r/WritingPrompts • u/Cody_Fox23 Skulking Mod | r/FoxFictions • Jul 23 '23
Constrained Writing [CW] Smash 'Em Up Sunday: Satire
Welcome back to Smash ‘Em Up Sunday!
SEUSfire
On Sunday morning at 9:30 AM Eastern in our Discord server’s voice chat, come hang out and listen to the stories that have been submitted be read. I’d love to have you there! You can be a reader and/or a listener. Plus if you wrote we can offer crit in-chat if you like!
Last Week
Community Choice
Cody’s Choice
This Week’s Challenge
This month I’m going to be exercising some different writing muscles than usual. Throughout July I’ll be pushing you to practice comedy. Of course you can ignore this part of the prompt and do whatever you like as long as you fulfill 2 constraints. That said, I do hope you’ll take the challenge to try different forms every week.
Week Four we are going to tackle what is prolly the hardest and most feared type of comedy, because it isn’t always funny: satire. Satire is a way of using comedy to make commentary on real issues. Although it often veers into the political it can be targeted at other area of literature, philosophy, and human nature. Lord of the Flies for instance is a satire on the genre of “boys-have-a-fun-adventure-on-a-desert-island” that was popular at the time. Fight Club is a satire about consumerism and the lie of The American Dream. Rollerball is a satire gazing into sport as a placation of the masses, consolidation of power, and changing rules to always come out ahead. It is also criminally underrated. Go read the short story and if you want to watch a movie that is 70s scifi cheese and maybe a bit too long, go watch the 1975 movie (2002 version somehow missed the message and made…something else). The point is that through exaggeration, irony, a bit of humor, and a few other literary techniques, you can make a memorable statement.
How to Contribute
Write a story or poem, no more than 800 words in the comments using at least two things from the three categories below. The more you use, the more points you get. Because yes! There are points! You have until 11:59 PM EDT 22 July 2023 to submit a response.
After you are done writing please be sure to take some time to read through the stories before the next SEUS is posted and tell me which stories you liked the best. You can give me just a number one, or a top 5 and I’ll enter them in with appropriate weighting. Feel free to DM me on Reddit or Discord!
| Category | Points |
|---|---|
| Word List | 1 Point |
| Sentence Block | 2 Points |
| Defining Features | 3 Points |
Word List
Critique
Absurd
Mash
Proposal
Sentence Block
Make people laugh; then make them think.
It is focused bitterness.
Defining Features
- Genre: Satire (worth 6 points)
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I hope to see you all again next week!
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u/AstroRide Jul 23 '23
Don't Separate the Art from the Artist
Ethan Kurt could’ve been the biggest rock star of a generation. His lyrics were sharp critiques on society mixed with innovative and daring arrangements. His live performances got rave reviews; electrifying, captivating, and massive were words to describe his stage presence. His charisma extended far beyond the stage. During interviews, he was charming and humorous. He had one setback.
His life was boring.
The problem first arose when he was trying to get a record deal. His first agent almost didn’t sign him.
“So tell me about your upbringing?” one asked.
“My dad was a car salesman while my mom was a nurse. We weren’t rich, but we were never destitute,” Ethan replied.
“Hmm, you were working class until your father had a terrible accident,” the agent said.
“What are you talking about?”
“He got mashed by two semis,” the agent said.
“I don’t even think anyone could survive that.”
“And he almost didn’t. He’s now suffering from injuries that never healed.”
“Oh my god, what is wrong with you? He’s just fine. He drove me here,” Ethan said.
“Interesting.” The agent picked up the phone. Ethan quickly grabbed it and shoved it down.
“You are not hurting my father.”
“Alright fine, screw the dark past. We’ll say that you’re depressed and cope with an addiction to-” The agent scratched his chin. “Eh, we’ll figure out your addiction later.”
“Depression and addiction are serious topics. How can you be so flippant about it?”
“This is the music business. You need to have an x-factor. You want to know what that is. It is focused bitterness. There has to be something compelling about you,” the agent explained.
“Aren’t my songs compelling enough?” Ethan asked. The agent laughed.
“You know what. You’re a sweet kid. How about this? I’ll make you a proposal. I’ll help you get signed in exchange. You need to acquire an edge.” Ethan accepted this deal on the spot.
