Challenge #02822-G265: Comedy vs Offensensitivity
“Although your jokes are funny, please never say them again.” Upon hearing this the person suddenly began to laugh, just like how he began he stop. “Never.” The person formed a cheeky grin “though Jokes usually make people laugh, some don’t. But always have the same principal: leave you different than you first started.” “Jokes are supposed to make you laugh-“ the person wave their finger in front of my face “jokes like that is like eating ice cream: eat too much the taste goes bland and my tongue goes numb”
Got the idea off this:
https://youtu.be/knIroVvPZU4 – Anon Guest
[AN: There’s also the philosophy of satire aiming solely at the people who deserve it. If you’re kicking someone while they’re down, then you’re not funny - you’re a bully]
Comedy is a funny thing, and that’s not meant to be taken literally. Knowing what’s funny and where is a vital skill. Telling an accidental joke will get you further than attempting to tell a joke that will not sail in the local area. Consider the exploding outhouse versus the collapsing four-poster and the fish applied vigorously to another’s face.
Once you’re in the greater hub of the Galactic Alliance, the guarantee of a good laugh is harder to obtain. It takes real skill to be funny without hurting someone. The target should always be the willfully ignorant, those who steal from those who need, and those who refuse to learn.
"I’d never want to try humanitarian debate with a Deregger CEO. Just don’t do it. Whatever you think your sins are, this is not the punishment anyone deserves,” said Comedian Vresk. If there was any obvious target, it was Dereggers. “It’s like there’s a conspiracy theory for every occasion. It doesn’t matter if they contradict themselves, so long as they’re the smartest person in the room.”
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit peakd (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
Challenge #02820-G263: You’re Adopted!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jM8dCGIm6yc – Anon Guest
[AN: Watch it. Be amazed]
Humans may not be the only species who have weaponised music, but they are the only ones who have weaponised it so effectively. Many have known the sheer horror of thousands of Humans with their voices raised in one song. Scarier still is one Human with some impressive vocal skills.
Soprano is just one of them. The ability to project is another. Throat singing, however, is one of the more horrifying ones. It’s bad enough to be in combat and facing off against one of the more terrifying Deathworlders on the Galactic rolls. Then they start growling at you.
It takes a moment to realise that this menacing rumble is coming out in a tune. That it’s emerging in words. By then, the dancing has started. It’s not just that it’s a rhythmic display of co-ordination and fitness, it’s also that it’s a rhythmic display of the multitude of fighting moved the Human could use to kill you.
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit peakd (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
Challenge #02819-G262: A Ghost of Hope
✋︎♐︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎ ❒︎♏︎♍︎♏︎♓︎❖︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎📪︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ❍︎♋︎⍓︎ ♌︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♐︎♓︎❒︎⬧︎⧫︎ □︎❒︎ ●︎♋︎⬧︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♓︎❍︎♏︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎❼︎❒︎♏︎ ♒︎♏︎♋︎❒︎ ♐︎❒︎□︎❍︎ ❍︎♏︎📬︎ ✋︎♐︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎ ❍︎◆︎⬧︎⧫︎ ⬥︎♋︎■︎⧫︎ ⬧︎□︎❍︎♏︎⧫︎♒︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♐︎❒︎□︎❍︎ ❍︎♏︎📬︎ 👌︎♏︎♐︎□︎❒︎♏︎ ♋︎■︎⍓︎❍︎□︎❒︎♏︎ □︎♐︎ ❍︎⍓︎ ♎︎♋︎⧫︎♋︎ ♌︎♏︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♍︎□︎❒︎❒︎◆︎◻︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎📪︎ ❍︎♏︎♏︎⧫︎ ❍︎♏︎ ♋︎⧫︎ – Anon Guest
[AN: Provided translation - “I︎f︎ y︎o︎u︎ a︎r︎e︎ r︎e︎c︎e︎i︎v︎i︎n︎g︎ t︎h︎i︎s︎,︎ t︎h︎i︎s︎ m︎a︎y︎ b︎e︎ t︎h︎e︎ f︎i︎r︎s︎t︎ o︎r︎ l︎a︎s︎t︎ t︎i︎m︎e︎ y︎o︎u︎’︎r︎e︎ h︎e︎a︎r︎ f︎r︎o︎m︎ m︎e︎.︎ I︎f︎ y︎o︎u︎ h︎a︎v︎e︎ t︎h︎i︎s︎ y︎o︎u︎ m︎u︎s︎t︎ w︎a︎n︎t︎ s︎o︎m︎e︎t︎h︎i︎n︎g︎ f︎r︎o︎m︎ m︎e︎.︎ B︎e︎f︎o︎r︎e︎ a︎n︎y︎m︎o︎r︎e︎ o︎f︎ m︎y︎ d︎a︎t︎a︎ b︎e︎i︎n︎g︎ c︎o︎r︎r︎u︎p︎t︎e︎d︎,︎ m︎e︎e︎t︎ m︎e︎ a︎t︎” message cuts off. I have NO ideas how all these wingdings are going to go over when I try to publish this at Smashwords so now I have to amend the “Can You Please” section on my prompts page]
Everyone has to have a hobby. When you’re in a tin can only because automated systems have limits, and it’s weeks in transit with little else to do but go slowly bonkers. Pack beings should not be left on their own without anything but actual work to do. It erodes the soul.
Mine was listening into and decoding old transmissions. You know the ones. Ancient radio transmissions that are more noise than signal. It’s easy to transport and I have a good time unriddling what remains. Besides, the Archivaas will buy anything if you can document providence.
It’s the kind of fun you grit your teeth for because it’s so relaxing when you finally crack it. The feeling of elation when you figure out the riddle is worth the Sisyphean exhaustion of working out what the code even is. Trust me, it’s fun. It has to be, or I wouldn’t do it. Well. This particular message took the entire cookie jar. I mean, look at it. It looks like gibberish, right?
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit peakd (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
Challenge #02818-G261: Payback’s a Blessing
They bounced from station to station helping out where they could. Due to the family they were born in to, they’d inherited enough time to live more than comfortably, but they didn’t want to just sit around and do nothing for the rest of their life. So, taking training in security, combat, engineering, and several other, useful, fields, they went between stations, and aboard ships, just helping out. When offered contracts and pay for their work? The answer was always the same.
“No thanks. I have enough already, just a room and some food is all I ask.”
Often much to the surprise of those who had worked with humans before. Unfortunately, there were some who were not above taking advantage of their kindness and worked them to the bone, yet refusing to give even a place to sleep or any food, unless they bought their own. Tired, sore, and a bit discouraged, for this had happened more than a few times, they sat sipping on a cup of tea looking down. A man sat next to them who seemed pleasant enough. He had a tattoo of a dog’s head biting off a human hand on his forearm, and a bit of a wild gleam in the eyes, however. He asked the person why they seemed so down in a place known for it’s entertainments and, when they explained. The exhaustion from work, and yet the one thing they ask not being honored when it’d been promised before they began, the wild - looking man merely smiled and said “Cheer up, it’s already taken care of.” – Anon Guest
They could have surrendered to inertia. It would have been easy. Some people just don’t like easy. Further, they had suffered under their parents’ iron will and this was a firm rude gesture at everything those pocket despots stood for.
They plunged all their funds into a charity for the less fortunate and exchanged their inherited private yacht for the space equivalent of an ancient combi van with a mattress in the back[1]. It would get them as far as the next station, where they would work to help whoever needed it and help pay for the repairs enough to get to the next station.
It was not always great, but that was the point. On the Edge, people made their own way and sought their own joys. These siblings found joy in retroactive defiance against parents both too greedy and too controlling. It doesn’t matter what names they were given, they chose their own. Meet Em and Bee. Free-range do-gooders extraordinaire.
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit peakd (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
Challenge #02817-G260: The Planet’s Haunted?
The storm-damaged ship manages to land safely on a planet where resources are minimal at best. The entire crew are level one and level two haven-worlders, but they have one death-worlder aboard. An 8 year old human child. They were transporting the child to a space station as the child had recently been rescued from kidnappers who were now sitting in prison.
On this planet, not everything is what it appears. Food keeps showing up at the entryway and footsteps can be seen in the mud after a rain, but no one’s there. It’s only after the child can be seen sitting, quietly playing with an unusual, humanoid-shaped, being about the size of the child, that they realize their “helpful ghosts” may not be ghosts at all. The being looks at the much taller crew members and suddenly, they disappear, though the imprint in the dirt shows, they’re still there. – DaniAndShali
Seemingly abandoned planet? Check. Survivable wreck? Check. Eerily empty structures that could be the result of intelligent life or could be the work or some natural thing? Check. One Deathworlder? Sort of check. These are the things that serial dramas are made of. Or, considering this was an eight-year-old Deathworlder and therefore a minor, true life horrors.
Things could be worse, but nobody was going to tempt fate by saying so, nor by asking how things could get worse. After all, it has long been established that Mother Nature is an abusive parent and actively seeks out opportunities to remind people of this.
Human Vi was still recovering from their trauma and therefore didn’t want to go anywhere without adult company. The world wasn’t exactly hostile but it did seem to delight in upending assumptions. Small, cute, fluffy things were deadly predators. Big, spiky, armoured things with huge claws and sharp fangs were harmless herbivores. Scanners were essential, as delicious-looking fruit were toxic and toxic-looking leaves and flowers were actually the most nutritious foodstuffs they could want. Here, a Deathworlders’ instincts were almost useless. And, on top of that, there were the ghosts.
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit peakd (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]