Bloodshot (1137 hits)
Category: UberMadness!Rating: 0.31 on 66 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by UberMadness! (View user info) at 2005-07-26 11:30:01 EDT
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Entry 1
BloodshotWhat about Ricky?
How's the lighting?
_______________________________________________
"Is that good?" Fraedo asked. "Is it tight enough?"
Arthur struggled against the restraints holding his wrists to the bed frame, testing their hold. "Yes," he said with a wistful smile, "that should do nicely."
"Same deal with the feet?" Fraedo inquired, picking through a pile of assorted leather straps and bands located beside a bedside table placed there for reasons Fraedo could not guess.
"Yes," Arthur replied. "You will to want to make sure that those are a little tighter, or possibly use that spreader bar. Legs can kick very hard, and that can destroy your shot if you are not exceedingly careful."
"Uh, Good to know," Fraedo supplied, not believing the context of the conversation he found himself having with a half-naked man. "You take this shit pretty serious, huh?"
After a few moments more, he corrected himself. "No, not ironic at all. Inevitable maybe. Beautiful certainly."
"It has is my life," Arthur replied simply. Then, after a few thoughtful moments, he added, "I suppose, in that light, it is ironic that it's come to this, don't you think?"
"Yeah, whatever, I guess," said Fraedo, "This the thing you were talking about?" he asked, holding up a three foot long piece of stainless steel with studded black leather straps affixed to either end.
"Yes," said Arthur patiently, "You'll need to attach those straps to my ankles and then attach additional lashings from to the frame of the bed to the bar or to the ankles themselves. Keep in mind that if you connect them to the bar it will allow for some twisting, but if you go straight to the ankles it will immobilize the body more. It's completely a style thing, so you have to make the call. Personally, I'd connect them to the bar for a scene like this."
"Uh-huh," said Fraedo slowly. "Like this?"
Straining his neck to gaze at the dark-haired man at the foot of the bed, Arthur inspected the younger man's work. "Wonderful," he cooed, "you're quite a natural at this."
Fraedo had never been the sort of person to shy away from work that others would find distasteful, but he still found a certain level of uncomfortable novelty in his current situation. He did not like being accused of being adept at . . . this. For whatever reason.
Looking up in annoyed agitation, he chose to ignore the comment altogether, asking instead, "So uh, how did you get into all this stuff?"
"UCLA film school," Arthur supplied merrily.
"You went to school for THIS?" Fraedo asked in open disbelief.
"Oh, well, no," Arthur continued, "not THIS per se. But it was there that I learned, or rather, taught myself to capture my vision on film. It is, of course, an excellent school. Coppola went there. Jim Morrison too. Did you know that? Before he got famous with the Doors, he was in film school. I always fancied that the world needed a new Lizard King."
"But in answer to your question, no school would dare to touch on the kind of work I do now. They simply couldn't. The viewing public just is not ready for it, yet. Even the best film schools today can only prepare the artist to find and capture their visions once they graduate. They churn out more and more graduates every year, filling the ranks of directors for the latest Wonder Bread commercial, or perhaps making a statement in the latest episode of Yu-gi-oh! At least, that's what they prepared ME for. I am ashamed to say that my first paying job outside of film school was directing anime' features. You won't hold that against me dear Fraedo, will you? No. Of course you won't."
"That's like that Japanese cartoon shit, right?" Fraedo asked, trying to follow the old man's words.
"It is animated, yes. But I dislike characterizing them as cartoons as they tend to be far more complex than that name would imply. Far more Kurosowa than Looney Tunes, my friend. Anyway, in my naïveté as a new 'working director' I brought one of my pieces up for discussion on an underground L.A. avant garde film-scene web forum. The piece was panned by all of my so-called peers, but one. The criticism focused mainly on the excessive and unnecessary violence in the piece, and I agreed for the most part. There is only so much you can do once a script is final, don't you know. Nevertheless, this one forum patron seemed to grasp all the elements that I had worked into around the violence. He was particularly taken with the first bloodshot."
"The what?" Fraedo interrupted.
