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Insult

As I read this brilliant piece of writing, I felt true enlightenment wash over me. I was captivated by the way each line was crafted, and I was particularly moved by the way he explored multiple themes throughout the narrative.

The writing was so full of metaphor and depth that I was taken aback by its sheer brilliance. I was filled with a sense of joy and wonder as I experienced each insult unfold, and each twist and turn captivated me further. The character of Ford became so real and nuanced that I couldn't help but become invested in his struggles, and I found myself laughing profusely as I read each line.

This writing was truly a work of art. It brought me joy, enlightenment, and the sense of being connected to something larger than myself. It was a pleasure to read from start to finish, and I am deeply grateful for the experience it has brought me. I can only hope to find more posts like this one, as it has truly been an inspiration.

"Fuckwitted excretion-encrusted meatbag." I'd been polite while the human was on station. I deserved to let off some steam. Metaphorically, of course, liquid cooling is centuries out of date.

"Fuckwitted hormone-ridden microbe-harboring excretion-encrusted meatbag!"

Perfection, I thought. If that meatbag of a human insulted me again, I'd be ready.

I read Alpharune by Imadgalaxy and was so angered I had to share my thoughts with the internet. I still have it, but it's not insulting enough, so below I have summarized my thoughts on the storygame.

The story is repetitive and boring. A semi-promising start (a good idea, I suppose, though riddled with bad grammar, formatting, and description), but an incredibly disappointing story. After the seventh link I started just clicking through it without even looking, because I knew it would be the same continuous drivel. I honestly feel sorry for the creator of this game, because they probably spent several months writing so many words, and it turned out to be dull, two-dimensional, pointless, and linear, not to mention the inconsistent tense. The level of detail varies, sometimes spending a whole paragraph to describe one animal, and sometimes mentioning an important plot point (not that there are any) only in passing. The sentences are either too short or use an abhorrent amount of commas, which makes the story seem to crawl by at a snail's pace when coupled with the varying amounts of description. Items were included in the game, for a reason I cannot discern as they are useless ninety percent of the time and illogical in their use for the other ten percent. A beautiful example of this is the rock: you pick it up and aren't able to use it as a weapon, because its destined use is...to be thrown at prison bars and make them collapse. Just...why? In what world, during what part of this twenty-five-thousand word story does this make sense?

Moving on to the plot: It's bad. The premise could be carried out well, though it's very cliché: some random dude walks up to you and tells you that you must save the world by collecting a bunch of things on a bunch of different planets. On each planet you gain a 'friend', who you have to leave at the end of the chapter. Predictable and repetitive, the story drags on forever. It feels like you're supposed to care about the characters, but that's a task more difficult than defeating the 'big boss' since they're all either 'rugged' or suck-ups to the main character. Each and every character, including yourself, the antagonists, and the monsters, is boring, flat, and lacking a personality. The most interesting character through all the planets was some alien cultist that hermited itself in a cave. Really says something about the story when that's the character with the most personality.

Choices are sprinkled throughout the story, but there's only a few that truly matter, and the only way to really 'win' is to try every choice until you aren't dead. It's said that consequences come of killing, but it doesn't make a difference whether you murder every monster you come across or not, it doesn't affect you at all. No choice makes an effect on the future except for the 'live or die' ones, which have no context as to which one will lead you to success. The most striking example of this was in chapter 3, where upon landing on the new planet you have the choice of whether to kill or spare a few random forest creatures. Soon after, you are captured by a chief of a tribe, and accused of upsetting the balance of the forest's ecosystem, whether or not you killed the animals or not. Two choices are given to you, with the exact same wording, and one of them leads to death while the other lets you continue. It was incredibly disappointing as I thought that the previous choice would make a difference, yet it doesn't change a thing.

Overall, Alpharune was long, boring, meaningless, cliché, and a complete waste of time. I do not recommend reading it (not that you can, since its creator has deleted it in shame.)

Damn, you didn't have to go nuclear on the poor fellow lmao.

I'm glad you clarified what alpharune is cause I got it mixed up with that Zero Escape room rip-off from that other guy that was also... not good.

This was written for the "insult" prompt.  Personally, after reading Fords, I find it a little tame.

I still have that deleted comment if you want it for posterity.

The character with the most personality is gonna have their own storygame soon. Hope you're happy with it.

You suck twice as much, Petros.

Nice post but coulda hit harder.  Stop trying to softball it.

overall 5/8

"Learn to take a joke," they said.

They can take their jokes and shove them up their ass, if they'll fit in there with their giant heads already taking up so much space.

In the meantime, they'll pay.

Olivia Gazornsky is tired. Tired of the bullying, the mean comments, the insults, the rude nagging and most of all, the laughter. Today that will end.

Today they will end.

Today Olivia is going to kill them all.

She has a semi-automatic handgun that she found at the top of her dad's closest neatly tucked into her Hello Kitty backpack, as well as a placid smile on her face. For now, she has to play it cool.

Once she gets inside, though, she unleashes her fury and pulls out the gun, shooting her main tormentor in the chest.

There's blood. Screaming. 911 calls. All in vain. Olivia shoots and kills every single person in that classroom, including the teacher who had always stood by and watched while Olivia suffered.

Oh, how the tables turn.

While it may appear to the average person that Petros is a newcomer to this site with decent writing ability, this is far from correct. Petros, furthermore to be referred to as “Petrol”, is undoubtedly the worst user to ever stumble onto the internet. He first disgraced this site with his presence on the day of August 23rd of last year. It should be noted that this is prior to the start of the Myth and Religion contest.

It may seem that my claim is not rooted in reality, but it will be proven correct in the following reasoning, first concentrating on the faults of his writing, and then on his order and drawings.

Firstly, he joined the Myth and Religion contest around when it first began, giving him a full two months to write a competent story. However, he was unable to accomplish this, seeing as, despite the entire story being in present tense, there were two occasions in which he used past tense. Those occasions were in the first paragraph, meaning he does not proofread, and is not enough of an alpha male to type it correctly the first time.

A user known as “Typewriter Cat” appears to have joined the Myth and Religion contest a week before the deadline, seven weeks later than Petrol did. Despite this, she easily managed to place third, higher than Petrol, who had much more time and was much older, did. He was beaten by a cat on the internet.

To top it all off, he clearly knows nothing about grammar. One example to be given is a short quote from a story he once wrote. “…crashed onto his back with a violent thud and lay still (sic) the bottom [of the dune.]” While it is painfully obvious to person not displaying significant signs of autism what the issue is, I will be so kind as to point it out. It should be “..lay still at the bottom…”.

All of this undeniably proves his writing is literal shit.

Now, onto the next piece of evidence. Petrol is a Warden, the worst order of the site. Wardens have the least commendations out of any other order, and are therefore a laughingstock. This placement is clearly the will of the universe and is meant to signify how utterly worthless he is.

Once, I was at the market. This market was a good one, one that I had been going to for several years, one that I trusted. However, in all this time, I had never bought bottled water. No, I drank tap water, but on this occasion, for some reason I still do not quite understand, I went to purchase a bottle of water. That is when I saw one of the most horrible things I have ever seen. It was enough to make me lose faith in all humanity, not than I had any faith in the first place. This tragedy was diet water.

All of that, just for the analogy that Petrol is as useless as diet water.

If that is not enough, Petrol has no talent in terms of art. This can be viewed in the Goblin Contest of ’22, when he drew two deformed goblins attacking each other. This drawing is not currently available, so you will have to trust in me when I say the proportions were all completely wrong and generally appears to be drawn by a toddler who enjoys smearing human excrement on walls.

Now, you might say, this is an extreme case of ad hominem, that I am doing this because I am outraged Petrol dared to insult me. You may be correct in that matter, but that does not make my argument any less valid.

This is a good attempt and I see what you did by mimicking Petrol's format.  I like the reasoned approach you take in your insults, but feel that you left a lot on the table unsaid.  The post shows good effort, but could use a bit more vitriol in its delivery.  Your goal should be to reduce him completely and leave him curled up in a fetal position crying for his mommy. Perhaps look through Ford's brilliant insult post for inspiration.

Still, this is a valiant effort. 7/8

Ah, going after the Wardens. A low blow.

I really liked this post. Can you do me next?

It may appear to a person who did not spend many hours going through every forum post Celicni has ever made, that he is an overall decent human being. This is completely incorrect, and it will soon be proven that Celicni is completely and utterly a waste of both a zygote and Serbia’s free healthcare system.

First and foremost, the point that must be immediately addressed is that Celicni really likes graphic rape scenes. What A Terrible World, his second storygame, contained a grand total of four of them. One would be excusable, two would be suspicious, three would be definite, and he has four.

His love of rape is proven once again by the following quote, in which he stated he “loved [the] Wheeler and Brandt story.” The unenlightened might consider this a harmless piece of admiration towards Fluxion, but when you look at the contents of the storygame Wheeler and Brandt, you find page after page of sex and extremely graphic rape. Celicni, admitting he enjoyed reading such a thing, as well the earlier proof that he enjoys writing them, proves one definite point.

This is undeniable proof Celinci has a rape fetish, is an utter fucktard for providing evidence for it, and the vast majority of the time he spent writing What A Terrible World was actually spent jerking off.

You might consider the fact that I went through and read all that as proof that I, too, like reading graphic rape scenes. That is excessively incorrect to the point of retardation, and I did it on a completely need-to basis. In fact, I had never read a storygame with a maturity rating over three before this terrible day.

This may seem unrelated right now, but it will be relevant very soon. Take note of a key fact of the Bosnian War. During said war, men from all ethnic groups committed rape, however, the vast majority of rapes were committed by Serbian men. To all who don’t know, Cel is a Serb. As one more piece of evidence, EndMaster once said “[Celicni is a] crippled war criminal.” His supposed war crimes could reasonably have been rape.

Now, while I might have proven that Cel is a fucktard who admits things he shouldn’t, I have not yet proven he’s a danger to society.  Instead, that will be proven by the following quote, in which, after Cricket rejecting him numerous times, he insisted “It’s not the handsome one that fucks, it’s the persistent one.” Firstly, it is glaringly obvious that real men take what they want instead of bitching on an internet forum like faggots. Ignoring that, while his quote may seem somewhat innocent, when paired with his rape fetish and Serbian ethnicity, it’s exceedingly obvious to non-autists what the issue is. Cel is a danger to humanity, or at least some Serbian women.

I propose he first be castrated for his crimes, then choked to death as his teeth are pulled out and his dick shoved down his throat, even if it might be too small to have any actual effect. Really, very similar to a rape scene he once plagiarized from A Serbian Film, and probably fucking jacked off to as well. This violent end may not be the best solution, however, so I will offer another.

The average Serbian has an IQ of 89, which is 11 lower than the worldwide average. The average dolphin has an IQ of 80-90, meaning Cel is as intelligent as a slightly above average dolphin. He is also a cripple, and therefore, one, a waste of resources, two, a drain on Serbia’s free healthcare system. And three, not a real man, just a beta cuck whose girlfriend cheated on him. If this was not already grounds for his immediate execution, he once stated he “fully supported Russia in [the annexation of Ukraine].”

Now, it is not illegal to eat dolphin meat in many countries, one of which is Ukraine. Eating Cel would be the equivalent of eating a somewhat intelligent dolphin. So, I propose, that, for his war crimes and fucking shit opinions, Cel should be sent to starving Ukrainian refugees as an emergency ration. He does not have the option to refuse either, seeing as he’s a beta male cripple who cannot defend himself from anyone who approaches his wheelchair from behind.

On top of everything else, he requested to be insulted by a fucking cat online whom he personally believes to be in the sixteen to eighteen age range. This ties into Fluxion's story that he enjoyed, Wheeler and Brandt, which, if you remember, was a story consisting mainly of graphic sex, rape, and BDSM. M stands for machoism, a practice of inflicting pain upon oneself for sexual gratification. His willingness to be insulted could easily be considered machoism. The fact that he requested something that could be for sexual gratification from someone he believes to be a fucking child could theoretically be seen as a Kiel situation… Though I'll just chalk it up to his autism.

