Newgrounds.com — Everything, By Everyone.

Did someone call Captain Cliche? Because that's what I'm reading here. It's far too short for any deviation from the norm, and thus reads like almost a parody. Nothing happens and thus the loss is on the reader.

Add more humanity to your characters. Hell, add more details about your characters. What's going on in this particular scene? By leaving it on the edge like you've done you're just piss of the reader. And for God's sake, do not, I repeat, DO NOT EVER START WITH DESCRIBING THE ATMOSPHERE. Especially with noir. That is one of the most cliched things you can do in an already cliched genre.

This piece needs a lot of work.

At 10/8/11 05:30 PM, Malachy wrote: Was it Burlington? I think you would love that city. It's small and they have all kinds of awesome events all year round (like Jazz fest every summer and nearby is the Champlain Valley Fair which usually has big name acts like Blink 182 when they were big in the 90s). I flew into there this Spring on I think United or maybe American Airlines but the plane came in real low so you were right over Lake Champlain and you could see the Adirondack mountains to the West and the Green Mountains to the East and you'd bank over some foggy areas and farmland and it was a pretty scenic spot. Also, the Vermont Air National Guard is stationed there so you see some F-16s (or F-18s, I dunno, I'm not a plane buff) landing and taking off or chillin in their own hangers next to the runway.

Yeah, it was Burlington. It was a flight back from Quebec (never let other people book you airplane flights, especially with layovers) so I had to stop there for reasons I'm not quite sure myself. However, you're right, it was a beautiful town, but I was freezing my ass off (Hey, normally this time in CA it's about 66, 67) and thus unhappy.

Thankfully, my flight left on time.

She just needs some time away. You got to respect her wishes man, that's the only way you'll get her back.

Simcity, but then you realize an hour later you're still on the toilet.

Goddamn simulators.

At 10/8/11 04:37 PM, LaForge wrote: There will always be new love. imagine all the awesome relationships you could start and end if you had eternity to live. There would be much heartache, but spaced out 70-90 years. there's more joy to be had in a relationship than fear or regret.

But at the same time, if you ever found true love, you'd never have that forever. And then that's major heartbreak. After a certain point, all relations would blur anyways if you lived forever.

Major emo moment. Not cool.

Invincibility, because if you're immortal, you get to see everybody that you love die while you stay alive........FOREVER.

That's just depressing man.

At 10/7/11 10:49 PM, Malachy wrote: Are you leaf peeping? Apparently that's a big deal for you city folk to come to the country and watch our leaves change.

....that sounds slightly disturbing, "Leaf peeping".

"Yeah man, I got a restraining order because I was leaf peepin'. Now I got to be at least 30 feet away from any tree."

But no, I was just stuck in a lame airport due to a layover, and it was cold.

Ask if he carries the bird flu.

After that, it's anybody's guess.

A whistle.

So when a girl....never mind.

At 10/7/11 01:37 PM, SolInvictus wrote: i wonder if it would be reasonable to think some would stop doing some of the "softer" drugs if they were legal (or wouldn't have done them), if it wasn't an opportunity to "rebel."

No doubt. You also have to consider the social and cultural aspects of drug use. One of the notions of causal drug use is the idea of doing something "forbidden", even with legal drugs such as alcohol and cigarettes. Honestly, why do you think college kids want to get wasted otherwise? It's stupid to wake up in the morning, puke all over your clothes and a wicked headache. It's definitely a social/cultural aspect. Same thing with cigarettes. If you really wanted to get a high, why not smoke pot, which is a lot less chemicals and a better rush. Again, the notion of fighting against the man.

