C&F Writing Competition. Can you freaking believe it?

[Walden]

With the swift grace befitting ones called Graces, Nettie, Bella, and Reenie glided into the scene, as if on gossamer, or, if not gossamer at least mosquito netting, wings, and proceeded to pummel the living daylights out of the door behind which still lurked the troll-like avariciousness of the judges.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" they squealed in tones far less graceful than their other gracely attributes, which were too numerous to name and will, for that reason, be left to the readers fervent, or perhaps fetid, imagination.

Hey! I used the word avariciousness on this board before. I wonder how many times it's been said in C&F history.

[Nanohedron]

The pummelling finally tired the girls out, for the Ajudicators were resolute. Or it could be they were dissolute, and passed out from partying on a mysterious crate of champagne that had been FedExed to their lair of avarice and dice. Either way, the door wasn't budging. Wondering what to do next, they fidgeted: Nettie picking at her nose, Bella tugging at her bra, and Reenie scratching at her beehive 'do. Their fury deflated for the nonce, they finally noticed the one ping pong ball suspended in midair like an X-Files prop. "For the love of Mike, what in the name of Overton is up with THAT?", blared Bella.

From out of a deeply shadowed corner, a small, wizened, towel-wrapped figure with big pointy ears and an apparent thyroid disorder rasped, "A tool it is, hmmm, yes. Hope would you its secrets to learn, hmmm? But the Force must you learn first to use, yes, or I will help you not."

[emmline]

"Cripes!" yelled Nettie, who often went by "Net," except for the nights she'd been watching Monty Python, on which she called herself "Nee." "It's Davey Spillane!"

"No way," screamed Reenie. "It's the spittin' image of Bootstrap Bill come back to haunt us!"

"Get yer' bloomin' flicks straight!" huffed the other one, whatever her name was. "It's Spillane alright."

[scottielvr]

Bella (also known as Beulah, the name she used in her phone sex business in the vain hope that she would thus go unrecognized by the gentlemen in town who were frequent flyers, so to speak) gave up adjusting her attenuated bra strap and turned her attention to the suspended spheroid. "Hmmmp. I believe we oughta study on this a while. That little puke colored fella said something about it being a 'tool.' Well, I seen plenty a tools and it don't look like no tool to me."

"No ghost, neither." This from Reenie, who for reasons best left unsaid, had chosen the name "Desdemona" for her phone-sex shifts; a name which either amused or utterly confounded the customers.

Nettie or Nellie shifted her cud of Red Man to the other cheek and regarded the little wrinkled being, wondering what the deal with the towel was. And those ears! "You wouldn't, by any chance, be a .....troll, now, would you?"

[Nanohedron]

"Hmmm, troll I may be, yes," gurgled the pasty fennec-eared homunculus, "but trulls you are all certainly, hmmm! Clean ought you your telephones. Well they are for naughty things used." The Three Graces gaped. "What the...", said Nettie. "You don't know jack, you sawed-off little freak. I'll make a cookie jar out of you for your lip," barked Bella. "The Force it is, yes," he went on. "Master the Force, and know things you will. Things rather you would not, even, hmmmm. But the ping pong ball! Look to it. If enter the door you would, your key it is. Without the Force, useless to you it will be, though, hmmm." Reenie unclenched her fists and looked at the serenely floating orb again. "It IS kinda cute," she chirped. "Don't even go there," drawled Bella.

[Nanohedron]

*thud of lead balloon*

[blackhawk]

Given the new hidden sides we have seen of C&Fers and their secret love of writing, I move that we award sticky status to a permanent thread for fiction writing. Or a new forum for it. Or something.

[Nanohedron]

I see your point, but maybe we have enough sticky threads already. Me, I'm just flogging a prone, dying horse. There are plenty of opportunities for us to think we're being witty day in and day out here. I expect this one to die the death before long. Chiffer attention span, and all that.

[dubhlinn]

I see your point, but maybe we have enough sticky threads already. Me, I'm just flogging a prone, dying horse. There are plenty of opportunities for us to think we're being witty day in and day out here. I expect this one to die the death before long. Chiffer attention span, and all that.

Dunno,
If we have a permanent Tubby Thread then we could just as easily have a permanent Fiction Forum.

Mind you,some of the Tubby Thread postings look pretty fictitious........,

Slan,
D.
:roll:

[blackhawk]

I see your point, but maybe we have enough sticky threads already. Me, I'm just flogging a prone, dying horse. There are plenty of opportunities for us to think we're being witty day in and day out here. I expect this one to die the death before long. Chiffer attention span, and all that.

You're probably right.

[emmline]

*thud of lead balloon*

"Whoops," said the three Graces, as if in one voice.

"Failed you have," admonished the greenish one. "Drop it was not meant to."

The doorway behind which the judges were now sleeping off a case of champagne opened a crack.
"Hey," croaked Bloomfield. "Would ya' take the shotput outside?"
The door slammed with all the force a hungover adjudicator could reasonably be expected to muster.

[scottielvr]

It took the door a few seconds to stop vibrating. “Don’t know what we’ve come to,” Bella was shaking her head. “Useta be, just a couple millenia ago, we were three of the hottest minor deities…we hung out with Aphrodite herself…we danced the Macarena with the Muses…no one could book a feast or festival without our okay (and approval of the caterer with a hefty kickback)--”

From behind the doorway broke in the boozy croak again:
"--Then Eurynome, Ocean's fair daughter,
bore to Zeus the three Graces, all fair-cheeked,
Aglaia, Euphrosyne, and shapely Thalia;
their alluring eyes glance from under their brows,
and from their eyelids drips desire that unstrings the limbs."

“Cripes, what an awful translation—but , yeah, that’s how it was,” she continued, nodding. “But the mortals all have such a short attention span... so look at us—scratching out a living pandering to losers without enough cojones to even pay for the real thing…forget about desire, we’ve lost our cutie-pie looks…and now, we’re being lectured about some sorta faux-Taoist BS by a whacko midget from a space-opera…”

Reenie wolfed down the rest of the marzipan and eyed the whiskered gnome. “Well, he’s got serious facial hair issues, but still, he is kinda cute,” she squeaked.

“Go there not, I would,” sniffed the hirsute pygmy. “And Taoist BS it is not; more of an epistomologic problem it is, hmmm? ” gesturing at the ball which was rolling unobtrusively toward the door.

“I’d say it’s a plotting problem,” Nettie cackled.

[emmline]

Emmline galumphed back into the scene, wishing desperately for her own pair of mosquito netting wings.
"Reenie, Nettie, Beulah!" she uttered in a beseaching squawk. "Scottie's muse is blowing me out of the water, prosaically speaking, that is! I need help! I need all three of you!"

"Hah," grunted Reenie, giving the ball, which was by now subject to all ordinary laws of time-space curvature, a careless boot. "Whadda'we look like, Terpsichori?"

"Listen you must," uttered the wrinkled sage, with an endearing shake of his knobby finger. "Help you can."

[scottielvr]

Then Bloomfield cawed again, perhaps a little more con brio: "Ah, emmline, my little kartoffel, never fear; despite having been most heinously plied with cheap cognac, my critical faculties remain unimpaired--so I recognize that scottie's muse is definitely prosaic. Be of good cheer; mere prolixity is no match for your elan. Oh--and by the way, please don't touch that goddam ball."

[emmline]

(Emmline marches off stage left wearing her elan like a tiara.)