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(Fark)   "`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves \ Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: \ All mimsy were the borogoves, \ And the mome raths outgrabe." Huh, maybe that's my writing problem, I keep using words people recognize. THIS is your Fark Writer's Thread   ( fark.com) divider line
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1517 clicks; posted to Main » on 17 May 2017 at 3:07 PM (27 weeks ago)   |   Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook   more»



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View Voting Results: Smartest and Funniest
 
2017-05-17 10:57:14 AM  
It's that time again!

Are you stuck resting by the Tumtum Tree when you could be writing?  Do you laugh in the face of a comprehensible vocabulary?  Are you ready to outgrabe?  Either way, it's . . .

Through A Scanner Farkly: The 2017 Fark Fiction Anthology

THROUGH A SCANNER FARKLY is a fiction anthology we're putting together from the best writers here in the Fark community, with all proceeds going to charity!  That's right, you can charge the metaphorical Jabberwock of literary fame, and you won't even have to beware the jaws that bite!  And even if you're not interested in feeling the warm glow of telling a good story or being mimsy, you can still help out a good cause!

We're looking for previously unpublished short fiction or poetry submissions up to 10,000 words in length, in the genres of Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Humor or Mystery/Thriller.  That's right, this year there's no minimum length, so send us that flash fiction!

We're particularly looking for quality science fiction, horror, or mystery/suspense stories, although we'd welcome all submissions, so send in what you have!

We'll be accepting submissions until June 15, and the entries chosen by our panel of editors will be published on Amazon e-books, Amazon Kindle Unlimited and Amazon print on demand for physical bound copies.  You can see what we came up with last year here!

Interested?  If you are, check out the terms and conditions, and then send us what you've got on this page:

Through A Scanner Farkly Submissions
 
2017-05-17 11:12:58 AM  
I have an August deadline. Which means I am procrastinating.
 
2017-05-17 11:15:44 AM  
I keep meaning to submit these but I just never do
 
2017-05-17 02:45:35 PM  
I stayed up late last night to write this, and just finished editing it a couple hours ago.  It's set in the same universe as my short story, The First Law, which was published in Heart of Farkness.  That was just the epilogue to the epic tale of Hezekiah Calvin.  In keeping with my habit of writing backwards, I proceed from the epilogue to the final chapter.

There's not a lot going on here, as this consists of wrapping-up loose ends, and Hezekiah isn't even the central character.

Note that I resisted the temptation to go off on a tangent explaining the operation of electrically-operated gaslights, but these were a real thing in the Victorian Era.  There was a wet-cell battery in the basement to power the system.

===============================

"BRIIIIIIIING!" sounded the electric doorbell.  Hiram Throckmorton
Stanley frowned.  He'd just lit his pipe and settled into his
favorite chair, expecting a quiet morning at home, with his daughters
having gone for an excursion on the scenic Cornwall Beach.  He stood
and walked to the door.  Before he reached it, the doorbell rang
again.  He opened the door, to find two of his favorite people
(outside of his own family, of course) The peculiar scientist,
Hezekiah Calvin and his lovely laboratory assistant, Ada Byron.

"I see you enjoy playing with my new electric doorbell!"

Hezekiah embarrassedly withdrew his finger from the button.

"Oh, no need to be shy about it.  I daresay it's the first electric
doorbell in all of Penzance.  I understand that American chap,
Edison, has also invented some sort of electric lamp that he says
will someday replace these.", gesturing expansively at the elaborate
gas chandelier in the main hall with one hand, while he pressed the
electric wall-button that activated it, with the other.  "I'm making
inquiries.  It is my intention that the Stanley Estate will be one
of the first homes in England and the VERY first in Penzance to
have electric lights.  But tell me, what brings you to visit on
such a fine morning?" while he pressed the button to turn the
gas-chandelier back off.

Hezekiah spoke "We wish to congratulate you on your promotion.  I've
never had the pleasure of meeting a Major General before.  It's
only sad that it came about as the result of that horrible business
with the zomb  . . . "

Hezekiah didn't finish the sentence; he was stopped by the almost
physical shock of the glower of Ada's eyes.

"Oh, how terribly rude of me.  I should not have mentioned that.
My deepest condolences."

"My boy, I've quite come to terms with the death of my wife, and
the rather unpleasant way it happened.  And please don't make a
show of being intimidated by my rank.  You've known me for nearly
a year now, and I thank you for selling the estate to me.  It will
be a fine home in which to raise my daughters."

Ada spoke: "Your daughters?  Where are they?  It's so quiet."

"Yes, I was planning on having a pleasantly unproductive morning.
My daughters have gone down to the beach, for a picnic or some
such."

Ada became alarmed "The Beach?  Is it safe?  I've heard tales of
pirates!"

"My dear, I pity any pirates who attempt to engage my daughters!
You may recall how they defended our humble abode during the attack."

He paused, then continued.

"Hezekiah, I'm very sorry about the loss of your work.  All those
months of work destroyed in the fire."

Hezekiah reflected back - with some distaste - on the several hours
it had taken when he helped them to drag back indoors, all the
furniture and other household goods the Stanley women had hurled
from the balcony and upstairs windows, to repel the invaders.

He spoke:

"Not completely destroyed.  As you recall, when you came to our
rescue, I had brought out my laboratory notebook."

"Ah yes, when you were wearing that ridiculous helmet."

"Hardly ridiculous.  It enabled me to save miss Byron from the
accidental fire."  He bit his lip, as that was not exactly the way
it had happened.  "Besides, it was designed as an underwater helmet.
It was fortunate that it worked as well as it did to allow me to
survive the smoke and flame.  It was never intended to be fashionable."

"And you're still not going to tell me what was in that strange
blue bottle you were carrying?"

"No."

Ada sought to change the subject "Well, with an electric doorbell,
electrically-operated gaslights, and electric lights soon, you're
not merely a Major General, but a modern Major General."
Eager to drop the other matter, Hezekiah joined in: "Not just a
modern Major General, but the very Model of a modern Major General!"
"Why that's right. I AM the very model of a modern Major General."
Major General Stanley's eyes opened wide.  "Oh, I LIKE that!  I am
the very model of a modern Major General." repeating it for emphasis.
"I wonder if I can make it into some sort of song?  I am the very
model of a modern Major General, I have appliances mechanical and
electrical!  . . .   Um no, that doesn't have quite the right
rhythm."

"Miss Byron and I are planning to see an entertainment in town this
evening.  Perhaps you would care to join us?"

"Well I don't know, what is it?"

"The Gilbert and Sullivan Opera: HMS Pinafore!"

"Pinafore?  That infernal nonsense?  Thank you, no.  I will not
patronize such silliness, though I must admit that the airs are
rather good." and began to whistle We Sail the Ocean Blue.

"In that case, we should be off, as we have affairs to get in order,
as we both plan to travel back to London tomorrow."

Ada joined in: "And please give our regards to your lovely daughters.
I'm so sorry that we didn't have the opportunity to say goodbye to
them in person."

"Quite so.  Mabel in particular will be sorry she missed you, as
she was always quite curious about your work.  And Miss Byron, would
you please give my regards to Mister Babbage when you see him.  I
understand he was working on something similar to Mister Calvin's
project  . . ." looking askance at Hezekiah ". . .  though I confess
I don't understand it.  I hope he hasn't had any, um, conflagration.
Tell you what, I'll walk with you as far as the gate and turn onto
the path to the beach.  My daughters have been gone for an awfully
long time; I intend to walk to the beach and see what's become of
them."

"And you can continue to work on your song."

"Quite true.  I am the very model of a modern Major General, to
unpalatable rhymes I'm not amenable."

Stanley scowled at the sour taste left in his mouth by his latest
attempt at verse, but Ada and Hezekiah laughed at it as they parted
ways with him.  Major General Stanley continued down the path and
was alarmed when he heard male voices from the beach.  He slowed
his pace and listened closely.  He heard the unmistakable voice of
Mabel: "  . . .  bear in mind that we are Wards in Chancery, And
father is a Major-General!".  One of the strangers spoke: "We'd
better pause, or danger may befall, Their father is a Major-General".
As this was happening, Stanley strode to the top of a large boulder
and made his presence known, stating loudly "Yes, yes, I am a
Major-General!"