At 10/7/11 01:47 PM, djack wrote: Except that decriminalization or legalization aren't required to teach people about the dangers of drugs it just makes it easier for drug addicts to fuel their habit. If you read the article it says that those addicts who are caught can refuse treatment and they won't face any criminal charges or even placed in a facility Even with all the information out there about the dangers of these drugs and the governments attempts at scare tactics people still wind up doing drugs and becoming addicted. Even with legal drugs which are also dangerous and which the public has easy access to information about, people still use them. There might not be some explosion of drug users if drugs are decriminalized but that doesn't mean there won't be more drug use among those already using them. I'm all for treating addicts to stop them from using drugs but I don't agree that complete decriminalization is the fix all cure that some people seem to think it is.

I'm not claiming that legalization of all drugs is the miracle fix that we're all looking for. What I'm saying is that legalizing drugs does necessarily created more addicts because most people are smart about these things. Even with these "scare tactics" (which, as far as I'm concerned, are mostly and ironically about the two legal drugs, tobacco and alcohol) people are smart about illegal drugs. Sure, there'll still be addicts, but, as Sol said earlier and to a certain extent you can apply that same logic to "hard" drugs, it's because of the fact there's the notion that it's "rebellious" and thus a way to fight against the system.

Vermont is cold. Can I go back to my sunny California now? Thanks airplane gods.

You make some excellent points Elfer, and I'd like to add to them.

If for some weird reason, if we legalized all drugs tomorrow, how many of us would go out and do heroin? How many of us would do heroin because it became legal? Absolutely-freaking-nobody because we all know it's a dangerous drug and a very stupid thing to do. This is Ron Paul's argument, and to that extent, I do agree on him. With the right amount of drug education (which, like sex education, I believe should be part of school curriculum, but that's a different topic completely) and parental advice (Again, draw parallels to sex education) people can be smart about their choice.

Consider also the effects on the political spectrum as well ending the War on Drugs. Liberals get more freedom around drug use. Conservatives get less government spending. That's a win-win right there, something very rare in today's government.

The character themselves: Your protagonist a good guy? Give him a short name. Or, better yet, give him a normal name, but give him a unique nickname. Bad guy? Long name. It's pretty simple.

Setting: Big indicator for name. This should be a given.

Sidekicks/Friends: Here you can go a little wild because friends can and will have odd names that you normally don't see everyday. When in doubt, go to Facebook, take two friends, and combine their names. You'll typically get a good result.

Best of luck.

~Jazz Club, NYC, 1952

The croon of the tenor saxophone's soothing melody contrasts with the hardness of the high-hat despite being played with brushes. The bass is barely hearable in the symphonic mess, but without those chords the harmony of the piano would be lost. These wonderful sounds cut across the smoky room into the hearts of the listeners, but they only hear the composite piece. No, it's the musicians themselves who truly know what the song's about yet they've only seen the sheet music a mere 20 minutes earlier. Everything is in the moment, so as the drums finishes up, the musicians are just as happy about the turnout as the audience.

And while all of this is fun and joyful, I'm stuck here sitting on my ass waiting for this fucking informant to show up. Normally I send someone else to do it, but since the guy said it was valuable intel, I guessed I better show up in person. At least the scotch here is pretty good and I got a whole pack of Goethe's.

After the band finishes up their set a cloaked figure comes in through the door, muttering apologies as he rushes over to my table. "A bourbon on the rocks please," he tells the waiter, who goes over to the bartender. I offer the man a cigarette but he declines, pulling out his own silver cigarette case and taking one from inside. I at least light him up with my Zippo for courtesy's sake. However, despite being inside, the man still doesn't take off his hat. How rude.

"So," I begin, sweeping my cigarette ashes that I've left on the table. "What information do you have for me my unknown correspondent?"

"Look Yama, I don't have much time. Maybe a drink-that's all. But I got to tell you something really important, something most people aren't supposed to see."

"Yama, eh? Haven't been called that name in a while. Who are you?" I lean back in my chair, using the opportunity to make sure no one's eavesdropping on our conversation. While I checked out the place earlier, you can never be too careful. Besides, the way my companion's putting it, this is heavy duty shit that most people shouldn't know.

"Look, do you information or not?" the cloaked man asks, taking his drink from the waiter who's come back. I wait until the waiter replaces the ashtray on the table before I reply.

"Of course I do dickwad; spit it out. I didn't risk interfering with a protected dimension for jazz and a drink. I figure I got another hour or two before they realize something's up." The lack of lighting and the way the hat's tilted makes it impossible for me to identify the guy, but that's probably on purpose. If I can't make out the guy, no one else can, so I guess that's a good thing.

The cloaked man finishes his drink before speaking. "You're lucky you have that amount of time. I got 10 minutes, tops."

"Well, then, you better start explaining stuff then."

"Fine. Here's the thing: you know those weirdo dimensions where it's not just minor changes, but major changes that has happened?"

"Yeah, the Extremes. But those are few and far between. He doesn't like those. We're talking about truly massive shit that never happened, like mankind never existing or lack of violence. I haven't seen one commissioned in a while because of His attitude towards such matters. Why?"

"There's a new one that's starting up."

"That's impossible. We would have been notified already. We have everything they do. We're the other side of the coin; if they did shit, we have to do shit. If they create a dimension, we have to be aware of it. That's His rules."

"Well, not this one. This one's completely starched. No life, nothing. It's just a hunk of rock."

"Interesting, a whole planet of no life. And do you think He knows?"

"Hard to say. You know how He is; He never lets anybody on His mind until the very last second."

"So why this secrecy? And why now?"

"You heard that rumor about Michael's army being started up again?"

"Yeah, but they're just rumors. I've been hearing that crap for a long fucking time now, and it's never been legit."

"Well, put the two and two together smarty pants and see where it gets you."

"No, it couldn't be-"

"Oh yes my friend. It's a training ground. That's where he's going to begin."

"But that's an act of treason! The truce is already shaky enough as is!"

"Maybe that's why someone should stir the pot to mix things up."

"Sounds like Michael's got that covered already."

"I'm talking about something different entirely."

"If I'm thinking what you're thinking, no way. I'm not going to pull that lone wolf shit again. Look what happened the first time I did that. Nothing good's going to come out of this."

"Well, that's why I figured you ought to know. You've always been someone who knows what to do."
"How did you find this out exactly?"

"I've said too much already and my time's up. If you need anything more meet in this dimension at the address at the designated times. You might find more answers." He takes a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his coat and slides it across the table. I memorize it and immediately burn it with my Zippo. There's too much of a risk leaving it out.

He leaves the payment on the table not just for himself but for my drinks as well. Somehow I'm pretty sure I know the guy, but I can't quite place it. Until then though, it's probably worth it to check out this lead. I finish my cigarette and leave the club, slashing a portal back home.

Guess I wasn't paying attention and it's a few days after the fact, but 4 years on NG.

Halloween? Maybe I'll actually write something different than another Nightfly tale this year.......

There was somebody talking on their cell phone behind me the entire time.

At 9/28/11 07:52 PM, Proteas wrote: And?

Did you completely miss what Rydia posted?

It's entirely possible to order a whole SHIPPING PALLET of BEER. PARTY!!!!

Beer or chocolate? Now that's a good question.

Beer covered by chocolate? Chocolate flavored beer?

The possibilities are endless.

I'm pretty sure it was Wario Land. I'm not sure why I picked it at the time, but I'm glad it did. It's still an excellent platform game, even to this day.

At 9/26/11 06:31 PM, Proteas wrote: And to counter your pessimism about her kids/grandkids, who knows, you might wind up with some new drinking buddies or a new girlfriend to go out with. I know how old folks are, too, she might try to fix you up with somebody. :-D

Hey, don't count out old people too-I once had a neighbor, 84, 5 ft. 2in, Japanese, stubborn as an ox but could drink any guy (including myself and my father) under the table. You'd never know just by looking at her.

"Must have been a dud round that decided to go off. Poor guy," I say to try to calm the horrified solider. "Well, it seems like we're the last two left, and it's my turn." I get off my stool and pick up the revolver on the floor. I check its load and then show it to the sergeant to confirm what I say next. "There are two bullets left. 2/3 chance of winning. Those are some nice odds. This time, though, it'll be my turn to win." I give the cylinder a spin and snap it close as I did in the beginning of the game. Without hesitation or fear I click back the hammer and pull the trigger. CLICK. "Your turn sergeant. We'll go until there's only one left standing. The money's still here on the table for both of us. There's enough cash to buy your way through a lot of things. But this isn't about money, isn't it sergeant? It's about pride, isn't it? Otherwise you would have shot me a long time ago and hushed up the incident with your men, wouldn't you?"

"How about you shut up while I play this turn foreigner?" the sergeant responds, catching the gun as I toss it towards him. Pointing the gun to his forehead, he pulls the trigger with slight hesitation and nothing happens besides another CLICK. "Back to you asshole." He slides the gun down the bar to me.

"Okay, whatever you say sergeant. But I will tell you, these next two will blow your mind, more ways than one." I cock back the trigger; point the barrel between my eyes, and fire. BANG. My neck snaps back, and I can feel the .38 caliber bullet go through my skull. God, does it hurt. At least I don't have to put up with it for much longer.

I can hear the sergeant start to cheer. "Yes, I win! Now, how to pin this on him....."

"Hold on sergeant, it's still your turn." I creek my head forward, letting the blood drip down on my face. The sergeant face loses all color. "Now that'll cause a wicked headache in the morning. Oh well. Anyways sergeant, I said until there's only one left standing, and, as far as I can tell, we're both standing. There's one bullet left. It's your turn." I slide the gun down across the bar back to the lone solider. "You see Sarge, you and I? We're not that different. We've seen war. We've seen the awful things other human beings put each other through. We've seen things no one else should see. And for what? Politics. All it is. Politics. Isn't that just fucking weird?"

The sergeant continues to tremble as he picks the gun up gently, now almost scared of the damn thing. "Who are you exactly?" he asks, watching more of the blood trickle down onto my face.
"You'll see in a couple of minutes." I respond, picking up the bottle of alcohol I've been drink all night and looking at it. After some careful consideration, I drain the remainder of the bottle. "Your move."
The sergeant's face finally regains some color, and he comes to terms with the game. He cocks back the trigger and places the barrel in his mouth. "Tell my mother I love her," he says, as his final request.

"You'll tell her soon enough," I assure him. He pulls the trigger. BANG.

By the time I'm down washing the place down with the remaining alcohol that's assorted throughout the place the blood has dried up. Walking outside, I strike a match to light my cigarette. Instead of throwing it away, I toss the match into the bar, lighting the trail of alcohol and disposing of the bodies.
The incident will probably get covered up somehow. I probably won't ever be mentioned, because as far as most people are concerned, I'm a ghost, which is appropriate enough. Now to go get a decent drink.......

~Park Bench, Chicago, Present Day

I wake up to find a bottle of booze in one hand and a S&W .38 in the other, but it's hard to say which one did more damage last night. My vision's blurrier than bat in a snowstorm, but that still won't deter me from trying to get up. Still, I drop the whiskey that I'm holding. It's a shame, but at the same time, the stuff wasn't that good. The revolver's still got its shells in it, but all 6 of the shots have been fired. Fuck. I hope I didn't kill anybody unofficially. The paperwork I'd have to do would be enormous. A whole civilization could past before I'd be done.

The sun reflects off the lake that's in front of me, causing me to shield my eyes. Wait, where's my sunglasses? Fuck, I need my sunglasses. My suit's all wrinkled and messed up (Fuck!) but a quick hop over to my flat can change that. I tuck the revolver into my shoulder holster and run my hand through my hair, trying to groom it into a somewhat respectable style. God does my head hurt. I should probably stop drinking this hard. I need a smoke and a shower.

~North Korea, Pukchang, Tavern

It takes a certain type of person to play Russian roulette. However, it's one of those traits where you don't know if people have it, rather, you know if they don't have it. Nine times out of the ten, though, the people who do play it are near insane. Most of these people are either in mental facilities or in black operations. The remaining few have no other reason for playing it, with the exception that they know they're guaranteed another life or they're immortal, like yours truly. This makes it fun for people like me to purposely fuck with the rest of the near-suicidal world.

That being said, it takes an even more insane suicidal person to play Reverse Russian roulette. The difference this version and the previous one is that only one empty chamber. The rest of the group better make peace with their god(s) if some son of a bitch lucks out earlier in the game. Again, all this really means to me is another way to fuck with the near suicidal and desperate, or in this case, very drunk enlisted men of the NPA.

The drunken fools have actually agreed to play such game with me after a long day of basically torture (Or as their leader and many other leaders of the world put it, "enhanced interrogation") since I was caught entering the country illegally. After several long hours of accusations that I was a spy (which is true, just not for the people they think) and some good old fashion electrocution, I "convinced" my interrogators otherwise and took most of them out for a drink.

Within an hour we're in a small creaky wooden tavern in the middle of fucking nowhere (No, that's wrong, I've been in the center of Nowhere, and it's no better than the side of Nowhere. In fact, the entire fucking place of Nowhere sucks major donkey balls) holed up until a storm passes. After a few rounds of what I assume is the best alcohol here (Think sake, but add piss to it. Now bathe it dirt. You're about half way there) I pull out an old Smith and Wesson model 10 with a shortened barrel chambered in .38 Special (Ironically, the band that's currently on my playlist) I pull out a speed loader and fill all the chambers. After giving the cylinder a spin, I point the revolver behind me at the worn out dartboard across the water and fire directly at the bull's eye, hitting my mark.

The gunshot shocks most of the drunken soldiers back into a somewhat sober mode. Luckily, we're the only patrons of the bar and the bartender's "out back", so nobody else will have to witness this event. "Okay you pussies," I say slowly in Korean, hitting the last word carefully to anger the drunks into the right mode. "Time to separate the men from the ladies. We're going to play a round of Russian roulette. Whoever wins this ordeal will get 100K American." I reach into my coat and pull out a wad of cash to some them I mean business. "Lose, and, well, we all know how that turns out." I slam the money down on the bar.

"Why the fuck should we play with you American?" a sergeant, the leader of the group, turns to ask me. "We just did you a favor, letting you out. So let me ask you again: why the fuck should we play for a measly hundred grand?"

A hundred grand is measly? Jesus Christ, these guys have high standards. Well, better do something else then. Maybe blackmail might work. Let's go with blackmail. "Well then, what would happen if I told your superiors about this little night out we've been having? What would they think? You'd be up against the same firing wall as myself. So let's have some fun, shall we?" I open the cylinder and give it a good spin before flicking it closed again. "You," I direct to the private on the far side of the bar. "Start." I slide the gun down across the bar and finish my drink.

"What the hell? Might as well; I don't have much else to look forward too." The private cocks back the trigger and point the muzzle to the side of his head. His hands are shaky somewhat, but not as much as I would expect, possibly due to the alcohol. He pauses to take a deep breath and then pulls the trigger. BANG. The private falls down with his stool, blood oozing out of the hole in his head. The revolver hits the floor, free of the man's hand. Smoke rises from the muzzle.

The other four soldiers immediately get up and draw their sidearms on me. Norincos, I believe. They're Chinese 9mm knockoffs of the Russian TT-30. Not that I blame the guys for doing so, I mean, they just saw a comrade die in a suicidal game proposed by this foreign devil. (Ha, devil. If they only knew.) I calmly refill and sip my drink, even though I hate it. "What the hell?" the sergeant asks. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now?"

