming than actually reading in my original post, but didn't clarify or specify that in any way. I'd also like to say that I sound incredibly pretentious in my original post upon re-reading, and for that I apologize.

You sound pretentious all the time, I really didn't take any notice.

Well, in that case, I'd like to apologize for sounding pretentious all the time. I guess I'm just too much of an expert at it for my own good.

It was pretty obvious.

But I guess if you weren't bothering to read any of the stories either, you may not have noticed.

Let it be known that no matter what the judges decide, the real winner of this contest was End himself. This contest became his World of Cardboard moment where he realized he could take off the (faint) shackles of restraint and morality still holding him back, and rip into anyone and everyone masochistic enough to face him. 

Now if only he hadn't gone all Britney Spears on us and fallen down to lip-syncing pre-written barbs it would have been more entertaining.

That second half of the post made me die.

"If only he hadn't gone all Britney Spears on us..."

Lol, not falling for that bait.

Not exactly sure how the two things are even comparable anyway. It just made a lot more sense to pre-make most of them to me given that I could have been flooded with a bunch of stories all of a sudden and I might not have the time to respond right then and there. I like to plan in advance.

I was entertained anyway.

Let's be honest, how many of the entries were worth even that much attention, personal or otherwise?

Really most of the ones I wrote in advance were the more "visible" members. When the noobs and lesser known people started showing up, that's when I was doing most of it on the fly.

Like yours for example, I put a lot of work into, so I was trying to prod you into actually posting a story just so I could use it.
 

Bait? I never intended to bait you, was just pointing out the obvious :)

I had fun from this contest, the two weeks of roasting were fun.

And now Britney Barbs from the cutting room floor!

Ivy or Iavatus (He was rumored to show up. I didn’t think he would, but hey just in case)

Ivy? What rock did you crawl out from under? Didn’t realize you were even still relevant anymore.

Oh wait, that’s right, you aren’t.

About the only thing you were ever good for around here was being a distraction during the Bad Mod Kiel fiasco of 2016 where you were proving useful in generally being another target and idiot canon fodder.

However, you couldn’t even get that right because you got so pants on head retarded about it that you went full suicide bomber and got yourself fucking banned, taking you out of a good portion of the battle before it really got going. Fucking idiot.

Yeah, everything worked out in the end and yeah you played your part, but so did Ernst Rohm in the early days of the Nazi party.

And when they were done with that young boy molesting pervert, he was taken to a cell and shot.

Guess who you are in this scenario? You get three guesses and the first two don’t count.

The Rest of Stryker’s stuff (Like I said, I used some of his stuff already, so I probably would have added replacement stuff as needed. I’m just going to combine what remains of the two I wrote together)

Stryker again. I see he’s finally cast off his shackles of English faggot oppression just like Ghandi did. Though I certainly hope he’s molesting less children than Ghandi did.

Okay, so apparently Stryker isn’t the brown savage I originally made him out to be. His writing is obviously too fucking timid for that. Mola Ram he isn’t. He’s more like that Indian nerd on Big Bang Theory except he doesn’t even have the smarts to go along with it and is even less successful with his sex life.

You’d have a better chance at surviving a divine encounter with Kali raping you with a giant spiked strap on in every position recorded in the Kama Sutra than you would writing ANYTHING that would potentially impress anyone here. In fact Kali raping you would be a hell of a lot more entertaining at this point.

Getting really tired of seeing you here. This isn’t a fucking 7/11 and nobody here is saying to you “Thank you, come again!”

The last two attempts were shit, were you really that delusional to believe this would be any different?

I’m not even going over how lame this is this time. You already had more than your fair share of attempts and you continue to fail harder than India’s attempts at keeping their country clean.

Strike three motherfucker.

You betrayed Shiva and I hope the next fucking dot on your head is from that Pakistani goat fucker Fazz’s sniper sight, you Bollywood dancing dipshit.

