The "Freeola Customer Forum" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
“WOW! I, I just can’t believe it! I mean, WOW! There were so many deserving people who have worked so hard up for this and just to be nominated with them was a real honour. But to actually win, well I never thought it possible. I of course could not have done this without the help of so many and you all know who you are, but there are a few I’d like to take the time to name.
My Mum and Dad of course. Without your love and support for the last 25 years of my life I wouldn’t have become the person that I am now. Thanks to Tony, the wonderfully talented director who took me when my acting ability was but a sapling and nurtured it into a giant oak. But my main thank you must of course go to you out there, to my fans. You’re the reason that I do this job and your acceptance means the world to me.”
7 minutes this went on for. 7 bloody minutes of verbal vomit spewed with as much conviction as the role, which gained him the nomination.
70 million people worldwide tuned in to watch this latest starlet prostitute himself to the whole of the general public. On a run-down street corner a common hooker will cost you no more then £20. These people are looked down upon and given nothing more then a scathing glance from those who don’t cross the road to avoid them, and yet if you take the time to work it out you will find that the £7m fee this set of teeth and perfectly plucked eyebrows was paid to ice his nipples and look shocked on screen works out at much less per person. Who’s the real w***e?
In the morning the papers will be filled with pictures and stories of these lights of our lives. Attention would be paid to who had worn the best dress and how well the host had verbally rimmed the winners. At least I was going to give them something newsworthy to fill their columns.
That’s just about all you need to know to bring us to the present situation.
A dilapidated hotel room of floral wallpaper and patchy carpet, which was originally, well, cream at a guess. The bed-sheets didn’t look like they’d been washed in years. They were a reminder of past occupants of the room, each of whom had seemingly left their own mark. There were no curtains, so the moonlight seeped through the cracked panes of glass casting lifeless shadows throughout.
It was perfect. Perfect poetic movie-style cheese. This would be Spielberg’s vision of where the lonely, crazy kidnapping murderer would wile away his hours and plan his dastardly deeds. God forbid a critically acclaimed killer could own his own house. Well, this is what draws in the gawking crowds of chunky-butted simpletons into their specially made chairs. This is what would shift those papers in the morning and who am I to not give the people what they want?
There had been a scene like this one in the movie. The badly dressed warlord standing over the hero who was tied to a chair just long enough to listen to the ins and outs of the evil mans scheme only to then, with a quip and a smile, escape and save the day. Reality differs somewhat. The only thing coming from this hero’s mouth was a steady stream of scarlet pain. Well, that and the occasional whimper. Those teeth once so plastically perfect. Have you heard the sound a gun butt makes when connecting forcefully with a humans mouth? The cracking and crunching of bone, teeth and sinew as the metal connects is quite different to the standard “thud” we’re all lead to believe is accurate by a certain Mr Bond.
There was to be no miraculous escape here. No witty retort. No words whatsoever in fact. He couldn’t speak. I don’t know if it was the pain or just real human fear. Anyway, he didn’t need to speak, his eyes were screaming at the top of their voices. Pleading with me to show some mercy and let him go. God knows why. This was his moment. In the morning everyone would be talking about him. His name would be known round the world just as he had always dreamed. This was his and my time to shine.
My Mum and Dad of course. Without your love and support for the last 25 years of my life I wouldn’t have become the person that I am now. Thanks to Tony, the wonderfully talented director who took me when my acting ability was but a sapling and nurtured it into a giant oak. But my main thank you must of course go to you out there, to my fans. You’re the reason that I do this job and your acceptance means the world to me.”
7 minutes this went on for. 7 bloody minutes of verbal vomit spewed with as much conviction as the role, which gained him the nomination.
70 million people worldwide tuned in to watch this latest starlet prostitute himself to the whole of the general public. On a run-down street corner a common hooker will cost you no more then £20. These people are looked down upon and given nothing more then a scathing glance from those who don’t cross the road to avoid them, and yet if you take the time to work it out you will find that the £7m fee this set of teeth and perfectly plucked eyebrows was paid to ice his nipples and look shocked on screen works out at much less per person. Who’s the real w***e?
In the morning the papers will be filled with pictures and stories of these lights of our lives. Attention would be paid to who had worn the best dress and how well the host had verbally rimmed the winners. At least I was going to give them something newsworthy to fill their columns.
That’s just about all you need to know to bring us to the present situation.
A dilapidated hotel room of floral wallpaper and patchy carpet, which was originally, well, cream at a guess. The bed-sheets didn’t look like they’d been washed in years. They were a reminder of past occupants of the room, each of whom had seemingly left their own mark. There were no curtains, so the moonlight seeped through the cracked panes of glass casting lifeless shadows throughout.
It was perfect. Perfect poetic movie-style cheese. This would be Spielberg’s vision of where the lonely, crazy kidnapping murderer would wile away his hours and plan his dastardly deeds. God forbid a critically acclaimed killer could own his own house. Well, this is what draws in the gawking crowds of chunky-butted simpletons into their specially made chairs. This is what would shift those papers in the morning and who am I to not give the people what they want?
