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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/07/17 01:25 By: carol Status: Admin  
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[Carol turns and grabs the capital from Jesus Christ]

Fuck, alright, okay. Give me a fucking second, Jesus.

[Carol examines the capital]
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/07/20 00:34 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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[doomey gets his ass back on the coconut stump, examines the cap over Carol's shoulder, she's sand-seated at his feet, the capital spread out on the sand before her. doomey's nodding his head to some Dr. Dre music in his head, and now he's shaking his head, and now he's swatting at tiny insects that buzz his head like those copters buzzed the empire state building in that old king kong movie. doomey twists his lips, erupts from his stump-seat and staggers beachward]


i'm with the Christ. this looks like a Porthole. fuck these fucking flies.
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/07/20 01:00 By: carol Status: Admin  
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[Carol lifts her head, looks around the island]

Okay. It's way coolness to craft capital, but one of the main ingredients in crafting is style. What we look for here at TQR is solid crafting with style. Capital sans style is god awful, it's like a Dan Brown novel, the worst ever. Dan Brown is so bad he probably can't sleep at night. And if he can it's only because he's so damn rich. My dog, if I had one, could craft better capital than Dan fucking Brown. God, he makes me want to gag.

[Carol stands, and she gags]


Fuck you, Dan Brown. If no one has told you you suck, then hey, motherfucker, here you go. You fucking suck!

[Carol breathes, stretches her arms to the side, hovers zen-like, and she closes her eyes, and she whispers...]


Mother fucking cocksuckers.

[Carol opens her eyes, looks at the sea, slides her hands over her hips]


Any fucking what, Karmazin's What Clones May Do is currently being Portholed. We need the best words, Trump. No room for second best any more, sisters.


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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/07/24 01:21 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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okay, well. you're right about Dan Brown. and all this time I thought it was only me.


[he walks in circles on the beach]


but if you think about it, if Dan Brown wanted to craft thriller novels like Bukowski might, without the wit and eyebrow-raise and buddy-feel and women-worship, and he wanted to make capital a puzzle solving experience like Archie and Jughead, and if he wanted to suck excitment from the crafted word, go complete bore monster, then i'd say Dan has really gotten the job done.

[doomey kneels in the sand. he licks his lips. he pats his knees. before him rests a fresh capital. he leans in and grabs up the fresh capital. he looks it over]

Joseph McKinley's They Don't Call It Love Anymore is up to bat.

[he spreads the capital out on the sand before him. cannon fire can be heard, screams down on the beach, gun shots and explosions. body parts land next to him, and still he examines. he's focused. rockets fly and lands, erupt, and the ground quakes, and still doomey examines the capital. he finishes his examination and he grabs up the cap and struggles to his feet, the ground quaking under attack]


see now...this is goodstuff. i'm gonna send McKinley's Love up another level, where these damn end of world events aren't happening.


[doomey digs into the sand with his toe, and he digs and kicks, scoops sand, and he arrives at a hole in the sand, two feet deep! he shoves the capital in the hole, and he shifts lots of sand with his foot into the hole, burying the capital. he tamps the grave]


sometimes you have to go down to get up, cousin. sometimes you have to get buried to rise again.
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/08/01 23:21 By: carol Status: Admin  
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Fuck you, Dan Brown!
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/08/01 23:49 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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[boligard looks at Carol, squinches his eyes and shakes his head, opens his eyes wide as he pulls a fresh capital from the ass-end of his pants. he staggers around the beach, his ankles getting a lot of exercise, and he plops his ass down in the sand that feels a lot more solid than it should]

we've got danger in the darkness crafted by dean grondo on the line, fellas and ladies.

[he lays the capital upon the sand, looks it over, spreads it out, nudges it, sniffs at it. boligard leans back, grasping the current capital, and he suns himself as he examines the current capital like it's a sun-shade, it's shadow easing the burn on his eyes]


oh, fuck yeah. we must send this up to the cloud, er, the Terminal.


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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/08/10 00:10 By: carol Status: Admin  
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[Carol grabs up the current capital and she twists and balls it into a clump as she jogs surfward, and then she tosses the capital out into the sea, and she wavers, left to right, as she stands there, looking out over the vast, homeless ocean]


We are fucked.
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/08/10 00:17 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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[doomey shakes his head. he grabs the chopped coconut from Jesus, offered with smiles, and he looks into the milky ghetto inside the headed nut. he nods his approval and he sips at the edge of the nut]

sweet milk. and what's that extra nudge?
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/08/10 00:34 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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Rum. Local stuff. There's a village just over the hill.