Fazz (This would have been perfect to go along with Stryker)

Another third worlder.

Yes I know Fazz actually lives here, but you can take the savage out of the shithole country and put him in a more civilized one, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to know how to fucking act. Because hey, if raping white women is wrong then she shouldn’t have been dressing like a whore right?

And look he submitted his entry in poetry form like a complete faggot. Fucking hell, the ISIS terrorist cells are really doing a shit job nowadays. Makes sense though since Fazz for some inexplicable reason identifies more as a SOUL BROTHER as opposed to a camel jockey.

What sort of fucking retard logic is that? Just because you’re getting called a sand nigger, doesn’t mean you’re supposed to embrace the second part. You’re supposed to go UP in privileged status not fucking down. What a fucking stupid ass cumstain.

This goatfucker is a disgrace to his fucking fanatical towelhead brethren. They’re out there blowing themselves up for Allah, meanwhile this fucktard is wasting his time writing for some dumb ass contest to gain the approval of some white guy on a power trip.

Nice Uncle Tomming there Fazz, I’ll have the watermelon and chicken ready if you actually manage to win.

And I hope Stryker’s people fucking nuke the shit out of your people.

Finally Mayana (While I’m still posting it, still disappointed she didn’t submit anything)

I see Melania finally decided to join us. Oh wait, that’s the first lady originally from the same shithole county.

Mayana is just some silly blind bitch stupidly still living there.

Y’know I guess I’m just placing too much hope in these foreigners that their countries are just so shit that they should be writing with all the edge in their little barbaric hearts. Lord knows none of these fat ass American writers on here know anything about true edgy struggle unless it’s to decide which brand of sugary junk food is going to give them diabetes the quickest so they can get their legs chopped the fuck off.

So I thought maybe Mayana would have a tale of how her dysfunctional third world commie family were living in a one room apartment with no heat and all they could afford is one bowl that they all had to eat out of. And because this apartment also had no working toilet, they also all had to shit in that same bowl.

Then her molesty drunk uncle Sergi sold her into white slavery because he had gambling debts to the Russian Mafiya when she was 12 and how she had to survive years of unimaginable torture and torment not unlike that found in “A Serbian Film” before finally escaping.

But no, I get this sanitized Disney bullshit. It’s like ever since the fucking Soviet Union fell every country that was one of those former satellite socialist shitholes lost their fucking balls.

Anyway, insulting a blind girl’s writing is like fucking a retarded woman after you lured her into bed with the promise of candies and the chance to pet a small fluffy animal. Yeah it gets the job done, but at the end of the day, it’s piss easy and boring.

To sum up: Story sucks and blind people aren’t human.

It makes me sad you took the time to create these beautiful hand crafted insults for ungrateful children who didn't even show up to receive them.

"Blind people aren't human" That's a little excessive don't you think? Also, when do we learn who won? Not that I think I won or anything, but I still want to see who did.

It's edginess, Blackhawke. By nature, social boundaries and notions of decency are supposed to be pushed, broken, and challenged, there is no such thing as excessive.

Except there is such thing as excess. Just because it would make a normal person gag or make them shocked doesn't mean it is edgy. Edgy means its at the front of a trend or is tense and irritable. That doesn't mean you slap around insults at random people like there is no tomorrow. End was doing "edgy" right because he was being irritated by all our entries, basically none of which were truly "edgy." You, on the other hand, are not being irritable, tense, or at the forefront of a trend, and are not edgy. So, please do me a favor, and actually give me real opinions instead of your half-baked notions of importance.

At this rate Blackhawke is exceeding Endeavour and approaching Azure in terms of fucktardery.

For fuck’s sake, lurk on the fucking forums more and you’d know Mayana has that in her goddamn profile.

And I already told you to stop fucking shitposting in this thread. Do it again and you're banned.

When was I shitposting just now? Also, what exactly do you mean by lurk? I get the gist, but still.

Wouldn't it be fun to just ban this idiot already, Father?

You have made three shitposts in a row, hope that helps.

If you can't identify what you're doing wrong, lurk more. (Lurking means shut up for your own good. I think Abraham Lincoln explained it in more detail if that helps.)

It also means being experimental or avant-garde, which dark humor and lack of decency is especially conducive to, so my point stands. If you're experimenting and pissing around with ideas that challenge the norm, disregarding decency and causing offense is a valid and time-honored strategy. So when you're done cleaning all that salt out, you can put that in your dictionary-fucking pipe and smoke it.

Sheesh, someone's edgy today.

I don't even know what he's doing in this thread. I don't think he does either. Every other post, 'why are you all so mean I don't understand???'

Already warned him enough times to not post in the thread again since the last time he did, he was fucking AIDS.

He had more than enough chances and if he's too brain dead to figure it out, well he suffers the consequences.

To be technical, because that's how Blackhawke likes it, apparently, it's not every other post. More like a string of posts in that theme lately, with one other third being an attempt in itself to be edgy in any meaningful or entertaining way, and the remainder being an attempt to get End-Senpai to notice him some more.

Omg. I don't say this much - but you are retarded.

Well I guess it wouldn't be a real Edgelord Contest without someone getting banned.

Already made an alt a couple alts. I guess now we see whether he managed to figure out what 'lurk' means or if he immediately kamikazes it them.

He's made several alts already.

He was annoying me anyway. He kept sending me PM's wondering why I said he's retarded.

Well it was bound to happen that at least one bad spamming troll was attracted to the contest.

Best that we weeded him out now.

LOL at all the time everyone spent on transparent commendation fishing in his WW thread coming to naught...

Yeah he just PMed me too, lol. I told him that I realized shitposters weren't human, but even animals should be capable of learning.

He's ruining all his chances of slinking back in with this alt spamming business, too. You'd think he'd have realized that, but I guess that's what happens when you refuse to lurk.

The thing is, he was already spamming alts before this. He posed as Failure (Fallure) and then tried to act like it wasn't him. Warned him then.

Then I had to delete a ton of shit of his yesterday in this thread. Warned him again and docked points.

Then today he just proved he wasn't a learning animal.

Blackhawke, if you're reading this, are you autistic?

I'm working on a theory...

I knew you already confirmed this, but to inform the general public, Blackhawke just sent me a PM confirming he's Bluesabere.

aka the 'End is a sick pervert, the entire world is impure' trolling crusader.

Didn't he also say blind people are not human? O.o

"I am not doubting that so much as I am doubting that blind people are human"

Remember?

 

XD well then.

This is beautiful.

Well, since the other judge has not finished, I'll give this until tomorrow and if that person still hasn't finished, we'll just get on with it.

Wait, there are judges? Plural? Not just you? What the hell!? Everyone who usually judges contests was participating!

Oh by the way folks Blackhawke is Bluesabre. Lol.

Oh damn I just missed this when I went to post, lol.

Ah, memories...

Anyway, by all appearances Blackhawke/Bluesabere is not just a hapless aspie retard, but more of a deliberate troll. A lot of people wasted time giving well meaning advice in the Blackhawke WW thread so well played I guess?

But it's ok, let's not forget the true purpose of giving detailed advice, whether the people asking are real or fake: raking in those tasty points.

Blackhawk/LemonJuice/EndLetMeTalkItOut/StopBanning/EndHatesMe/PmedMizalProofAskHer/whatever the fuck else, the fact that your alts are dribbling diarrhea all over the forums and in my PM box makes you a troll by default.

Also, holy shit, YES we know your post was edited you obnoxious mouthbreathing flappy-handed fuckwit, that was a pretty obvious joke made at the expense of a fucking obvious troll. Even someone like Azure could probably manage to figure that one out after the fifth or sixth attempt. The rest of that thread and everything you've done since and everything you're doing right now is why I'm hoping cancer cells spontaneously explode into being right next to the amazingly lifelike rubber donkey dick wedged in your well-plumbed colon right now.