"The Bloodshot. The first time you get blood from the body you are working with. Now granted, this was an anime' piece, so it was not a real bloodshot by any stretch of the imagination. Nowhere near as exciting. But the animators I was working with were really very talented. Quite resourceful with their use of color." Arthur recollected.
Continuing on, he said helpfully, "I suppose, if you wanted to be crude you could analogize it to the 'cumshot' or 'moneyshot' in adult film, but I find a striking lack of artistry within that genre. Certainly with everything it has put out since the mid seventies anyway. It has become too artificial. There is no more honesty in it, no real passion. By comparison, my work is real; it is as honest as it is possible to be; there is no artifice. My bodies aren't paid liars or 'actors.' Bah. They aren't acting - they are expressing themselves to their utmost. It is my job to document their passion. I'm quite good at it, if I may be so immodest."
"So, some guy liked your cartoons and wanted you to make a snuff flick?"
Fraedo my boy, "I am sensing that you have no capacity for art" Arthur sighed. "I did not do a 'snuff flick.' I was approached by this patron with a vision: the documentation of what a typical southern Californian high school female do when faced with illogical and unimaginable violence. How would one who had grown up in such comfort face something so completely outside her life experience? Truly, the concept fascinated me. It captured my imagination and simply would not let go. I explained as much to my new confidante, and listed several thematic ideas that had come to me. He was hesitant at first, as I'm sure you can imagine. This sort of work needs to be done with a certain level of extra care. Nevertheless, he was eventually sold on one of my ideas became my new producer; he took care of financing my project."
"He paid you to snatch some chick and kill her?"
Exasperated, Arthur continued on, "No. I did not "snatch some chick and kill her.' It was not some wanton criminal act. It was ART! Don't you see? The body I found was the perfect example of the idealized California suburban teen. Hell! I even found her at the mall! How much more exemplary could she have been?"
"So you jacked a kid from the mall. What did you do then?"
"I made a film about her."
"Yeah. I get that. Tell me about your film."
"Ah. Well, this was my first project in the genre, and I was anxious to make a name for myself. Looking back, I think I was a little overanxious. I rushed things. Somehow, even though I was firmly committed to the larger project, some part of me shied away from the wet work. I'm far better behind the camera than in front of it. Thank heavens there are people like Maestro and Talon. Maestro is a positive genius when it comes to the messy bits of our work. His pacing, his sense of drama, all of it is fantastic to behold."
"Which one is Maestro?" Fraedo asked, wanting to be sure which of the two men that had brought him here has such prowess in his chosen field.
"Maestro is the larger of the two." Arthur told him. "While the runt, Talon is most likely a lost cause. He's a butcher, pure and simple, no appreciation for the nuances of the work. I don't know why I keep him on honestly."
Fraedo heard one of the armed and masked men standing outside the halo of light pooling the bed bristle at these remarks.
"Ah, Talon!" Arthur laughed, "You know I kid only because I love! You'll do well if you continue your tutelage with Maestro. You'll always have my vouchsafe! Or, for a little while longer anyway."
"Uh, yeah. Back to that first girl. What sort of shit did you do to her?" Fraedo asked.
"Now Fraedo, you aren't fishing for ideas now, are you? Remember, this is to be your project, as we discussed."
"Nah man, just curious is all. I'll still do, whatever, but this shit is starting to get a little fucking weird."
"Tut tut!" Arthur chided, "remember what you are doing and why Fraedo! I took something that belonged to you. I took it away from you forever and you have an obligation to make things even between us. 'Business is business,' you said!"
"Yeah man, business IS business, but it this shit would be a lot easier if I just put a bullet in your head right now and be done with it. I got no idea what I'm doing with all these lights and cameras and shit."
"But think of it Fraedo! You'll have proof of what happens to those who cross you! Tell me one other two-bit street pimp hustler who can say that!" Arthur was becoming quite agitated.
Lost in starry-eyed reverie, Arthur continued on, "But you'll have so much more than that dear Fraedo. You will have MY masterpiece. You will have the culmination of all my work to date. This is the final chapter, the final scene! You simply cannot imagine the significance of this event."
