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@WouldntItBeNice
?@Kiel_Farren
@MasonJarGuzzi
@Tim36D
?@EbonVasilis  (if that's how you spell it)
@anyoneelseImissed

~~~

Hi guys, and welcome to my art giveaway and writing prompt contest-thingy! This is week one out of a possible six, to make sure everyone has a chance at earning one at the end of the week. This is how it'll go:

Every day there will be a writing prompt. You have 24 hours to complete this. I will distribute points according to the appropriate length, quality, and plot of your short story/literature work. I will post a poll on who has how many points by the end of the day. At the end of the week, whoever has the most points is the winner and gets to request a piece. I may accept and do what they want or decline and let them offer something else. I'm not the best artist, guys.

Alright. Let's do this thing.

Writing Prompt:
Write a sad story based on something in your household starting with the letter b.
 

R da points reset

I'm pretty positive the answer will be yes. It would be unfair otherwise.

Kden.

Two young boys talk to one another
One says he wants to change the cold world
The other wants to help his mother
They then enter a sleepy dreamworld
But years go on by
Their desires amplify

Two strong boys talk to their friends
They debate on who is the better
The one whose good grades has no ends
Or one who helps those in a fictive fetter
But years still go on by
Their desires do amplify

Two young men talk to their dates
They talk about who will do more
The one who risks to be like the greats
Or the one who works hard at the store
But years will still go on by
Their desires will still amplify

Two prime men talk to their wives
They talk about what they have done
One says how his book could change lives
The other says how they both have fun
But years drag evermore on by
Their desires won't cease to amplify

Two old men talk talk amongst themselves
They talk about what their lives have done
One says he made books for bookshelves
The other says he did what he wanted done
But their years stopped moving on by
Only one's desires ended high

I respect my dad, I really do. He's a hard worker with no nonsense and great dedication and drive.

That's also the reason why he drives me so fucking insane. Because he has this no-nonsense personality, he's completely drained his life of any social constructs. Most people he knows are related to his work some way or another. He pretty much has zero friends outside of family (which everyone's obligated usually to be friends); just employees, employers, fellow hospital doctors, the occasional drug rep that tries to butter him up with money and nice stuff...So what, he fixates himself with work. Books, really, on the human body. Maybe, very rarely he'll read about sports (he watches it on TV in private around 12-2 in the morning). And he works day and night, almost non-stop except to come back home, eat, sit down, and...research for more work. More magazines go by. More books fill the shelves. Make calls for more work. Work. Read. Work. Read. Read. Work.

So the stress builds up on him. Nurses are incompetent because they forgot what they read in their books. Patients die and he finds himself responsible, even when it isn't. Hospital staff want to kill off his patients when he hasn't even finished saving them yet, because administration doesn't read books on mental health; they read books on financial health. Saving lives costs money, money that could be spent on a redone driveway and new plants and succulents but fuck everyone sideways if someone needs ibuprofen.

It's fucking insane, the fact that legislation decides without doing the research themselves how we read labels on people. So he continues to read, trying to work his way around every law set to kill. And, like usual, he begins to project his emotions into his personal life, including his family. No, not including; especially. It happens with whispers to himself; he's trying to memorize medicines and procedures so he can give instructions to the nurses and pharmacists when he has time away from the family, because he's sure as hell that he doesn't want someone to sue all the time away from him. We get irritated with him not focusing on the time he has with us, because he's always reading reports, and what do you know : books. He sighs and reluctantly goes back with us doing whatever we're doing.

Then it builds up. The stress of work causes him to bark orders at the kids. He's suddenly in working mode even when he's supposed to be off. He goes over the same damn details maybe 3, 6 times to make sure I know how to make a turn on the wheel, how a certain device works. Just like how he's explaining to the staff in the hospital how the medicine works, so it goes through their heads that his reasoning is sound. Even when it isn't. So he begins to yell, like how he yells at the nurses. Yelling how it's stupid that the same damn mistakes happen again and again. Yelling, pleading at his family to "just get it right". "Don't be sorry; be better." "You let it happen again, what the fuck were you reading in school?!" "Don't take anything in this house for granted; as long as you're in it, I fucking own you."

And then it goes away, the anger and everything. He softens and talks about delayed gratification, that maybe if we just kept going, pushing further for that extra mile, we'd truly appreciate every reward we take.

You think he's calm. You know he won't be.

And the next mistake you make, he's slamming his hands on the nearest surface he can find : a wall, a car door, the counter, the table, just something. He can't control his anger, just like I can't. But he doesn't lose everything entirely.

He stopped hitting us over the head with the corners of his 4-pound books years ago, so he has to settle for raising his arm and making it smack on the carpet, his thigh, something to let out his anger. He sometimes reaches for the dictionary, but it's too heavy now to swing faster than we can duck.

So one of us gets either pissed off or scared enough to ask "What's wrong?" But I know it's the same damn cycle repeating, repeating over and over and fucking over again.

I'm trying to remember the streets because I don't read signs but instead read memories, and he tells me to make a left. I make a left, but now I'm on autopilot, because I'm trying to understand him so I don't make mistakes in the future. My focus is on his lips; my periphery is the next 500 feet ahead of me. We pull up towards another intersection, and he's suddenly cursing and flailing. He wants me to make a right, so I manage to make a right without signalling. My eyes are closed as I slam my foot on the gas, because I can't afford to stop and read the signs. I can't afford to stop reading what his body, speaking that same one-way language.

But now, as I turn those blood-stained books in my arms, I stop. I stop living for a few moments, and I stop breathing. I start thinking. And for the first time in 14 years I stop booking my life. I stop reading.

And I tell myself that if he stopped too, maybe he could fix a kink here and there. If his life wasn't treated as some book that was expected to be a best-seller, maybe he'd realize that many others' books were rough drafts in need of revision. Maybe he already knew that.

Maybe he's still be reading those books, scrutinizing their pages for a pattern, a function, a purpose.

Only, he's left one book unfinished. And it wasn't on purpose.

"BRRRRRRRRRR, STICK EM!

*beatboxing*

When fresh beats

And rhymes collide-"

*click*

"I was booooorn in a cross-fire hurricane...

And I hoooooowled at my ma in the driv-ing raaain...

But it's aaaaaaall riiiiight now

In fact, it's a ga-"

*click*

"Panda

Panda

Panda

I got broads in Atlanta-"

"Ew." I say as I switch the station again. This continues for another half hour until I settle on Ain't No Rest For The Wicked by Cage the Elephant. There wasn't really anything on. Either it's the old, good ones that everyone requests a thousand times or new, shitty ones that they play ten thousand times for 'popularity'. Fuck that.

I set the radio down and get back to writing. Needed to turn this in on time, or else I wont get my compensation. It's been a week so far, and I haven't been paid squat (well, except for some pity money one of my more fortunate associates was attributed, but I refused that. I don't need pity.).

This job is entirely optional, but with my current one paying the bills and little else, I could use a little luxury.

Now, time to focus-

"Meoooow."

I turn to see my cat just sitting by the door, pawing at it.

"Simba, I just let you in 2 minutes ago, you little shit." I said as I pet his fluffy head. "Meoooooooow" Simba replies, but to you, he's saying "Do I look like I give a fuck? Open the damn door!".

With a sigh, you do so, only to have Freeway bust in and run all around the room.

"RUFF RUFF RUFF RUFF" he says, or rather "YES I MADE IT IN I'M SO FUCKING HIGH RIGHT NOW", and he tackles me and licks me relentlessly as I'm pinned like a Hunter attack from Left 4 Dead.

Simba just freaks the fuck out and jumps backwards like 50 feet.

 

Right into the stereo on top of the shelf, changing to the classical station.

 

I couldn't get up fast enough to stop it from falling.

 

Everything was in slow motion, and Ave Maria was playing.

 

And then it hit the floor.

 

"NNNNNOOOOOOOO!" I said as I dropped to my knees in front of the broken mess. Pieces were everywhere, but it was still playing. Static was all that could be heard throughout the apartment.

"Don't worry! I can fix you, Boomy!" I said. I plunged my hands into the mass of cheap plastic and tangled wires, desperately trying to fix the small contraption. As I was fiddling, I could hear the stations.

"I'VE

BECOME SO NUUUUUMB

I CAN'T FEEEL YOU THEEEEERE"

"C'mon, buddy, I've got you! Just hold on!" I say, reaching nto my desk drawer for glue or tape or SOMETHING to keep my old friend together. The station changed again, the signal a little weaker this time.

"Hello darkness, my old friend..."