[Jesus pulls his tank top away from his chest and he blows air down his torso. He resituates himself, adjusts his nuts, combs his fingers through his oily Arab hair]


It's really good rum, man.


[Jesus toes a stone on the beach and he finds some fresh capital]


Oh em gee, Swisher. I just found a new Easter egg. We've got fresh cap, folks.

[Jesus bends down and collects the fresh cap, and he glances down beside his combat boots, sees shadows that totally resemble cock and balls. Jesus shifts the sands with his boot heel, totally not ready deal with cock and balls]
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/08/11 01:31 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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[doomey grabs the capital from Jesus, he sips from the beheaded coconut. he breathes deep]

there's a village over the fucking hill? are you humping my leg, Christ?
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/08/11 02:16 By: carol Status: Admin  
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[Carol grabs the capital from Boligard's grip, and she looks it over quick, like maybe some horrible thang was about to go down]

We've got Swisher's Till Death or in Parts.


[And she slaps the capital on the sand before her, and she examines it thoroughly, though slow, like a clown putting on his/her makeup, attention to details]

Well, damn.

[The sun courses its way across the solid blue sky, time erodes]

I like this capital, cousins. Rings real true, right?
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/08/14 00:29 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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[doomey stands over Carol (she's on her hands and knees on the sand, her fingers kneading the sand, her ass waving with a beat reminiscent of Kenny Wayne Shepherd's Ledbetter Heights) and he's finishing his examination of the current capital, pursing his lips and flexing his butt cheeks. he goes to one knee]

damn, i'd murder someone for a fucking cigarette right now, and i really think we need to find some flares. for rescuing. but, damn, i'm with Carol on this one, Till Death or in Parts is gold, cousins. love the way this capital sees the undead. it's diff, and it's hot, and it is wowness.

[doomey grabs up the current capital from the beach, and he makes birds and monsters from the sheets of prose, and he sits his ass on the sand, snuggles in. he halves and folds and crimps and hollows and twists the sheets of prose. and he puts before him, in his sand cityscape, a bear, a swan, a moose, a cat, a lamp, a Stratocaster, a camper trailer, an angry emu, and a crane, and a rooster...and a wren. and with the wren, he's exhausted the capital's physical worth. the origami littered before him, in the sand...stands strong. and then it's all washed with the tide]

Til Death or in Parts has been lifted up, cousins.


[but he looks at the ebb, curses it]


cocksucker! took all my origami, fucker.
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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/08/14 23:59 By: tqr Status: Admin  
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[meanwhile, over the thickly palm-tree'd hill, the rorschalk wedges his back twixt the corner of a teak wood drinking establishment, a bottle of rum on the barrel before him and some yo ho ho's just for laughs. The proprietor of the establishment grows weary of accepting the blue one's iou's and promises of future remuneration, so stands there lecturing the bossman on the absoluteness of his leeward hegemony and the emoluments and brickbats said control can bring about ... but to this he bolts upright and, grabbing the bottle as if he were ringing a rooster's neck, sez]

Nay! What is this life but a cakewalk in a minefield. A dance but brief in a moisturized red ball of setting sun? Aye. To what do we owe all this rending of hearts and ripping of clothing but a good quiver of arrows shot at the moon with the foreknowledge they'll all fall short anon? And so...

[he pauses to drink deeply of the bottle]

I dirnk to ye merry gentelmen and scallawags, for by the sooth of the pompous polonius ... neither a borrower nor a lender be

[Then, abrupt as the needle scratched none too gently from the vinyl the barman kicks the barrel over and tking the rorschalk roughly by the lapels, sez]

You'll not mystify me with your presumpt words my laggard! Pay up or your ass will in the blender be ... see?

[the rorschalk gulps, staring twain into the mad merchant's bloodshot eyes]

Yikes. Howz my credit in this fine establishment?

[The barkeep's eyes grow big as pies and his hands graduate from the cheap drunkard's collar to his neck]


grthpt ... fupppttlll...arrrrghhhhh

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Re:wk 3.0
Date: 2018/08/16 00:18 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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[doomey moves in, grabs the barkeep's shoulders and pushes him back against the mahogany bar, and he pounds the shit out of his face, and blood falls]

ha, fucker.

[doomey goes crazy, moving his boots like a Rocky movie, bitches.
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