Other Forum Witty: Underdogs. Scrake wins ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Deadline pushed back a little bit due to some personal shenanigans

Also I'm missing submissions still and don't wanna update without >half. Win/Win

Also deadline was set at 12:30 AM PST for first prompt so some people might have not noticed it changed
 
A small fried chicken joint had been opened by a nearby farm. Farmer John’s it was called, and my god is it good. This isn’t just some fast food KFC wannabe, these guys fried their chicken right to the perfect point, and only used the perfect poultry.Although, I did find quite the curious sight last time I went down to the place.


Now this farm in particular specialized in you guessed it: chicken. Farmer John was the name of the head farmer, and every morning he’d feed his chickens, collect eggs from the hens, and if any of the chickens were plump enough, off to the slaughter house and eventually, his restaurant.


One day however, one of them seemed to smarten up. When Farmer John went to feed his product, a lone chicken ran wildly from the coup, surprising John enough that he fell backward, dropping his feed all over himself. The rest of the chickens, hungry as usual this time of day, swarmed poor John. The escapee made it quite far from the farm, passing the through the scent of fried chicken. He was right, this was their fate. He had to get as far from here as possible!


Eventually he came to the side of the freeway. On the opposite side was another farm, a children's farm. They had animals sure, but they only exported apples and berries. The animals were there purely for the children to see. There, he would be safe. He would never end up on a plate, yes this was his destiny! Farmer John, now covered head to toe in feathers, was hot on his heels. He had to cross quickly! The bird ran across the street, oh how he ran!


Unfortunately, chickens aren't particularly smart, even those clever enough to figure out they were a popular food item. As he made it about one quarter of the way, our poor chicken was flattened like a pancake under the tire of a minivan. Farmer John, furious about losing even one chicken, stormed back towards the farm. I got a glimpse of this whole scene from the window of the dinner, chuckling to myself.


“Gee,” I thought, “Guess the reason the chicken crossed the road is chickens aren't that bright”. Although that one chicken certainly came close

"Just a trip too and from the Walmart. Nothing flashy. I don't even have to change out of my pajamas, and I'll be the most fashionable bird there."

Chicken was panicking, no two ways about it. The neighbors were moving out, and he thought it would be a good idea to bake a cake for them. After scavenging his cupboards, however, they were a barren wasteland of Dorito dust and Mountain Dew puddles. An absolute catastrophe, it looked just like a twelve year old had been profusely procreating with his mom.

And so, Chicken got ready to drive to Walmart. Captain America boxers sticking out of his Blue Man Group Official[ly bootlegged] sweatpants, and a tank top which proclaimed "Suns out Guns out." Feeling absolutely over dressed for the occasion, and totally confident, he left his keys on the kitchen table and locked himself out like an idiot.

This did not cause Chicken to panic, for he had a contingency plan Just In Case. Acrobatically climbing the façade of the building, skillfully crawling through the narrowest of gaps, Chicken picked up his spare key under the floor mat, and let himself back into the apartment, and picked up his keys.

Finally on his way to Walmart, Chicken saw a homeless flock of pigeons, absolutely making the street corner look ugly by standing there. Chicken didn't care though, they're just pigeons.

"Pigeons can't get in my moving car, so I'll just keep driving," he thought to himself. Drive on he did, but the pigeon problem thickened as he got closer to the super market conglomerate. "Damned miscreants, they should be glad i don't run them over," Chicken continues along his negative train of thought.

Now, in case you haven't caught on, this is a metaphor for racism.

Pulling into the Walmart parking lot, Chicken finally felt safe and free. He fluttered into the store, carefree and chipper, until he saw it. There, standing at the cash register, was another pigeon.

"Are there other registers I can use? Is it possible that those self checkout machines are finally working, so I don't have to confront my own racism?" Chicken grasped for anything, anyone to save him. He even considered asking a manager to ring him up, and claim the pigeon had harassed him, effectively ruining the bird's career.

Time was not on his side, however, and all too quickly he was next.

"How can I help you today sir?" asked the pigeon, seemingly ignorant of Chicken's grand internal struggle. "Did you find everything okay?"

"George Bush," responded Chicken.

"I see. Well, do you have any coupons? Reusable bags?" The pigeon continued, but its ugly, gray, ignorant face continued to enrage and confuse Chicken.

"Hypoglycemic heart failure."

"Me too buddy."

The two birds stood there idly, recognizing that they shared a lot in common. The pigeon, shackled by the corporate machine, just like Chicken was shackled by his own fucking racism against pigeons. And now, each of the two of them realizing how incredibly restricting those shackles are.

"You're right Mr. Chicken, this is absolute bogus, and I will not stand for this type of capitalistic tyranny! I demand 3 corn chips per day! The minimum wage is too low! Corporations are alienating the common voter! Fight the system!"

Mr. Chicken was having none of that socialist bullshit, and ran the fuck away, out the door, past his car, across the street, so that when the American Freedom Movement started bombing, he would be well out of the way.

And that kids, is why the chicken crossed the road. Because socialism.

"I've sure got a funny joke for you" the creature said with a smug look on his face.

Jokes, tricks, sleight of hand! These were the creature's specialty. How he adored the look on one someone's face when they hear the punchline of a joke, or when they realize that they have been tricked! The thought of that look filled his small body with joy.

"Hit me up," the creature's friend noted. "But I'm in a hurry. Come with me."

Walking WHILE telling a joke? How delightful! Walking was one of the creature's favorite pastimes. He enjoyed it so much that just the thought of it made him flap his wings!

The creature began to vigorously walk along beside his friend while he told the joke. "So there was this guy, and one day, he walked out of a bar drunk..."

"Uh-uh," the creature's friend said. He seemed worried. They were getting closer to the most dangerous place for the creature and his friend: the highway. There was a high likelihood that he could die if he was not paying attention. But he let his friend go on. He didn't want to be rude.

"...and then when the man was dancing near the bar, his girlfriend came up to him... Awkward? I know right!" The joke continued as the pair got closer to the road.

Soon, they were on the edge of the highway, but the joke was still not quite done. "Let me focus for a sec as we cross the street," the creature's friend said.

"Just let me finish! I'm almost at the punchline!" said the creature. And the creature's friend decided to cross anyway. He was in a hurry, after all.

"...so then when the dinosaur looked into his eyes, he laughed so hard that the beers he had consumed came out of his nose!"

The creature's friend laughed out loud! How funny that joke was! The creature was right! HA HA HA HA HA HA------

A car ran him over.

The creature clucked and flapped his wings. That was hilarious! Tricks were his specialty, after all.

My life was as simple as it got. Sleep, Eat, Lay Eggs, Sleep. That pattern, over and over again for 6 years now, and I was getting to the back end of my life, and I wanted something more. It was all so dull around here, the same view everyday. There were stories of more, or as the Humans called it, the Other Side. The story was told many times, something for us chickens to daydream about, knowing it would never happen to us. But I was determined to change that, I was ready to be the second chicken to make it to the Other Side, and so, I hatched my plan.

It was all about timing, really. Everyday we would be let out of the metal cage we called him for an hour, never more, never less. We would roam, but never stray too far from our place of stay, until today. As soon as the cage opened I pelted for the "road", the passage between here and the Other Side. I skilfully avoided the hands of my previous captors, ready to embrace my fate. As I reach the road, where I stand now, I see the vessel that must be ready to take me to my future. It speeds along as I sprint out in front of it, ready for the next step in my journey. I close my eyes and embrace whatever this strange b holds in store for me on the Other Side.

Chickens were a simple folk. They lived in their kennels, plump and caged. They contributed all they had to society: flesh and bone, feathers, and their unborn.

They liked it this way. They were looked after, fed and reassured. What need had a chicken for philosophy or math? They had all they needed: corn, a bed of hay, and safety from coyotes or foxes.

So, why did one of them wonder of the reason for this life? A pampered chick they called him, to feel entitled for more. They had accepted their life, were glad for it. Why could he, the chick, not do the same? He questioned the safety they were greatly thankful for.

Others, the young, perhaps naive, thought it a wondrous idea. Why not question this dry life? It was devoid of adventure or opportunity. Their lives could be worth so much more than a means to an end. They could have a legacy, unique, and beyond that of the collective contributions of all chickens.

A divide quickly grew between the chickens: the old and the young, the reassured and the questioning, etc. They could no longer understand each other. The morals that shaped each side's argument were antithesis and alien to each other: unfathomable, many thought and a complete outrage to some. The battle of ideas had a short grasp on the chicken's culture in this turbulent time- it wouldn't last.

Pecked, slashed, and crushed- that is how they found him. Blood, it's red mark covered the hay and wire of his kennel. Hardly an adult at this point, he had only been a chick when he had begun a revolution. They wanted revenge. They could probably kill the perpetrators and those that supported them; youth and spirit were on their side. They gathered together, decided, and marched to the kennels of their now sworn enemies.

Those that fought back were slaughtered. Bones, feathers, and flesh littered the ground and was caught in kennel wire. Survivors, any who surrendered, were led by several chickens, many with fresh red wounds, towards a paved rural road.

The road, black and unmarked save for several potholes, marked the end of their farmland home. Chickens, known as dissenters, were pointed outwards and past the road. Chickens crossed single file, carefully watched by those who exiled them.

Eventually all dissenters had crossed. They disappeared through the brush of trees and shrubs. No chicken knew what lied beyond the brush. They had been content in not knowing. Now they have no choice- they will face change in spite of their attempts to resist it.

5/7 we take thooooose

Flyhn
Maleovex
pancake
Scrake
shubaka17
tropiusisbae
Whydon

Let's get votin! you've got 48 hours and I'll update early if we get em all.

Deadline is at 11:50 PM PST on Thursday
 
Submission 1: Flyhn - 0 votes
Submission 2: shubaka17 - Scrake, pancake - 2 votes
Submission 3: pancake - 0 votes
Submission 4: Maleovex - Whydon - 1 vote
Submission 5: Scrake - shubaka17, Flyhn, Maleovex - 3 votes

Scarke gets a bonus point this round! I'll be updating the vote totals in da OP (☞゚ヮ゚)☞ ☜(゚ヮ゚☜)

Extra tags: Whydon tropiusisbae

Gotta give Tropiusisbae -2 points as well for the no vote (even know I know you're busy, rules are ruuules)

Next prompt!

"On the floor, a broken wine glass is scattered around the dead body of a woman. Around her, the room is filled with people laughing and smiling, seemingly ignoring her.

What happened?"

oooo bb this one's got INTRIGUE! Fasten your seatbelts and break out your whiskey, we're writing ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

Setting deadline at Sunday 10 PM PST (since it's the weekend). I'll obviously update if we get'em all
 
Last edited:
i dead.

I have 3 submissions (GREATER THAN 2) and didn't get anymore after I full tagged everyone FeelsBadMan.

I'll send out some personal PMs and update tonight for sure
 
Choked on a cheap laugh
Silence sweeter than her words
Thud and crash ignored

The sound of laughter filled the ballroom at the Smogon Grand Estate. This tends to be the case. After that one incident (submission 2), the parties in that ballroom never seemed to end. It was almost like a secret club, and there was only one rule: what happens in the Smogon estate, stays in the Smogon estate.http://www.smogon.com/forums/threads/forum-witty.3583011/#post-7009020
In an extremely unironic twist, this was also the one rule of the mafia members who lived there.

Ever since that one night where the Godfather fooled everyone, the mafia had decided to take over the University’s Grand Estate as their main place of operations. And every time they had completed a mission, they had a special party, with all of the luxuries that come from living in a Grand Estate. The mafia tended to be carefree people, so you might be able to imagine what their parties are like. When I get back home, I'll say that the mafia members have parties like a mixed drink: they make you slightly crazy and very drunk, but at least it’s a mix.

But here I was, playing dead on the floor, in the middle of a circle of mafia members. They were playing a drinking game. I like drinking games, but this one was plain obnoxious. I didn’t really understand it either. It involved throwing glasses against the wall, and so shards of broken glass floated in liquor around me. I’m pretty sure they thought I was dead, because they sure didn’t acknowledge my existence.

Clang! Another glass shatters against the wall, and all of the men laughed heartily. The glass shards came painfully close to my head, to the point where I could almost feel them.

And then a drunk mafia member began spinning quickly, glass in hand. He threw the glass, and it went straight through the door of the ballroom into the hallway.

The men laughed loudly and began the intoxicated walk to the hallway.

This was my chance.

I, the Supersaint, pulled out my knife. It was time for revenge.

Dinner parties always gave Rodham anxiety. Going out and meeting people is one thing, but meeting People always gave her that little itch, like something would go wrong. Sometimes it would be as innocent as a watch beeping during dinner small talk, but tonight - ohhhh tonight.

Tonight was a big one. Rodham's itch was bugging her like eating mashed potatoes out of a waffle cone. Sure it looks normal, and you can't really tell if that's thick gravy or hot fudge, but somehow the devil had something to do with it.

She contemplated calling in sick, possibly claiming to have other plans even. But no, this party had People attending, and People are unforgiving if you cancel.

Collecting herself in the finest of Fonxieau dress and matching scarf, but Gucci shoes obviously, Rodham called her chauffeur to the door, and off she went. The party, hosted by none other than Graham K. Rackard, was due to begin in ten, and if Rodham wanted to survive the night without murdering someone, she needed at least two glasses of wine before exchanging pleasantries with People.

[insert line break here, indicating change in perspective]

Graham paced the foyer, practicing his best voice for when he murdered the rat who ruined him. "You thought you could get away with it! You thought I wouldn't find out! My wife, my company, my goddammed Porsche too! Oh don't worry, I'm not the only person privy to all your dirty deeds. Be glad tha-"

"Sir?" interrupted a member of Graham's staff.

"That I have a very skilled staff who is listening to everything I say and will receive large Christmas bonuses this year!" shifted Graham, realizing he not only was in an occupied room, but also didn't actually have the rat. Or know who the rat is. Details.

"The first of your guests are arriving, shall I introduce them to the wine?"

"Of course of course. The red, to start off. I expect things to get hearty very quickly."

[insert line break here, indicating change in perspective]

"- off the edge, into the pool and absolutely destroys any chance he had of winning the merger!" finished Rodham, sufficiently wasted as to make that story actually entertaining.

"You wouldn't believe the hoops I had to jump through the rest of that quarter so they wouldn't ship me off to Colombia like a shipment of bad cocoa." Added in Graham, pretending to be just as wasted as Rodham, but actually more sober than a funeral.

The two were a riot with the People. She, letting them know too much about company secrets, and he, making sure only the right secrets came out. They would have made a great pair in the field, but People don't like waiting, and that merger had been years in the making.

"Like the hoops your wife had to actually jump through in order for you to keep your job?"

Graham had no clue who said that, but immediately his drunken facade fell. Rackard and Fulton had taken a massive drop in stock following the failed merger with Paltoer Manufacturing, and an even larger drop when someone told the press their CEO couldn't even control his wife, let alone the company. Whirling around, Graham pinpointed the voice. Behind him, in the trio of party goers crowding the jumbo shrimp. Always the jumbo shrimp.

He knew it had to be one of them. He'd invited anyone who knew his wife well enough to sleep with her, and he knew the wine would make them more likely to say something regrettable. His trap had paid off, and he caught his rat.

Approaching them in a storm of discontent and haughtiness, Graham unleashed his monologue. He wasn't sure which person he was talking to, or if the person was a Person, but even sober he didn't care. As long as his point got across and the bastard ended up on the floor bleeding, Graham didn't care.

He didn't care about the stock holders. He didn't care about prison. He didn't care if he had to take all three of the Jumbo Shrimp eaters down. He cared about his ego, his reputation, and compensation for the utter humiliation suffered at the hands of this monster.

[insert line break here, indicating change in perspective]

"Oh for fuck's, what is Graham doing?" Rodham was out of the loop, drunk, and honestly still on edge. She knew something was wrong, and here it was. Graham going on about a rat who was really into cheese or something.

He's probably going to get fired, so all the attention was on him.

Nobody saw as someone stuck a needle in Rodham.

Nobody saw as she tumbled, mute, paralyzed, dying to the floor.

The shatter of glass white noise, as a flustered Graham punches an ancient majority holder of Paltoer.

That holder's bodyguard tazing Graham in response.

A Person emerging from behind the Jumbo Shrimp.

The People laugh and chuckle.

Two of their biggest failures meet their ends.

One, from ignoring her paranoia, and one, from confronting his.


WELL OKAY THEN 3/7 sad pandas boys. Thanks for the ones who did though, all 3 of these were on time :D :D :D I've heard from a couple people that couldn't get it to it in time so if the sparks start flowing throw it my way and I'll put it up just for show (◕‿◕✿)

NEXT PROMPT ZOOOOOM
"There's a terrible crash, and everything goes blurry. Suddenly you're rescued by a reverse Genie, to whom you must now give Three Wishes. Following rules from Aladdin, make this Genie's wishes come true"

NEXT DEADLINE Votes due: Saturday 12am PST (so Friday night 11:59pm -> midnight)

Since I'm kinda busy the next couple days with catching up with the school i missed from being sick, you guys get an extra voting day.

Flyhn
Maleovex
pancake
Scrake
shubaka17
tropiusisbae
Whydon
 

Ampharos

tag walls, punch fascists
is a Community Contributor Alumnus
Alright I only got 2 responses, and one of them was conditional on lots of other activity, so I'm calling this one.

Declaring scrake the winner given that A. he's one of the people with the most points and B. he was the one person to respond with full interest.

Congrats I guess.
 

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