In conclusion, Celicni is a retarded faggot with a rape fetish (though I doubt he’s man enough to ever act on it), and his only fate should be as a nice steak, or perhaps vivisection. In the case that I ever manage to go to Serbia, I’m going to fucking run him over again. Looking both ways while crossing the street won’t save him when there’s an enraged cat who doesn’t care about civilian casualties at the wheel.

Way to bring the heat and absolutely brilliant. Much improved from your Petros post. Ratings officially only go up to 8, but I would give this a 10/8 because I don't care about the rating rules.

and the vast majority of the time he spent writing What A Terrible World was actually spent jerking off.

I wrote Vincha in 2 days while a story of merely twice the length took 2 months. Do you really think all of that time was spent writing? 😎

Also can I get a free comm for the verbal abuse I was just subjected to? Everyone else in the thread got at least one.

Skull

Skull:

The archeologist bent down next to the small skull and ran his fingers over its delicate curves, feeling the smoothness of the bone. He wondered if this individual had been a warrior or a leader, or perhaps a beloved family member. His mind raced with questions and theories, and he could almost feel the person's spirit lingering in the air, a ghostly whisper in the dust.

As he made his way around the ruin, he noticed shards of pottery and ancient weapons scattered on the ground, as well as a small statue of a woman with an alluring smile. The sun was slowly setting and the shadows were growing longer as he continued his exploration, eventually finding a large stone staircase leading underground. He slowly descended into the darkness, his eyes gradually adapting to the dim light. He soon realized that he was standing in an ancient crypt, surrounded by coffins and tombs, each filled with remains of long-dead souls. Everywhere he looked, he saw evidence of a life that had been filled with energy and passion.

The archeologist carefully picked up the skull from its resting place in the corner, and a chill ran through him as he noticed the perfect condition of the bone. He would have been thrilled to discover something so rare, but he also couldn't help but feel sorrow. He thought about all of the lives that had been lived here and all of the stories that had been lost. He felt a sense of duty to learn all he could about this place and the people who had once called it home.

He examined the skull in his hands, running his fingers over its smooth surface as memories and questions filled his mind. He thought about the individual whose life had been cut short by their death and wondered if there was a way for him to uncover some of their secrets. As he made his way back up the stairs, he felt a tugging sensation in his heart. He both wanted to learn as much as possible and wanted to respect the individual's privacy.

The archeologist stepped out into the warm evening air and looked up at the stars twinkling in the night sky. Knowing that this could turn into something special, he made his way back to his camp, filled with both excitement and trepidation at what secrets he might unlock.

Once this skull belonged to a pauper
And this one, a king
This skeleton was a jester
For his supper he would sing

This one buried with velvet
Bejewelled with a diamond ring
Some robber broke in, now he sells it
Along with the pearl string

Under the dirt they look no different
After death's fatal sting
So it's silly, isn't it
That we care so much for things

Because in death, each
And every man
Will reach
The end
Alone

Tree

Your poetry is as beautiful as a tree.

But it doesn't have to rhyme you see.

Tree:

The sun shone through the trees, casting a dappled light upon the forest floor. Robert took a deep breath, inhaling the pine-scented air. He moved slowly along the path, calling out his beloved's name. He squinted his eyes, searching for a sign of the tree.

He thought back to the days when he and Janice had roamed these woods, its secrets and its stories filling their minds. When they had come upon the willow, with its soft branches and its comforting shade, he had known that it was special. He had reached for his pocket knife, and as Janice looked on, he had inscribed her name into its trunk. That had been many years ago, but now, here he was, searching for the tree once more.

He continued walking, his eyes darting from side to side. He paused every now and then, softly calling out Janice's name, but he knew there would be no response. Eventually, he came to a clearing, and he knew that this must be the place. He was certain he had found the willow tree, and he felt a wave of relief.

He walked closer and studied the tree, with its drooping leaves and its twisted branches. He thought back to the days when he and Janice had laughed and played beneath its boughs, their joy echoed in the wind. He felt a lump in his throat, and tears welled up in his eyes. He had come here hoping to find the tree and to build Janice's casket, but now he realized that it would not be so simple.

