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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/05/30 20:17 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus sits hunched, in a gloom. He reaches out and moves his D2 Knight to C4]

If you're losing your soul and you know it, than you've still got a soul to lose.

[He looks over and winks at Bukowski's ghost]
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/05/30 20:46 By: carol Status: Admin  
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[Carol has the current capital spread out before her on the desktop of the cherrywood. She's looking it over]

We've got Keith Higginbotham's Bolsheviks on Ice up to bat. Oh wait, sorry. My bad. It's titled Bolsheviks on Mars.

[She closes her eyes. Breathes deep]

Shit.
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/05/30 21:30 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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[doomey wanders back to the cherrywood]

it's sci-fi, isn't it. we really try not to do sci-fi here, sister. sci-fi is good if it has a sense of humor and maybe a real dark twist, savvy? alien. that's an excellent franchise, not very prosey though.

[doomey steps up to the cherrywood's edge and looms over the current capital. he examines the prose, and he scratches the back of his neck. he twists his lips]

this makes no sense. which fiction should often not do, but, wow, this really makes no sense.
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/05/30 21:39 By: carol Status: Admin  
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[Carol rocks back in the pilot's chair, and she crosses her legs, her skirt hiking up the thighs, and she purses her lips]

Yeah, cousin. I'm along side you on this one. Just does not compute. I like the wandering focus, but wanders a bit too much.

[Carol balls up the capital and she shoves the pilot's chair backward, and she moves around the desk to Boligard. She unzips his fly and lowers his pants]
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/05/30 21:42 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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holy Mothers of Invention.

[He tries to pull his pants back up to his waist, but Carol has a slight muscle advantage on him, and she wrestles the pants to his ankles]

this is invasive.
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/05/30 21:48 By: carol Status: Admin  
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[Carol shoves the current capital up Boligard's ass. She pushes it in there, making sure it's really in there good]

Higginbotham's Bolsheviks on Mars has been Portholed.

[Carol removes her fist from Boligard's ass and stands erect. She breathes deep, and she smiles]

You can pull your fucking pants up now, cousin.
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/05/31 17:15 By: tqr Status: Admin  
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[the Rorschalk sits real heavy, preferring the waffled indentations across his cheeks than the forcible butt rape of sub-par cap...]

Poor Boligard. Makes you want to be a member in bad standing of hashtag metoo! Butt, then again ... who wants that feckless bullshit jive?

[said whilst pushing pawn b7 to b5]

Ouch.
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/06/01 19:25 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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[doomey pulls up his pants, wiggles his hips]

i'd say ouch. damn fine move Rorschalk. a fucking fork. damn.

[he shuffles forward, toward the glass tiles, his buttcheeks clinched]

what say you Jesus?
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/06/01 19:43 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus scoots up close to the edge of the chess board, looks down on it. He locates Bukowski's ghost, winks]

Okay. I guess I'll play this out, sadness. Serious frown. Dead man walking.

[He takes Rorschalk's knight with his knight. Nc4 x Ne5]

Jesus leans back, works his triceps as he lowers his torso and then lifts it up, again and again, getting all red faced]
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/06/02 01:03 By: tqr Status: Admin  
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[the Rorschalk chuckles to himself with glee and reaches for his pawn ...]

Looks like old queenie ...

[but troubled, he unhands his pawn and studies the board, wondering why the messiah gave up his queen ... then he notices a pattern, ...bishop goes there ... guarded by knight ... black queen forced into a sacrifice!!!!!!]

I should've known it would not be so easy. That was an excellent gambit, sir.

[recablibrating, the red-faced one uses his queen to take knight E5]
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/06/02 18:21 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus hangs his head]

Darn it to hell.
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/06/02 18:28 By: carol Status: Admin  
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[Carol wanders over to the circle jerk gathered on the glass tiles, she looks down on the board]

Yeah, damn. That would have been a sweet Queen sacrifice, though nada might have come of it, right? A little weak, Christ. This game is not going down in the record books, cousins.

[She pulls out her phone, thumbs the screen, twists her lips a bit. She shifts her weight from foot to foot. She taps on her phone screen]
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/06/02 18:33 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus breathes deep, He reaches out and shoves his Queen to D4]

The wicked find their way through the forest, the good skirt.
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/06/02 19:05 By: tqr Status: Admin  
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[Rorschalk contemplates the elimination of both the queens and thinks perhaps he's still got room to fight and move his QE5-QG5 and sits back to see what will Jesus do?]

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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/06/03 11:43 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
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[DeP's trying on a selection of cloaks delivered by Amazon. To an outsider, the garments may appear as several samples of the same thing in various colours. The truth is sometimes difficult to discern from the rabble and rubble. Yes, they are the same garment...DeP has a penchant for the loose and the flow and the obscuring of her shape...but each one is a slightly different cut, a different size, and most importantly, a different weight. Every shift has an effect. She glances at the chess session. It's been lingering for days. Good game for focusing wandering minds. Good training for...she swirls in burgundy. Cat hair lifts from the glass tiles. Dances briefly, then descends to occupy new spaces. She has chosen the best. It will help with the shivers brought on by some of the content she's been reading of late.]

VCs temper their words, but their plots plod the dark alleys. Characters are haunted by past deeds. Or future ones festering, conceived and considered.

VC John Leahy's protag in Hobson's Choice asks if the thing he's to perform a procedure on even has skin. How can you skin an entity that might not have skin, he ponders, and we ponder along with him.

Om mani padme hum. I draw me cloak around me mom. Mind the gap, the oven's hot. Life might be joy or it might not. Sigh. John Leahy's Hobson's Choice launching to The Terminal, with pickling spice.

[She raises the hand holding pages of the cap, skinless. Releases it. An updraft catches it, sucks it hungrily away. DeP slumps. Dystopia wearies her bones, but she's not denuded of all lightness. She packs up the remaining cloak wear, readying it for return. Peter Green tunes his guitar. Introduces Oh Well.]

DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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