You pretty much have to be trolling here because no one capable of tying their shoes in the morning or wiping their own ass could legitimately be this dense.

I am sincerely sorry.

And yet you're still posting.

You actually created an alt for the sole purpose of answering a post?

Dude.......

He's made about 20 of them. They keep getting deleted.

Whooo! Well this thread never fails to not disappoint as far as drama goes! (Even if the submissions do)

Still, looks like it's a good thing we're wrapping up this contest as it looks like this monster thread I created has become the embodiment of all the toxicity on CYS.

Need to cap it off soon, and bury it in a landfill for half a million years!

The banal entries before me are

Irredeemable

The results of this contest are truly dire

In all my years of being here

I have never seen before

Fucktards so devoid of talent

You all should be raped raw

The way you’ve made CYS suffer

With your “writing” and your clutter

Fills me with the urge to DECIMATE

Since, my friends

You have FAILED this contest

I judge NONE of you are worthy or the best

PURIFY THE SITE
 
Seriously I’m the only true Edgelord here.

I would have just declared myself the winner and been done with it, however I was convinced that with all the effort that was put into this, some of you losers should get something anyway.

Not to mention declaring myself the winner might be more than a little predictable at this point and I have no need to stroke my own ego anyway.

But before we actually get to the final decision, let’s address some of the extras I mentioned before.

Ben the Bunny Fucker asked me awhile back that if because he submitted something for this contest, if it would get him out of the SHAME pit he’s been wallowing in since December.

Now this was an interesting question, because it  was something that was a bit of a hidden bonus if any SHAMED members joined.

So that being said, Digit and Flamenod are no longer in the SHAME pit.

This brings us to Ben the Bunny Fucker.

When his skirt logged on just to start bitching at me and then he subsequently broke up with her over all this silly shit, you would think this real life SHAMEFUL display would keep Ben in the SHAME pit and it might very well have under normal circumstances.

However, things are never normal at CYS and given that he actually put the site over his baby mama, I can’t just overlook that kind of dedication. Not to mention he was also more worried I was going to ban him over the dumb shit his girlfriend did.

Ben might be a terrible edgelord wannabe, but he’s an entertaining loyal fool.

Congrats Ben, your real life may be filled with SHAME, but you’re clear of it here! (For now)

Oh and some of you have also unlocked meaningless achievements. I’ll be passing those out after I post this.

Okay onto the person who failed the least.

Since I thought all you guys sucked a lot, I didn’t choose one, so I let Thara do it instead.

Don’t worry though, she accepted the fact that her entry would not count because of this, so there was no corruption going on. Not to mention her entry wasn’t going win anyway, so she settled on getting the big fat elitist thrill of choosing.

So the FINAL DECISION is…

Breezy

Lol.

I’ll let Thara elaborate on why that was her final choice if she so desires. She might even list a second and third place person if she wants to be bothered to do so.

Anyway, Breezy unlocks a new achievement and gets a hundred points for being the least terrible, and can point to this contest as her first steps of bringing Splatterpunk back because at CYS, we make dreams come true.

The rest of you get shit which is exactly what you submitted in the first place so hey, you get what you put in.

Okay, so that’s basically it for another successful fun filled thread.

Thanks to everyone who participated and a big fuck you to those that said they would submit something and then flaked out!

Also special thanks to @TharaApples and @Briar_Rose for providing assistance in judging.

FIN.

After much heavy professional and heated deliberations, it's been decided that you all fail in life. While Breezy herself will be awarded for her victory over the rest of you losers, I have prepared something for the rest of you.

...

Since you all failed so hilariously, there won't be any second or third place in this matter. No honorable mentions to speak of, because you're all in the same boat in this situation.

Unless!

You're like Sent, who didn't even place. Seriously, less incoherent rambling tldrs and more actually making freaking sense when you type, please. We'll all appreciate it.