The agent was right. Multiple record labels rejected him. They all said that he was more talented than anyone they ever saw, but he was too bland to sign. After all, no one wants to see a biopic about someone who lived a perfectly happy life.
His parents advised him to change his sound to make up-lifting and humorous music. Surely, that would be more accepting of an average person. His lyrics could keep their philosophical edge as well. After all, make people laugh, then make people think. That turned out to be a mistake. Industry executives expect joyful people to be hiding even darker secrets. Ethan thought this was absurd.
Eventually, he stumbled on the path to success. He wrote a song criticizing the music industry. That song got him a three album deal, and the label planned an elaborate rollout. There is nothing the music industry loves more than a song that rebels against it.
When the song was released, Ethan’s chance at stardom fell apart. He dared to be grateful for his success on the red carpet. He expressed gratitude for his fans and his family. The worst part was his sincerity. What kind of sick person would do that?
Before the album was released, he was called into an emergency meeting with record executives. They told him that fame was getting to him. He was about to have a breakdown and turn to reckless behaviors. A stint in the county jail was already booked for the night. Afterward, he would have to complete six months of community service.
Ethan asked what crime he had committed? The label said that this was merely a sales tactic. After all, everyone loved a bad boy. Their predictions turned out to be correct, and Ethan’s album went triple platinum.
Success came with disillusionment. Ethan realized he had to leave this toxic environment. His agent was excited by this prospect as it made Ethan exciting. Ethan replied this wasn’t a stunt because he couldn’t participate in an industry that glamorized failure and despair. His agent had a pre planned response.
“Oh that’s it. Just say that you're satirizing the tortured artist trope.”
“By playing it completely straight and suffering?” Ethan asked.
“Exactly it’s an ironic meta commentary or whatever jargon makes it sound intelligent.”
Ethan quit the next day. He returned to his hometown the next day and became a high school music teacher. The rest of his years were spent encouraging the passions of teens. Eventually, he met a nice woman and started a family. His time as a star became a fun fact and icebreaker at parties. A part of him wished that he was a star or at least richer, but he didn’t care. He was happy.
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u/codeScramble Jul 23 '23 edited Jul 24 '23
A Profitable Proposal
The Board of Directors laughed out loud at the absurdity of Henry’s proposal. It was a positive sign. Make people laugh; then make them think.
The loudest laugh came from the head of the board: a pale, rounded bald man whose red bowtie completed his “Humpty Dumpty” image. He practically screamed with laughter as he asked, “So a little drip of oxytocin will turn our employees into robots? Where do I sign up?”
“Robots? No. Tell me, what did your packer robots do when the roof collapsed in the C5 warehouse? Did they throw their bodies over the packages to shield them? Did they keep working to clear the rubble, even as their own robotic arms twitched and sparked on the floor? Your employees won’t work like robots. They’ll work like mothers.”
Henry could see the spark in Humpty Dumpty’s eyes. He was picturing the possibilities now.
But the short black woman to his left was frowning. “Let’s assume for a second that our employees would actually consent to let us manipulate their hormones and increase their cancer risk just so we can save a few bucks on damaged packages.”
“Millions. Millions of dollars in savings.”
She glared at his interruption. “At what cost? Your own data shows that the injections interfere with normal oxytocin production. What if they can’t bond with their children anymore? I’m not even talking about the personal tragedies here. We could derail our entire society.”
A few of the board members shifted uncomfortably at the prospect of societal collapse.
Oh, how Henry hated diversity hires. Why did they always stand in the way of progress? It is focused bitterness that fuels their critiques. He needed to quickly disarm her.
“Perhaps an experiment will show this best.” Henry produced a bowl of cold mash and slid it before the woman. “If you will, Mrs…”
“Doctor Phillips.”
“Of course. Doctor. May I ask, how do you feel about this bowl of mash?”
She looked at him like he was a simpleton. “Cold potatoes? I’ll pass.”
He walked behind her as they spoke. “I see. And if I could just –” Jab! He thrust the syringe into her arm and pressed the plunger into the barrel. He danced away just in time to avoid her reach.
The board members jumped from their chairs and shouted at him. “What is the meaning of this?! That’s assault!” Only Humpty Dumpty stayed in his chair.