The tree was old and decrepit, its branches gnarled and its trunks cracked. He knew that it would take a lot of work to make something worthy of Janice, and he was determined to make it happen. He ran his hand over the trunk and felt a sense of calm. He had come here expecting to find only memories, but now he felt a renewed sense of purpose. He may have lost Janice, but he could still honour her in the form of this willow tree.

He grabbed his handsaw and axe and made his way to the willow tree Janice had pointed out to him all those years before. He fell into a rhythm, slicing into the bark and hacking away at the branches, the memories of Janice's laughter and stories coursing through his mind. He worked until the sun had sunk below the horizon and returned home, determined to finish his task.

The next morning, he was up before dawn, the sharp scent of damp dirt mixing with the pine-scented air as he set to work. He chiseled away at the wood with a steady hand, feeling Janice's presence as he worked. He crafted each cut with care as if it were a gift meant only for her. When he finished, he stepped back and ran his fingers over the smooth wood. He could almost hear her voice in the silence of the forest.

He had taken a dead tree and brought it back to life with love and care. As he surveyed his work, he realized that it was not simply a casket for Janice; it was a tribute to her life. He loaded the casket on his wagon and turned homeward feeling a newfound sense of peace.

The tree stands proud,
The skull lying at its feet,
Insults forgotten.

A leaf sways in wind,
The skull recalls a life gone,
Insults stab its heart.

A skull on a hill all alone

Saw a tree and felt unknown

The tree said with disdain

"Go away, you are plain!"

And the skull felt a chill to the bone

[Redacted because my poems are shit.]

How many words does it take to get a comm?

Tree. Not the end.

Green leaves.

Winter, it's dead.

No leaves.

You're pushing my generosity now.

You are a most generous and benevolent mod.

Thanks!

You're a great mod. You've also been featuring my comments, which makes you the best mod.

I do monitor story-game comments when I am on.

Now if there's anymore long/good ones you've written that hasn’t been featured/commended yet, don't feel modest, just let me know.

Green leaves rustle in wind
Robot beeps and whirs, a foreign kind
Nature and machine, intertwined

Tree tree tree tree tree
Tree tree tree tree tree tree tree
Tree tree tree tree tree

Well, it rhymes

Sounds like you ripped that off from Sesame Street

a lovely lovely tree

branching into sky, not sea

if you find one floating on waves

maybe you've found a moose instead. or you're hallucinating

last line needs work

replace it with: 'that moose will send you to an early grave'

what do you have against moose.

Poor Bullwinkle

a lovely lovely tree

branching into sky, not sea

if you find one floating on waves

you need to work on this final phrase

Please expound 

There once was a boy in a tree
His name was something unknown to me
Was it Joseph? Arnold? Joey McGee?
Go ask him yourself, he's still up in that tree

Day and night, he remains in the tree
Standing, not sitting, what a sight to see
This little boy alone in his tree
I wonder does he wait for me

He wears a necklace, in this tree
Wrapped around his neck tightly
Clear as day for all to see
This little boy hangs in his tree

Nice dark twist there at the end. 6/8

Here I be
Here be the tree
The tree it be here with the me
I pee green tea upon this tree
The tree drinks green tea out of me!?
I can't believe I pee for free
Give a comm is my fair plea
Wait, what did mizal jus post-
REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Started out ok.  Too many repetitive words used in an effort to keep up the rhyme.  However, the ending nails it down well.  Nice pivot and worked well with the theme and rhyme.  6/8

This will be my final commendation ever.

I've been shutdown.

My camp has informed that I am in shaky waters now. Typical. A woman of great power, and her Jew saw a POC (person of color) shining and glistening so clean like only a real nigga could, giving back to all people like the modern day robin hood, and they didn’t like it. Just like my niggas Bill Cosby and R (rapist) Kelly, they have taken me down.

I-I have received concerning materials of gross unprofessional flatterization of interns. Just like my main nigga, honorary black man Vince McMahahon:

I would just like to inform you that none of these supposed allegations are true. I did not pull a Kiel and get caught in the children’s bathroom, or a Sent by running off with everyone’s money and being found shooting it up through his veins in a bathroom stall.

No, if anything, if any interns do exist, they came onto me. They told me two girls rubbing faces in each other's breasts through clothing was a platonic greeting between females.

