Type: Posts; User: Garden Gnome
Congratulations to the mafia team!!!
Thank you, all, for playing! I hope that you all had fun!!!
the end of the story
I went back to work, once I tested negative for COVID-19. My writer's block was gone. And I found out, to my great happiness, that I didn't have to write a history of exploded warehouses. The editors decided that some time away from hot news (literally) would do me some good. So, I'm a restaurant critic. I get to eat food and write about food. And no one died from... oh, wait, except mid5000, who might have died from food poisoning at a restaurant that I was supposed to go to tomorrow. Guess I won't be reviewing that!!!
Anyway, I'm going on vacation before my stint as a restaurant critic starts so all's well that ends well, or not so well. And who knows? Maybe I will move away. The future is unclear, and this town seems rather unlivable. One day at a time. One word at a time keeps writer's block away. I think.
It was a dark and stormy night, and there was a tornado watch. Fortunately, not a warning, just a watch. But who knows? With my luck, my house could get blown away.
Fortunately, my COVID-19-induced nightmares had ceased after the second night. I was starting to feel much better. Breathing felt easier and I no longer had the urge to sleep after being awake for half an hour. Before going to sleep, I sat at my table and wrote some poems. Even my writer's block seemed to have gone away. I had slept for many hours and my brain renewed itself.
The sun gleams brightly
and new leaves and flowers shine
At night, I drank wine and marveled at my calmness. It was as if everything reset itself. I decided to check my email before going to sleep, which is when I found out that another body had been found at the site of the second warehouse explosion. It was Aralis. I wondered if I knew Aralis. I think that was one of our advertisers. Feeling sad, I fell asleep and slept dreamlessly through the night and through the thunderstorm that, apparently, awakened everyone but me.
I threw the dead moth out the window. I walked around the house in a daze and feeling very exhausted. As if I had pulled five all nighters in a row. The phone rang, and I answered it with a coughing fit.
"You okay?" asked someone. I couldn't recognize the voice.
"Sort of," I said.
"Wanna go to the movies?" asked the same person. I think my friend but my ears felt plugged, and my head started pounding, as if little drummers were sitting on the inside of my skull, playing some sort of broken rhythm.
"Uh, no. I can't go out. I've got COVID-19."
"Yeah, right," the person said and hung up. Do I know that person? I sat down in front of the television and tried to watch the news. I coughed and sneezed fitfully.
"A second warehouse has exploded in one week, resulting in a death," the newscaster announced. "The victim was a well-known boxer, who was commonly called "Phighter," because he would do shadow boxing after his opponent was well defeated."
I knew about Phighter. I had interviewed him for the paper.
I felt sicker than ever. I went back to bed, exhausted and unmotivated to do anything but sleep.
I fell asleep for a second time, after the explosion nightmare, despite being so congested. But, suddenly, I awakened and discovered that I was out of my home. In fact, I was stuck to a very large and dying ash tree. How did I get out of quarantine so fast and how was it possible that I was stuck to the side of a tree? Oh wait! What am I? Not even a human anymore. I felt myself walking... crawling... something on six legs. Am I some sort of beetle?
"You!" said an earthworm. "You are to accompany me to the courthouse."
What the heck??? I am a beetle and I am being hauled to court by an earthworm? When I went to sleep, I was a journalist with writer's block that was suffering from a COVID infestation and, now, I'm an insect? Something seemed very bizarre about that. Nevertheless, I followed the earthworm to court. The courtroom was full of a myriad of insects. I was shown to my seat with a large group of emerald ash borers. I looked at them and they looked at me. They seemed to recognize me as one of them. So... I have suddenly become an emerald ash borer. Things are getting curiouser and curiouser.
All of a sudden, we all stood, as was possible. I discovered the hard way that, even in the insect courtroom, chairs are not designed for beetles. The way that I discovered that was by falling off my seat. The judge, a very large and very fat bumblebee, entered the courtroom. The bee buzzed around a bit, but I scarcely understood a word. There was a prosecutor, who looked suspiciously like a luna moth. Very large, very green, and very showy. The luna moth was talking about the death of so many ash trees because of the emerald ash borer infestation, and the audience in the courtroom was weeping copiously. I suddenly realized what had happened. Instead of being the victim of an infestation, I was an invasive insect species that was infesting helpless ash trees.