Anyway, congratulations to Breezy. The rest of you can umm... 

Contemplate on whether or not to drink the bleach in your household. I wouldn't personally recommend it, but I can't think of any more appropriate parting words for you obese, furries, virgins, gays, weebs, nerds, failures, degenerates, etc.

Bye.

Pff, I make perfect sense, you're all just retarded 4th grade English teachers flailing under the false notion that Language has rules!

I was wondering where the heck that achievement came from, those are a moderately neat idea.

And yeah, I was assuming no one would win just because it was you running this, lol. And also because the entries and the thread itself were dire enough I'm honestly surprised you didn't just dock points from everyone who so much as posted in here instead.

Hadn't realized Thara was judging, but since she was, having her pick something she would call 'a good story' makes the most sense. You or Briar definitely couldn't have done that.

I should give Breezy's a re-read. I don't remember anything really standing out about it, but then I wound up skimming most of them after a certain point. (All I recall atm was that that one had more anal rape, which I remember thinking was a very Breezy thing to do)

358 instances of 'fuck' in the thread. Whoa gj. Very edgy.

Funny enough, Briar and Thara both liked Lance’s entry a lot, he was pretty close to winning.

Breezy, Malk and jep were the other potential candidates. IronP was sort of up there as well.

Having a contest judged by Thara give Lance the win would have been a perfectly logical way to cap off a thread that exists solely for your trolling pleasure, tbh.

I kept waiting for some giant fuck you moment, such as nuking the entire thread and docking points so it could never happen again, lol.

Could you have imagined Lance winning? That would've been more fun, but ah, oh well. :D

I do think it's what Briar would've wanted.

I don't know what to think of this...

You should be proud that your entry did so well. I recommend that you hone your edge in secret, lest it dulls. 

Thanks I guess. Though I doubt edge will take me far in life... unless prison is farther from my house than I thought.

With the amount of edge you have, you can become anything your heart desires. I think.

Nope! Briar still thinks Ben's girlfriend should've won. ^_^

Me, too.

If only she had her own account, then victory would have surely been in her grasp.

So shes on this site for 5 minutes and becomes more successful then I ever was in 2 1/2 years? God, I'm a failure...

This contest was a creative idea, thanks for hosting it and taking the time to do the edgy mini-reviews for everybody. As anyone who's talked with me knows, I'm probably one of the least edgy people on the site. I do have a sense of humor at least. So of course I had to dive in and give it a try, because it looked like too much fun to sit out for.

I did actually read through all of the stories. Congrats to Breezy for failing the least on this one. Mizal's was probably my favorite of the bunch since I'm a sucker for sci-fi, aside from EndMaster's posts.

I am no longer shamed! Finally my patriotism to this site as an escape from my shitty life pays off! Thank you EndMaster!

Like I said, CYS makes dreams come true!

What do I get @Daddy?

Participation Prize: All entrants receive an honored place on an FBI watch list.

I think I deserve another achievement for having to read through all most of these entries more than twice.

Achievement Unlocked: Daddy's Little Masochist

Ah, can you pass me the salt please? 

'Salt' kind of starts losing its meaning altogether when even people agreeing with you get accused of it.

Who's being accused of anything? I'm making a request for some e-salt here.

If anything, the salt would be for me. I'm one of those types that like it on certain fruits and eating fruit is how I recharge my depleted energy. This judging thing was exhausting, after all.

Once again, my dreams have been snatched out of my hands just as my fingers were about to close around them. 

God is not just dead. God has been nuked into oblivion and blown into smithereens, with each individual piece of flesh being raped by the angels as they sing their heavenly hymns. 

Hey it's okay man. On the bright side, you only need 65 more points to crawl out of the hole.

I forgot that he was even below zero.

I summoned the darkness and begged for oblivion. 

Yeah I remember now, I just forgot it was you that did that.