"I guess I'm no artist," Fraedo admitted, "because somehow I don't see me beating the shit out of you in a deserted building while you're strapped to a bed as being all that significant."
"Of course that wouldn't be Fraedo, remember what I've told you. It is all about the bloodshot in this game. If you do it right, if you pace yourself, if you build the scene correctly, even YOU will see the art in it. I assure you."
This shit was just too fucked up. Fraedo did not like it. Not at all. "Riiiiiiight," he said, "How about this, I'm just gonna fucking shoot you now."
"I don't think so Fraedo," Arthur laughed. "You know that neither Maestro nor Talon will let that happen. I told you quite explicitly that if you want to make an example of me for taking your little Ricky, you'll have to do it by my terms and my conditions. You seemed quite eager before. Some extra fondness for the little bow-whore from your stable?"
Fraedo eyed Maestro and Talon, noticing that each had a weapon trained upon him with their fingers on the trigger. It seemed . . . unlikely that he could blast his way out of here Hollywood blockbuster style. Besides, what was the point? All he had to do was ice the sick freak and he would be free to go.
Depositing his pistol back into his waistband he said, "Nah man, Ricky was just another pussy-for-pay, but the kid enjoyed the work, and he ALWAYS paid me. You gotta respect that kind of kid."
"Well, if it helps," Arthur said, "the scene we did with him was probably my best work ever with a male body."
"Yeah," Fraedo grimaced, "that makes me all shades of happy. Aight then, let's do this. Where do I start?"
"First things first," Arthur intoned, his manner changing from the flippant artiste' he had been a moment before to one of determined professionalism. "I have already checked the light levels, sound levels and positioning of the cameras. All you need to do is figure out which brushes you wish to use on this canvas."
Gesturing with a nod of his head he continued,
'There are some wonderful little toys rolled in that mechanic's tool roll over there," and with another nod of his head, he pointed out a small generator with various electrode attachments.
After a moment's consideration, Fraedo walked over to the cylindrical roll of black leather containing the 'toys' Arthur had mentioned. Untying the straps around it, he unrolled it to see a number of surgical, dental and various other tools.
"Holy fuck," he whispered under his breath.
"All of those work very well Fraedo," Arthur called to him," but remember how important the bloodshot is. Don't blow your 'load too' quickly."
"Right, right, I got it," Fraedo said.
"Excellent!" Arthur squeaked. "Do you have any more questions Fraedo? Because if you are ready, I'm going to ask Maestro to start the cameras. After that, this is going to be YOUR show. Are you ready?"
"Yeah, whatever." Fraedo sighed.
"Then Maestro, if you please . . ."
With that, the larger of the masked men lumbered closer to the scene and hunched over a control panel set up on a folding card table. He hit several buttons and suddenly the five television screens facing the bed blinked on, showing the bed from above, from the left and right sides, and from the head and foot of the bed.
Arthur's eyes lit up in anticipation, but Fraedo only looked at 'Maestro' who only stared back at him and slowly, and deliberately, moved his hand back to the weapon he had hanging from his shoulder.
"Aight then." Fraedo sighed again. Looking down at the assortment of tools contained within the leather case and remembering what Arthur had said about the bloodshot, he ignored a plethora of knives and scalpels and a butane torch and selected a heavy ball-peen hammer. That shouldn't break the skin, if he used it correctly.
Walking slowly to the side of the bed, he noted an aspect of euphoria in Arthur's eyes as the man watched his approach. He was biting his lips already, as if in an attempt to keep himself silent.
"You cut off Ricky's nuts, you know," Fraedo said, "how about we start there?"
WHAM!
The hammer fell quickly into the body's splayed crotch and Fraedo was astonished at the strength with which the body recoiled from the blow. The breeze from the body's agonized exhalation smelled faintly of cigarette smoke.
The body was writhing on the bed as Fraedo walked methodically toward the head. "You cut out his eyes, and put his nuts in the sockets. Coroner said it all happened while he was still alive," he said.