Suddenly, one of the emerald ash borers could stand it no more. That beetle rushed at the luna moth. The gendarmes, who were all fierce hornets, tried to sting the emerald ash borer copiously, but other emerald ash borers joined the fray. Before long, the luna moth lay dead in the middle of the courtroom, with the bee judge crying out, "Oh, murder most foul!"
Everything in the courtroom seemed unreal and was getting more and more unreal until I woke up as a human. On the floor was a dead moth. I wondered how that happened.
I wrote my article, but it was very brief because it was nothing but a photograph of the explosion site and growled comments by elected officials and police. "No comment," they all said. They really wanted to say, "Get lost, major loser," but they knew that I would enjoy that too much so they stuck to the standard "no comment." Even with writer's block, I can still quote people growling "no comment" with that pinched look on their faces that spews hostility and anger.
After finishing the article, I went home because I was feeling kind of sick. It wasn't just the stress and emotion from finding dead bodies all over the place. I knew that I probably was actually sick so I used one of those COVID-19 tests. Sure enough, it was "positive." It looks like I'm going to be stuck at home for five to ten days, doing creative writing exercises or sleeping or sneezing or whatever you do when you catch that highly contagious omicron variant (BA. 2, otherwise known as "Stealth").
So, here we go with a creative writing exercise, designed to eliminate writer's block. This time, the goal is to incorporate five words into a timed writing. The setting is a beach and the premise is litter cleanup at the beach. So, in my imagination, I'm cleaning the beach (not really because I'm isolating now) and I find the following objects, which I'm going to choose with a random word generator: stamp pad, paper, pink flamingo, hubcap, wine bottle
And now for the random first letters generator, Here's my random sentence from the generator: "The sea sparkled in the sunlight."
(the amount of time that I'm taking is seven minutes)
Now, I am going to get my phone to use as a timer. Okay. Here goes:
The sea sparkled in the sunlight. I got my gloves on, and I grabbed that picker device, the one that I don't like because, inevitably, I drop the litter in the most inconvenient place (like in a bunch of sharp, icky thistles that have these enormous self defense devices). Yah, I know that it's redundant, that sharp and enormous self defense devices mean the same thing. Well, anyway, I'm out here but only in my mind. Because I'm stuck at home, having been infested by the infamous omicron infestation. It was probably all of those city officials and cops who kept growling no comment in my face who gave me COVID-19. How rude, how very rude. They know that I write for the paper, and that I'm not a stamp pad for the government. Oh, wait. I think that the actual expression is that I'm not a rubber stamp for the government. But anyway, yeah, whatever. So in my imaginary little pickup activity, I find all sorts of stuff. Like a faded pink flamingo that's sitting underneath the lifeguard's chair, having blown away from the house where it was advertising someone's 50th birthday. Undoubtedly, the person who had the 50th birthday didn't really want it advertised. But nevertheless. Hahahaha. And what else did I find? Well, there's a very expensive wine bottle. A really good brand. I forgot which one. But it's really good. Or maybe I just like the name. It's something about bare feet or bare naked. Or maybe it's bear feet. I just can't bear it! I am so punny when I'm spontaneous. It's unbearable. The one other object that I found is the hubcap for a Lambourghini. No kidding. Oh, no, maybe it's just a joke. Who would drive a car that pricey and not notice that the hubcap fell off...
(time has expired!)
And the phone is ringing. My editor let me know that another dead body has been found in the exploded warehouse rubble. It's the body of DoctorZeus!!! I coughed and sneezed into the phone. The editor said that he just wanted to give me that information so that, when I am de-COVID-ized, I could write an in-depth article about the history of explosions in this fair city.
History of explosions??? This just keeps getting more and more bizarre. I fall asleep and dream about... explosions.
After seeing yet another corpse, which caused me to faint from sheer fright at the scene of the big explosion, I somehow managed to find my way back home via the local pizza parlor. I needed a great big pizza to help me deal with the stresses of my job (the impossibility of guessing the cause of the big explosion after every last Official in Charge growled "no comment" to me as if I were some sort of germ) and the fact that I have so much bad luck that, twice, I nearly have tripped over corpses. Oh, did I mention writer's block? I probably did. But, yes, I still have it.
I ate pizza and more pizza and still more pizza. It was delicious and topped with mushrooms, onions, and spinach. I really couldn't stop eating it. And then it was gone, and I was sleepy. Fright does produce an appetite, I suppose. And satisfying an appetite produces sleepiness. Massive sleepiness. It wasn't long before I was asleep and having nightmares. I was being chased by Officials in Charge who were all shouting, "NO COMMENT! NO COMMENT! NO COMMENT!" Before long, it was a chorus of "No comment" in four-part harmony. And then, there was a "No comment" aria. In my dreams, "no comment" had turned into an opera with lots and lots of harmonies and musical notes, but only two words, "No comment." I kept running and running, and I wasn't singing because you usually can't sing and run simultaneously.
Abruptly, I woke up, covered in sweat and terror, just before sunrise. It was raining heavily. I stepped outside to let the rainwater run over me, when I saw something large on the patio behind the house. I walked over to check it out and, to my shock, I discovered that it was the corpse of Fontana . I screamed yet another blood curdling scream that woke my neighbors up, causing them to yell "shut up," until they came closer and saw the dead body on my patio.
During the night, I had heard some horrific noise as I was struggling with insomnia brought about by the fright of seeing a corpse stashed behind shrubbery. That was pretty frightening. After I went home, I drank copious amounts of wine, which didn't have the desired effect, although the wine tasted good. I rolled around all night, and the cat, who was biting my head as she tried to groom it, started biting just a little bit harder.
Really? I've got a fright from seeing a corpse behind shrubbery, a cat who bites my head and taste tests my hair as if it were a bowl of spaghetti, and insomnia. Also writer's block. How could I forget writer's block? Oh. And writing is literally my career. I'm a newspaper reporter. I write about anything the newspaper wants. Actually, I'm just a stringer. When the editor needs me, he calls me. He sounds like one of those newspaper editors in 1940s movies. Looks the role, too. It's too bizarre.
I don't know if any part of my life is real.
So what happened at 7:30 a.m.? The editor called. Said that there was a huge explosion. Some warehouse went ka-boom. Police weren't talking. City officials weren't talking. My job was to get the information out of them. Oh, and I have 24 hours to write an in-depth article about a possible act of terrorism or an accident. It could be either. I had to figure out which.
"Um," I mumbled, not really awake and not really asleep because I don't think that I slept at all. I showered and dressed and fed the yowling cat and ate something. Do you think that I remember what I ate? Not a chance. I was barely functional.
At the scene of the explosion, which was now just a pile of rubble, I stood there, taking photographs, feeling kind of stupid because I'm just a stringer acting like a papparazzi at a suspected crime scene. Or horrific accident. I don't know which. Also feeling like an impostor because I can't write. Completely blocked. I walked around and then I tripped over something. It was the corpse of Lumina. I screamed one of the most blood curdling screams that I had ever screamed since my days as a professional member of the opera chorus. After that, I think that I fainted. I opened my eyes to see paramedics crowded around me and the corpse.
It was a hot and slimy night...
It was a harmful and stultifying night...
It was a heroic yet stinky night...
Nothing is as it seems when you've fallen through a rabbit hole. I spent all night reading Malice in Thunderland... um... Alice in Blunderland... wait, that was a mistake... and this is all I get. Up all night, trying to write because writing is not coming naturally to me. If I stay up all night, attempting to write, don't I deserve my favorite Drug of Choice? Milk or dark? Um. Dark chocolate. I've gotta get it now. BRB.
I was walking and attempting to write in the darkest of dark nights, although actually not stormy. I understand that the best and worst novels start with "It was a dark and stormy night." I didn't actually fall through a real rabbit hole. It was more like a metaphorical rabbit hole, a representation of how I have lost my way and my words.
But like I was saying... I was attempting to write and I was attempting to walk and it wasn't working, and then, I heard a blood curdling scream. I ran toward the scream, instead of away as I wanted to do because I'm a writer, not a hero. But it was too late for heroics. I found the corpse of Sunbae behind some shrubbery.
Ugh! Murder Most Foul. (that's a novel, isn't it?
I sit here, staring at a blank screen. It's laughing, I think. Isn't that the noise that blank screens make when they know that you're intimidated by their very blankness?
Well, I guess. I've got to do something about this writer's block. What to do... hmmm, I could try a timed writing with a random writing prompt. This is the website that I'm going to for my writing prompt: https://randomwordgenerator.com/writing-prompt.php
The writing prompt that I got was "In the shadows."
Here goes. I'm going to write for five minutes nonstop and I'm going to start with "In the shadows..."
In the shadows of life, the sun hid. In the shadows of the world, I hid. I hid and I waited so that I could tell the story. The story of what, I don't know yet. I watched and I waited and I saw. I saw that there was something scary. And I realized what it was. It was a den of coyotes and it was late at night, which is why the sun hid and which is why I hid. I hid so that I could be an observer because it is my role to observe. Always watch. Always be ready I heard the howling, and then I saw the hunters who were coming for the coyotes because they, too heard the howling and their dogs heard the howling and their dogs also began to howl. The nighttime was filled with the cacophony of howling. Isn't that a good word? Cacophony. I love that. How often do I get to say cacophony? But I digress.
Just then, I saw Variance, who was running. Running from whom, I don't know. Running toward whom, I don't know. Variance was just running and, apparently, had been running for a while. Variance had been selected for something, and it wasn't something good, judging by the expression on Variance's face. I watched, just out of sight, as the sun set and night fell and the shadows lengthened. I looked away.
And Variance had died when I wasn't watching. The world was hugged by darkness, and the coyotes continued to howl.
I volunteered to write flavor for this game, and now, I don't know what to write about. I'm really stuck. Plus, players are looking at me, waiting for some sort of literary masterpiece. Instead, I'm writing this stream of consciousness drivel. My head is impressively empty, yet I can't sleep. The cat, on the other hand, has no trouble sleeping because I'm looking at her curled up in a ball on the furniture that she loves to scratch. Plus, she's snoring.
I've got to decide soon because the game is starting tomorrow. Hey, wait, tomorrow. Wasn't that a song? Something about tomorrow, tomorrow, I'll love ya tomorrow. You're always a day aw.... all right, now, not only do I have writer's block, I also have an earworm. Go away, earworm. Music... I could make the town heroes in musicals and the mafia villains. Speaking of which, I was watching American Idol and Nicolina sang a villain song. She was delightfully wicked. Can you be delightfully wicked? Well, she was. It's more fun to play a villain role than a "good guy" role, and she played the villain to the hilt. Maybe villains vs. good guys. I'm gonna think about that one. It sounds kind of good. Did I tell you that I'm indecisive. I'm still trying to decide about that one.
So, for now, it's gonna be villains vs. heroes and a bunch of high notes. I'll probably change my mind tomorrow, depending on if the writer's block ends or not. Cat needs to be fed. And I could go for a cookie or two. Or chocolate. Everyone knows tht dark chocolate cures all ailments. Even if you eat it at one o'clock in the morning.
fun game. Thank you. First time being JOAT.
Modbot breaking was funny.
Dudes, I am JOAT.
a few comments from gnome:
there are reasons for not playing that are beyond the player's control:
1. internet issues. I was playing a game on another site when, suddenly, my internet crashed and was not restored for eleven days. When I was able to get back online, the game was over, and I tried to vote and NK (simultaneously) my ISP.
2. the computer dies. Ugh, that's happened, too. Once again, it's hard to ask to be replaced when you don't have the means to get online.
3. a death in the family. That happened. I did ask to be replaced. The host was very kind.
4. Ugh, I'm siiiiiiiiick. Yes, I think that I asked to be replaced.
Being asked to be replaced because you don't like your alignment? Really? That makes no sense at all. It's like being in a play. It's your character. Make the most of it and try to win the game.
I can't think of anything else right now.
too many cop 9 and vig 10.
We need more variety and excitement in turbolandia.