He then burst into song:

    I am the very model of a modern Major-General,
    I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral  . . .
 
2017-05-17 03:11:07 PM  
Are questionable works of overly descriptive erotica accepted?
 
2017-05-17 03:19:36 PM  
There is an ode to scotch or bagpipes somewhere in that headline.
 
2017-05-17 03:21:01 PM  
Jabberwocky is still more coherent, intelligible and logical than anything that comes out of this administration.
 
2017-05-17 03:21:21 PM  
I added about 4K words to the novel this week.

Mostly by adapting a Sumerian myth into the narrative. I start by basically retelling the myth and then diverging to make it fit my plot. And I accidentally created a new character who's going to be essential for the resolution of the plot.

Sent another novel off to my agent. She had read it before and wanted changes -- mostly, cutting out the very last line.  I loved the line, but it may hurt the marketability of the book.  I can introduce what I had in mind in the sequel, so it's OK, but I want to make sure I sell the first novel so there'll be a sequel.
 
2017-05-17 03:26:50 PM  
Subtonic  - Are questionable works of overly descriptive erotica accepted?

Funny you should mention that.  The editors have already had this discussion - as there was one such submission.  The consensus was that we would not accept anything that was primarily erotica, though if you stuff some gratuitous sex into something in another category, that's okay.
 
2017-05-17 03:29:45 PM  
Has anyone tried writing a novel in Gungan?

Issa muy, muy bombad.
 
2017-05-17 03:37:30 PM  

Creepy Lurker Guy: Subtonic  - Are questionable works of overly descriptive erotica accepted?

Funny you should mention that.  The editors have already had this discussion - as there was one such submission.  The consensus was that we would not accept anything that was primarily erotica, though if you stuff some gratuitous sex into something in another category, that's okay.


Got it.  Will break out a few long copy pastes of long wikipedia entries to bookend my disturbingly lurid masterpiece.
 
2017-05-17 03:37:36 PM  

baronbloodbath: Has anyone tried writing a novel in Gungan?

Issa muy, muy bombad.


You can try. The panel has never given any submission a unanimous rejection . . . yet.
 
2017-05-17 03:45:48 PM  
I've written a few sci-fi themed poems. All poems by Zidders.

Stars
----------
Somewhere beyond the Earth and Mars,
Past Saturn and its rings
there gleam the far off distant stars
of which the poets sing.

Out there beyond our kinds short reach
await great mysteries. 
New lessons that the 'verse can teach
our oh so young species.

Strange stellar sights for minds to grasp
should we accept and dare
and though we'll pay a price the task
is worth the knowledge shared.

The things we learn as we explore
will help progress our kind
and thus I hope make us prone more
towards having peaceful minds.

The stars that glitter in the night
are each a cosmic gift.
Great founts of knowledge burning bright
that beckon and uplift.

Comet
---------
Birthed from the heat of the cosmic fire, 
a comet travels its galactic gyre. 
Suns far off flicker, and then become moot
as this errant star charts a lonesome route.

While ice shards glitter in its long thin wake,
our wanderer spins, and its center quakes.
When sunlights fierce heat warms its frozen core,
an ice coma forms from cold gaseous spoor.

Hoarfrost and hard rock travel on and on,
the shooting star brighter than the new dawn.
Evil and chaos. Slaughter and famine,
signs it once portended when examined.

Interstellar rider of cosmic tides,
such great mysteries you must hold inside.
Do your kind bear water, the source of life?
For among the cosmos, your kind are rife.

Legacy
----------
The veil ascends, revealing stars,
Upon the cusp, A view of Mars.
The station, old, her systems failing,
Her life pods cold upon their railings.
Reflected light, ice crystals shine,
A frigid relic of more ancient times.
We witness evidence of a once noble race,
Whose kind once dwelt within this place.
From their tiny planet, they outward spread,
Into the darkness, overcoming dread.

Massive ships driven by anti-matter,
Within their engines great energies shattered.
Driving outwards in exodus,
Those brave, foolish crews felt wanderlust.
They soon reached home systems verge,
And still, within they felt the urge
To go forth and see what could be seen,
To never have to ask "What might have been?".
What else spread outward from their home?
With what customs and cultures did they deign to roam?

Did they bring wisdom to the 'verse,
Or did they bring along something worse?
What records of their kind will we now see?
Did they bring war, or explore peacefully?
Most important, how long did they last? 
Did their race live long, or burn out fast?
The answers-for the historians-a mystery,
For what I speak of has yet to be. 
The choice is ours, where does our future lie?
What will our legacy say of both you and I?

Will our universe benefit from our being,
or is it darkness that we'll be seeing?
The universe possesses so much wonder,
There's no reason for our species to live under
This legacy of hatred that threatens hope,
We need to start seeing with much farther scope.
The future awaits us, we have a chance 
To make it better as we advance. 
When all's said and done, some day, we'll fade.
Nothing left of this game of life we've played,

Yet while we're here, we can matter.
Spread peace, and love, and hatred, shatter.
Treat all life with decency,
And let love be our legacy.
 
2017-05-17 03:48:25 PM  
Subtonic - Got it.  Will break out a few long copy pastes of long wikipedia entries to bookend my disturbingly lurid masterpiece.

One thing under consideration was to take any erotica submissions and toss them in a bin.  When the bin becomes full, we publish the FARK Book of Erotica.  I'm lobbying for it being a scratch-n-sniff book.
 
2017-05-17 03:50:10 PM  
zidders - I've written a few sci-fi themed poems.

Some of those need to be set to music.  They'd make great filk.
 
2017-05-17 03:52:38 PM  

Creepy Lurker Guy: Subtonic - Got it.  Will break out a few long copy pastes of long wikipedia entries to bookend my disturbingly lurid masterpiece.

One thing under consideration was to take any erotica submissions and toss them in a bin.  When the bin becomes full, we publish the FARK Book of Erotica.  I'm lobbying for it being a scratch-n-sniff book.


Whereas I believe it will be more popular as a pop-up book. That doesn't mean it can't also be scratch-n-sniff.
 
2017-05-17 03:53:10 PM  

Creepy Lurker Guy: zidders - I've written a few sci-fi themed poems.

Some of those need to be set to music.  They'd make great filk.


That is one of the nicest compliments anyone has ever paid me. <3 <3 <3
I have hundreds of poems. I think those are three of my best though I wrote them a few years ago and I've gotten a lot better at rhythm and meter. That said I think 'Stars' is pretty darn good as it is but 'Legacy' could use some tweaking, hm.
 
2017-05-17 03:59:35 PM  
Does having it posted in my art account gallery (and now here I guess) count as being 'in print'? I suppose I could come up with some new poems. It'd be a bummer to not be able to submit them. Eh...forget it. Submitting/publishing writing is a pain in the tush. I'd just rather not deal with the hassle.
 
2017-05-17 04:03:54 PM  
img.fark.netView Full Size


Jabberwocky...my favorite.
 
2017-05-17 04:24:02 PM  
Last Surviving Flying Gruyere Brother  - You can try. The panel has never given any submission a unanimous rejection . . . yet.

I would totally vote for a submission in Gungan, provided it actually works.  That is:
  * It must be readable.
  * It must tell an actual story.
  * It must be short.  If it ran for any length, both the reader and author would go insane.

This type of thing has been done before, most notably by Howard L. Chace in his book, Anguish Languish.  Perusing the web, I found the following, not written by Chace.  Someone wrote Genesis in this style:

Inner big grinning, Guard cremated heaving in dirt.
In dirt fuzzy thought foam envoy.
In drunk nose fuzz pawn deface off sod heap.
Ember spare rib off Guard worst mooing oder deface off key whoppers.
En Guard sad "Limburger delight!";
underwear lice.
En Guard Sadat delight fuzz glued.
En Guard sever raided delight foaming dart nose.
Guard killed delight Gay, under dart nosey killed Nice.
Underwears heaving, underwears moaning:
deferred stain.
En Guard sad, "Lead derby of vermin mint windy mist softy whoppers, 
omelet tit sever raid dishwashers foam dishwashers."