"NO! I'M NOT GIVING UP ON YOU, BOOMY!" I say, frantically grabbing pieces and putting them randomly together. The station changed once again, signal even weaker.

"Let it beeeeeee

Let it be!

Let it beeeeeeee

Let it beeeeee..."

I started crying at this point. He was dying. He was dying and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

I raised him up, wires dangling, almost crumbling in my hands. Then I hugged him as tight as I could.

And I held him.

And I held him.

Until he finally gave out.

 

I cleaned up an hour later and gave my pets a sharp reprimand.

 

I've seen what no man should ever see.

 

My Boombox is gone.

Jacob walked around his empty house, a cigarette clenched in his teeth. He took a long drag, staring blankly ahead. He had long ago disabled the house's smoke alarms to allow him to smoke indoors. He knew it came with the risk of a fire erupting and taking his life in the cover of night. He didn't care. If anything, he hoped for it. He simply dropped the burning cigarette butts where he stood. Going out peacefully in the dead of night, as the smoke danced around him, filled his lungs and finally took his soul, was truly the best scenario.

Jacob heard his house phone ring, and sighed. He let it ring, before it went to voice mail.

"Hey, this is Katie, from Eircom. You've missed your last three phone..."

Jacob grabbed his phone and ripped it from the socket, flinging it at the wall with a yell. He sighed, and walked into the... the "spare bedroom". Dozens of bottles of whiskey, all sadly empty, were scattered around the floor. The room was empty except for the bottles, a wardrobe and a broken, unoccupied crib. Jacob dropped his cigarette into the crib, where it fell on the blanket. He sighed as it went out without lighting the crib. Not today, it seemed.

Jacob left the room, and walked along the hallway. There were dozens of broken pictures lining the wall, all shattered on his nightly, drink-fueled, rage-filled outbursts. He stared at the one of the few he hadn't scratched out. His smiling, joy-filled face, a face that now seemed alien to him, and his beautiful, beautiful wife. She had had the most beautiful smile...

Jacob felt a renewed energy staring at her. This wasn't what she wanted. He shouldn't have to live like this. He was living a pathetic, miserable life, and it simply wasn't worth it. He couldn't live like this.

But... he couldn't go back to normal life. There was nothing left for him. Just nothing left. He walked into his bathroom. He knew what he had to do. He stared at the bathtub. The bathtub which had once been adorned with candles as he romanced his then-girlfriend, before ending up filled with stupid, colorful plastic toys and Joey's favorite rubbery duck. He held back the tears as he turned on the water on hot. He opened the bathroom cabinet, searching through the medicines. He found the aspirin, and placed it by the bathtub. It quickly filled, and he turned off the tap. He slowly submerged in the water, before downing a couple aspirin. The hot water would open up his veins, and the aspirin will make his blood thinner. He sat in the bathtub, staring at it sadly. He reached over to the sink, grabbing one of his razors. He smacked it against the sink, as the razorblade fell free. He picked it up, and stared at the pathetic, broken man he saw in its reflection.

Jacob sat in the bathtub, trying to find the courage to do what he knew needed to be done.

Weighing scores....loading.....99% finished...
Loaded.

WouldntItBeNice: 3
Kiel_Farren: 0 
MasonJarGuzzi: 0
EbonVasilis: 0 
Bucky: 0 
Tim36D: 3
iavatus: 0 
Stevewhateverthenumbersare: 4
Swiftstryker: 4

AYT.exe has stopped responding.

Writing Prompt:
Write about the grim ending of a super villain.
Bonus prompt (will earn extra points):
Kill the hero and super villain at the same time.
 

Jonathan Staine stood on the balcony of the highest floor of the Staine Medical Research Facility. MI6 Agent Jack Carmine approached him, gun raised. He'd hunted him for years, and now he had him. Jack looked at the massive fall from the balcony. He was always scared sof heights, and that three hundred foot drop looked absolutely terrifying. Staine looked over at him with a bitter smile, as he pulled a tablet out of his pocket.

"Drop it, Staine!" Jack shouted, his finger on the trigger.

Staine pressed a button, and Jack heard the hum of the air conditioner start.

"Relax," Staine said.

"Drop it or I fire, Staine!" Jack screamed.

Staine pressed a second button on his tablet, and tossed it over the balcony.

"There. I dropped it," Staine smirked.

"What did you just do?" Jack said, grabbing his throat.

"The security system," Staine replied. "I've locked all elevators to this floor out."

"You should've done that before I got here," Jack said.

"It just would've taken you a couple of hours and a few locksmiths to get to me. Now, it's better."

"You're a monster, Staine. I'm taking you in, lock or no lock."

"I'm no monster. Monster's don't exist."

"If that serum had gotten airborne, it would've killed billions."

"Roughly seven billion, give or take a couple million. We were very careful not to go overboard. Roughly 0.01% of the population would've survived."

"That's barbaric, Staine."

"Look at the world. Corrupt governments crush the weak. People are divided by race, by religion, by belief, by class, by fucking everything. It's a dog eat dog, every man for himself belief system.  And that's just people. Countless species are going extinct every fucking day. The planet itself, the entire fucking planet, is dying. I needed to sacrifice lives to save this world. When we're almost wiped out, we'll have to stick together to survive. We'll need to unite, and we'll have a fresh chance to do it right. Best case scenario, we make a new, utopian world. Worst case, humanity goes extinct and the Earth itself survives."

"You're a madman. Your utopia will never exist."

"It wouldn't have been by utopia. 0.01% of the world are immune. I'm not one of them," Staine said.

Staine stared out over the balcony.

"When I was creating the serum, we went through several failed attempts. The first prototype WOULD kill the target and no one else, but it was tremendously painful, and I wouldn't allow it to be used."

"Do you expect sympathy? You wouldn't torture billions with your death serum? Do you want a medal for that?"

"Not billions. But, I'd happily torture two. My sacrifice, my gift to the world... you took it from me. And I'll make you suffer for it. The prototypes. It's in the air conditioning unit. Enough to fill this entire floor."

"What? No, you'd never! You said it. yourself, you're not immune to the serum."

Staine grinned at Jack as blood dripped down his teeth. He doubled over, puking blood onto the carpet, before collapsing to his knees. Jack watched in absolute terror. Staine laughed, before breaking into a long, wet cough. He coughed up bits, then chunks, of solid, bloody pink meat onto the floor.

"Is that..? Oh God..." Jack said.

Staine continued to laugh as he vomited blood onto the floor. Jack stared at him in terror, knowing the prototype was in his blood. He was already dead. Jack stared at Staine, feeling the fear he felt as a child when his father took out his belt. The fall seemed so much less terrifying now.

"Come in, John." Melazzo said, sitting at his desk. His door is kicked in, and a gun is pointed at his head.

"I've got you. I've finally got you, you son of a bitch." Harbinger said, the pistol in his hand still warm. Many laid dead behind and below him, but his true target, the source of all his hate, sat before him.

"John, John, John..." Melazzo said, shaking his head. "You won't kill me."

"Oh yeah?" Harbinger asked, cocking his pistol. "And why the hell not?"

"Because..." Melazzo replied, standing to his feet. "Many people will die."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harbinger asked, pistol readied.

"See for yourself." Melazzo answered, gesturing to a wall. Just then, the wall slides open, revealing many monitors. The monitors on the left seem to show vital signs of a man. On the right, a live video feed of a city and a timer counting down from 10 minutes.

"You see, I have a pacemaker. Getting old, you know. Mine, however is custom made to release a signal when I die. This signal will trigger a bomb that I have placed in the nearby city of Asheton, releasing a deadly virus. As I said, many will die. My men have estimated in the hundreds of thousands range."

"You bastard!" Harbinger shouted.

"Ah ah ah, let me finish. That timer above the feed is how long you have until the bomb detonates manually." Melazzo said, motioning to the ticking timer. "Time enough for you to make a decision."

"What decision?" Harbinger asks.

"Do you see that red button?" Melazzo says, pointing at the small red button in a glass case. "That button disarms the bomb. But, should you push it, you yourself shall be infected with the virus."

Harbinger lowers his gun.

"Why?" He asks.

"Excuse me?" Melazzo asks.

"Why must you take everything from me? My house, my job. My good name... My wife... My child..." John Goodman says, voice wavering, eyes watering.

"... John... You were in my way." Melazzo said. "You thought that you could take down the largest organized crime organization in the world, get that promotion, and be back home in time for dinner. And it blew up in your face." He turned and looked out the window, to a beautiful view of Blackburg. "Did I want to take from you? Did I want to harm Maria? To harm Elliot? No. But it was needed, and I did it.

He looked over his shoulder at Harbinger.

"Make your choice."

 

5 minutes left.

 

John made his choice.

As he pushed the button, the needle spiked into his thumb, the virus quickly running through his veins. He started seizing, coughing up blood. But the bomb was disarmed.

"I knew you'd make the right choice, John. You just saved me thousands of dollars in investments. Thank you."

"No..." Harbinger said, stabbing the syringe into his neck. "Thank you."

"... What?" Melazzo says, turning to see Harbinger pulling a grenade pin, full of adrenaline.

 

"I'm coming, Maria. Tell Elliot." John says, as he tackles Victor Melazzo out of the plate glass window.

 

He was reunited with his family after a blinding light.

Oh Hell, I'm late by a day. I had too many things on my plate. They would have understood if they knew what I did to get here.

I look around. There are bodies everywhere. I was too late to save any of them. In the pile of death, I see Lazer Man with half his body ripped of. He's the reason why this happened. Heroes and villains... we hated each other, but we never killed or injured anybody.

I walk down the halls. This was the Villain HQ. I've memorized the layout of this place. It used to be quite pretty before all of this happened. I stop and listen for a moment. Maybe, I could hear breathing of somebody. I don't care who side that person would be on.

I can hear flies. They are already putting their maggots in once noble flesh. I can hear the buzz of electricity. That's why I'm here. I need to find the security footage. I can hear blood dripping on the tile floor. That's my blood. I most likely could have survived this wound if I sought medical help. I won't. I fear somebody who survives might try to delete the footage. It'll be a... noble sacrifice.

I'm almost there. Left, Right, straight to the red door. That's all I have to do. I stop dead in my tracks.

I see Phantom... I see my beloved. He's dead... like the others. He looks very tranquil. I wonder who killed him. Oh, it doesn't matter anymore. His killer is dead, he's dead, I'll be dead. It's quite fitting actually. We thought ourselves to be gods.

The heroes were worshiped by the populace. They were the angels. The villains were the bogeymen in the closet. They were the demons. One day, a particularly inept bogeyman injured Lazer Man's girlfriend. Lazer Man murdered that bogeyman. It only escalated. Soon, the heroes had the bright idea of going on a righteous crusade. This is where the crusade ended.

I walk past Phantom. He would have made a great father. Well, our child will live. She's with my sister now. She'll raise him like her own daughter. I miss holding my daughter.

I turn left. There's a body almost everywhere. The walls are half destroyed. Only a few lights remain. The heroes thought that they could have one final push to end villains forever. It appears that the villains fought harder than expected. I would've too. They were fighting for survival. That's a desperate, violent way to fight.

I turn right. I dare not smell. I can almost taste the putridity in the air. This place is a tomb. It's an underground, sealed, and soon-to-be lifeless tomb.

I walk straight. There's the red door. I shiver... The blood loss is getting to me. My hands are so pale. I'm beginning to look like the corpses that I'm walking over.

All I have to do is one more thing. I open the door to send the transmissions.

I see Leecher. He's alive.

"What are you doing?" I ask. I try to sound willful, but it comes out like a little girl.
"I'm saving face, nemisis. I'll delete the footage." We've battled countless times. Why is he still alive?
"Leecher, I'm going to send out the footage. People need to..." I forced to stop. The pain is too great. Then, it ebbs. I continue, "They need to see what happens when we kill."
"And see heroes act like criminals? And see villains rip apart children's heroes?"
"Yes."
"No."

He lunges at me. I use my speed to dodge it. It was clumsy. Oh, he's bleeding as well, and his left eye looks injured.

I kick him back, and he crashes to the ground. He's breathing, but he doesn't get up. I fall to the ground. My heartbeat has increased, and so has my blood loss.

I stand back up. I stumble to the computer. People need... to know. I'm dying.

I hack into the files... Phantom always loved my... computer skills. I copy the last forty hours... I... I upload them to all major mass media outlets. I collapse.

"Please, kill me." sobs Leecher.
"Why?" My vision is clouding.
"We're both dead. The pain's to great."
"I won't."
"For the... Please."
"No."
"You'll let me die... painfully for revenge... for what happened."
"No, I'll let you... die because I'll never... ever... kill."

Five hours later, a police team finds two bodies. History always assumed that it was the hero who was righteous enough to show the world what happened. Nobody knew it was the villain.

Weighing scores....loading.....99% finished...
Loaded.

WouldntItBeNice: 9
Kiel_Farren: 0 
MasonJarGuzzi: 0
EbonVasilis: 0 
Bucky: 0 
Tim36D: 7
iavatus: 0 
Stevewhateverthenumbersare: 8
Swiftstryker: 4

Writing Prompt:
Describe an object in your trash can/bin using positive adjectives (ex: rotten apple core as beautiful, graceful, etc.)
Bonus prompt:
Write a poem dedicated to the item.

Ode to a Wildrice and Black Sesame Crisp

Oh, Black Sesame Crisp I dropped accidentally,
Into my trash bin--it was cleaned quite recently--
Your graceful, sweet curves have stolen my heart,
Yet you were salty with me from the start.

Ah, I will miss you and your wild-rice base,
No more shall my lips taste your beautiful face,
Nevermore am I blessed to hold you close,
Though others look like you, I loved you most.

I cursed when you fell into the pit,
Alas that I could not keep you out of it,
Had I foreseen my clumsiness ending it all,  
I could then have prevented your fateful fall.

Goodbye, goodbye, to the landfills you surely must go,
Adieu, my love, you may feed bird above or bug below,
I shall never forget your name! My heart ever cries out--
For my sweet ... wait ... what were we talking about?

The Lamenting of Me who Dumped a Cooked Summer Squash (with Onions and Garlic) into the Garbage

Oh, why must have you gone into black
There was no need for this travesty
Your end wasn't my wanted design
Please, accept my this apology
Oh Summer Squash, my soul is now blue
For there's no way for me to save you

You were once so perfect, without lack
Of any blemish like the blue sea
You were yellow and soon to be mine
But, I let you go despite your plea
Summer Squash, my soul is without you
And there's no way for me to save you

Summer Squash, I beg, please comeback
I cannot have you be without me
You delighted my senses so fine
And your presence to me was healthy
Oh Summer Squash, my soul so needs you
But there's no way I can be with you

Oh Summer Squash, I apologize
Only now, my error, I realize

I have, right now, a plan

To write a poem about this can.

It may be a limerick,

But it's the best that a dimwit

Like myself could ever command.

Weighing scores....loading.....99% finished...
Loaded.

WouldntItBeNice: 13
Kiel_Farren: 4
MasonJarGuzzi: 0
EbonVasilis: 0 
Bucky: 0 
Tim36D: 10
iavatus: 0 
Stevewhateverthenumbersare: 8
Swiftstryker: 4

Writing Prompt:
Write a story based on a character in a show you're currently watching.
 

Okay, I actually wrote this Friday morning on a cell phone (because I was far away from any computers). Unfortunately, my phone doesn't want to post, so I instead PMed it to AYT. Here's what I wrote exactly as I sent it to AYT (on Friday morning and including a few spelling errors). I also know that this is technically late.

 

 

His face now looks frightened beyond compare. He runs past other people in a desparate flight. No matter which direction he takes, that man... no, that thing is standing in front of him. Nobody else can see it. It's just staring at him. 

He thinks that he's either insane or going to die. Either way, it's a bad ending.He never wanted any of this. All he wanted was to live his simple life. 

He sees a church. Maybe he'll be safe in there. He bangs on the doors. Somebody has to let him in. He turns around and sees the thing, but the door creaks open. He runs inside. 

He stumbles to the front. He screams out for anyone-man, woman, or God-to save him. He doesn't hear an answer. He collapses on the ground and mubles out unheard wishes for life. 

He looks up and sees an outstretched hand. That person says, "Mr. Brown, are you ready to go now?"

He nods and takes the... thing's hand. They walk into the light together. 

The camera moves to Rod Serling. He says, "Some people never see death coming. This was not the case with Mr. Bwown. He was privledged to see it coming very clearly even though he may have not liked it. Now, death has brought him to his final destination in The Twilight Zone.

Behold! The results for week two!

WouldntItBeNice: 13
Kiel_Farren: 4
MasonJarGuzzi: 0
EbonVasilis: 0 
Bucky: 0 
Tim36D: 10
iavatus: 0 
Stevewhateverthenumbersare: 8
Swiftstryker: 4

WIBN has won! Congrats! Keep my restrictions in mind before you request!