Everything starts to blur together sometimes what with all the taking away points, deleting posts and bannings.

Shit, I need to finish writing my story, too. 

I feel like I deserve an achievement for being the last person to submit an entry... Y'know, to commemorate such a spectacular finish to such a great and wholesome contest!

Now that this is over with I'd love to hear what everyone thinks 'edgy' even means. I figured the contest was left open ended to invite different interpretations, but for the most part everyone stuck pretty closely to 'piss shit vomit blood rape lol am i cool yet?'

I think they all were writing what they thought I wanted to see.

Which in the scheme of things wasn't a bad way to go (Shows they've been paying attention), but somewhat self defeating since what happened is most did the same thing and just didn't stand out.

I actually was expecting Stryker to come up with something different in his second entry since he PMed me to get an idea of what could classify as edgy and I explained some examples without going the whole torture porn route.

I just went to Urban Dictionary to make sure the definition hadn't changed too dramatically in the last couple of years.



edgelord
Someone, especially posting on the internet, who uses shocking and nihilistic speech and opinions that they themselves may or may not actually believe to gain attention and come across as a more dangerous and unique person. Most Edgelords are teenagers trying to seem overly cool and/or over-casually apathetic.

edgy
Adjective. Taking coolness to its extreme and generally beyond the realm of actual possibility, while at the same time seemingly unaware of how ridiculous it is.

edgy
the act of being edgy is basically teenage kids that think theyre cool. hardcore kids seem to think theyre the fucking edgyest things everr.

"why are you wearing that bandanna out of your pocket," says 9th grade homeroom teacher.

"because i'm effin edgy biotch," says asshole. #fagcore #fake #asshole #douche #gay



Seems about like what we got here.

I was under the impression that wearing a bandana out of your pocket is like signaling to everyone that you're ready for gay sex.

Can't imagine that's very edgy if you're a willing participant, unless the other person has AIDS or something.

Possibly that example was like 1980s era edginess.

Actually I can't picture someone with a bandana in their pocket who isn't also in overalls and in their 70s.

Speaking about that, had a fairly detailed plot outline ready, but between Ebon's unexpected duel and travelling IRL I never got to finish it.

For the sake of what I thought was meaningful edginess

Danse Macabre

Protagonist: Military Embalmer who's given up on life and now makes art out of humans for the rich, protected by the mafia.

Themes
    Old Age
    Edginess
    Inequality
    Revulsion
    Offensive but not sexual
    Detail (but not lurid)

Pick and choose
    Immigrants
    No rights, about to be deported
    'Selected' by Doctor are drugged in sleep and kidnapped
    Vaguely refer to a greater project he's been working on (Kings and paupers all equal) (the Danse Macabre): Collecting a
        Pope
        Emperor
        King
        Child
        Laborer
    (It's actually a lot more work for an embalmer to embalm an autopsied or "posted" case, because he or she cannot use the circulatory system as normal. The embalmer would have to inject each arm, each leg, and the head separately and then treat and pack the empty torso and abdomen.)
    Herding refugees with dogs and cattle prods (this is a Dark City-esque universe)
Doctor's Workspace
    Bodies arranged on way to entry like a madhouse
    Atleast one living sculpture
    Colored corpses through embalming chemicals
    Chimeras with hands and legs interchanged
    Glass eyes for those who wanted eyes open
    Bodies in for 'repair' (preserved bodies need refreshes every 5 years IRL)
    Injects bodies with preservatives and color additives that gave a glow to the corpse's cheeks
    Things lying around: Knives, formaldehyde containers, suction devices
    Painting of the danse macabre hidden behind a curtain
    No modesty cloth over the genitalia
    Emphasize searching out targets by smell and touch
    If possible, the funeral director uses a light, translucent cosmetic; sometimes, heavier, opaque cosmetics are used to hide bruises, cuts, or discolored areas. Makeup is applied to the lips to mimic their natural color. Sometimes a very pale or light pink lipstick is applied on males, while brighter colored lipstick is applied to females. Hair gels or baby oil is applied to style short hair; while hairspray is applied to style longer hair. Powders (especially baby powder) are applied to the body to eliminate odors, and it is also applied to the face to achieve a matte and fresh effect to prevent oiliness of the corpse. Mortuary cosmetizing is not done for the same reason as make-up for living people; rather, it is designed to add depth and dimension to a person's features that lack of blood circulation has removed. Warm areas – where blood vessels in living people are superficial, such as the cheeks, chin, and knuckles – have subtle reds added to recreate this effect, while browns are added to the palpabrae (eyelids) to add depth, especially important as viewing in a coffin creates an unusual perspective rarely seen in everyday life. During the viewing, pink-colored lighting is sometimes used near the body to lend a warmer tone to the deceased's complexion.
Macabre
    Disturbing, concerned with or causing a fear of death
    Mention how bad life is
His Apprentice
    His last apprentice
        Lost balls after seen being too friendly with the dead
        Without anaesthesia
    Doctor threatens to have his tongue removed if talks too much
    One of the apprentices (needs to do 50 i.e. 3k hours. min 5 hours per body)
    Apprentice tries to molest, artist cuts his pinky immediately (can no longer hold things straight with that hand)
    Have apprentice became fairly skilled, and all signs of him becoming a capable artist of his own (get him praised by the Doctor)
Doctor's Background
    Ex Army Morgue
    Short
    Forgettable face
    Craves something authentic
    Well earning for mafia, so kept safe
    Tone: measured, considered, no haste (sort of like the fixer upper guy in Toy Story 2)
    The boss in discussions. Mafia keep him as an artisan AND to hide bodies in plain sight
    Only difference in the rich and the poor? Money. Money tempers the poor
    Not good looking, implied necrophiliac (who now had his choice of women brought to him)
    Building a dollhouse of bodies from around the world
    Discuss about which human types are 'in season'
    Stops going on immigrant pickings as Danse nears completion
    Would have processed hundreds
    Considers doing a favor to those killed (worth more in death than in life)
His craft
    Early works being very monotonous, then he worked on building expressions and postures
    He used to know what part moves what, but not what arrangement to put them in
    Body furniture (supported by frames hidden under clothes
    Art project - Burnt bodies
    Embalming rivals as a special work on commission
    Flower emerging from head of one of the business rivals
    Embalmed Furniture of Rivals
    Started out posing the bodies to relieve the stress and have someone to talk to. When he was seen, instead of being punished he was encouraged to go full art.
    Sees himself as creating beauty
Death as victory
    Transformation into his work (the completed Danse Macabre, with the earlier mentioned dead people dancing with posed skeletons)
    His way at laughing at everyone from the grave
        Have to destroy his body somehow so no one could reconstruct him - fire?
    Old, malevolent, knows his days are ending. Cuts off own arm and inserts it into the center of the Danse Macabre- making it his magnum, then slits own throat in front of the audience who came to see his 'greatest work'.

If only I'd had the time to finish it

Mine was the edgiest because it had shit eating, and communism. 

Communism is the definition of Edge.

Well... to be fair, my character did all those things for an edgy reason. Either way, I think this is the first time I did something after downing eight shots that brought me less shame than it did making it, depending on how you look at things.

Honestly I had a tough time defining edgy. That's probably why mine had everything ranging from a "screamo community band" to poetry at the end, with a bunch of predictable nonsense along the way. It had some variation, but was too busy.

Roughly, I view edgy as breaking the norms of society, sometimes for the sake of it and without reason other than to appear "edgy" to others. It doesn't actually have to be violent or disturbing, but that's the most straightforward way to approach it.

Did I miss the Achievements Unlocked? Or are they still pending?

I already passed those out directly to various people who participated. I didn't mention them on the forums.

For example Malk got "Uganda's Most Wanted"