There had been a scene like this one in the movie. The badly dressed warlord standing over the hero who was tied to a chair just long enough to listen to the ins and outs of the evil mans scheme only to then, with a quip and a smile, escape and save the day. Reality differs somewhat. The only thing coming from this hero’s mouth was a steady stream of scarlet pain. Well, that and the occasional whimper. Those teeth once so plastically perfect. Have you heard the sound a gun butt makes when connecting forcefully with a humans mouth? The cracking and crunching of bone, teeth and sinew as the metal connects is quite different to the standard “thud” we’re all lead to believe is accurate by a certain Mr Bond.
There was to be no miraculous escape here. No witty retort. No words whatsoever in fact. He couldn’t speak. I don’t know if it was the pain or just real human fear. Anyway, he didn’t need to speak, his eyes were screaming at the top of their voices. Pleading with me to show some mercy and let him go. God knows why. This was his moment. In the morning everyone would be talking about him. His name would be known round the world just as he had always dreamed. This was his and my time to shine.
Page:
Your fascination of the word 'rimming' is quite scary. Nice piece to read, flowed easily and personally I liked the closing line.
Ta, Glovey.
Provocative? That would be my rimming, no? Sorry, I just like that bit.
Provocative? That would be my rimming, no? Sorry, I just like that bit.
I like this. Some interesting and provocative lines and turn of phrase. The 'voice' seems natural (believable).
The swear filter is temperamental. I've done nothing to it to get it through.
It has happened before. I typed s[ut and that got through fine. I went to edit the post and then it asked me to change the word. Odd. No?
It has happened before. I typed s[ut and that got through fine. I went to edit the post and then it asked me to change the word. Odd. No?
"7 minutes this went on for. 7 bloody minutes of verbal vomit spewed
with as much conviction as the role"
"These people are looked down upon and given nothing more then a
scathing glance from those who don’t cross the road to avoid them,
and yet if you take the time to work it out you will find that the
£7m fee this set of teeth and perfectly plucked eyebrows was
paid to ice his nipples and look shocked on screen works out at much
less per person. Who’s the real wh**e?"
"he didn’t need to speak, his eyes were screaming at the top of their voices."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
These three examples, for me, stand out in the piece. They either amused me greatly, or stuck in my mind, and make me think. These were the highlights of your piece, along with, of course "verbal rimming".
:^)
Oh, and how the hell did you managed to get "wh**e" through the swear filter!?
with as much conviction as the role"
"These people are looked down upon and given nothing more then a
scathing glance from those who don’t cross the road to avoid them,
and yet if you take the time to work it out you will find that the
£7m fee this set of teeth and perfectly plucked eyebrows was
paid to ice his nipples and look shocked on screen works out at much
less per person. Who’s the real wh**e?"
"he didn’t need to speak, his eyes were screaming at the top of their voices."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
These three examples, for me, stand out in the piece. They either amused me greatly, or stuck in my mind, and make me think. These were the highlights of your piece, along with, of course "verbal rimming".
:^)
Oh, and how the hell did you managed to get "wh**e" through the swear filter!?
That is the third "serious" thing I've tried to write and I even had to cheese that up.
I find writing quite frustrating. Some lines just jump into my head and the rest is mindless babble to try and work them in.
Oh and which lines stood out? I just wanted to work "verbal rimming" into it and I was happy.
I find writing quite frustrating. Some lines just jump into my head and the rest is mindless babble to try and work them in.
Oh and which lines stood out? I just wanted to work "verbal rimming" into it and I was happy.
Considering this is probably one of the first things you've written in a while; this is really good.
There were a couple of lines that really stood out, which is always good, and it generally was interesting to read.
Good stuff, keep entering SSC.
There were a couple of lines that really stood out, which is always good, and it generally was interesting to read.
Good stuff, keep entering SSC.
Yeah, I thought it would be different to other entries and different to anything I've written before.
The essence of cheese is enticing. A nice attempt at something different at least.
Certainly more fruitful than any of my would-be efforts.
Keep alternating. Like the two circular beams of light which protect me from lasers and bullets.
Certainly more fruitful than any of my would-be efforts.
Keep alternating. Like the two circular beams of light which protect me from lasers and bullets.
Well, I gave it a crack. I had an idea in my mind and just sort of went “blergh” through the keyboard.
It didn’t quite pan out how I had though it would. I wanted it to be quite cheesy, which I think it is, but I just didn’t know what I was doing really as I wrote it.
Anyway, that’s my first stab…or slap with a gun butt, so any feedback is helpful, even if it’s “go back to writing comedic crap about swordfish impaling fishermen and virgins getting laid by drunk women.”
Ta
It didn’t quite pan out how I had though it would. I wanted it to be quite cheesy, which I think it is, but I just didn’t know what I was doing really as I wrote it.
Anyway, that’s my first stab…or slap with a gun butt, so any feedback is helpful, even if it’s “go back to writing comedic crap about swordfish impaling fishermen and virgins getting laid by drunk women.”
Ta
Page: