Make Your Move (1754 hits)
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Submitted by UberMadness! (View user info) at 2005-07-26 10:50:01 EDT
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Entry 1
My name is Mohammed al-Bekhmani, and I am naught but a crippled beggar on the streets of Basrah.I was not always this way, though. In 1974, I was known as the greatest child soccer star in Iraq; the future of Iraqi soccer was on my shoulders even then, at the age of 12. It is funny to me, even now. I wasn't the fastest, the smartest, or the strongest. What did I have that the others did not?
I had The Move.
From the beginning, I could handle the ball like no other. Even when I was just beginning to play, it was apparent to everyone that I could maneuver down the pitch, over, around, and through defenders, like somebody twice my age. By the time I was 10, I was creating and executing complex fakes and juggles nobody had even dreamed of before.
The Move was born from that period in my life, my creative peak, if you will.
I first used it when I was ten, in a scrimmage against a team of 14-year-olds. The boy defending me tripped over his own feet, and had to be helped off the field. I later heard he broke both ankles, although to this day I am unsure if that was merely an embellishment by those meaning to add to my legend.
Since that day, The Move became my signature. It never received a proper name; everyone knew it was mine, and mine alone. It was known simply as "Mohammed's Move". And so it was.
Destiny seemed to be fulfilled when I was selected to join the Iraqi national team in 1978, at the age of 16. Although it represented the pinnacle of my success, though, it represented a new era for me as well. No longer could I nonchalantly win every match by myself. My shot wasn't strong enough to score on the professional goalkeepers. The new defenders were fast enough to keep up with my maneuvers, smart enough to react correctly when I faked. I even discovered the unthinkable: my opponents were beginning to figure out how to counter The Move.
At the behest of the coach, I shelved The Move and concentrated on my other skills. I became an adept passer and developed my field vision enough to begin leading the team in assists. My days as the lone wolf striker were over. I was moved to midfield, where I was able to lead the attack more effectively.
Regrettably, my teams were never championship-caliber. Although we were able to dominate the majority of the other Arab teams, the soccer superpowers such as Britain, Italy, and Brazil seemed to send us home early whenever we came up against one of them in a tourney. We resolved to try harder, but although we managed to make it close a few times, we could never manage to get that final push we needed.
Then, in 1979, Saddam Hussein and his family became the dictators of Iraq, and winning games now became a matter of life and death. His son, Uday, didn't take kindly to players "disgracing Iraq's name", as he put it, and those whom he chose as his scapegoats were oftentimes never seen again.
Of course, it was only a matter of time before our team's captain, Hassan Assiyasi, became one of the scapegoats. After a particularly lopsided defeat at the hands of Real Madrid in an exhibition match in 1984, he was "invited" to an audience with Uday at the Palace in Baghdad. He was never seen again.
With the loss of our captain, a new one had to be elected. After several veterans declined the offer, for obvious reasons, I was chosen. At the age of 22, I had both the ego and naivety most young men do. I was sure I could hold the team together enough to not only do well enough to survive, but also to win.
Naturally, these fantasies soon dissipated. As losses mounted, more of my best players were killed or crippled by Uday and his followers. It soon became harder and harder to find talented players willing to risk it all to play for their country.
Nonetheless, we continued to compete on the orders of Uday, hoping each and every time we would do well enough to escape our patron's wrath.
I was compelled to meet with Uday several times. I'm not proud of it, but I was able to avoid my predecessor's fate each time by blaming one of my players for each loss instead of myself. Every time I sacrificed one of my teammates, one of my friends, to his bloodlust, he would stare at me, then smile like a child as he accepted the offering. That smile sent chills down my spine; chills that have never truly left.
After several years of this attrition, I began reverting to my teenaged behavior. While the Iraqi team rapidly decayed, other teams around the world improved just as rapidly. With so many talented playmakers removed from my team, very few of the new members were able to truly make a difference in the score of a game. By necessity, I returned to the striker position of my youth, carrying the ball up myself and making my moves as I had formerly.
I survived nearly ten years by offering others to die in my place. By 1995, I was the only man left on the team who had survived throughout Saddam's reign. The majority of my team was filled with 20-year-old nobodies, hoping for just a scent of glory before the end.
It was 1995 when the Pan-Arab Games came to Iraq. Naturally, the biggest event was the soccer tournament, held at the Hussein Royal Stadium in Baghdad, and of course, we were compelled to compete.
And amazingly enough, my squad of nobodies held its own against such high-powered squads as Saudi Arabia and Egypt. We managed to leap out to early leads in every match, and, spurred on by the cheers of our countrymen in our home stadium, we managed to protect them until the final buzzer.
