I'm taking commissions. (listening to: "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik")
So, All the things going on in my life right now are either too personal, too painful, too boring, or too stupid to actually blog about. But, Van-Wilder-like, it took a friend to remind me that I have one skill left untapped. My narrative skills.
So, I'm taking commissions, folks. I will write a short blog (5-6 paragraphs) about a character of your choosing in an interesting or dangerous situation. Here's what I need from you:
1) The name or occupation of the character.
2) A non-geographical location
3) A form of non-monetary, non-negotiable payment.
#3 is the trick. I don't care how you pay me, but I don't want money, and I don't want goods. I'm not Kyle McDonald, and even if money is promised, you'll never pay me anyway. Be creative in how you pay me back, and I'll be creative with your character.
Ready? Steady? Go.
PS- Happy Birthday, Daisy
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
27 comments:
1) Occupation: Superhero by day, "Furry" conference organizer by night
2) Location: Flying above the biggest ocean on planet earth
3) Payment: I won't come teabag your forehead in your sleep
"Alright, so.. we're set for the 19th, then. Michael, if you'll bring the plan for product convergence to the foreground at that time, we can run the backend schematics for the beta sites, and we'll mee--"
Bubbles' head cocked to one side, and his eyes glazed over as if staring past reality into something deeper. Something... beyond this world.
"Bubbles?" a concerned head rose, eyes weary both from the early morning hours and from the furious scribbling of notes as Bubbles' compulsory demands and plans for the future of the World Trade Federation conferences came to an abrupt halt.
"Gentlemen," Bubbles' gaze came slowly back to the room at large. "You have your tasks." He clicked a switch on the conference room table. "Alice. Prepare my ball."
Bubbles rolled across the interstate in his giant Lexus Hamster ball. He dodged through traffic, and ducked down an empty alley. He transferred his tiny weight to the back of the ball, engaging the breaking system.
He opened the side panel, and emerged not as Bubbles, but as Gerbillion, defender of the free universe. He crouched by the edge of the road, coiling his tiny muscles into nearly limitless fountains of potential energy and then, with no prior sign of action, exploded into the dawn. Gerbillion flew as fast as any man-made aircraft possibly could over the cresting peaks of the Pacific.
After only minutes of flight, his tiny form dove deep into the murky depths, plunging hundreds of thousands of fathoms deep until he came upon the source of the call he felt in the felt-covered walls of his dreary office... a deep-sea laboratory. Lair of the nefarious Dr. Mongosoid, and current resting place of the X-9000 hypersonic warhead.
TO BE CONTINUED...
(possibly, dependent upon payment)
lol
I guess I should have put a hyphen between furry and conference. i meant that the conference was for "furries" not that HE was furry. heh.
funny shit anyway. and I'm currently not teabagging you, so, payment made.
Name or occupation: milk maid
Location: cheese factory
Payment: i will speak of your greatness in lecture during my intro to literature class on Friday.
wow.
not your greatness in lecture, though i know you can bullshit with the best of them, but in the lecture on Friday speak of your greatness
english teacher undone.
As Miranda made her way back to the city with two large and heavy pails of milk under each arm, she had time to reflect on the rolling hills of the countryside, the city skyline slowly growing in front of her, and the sun, slowly setting behind her. But that was not on her mind. Her thoughts drifted to dreams she had ever since she was a girl. Dreams of a life far above her lowly toil of the present. Dreams of something... much grander.
As her feet fell heavy on the gravel road, she suddenly was aware of a another walking the road with her. She craned her neck back into the sunlight behind her and she saw a figure, tall and thin keeping pace just a few steps back.
"Oh, I'm sorry sir, I thought I walked this road alone." she spoke to the figure whose face she could not see, his features obscured by the blinding light behind him.
"Not at all fair maid. In fact, I have come a long ways to meet you. But the time is not now. When you are finished delivering your goods, we have much to speak of."
Miranda shut her eyes momentarily, blinking away tears that came unbidden to her eyes, the result of their being forced to gaze into the sun's rays. "To meet me, sir?" she retorted amazedly. As she reopened her eyes, the figure had vanished, seemingly into thin air. Miranda stopped, set down her pails, and looked around. There was no one to be seen in the great flat land around her. She shuddered away the cold chill racing up her spine as she resumed her gait, faster now, towards the city.
As she reacher her destination, Millard's Cheese and Dairy, she set down her pails in front of her friend, Anatoli.
"Always a pleasure to see you, Miranda. Your family truly must have some amazing stock on that farm of yours. The cream you bring is always the sweetest we see." He cheerfully offered.
"You are too kind, sir. I fear that our meager contribution shall not be enough someday. I hear that Millard's is expanding more and more every day. A testament, in no small part, to your hard work, I'm sure."
"Miranda, there's no need for flattery. We each do our part, and if that someday leads to something greater, then so be it. By the way, there's a man here to see you. He's in the office. Tall guy. Sure seems to be an odd fellow, not much to say, simply that you'd be expecting him here."
The same chill returned to Miranda's bones as her gaze fluttered past the large silver door leading to the office. "Thank you.. I.." her voice cracked and there were no words left.
"Are you alright?" He leaned in closer to take her by the shoulders.
"I'm fine..." she replied emptily, floating past him, seemingly drawn to the door by a will not her own. She reached out to the handle, and as her fingers touched it, a suddne and familiar warmth instantly enveloped her like a blanket. The handle gave way under her hand, and as the door opened, there stood the man. Miranda stepped into the room, and did not hear the door as it shut tight behind her.
TO BE CONTINUED?
Damn good so far nick, now its time for a curveball. Lets get something with a little more doom and gloom…and an ending
Name and occupation: Casper Gilespie the concessions manager of a semi-professional baseball team
Location: on the descent after falling from a hot air balloon
Payment: I will finally let go of my grudge over my…your…some random friend of yours…cow coat. Let it never be mentioned again, nor ill feelings harbored. As a bonus, I too will refrain from any ‘unwanted’ tea bagging.
NOTE: Since the payment of Chuck's story is so large, his may be slightly longer than the previous ones. It also may not be.
Casper looked out over the crowd, waving sheepishly as the hot air balloon passed over the field, 900 feet above the ground. His name flashed in lights and electronic fireworks on the Megatron, along with the message, "Happy Retirement, Casper the Peanut Guy!"
Even the Rockets themselves lined up in front of the dugout and removed their caps in respect for the hometown icon passing over them. Casper wasn't just the only concessions manager in the Professional Baseball Association's Farm League who had continued his vending duties even after his promotion, he was also the face on trading cards that police gave to children when teaching them about duty and respect. He was the voice coming down the aisle, offering peanuts and cracker jacks to those who held their three crisp one-dollar bills high above their head. Casper Gilespie was a hero.
And so it was with no prompting that the owner of the Rockets recognized that the retirement of such a man needed to be lauded, to be celebrated with as much pomp and flash as Casper himself had tried to avoid in his humble reign at the ballpark.
Casper tried to stay out of the public eye as much as he could. He loved the ballpark, loved the kids, loved the game, but everything else was just too much for him. He just wanted to come to work, enjoy the fresh air and the crack of the bats, and go home. But for role models like Casper, the simple life is not always the way.
But something was wrong. Casper looked out over the fans in the bleachers, and those furthest away began to grey out. He squinted to see them, shutting his eyes against the sun, but darkness clouded his vision even faster.
He swayed as the darkness made him dizzy, his head swam as he suddenly felt weightless. His vision now completely dark, all he could hear was the rush of the wind and the indistinct murmur of thousands of fans. He tried to focus on only one thing, tried to bring his mind back to the present, tried to block out the nausea from his feeling of weightlessness.
A collective gasp went up from the crowd as Casper fell from the basket supported by the large balloon. Silence fell eerily across the normally rowdy crowd as even the small children, usually fussy and fidgety with the noon-day heat stood stock-still and watched the elderly figure fall to the earth.
But Casper was blissfully unaware of the silence all around him. He heard the rush of the wind, the crack of the bat, and a voice carried on a breeze singing sweetly,
"Buy me some peanuts and cracker jack. I don't care if I never get back..."
The only complaint I have so far is that our locations don't seem to enter your narratives until near the end. For instance, I expected Casper's story to take place during the fall. Instead it entered around the last fifth of the story. The other stories had similar disrespect for our locations.
Otherwise....well done. Maybe some of the actual WRITERS we know would be willing to include their work? Until then, the genius of the madjai will have to do...
Umm... You'll notice that most stories also had other characters in them, besides the ones given me. Additionally, Both yours, walker, and MP's could continue, and have more narrative in the actual locations specified. It's all about artistic license. Your suggestions are a springboard for the narrative.
PS- Eat me.
Although it was both criticism AND observation, it was in like a 42-58 ratio
artistic license? I'm sorry, this are commissioned fucking works. You're being paid for this shit. You get no license. You write what I like and you will like it...
...or else you get teabagged.
... fine.
Bubbles was a superhero. He spend his days flying around the ocean. One day he saw something really neat on the shore. "Boy, I wish I could get a closer look at that cool object. I bet it would lead to a lot of fun adventures. Unfortunately the closed-minded hippie vegan who thought of me has made it very clear that if I am to leave the very strict location of 'flying around the largest ocean in the world,' I will be chastised. So, I won't."
And he never did. He just flew in circles and sometimes crazy zigzag patterns until the day he died. The end.
See? Its fucking easy for you to write a narrative when you don't have rules to follow. Once you try to stick to what we give you, you suck. I'm no longer buying your sick and twisted attempt to make us feel like we're actually a part of this giant fiasco. We're nothing to you. This was just some fishing expidition for something interesting to write about - since your life is insufficient as a basis for such things.
ooooh. burn.
Ohh... I see what happened. Blogger converted my < ass writing to show JWalker that he's being stupid > tags into actual code, rather than displaying them.
I apologize for the confusion. As to not "sticking to what you give me," well, let's just say that I'm reasonably certain that writing about gerbil superheroes would never have been something I would have come up with on my own. And, Walker, just for the record, it's not a superhero just because it can live in your colon for an hour. That's something... much different.
< / rant >
Not to be fallacious in my attacks, but dude...that was weak.
1. I never said anything about Gerbil Superheroes. That was, in fact, your invention. I said a superhero, who was a Furry-convention organizer. If you don't know what a Furry is, look it up. It's not the most obscure alt-culture reference in the world.
2. Gerbil joke? Lame even before you were wrong about me having made it up.
3. See a doctor and get rid of it
"He just flew in circles and sometimes crazy zigzag patterns until the day he died. The end."
(tee-hee-hee)
p.s. J--stop pulling your sister's hair!
If I can't talk trash back in forth with nick, who can I talk trash back and forth with?
Chuck? Andy? C?
Ok, I guess there are a lot of you, but that's not the point.
...
Ok, I guess I'm not sure what the point is, but a buddy of mine said it was a good one.
...
Ok, so he didn't, but one could imagine a good point in here somewhere.
Unfortunately for you, the only good points that I can see were made by nick.
eat me. its the end of the semester and I'm unnecessarily cranky.
1) Ruthy McBoodley
2) The upstairs side pantry dumbwaiter
3) I will make a one-minute movie about you.
Occupation: a flower. (its sole purpose is to be a flower...grow, produce, scream when you pick it, ect)
Location: the middle of my stomach
Payment: my love and admiration for all of eternity. i'll even blow you bubbles.
cmon where is mine at?
:)
Ruthy stood over the slowly-stiffening body of Leo McRank, her long-time employer and local billionaire, gasping for air between harried breaths and sobs.
"I came up here to bring him his breakfast, and there he was, gasping for air. I tried to help him, but he wasn't breathing very well. I screamed for help, and the man outside the door ran downstairs and called the ambulance. I held his hand as he died... I can't... he just.." she broke down, and said no more through her loud crying sybillance.
"Thank you, dear. I know this is hard." Inspector Trielle lifted her by her shoulders off the floor and into a large cushioned chair near the bed.
"It's definitely poison. Some kind of inhalant. Poor man didn't stand a chance." The doctor stood up and clasped his bag shut. "You'll have my full report in the morning, inspector."
"Thank you doctor." Trielle escorted the doctor to the door and closed it behind him. "Miss McBoodly, I've spoken to some of the house staff. They mentioned that you did not return to the servant's quarters until very late last night. I know this is difficult, but I need to know where you were."
Ruthy tried to catch her breath in hurried, shallow gasps. "Last night, I was here. In this room. Mr. McRank called me in... he tried.. he wanted me.. he said I was beautiful.. told me I couldn't leave.." She trailed off and Trielle finished her thought.
"He tried to get you to sleep with him."
"Yes, inspector."
"What happened next?"
"I told him that I wasn't that kind of girl, told him that I appreciated everything he had done for me. He argued with me. Tried to keep me here.. I broke away from him and ran back to the servant's quarters. Honestly, that was the last time I saw him before this morning."
"I see. Thank you, dear." Trielle held her trembling hands as she cried until she was able to gather her wits.
"Inspector. I know this looks bad. But you have to believe me. I didn't kill him. I came back this morning only to work, ready to pretend that nothing was wrong."
The bell rang in the hall, indicating the dumbwaiter was on it's way up.
"Excuse me, sir. I must attend to that."
Ruthy stood up shakily, and went to the hall. Inspector Trielle followed her out, watched as she gathered an armful of fresh linen and closed the door to the dumbwaiter.
As Ruthy made her way to another room, Trielle opened the door to the dumbwaiter and pushed the small box down the chute. There, on the top of the box was an atomizer, adorned with a tassel, and a dark liquid inside.
Trielle ordered his men that the staff be quietly congregated in the downstairs study, and all the doors leading outside be locked. "The killer is still in the house."
TO BE CONTINUED...?
still waiting ...
A harpoon sang through the water as it near-missed Roy's shoulder. One of the three divers abandoned his personal underwater motion device and continued at a good clip towards Roy. Thinking quickly, Roy fired a safety bolt into the rockface nearest him and as the tether coiled off of his belt, Roy kicked off the wall of the cave, bent his frame around his attacker, and locked the other end of the tether around the dive belt of his assilant. The only way for him to free himself from the four-foot length of high-weight nylon holding him to the cave wall would be to release the weight belt around his waist, effectively rendering his range of motion to the 5 square feet at the top of the cave.
Roy squared off against the mouth of the cave where the other two divers were waiting for him. Neither of these two were taking the chance of being trapped as the first now was, yanking at the bolt, inexorably fused to the rocky wall.
Roy noticed a green patch of mossy-like substance on the near wall of one of the two divers cutting off his escape, and quickly pulled a deep sea light source from his belt. Roy bent the tube, snapping the capsule inside, allowing the chemicals to mixx and emit the yellow glow. But he continued to bend the tube until he felt the outer shell begin to crack. The liquid inside began to leak out as Roy hurled the light source at the wall. When it collided with the wall, the tube shattered, sloshing the phosphorescent liquid against the pure deep-sea phosphorous on the rock, causing a nearly-blinding light. The attacking diver bit on the distraction perfectly as his hands went to his dive mask to protect his eyesight, Roy aimed for the open cave mouth, released his dive weights and sailed, perfectly aimed, out of the cave and towards the surface.
During his ascent, he eased something out of a small mesh bag attached to his chest, and held in his hand the object of his near-death experience: an 86 carat diamond. Two pieces complete... but the last one would be the hardest.
TO BE CONTINUED...?
"Control, we are passing through the large intestine now. How's the patient?"
Dr. Cameron glanced at the monitors surrounding the girl on the bed. "Vitals are steady, no spikes in immune system production." Her voice betrayed her concern. If the team couldn't take care of the intruder and get out quickly, Rachelle's immune system would detect their presence and send antibodies to attack the invader. And the small craft was not designed for battle...
"Roger that, doctor. Proceeding as planned." The captain tensed his grip on the controls as his tiny craft cut a small seam into the girls stomach and slipped through it. He had been in strange places before, but in a strange ship, shrunk to microscopic size, and under severe time constraints to find this parasite and destroy it before it killed the woman he loved was pretty high on his list of odd adventures.
As he neared Rachelle's stomach lining, the parasite came into view. His heart sank as he got closer and saw what had to be done. "Doctor. We have visual confirmation."
"Can you describe it? What is it?"
"It appears to be organic. It has a root structure that has entrenched itself in her stomach lining. I don't... I don't think we can remove it without taking the surrounding tissue with it."
Cameron's eyes narrowed as she thought. "Captain, if you attack the tissue, her nervous system will almost certainly construe that as a threat to the body."
"I understand that, Doctor, but from my chair, there's no other way. Also... there's something else."
"What's that?"
"Doc... the parasite... it's... well, it's blooming."
The roots, deeply entwined themselves in the tissue of her stomach lining, grew upwards to a tall stalk, at the cusp of which, four leaves were beginning to unfold
"We don't have much time left, doctor. Sensors read that there's a bulb contained in the top of the growth. cursory scans show... large amounts of Boric acid."
"Boric acid? That's... an organic compound used to kill termites. If that bulb should burst, it would combine with the acid in her stomach and..."
"I know, doctor. We've got to risk taking this thing off of her. And we need to do it soon."
Dr. Cameron looked across the table at the EEG readout.. which had begun to climb. Rachelle's immune system had begun to detect an intruder, and was rallying the troops...
TO BE CONTINUED...?
WOW! I love me story!!
Post a Comment