spike the turkey
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I'm in my mid-20s and sneaking home a flask of Fireball for Thanksgiving.
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8 yrs ago
Forum: Spam Forum
It's been a bit over a month since we did this last, so it's time to do it again.
So here is what we'll do: Give me 48 tributes and I will run them through BrantSteele's Hunger Games simulator. Imma rewrite the events to fit a general holiday theme. I'm smashing everything between Thanksgiving and Christmas together because it seems kinda redundant to do more than one, and because late December would be a better time to do an end of the year theme. Despite the Theme, you can add anyone you want except for a few rules...
First rule is, as always, "No Redundancies". I don't want to have the same character over and over again in slightly different forms. There is a second rule now too: Don't add people from the Role Playing Guild unless they are you, me, Mahz, or Broby. After last time, this seems like the best way to avoid stepping on toes.
So in summary: No characters who are only another version of an already added character, and don't add any RPGers unless they are you, me, Mahz, or Broby.
I will not police the theme when it comes to choice, but I do have a few suggestions to keep in mind, which you can completely ignore if you wish: first, the events will be holiday themed, so think of characters who would be funny to see killing each other with candy canes so we get the maximum lulz. Also, because I do commentary on what happens, keep in mind that I am a 27 year old dude who never watches Anime, popular Youtubers, and stopped keeping up with kids cartoons right around the year 2000. Imma probably suck at jokes about stuff like that because I just won't have anything to say about them. The better you stick to shit I might understand, the more likely I'll have material for it in the commentaries.
So anyway, here we go.
1: Vilageidiotx
2: Santa Claus
3: Dinh AaronMk
4: Saturn (God)
5: Burma
6: Equestrian Royal Guard
7: gnome child
8: Cynder
9: Broby
10: Sherlock
11: Dexter
12: Pappa smurf
13: Dexter
14: John McClane
15: Turbo Man
16: Gizmo
17: An Elf
18: Emoticone
19: Ash
20: Chunk and Sloth
21: Clint Eastwood
22: Baby Jesus
23: Hanukkah Zombie
24: King Wenceslaus
25: Clirkus
26: Witch Cat
27: Ursula
28: Wicked Witch of the West
29: Furby
30: Mr Potato Head
31: The Snuggie
32: Bing Crosby
33: Krampus
34: Woody Guthrie
35: Earl Browder
36: The Grinch
37: The Elvenqueen
38: Dr Light
39: Bert
40: Ernie
41: Charlie Brown
42: Bowser
43: Frosty the Snowman
44: Rudolph
45: A Waifu
46: Putin
47: John Travolta
48: Rudolph Hess
So here is what we'll do: Give me 48 tributes and I will run them through BrantSteele's Hunger Games simulator. Imma rewrite the events to fit a general holiday theme. I'm smashing everything between Thanksgiving and Christmas together because it seems kinda redundant to do more than one, and because late December would be a better time to do an end of the year theme. Despite the Theme, you can add anyone you want except for a few rules...
First rule is, as always, "No Redundancies". I don't want to have the same character over and over again in slightly different forms. There is a second rule now too: Don't add people from the Role Playing Guild unless they are you, me, Mahz, or Broby. After last time, this seems like the best way to avoid stepping on toes.
So in summary: No characters who are only another version of an already added character, and don't add any RPGers unless they are you, me, Mahz, or Broby.
I will not police the theme when it comes to choice, but I do have a few suggestions to keep in mind, which you can completely ignore if you wish: first, the events will be holiday themed, so think of characters who would be funny to see killing each other with candy canes so we get the maximum lulz. Also, because I do commentary on what happens, keep in mind that I am a 27 year old dude who never watches Anime, popular Youtubers, and stopped keeping up with kids cartoons right around the year 2000. Imma probably suck at jokes about stuff like that because I just won't have anything to say about them. The better you stick to shit I might understand, the more likely I'll have material for it in the commentaries.
So anyway, here we go.
1: Vilageidiotx
2: Santa Claus
3: Dinh AaronMk
4: Saturn (God)
5: Burma
6: Equestrian Royal Guard
7: gnome child
8: Cynder
9: Broby
10: Sherlock
11: Dexter
12: Pappa smurf
13: Dexter
14: John McClane
15: Turbo Man
16: Gizmo
17: An Elf
18: Emoticone
19: Ash
20: Chunk and Sloth
21: Clint Eastwood
22: Baby Jesus
23: Hanukkah Zombie
24: King Wenceslaus
25: Clirkus
26: Witch Cat
27: Ursula
28: Wicked Witch of the West
29: Furby
30: Mr Potato Head
31: The Snuggie
32: Bing Crosby
33: Krampus
34: Woody Guthrie
35: Earl Browder
36: The Grinch
37: The Elvenqueen
38: Dr Light
39: Bert
40: Ernie
41: Charlie Brown
42: Bowser
43: Frosty the Snowman
44: Rudolph
45: A Waifu
46: Putin
47: John Travolta
48: Rudolph Hess
Also, shipping can be kind of unreliable during the holidays. You might get it early, you might get delayed.
I got Amazon Prime exactly for this contingency.
@Vilageidiotx Question.
Is Mr. Toast the Royal Society financier?
Just a representative of their group.
@Vilageidiotx
Okay and how shall the rest of us post? Or interact?
You can do collaborative posts or you can do ol' fashion back and forth posting.
It begins.
January 1st, 1770: Charles Town
The King's Carriage moved cautiously down a sleeted road. Tiny flakes of snow, like a thin white dust, clung to the fine red dress uniforms of the King's Lifeguard, who surrounded the carriage on foot and on horseback. The road was unpaved, made of mud churned by carriages, wagons, and horses when it was warm, then frozen in it's final rutted pattern before the winter, making even slow travel bumpy and unpleasant. When they hit a large rut, the carriage banged and jittered, and those inside felt compelled to hold on.
"Every road in the New Vorld is like one leading to ein hunters lodge." Queen Charlotte said in a noticeable accent.
"This is the edge of civilization, my dear." said George III, King of Great Britain and Ireland and sovereign of these colonies. He was too young to be old and too old to be young, having reached the age of thirty two, looking almost like a general from a story book in well-groomed officer's uniform with a diamond star on the breast, and a snow-white wig on his head. "The beating heart of nature itself. The trees here saw centuries go by untouched, unthought of by any man but the savage." They hit another bump. He jolted up, his head nearly tapping the ceiling. "We are pushing back the forests, like the Saxons did. Pushing back the sinless wilderness and building a new world. New World! That's what they call it. And by my name that is what it will be."
"It is grand." the Queen said. "But it could use some pavement."
Grey smoke billowed into a grey sky, spit from the twin chimneys of Drayton Hall. Compared to the grand palaces of England, this was a quaint country home with a rustic appeal. There were three stories, the bottom floor for the servants, the upper two making up the residence. Its brick face, parched by winter, was simple and square except for the center, where a columned portico jutted like the front of a Roman temple. Two smaller buildings flanked it, both the size of descent houses in a city. In front, campfires burned surrounded by huddled Guards hunched toward their warmth and wrapped up in blankets, surrounded by the tents they occupied for want of room in the cramped American mansion.
The carriage came to a stop. The King put out his foot, his gilded cane stabbing into the ground as the Captain of the Guard helped him gain his balance on the crusted road.
"Thank you Mr. Lacey." He said, patting the tall, freckled soldier on the back.
"You're majesty." Captain Lacey said politely.
The King pursed his lips and blew, watching his breath come out like the white smoke of the plantation house. "It's a crisp day, wot wot." he said. "Not a baltic frost like in the old country, thank heaven for that, but I still think it is rather cold for a swamp."
"You've said zat before" The Queen said.
"And I will say it again someday." the King said.
