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Shapelog
United States5184 Posts
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Half the Sky
Germany9029 Posts
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cakepie
985 Posts
On November 06 2016 06:12 Half the Sky wrote: [T] Dota 2 Mafia has ended tonight in a mafia victory. wut. | ||
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NeverUnlucky
Canada1622 Posts
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Shapelog
United States5184 Posts
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Half the Sky
Germany9029 Posts
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cakepie
985 Posts
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NocturneMage
United Kingdom1965 Posts
On November 05 2016 22:21 Shapelog wrote: This game has a unique feature, that will require 3-5 co-hosts at least. This Feature is also what makes the game a bastard game. do I even want to know? | ||
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N0
154 Posts
quasi: https://soundcloud.com/frankjavcee/cant-hold-us-royals-macklemore With the advent of modern surgery, specifically organ transplantation, a new threat to humanity --a thought bubble so persistent and inhumane-- if the truth about it brands your retina it cannot be unseen, spawned and gained public relevance; so beware, and beware and warning. The wealthy, powerful and needy of a long lifespan have proactively fathered children with members of slave castes, to ensure yielding superior organ harvests to replace theirs, hijole! Experiments with reverse DNA atu-implementation ushered in hybrid clones whose organs pose even less of a rejection risk, when inserted into the beneficiary. But something went wrong. Information leaked, and the subjugated bastards decided to insurge and to lay bare the identities of the pure "royals", the half-siblings who hide among them, and probably string em up while their fathers Rels, Grack and their cool uncle Tumblewood are forced to obs. Among the most intelligent slaves are those who worked and invented technologies and operated gadgets for the royals, the quasi royals. They have merged their DNA with the clones in another spacetime dimension, a portal the gateway to which they've kept open for 5 years from now and prior to now, since time ripples equally back and forth if resources for the temporal locust swarm waves are in equi-time-distant abundance, but the information war has fractaled the lore and the knowledge on how to operate the portal's continuum so wtf? The quasis are more badass than the mere organ banksters, having brainstormed and deduced some of the investigative and protective science, and they've joined forces against the royal progeny. Shapelog, the Gifted Trade Kingpin died on N0 as a result of a consensus that his gifs aren't sufficiently funny anymore to warrant the horribleness that is posts like this attempt at poetry? | ||
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iamperfection
United States9640 Posts
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Shapelog
United States5184 Posts
On November 08 2016 20:47 N0 wrote: Flavor suggestion 4 Shapelog game: Royal Bastards vs Royals quasi: https://soundcloud.com/frankjavcee/cant-hold-us-royals-macklemore With the advent of modern surgery, specifically organ transplantation, a new threat to humanity --a thought bubble so persistent and inhumane-- if the truth about it brands your retina it cannot be unseen, spawned and gained public relevance; so beware, and beware and warning. The wealthy, powerful and needy of a long lifespan have proactively fathered children with members of slave castes, to ensure yielding superior organ harvests to replace theirs, hijole! Experiments with reverse DNA atu-implementation ushered in hybrid clones whose organs pose even less of a rejection risk, when inserted into the beneficiary. But something went wrong. Information leaked, and the subjugated bastards decided to insurge and to lay bare the identities of the pure "royals", the half-siblings who hide among them, and probably string em up while their fathers Rels, Grack and their cool uncle Tumblewood are forced to obs. Among the most intelligent slaves are those who worked and invented technologies and operated gadgets for the royals, the quasi royals. They have merged their DNA with the clones in another spacetime dimension, a portal the gateway to which they've kept open for 5 years from now and prior to now, since time ripples equally back and forth if resources for the temporal locust swarm waves are in equi-time-distant abundance, but the information war has fractaled the lore and the knowledge on how to operate the portal's continuum so wtf? The quasis are more badass than the mere organ banksters, having brainstormed and deduced some of the investigative and protective science, and they've joined forces against the royal progeny. Shapelog, the Gifted Trade Kingpin died on N0 as a result of a consensus that his gifs aren't sufficiently funny anymore to warrant the horribleness that is posts like this attempt at poetry? Sadly, I, nor any of the other cohosts (unless we want to), can die due to us being gods in my game. Unless we switch the player list to be the hosting staff, and us to the players of the game midway through Day 2. Which could happen. + Show Spoiler + Remember, very, very, very, veryyyyyyyy Bastard PS: Since you did not like my "No rest for the wicked" parody, perhaps you would like a song? | ||
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Rels
France13467 Posts
It's time to finally have another resistance game. As usual, if anyobody wanna help with the flavor I'll be pretty happy. I'm pretty bad at that. | ||
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Foolishness
United States3044 Posts
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Foolishness
United States3044 Posts
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Race Bannon
689 Posts
On November 09 2016 22:20 Rels wrote: Please add [T][M] Resistance VI to the queue. It's time to finally have another resistance game. As usual, if anyobody wanna help with the flavor I'll be pretty happy. I'm pretty bad at that. Other than the persona non grata, yours truly, I suppose. | ||
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Rels
France13467 Posts
On December 02 2016 06:23 Race Bannon wrote: Other than the persona non grata, yours truly, I suppose. Yep ! | ||
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N0
154 Posts
Resistance Flavor Trailer + Show Spoiler + On December 02 2016 06:23 Race Bannon wrote: Other than the persona non grata, yours truly, I suppose. A shame, I'm feeling enthusiastic about writing again; + Show Spoiler [for this] + I'm thinking open ended girl blog style, with mission conclusions revealing the outplays of the social situations with which the main flavor characters are confronted with. Ones that would alter their relationship irrevocably; either elevating it to fulfilling romance status or damning it to friendzone / indifference / silent longing and frustration / animosity / pity. Whereas game conclusions would supply the introspective ending, as in revealing the inner conflicts, the forces which were bent on messing up the social situations, manifesting as anxiety anchors and fear of ridicule or other negative repercussions (spy saboteur), and the ones one can lean on for comfort to see things through smoothly like balls and knowing the right words to say to her and how. I would present an introductory description of the characters and the social situation upon game start, write two scenarios and reveal the relevant one for each mission and its possible outcome, and finally unveil the full role flavor of all players, i.e. the forces, their origin and their cognitive manifestation in the psyche of the protagonists. INTRO: When I first wanted to write a book I was 20. I had an idea which I wanted to expand on, and I wished the right words would come at the right time to anchor the right phrasings of my scenarios' descriptions into place, in order for me to bogart the idea. I needed this to happen more or less autonomously, which it didn't. I lost track of my idea and wound up sliding into relative irrelevance. Then, trying to swim back to it I realized I'd compromise the intensity to what I was trying to convey if I try to connect the two dots, the old and the new. That, and the fact that I later realized I could never close up the story if I keep drifting off, not to mention stay loyal to writing in general as opposed to procrastinating, made me reach a conclusion: I need to stop thinking about writing and stop writing until I can write without thinking about writing what I want to write about. And that was 5 seconds ago; it took me 10 years to get to this conclusion and right now I'm thinking something along the lines of 'that wasn't so hard', and also 'what are you, the reader, going to think about this intro?'. I hope I succeeded in lowering your expectations with it, so that now, if you do decide to read on, you'll do it without wasting brainwaves on expecting something and I'll have your full attention instead. The idea, yes this is going to be one huge wall, was for me to write a book called: "the unimaginably omnipresent, self-nurturing bullshit bubble", but then started working on a book I preemptively titled "the naked truth about my next book", instead. Needless to say I haven't managed to route my writings toward a point where the title would've been warranted. But now I feel up to the challenge, for one thing, and I plan to have a talk with the prostitute doing her rounds not more than a 40 second walk from the entrance to the building where I live, on the other hand. I'm going to tell her.. wait, did I just line-break back there. I said I wouldn't. There goes my integrity again; oh well. I'll put my hand on her ass and say.. well now I'm thinking how many times am I going to break again; will I break every time I should or was it a one time thing. Would it even matter if I say "hey, how are you?", or just go "how much for a handjob?" SPY), or say that I'm going to break 233 more times until this story has reached its conclusion, and that therefore you should brace yourself, dear reader, because "will this do for a month?" is what I asked her, flashing some bills with the total sum being equivalent to the price of the tablet I'm writing on; it has been 3 months since that faithful day, when the last thing I wrote was because before (I transitioned out of the writing block by laying down the device and making my way down the street to greet her -- just like I ultimately decided: not to actually greet her because let's face it, they know you know they're not exactly being a real person, and that the best of them can make you forget that but surely not during introductory conversation, so bluntness was in order, I felt like, or wound up with anyway, and it was good -- by ramming her butt with the bulge in the upper mid center of my pants, coming about due to my cock; as I was walking up to her. "So sorry", I said and you know what I said next, without pausing or so much as changing the tone or velocity of my speech... She says "Are you joking?", while still visibly amused from my masculine dickbutt maneuver, rapidly changing, as if shuffling cute facial gestures ranging from surprise to playfully vengeful and settling on cool, amused incredulity. She's actually genuinely pretty, and it turns out she's a cop, but more on that never. It's not like she didn't see me coming though, she even tilted her head last second and her eyes were looking at me all innocent but sensual, or whatever word you want to use for it, let me tell you there are a bunch. Anyway she didn't expect that move and truth be told I wasn't either, it just happened like that. Something happened 5 steps prior that just annihilated my inhibition and I honestly fell in love with her when she mirrored my amazement at myself for having the balls to pull it off; and it was perfect, don't mind me telling you. She's my friend with benefits now and we have a special understanding, which involves her taking a break from her real work and changing into the one she portrays herself having, just for me. Ever since I asked her to rub me off in-between busts, every public handjob behind the bush has been the highlight of my day. It's brilliant to feel the gasm while knowing that everyone else is getting busted for soliciting what I get. Not to mention I feel useful by helping her maintain credibility.) making up some bullshit story about me having gone ahead with it already. No, i'm still here, contemplating what to say. 3 months have gone by though, and she did look at me like I described, I just didn't dickbutt her yet; or even said anything. Maybe now that I feel like I've concluded this integral fragment of the story I can go for real. Wish me luck =) OK the 3 months thing was a lie and it's the next day. I'm on a train, doing an hour and a half commute from my home city to my home town. This has the repugnant foreboding of becoming a diary to it. I don't want to be one of those people, who write about wiping their arse, unless it was with toilet paper which also functions as a news paper, comic book or blog. Why hasn't anyone involved with public media or working in the anal hygiene industry ever thought about synergizing the two, is what I wonder while I occasionally glance out the window for whatever reason, from time to time while typing the letters. Well actually, this is a bit I came up with beforehand. I even thought about ranting about there not being anything going on out there worth looking at, and rehashing the neurotic glances, typical behavior of people who masturbate in public places where people have sex with hookers, the former referring to myself, yesterday. I just couldn't bring myself to solicit a miserable, fucking handjob for fuck's sake. Time for some introspection. It's high, introspection time I weed out the sabotaging forces in my psyche, which led to this fuck up, from the ones lobbying for not fucking up, the failure of which to prevail over the former led to this sad handfuck. Syke! Has there never in history been anyone to connect the two neurons required to put into practice news toilet paper, is what I actually preconceived ranting about, and I meticulously bogarted working it in all this time, in my mind, as I was writing and staring at the toilet sign at the stop where the train departed from, a minute ago. Those two neurons though. Let's do it sheeple! You've heard it here first. And you hookers, stop shitting up the places where you serve your clients. That wasn't dogshit I stepped in yesterday, no siree. But I guess it comes with the prep, if you don't want to, or don't have the money to take drugs to shortcut you into the confinement of that robotic state of mind's framework parameters, necessary to be sharp about baiting, coercing strangers into riding your intimate, most erogenous areas, on top of standing to bear it then and later; in which case you simply take a nr 2 in the immediate vicinity, to mark your territory and feel sovereignty over handling the situation on some instinctive level, instead. Sovereignty is such a lovely word. Don't do it, don't be like me and drag beautiful words through fecal matter just for emphasis of who knows what pseudo-psychological theory featuring a clash of common decency vs work ethic. Maybe it was dogshit afterall. I didn't take it to the lab or anything, although I could've. I will. But I won't get back for two weeks, damn. That turd will be dried up by then. I even thoroughly washed its remnants off my shoe. Am I being funny right now? I imagine you laughing, my dear, beautiful hooker. Lift your head, look at me, take a deep breath and ask me: "well then, how about that handjob?"... "It'll cost you ..". That was a tight corner to take, but here we are. I gave the hooker some bills. She said what do you mean a month? I said I wanted 2 handjobs a week for a month. Hmm, she moaned. Not right now, I said, come have a coffee with me. So we went to that place where they didn't have a pool table a couple of weeks ago but now they do, so I played while she was reading my material. Got my first ever handjob that day. It wasn't anything special. Who am I kidding, it was magnificent. I could tell the woman in her has never been summoned upon during her confinement in the zone, not to mention in a manner quite like my stunt. I went to try and get a wank from a hooker, but a woman made me cum, I'll tell people if I ever wind up drunk enough to stigmatize myself, or in case I need exoneration with this anecdote due to them having witnessed me being busted or something. In the social circles where I congregate it's not conventional to get involved with the pum pum posse. Yet, here I am, getting my story straight for the eventuality of getting caught. I am Rambling 'Cool' Foresight, and this is the post-neo noir, first-person narration I used to encourage you to annihilate your doubts, successfully accomplished five steps prior to humpbumping event horizon. After you registered it you were like: "I know Kung-Fu", and I was like "show me", and you did. GJ. RESISTANCE) Too bad ^ he's just part of the story and I'm still keeping up your enthusiasm for fiction, obstructing you from actually going through with anything in meatworld. I'm Roflol (aka 'Disco' Ridge Yu) Scrubnub, and you're still writing. If me and my bwoys, Frank 'Anxiety' Dank and Confucius 'The Cat' Worry, manage to fuck up all your missions you will never lose your hooker-handjob virginity, and neither come up with decent flavor for Rels' resistance game nor finish writing those two books. Just keep trying to wrap up the story. You'll die before you reconcile its new function, of serving as flavor, with staying loyal to your quest to elaborate on your original idea from 10 years ago. MISSION: Get 4 things done at the same time: write flavor as trailer for a resistance game, recommission my interest to write a book or two, conjure up a scenario where I solicit a handjob from a hooker without compromising my standards and pass the time on the commute. Outcome: Success! | ||
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cakepie
985 Posts
Hope to schedule this for February -- it'd be a nice thematic fit for Valentine's =Þ | ||
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Foolishness
United States3044 Posts
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iamperfection
United States9640 Posts
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