"I'll give you two. First, he knew perfectly well what he was doing. It's not my fault he choose to pull that trigger. Second, if you shoot me, you'll have to explain to your superiors why you let a foreign spy out and shot him without getting any information from him. That'll fly really well with Kim Jong, won't it?"

"Fuck you American asshole." The men sit down, putting their guns back into their holders, still looking nervous. The blood from the first soldier steeps across the floorboards.

"Look, the way I see it, now there's 2 duds in that gun. That's a 1/3 chance of winning 100k American. There are 4 of us left. It's your turn." I direct to the sergeant. He walks over to the corpse, stepping over the blood and picks up the gun. "Give the cylinder a spin if you like. See if it improves the odds for you, but I can tell you already you're going to survive this round." The sergeant does what he is told and places his life in a simple spin. He snaps the cylinder pack into place, cocks back the gun, and points it at his forehead.

"If you're wrong American, I will kill you." He pulls the trigger. CLICK. The other two soldiers flinch, expecting the shot. It doesn't happen. The sergeant nervously puts the revolver down, and slides it over to the next private. "So maybe luck's on my side tonight then, hehe."

"Luck's got nothing to do with it. Your turn private." I drain the rest of my drink.

He picks up the gun and gives the cylinder a spin, then closes it and points the gun against his temple as I pour myself another drink. "Got any predictions for me foreigner?" the solider asks smugly. "If it worked for the sergeant, then it'll work for me."

"Nah, I'd rather stay up on my predictions."

"What?"

"It means pull the trigger pussy, and see where it gets you." I say, finishing my drink.

"Fine dickhead, but don't act so cocky when you owe me 100k." He cocks back the hammer and pulls the trigger. BANG. Another corpse falls to the floor, blood mixing with the other pool. The last solider flinches, but the sergeant doesn't. He must have been through a lot not to flinch.

"Another dead solider. What a shame." I look at my empty cup, and with all the blood in the air, decide I need another drink. I pour another glass and say to the last solider, "Your turn. How lucky do you feel tonight?" I swish the liquid around carelessly, spilling some onto the bar before finishing the rest.

The last man looks at me in fright. Finally, after a good long five minutes of him staring at the gun, he cocks it and places the gun underneath his chin. "Sweet mother of God, forgive me," are his words, and he pulls the trigger. CLICK. The man stops his profound panting. "Hey, I survived-"BANG. This time, the sergeant flinches. A third pool of blood is added to the existing two. Another stool is knocked over.

At 9/24/11 07:50 AM, snusnumrik wrote: thanks
now i will stop refreshing this post evry hour :)

My guess? Expect 2nd week October. Tom'll probably go through the movies and games first.

Wait, a moderate?
He's got no chance then.

It's funny you brought this up, because on a recent plane ride back from a trip I went through Advance Wars DS's hard campaign (which is extremely difficult, even with more units and better COs) and I had forgotten how deep the game was, not to mention the ridiculous multiplayer support it had. All it did though was remind me how much I want another sequal with more units, maps, and COs.

At 9/14/11 02:32 PM, DeftAndEvil wrote: Damn, about a week left and I'm still at the same point as I was a month ago :O

Well, better sit down and crank it out. If you need an extra set of eyes, you know where to find me.

I'm sure if you PM Coop, he'll be more than likely to shoot you a message back om the status of the contest. Most likely some judges got caught up with IRL stuff, which does happen sometimes. People do have lives outside the internet you know.

Back from Paris. It's really a wonderful city, once you get past the traffic (which is somehow wrose than NYC) and the pickpockets. However, I think I art-ed out for the next year or so.

I found pokemon diamond and pearl to be slightly annoying. I can't quite place it, but something about the graphica for the 3d rendering was off.

I do have to say, at first I'd thought I'd hate using an apple product, but after a few days with the iPad, it's pretty much replaced my main computer all together, with the exception of Flash, because Steve Jobs is a dick that way.