They climbed the stairs and went indoors, into a cramped-feeling room with a humble wooden grand staircase clinging to its walls. This, the middle floor of the house, was swarmed with people. Men and women in fine clothes loitered like guests at a grand ball unwilling to leave the hall though the music had stopped. They bowed, and the King started through them like a disinterested Moses.
"Your majesty." the Chamberlain delicately put himself in the path of his monarch. "Lieutenant Colonel Wallace and Mr. Toast await your presence in the parlor."
"Oh yes. Thank you, James." the King lit up. He turned around, and his entourage turned with him like the tail behind a dog. The door was opened and he went into the next room.
It was warmed by a fire, which roared hungrily in its marble fireplace. Two men sat in chairs at the same table until they saw the King, after which they stood and bowed. "You're majesty." they both said at the same time.
"Fine." he dismissed, moving quickly to the fireplace to warm his hands. "The city is absolutely a nightmare. Horrifying. People are shitting in holes like cats. It really has been a tiring day."
"It is an ugly state of affairs." the Lieutenant Colonel said. Lt. Colonel Thomas Wallace was a short, chubby man with sharp eyes and a lipless smile, dressed in the clean uniform of an officer. Next to him was Mr. Hugh Toast, an older man with spectacles, a small cheap wig, and a puritan way of dressing.
"A tiring day." the King looked up. "Do you ever wish you could wake up in a vapor? The troubles and aches of life no longer there. An endless rest in... in warm milk. Wouldn't that be lovely, gentlemen?"
"I expect that must be what heaven is like, if it pleases your majesty." Wallace said.
"Yes." the King replied, looking away from the fireplace. "It would. It would indeed." he tapped his cane. "Well now, what is the story you gentlemen have for me, wot wot?"
"General Burgoyne has sent his finalized plans for your approval." Wallace motioned toward a map on the table. The King came up curiously. A sketched map of the south-eastern continent, from the coast to the Mississippi river. The locations of forts, units, and important cities were identified with scribbled notes. "The General will drive on into Cherokee land..."
"Should he be hearing this?" the King said, looking at a quiet Mr. Toast, who had found his seat and was sitting as serene as an old lady in church.
"Well I sincerely hope Mr. Toast is not in league with the Cherokee."
"I can swear to the you I am not." the aging man said, shifting in his chair.
"I suppose not." the King said. "Carry on then."
"We will swing north slowly, like a door swinging from a southern hinge toward the Ohio. Those forces posted in the Shenandoah will stop raiders from probing into the northern colonies. If they move to the south instead of the north, they will be bounced off of our forts in the Mississippi."
"It's like a fox hunt!" The King said. "I will not worry about the details, Burgoyne can handle that. When you return to him, give him my gratitude."
And then there was a silence, the kind that presages another subject of conversation waiting in the air.
"Your majesty." Mr. Toast spoke up. "If I may..."
"You may."
"Yes. well. The Royal Society, as your majesty is aware, is thoroughly fascinated with the subject of, as they say, 'The Hoary Winter'"
"As well you should."
"Our conversations have naturally turned to, as they say, 'The good ol' country', and the loss of it, and the fear of more loss to come..."
"Don't be so damned proper, wot wot. Say what you mean and I will answer likewise."
"...well, our conversations have turned to the potential of weather laboratories on the wintry rim of the world, to study the advancing arctic so we may be made aware of what is to come. What I mean is permanent scientific camps, funded, at the grace of your majesty, by the crown. The wealth of our members, being after all..."
"Permanent camps?" the King moved toward the fire, rubbing his chin. "Is this new territory for the society?"
"Well, we used to pay for similar laboratories personally or, as they say, out of our own purse. But the loss of the good ol' country has hurt many of us in that respect."
"No no." the king waved. "That is understood. Has the march of the arctic not halted?"
"We do not know." Toast said. "Perhaps it will wash over use like a violent tide, and withdraw to its original purlieu. Or perhaps it move forward forever, until the Caribbean sea is a sheet of ice and all life is rendered cold forever..."
"Surely not." Lt. Colonel Wallace spoke up. "Did the creator not promise after the deluge that no such extinction shall occur until Kingdom come?"
"I can not speak for God, sir." Mr Toast replied. "But I can speak to the palmettos crying ice near the sea. No argument can be made that the climate is not ill. And we cannot know how worse it may get if we chose not to study."
"You will have your funds, sir." the King said, his voice solid and deep. "And I shall expect results. If our future is doom, I will know it."
The King's Carriage moved cautiously down a sleeted road. Tiny flakes of snow, like a thin white dust, clung to the fine red dress uniforms of the King's Lifeguard, who surrounded the carriage on foot and on horseback. The road was unpaved, made of mud churned by carriages, wagons, and horses when it was warm, then frozen in it's final rutted pattern before the winter, making even slow travel bumpy and unpleasant. When they hit a large rut, the carriage banged and jittered, and those inside felt compelled to hold on.
"Every road in the New Vorld is like one leading to ein hunters lodge." Queen Charlotte said in a noticeable accent.
"This is the edge of civilization, my dear." said George III, King of Great Britain and Ireland and sovereign of these colonies. He was too young to be old and too old to be young, having reached the age of thirty two, looking almost like a general from a story book in well-groomed officer's uniform with a diamond star on the breast, and a snow-white wig on his head. "The beating heart of nature itself. The trees here saw centuries go by untouched, unthought of by any man but the savage." They hit another bump. He jolted up, his head nearly tapping the ceiling. "We are pushing back the forests, like the Saxons did. Pushing back the sinless wilderness and building a new world. New World! That's what they call it. And by my name that is what it will be."
"It is grand." the Queen said. "But it could use some pavement."
Grey smoke billowed into a grey sky, spit from the twin chimneys of Drayton Hall. Compared to the grand palaces of England, this was a quaint country home with a rustic appeal. There were three stories, the bottom floor for the servants, the upper two making up the residence. Its brick face, parched by winter, was simple and square except for the center, where a columned portico jutted like the front of a Roman temple. Two smaller buildings flanked it, both the size of descent houses in a city. In front, campfires burned surrounded by huddled Guards hunched toward their warmth and wrapped up in blankets, surrounded by the tents they occupied for want of room in the cramped American mansion.
The carriage came to a stop. The King put out his foot, his gilded cane stabbing into the ground as the Captain of the Guard helped him gain his balance on the crusted road.
"Thank you Mr. Lacey." He said, patting the tall, freckled soldier on the back.
"You're majesty." Captain Lacey said politely.
The King pursed his lips and blew, watching his breath come out like the white smoke of the plantation house. "It's a crisp day, wot wot." he said. "Not a baltic frost like in the old country, thank heaven for that, but I still think it is rather cold for a swamp."
"You've said zat before" The Queen said.
"And I will say it again someday." the King said.
They climbed the stairs and went indoors, into a cramped-feeling room with a humble wooden grand staircase clinging to its walls. This, the middle floor of the house, was swarmed with people. Men and women in fine clothes loitered like guests at a grand ball unwilling to leave the hall though the music had stopped. They bowed, and the King started through them like a disinterested Moses.
"Your majesty." the Chamberlain delicately put himself in the path of his monarch. "Lieutenant Colonel Wallace and Mr. Toast await your presence in the parlor."
"Oh yes. Thank you, James." the King lit up. He turned around, and his entourage turned with him like the tail behind a dog. The door was opened and he went into the next room.
It was warmed by a fire, which roared hungrily in its marble fireplace. Two men sat in chairs at the same table until they saw the King, after which they stood and bowed. "You're majesty." they both said at the same time.
"Fine." he dismissed, moving quickly to the fireplace to warm his hands. "The city is absolutely a nightmare. Horrifying. People are shitting in holes like cats. It really has been a tiring day."
"It is an ugly state of affairs." the Lieutenant Colonel said. Lt. Colonel Thomas Wallace was a short, chubby man with sharp eyes and a lipless smile, dressed in the clean uniform of an officer. Next to him was Mr. Hugh Toast, an older man with spectacles, a small cheap wig, and a puritan way of dressing.
"A tiring day." the King looked up. "Do you ever wish you could wake up in a vapor? The troubles and aches of life no longer there. An endless rest in... in warm milk. Wouldn't that be lovely, gentlemen?"
"I expect that must be what heaven is like, if it pleases your majesty." Wallace said.
"Yes." the King replied, looking away from the fireplace. "It would. It would indeed." he tapped his cane. "Well now, what is the story you gentlemen have for me, wot wot?"
"General Burgoyne has sent his finalized plans for your approval." Wallace motioned toward a map on the table. The King came up curiously. A sketched map of the south-eastern continent, from the coast to the Mississippi river. The locations of forts, units, and important cities were identified with scribbled notes. "The General will drive on into Cherokee land..."
"Should he be hearing this?" the King said, looking at a quiet Mr. Toast, who had found his seat and was sitting as serene as an old lady in church.
"Well I sincerely hope Mr. Toast is not in league with the Cherokee."
"I can swear to the you I am not." the aging man said, shifting in his chair.
"I suppose not." the King said. "Carry on then."
"We will swing north slowly, like a door swinging from a southern hinge toward the Ohio. Those forces posted in the Shenandoah will stop raiders from probing into the northern colonies. If they move to the south instead of the north, they will be bounced off of our forts in the Mississippi."
"It's like a fox hunt!" The King said. "I will not worry about the details, Burgoyne can handle that. When you return to him, give him my gratitude."
And then there was a silence, the kind that presages another subject of conversation waiting in the air.
"Your majesty." Mr. Toast spoke up. "If I may..."
"You may."
"Yes. well. The Royal Society, as your majesty is aware, is thoroughly fascinated with the subject of, as they say, 'The Hoary Winter'"
"As well you should."
"Our conversations have naturally turned to, as they say, 'The good ol' country', and the loss of it, and the fear of more loss to come..."
"Don't be so damned proper, wot wot. Say what you mean and I will answer likewise."
"...well, our conversations have turned to the potential of weather laboratories on the wintry rim of the world, to study the advancing arctic so we may be made aware of what is to come. What I mean is permanent scientific camps, funded, at the grace of your majesty, by the crown. The wealth of our members, being after all..."
"Permanent camps?" the King moved toward the fire, rubbing his chin. "Is this new territory for the society?"
"Well, we used to pay for similar laboratories personally or, as they say, out of our own purse. But the loss of the good ol' country has hurt many of us in that respect."
"No no." the king waved. "That is understood. Has the march of the arctic not halted?"
"We do not know." Toast said. "Perhaps it will wash over use like a violent tide, and withdraw to its original purlieu. Or perhaps it move forward forever, until the Caribbean sea is a sheet of ice and all life is rendered cold forever..."
"Surely not." Lt. Colonel Wallace spoke up. "Did the creator not promise after the deluge that no such extinction shall occur until Kingdom come?"
"I can not speak for God, sir." Mr Toast replied. "But I can speak to the palmettos crying ice near the sea. No argument can be made that the climate is not ill. And we cannot know how worse it may get if we chose not to study."
"You will have your funds, sir." the King said, his voice solid and deep. "And I shall expect results. If our future is doom, I will know it."
I'm cool with the holidays. We get to put lights on trees an' shit.
Isn't the black friday mess sorta subsiding now? A bunch of businesses are announcing they are closed on Thursdays. I think the golden age of the buyer's melee is probably past us. You can get the same deals on the internet anyway.
Isn't the black friday mess sorta subsiding now? A bunch of businesses are announcing they are closed on Thursdays. I think the golden age of the buyer's melee is probably past us. You can get the same deals on the internet anyway.
Imma get a post out either tomorrow or the day after, since I am going out of town on friday for the annual "We all work for a living so we'll do it on the weekend" version of thanksgiving with the family.
Well, shit. I may not have time as I'll be running for congress.
As a Democrat from South Carolina? You'll have plenty of time.
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