I can't find it, but I once read a brilliant translation of Goldilocks and the Three bears into Fortran.

It began:

DIMENSION BEARS(3)
EQUIVALENCE BEARS(1),MAMA
EQUIVALENCE BEARS(2),PAPA
EQUIVALENCE BEARS(3),BABY

and continued on in that vein for the entire story.

My point is that, if someone can pull that sort of thing off in Gungan, I'm all for it.
 
2017-05-17 04:28:09 PM  
zidders - That is one of the nicest compliments anyone has ever paid me. <3 <3 <3

Sorry.  I forgot I was on FARK.

    I have hundreds of poems. I think those are three of my best though I wrote
     them a few years ago and I've gotten a lot better at rhythm and meter. That
    said I think 'Stars' is pretty darn good as it is but 'Legacy' could use some
    tweaking, hm.


Well, submit one.  There's no poetry section, but there's no ban on poetry in the SF Section.
 
2017-05-17 04:38:05 PM  
I'm in the belly of the beast: The eighth edit.
Coming out pretty clean, a few orphan participles, some punctuation choices. Should be ready for conversion and posting by the weekend, then up on Amazon.  Which will give me a good week to start slogging it to agents and editors before I fark off to France to decompress for a week.

And it looks good. I've read better, but I've read a crap load of worse. I hope someone reads this one
 
2017-05-17 05:01:53 PM  
Hi guys! What's going on in this thread?
/No, I don't really write
//Just got a kick out of the HL
 
2017-05-17 05:02:52 PM  
It was a dark and stormy night. I had taken a creative writing class...
 
2017-05-17 05:07:51 PM  

Creepy Lurker Guy: Subtonic - Got it.  Will break out a few long copy pastes of long wikipedia entries to bookend my disturbingly lurid masterpiece.

One thing under consideration was to take any erotica submissions and toss them in a bin.  When the bin becomes full, we publish the FARK Book of Erotica.  I'm lobbying for it being a scratch-n-sniff book.


Although I'm not interested in smelling sh*t while reading or scratching anyone's a**, it is easier to write sex scenes than believable dialogue.  Would the word count still be limited to 10K?  That might make it harder.

/Back to whittling what I've written.  Still 300 words above the limit.
//Thanks to Torque & the rest of the team for extending the deadline.  Forgot to say that last week.
///Three slashes because good things can come that way.  Better things come with proper lubercation..
 
2017-05-17 05:15:18 PM  
I made the Monday deadline I'd been worried about.  It involved writing 30 pages in one weekend.  Of course, my brain was about as useful as that half-fermented, funky smell you get when you forget to clean the rice cooker after, but at least it was done.

Had a meeting with a consultant yesterday, got some good notes on a different script, and have another deadline on rewrites for that script tonight.  And so it goes...

/tomorrow's gonna be so... normal
//I'm legit gonna normal tomorrow so hard, guys!
 
2017-05-17 05:20:26 PM  
GN Nymph  - Would the word count still be limited to 10K?  That might make it harder.

If your writing is erotic enough, it would already be hard.  ;-)  (Badum, tish.)

/Back to whittling what I've written.  Still 300 words above the limit.

300 words isn't a lot if your submission is otherwise acceptable.  Are they really small words?  You can always submit it anyway and let the editors make suggestions.
 
2017-05-17 05:23:46 PM  
Would this be ok? I've only vanity and self published.

Carrolling

Heinrick Jones stretched half-waking, suddenly eyes wide in confusion and panic. The first time in his new abode. The panic of waking up in a sealed coffin. Scream rising from the depths then dissolving with realisation and relief. Deep breath and a long sigh.

"Away in a manger, no crib for a bed," he sang to no one. The sofa was too short. "But at least I am not weightless."

He opened his eyes and sat up, no harness needed. The Agency had decided that putting centrifugal spin on their craft was cheaper than developing technologies to contain the effects of zero-gravity nausea. It contained the vomiting. Less food and liquid was required per person per day. Less waste disposal and clever air filter design was demanded. It also contained a blackmailing media. No more bribes were necessary to hide the sordid unromantic details of space travel from a fickle public.

"Well, that wouldn't be a cost now, anyway," Heinrick chuckled to himself.


The space program was a delicate balancing act of public opinion and government support. Sensing this, the press made away with a sizeable slice of taxpayers' involuntary contributions to the space program. That was until Heinrick Jones suggested to the Agency that they should focus on developing technology that reduced the overall cost of space travel.

Impossibly, he had also improved the other side of the Agency's accounting ledger. The Agency was making sales. Television companies climbed over each other to host pay-per-view television events of space flights. And the public was paying in droves. The space program was liquid.

"The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes" he hummed as he moved to his teak desk and sat in a comfortable leather chair. Irony heaped upon irony. Public opinion insisted the interior of spacecraft looked as much as possible like a room in a normal house on Earth. The Viewers wanted something familiar. Not like the cells of missions past. There were no windows, though. The spinning stars would drive anyone mad. But that was a small price to pay for spinning the whole ship. A faux window frame was attached to one wall surrounding a lovely photographed poster of the stars - taken from Earth.

A clock on the desk read one hour and counted down. Time for his shot at fame. Time for his shot of the latest drug developed by the Agency. Opening the top desk drawer, he withdrew a syringe and injected himself with courage.

"But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes."

Eventually the viewers would tire of this schtick and demand new entertainment. But for now, serious space research was being funded. A rushing sound in his ears like the sound of a long wave breaking along a shore was accompanied by a relaxing numbness in his mind and well-being in his body. He sat and waited.

A red light came on above the desk. The show began. Millions tensed.

Heinrick stood up and walked to the fake window. He placed his hands on it and could hear a sizzling sound as smoke rose from around his fingers and palms. He unpeeled his hands, looked at them, and smiled. Turning around, he held his hands up to the camera. Oozing blisters waved across space to his captive audience. Walking to the other side of the room, he pressed his face to the wall and waited for a satisfying popping sound and half-blindness. It did not take long. Facing the camera again, he danced a little. He sat on the sofa and kicked off his shoes. He stood and walked over to the desk, each step leaving a burning, smoking mark of flesh stuck to the frying pan floor. He slouched on the chair, and passed out.

Soon after, his skin began to blister and melt. The window poster ignited. His hair burst into flame. The desk caught fire. Flames ate the room. The walls melted, and the last brief camera shot was of a huge sun.

"And take us to heaven, to live with Thee there."
 
2017-05-17 05:28:53 PM  
With the extended deadline it reopened the possibility of me being able to submit something and sure enough I hit on an idea last week. 1,200 words down on it in one night. Its a sort of horror/humor hybrid. Creepy slasher story meets one liners and fourth wall breaks.
 
2017-05-17 05:30:27 PM  
s.aolcdn.comView Full Size

better eat your eggy wegs,my droogs
 
2017-05-17 05:43:02 PM  
An Ode to the Weakly Update (a poem for web-fiction serial writers)

I'm sitting here writing and I'm starting to think,
that the thing that I'm writing has started to stink

I'm revising and working but it's not going well.
Seems nothing I do can get rid of this smell.

So, I go to the trash bin with five thousand words,
that assembled, resembled nothing but turds.

Now I'm once again writing and I have a defense.
When I edit this nonsense, I'll burn some incense.

-Patrick Lewis AKA: Screaming Candle
img.fark.netView Full Size

I think I'll have to submit something, now that I've whored up the thread. :)

Stay weird.

-SC
 
2017-05-17 05:50:29 PM  

Creepy Lurker Guy: GN Nymph  - Would the word count still be limited to 10K?  That might make it harder.

If your writing is erotic enough, it would already be hard.  ;-)  (Badum, tish.)

(Rimshot)

/Back to whittling what I've written.  Still 300 words above the limit.

300 words isn't a lot if your submission is otherwise acceptable.  Are they really small words?  You can always submit it anyway and let the editors make suggestions.


My problem is in an argument, one character got into lecture mode.  I need to get his point across more succinctly and still make the dialogue believable.  I can do it without putting the audience to sleep.  I just didn't realize how high the WC got until I started editing.  I'll have it ready soon.

I can't whittle while I'm at work but I've found I can Fark around.
 
2017-05-17 05:56:49 PM  

K.B.O. Winston: I made the Monday deadline I'd been worried about.  It involved writing 30 pages in one weekend.  Of course, my brain was about as useful as that half-fermented, funky smell you get when you forget to clean the rice cooker after, but at least it was done.

Had a meeting with a consultant yesterday, got some good notes on a different script, and have another deadline on rewrites for that script tonight.  And so it goes...

/tomorrow's gonna be so... normal
//I'm legit gonna normal tomorrow so hard, guys!


You clean your rice cooker?
 
2017-05-17 06:11:53 PM  

GN Nymph: You clean your rice cooker?


If you don't, the polenta smells nasty.
 
2017-05-17 06:13:21 PM  
Trying to work with a story with a talking cat and his drunk owner. The concept is OK, but having a hard time moving the conversation past the initial surprise.
 
2017-05-17 06:20:25 PM  

Another Government Employee: Trying to work with a story with a talking cat and his drunk owner. The concept is OK, but having a hard time moving the conversation past the initial surprise.


Why not have a fly buzz the drunk then watch the cat catch & eat it?
 
2017-05-17 06:27:29 PM  

K.B.O. Winston: GN Nymph: You clean your rice cooker?

If you don't, the polenta smells nasty.


Po-whata?  Look I don't have time for your fancy cooking.  I make my rice.  I stick the pot with the leftover rice in the fridge.  I forget it's there until there's this hard rock at the bottom that's sorta white, sorta green and the liquid moves funny.  I toss the pot out and buy a new one.  Problem solved.
 
2017-05-17 06:28:16 PM  

GN Nymph: Another Government Employee: Trying to work with a story with a talking cat and his drunk owner. The concept is OK, but having a hard time moving the conversation past the initial surprise.

Why not have a fly buzz the drunk then watch the cat catch & eat it?


Hmmm.....
 
2017-05-17 06:37:51 PM  
Oh, I do have a new piece up.

Basement Bar
 
2017-05-17 06:56:05 PM  

toraque: It's that time again!

Sorry, toraque, I forgot to thank you & the rest for extending the deadline last week then misspelled your name here.
Thank you for letting me get a little more sleep.  Now if I could just do something about the robins.
 
2017-05-18 06:55:28 AM  
There's something in the shopvac,
on the sides it does stick.
The smell is putrid,
It's making me sick.
It is wet and slimy,
brownish and thick.
What name has this substance?
I SHALL CALL IT " JICK "!
 
2017-05-18 01:18:55 PM  
No erotica, really? Boo. Gonna post one of my books anyway in case anyone here likes their classics mixed up with their pr0n. Enjoy!
 
2017-05-18 02:50:47 PM  

fatcurlytoes: No erotica, really? Boo. Gonna post one of my books anyway in case anyone here likes their classics mixed up with their pr0n. Enjoy!


Is Nick Bottom hung like a horse or is it going to be another Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break?
 
2017-05-18 03:05:05 PM  
Okay, I have to ask since we've gone down the erotic path
(with its hills and valleys and dark patches one can lose oneself in.  The soft places, the hard, the angles, the curves.  The human body that just begs to be explored, tickled, licked, nibbled...
and so on)

Has anybody else read My Father, the Pornographer?
https://www.amazon.com/My-Father-Pornographer-Chris-Offutt/dp/1501112​4​73/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1495133739&sr=8-1&keywords=my+father+the+por​nographer


I'm asking because it was supposed to be a biography about SF writer Andrew Offutt and turned out to be a 200+ page whinefest by the one son.  So if anyone can tell me why I shouldn't be disappointed and bother reading anything ever written by Chris again, I'd be willing to listen.
 
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