Finally, after a week of delirium, it was time for the finals match against Iran to take place. We walked out onto the pitch, reveling in the cheers of the crowd, determined to give them something many never expected to see.
It was a close game from the opening whistle. First the Iranians scored on a corner kick, then we evened the score after I took the ball from end to end, faking out the opposing keeper and tapping in an easy one.
The score remained knotted at one through the first half, and we walked off the pitch happy with our performance. Awaiting us in our locker room, though, was a surprise visitor: Uday Hussein. If we did not win, he told us, the deaths of the Kurds would seem gentle by comparison.
We ran out to begin the second half with Uday's "inspiration" ringing in our ears, but the Iranians seemed similarly energized. They scored a quick goal right after the kickoff, when our sweeper missed a ball, and then switched to a defensive mode, denying me the ball as much as possible.
Finally, in injury time, I managed to get open enough to receive an outlet pass from my keeper. I began taking it downfield, spinning around a defender, poking the ball through another's legs.
I felt energized in a way I hadn't for many years. In what felt like mere seconds, I had traveled from one end of the pitch to the other. Now only the sweeper stood in my way.
I moved slowly toward him, and suddenly I heard the crowd chanting. It was unbearably loud, and the only reason I hadn't noticed before was my concentration. I paused for a split second, to hear what they were saying.
MAKE YOUR MOVE.
MAKE YOUR MOVE.
MAKE YOUR MOVE.
I hadn't used The Move for years. Did I still remember how? What the hell, I decided. There was no way we could win this game if I didn't go all-out here.
The sweeper moved toward me, and I juggled between my feet to keep him off-balance.
And I moved.
Next thing I knew, I was lying on my back, staring at the sky as the sweeper easily trapped the ball and passed it away. As the buzzer rang, all I could think was that The Move failed me.
After the game, I received an "invitation" to join Uday immediately in his private suite in the stadium.
"May I at least shower and change first?" I asked the messenger.
"He wants to see you now," he said.
I walked into his office dripping sweat and tears. He was seated on a leather sofa, sipping a drink. His face was impassive.
"Come join me," he said, gesturing to the seat beside him.
I joined him. What else could I do?
"You must be thirsty. Would you like a drink?"
I nodded. "Water, please."
He pointed at one of his men, who walked over to a faucet and filled a glass with water. He walked back, handed it to me, and returned to his station against the wall.
Uday sat watching me as I drank. "Now, Mohammed, we must discuss what happened today," he said.
"I know, my lord." I bowed my head. "I could have scored. I should have."
Uday shook his head. "Why did you use The Move? You haven't used it in years. Why did you think you could pull it off now?"
My head stayed bowed. "I am not sure, my lord. I heard the crowd chanting 'Make your Move', and I thought maybe I could, just this once, to bring great honor to our nation."
He laughed, a chilling laugh without an ounce of warmth. "Mohammed, I appreciate the effort your team put into this tournament."
I began shaking, and it wasn't the tone of his voice that made it happen. I lost control of my muscles, which pulled me off the sofa onto the cold hard floor. I tried raising an arm to push myself up, but it would not budge.
Uday stood up. He stood over my head and smiled down at me. "Razil over there drugged your water. Anyway, as much as I appreciate the effort, though, I promised that someone would be punished if your team lost. And I can't let it be known that I break my promises, can I?"
He gestured toward the door. I watched, unblinking, as an unseen person handed him a metal pipe, and withdrew.
He began walking around my prone body. "As great a player as you have been, my friend, I think I must make an example of you." He paused as he neared my legs. "But you cannot disappear, like others have. The people must see what happens to those who displease me."
The, without warning, he reached back and smashed my left kneecap with the pipe. The pain spread through my body, so rapidly and so intense that I screamed.
At least, I tried to. The drug wouldn't let me control my tongue.
Uday walked around to my other side. "After this, you will go back out on the streets. You will have no home, no family, no possessions. You will be not be just another beggar, though." He lifted the pipe over his head and brought it down on my other knee, shattering it. "You will be a symbol of my rage. And you will never walk again."
He walked around some more. I felt as though I could feel every bone fragment digging into a nerve, radiating pain. He left my vision for a second, and I heard him talking quietly to his men by the door.
Then he returned. He knelt down, staring into my eyes. He smiled again, and, strangely, this smile had all the warmth the last one lacked.
He raised the pipe one more time. "Let's see you make your move now," he said. Then he brought the pipe down onto my head.