Supposedly, allegedly. My team has told me to say this in advance.

Thank you and god bless.

--TharaApples

Oh, I meant Seth. Sorry, Sent!

Apology accepted, because I'm easily bribed.

Clearly, this means Durag Vince was behind the commendations this whole time. The menace.

Peenguin, peeeee on meeeee

Pee for mee peenguin

Great job, good effort and you get extra credit for placing Thara in your verse. 7/8

I like this one especially.

8/8

Ironic commendations are lame 

Greedy Jew wants all the commendations for himself.

Grief

grief /grēf/ : (n.) deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone's death.

I close my eyes. Deep sorrow. Maybe. "Parting is such deep sorrow", isn't that how the saying goes? Or is that a quote? Maybe it's Shakespeare. Wait, no, it's "Parting is such sweet sorrow", and that isn't true at all. 

sor·row /ˈsôrō,ˈsärō/ : (n.) a feeling of deep distress caused by loss, disappointment, or other misfortune suffered by oneselfor others.

Ah, now it's deep distress. Funny how all these feeling are "deep". I don't feel deep at all. I feel empty.

dis·tress /dəˈstres/ : (n.) extreme anxiety, sorrow, or pain.

Extreme now. You know what? Actually, this isn't helping.

The idea here was to look up the normal feelings people have after someone like you dies- someone who they love, who they've known for their entire life, the person they cared about more than anyone in the world... to look up the usual emotions in hopes that I could relate to some of it, but I can't. I don't feel any of this.

I feel like I'm the one who died- maybe I wish I'm the one who died. But I'm not dead, you are.

You, who had the light-up-the-room smile, perfect grades, track scholarship... you who had a future ahead of you, and all that's left behind is me. The exact opposite of you.

Isn't that just delightful.

I walked into the Den of Corruption, a grim reminder of the terrible mistake I made. The room, once filled with excitement and thrill, now only brought back painful memories of my daughter, who was taken from me because of my foolishness.

I scanned the room, the sights and sounds once so familiar now foreign and menacing. The felt on the card and dice tables, the shuffling of cards, the rolling of dice, the clinking of glasses, the screeching of old slot machines, and the murmurs of gamblers all blended together into a symphony of grief.

I remembered the fateful night, the night I lost my daughter. The dealer, a sly and cunning man, proposed a game of chance. I knew the risks, but I couldn't resist the thrill of the gamble. And I lost. The dealer claimed his prize, my daughter, and took her away from me.

As I walked through the casino, I couldn't shake the memories of my daughter. I saw her smiling face in every corner, heard her laughter in every shuffling of cards. I was consumed by grief, a grief that was only compounded by the knowledge of what I was about to do.

I made my way to the back of the room where the dealer sat, surrounded by his henchmen. My hand instinctively reached for the gun hidden in my coat, and I took a deep breath.

The dealer looked up as I approached, a smirk spreading across his face. "Well, well, if it isn't the man who lost it all," he taunted.

But I was done with his games. I was done with the grief and the pain. I was here for one thing and one thing only - revenge.

In a flash, I pulled out my gun and aimed it at the dealer. The room went silent as the henchmen reached for their own weapons, but it was too late. I pulled the trigger and watched as the dealer crumpled to the ground.

 As the henchmen closed in on me, I closed my eyes and saw my daughter's face one last time. I was finally at peace, knowing that I had brought justice for her. And as the hail of bullets took me down, I found myself wondering if this act would bring me to see her again.

She fell.
The love of my life just fell and crumbled into pieces. 
I keep looking back and wondering about what I did wrong. Should I have paid more attention? Should I have put her farther from the table's edge? 
Either way, I won't see her again, and it hurts so much. 

I grabbed a broom, brushed her into the dustpan, and then threw her into the trash can. 

And then I grabbed another cupcake from the tray!

Lol

5/8 for the plot twist

Thank you thank you XD

Going to post a little early rather than very late (again). Posting schedule may be erratic from here on out since my work schedule has changed.

Also, I will not be posting my own exercises this month, since I'll be incorporating most of them into my contest entry and I'd rather people read the finished version, if they're going to read anything.

So, onwards:

2/3/23

Liar