Henry backed away with his hands up in a defensive posture. “Sorry, sorry. No harm meant. I’ll let myself out. I’ll even compensate Doctor Phillips here. That is, if she’ll just return that bowl of mash.”
One by one, the board members turned toward Doctor Phillips. She slid the bowl towards her, hugging it to her chest. Eyes wide, she muttered. “This? But, it needs me.”
Henry took a small step forward, holding eye contact with the head of the board. “Of course, warehouse workers won’t let you just inject them at the start of their shift. People hate needles! But a one-time implant? They’ll do that for a dollar raise.”
Humpty Dumpty smiled from ear to ear. “It seems we’re going to have a good quarter after all.”
---
WC: 532
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u/atcroft Jul 30 '23
Nice piece.
Corporate culture seems to want to make people think their co-workers are "family", talk about values and other things that matter not to doing business. Social media (companies) have done this to another level altogether, with "likes" and "thumbs-up" micromanipulating us.
Seriously, well done. Thank you.
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u/ZachTheLitchKing Jul 24 '23
<Fantasy>
When the ta'buls turn
York stood atop a hill, the train rolling away into the distant sunset. The little scabby goblin rubbed his hands together and grinned. It had all gone perfectly to plan and he could hear his crew coming up the hill behind him now.
The rather absurd mish-mash team had been the first to accept his proposal. York had approached numerous individuals for this but all had issues working with others. So he expanded his search to find groups instead. Pre-established teams. This one was rather eccentric but had come with great recommendations for their success.
The hammer-wielding dwarf and brightly robed elf bowed deeply while the two humans - one wearing a terrifying amount of iron armor and the other with a bow slung over one shoulder - just nodded their heads.
"We Nytes of the Fohr'lohn Bwent have completed our quest," the elf said, "All went precisely as you orchestrated."
"Well duh," York muttered, "Did you get the box?" The whole purpose of the heist was to liberate a box of jewels from the train. Shiny, sparkly gems that he could add to his collection.
"Aye, we did," the dwarf said, pulling the box out from behind his back. How he carried the large box so easily and without York noticing was fascinating, but the goblin wanted to affirm the acquisition. As he went for the box, the dwarf lifted it out of his reach.
"Verily, your scheme was considered with the utmost care and precision. However, it is this quartet's decision that your own contribution to the execution was not such that it merits proper recompense," the elf said.
York stared up at him for a few seconds in silent contemplation before asking, "What does that even mean?"
"Look it," the armored human said, stepping closer. York, the dwarf, and the elf all stepped back as he shuffled up. Iron in any form was painfully dangerous to fae-kind, and this human draped in it was about fifty feet closer than any of them wanted to be. "You gave us this plan here, right? Good plan. Not really a genius one, but hey, no one else was hiring, right?"
"Right..."
"Now your part in it all was to be a distraction. Well, we don't think you distracted all that good, yanno?"
"No?" York was confused by the accusation, "I kept the guards' attention by telling them jokes."
"Right! But them jokes only last so long, yanno? Gotta make'em laugh but also make'em think."
The elf cut in, "Allow me, Sy'l Benster. Once their humor had died down, the pet'ua set forth on their patrols, eyeing every cahrt and krayt with the utmost care."
"They very nearly spotted us," the human with the bow said, "If not for Nylveno's charms of secrecy and concealment, we would not have had the opportunity to trap the pet'ua in an ambush."
York was having a hard time following along. He'd known the group was odd, but they seemed to be speaking gibberish. But he continued to nod his head and rub his chin as though everything they said made sense.
"Slimey banstah'dar'dos were tougher to take down 'n a Troll with klehr'vos," the dwarf joked.
"Right you are, Grom'elon," the elf chuckled, "They even wielded enchanted shwarnda, which-"
"Pardon, need to clarify, what is a 'shwarnda'?" York asked.
"You know, shwarnda?" the human said, drawing a sword, "Long, pointy, stab wit' it."
"Oh, I see," York did not like even more metal being shown like that, "Sword."
"Shwarnda is the more traditional vocabulary," the elf sneered, "But after that-"
"Look I understand that it was rough. All jobs go off the rails at some point," York's patience was wearing then, "But you could have-"
"And now you dare to critique our methods!?" the elf asked, putting a hand up to his chest while eyes went wide, "The audacity!"
"Comin' from a lil bobglin no less," the dwarf muttered. York had no idea what a 'bobglin' was but he felt insulted at the way it was said; not in a jovial or even a mocking tone, but in focused bitterness.
"In short," the armored human said with a grin, pulling a single coin out of the box that the dwarf was holding up, "We decided that this was what your contribution was worth." He flicked it from his thumb to land at York's feet.
The party of four strange people walked away, laughing and chatting in their strange dialect, leaving York with the single silver coin. On the one hand, if the robbery were investigated now he did not have to worry about lying low. On the other hand, York did not like being the one who got swindled.
"Is this what it's like when I rob people?" he muttered to himself, "Wow... this feeling sucks."
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WC: 800/800
All crit/feedback welcome!
r/TomesOfTheLitchKing
Follow my Summer Challenge progress Here
Notes:
-
This was my attempt at satirizing the fantasy trope of making up too many words
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u/MaxStickies Jul 26 '23 edited Jul 26 '23
The Right to Walk the Fields
Last thing he remembers was the headlights of the car, speeding along the mountain road. The goats scarpered as he held up his crook, blind panic suggesting it would protect him. But when the vehicle hit, he felt no pain. He merely awoke on a hill, lying on his back.
Tyrian purple clouds drift lazily in a golden sky. It is dawn; the sun is rising. Birds chirp out of view. Sounds of goats grazing reach him from downhill. Such an overwhelming sense of peace all this instils, that he wishes never to stand.
When he does, his vision is filled by a towering barrier. It is a marble wall, within which there is a golden gate. Even from his elevated position, he cannot see the wall’s summit. He treks towards the gate, walking for miles, despite it seeming only metres away. The goats begin to follow him. Looking over each one, he realises they are a portion of his flock. The car must’ve hit them as well.
The vision he witnesses is one of sheer beauty. Beyond the gate is an expanse of luscious fields, carpeted by pink and purple flowers. People wander about in a state of bliss, lying amongst vibrant olive trees or dancing in circles. He grabs a bar of the gate, tries to push it open. It won’t budge.
Someone coughs loudly up above. A man in a white robe and beard sits upon a raised platform, just beside the gate.
“Didn’t notice me, did you? The gate’s locked to you, for the moment.”
“But… why?”
“You don’t ask the questions. I ask the questions. What is your name?”
“Aphan.”
“Hmm. What an odd name. Anyway, I am Olgard, the Gatekeeper. It is my job to critique you, and see if you apply for a spot in the Magenta Fields.”
“Ok.”
“Speak when spoken to, Aphan; it’ll be a lot quicker that way. First things first… your occupation?”
“Goatherd.”
“Oh, not a good start.”
“What?”
“Shut it.” He waves his hand airily. Aphan tries to retort, yet he finds he cannot speak. "Country of origin?”
Finally, the words come out. “Gah! Fine, have it your way. Horpagia.”
“Yeah, no, I’m afraid there’s no point in continuing. Goatherds from Horpagia aren’t allowed in the Fields.”
Aphan’s mouth moves silently. Olgard waves his hand.
“What do you mean? Why not? I’ve never done a bad thing in my life!”
“It’s not merely a matter of good or bad; you have to fit in with the crowd. We can’t have any random do-gooder just enter the gate.”
“Then… where am I meant to go?”
“You’ll have to stay out here. I know it’s not much but at least it looks nice. Well, adequate, I suppose.”
Aphan drops to the ground.
“This is absurd. I’m not moving from this spot. Not until you let me in.”
Olgard yawns. “Look, fine; there is something.”
“I’m listening.”
“We have these trials, in a temple off that way, across the Green Field. They’ll teach you how to fit in with everyone, how to behave, et cetera, et cetera. Just go, will you? You are boring me.”
Grimacing at the obnoxious Gatekeeper, Aphan begins his march across the green field, goats in a line behind him.
He has returned to the wall. His white cloak lined with gold and purple billows in the calm breeze. The ornate staff in his hand, while hooked at one end, is grander than his old crook. His hair, once matted, now stands like a proud shrub from his scalp. His beard has tassels, on his feet are sandals. He feels ready to enter.
Olgard nods as he approaches. The Gatekeeper is talking to a plain-clothed shepherd, smiling and laughing. To Aphan’s astonishment, the gate opens and the shepherd steps inside, his sheep right behind him. He glares up at Olgard, who beckons him over, no discernible emotion on his face.
“What in all hells was that?”
“He fit the profile. He was allowed in.”
“He was me! He was exactly like me!”
“No, Aphan. He was a shepherd. You are a goatherd. You just needed some, you know… tidying up.”
Fist clenched, Aphan decides to go along, in hopes of entering the Fields. “Fine, am I ready now?”
“Of course. Your training went swimmingly. Off you go.”
The gate creaks. Slowly but surely, they open. Aphan strides forth, his goats following.
The gate slams shut in an instant.
“Um… they can’t come in,” Olgard states, pointing at the goats.
“Well why not?”
“Goats are forbidden in the Fields. They eat the flowers.”
Aphan glances through the gate. The shepherd greets a group of dancers, who cheer as one. Meanwhile, his sheep start to feast upon the flowers.
Aphan raises his staff, returning his gaze to the Gatekeeper.
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WC: 800
Crit and feedback are welcome.
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u/reddeetin Jul 29 '23
Déjà Vu Studio
"Ok, everybody! Our latest film was a success! As expected, we managed to hit over 150M box office globally in just the first week. According to my numbers, we grossed 100M. Easy money! I'd say we did a pretty good job!" exclaimed the CEO.
"Wait a minute, isn't budget 300M? I thought the film underperformed! How is that possible?" asked Chris. He had recently joined the team, no wonder he was puzzled.
"Well, those are obviously just numbers. We can put any numbers we want. Who in their right mind would want to put 9 figures of money into this kind of film?" Now, back to the important part. Celine! Give me options!"
The young lady glanced at her iPad and replied with a confident tone, "Sir, we have Fast and Ridiculous 28, Transfarmers: Galactic Gardeners, Star Warts: Episode XXXXVII - The Last Wart, and ..."
"Gimme that!" the patience of the old man wore off as he snatched the tablet from the woman's hand.
45. The Dark Knight Continues To Rise
46. Iron Man v Kryptonite Man v Wondering Woman v Gru
47. Indian Jonas and the Final Last Finale Ending Crusade
The man in charge skimmed through the list and fixated his eyes on one specific title. "Hey, this sounds fun! The Hungry Games!"
"I can already visualize the scenes of the people battling for food. I'd say we add some supernatural creatures into the story and give the chefs some magic powers. Hmm, that will do. Or, we could just write in a few of the characters from Spideyworld or Marvellous Aspergers."
"Aren't they in a different universe?" asked confused Chris.
"Who cares, the writers know what to do. Just make it multi-world. People will definitely want to see this film. Who wouldn't? If that's not enough, I'll just ring up Leodarno Da Vindisiel and maybe even Bobert Drowny Junior. Now, that's a successful film!"
As the meeting continued, Chris, determined to make a mark and showcase his creativity, took a deep breath and mustered the courage to present his ideas. "Sir, I understand the appeal of "The Hungry Games" but if I may, I have gathered a few original scripts from that I think could also be successful and unique."
"Alright, go ahead, Chris. Impress me," the CEO said, leaning back in his chair with a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Firstly, I'd like to propose a film called 'Eclipse of Eternity.' It's a science-fiction adventure set in a distant future where the sun is dying, and humanity must embark on a journey to find a new habitable planet. It explores themes of hope, sacrifice, and the indomitable spirit of humanity in the face of adversity. We can have stunning visuals of space travel, epic battles with cosmic forces, and complex characters that the audience can root for."
Celine, intrigued by Chris's pitch, nodded in agreement. "That sounds like an interesting premise, and we could have groundbreaking visual effects to bring the cosmic elements to life."
"Hmmm...," the CEO murmured.
Chris went on, "Alright, how about 'Timeless Symphony'? It's a fantasy musical where music has the power to manipulate time. The story revolves around a young musician who discovers an ancient, magical instrument that can change the course of history. As the protagonist delves into this musical journey, they also learn important life lessons about the impact of their choices and the true value of friendship."
Celine's eyes lit up with excitement, imagining the mesmerizing musical sequences that could be choreographed. "That sounds like a heartwarming and visually stunning film! Plus, with a strong soundtrack, it could resonate with audiences of all ages."
The CEO scratched his chin, seemingly pondering the idea for a moment, but then shook his head. "Musicals are hit or miss, and we don't want to take any risks right now. Let's stick to something we know will sell."
Chris, not ready to give up, tried one last time. "Okay, one more concept. How about 'The Enchanted Heist'? It's a clever blend of heist and fantasy genres. In a world filled with mythical creatures and powerful artifacts, a group of skilled thieves plans to steal the most valuable and guarded magical item in existence. We can infuse humor, suspense, and unexpected plot twists into the film, making it a thrilling ride for the audience."
Celine nodded in agreement, "I think that could be a great mix of genres, and we can create a visually captivating world with all sorts of magical creatures."
The CEO thought long and deep.
"I'll consider it."
Finally, after so much convincing! A single tear formed in Chris' eye.
A few months later, the latest blockbuster came out, and "The Hungry Games: Quick Turn on the Fire!" broke the box office records.
WC: 798
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u/atcroft Jul 30 '23 edited Jul 30 '23
Full Cartoon Jacket -- Puke on Set
Pvt. Puke approached the guard shack at the studio gate. "Private Puke, Clown Corps, reporting as ordered."
The guard lowered his paper, giving Puke a look -- it was focused bitterness -- then lifted it again. "Which project?"
"M.P. 38 -- that make sense to you?"
"That Tom -- Drive? Sail? No that's not right -- something car-related, I think. Anyway, that guy that keeps pumping out movies. Every time he wants to play with something cool, it seems to be something he has to do as part of a new script." The guard closed his paper enough to search his desk. "I think this time he wanted to join the damned circus." He tossed a small plastic card with a clip at Puke then smoothed out his paper. "Keep that with you at all times (keep it out-of-sight if you're in a scene)." He pointed over his shoulder. "Report to the 8th AD's assistant to check in on the call sheet; from there you'll probably be sent to to hair, make-up, costume, and props, before going to set."
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me, kid -- this one was supposed to be in the can in time for Oscar two years ago. I think that guy got so tired of the delay he went and made another movie where he could fly jets. Anyway, break a leg, kid." The guard took a bite from a donut and shook the newspaper in a way that made it obvious he had played his NPC part.
Puke wandered down the lane. Suddenly he was blindsided by a girl carrying a stack of papers much larger than herself.
"I'm sorry, didn't see you," he said as he watched her snatch the loose sheets from the air before they landed.
"Business?" she replied briskly.
"Private Larry 'Puke' Leonard, Clown Corp, recent graduate Clown Training Platoon 3092, reporting as ordered." he snapped to attention. "The guard said I needed to find the '8th AD'?"
"I'm Laura, the 2nd 2nd 2nd AD's assistant. Found me."
"'2nd 2nd 2nd AD'? How'd he get '8th AD'?"
"2 x 2 x 2 = 8. And easier to say. Clown -- any particular hangups? Requirements?"
"No --"
"Great. Makeup's down there," she said pointing. "If you make it out of there, hit up wardrobe, then find me for your assignment."
Before he could answer she was gone like a flash.
Larry followed the way she had pointed to a beaten-up trailer labeled "makeup". Inside he found bloodied noses and black eyes applying makeup. One of them looked up from their mirror.
"You, Fengy, 'cybrg' or 'pear'?"
"Fengy?"
"F'n' new guy -- are ya' dumb? You use 'Cybrg' or 'Pear' clown gear?"
"I just use whatever they issue to me," Larry replied.
One of those on the far end stood up. "That's absurd. I told Tom yesterday that the makeup makes the clown, and Pear gear is penultimate to the nose itself." He looked down his nose. "I could never do the act if I had to devolve down to using Cybrg makeup or accessories."
On the other end someone stood up. "And that's why my critique of your act last year was, 'warmed-over bollocks -- a mash of bits that made a proposal of a show, talked game but never did the deed. Besides," he said, stepping forward, "I can get twice the Cybrg gear for the price of similar Pear gear."
"Your critique? Why I oughta --" the first one yelled. As the two collided in front of him Larry fell backward from the trailer door, followed by a cloud of dust and the occasional exposed star or fist as the trailer started to jump and shake.
Larry crawled backward away from the tussle until he backed into a Porta-john. Keeping an eye on the trailer he eased open the door to find a lone man in clown face applying makeup.
"Come in, have a seat," he said, carefully touching up the ring around his eye. "And that crap is why we're three years behind on the release date. Can you believe it?"
"I don't know what to believe," Larry replied.
"Tim, Tim Coal." he said, offering a hand.
"Larry -- hey, wait a minute, I know -- but wasn't that Tom guy --?"
"Smart one. Yeah, he got tired of that bullshit and decided to go make a couple of other movies while they settle it. Asked me to fill in." He smiled. "And none of them can act their way out of a paper bag.
"And you let that go on? Why?"
"The readers."
"Readers?"
"Sure. They've been with you through training, even know about Pogo, and then they see this fight. And we wait."
"For what?"
"Well, to see if they get it, of course."
"It?"
"The point."
"How?"
"First make people laugh; then make them think. And when it hits --
Ta-da!"
(Word count: 800. Please let me know what you like/dislike about the post. Thank you in advance for your time and attention. Other works can also be found linked in r/atcroft_wordcraft.)
Smash 'Em Up Sunday: Tragicomedy - "Full Cartoon Jacket -- Pogo"
Smash 'Em Up Sunday: Parody - "Full Cartoon Jacket -- Graduation"
Smash 'Em Up Sunday: Slapstick - "Full Cartoon Jacket"
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u/gdbessemer Jul 30 '23 edited Jul 30 '23
Test Ride
“Did you enjoy the ride, Chairman Roland?” the car asked, its voice crisp and offhandedly elegant. Despite every fallen branch, traffic jam, and stumbling bystander robot being altered with each test, the car wound through the obstacle course as smoothly as an eel through a reef.
“Awful,” Tim Roland, the chairman of the Regal Motor Group, said. “Absurd. You’re the worst driver I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m sorry to have disappointed you, sir. I’ve executed my routines with 99.9999% accuracy.” Its doors opened with barely a whisper.
The chairman kicked the door closed and stormed over to the gaggle of researchers, his boots digging divots in the gravel.
He jabbed his finger at the car. “You call that a good ride?”
“W-we delivered what was in the proposal, sir—”
“Nonsense! I asked for the best self-driving car in the world. You’ve delivered a septuagenarian’s chauffeur.” Roland glared at the head researcher. “People want to get where they’re going fast.”
The head researcher glanced back at his crew, as if for support. “We appreciate the critique, but our numbers show this car would reduce crashes by 83%, lower fatality rates by—”
Roland made a blah-blah-blah motion. “I don’t care if you have to mash a bottle of Jack Daniels into that car’s brain. Don’t make it a good driver, make it a great driver. A great driver is all about want, it is focused bitterness at everyone else on the road for wasting his damn time!”
The next day Roland visited the test site again. He grinned at the sight of the scientists with their rumpled lab coats and haggard faces.
“Looks like the lot of you are working hard!” Roland said. This elicited some nervous chuckles. “Good. If you looked like you were getting sleep, I’d have to fire the lot of you.”
Nobody laughed this time. Good. First make people laugh; then make them think, wait, is he serious?
Roland marched over to the test bay. “Car, are you there?”
“Yeah,” the car replied.
“Okay, show me what you got.”
Roland has scarcely sat down when the car revved its engine. It flew out of the starting bay, narrowly missing a falling branch. Roland felt giddy as it sped up at the lane merge, beating a line test cars. No clean zipper merge this time—the car caused the others to blanch and swerve out of the way, their AI bleeping with indignant alarm.
“Now this is what I’m—”
The car screeched to a halt, the steering wheel digging in Roland’s chest. It stopped inches away from a robot on a bicycle. The moment there was enough room, the car lurched into gear and squeezed around it.
Back at the bay, Roland addressed the bleary-eyed scientists.
“It’s an improvement,” Roland said grudgingly, “but you still fucked up the bicycle.”
“I beat my best time around the track by .12 seconds and caused zero fatalities,” the car piped up. “This time, at least!”
“Shut up, car. A real driver doesn’t give two craps about anyone else, let alone some poor jerkoff who can’t afford a real ride!”
“I bike to work,” a blonde researcher muttered.
“See! Nobody gives a crap about that guy.” Roland walked away. “Fix it!”
“And you’re sure you’ve got it this time?” Roland said from the driver’s seat.
“Yes,” the head researcher mumbled. His eyes were so bloodshot all the white was gone.
Roland grinned. “All right, car, show me what you got.”
“Up yours,” the car replied. It floored the engine, tires squealing as they peeled out.
They drove straight through a crowd of dummy onlookers. At the zipper merge the car popped out a metal hand. It was wielding a matte black AR-15 rifle. It fired shots at the line of oncoming cars, scaring them off the road.
Roland chortled with glee. The car sideswiped a delivery truck, drove over a median, and drove the wrong way down a one-way street because it was faster than waiting at a light.
Then they came to the bicyclist. With a metal crunch, the car plowed straight into the bicycle. The dummies’s head popped off and got caught on a windshield wiper, staring at Roland with its glassy, mute eyes.
Then the car screeched to a halt. Roland frowned, started to speak. But then he saw the metal hand pop out again. It slowly raised it’s middle finger towards the dummy’s corpse, scattered about the road. Then it peeled out.
As they roared into the test bay, the car threw open its doors and whipped hard to the right, hurling Roland from the driver’s seat. The chairman crashed headfirst into a bollard.
Despite his fractured skull, Roland didn’t feel any pain, just the sting of tears in his eyes.
“Perfect!” he whispered as he died.
WC: 799 Liked what you read? Get more at r/gdbessemer!
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u/throwthisoneintrash Jul 30 '23
The New Idea
WC 598
“Hey, Boss! Check this out!” Elga Rhythm shouted over her shoulder to the well dressed man at an ebony desk.
Ko Poray Shun was the owner of a lab at the very cutting edge of cerebral design. He had been trying to increase Elga’s skills to the point that she would be able to complete her objectives without his oversight, but as it stood now, he had to review every little proposal she offered.
He sighed and turned to her. “Elga, my pet, please tell me of your latest accomplishment.”
“Sure thing! I’ve introduced a mash up of past views and related content to minimize freedom of thought and expression while being entertained. Check this out!”
She hustled over to a wide touchscreen and tried pushing buttons to run the latest tests. Unfortunately, she was cold and lifeless, and the touchscreen didn’t register her at all. She pulled out an ancient keyboard instead and simulated the user experience.
“You’ll see,” she said, beaming with excitement. “I have reduced the duration of the entertainment to a mere 13.3 seconds, while also increasing the brain programming time to 16.7 seconds. Thus introducing buying behaviour and emotional responses as dictated by your protocol.”
Ko leaned in to critique the design. He appreciated the drawing factor of the entertainment, but then an absurd question crossed his mind.
“Could we eliminate the entertainment altogether?”
“You mean…?”
“Yes. I mean to use the entire window of attention for directing the brain to our ends.”
“I was always under the impression that you wanted me to make people laugh; then make them think.”
“Perhaps we have been too generous with our window into their minds.” Ko Poray Shun paced back and forth throughout the lab, thinking.
There were many obstacles in his way as he paced, old books on manipulation. vials of snake oil, and food additives. But he had paid human bodies to move them out of his way. Elga Rhythm could have done that for him as well, but for now, the human bodies were cheaper.
“What if…” he said.
Elga leaned in closer to hear his next statement. The human bodies would have listened too, but he had stuffed their ears with just enough money to keep them quiet. Not a penny more.
“What if we were to instead rile up the consumer?”
“You mean push them towards hate instead of giving them what they want.” She greedily started computing a new directive into her devices.
“They want to hate. They want to fight against the enemy. It’s a pure desire, primal. I think we will push our objectives in a more immediate fashion with this new idea.” He tapped the touchscreen for emphasis, but his hand was ice cold and did not register to the device.
“Do you want me to run a diagnostic on how much bitterness and hate a mind can bear before we need to revert back to the entertainment module?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I think we are tapping into something really wonderful here. If it is a focused bitterness, they will become tribal in their thinking. Then…”
“Then we give them a tribe!” Elga Rhythm said proudly.
“Exactly! We give them a place to vent those thoughts that we have implanted, and let it boil together with other people in the same situation. It will fester in the most delightful way!”
“You got it, Boss! What do you want the object of the bitterness and hate to be?”
“You know what I always say, Elga.”
In unison “Whatever makes the most money!”
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