And finally, mercifully, everything went black.
- VS -
Entry 2
On a quiet and otherwise unremarkable Sunday afternoon, a timeworn Chevy Impala made its way through an exclusive neighborhood, passing its betters on every side. It stopped at a gate at the bottom of a hill, and its driver rolled down the window and pushed a button to request access.A video screen sprung to life, unintentionally showcasing the exquisite features of the woman who answered it. She wore an Egyptian headdress which the practiced eye of the Impala's driver identified as real gold.
"May I help you?"
The man in the car casually flicked open a badge.
"Yes, my name is Detective Bill Mulanski. I'm here to see Jeffrey Alexander."
The woman's face remained impassive.
"One moment, please."
A short time later, the gates slid open quietly, and Detective Mulanski drove his car through them. He wound his way up the hill, the drive comfortably shaded from the summer sun by the massive oak trees lining it on either side. It opened up at the top of the hill to reveal a sprawling and immaculately maintained stone mansion of recent build.
The detective stopped at the front entrance and got out of his car.
Before he could knock, the front door opened. There to greet him was another woman, as beautiful as the first, scantily clad in an outfit which, the detective could not help but notice, was designed to reveal more than it concealed. She also wore a headdress in the Egyptian style, a coif of pure gold.
"Welcome, Detective Mulanski. I am known as Ashley. Mr. Alexander will be with you in a moment. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable."
The motif did not end with clothing. Littered throughout the house were statues of Bath and Anubis, mixed in with a bevy of Egyptian symbols the detective recognized but could not put a name to. Classical music played faintly in the background at just the right volume, piped through the house via speakers cleverly concealed from view.
The woman Ashley led him to an elegantly appointed sitting room and gestured to a leather chair. The detective took the proffered seat.
"May I bring you a drink, detective?"
"I'm okay, thank you."
"Then I bid you good day."
As soon as the woman had left the room, the detective stood up and began to look around, taking in as many details as he could. After a moment, his eyes settled upon a piece of stone mounted to the wall, protected by a glass display case. Though it was worn with time, the picture carved into it was still clear. Cattle, marching single file, to an unknown destination - the carving was but a piece of some larger, unknown work of art.
"Old Kingdom. Fifth Dynasty. From the time of Khufu. Cattle on their way to the pharaoh, a tribute sacrifice."
Bill turned around.
Jeffery Alexander was a young man, in his early thirties, and immaculately groomed. He was bronzed, fit, and truth be told a bit shorter than Bill had been expecting. He was wearing nothing but a bathing suit, and was drying his hair with a towel as he walked in. He extended his hand.
Bill took it.
"Khufu was the Pharoah who made the Great Pyramid at Giza," said Mr. Alexander, turning to the bar on the far wall. "He wanted to be remembered for all time. It worked."
"Well..."
"I've thought before, that when I die, I might build a pyramid in some dry part of America, like Death Valley. Build one twice the size of Khufu's, just to get people's attention. What do you think people would say?"
"They would probably call you arrogant."
Jeffery Alexander turned around, a glass of scotch in his hand, and smiled. "The Egyptians said the same of Khufu, I'm sure. And yet they teach his name to every high school student in the world. How can I help you, detective?"
Bill looked at his fingernails for a moment, nonplussed. He was used to being in command of any situation he found himself in while on duty; within thirty seconds this man had left him trying to figure out whether he had been engaged in casual conversation of the recipient of a threat.
"You ever hear of a man named Roosevelt Chapman, Mr. Alexander?"
The smile on Jeffery's face twitched, just for a moment. "Can't say that I have."
Bill scratched his head deliberately, looking away for a moment, and then looked into Jeffery's eyes. "Lies don't become you, Mr. Alexander. Won't you have a seat?"
"On the contrary, detective, I think you should sit down. You appear to suspect me in some sort of crime, and you will outline your case against me immediately."
"I'm afraid that's not how it works..." Bill began, and paused. His temples were throbbing horribly. He rubbed his face and took a seat.
"Two weeks ago, on Friday the sixteenth of March, Roosevelt Chapman, manager of the Chase Manhattan bank near the old World Trade Center site, stole approximately seven hundred thousand dollars of hard currency from the vault after the bank was closed. From what I have gathered, he drove to an unknown location, got rid of the money, then went home, drew a bath, and slit his wrists."
"Please continue, detective. This is most interesting" said Jeffery, sitting down opposite him.
"I was assigned to the case. What troubled me right away was that there was no apparent motive for either the crime or the suicide. Mr. Chapman had no history of any criminal activity, no outstanding debts of any kind, and no family members that were in trouble. He was squeaky clean. As a matter of course, I took his home computer and looked over it. Three days before the robbery, he looked up this address on his home computer."
"And where did that lead you?"
"After getting your name, I checked his work computer. Apparently, that day you spoke with Mr. Chapman and closed your account with Chase Manhattan. It seemed odd that Mr. Chapman would look up your home after what should otherwise have been a routine transaction, so I looked into you."
"What did you find?"
"Barely anything at all, and that made me even more curious. The deeper I dug for information, the more of an enigma you became, Mr. Alexander. Your records seem to have been frequently deleted by clerks who were unable to account for their actions, people who were associated with you at one point or another seem to have died mysteriously or forgotten they knew you, and even things as simple as your driving record cannot be located. All I really know is that you were an electrical engineer working for a small company for forty eight thousand dollars a year, and three years later you own a gigantic mansion and all records of you seem to have vanished."
"Why did you come here?"
"I came here to put some pressure on you, find out if you knew anything, or whether I was pursuing a dead end, spurred on by coincidences. Figured I could drop Mr. Chapman's name, see if you reacted like someone who was guilty. You did."
"Yes, I suppose I did. Thank you detective, that was very enlightening."
"You're welcome."
Bill paused, lost in thought, then jumped, startled. What the hell was he doing, spilling all the details of his investigation to his suspect?
Jeffery laughed warmly, and gestured to the seat. "Please detective, don't be startled. Sit back down, get comfortable. Really, we have much to talk about. And don't worry; you didn't have a choice when it came to telling me what I wanted to know."
Every hair on the back of Bill's neck stood up, screaming silent alarm.
Something Is Wrong Here.
"What do you mean, I didn't have a choice?" asked Bill, trying to sound more confident that he felt. Run, he thought. Flee. Escape.
"I have powers far beyond your understanding, and you are helpless to resist them."
"What are you talking about?" said Bill, edging backwards.
"Let's say, for example, that I wanted you to dive headfirst over the chair you're trying to move around. You would do it."
"That's ridiculous!"
"Shall we dispense with the foreplay, detective?"
Bill dove headfirst over the chair.
As he picked himself up off the ground, rubbing blood from a cut by his temple, Bill was reminded forcibly of a time when he was a rookie cop, making traffic stops.
He had pulled over a stolen car, but when he ran the plates nothing came up because the kid behind the wheel had only stolen it five minutes beforehand. When he walked up to get the kid's license, he found himself face to face with a handgun. He and the kid stood looking at each other, neither knowing what to do, not saying a word. Bill had never felt so helpless in his entire life.
That was nothing compared to what he felt now.
"Take a seat, detective. You wanted to find out who I was, and I will grant your wish."
Bill sat back down, unable to disobey.
"Have you ever heard of someone waking up during surgery? Please, feel free to speak."
"Waking up during surgery? What are you talking about?"
"When they put you down for surgery, they don't just give you a single drug. They give you a cocktail."
"A cocktail?"
"A combination of drugs. One of them is an anesthetic, designed to make it so you feel no pain. Another is a paralytic agent, designed to prevent you from the natural movements that any human makes, even in sleep. It would be drastically inconvenient for someone to roll over and scratch their nose while in the middle of having a kidney removed."
"I see."
"Too much anesthetic can kill someone, so doctors are extremely careful to put together just the right cocktail based on body weight, metabolism, and other factors. But sometimes, tragically, the anesthetic wears off in the middle of surgery while the paralytic is still functional. It leaves the person in surgery fully awake and in agony, but unable to move a muscle, make a sound, or indicate to the doctors in any way that they are alert."
"That's horrific."
"You have no idea. People have attempted to describe it, but language lacks the words to describe that kind of pain."
"I can..."
"No, you can't. You only think you can. I awoke to find my doctor slicing my throat open to remove a lump on my thyroid. I was experiencing a pain beyond anything the most expert torturer could provide, and he was talking about the Red Sox."
Jeffrey Alexander paused a moment, lost in recollection.
"People who have been through a similar experience speak about reaching out with every fiber of their being... fighting through the pain, focusing the entirety of their existence into twitching a finger, making a sound, or trying to silently scream for help."
"I was one of the latter... only, in my case, something happened. I felt something in my mind come into sudden focus, and I screamed to the doctors that I was awake... only I screamed it with my mind instead of my voice. And they heard me."
"The surgeon dropped his scalpel. He turned to the anesthesiologist with a look of fear on his face and before he could say a word, the anesthesiologist said, 'I'll give him more anesthetic.' I drifted away."
"None of the doctors ever mentioned the incident to me. No doubt they rationalized it in their minds as imagination. I did the same, at first."
"But before I left the hospital, I had come to realize that the trauma I experienced had unlocked something within me. Nurses would bring me water before I could buzz them to ask for it. When my brother showed up, and he rambled on and on about his troubles with random women, I remember wishing he would shut the fuck up. And you know what happened? He did. Right in the middle of a sentence."
"After I left the hospital, I began to experiment. I commanded strangers walking down the street to drop their briefcases. I commanded a man to rear end a car at a stoplight. These things were done with ease. However, one thing I could not do was read minds. I can only push thoughts into the minds of others."
Jeffrey chuckled. "I guess it doesn't really matter though. I can command people to tell me anything I want to find out. You've experienced that first hand, detective."
"My ambitions were petty at first, only what I suppose you would call semi-dishonest. They were the ambitions of a man who had not yet realized his potential. I had my boss give me a raise. Convinced my neighbor's kid to turn down the volume of his music. But then the inevitable happened."
Jeffrey paused, and Bill realized he was being prompted. "What was the inevitable?"
"I went to a bar."
"Going to a bar was inevitable?"
"Don't be coy with me, detective. I went to a bar, and realized within moments that I didn't have to bother buying women drinks anymore. I picked out the most attractive woman in the bar, and had her take me home. After we made love, I tried an experiment."
"Experiment?"
"Yes. I went into another room, and told her to forget what had happened."
"How can you command someone to forget?"
"People forget things all the time. And I'm not talking about where they put their keys. People suppress memories of being abused and molested, they push things they would rather not remember to the back of their minds, they rewrite history in their memory to suit their self image."
"I take it that your experiment was successful."
"Yes. I walked back into her living room; she took one look at me and screamed. So I ordered her to calm down, and we made love again."
"Are you going to make me forget?"
"Detective, that wouldn't be very useful. After all, you have all the notes that you have undoubtedly taken in your investigation, records on your computer that you spent time looking up."
"So what are you going to do to me?"
"All in good time, detective. I am not done with my story. Later that evening, in this woman's bathroom, I had a revelation."
"Well, th..."
"Don't bother. It's not funny. I was sitting on this woman's toilet, relieving myself, looking through the Victoria's Secret catalog. I was admiring one of the women in it, when I suddenly realized 'Why not?'"
Bill looked at Jeffrey with dawning realization. "You didn't."
"I did, and there was no-one to stop me. And that was just the beginning. I've had virtually every model and movie star in the country. I've had singers, news journalists, and because it struck me as amusing, both of the President's daughters at the same time. I've got a video gallery that puts Paris Hilton's wildest ambitions to shame. But it had to end."
"Why?"
"Katie Couric gave me gonorrhea. That, and I was sick of modifying the memory of paparazzi everywhere I went. A photo of me made it into the National Enquirer with Keira Knightley. Believe it or not, she sued them and won. Of course, I had the photographer admit that the photos were faked."
"Regardless, the harem I have here is more than enough to meet my desires. They have been reshaped to meet my needs. When I feel the urge, I will, on occasion, dabble in the celebrity pool again."
"What did you do after giving up on celebrities?" Bill asked.
"As I sat in the doctor's office after my diagnosis, I came to realize that I was wasting my time. Not with the sex, which was enjoyable enough... but I was proceeding through my life without any regard to the direction I had been heading, like a child freshly out of grade school, wandering about from one Bacchanalian pleasure to the next."
"That doesn't sound so bad."
"Familiarity, as they say, breeds contempt. And I had come to the realization that powers such as mine should not be squandered on the mundane. So I set out to explore my potential. I studied powerful figures from the past, and came to the conclusion that while they had ambitions, they lacked the means to carry them out on a more than temporary basis. I, however, am capable of reaching the goals that all before me have failed to achieve."
"Which are?"
"The same ambitions that lie in the heart of every man, whether he is honest enough to admit them or not. Power. Wealth. Immortality."
"Immortality?"
"You speak of immortality with contempt, detective. Yet, were I to ask you an hour ago what you thought of psychic powers, you would undoubtedly have spoken with the same contempt, would you not?"
"I... I suppose I would have."
"I have the best and brightest scientists in the world, men and women from many countries, working around the clock to unlock the secrets of aging. I have over thirty people studying my brain, helping me to discover the true nature of my powers. While it is easy to compel people with my mind, I find it is often easier to work through conventional channels to secure the necessary equipment and assistants, and for that I need funding. The bank robbery which led you to me is merely one of the many activities I have undertaken in the past year to acquire the necessary material resources."
Jeffrey paused, lost in thought.
"I have gone about erasing the traces of the man that I once was, but your presence here suggests to me that my work has not been thorough enough. Tomorrow I will begin acquiring new identities, which I now see I will take or leave at my convenience. Perhaps... but these are details best left for me to work out on my own. We should turn to a more pressing matter. You."
"Me?" asked Bill, surprised by the sudden shift in topic. "I..." he trailed off.
"No, please detective. Go ahead."
Bill stood up. "Let me serve you. It is clear to me that you are unstoppable, and I wish to have a place of honor by your side in what I am sure will be a glorious new world order."
Jeffery's eyes narrowed. "Detective, tell me the truth."
Bill winced. "I have no intention of serving you. I remembered that you said that you couldn't read minds, and I was hoping that I might be able to stroke your ego by telling you what you wanted to hear. My plans were to escape at the first opportunity, and to come back and kill you when the opportunity presented itself."
Jeffrey nodded. "I thought as much. You will go home, destroy any written evidence in this case, and any computer files you have pertaining to me. And, I think, for your insolence, I will have you kill yourself."
Bill went for his gun... and found that he was pointing it at his own head.
Jeffrey began yelling "Idiot! Insect! You lack vision! There is no-one and nothing that can stop me! Within two years I will be in complete control of the American government, and that is only the beginning! My slaves will unlock the secrets to prolonging life, and I will rule uncontested for all eternity!"
Bill looked at him in silence. Jeffrey continued to rant.
"You think you can get in my way? That your petty little scheme to kill me would go undiscovered? I am already nearly invincible! There is nothing you can do to stop me, nothing anyone can do to stop me!"
Jeffrey paused, smiling. Bill's arm dropped to his side, free of the compulsion.
"But you're welcome to try. Go ahead, detective, make your move."
Bill looked at him impassively. "It would seem I already have."
....................* * *....................
Two men stood over the dead body of Bill Mulanski, a former co-worker. The younger turned to the older, and spoke. "It doesn't make any sense, Eddie."
"Strike those words from your vocabulary, rookie. Everything makes sense if you have enough information to go on. As a detective, it is your job to gather that information."
"Mulanski didn't seem like the suicidal type."
"I know. I know, kid."
Eddie Benaducci tapped a trash can lying near Mulanski's body. "Looks like he burned some papers right before he killed himself. Did a pretty thorough job too, nothing's left."
"Think he was in some kind of trouble he didn't want anybody to know about?"
"It's possible... check his body, see if he left a note somewhere on his person."
"Hey Eddie! He's got a tape recorder in his coat pocket. It's still running!"
Eddie turned around. "Hit Rewind."
Entry 1:
absolutes
BillsSBChamps
comicbookguy
darko
dodahdave
domenad
DonkeyOnTheEdge
erinly
Fabish
Freight_Train
Jack_McCallum
JonnyX
justagirl27
Korrineine
munkeypants
mybrainisawaffle
Pentameter
Razor
sg11588
Slovin
Slypher
stevie_says
thecaes
19 eligible votes (23 total) *
Entry 2:
Adamdidit2u
AshyLarry
badassmofo
Bellebrown
blank_mind
BLITZKREIG_BOB
bob
BobLobla
c1ndy
CaptainThorns
Circe
corn_nugget
DarthFaded
Davros
doctorj24
firefly
i_walk_alone
indoninja
jack11058
jerbolp1
jgreening
JMG114
Katastrofadark
krissi
loki
Magicaddict
Method
Natsukau
NOWorNEVER
NumLock
polyamorousaj
rad1101
rurumon
salmonofdoubt
satchel
Saxon
sebcharrot
Snark
Spam
spedmonkey
Spuds002
Stin
thorpe
tlozoot
Viciousriffs
Wiggles
William_Q_Percy
Xcuses
zakalwe
42 eligible votes (49 total) *
* Eligible votes are those made by users who had either (A) posted 3+ messages OR (B) written 100+ [lowered from 750+] reviews as of the beginning of the UberMadness! competition.
User Reviews
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2005-07-29 15:10:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
#2 would have needed to be 'perfect bound' if placed on paper.
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2005-07-28 23:24:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I only read entry two so far.
Good job though. This was a breezy read. Nice story. Some of the plot holes were kinda kicked in toward the end, but overall, very nice. I look forward to possibly facing you.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-07-28 21:50:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Gahhh, I'm sad that Razor won, especially by such a wide margin. No offense dude, you had a great post too, but I thought sped's was just tighter.
You guys both did amazing jobs.
Submitted by Razor (user info) at 2005-07-28 14:26:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I really liked your story though sped.
Submitted by spedmonkey (user info) at 2005-07-28 12:07:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Man, Razor was only winning by 3 votes at one point. I was soooooooo close...... and then, well, I started getting bumraped. Nice job to Razor, and good luck in future rounds.
Submitted by thorpe (user info) at 2005-07-28 11:07:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
1 reminded me a bit of Shaolin Soccer.
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2005-07-28 10:38:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by jack11058 (user info) at 2005-07-28 10:33:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
nice job to both authors.
1) good story. if not true, then certainly based in fact. well written.
2) i enjoyed the plot better in number 2. although trying to inject humor with the whole katie couric ghonorrea thing seemed a little forced. also thought you had messed up when the detective didn't burn the tape he made. you made me go back and re read. i liked it better the second time, too. good job.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2005-07-28 09:58:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Wiggles (user info) at 2005-07-28 08:46:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
First one was really dumb. Why does this have such a high rating?
Submitted by Spam (user info) at 2005-07-28 05:13:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
another point #2, you lost me a little when you ended with 'everything went black'.
Sorry if I sound like a cunt, I really liked it otherwise.
Submitted by Spam (user info) at 2005-07-28 05:07:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It's football, not soccer. It's a dummy, not a fake out. It's the final whistle, not a final buzzer. And there's no such thing as the British Football team.
I quite liked both of these, but #2 has the vote because I got quite annoyed at reading americaniZed football jargon.
Submitted by Korrineine (user info) at 2005-07-28 03:37:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by Slypher (user info) at 2005-07-28 02:08:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Original beats out moderately good but cliched.
Submitted by Viciousriffs (user info) at 2005-07-28 01:59:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Spuds002 (user info) at 2005-07-28 01:47:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by jerbolp1 (user info) at 2005-07-28 01:18:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by justagirl27 (user info) at 2005-07-27 23:46:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by erinly (user info) at 2005-07-27 22:27:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by domenad (user info) at 2005-07-27 21:20:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by zakalwe (user info) at 2005-07-27 21:09:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
hmmm
Submitted by bob (user info) at 2005-07-27 17:47:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by AshyLarry (user info) at 2005-07-27 17:23:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Katie Couric gave me gonorrhea.
Submitted by Katastrofadark (user info) at 2005-07-27 16:29:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by rurumon (user info) at 2005-07-27 16:25:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
entry two had me with "I got gonorrhea from katie couric..."
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2005-07-27 15:21:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2005-07-27 15:01:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Tough choice, entry 2 by a cunt hair
Submitted by Fabish (user info) at 2005-07-27 14:58:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2005-07-27 14:54:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Both were well done.
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2005-07-27 13:41:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-07-27 13:00:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Both authors did an excellent job with the title. This one
was a tough decision.
Kudos to the both of you.
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2005-07-27 06:03:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Meant to comment.
Author 1 you are brave to go with a soccer theme as it is not the most popular sport on here.
A few innaccuracies but you still did a good job.
Author 2 a kickass story, but you let it drift a little.
Was a really tough choice.
-Dave
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2005-07-27 05:58:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2005-07-26 22:06:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by corn_nugget (user info) at 2005-07-26 22:06:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by salmonofdoubt (user info) at 2005-07-26 21:36:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by blank_mind (user info) at 2005-07-26 21:35:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Entry one, you know fuck all about football don't you
Submitted by NumLock (user info) at 2005-07-26 19:03:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Holy Wow!!
Both of these were amazing.. seriously amazing.
Something is making me vote for number two, though.. I can't figure out what... *click*
Submitted by Saxon (user info) at 2005-07-26 18:45:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Entry two was a great peice, well written and enthralling. It got better as i read through it.
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-07-26 18:17:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2005-07-26 17:43:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Someone really screwed the pooch when they didn't limit the length of these submissions.
No time
No vote
Submitted by Freight_Train (user info) at 2005-07-26 17:29:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Natsukau (user info) at 2005-07-26 17:06:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by doctorj24 (user info) at 2005-07-26 16:57:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
By the time I was done with entry two, I forgot entirely about entry one. Now that isn't saying entry one was bad, just that entry two was so good.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-07-26 16:45:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
dang - both really good.
I give props to #1 more though - because it was a true story.
Submitted by tlozoot (user info) at 2005-07-26 16:05:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Wow.
Submitted by BillsSBChamps (user info) at 2005-07-26 15:54:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I'M DRUNK VOTE AUTHOR !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
Submitted by mybrainisawaffle (user info) at 2005-07-26 15:25:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
A+
Submitted by Stin (user info) at 2005-07-26 15:22:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Magicaddict (user info) at 2005-07-26 15:15:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by DarthFaded (user info) at 2005-07-26 15:01:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by comicbookguy (user info) at 2005-07-26 14:59:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by stevie_says (user info) at 2005-07-26 14:19:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by satchel (user info) at 2005-07-26 14:11:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-07-26 14:10:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
This was a hard call for a number of reasons.
While I liked a lot of #2 and what the writer was aiming for, it needed some SERIOUS EDITING for length*. There was way to much unimportant info in there, but I liked the ending.
#1 was sort of a toss-up sice things based on real life are tricky and I tried to read it without letting my personal politics (I hate those fucks and this shows what fucks they were so it gets my vote) interfere. But it was well done, and even though some bleeding heart lefty liberal tree-hugging hippie pinko freaks will poo-poo it, this entry gets my vote.
*Yeah, yeah, irony, blah, blah, blah.
Submitted by absolutes (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:52:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:47:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Ohhhhhh, this was a tough call. I really liked both of these. You guys are fantastic and I wish you could both move on.
I'm going with Entry 1. I was impressed with all the research that went into it, and the author painted a good picture of the situation that the narrator was in. Grounding your story in reality can add punch to it.
Entry 2, you were great. The only thing that bothered me is that your villain kept making people kill themselves, which seems like it would bring more trouble to him than just telling his victims to forget things (i.e. the cop at his door). Also, he started out smooth and charming but then kind of became stereotypical-super-villain, with lines like 'i will kill you for your insolence' and what not. But these are minor, minor gripes. I really liked the twist at the end. TAKE THAT, BIG-BRAIN!
Anyway. Excellent stories.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:42:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
These were both awesome. I have no idea which one to vote for.
Submitted by William_Q_Percy (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:27:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Again. If I could give this match a standing ovation I would.
This was a really difficult decision.
Submitted by William_Q_Percy (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:24:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Tits match-up. Tits.
Good work both of you.
Submitted by Xcuses (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:19:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by dodahdave (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:16:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I'm going with #1, but I thought that both stories were well written and interesting.
I just thought #1 was more novel and used the title in an unexpected way.
By the way, #2, there was one place in your story that I found jarring: the sudden use of an expletive part-way through. It didn't seem to fit with the mannerisms you had created for the character of Jeffry. Just a thought.
Submitted by krissi (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:07:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Slovin (user info) at 2005-07-26 12:51:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2005-07-26 12:33:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I actually thought this would be closer, seeing as how I had such a hard time choosing between the two.
And it is sad that both of these can't go on, there are two pairs of posts that just flat out suck ass.
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2005-07-26 12:05:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Nice work, both of you.
Submitted by DonkeyOnTheEdge (user info) at 2005-07-26 12:01:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 for both of them.
Submitted by Adamdidit2u (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:59:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by sebcharrot (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:59:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Shit, this was hard. I think I know who these guys are. Is it against the rules to guess who it is?
I'm really sorry, Author 1. I seriously thought you'd won it until I read Entry 2.
Goddamn this was hard.
Submitted by DonkeyOnTheEdge (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:57:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Number one reminded me of Orgasmo.
"Hey, Dad? I don't think I'm going to practice hamster style anymore."
Number two, I could see your ending from seven miles away with binoculars held backwards, so it appeared even further away than it actually was.
Submitted by firefly (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:50:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:43:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I am so popular this round!
Submitted by NOWorNEVER (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:42:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:25:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
It is a shame one of you guys will be out but one of the "you may not know this" post will go on.
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:15:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by sg11588 (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:10:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Anything with soccer in it.
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:10:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Razor (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:07:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Two good posts.
Submitted by i_walk_alone (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:04:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:04:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:04:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Entry two took a very, very long time to make it to where it was going...
...but when it did, BOY was it satisfying.
Submitted by spedmonkey (user info) at 2005-07-26 10:57:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
#1 was OK, but the ending was pretty weak.
#2 kicked ass. Completely and utterly.
That is all.
Submitted by BillsSBChamps (user info) at 2005-07-26 10:56:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2005-07-26 10:56:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Bellebrown (user info) at 2005-07-26 10:55:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment