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Post by angelboydiscoman » Sun Feb 24, 2019 2:02 am

this is where you submit your writing. you can write any kind of thing.

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Post by Crunchyeater » Mon Mar 11, 2019 8:43 am


Writing to you has proven precarious. However, I devised a scheme for these utterances to cross you. These words I ink are carried via pigeon post to the railroad just along the border, where a telegrapher will, by means beyond me, transport them by wire to his townie peer, who will then input them into their terminal and travel over to you, my sweet. Thus, I must keep my passions restrained, for they will pass through the eyes of far too many souls before reaching the gilded green globes upon the cranial crest I wish to have again in my arms. Why you chose an absence here for those blasted, ungodly, electrical sciences, I do not know, for if you remained I could raise a barn high and mighty, wide in breadth and stance, like Autisticus and Maximus. The earth has been rich and soft this season, our fields will yield a ribbonary bounty this year, especially with the aid of our eldest sons. Every twilight I lay on hay and pray for your sixteen sennights to dwindle quickly. I’ll work harder to ensure no hardship to ever come across our household, my love. Let me know of any way I can add haste in your travels home.

Lost in the stars without you, my dear,
CrunchyCrumbles: A cereal worth fighting for.

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Post by slammity_dan » Mon Mar 25, 2019 2:18 am

I've literally never written a screenplay before, but I thought this piece would work best as one. If you'd like the unformatted text, just let me know. Also this is my first TML submission, so I don't know how any of this works.

UPDATE1: Some formatting fixes. Also I made sure all the non-ad letters came from the original 10 Sloan Letters.

Code: Select all



ALICE is sitting in a chair, leaning forward into a phoropter,
facing an eye chart projected onto a wall. The DOCTOR stands next
to her chair, clipboard in hand.

                      Can you do it again?

              (flipping a switch on the phoropter)


The DOCTOR jots something down on his clipboard.

         Alright. Now please read off the letters on the
              screen, left-to-right, top-to-bottom.

                   R. And then N-D-O-Z-V. Then
         K-H-C-M-T-N-D-E-W--Mountain Dew? Does that say
                          Mountain Dew?

                      Please keep reading.

         Ok. Let's see, Z-K-N-B-U-Y-H-E-F-T-Y-H-E-F--I'm
               sorry did you put ads in this test?

        You're almost done with the visual portion of the
                 exam. Please continue reading.

A BEAT. ALICE is working something out.

          Ok, hold on. Doesn't it completely defeat the
         purpose of the eye exam if I can infer the next
         letters from context? Also how did you get all
       these letters? I happen to know that this font was
          designed in the 50s and it only contained 10

           We cannot discuss the terms and conditions
         established with our licensors. Furthermore, we
        cannot share any information that would alter the
                   results of the experiment.


The DOCTOR is stone-faced.

        Let me rephrase that, Herr Doktor. Am I currently
                 participating in an experiment?

          Yes, you are. This is stated on your patient
          admission forms. Eye exams are not ordinarily
           free, but it is in the interest of Takashi
         Enterprises as well as to the general public to
                 provide eye exams in exchange--

             Ok ok, I get it. Let's just keep going.

              Very well. Please read the last line.

       R-C-H-O--and then it just says "kids love the taste
               of Count Chocula breakfast cereal."

             Good. You received perfect marks on the
         preliminary visual exam, which means we may now
        move on to general perception assay. Preparation
          will be mostly painless. You will feel a tiny
                 pinch at the base of your neck.

                           Wait, what?

                        (singing rapidly)
           Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.

On the last syllable, the DOCTOR snaps his fingers.

The door swings open. ORDERLY 1 steps into the room, followed by
a cart being pushed by ORDERLY 2. On the cart are cotton swabs, a
bottle of iodine, and a large syringe filled with fluorescent
blue liquid with a massive DAWN logo on the barrel.

ALICE tries to stand up, but ORDERLY 1, standing behind her,
wraps his arms around her shoulders and uses his weight to pin
her to the chair. He's easily twice her size. ALICE turns her
head and bites his forearm.

                            ORDERLY 1
                            Ow, fuck!

ORDERLY 1 lets go and punches ALICE in the back of the head.
She's stunned. ORDERLY 2 quickly walks over, disinfects the
injection site near the base of her neck, and takes the sheath
off of the syringe. With a single motion, he places the needle
and sinks it in between two vertebrae.

                            ORDERLY 2
         (viciously pressing the plunger with his thumb)
            You're not you when you're hungry, bitch.

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Post by slammity_dan » Thu Mar 28, 2019 9:10 pm

NOTE: I just thought I'd share this. It's reasonably polished imo, but I'm not sure it's fit for TML

Emergency lights silently flashed. A calm female voice came from the speakers in the ceiling: "Oxygen levels at twenty percent. Please make your way to your assigned lifeboat".

Maria had stuffed the last of her personal belongings in her duffle bag and began making her way to the docking bay. She had learned from a very young age not to run in low-oxygen emergencies, but she couldn't help picking up the pace a bit. As she passed through the sunlight lounge, she noticed Mukul, one of her suitemates, lying on the couch in the corner of the room. His EtherPods were firmly plugged into his ears. It looked like his EtherSlate was playing an episode of Friends, or at least one of the remakes. Maria hesitated for a moment. She looked down the corridor in the direction she was walking, then decided she would at least try to do the moral thing. She waved her arms until Mukul took a pod out of his ear. She could hear the audio from across the room.

"Mukul! Did you see the warning?" Maria asked innocently. "The oxygen bladder has a rupture. There's about twenty percent left. We gotta get to the lifeboats."

Mukul responded lazily, "Yeeeah, I heard the warning and everything. I'm just not sure."

Maria paused to find the words. Talking to Mukul was difficult, which is why she often didn't. "Sure of what?"

"Wellll, I was reading that lifeboats are the least used part of the average passenger ship, and Takashi Enterprises, one of the biggest lifeboat manufacturers, just yesterday announced its lowest earnings in over a decade. Think about it. Don't you think it's at least possible that they could have faked an emergency in order to get people to use their product, while simultaneously making competing manufacturers, like the one who made the oxygen bladder, look bad? Seems like a pretty decent plan, especially if nobody actually gets hurt."

"Mukul," began Maria. She had to meter her speech; she was already short of breath. "This entire ship, which is currently being evacuated, is Takashi. Every single part—the oxygen bladder, the lights, the artificial gravity, which, mind you, is still perfectly functional—is made by Takashi Enterprises."

"And don't you think that's a bit suspicious?" interjected Mukul.

Maria was losing the little patience she began with. "That a spaceship company makes the parts that go in a spaceship or that an oxygen bladder rupture didn't break gravity?"

Mukul was still cool as a carbon catalexon. He took the other pod out of his ear and shifted his still-reclined body to face Maria. "Maria, you know I'm not saying you have to believe everything I say." Maria was already fuming.

The female voice from the ceiling returned: "Oxygen levels at ten percent. Please make your way to your assigned lifeboat".

Mukul continued. "I'm just saying that it behooves us as citizens of the Federation to think for ourselves and use a healthy amount of skepticism. If you do the research and come to a different conclusion, then, hey, that'd be a great debate. However, if you are not so inclined, I suppose we will just have to agree to disagree." He propped himself up on one elbow. "Now if you will excuse me, I'd like to take advantage of this mass hysteria and snag a shower while they’re empty." Mukul planted his feet on the floor and stood up. As soon as he did, his face went blank and he began to sway back and forth. Just before he toppled over, he managed to find the couch and sit himself back down, completely out of breath.

"Oof, I'm feeling a bit lightheaded. It must be because I had a big lunch." Mukul paused for a bit to suck in more air.

Maria bit her tongue. She really needed to go, but she needed the resolution to this even more. In as kind a tone as she could muster, she probed, "What do you mean?"

"You didn’t know this?" he responded. "When you have a big meal, all the blood rushes to your tum-tum and away from your head, you know, for digestion. My mom would say this when I was younger. That’s why I always—"

Mukul stopped and noticed that Maria had left, gone down the corridor, and was already out of sight. He stared at where she was just standing. A few seconds went by. "Alright, thanks Maria!" he wheezed in her direction, "I think I'm just gonna wait this one out."

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Post by slammity_dan » Thu Apr 25, 2019 6:24 am

"This is bullshit" Dave moaned, reading over the disciplinary report he had just received from the school secretary. The principal had been on his ass lately. Dave used to get away with everything: coming late, cheating on tests, even getting into fights. But something had changed. Principal Dave was acting different. Besides his nastier demeanor, his hurried, hunched gait, had become striding and upright, and his speech had become more halting, with more mixups than felt normal.

He looked back up to Dave to find that he wasn't there anymore. Who had he been complaining to?

He resumed his well-trodden path down 3rd floor hallway. Sometimes Dave would go to class just because he was bored of walking. This time he would return to class out of self-pity—who cared whether or not he ditched class? It wasn't like he'd be allowed to leave for college anyway. He was about to enter the classroom, but just as he turned the doorknob, Dave noticed that the lockers were on the wrong side of the hallway. Some curious eyes looked through the narrow window in the door as Dave pivoted and walked towards the anomaly. He heard tapping coming from the inside of the nearest locker. He looked around to see if anyone else could hear it, but the classroom had turned into lockers as well. The tapping had no discernible rhythm. Cautiously, Dave approached the slitted, cobalt-grey, metal box and tested the door. It was unlocked. He slowly opened the door to find a pitch black interior. Dave heard his hushed voice in his left ear, "mom said this would help," said Dave, as he shoved himself into the locker and descended, laughing in his halted way, into nothingness.

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Post by slammity_dan » Fri May 10, 2019 5:14 am


“Ted?” Ms. Roth called out. Ted Potensky looked up. “You can head into Mr. Davidson’s office now.”

Mr. Davidson’s door cracked open just as Ted stood up. Ted saw a girl step out of the office. Her eyes looked puffy. Mr. Davidson peeked his head out of the doorway and beckoned cheerfully, “Hey hey! Come right in, Ted!” Ted obliged, though he still had no idea as to why he had been called into the guidance counselor’s office in the middle of the day.

Mr. Davidson circled back to his desk and motioned for Ted to sit as he picked up a pen. “So, Teddy, tell me, what’s up? How are you?” he began.

Ted wasn’t sure how to answer the open-ended question. He tried to use it to make conversation. “Good, good. I actually had to pull an all-nighter last night for a presentation in Spanish class. I think—”

“Oofta yeah, yeah that’ll do it” said Mr. Davidson, listening actively while jotting notes on the sheet of paper in front of him.

“—I think it was worth it, because the presentation went really well. People had a ton of questions after the—”

“So, you’re feeling okay, then.” declared Mr. Davidson, hovering his pen over a checkbox on the sheet.

“Uh yeah I’d say so, maybe a bit tired or hungry. I find that—”

“Mhm. Ok that’s great. Great to hear,” he said, ticking the box. “So, just so you know, the reason I ask is because I have to do this boring thing for the school’s insurance where I periodically check in with some of our vulnerable students.” Mr. Davidson air-quoted the last words as he said them.

Ted was confused. “What do you mean ‘vulnerable’?”

“Oh it’s just psycho-babble technical jargon. No need to worry about how it sounds.” Mr. Davidson moved his pen down the left side of the sheet of paper until it found its starting point again. “So, Teddy, how do you feel about your academics? How are you doing in school?”

Ted wasn’t quite satisfied with the answer to his question. He put a pin in it. “Pretty good, actually,” he said, enthusiastically. “I got mostly As last semester, and I feel pretty confident about this semester too. Like that Spanish presentation I mentioned went pretty well, I think, so that’ll be another A.”

“Not bad, not bad at all, my man!” said Mr. Davidson, with a new infusion of excitement. “It doesn’t say here, so remind me again what level Spanish you’re in?”

“Uh, three,” said Teddy.

“And math?”


“And chemistry?”

“Three as well.”

“Cool cool,” said Mr. Davidson, filling in the last details on his sheet. “So it looks like the remedial classes are a good fit for you. I’m glad you’re doing so well in them.”

“Huh.” Ted paused for a moment. He didn’t know anyone else who was in all threes, now that he thought about it.

Mr. Davidson moved right along. “Alrighty, now tell me, what’s your social life like? Got any pals you like to hang out with?”

Ted recovered. “Oh, plenty” he said, smiling. “I’ve got a pretty big group of friends, maybe five or six,” he included the numbers because he figured Mr. Davidson liked numbers, “and like we get lunch together and hang out in the lounge together. It’s fun.”

“And you all presumably hang out on the weekends? Maybe go to the movies or the mall?” probed Mr. Davidson.

“Hmm?” Ted was caught slightly off-guard. He decided to own it. “No, not really. I don’t see most of my friend group outside of school so much. It’s more like an in-school kind of friend group, if you know what I mean.”

Mr. Davidson was still writing. Without looking up, he persisted “I think I know what you mean. Would you say you have an out-of-school friend group, then?”

Ted didn’t answer right away. He had always considered himself to be a social guy. He took about 10 seconds to think it through before he conceded “No I guess not. I’m home most of the time when I’m not in school. Mostly on the computer.” He briefly wondered just how badly he was deluding himself. Then he remembered, “Oh! But I have a bunch of people I talk to regularly on IRC—that’s internet relay chat. I kinda hang out with them on the weekends, if you think that counts.”

Mr. Davidson smiled. “Oh that sounds nice. I’m glad you consider them your friends.” He finished writing on the last line on his sheet of paper while mouthing the words “no real friends” to himself. Ted was feeling a little nauseous now.

“Last question,” Mr. Davidson said, turning over the paper. “If you don’t mind me prying a little, could you share a bit about your dating situation? Are you seeing anyone? If you feel uncomfortable answering, you just say the word, I totally get it.”

Ted truly didn’t want to answer the question. But he also didn’t want Mr. Davidson to know that he didn’t want to answer the question. He considered making up an answer, but he knew he was no good at lying. Besides, Mr. Davidson was clearly quite perceptive. He swallowed and went with the truth. “Not much going on, really,” he said, sheepishly.

“Come on, a guy like you? Straight As and a bunch of school friends? I’m sure there’s something going on,” pitched Mr. Davidson.

Ted felt flattered. Mr. Davidson hadn’t really done anything explicitly to make Ted feel bad. Ted was probably just in his own head. He elaborated, “Well, I was thinking of asking someone out. She’s in some of my classes and we talk a lot.”

“Oh you mean Sheila?” inquired Mr. Davidson flatly.

The name hit Ted in the gut. He stammered, “h…how…”

“I overheard Sheila talking in the hallway earlier this week. Talking about how she was stringing along some loser in one of her classes. She really seems to appreciate how much free time she has when you so chivalrously offer to do all the work in your group projects.”

“No. No, I don’t believe you.” Ted felt his eyes getting warm and blurry.

Mr. Davidson began to raise his voice. “You think I’m messing with you? You think I’d make this up? I know more about Sheila than you do. Did you know she’s got a boyfriend?” he taunted. Ted shook his head. “That’s right, she has a boyfriend in another school. Bet you would have known that if you spent a lot of time talking with her like you said you did. Or did you talk to her over IRC?”

Ted banged the desk. “Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” he yelled, his voice cracking. Tears were streaming down his face.

“Ooh I’m scared now. Does that make you mad, Teddy? Would it make you mad if I told you she spent that free time fucking her boyfriend in his studio apartment?”

Ted tried to look tough through his tears. Mr. Davidson wasn’t buying it.

“Would that make you want to lash out, huh? Maybe hurt her? Or would you rather take it out on the whole school? Does violence suit you, you lonely, remedial loser?”

Of course it didn’t. Ted didn’t say anything. He had nothing to say. His face froze in its contorted state.

“That’s what I thought. All bark and no bite. God, you kids are so predictable,” snarled Mr. Davidson as he checked off the “Not an Active Threat” box on his sheet. A few seconds passed and Ted was still unresponsive. “Well? That’s it! Get the hell out of my office!”

Ted, face damp with tears and mucus, stood up and made his way to the door.

Mr. Davidson put his feet up on his desk and clicked the intercom beside him. “Ms. Roth? Send in the next psycho. This one’s a fuckin’ pussy.”

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