Carefully directing the hammer with just enough force to do what he wanted, Fraedo shattered the body's left cheekbone. The head jerked violently and there was a cracking noise from the neck, but thankfully, no blood. Not yet.
Fraedo suddenly realized that he might be enjoying this. He had almost ignored the body's mention of the electrical generator when it had mentioned the machine, but now, he thought he might enjoy playing with that toy a little too.
Grabbing the handle of the electrodes and pulling them from the buckets of water in which they were contained, he was almost giddy at the prospect of seeing what they could do. Tentatively, he touched the wet electrodes to the body's left foot.
The body promptly seized. Every striation in every muscle was clearly visible. It was . . . fascinating.
So fascinating in fact that Fraedo played with the electrodes for quite some time. He experimented with short bursts of electricity, long bursts and rapid-fire pulsations.
After what seemed like only a few moments, he decided that it was time to put the electrodes away. The smell was becoming overwhelming and the body was beginning to smoke in several places. Besides, Fraedo had another idea.
Placing the electrodes gently back in their bucket, Fraedo returned again to his trusty ball-peen hammer.
Stalking up to the bed again, he set about attempting to crack each of the body's ribs.
Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack!
Crack, crack, crack, thump, oops, crack, crack, crack!
Each blow of the hammer was met not only with the loud sound of bones snapping but also with an agonizing wail and bitter sobs that tickled Fraedo to his core. The wails became progressively 'wetter' sounding as he went along. He thought perhaps he may have punctured a lung somewhere along the line.
New to the work, Fraedo found that he was actually tiring of his efforts. He stared at the body momentarily and noted with pride that at no point had any skin been torn. He was doing a remarkable job. Even if he did say so himself.
Still, Fraedo did not want to make this an all day event. Glancing at his watch, he guessed that he had already been working on the body for half an hour. He did not suppose that his audience's attention would last much longer.
An idea had occurred to Fraedo sometime during his experiments with the electrical generator and its playful little electrodes. He had noticed that the bed frame to which the body was strapped was made of metal tubing. He had tried to see if the bed itself would conduct electricity, but the tubes were painted with thick paint and it would not. Nevertheless, an idea was hatched.
Returning to the mechanic's roll of 'toys' Fraedo found a mid-sized crescent wrench. Picking it up, he returned to the bed, and set to work dismantling a part of the headboard. The project required him to partially tear the bed frame apart, which destabilized the bed, so, after removing one steel tube from the headboard, he was forced to rebuild the frame. He would need it to be stable.
The body cried and whimpered softly as he went about his work.
Hefting the tube he had freed, and his trusty ball-peen hammer, Fraedo took a moment to analyze the scene. He observed the position of the cameras and the shape and form of the body. He tried to visualize exactly what he wanted to do.
After this time, he quietly sat down on the bed beside the body just so, so as not to obscure the view from any angle.
Leaning down to the body's ear, he whispered quietly, "Here's your bloodshot, man."
The body tensed and whimpered softly, but Fraedo could not tell if the noise was one of fear or something else.
Sitting up again he gingerly felt along the body's chest to find a gap between the ribs on the left side. Using his fingers to spread the broken ribs further apart, he placed the steel tube directly above where he imagined the heart must be.
Then with a startlingly swift stroke he brought the hammer down on the top of the tube, driving it into the body, and moving out of the scene quick as a snake.
Shining crimson blood erupted from the end of the tube in pulsating, orgasmic bursts and Fraedo saw the bodies eyes dart quickly to each of the television monitors.
"So beautiful!" the body said in awe. After that it was silent, watching as the volume of fluid gradually decreased.
Fraedo's work was done and he felt surprisingly alive. He almost did feel as though he had been part of something important.
As he began walking away from the bed and the lights, he held up the ball-peen hammer to the two men standing outside the light. "I'm keeping this." He told them.
The larger of the men nodded silently then turned his attention back to the scene on the bed.
Leaving the deserted building behind him, Fraedo thought to himself, "so that's 'art,' huh? Well, ain't that a motherfucker."
- VS -
Entry 2
Everyday something here reminds me of the unusual events I have been privy to witness throughout my lifetime. Innocuous little nothings crescendo into violent flashbacks, and I become a prisoner to my own mind, reduced to nothing more than a babbling shaking idiot on the floor.What a fall from grace.
Of course the aforementioned grace could just be another odd thought in my mind, another crossed synapse up there, another fault in the wiring that leads me to assume things about the person I once was.
Everything here at the "Recovery Home for the Estranged Children of Our Lord" located just outside of DC has made me double guess everything I thought I knew about my life. After all I'm in the nuthouse, the nice bible thumpers just thought that by slapping a fancy name on the sign they changed the fact they were attempting to convert those too crazy to function in society into good little followers of some antiquated medieval drivel.
Opiate of the masses.
They were doing fine business too, well for at least a couple hundred years. Theirs was a drug that had endless potential. The promise of eternal bliss. The only catch is that it took a while for this drug to take effect, usually to the tune of your entire life. This was no 5 minute instant rice of euphoria, this was the equivalent of watching paint dry.
It was going quite well until some chemist was expelled from Harvard for synthesizing some recreational drugs up in the lab one night.
How the hell did they expect me to pay that exorbitant tuition? I wasn't the son of a multimillionaire, my father wasn't some hugely powerful lawyer who brokered international mergers for breakfast and bankrupted poor African countries as a inter office sport. My mother wasn't a socialite, or art critic, or other equally grandiose waste of air. She didn't wear pearls or furs and drink French champagne while debating the meaning of Chaucer's life work.
No not at all.
My mother was a whore. I'm not ashamed to say it, and I can't hide the fact that I have four siblings who are only partially related to one another. One might say that this is due to her consequential belief that because she showed up to her appointment like clockwork every Sunday afternoon that some benevolent being would ensure that her life was an idyllic one. Somewhere in her mind must have been a picture of a happy family returning home from church to play board games and eat pineapple hams and candied yams. Years of Hollywood productions and indoctrination at her Sunday sessions had brewed quite the theoretical life for my mother. Love someone unconditionally and they'll love you the same right back, eye for an eye and all that jazz. Human nature had something to say about that little theory, and it got it's point across to me quite clearly. After all, if late night beatings by strange men who reek of gin and cigarettes isn't an effective teaching tool then I don't know what is.
I never knew my Father. It's been one of those things that I've been meaning to do for quite some time, I just never really had the time to search high and low for someone just like everyone else. How can I condemn a person for doing what I enjoy doing? There is nothing quite like leaving your inhibitions alone in the dark while you consume copious amounts of alcohol and tell colossal half truths about your inglorious life in hopes of later that night being party to a naked wrestling match in a strangers bed. It doesn't matter who she is or what she does. Sometimes it doesn't matter if she's homely or has a stutter. All that matters is that the part of your brain that makes you chase all kinds of crazy things, a good job and nice cars, that flashy new Italian suit, and the haircut from the magazine, has been silenced for a moment. It's voice a sticky stain on some poor gals sheets, a tearful conversation with her best friend the following afternoon.
If anyone reading this knows Jonathan Macmillan Camarilliad, tell him I said hello. Tell him his son is doing fine, aside from the fact he is currently committed and penniless.
I had so much potential.
When the authorities abruptly ended my entrepreneurial venture in the West wing of the chemistry lab on January 9th 2007, they were already too late.
I had initially begun synthesizing ergot alkaloids for a friend of mine interested in the manufacture and distribution of lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD. He became a hugely popular success with all the rebelling future multi millionaires and politicians. I should have taken the sudden success as a warning sign, but all I saw was dollar signs. It was nice to be able to see a piece of mail with the fancy Harvard coat of Arms and not get a knot in your stomach. It was refreshing to know that a few hours spent late at night in a windowless room rocking out to the best cock-rock of the 80's could make all my problems disappear.
Spoiled kids it turns out are quite the fickle bunch. As soon as it became apparent that even the masses were capable of acquiring and partying like the elite, interest waned.
So I attempted to capitalize on the popularity of MDMA, but soon found myself in a whole entire world of unexplained pharmacology.
I invented "it".
You've heard of "it" I'm sure. Everyone knows someone with the characteristic bloodshot eyes, and thousand yard stare. The slack jaw and slow demeanor.
It's kind of funny actually. Every drug always gets some catchy nickname to describe it; weed, coke, smack, crack, ecstasy, pot, shrooms, the list goes on and on.
But 4 Methyl-Benzo-Pyrene 6 Halbitol never got a catchy nickname.
It just became "it".
It was the drug of all drugs.
And rightfully so.
When I was looking at making cheap and easy to manufacture derivatives of MDMA I noticed something by complete accident. It was the way the brain reacted to Halbitols, a newly synthesized derivative of serotonin uptake hormones. A fresh addition to the science of neurochemistry; the drugs were seen as a miracle of modern science, or an freakish perversion of nature depending on your point of view/religious affiliation.
But what was so special about a drug companies newest product, it's newest source of capital investment?
It made the brain sync up.
You see our brains are constantly running through thousands of different processes at any given moment. And these signals keep the chemistry set that is us running and thinking, and desiring, and fucking, and drinking all day long if that's our hearts desire. Our brains stimuli can be interpreted in wave form, and we call them Alpha, Beta, Theta and so on through the useless Greek alphabet.
But "it" made a bunch of these signals sync up. No longer was there a brain that was concerned about what the blonde and Anthropology would be wearing. What drink specials were and where. What bills had been paid. If fifty dollars was too much to pay for a T-shirt from another mass marketed brand. Who won the election, or what ethnic minority was meeting its certain doom today. The brain didn't care if you had friends, or rippling pectoral muscles. It wasn't searching for long slender legs, or salivating over the smell of French fries.
It was lost unto itself.
It seems that the part of us that is most human, our imagination, is it's own wavelength too.
And 4 Methyl-Benzo-Pyrene 6 Halbitol amplified the Phi waves in the brain so much so that it drowned out all the other processes, save those trustfully hardwired mechanisms that keep the chest rising and falling, and the heart glub glubbing.
And there you sat, wide bloodshot eyes staring straight forward in a blissful zombie like trance for hours or even days on end.
I never had never really worked out the finer points of the dosing before it was distributed to a fraternity party full of test subjects via tainted keg. Within an hour over a hundred loud mouthed jocks were reduced to drooling idiots, their bloodshot eyes staring into the void. Right beside them all the whores shared the same fate, entranced by the most insignificant thing. And they all remained that way for days. It was after the authorities came and hauled them away and put them up in private hospital suites to be observed by the legions of experts and theorists that we became worried.
Then one by one they just woke up from their little all expense paid trip to nothingness compliments of me and my business partner. None of them knew that they had been unwilling gerbils, all that they knew is that they wanted to go back.
They wanted to go back NOW.
I know now where they had been. A place of ephemeral bliss. Things there weren't gritty or dull. The trees screamed in vibrant tones of color, and the grass was a carpet of perfect lush green. The world of a million insignificant details was gone, leaving a more perfect place where you only noticed how blue the sky was or red the bricks were. People sat side by side on park benches overlooking crystal clear blue water and the majestic sailing boats in the distance.. No twenty four hour cable news to tell you of the latest tragic events. No mundane tasks needed performing. Only life needed to be lived, and smiles given.
Me and my business associate were watching the events carefully, and both being able minded, greedy college kids, sprung at the opportunity to seize the American dream.
I trained a few chemists on how to make "it" for ten grand a head.
It took of like wildfire.
A year later and I would find myself breaking into a lab of my former Alma Mater to try and synthesize something, anything, that could stop my craving to return to the promised land "it" took me to.
By then I was just a shell of a person. Wide bloodshot eyes, filthy clothes and a stiff hunched demeanor were all that I was anymore. I'm sure I had quite the stench about me as they rewarded my creation of a plague on modern man with a brand new pair of silver bracelets and a blows to the head with a night stick.
I remember being arraigned for breaking and entering. I remember standing before the judge, an older woman who was far too fat to be healthy and had eyebrows that were painted on by a jittery hand, and confessing. I told the story of how I created "it". As you can imagine I was met with heckles and retorts like "oh yea well I invented the Sun" and "I build 747's in my backyard, and in my spare time".
I was seen as another lunatic, another drug addict.
So they took mercy on me and threw me in this place.
And even now as I write this I'm looking at a drawing I did as part of my therapy and I realize something. I don't care about the past, or who I was. I don't care about the future or who I may become.
All I care is about getting back, and getting there as soon as I can.
Looking at the picture I've drawn tears me apart, because I know that hidden inside there is the real heaven. Hidden inside is the only place I've ever been happy.
I don't care that it takes drugs to get me there, and I don't care what it does to my family.
If it means me dying alone, my bloodshot eyes transfixed onto nothing as my last breath slips out of my lungs, so be it.
I can't wait until I die to see if there is a heaven, I need it now.
Entry 1:
absolutes
Adamdidit2u
badassmofo
BillsSBChamps
bob
checkyourmail
clit_commander
comicbookguy
dodahdave
DonkeyOnTheEdge
firefly
indoninja
jack11058
Jack_McCallum
JMG114
JSPANGLER
Katastrofadark
kimmy02721
krissi
MANICMOTHER
Method
nitty34
ParlorTrick
Pentameter
Razor
rushtawin
sebcharrot
Viciousriffs
24 eligible votes (28 total) *
Entry 2:
AwesomeJohnson
Bellebrown
blank_mind
BLITZKREIG_BOB
BobLobla
c1ndy
CaptainThorns
Coyote
Crystle
darko
Davros
doctorj24
ess-arr
jgreening
JonnyX
loki
Magicaddict
munkeypants
MyNameIsTim
Natsukau
rad1101
satchel
Slovin
Snark
SPECIALk
spedmonkey
stevie_says
Teephphah
The_Yellow_Dart
thorpe
William_Q_Percy
zakalwe
30 eligible votes (32 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 clit_commander (user info) at 2005-07-28 11:52:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Death and torture rule
Submitted by kimmy02721 (user info) at 2005-07-28 11:39:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
fuck. i think i chose one because of the better title usage. !?!
Submitted by thorpe (user info) at 2005-07-28 11:22:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2005-07-28 11:19:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
tough call
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2005-07-28 11:13:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2005-07-28 10:18:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
they were both awesome.
in the beginning, entry 1 was a little hard to read, but it quickly picked up.
#2 s tarted strong then improved.
2 it is.
Submitted by ess-arr (user info) at 2005-07-28 10:00:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
good read, both, sorry had to go with 2
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2005-07-28 09:59:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by jack11058 (user info) at 2005-07-28 08:49:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
MEH
Submitted by Coyote (user info) at 2005-07-28 08:48:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
what's with the editing, entry 1?
Submitted by SPECIALk (user info) at 2005-07-28 01:44:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by rushtawin (user info) at 2005-07-28 00:45:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by checkyourmail (user info) at 2005-07-28 00:42:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by The_Yellow_Dart (user info) at 2005-07-27 23:37:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
It's becomming a competition on who can write the longest story...
Submitted by zakalwe (user info) at 2005-07-27 21:25:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
although entry 2 referred to uber, #1 made me physically sick. I can't bring myself to vote for that.
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2005-07-27 21:11:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I better not root in this, otherwise *someone* might think it's mine. Which it's not.
Submitted by bob (user info) at 2005-07-27 18:09:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
-2 scrolling
Submitted by Viciousriffs (user info) at 2005-07-27 18:09:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Beautifully vivid imagery, #1.
Submitted by William_Q_Percy (user info) at 2005-07-27 17:30:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Tough call.
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2005-07-27 16:40:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2005-07-27 16:09:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2005-07-27 15:19:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2005-07-27 14:56:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by ParlorTrick (user info) at 2005-07-27 14:35:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
aruggg....
Submitted by dodahdave (user info) at 2005-07-27 13:19:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Both interesting concepts.
#1, you get my vote despite several spelling and grammatical errors.
Spell and grammar checks are your friends.
Yours was more involved, I felt.
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2005-07-27 09:03:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by comicbookguy (user info) at 2005-07-27 08:49:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
didn't particularly care for either of these
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2005-07-27 06:50:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
#1 went in with a good angle, but you need to proof read and edit better. Big error in the first couple of paragraphs.
#2 was well written, but I suspect the fact that your post made the whole thing side-scroll will cost you votes, which is a shame as it was a good piece.
My only other complaint about #2 was that the final paragraph seemed superflous (sp?).
-Dave
Submitted by Katastrofadark (user info) at 2005-07-27 03:03:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2005-07-27 01:33:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
#1 - seriously disturbing. There may be a serial killer amongst us. Well written, but too much..
Thank goodness #2 is well written as well - I enjoyed it.
it's also a good thing I'm a shadow people and don't count here
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-07-26 23:18:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No fucking way am I reading all that if I have to scroll. Sorry guys.
Submitted by MANICMOTHER (user info) at 2005-07-26 22:07:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Evil.
Submitted by blank_mind (user info) at 2005-07-26 21:29:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Entry one felt forced to me, and fairly dull. Oh and being sick isn't the same as being effective.
Submitted by DonkeyOnTheEdge (user info) at 2005-07-26 20:24:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Why the fuck are people complaining about scrolling? Take your resolution off 600x800.
Submitted by DonkeyOnTheEdge (user info) at 2005-07-26 20:22:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Not a big fan of number two. Number one barely gets it.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-07-26 18:47:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
#2 was good, very good, but #1 went that extra mile into WTF territory.
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-07-26 18:15:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2005-07-26 18:14:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
#1 It seems you have mastered both the width and length of a post to make it entirely unreadable.
#2 Add an additional paragraph or two, and you'll 'advance' along with #1
Submitted by doctorj24 (user info) at 2005-07-26 17:41:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
That picture is pretty cool, #2. And I can't vote for #1, it was just way too messed up. That is just wrong. Wrong.
Submitted by Natsukau (user info) at 2005-07-26 17:07:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JSPANGLER (user info) at 2005-07-26 16:45:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by Magicaddict (user info) at 2005-07-26 16:40:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by AwesomeJohnson (user info) at 2005-07-26 16:36:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-07-26 15:09:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Thanks #1, I was just sitting down to lunch when I perused your story...ick!
#2, your post reminds me of one of the Star Trek movies - interesting premise.
Submitted by krissi (user info) at 2005-07-26 14:12:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:59:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Drugs ARE bad.
Submitted by stevie_says (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:56:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Don't post things with scroll!
Submitted by absolutes (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:47:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by satchel (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:45:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by firefly (user info) at 2005-07-26 13:05:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Slovin (user info) at 2005-07-26 12:53:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-07-26 12:40:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Teephphah (user info) at 2005-07-26 12:27:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
You NEVER smoke from your own inventory #2. Everybody knows that.
I thought that #1 had an interesting (albeit fucked up) take on the title, but entry #2 was just much, much better written.
Sorry #1.
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2005-07-26 12:07:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Razor (user info) at 2005-07-26 12:03:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by sebcharrot (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:54:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
That picture pissed me off. I had to scroll sideways for every line.
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:53:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:46:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
The dialogue in entry one is great.
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:44:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Christ, I gotta say, there are a TON of looooooooooooooooooooong posts lately...
Still no 27-page novel, but still.
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:43:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Um... Nice pic.
Submitted by Adamdidit2u (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:40:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Gotta love a little ultra violence
Submitted by spedmonkey (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:39:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Wow, both excellent. Tough choice here.
Submitted by BillsSBChamps (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:38:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Scrolling=bad.
Submitted by Bellebrown (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:35:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
We don't appear to agree on anything nitty.
Submitted by Bellebrown (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:34:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by nitty34 (user info) at 2005-07-26 11:33:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment