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Old 07-03-2012, 09:43 AM   #41
captaincrunk
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Originally Posted by theogonia777
I've heard a few people occasionally mispronounce it as "rowbaht" instead.

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Old 07-03-2012, 09:43 AM   #42
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Originally Posted by captaincrunk
Minimum of 250 words. This can't be entered.


Jealous of my massive skill. Okay, looks like I'll have to do work then.

After my two songs. Count me out, sorry. No time.
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Old 07-06-2012, 09:16 AM   #43
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Well, I just put this together yesterday. Not really sure how well it works, but oh well.


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Reactor Cores and Stale Coffee

Wallis stared at the machine, going slightly cross eyed. The machine stared back, as much as it could stare. As far as he knew it was turned off, oblivious to the world. Wallis wasn’t. He was tired, his back ached and his cup of coffee smelled so bitter that he hadn’t touched it. He always made a coffee in the hope that it would turn out better this time, but catering were never up to scratch.

He shifted his eyes to the chipped mug. Perhaps he should just drink it anyway, he pondered. Get it down and at least he might be partly awake when the roboticists arrived. They should have been here already by his reckoning, wasting his time. He’d barely had three hours’ sleep as it was, and he felt guilty for having that much.

He shook his head and downed the coffee before resuming his staring contest with the machine. The roboticists were always claiming to make great strides, but it never seemed to Wallis that they achieved anything. And he couldn’t see much application in what they did make either. They got to play in that lab of theirs, and he was stuck down here in the bowels of the facility watching dials. And that was just when things were working. There was a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

The machine was as bad as they were. It looked smug somehow, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way that it had been designed so that the optical sensors looked like eyes, what seemed to be a mouth opening was completely pointless as far as he could tell. The arms were a mass of probes and manipulators that looked like they belonged on an evil robot of an old sci-fi serial. Death rays and the like. The tracks looked like they could crush a foot, or a head.

The machine continued to stare forward, smugly. Wallis scratched at his stubble and checked the gauges again. The pressure was still rising. Slowly, but inexorably. He hated that he couldn’t do anything about it. He hated that the roboticists claimed that they could. He rubbed at his tired eyes.

The door swung open on well oiled hinges, giving Wallis just enough warning to look up. There they were, Karlsson and Munro, looking as though they were going for best dressed scientist or some other such nonsense. Karlsson stood tall and blond, traditionally Nordic, an easy smile on his face that Wallis found easy to hate. Munro was shorter and stockier, his bald head shining like a billiard ball. He looked down at the bedraggled engineer with a hint of pity, but Wallis was sure there was contempt in there as well.

Well let him. They would fail, just as Wallis had. Then they would retreat to their lab and Wallis would carry the blame. He only hoped that their machine got itself melted down in the reactor core through some false step, but he knew it wouldn’t. He just wasn’t that lucky.

“Mornin’ Mr. Wallis,” Munro said.

“Munro. Karlsson.”

“You look awful,” Karlsson said.

“I’m fine,” Wallis insisted. “Just need the coffee to kick in.”

“Oh, you didn’t actually drink the coffee did you?” Munro asked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was oily enough to fuel ICRaM here.”

Wallis resisted the urge to agree. He looked at the machine almost with hatred.

“I don’t think he likes our boy much,” Munro remarked. Karlsson chuckled.

“Well how do you know it’s going to work? How do you know it’s not going to knock the wrong thing? I’m worried sick is what I am.”

“Don’t be,” Karlsson said. “We know what we’re doing.”

“I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been told that, and it hasn’t been true yet.”

“Well, them upstairs seem to trust us well enough,” Munro said. “Are you sure you don’t want to go get some sleep and let us handle it?”

Wallis frowned. “What, you and your damned machine alone with my reactor core? No thanks. I want to keep an eye on things.”

“Fair enough.”

Wallis stared at the machine. The machine stared back. Karlsson tapped a few commands on his hand pad and the machine whirred into life. Two faint red dots appeared in the optical sensors, just where Wallis was looking. He shuddered slightly, trying to hide it.

A few more commands. “Let’s go in,” Karlsson said. The ICRaM started to move forward smoothly, into the vacuum chamber that would take it past the reactor’s shielding. Wallis watched with worry etched into his face. What if it went wrong? What if they sent the wrong commands? What if there was a fault with the programming? What if the machine didn’t do what it was told to do?

Munro studied him for a moment. “You look like you thought it was about to go rogue or something man. Are you sure you don’t watch too many films?”

“Don’t worry, Wallis, he doesn’t bite.”

Wallis shook his head and fixed his gaze on the dials. He suspected he was going quite red, and didn’t want them to see. He felt a sinking sense of despair as the ICRaM entered the core. Whatever was going to happen was out of his hands now. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Karlsson tapped some more commands. Munro started whistling. Wallis stared at the vacuum-lock door, his hands clasped in front of him.

The dials whirred on the readout. He could hear it, pressure into the red, about to blow, but he didn’t want to look. There was a hiss, and the sound of a valve popping.

Nothing happened. Karlsson tapped commands. Wallis looked down. The pressure gauge was just where it had been a few minutes before, dropping gradually. Munro was still whistling. Everybody was still alive. Wallis stared a moment, shook his head and went to make another mug of coffee.
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Old 07-26-2012, 03:41 PM   #44
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im up for this again. Ill post the story later.
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Old 07-26-2012, 06:15 PM   #45
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Whoa, totally forgot about this thing. Is it still on, given Crunk's banning and all?

If so, I'll judge.
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I wonder if you get more out put if you wire a battery to your penis.
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Old 07-26-2012, 07:14 PM   #46
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I say it's still on. I don't know how long he's banned for, but we need a good deal more entries. If he's still banned when we're looking at wrapping this up and judging it, we'll figure it out then.
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Old 07-26-2012, 07:16 PM   #47
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He's banned for 45 days. I'm surprised that this is only his second though.
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That's right I have a four inch penis.


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Old 07-26-2012, 07:18 PM   #48
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i would say it was worth it, though, if it was for 'cuntcandles'
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Old 07-27-2012, 08:13 AM   #49
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Originally Posted by laid-to-waste
i would say it was worth it, though, if it was for 'cuntcandles'

You mean it was worth his getting banned or that he deserved it?



Anyway, hopefully I'll keep a closer eye on this thread now I'm subscribed to it.
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I wonder if you get more out put if you wire a battery to your penis.
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Old 08-10-2012, 10:14 PM   #50
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bump
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Quote:
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Like I said, I hope it's just the farts.
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Old 08-10-2012, 10:48 PM   #51
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It’s been six years since my beautiful wife was taken away from me. Cancer is a terrible disease.
“Daddy, can I get a new toy?” Jamie asked me when I picked up from school. My beautiful six year old daughter. She has her mother’s eyes, but I see me in her.
“Of course you can, sweetheart.”
Jamie didn’t know her mother. She was only six months old when Janet died. I remember holding her tight in my arms the night I found out she passed, and when I broke down crying, handing her to my brother Chris to watch after for a few months while I underwent therapy. My life always seemed to be going in the wrong direction, like some black cloud was following me wherever I went.
Fast forward to the present. Everything is fine at this point. My daughter is growing up, doing good in school, and I no longer need therapy. I just have to accept the fact that my wife was ill. I took Jamie to the toy store to pick out a new toy for her. We walked around for a bit, and it seemed at first that nothing had intrigued her.
“Daddy, I want this one!”
I went over to look at what she was so excited about. A robot action figure? My six year old daughter wanted a robot action figure?
“Honey, are you sure about this?”
“Yes, Daddy! All my friends have it!”
It was strange, but if it was what all the other girls were into, then whatever. As long as she is happy, I am too.
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Old 08-10-2012, 11:34 PM   #52
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I'm in. Any deadline yet?
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Great post-grind funk with a touch of sunburn rock, southern jazz and samba crusty blast beat. A must read for every microwave food connoisseur! 10/10


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Old 08-10-2012, 11:35 PM   #53
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Quote:
Originally Posted by RedDeath9
I'm in. Any deadline yet?

no foreseeable deadline. as far as i know the Cpt. is still banned...
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Quote:
Originally Posted by lolmnt
Like I said, I hope it's just the farts.
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Old 08-11-2012, 01:06 AM   #54
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I'm in... why not?


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Zombie Rituals

Every day is exactly the same. Power On. Calibrate operating systems & adjust monitor settings. Run disk cleanup. Scan for viruses. The same expressionless reflection stares back. Every kilowatt that burns away takes you one step closer to becoming obsolete. How long until the next operating system encompasses all you are and more? Can't think about that now. Logging in... enter Production Mode. Point, hover & click to open the link. The scrolls are a guide to assist in determining the best method for terminating a problematic application. Time is of the essence, but total elimination is calculated in percentages. Performance is stacked and compared against other automatons. Variables are installed to ensure a different resolution- all results are random. Today you are #23. Yesterday you were #47. Tomorrow you will be #251. Conversions seem to occur endlessly. Cents, to dollars... kilobytes to megabytes, megabytes to gigabytes... then into dollars again. The conversion from Gigabytes to dollars is almost magic... turning an intangible object into one of the most valuable resources in the whole Network! It can be quite overwhelming, so resting periods are evenly spread over time intended to prevent fatigue of the End User.

The Order of the Machine continues with more conversions. All End Users are under the domain of an Authorized User. End Users are subject to decisions made by the Authorized User, but, the power of the Authorized Users is, more or less, an illusion. While the Authorized Users are given more access to the Program, only Owners are allowed to run the more consequential applications.

Occasionally, a software update becomes necessary to de-bug a system that has become sluggish or unresponsive. Usually, when this occurs, it's because a virus has been contracted through one of the unguarded network connections. A virus is a foreign element to the Program, and can affect many of the important applications & cause undue stress on the End Users, which can be extremely detrimental to the operating system of the Program, which also leads to Network Degradation. End Users are, by nature, interchangeable, but they are the foundation of their respective Programs, for if the End User files become corrupt or unstable, the Consumer aggravation readings will reach record heights, which eventually gets uploaded to the overseer of all Users, Programs, and Networks... Profitibility. A software update will often times be the anti-virus required to uninstall faulty Users & install Upgraded models. Often times this can also renew the warranty & result in more positive Profitability measurements.

Increase in Profitability is in direct relation with the Presence of the Chairman, who is the only entity higher in Priority than Profitability. Without the Chairman, all Users, Programs, Networks & Profits would cease. But, for the Chairman, every day is exactly the same. Wake Up. Rise, stretch and rubs his eyes. Warm running water rushes from the shower head. Lather & rinse. Dry off. Brush teeth, style hair. Shave and stare in the mirror... and every day, the same expressionless reflection stares back, moving ever closer to death...
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Old 08-19-2012, 02:00 AM   #55
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so captaincrunk should be back within the next 30 days, lets try to get more entries in before then guys! i am liking what i am reading in the entries so far, keep it up.
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Quote:
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Like I said, I hope it's just the farts.
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Old 08-30-2012, 10:32 AM   #56
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Jack Robinson
978 words not including title.

Place, twist, slide. Place, twist, slide. Place, twist, slide. Jack Robinson’s job was not what you could call glamorous. In fact it was not what you could call enjoyable, interesting or particularly well paid either, but Jack had been doing it for over 30 years now and he certainly wasn’t trained to do anything else.

So on this Friday he found himself going through the motions over and over again, the monotony inducing him into an almost trance like state. He was so disconnected from the world in fact that it took him a few seconds to realise that Mr. Schmidt the factory foreman was talking to him. He was so stunned with this break from the norm that he just stared at Mr. Schmidt for a further minute mouth partially agape before he realised that he should probably be listening to what the foreman was saying.

“- so you can collect your final cheque from the accounts department at the end of work today.” Mr. Schmidt was saying.

Jack nodded along, trying to get this irregularity out of the way so he could get back to work, when suddenly what the foreman was saying hit him.

“Wait, what do you mean final cheque?” he asked puzzled.

Mr. Schmidt stared back at him with an equally puzzled look on his face.

“Your final cheque for working at this plant,” he said “The machines are arriving this weekend; the robotic assembly line. You are being made redundant. Christ, Robinson where’s your head at?”

Jack quivered in shock trying to absorb what Mr. Schmidt had just said, he opened his mouth to try and speak, found himself unable to do so and so just quivered some more instead.

Finally, with great effort he gathered up the composure to speak, albeit barely.

“Wha- how-” he squeaked out, and then taking a deep breath to compose himself further he continued in an only slightly more level voice “But that’s not possible! You can’t just lay me off without any warning!”

“No warning?! We have sent you literally dozens of notices to your company mailbox and we have had eight company-wide meetings in the last six months! If you weren’t in your own goddam world all the time maybe you would have realised!” Mr. Schmidt said angrily.

Jack was stunned. How had he not seen this coming?

“Wait,” he stammered, “I have a company mailbox?”

Mr. Schmidt just shook his head and walked off.

Jack sat there still reeling from the shock of his conversation, then got up and ran from colleague to colleague asking them if they knew about this. Most of them asked him if he was joking and looked at him as if he was slightly mentally unbalanced and then asked him to leave them alone. Some were even less polite than that. Finally he asked someone about the company mailboxes and was told they were installed around five years ago and were located in the basement.

After getting over the shock that he hadn’t noticed that he had a mailbox for five years and then getting over the shock that the factory had a basement he went downstairs. Sure enough there was a mailbox with his name on it. He opened it and five years’ worth of mail cascaded onto the floor at his feet. Sifting through them, he found out Mr. Schmidt was right he had received dozens of letters about his impending redundancy. He stared at them in despair.

***

The next few weeks were hard on Jack Robinson. He had tried unsuccessfully to apply for jobs at many other factories but none were hiring. In desperation he had even started applying for every job listed in the newspaper, but was told time and time again that no one was interested in hiring an unqualified ex-factory worker on the wrong side of 50. In then end the only job he had been able to get was a job bagging groceries at a local supermarket and he suspected it was only because the 20-something manager had felt pity for him. He felt humiliated having to work at a job that paid almost nothing with colleagues who were mostly school children, but with no other choice he was forced to take it. He hated it from the very first day; the tiring work, having to smile politely at customers, most of whom were rude and impatient and most of all his smugly superior boss, who treated him with a mixture of contempt and condescension.

It was perhaps not surprising then that Jack had taken to drinking every night, and that he found himself late one night breaking into the factory where had worked with a shovel in one hand and a bottle of cheap whiskey in the other. He walked up to the assembly line where he had worked for 30 years and stared malevolently at the gleaming robot arm that had replaced him. He took a swig from the bottle and with a contented smile began raining blows on the hated machine with his shovel, he closed his eyes basking in the cathartic destruction.

After many minutes and even more blows he opened his eyes to survey his handiwork and stepped back in horror to see the robotic arm without so much as a scratch on it. Panic grasped at his stomach as he hit out at the machine again and again, but nothing happened, until with a resounding crack the shovel broke in half.

He stared up at the machine glinting under the dull lights of the factory at night and realised he was beaten. This machine was better than he was, he was just an aging inefficient man and this machine had made him obsolete, he was filled a sense of weariness and futility. Tears filled his eyes and he fell to the floor and wept.
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Old 09-20-2012, 05:10 AM   #57
Harvey Swick
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oh, whats that? a bump? sure, why not?
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Quote:
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Like I said, I hope it's just the farts.
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Old 09-21-2012, 12:23 PM   #58
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Any updates on closing dates/judging?
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Old 09-23-2012, 05:24 AM   #59
Harvey Swick
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how about we close it next Sunday?
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Quote:
Originally Posted by lolmnt
Like I said, I hope it's just the farts.
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Old 09-23-2012, 01:08 PM   #60
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I'll judge if judges are required, since I'm too busy (read: lazy) to actually write anything. So we close on Sunday and reveal scores on, say, Wednesday?
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I wonder if you get more out put if you wire a battery to your penis.
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