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Shameless Doom Ripoff Story - WIP


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Surprise suprise! I have yet another unfinished thing to show off! This time it's a story! WOW!!!

 

Within the past year, I have discovered writing. Unfortunately, much like every other form of expression I've dabbled in (drawing, guitaring) I don't practice damn near enough. I wrote these few paragraphs not too long ago; they were intended to be the beginning to a shameless doom ripoff littered with 80's styled American CHEESE. If the reception is warm enough, I may consider making it a regular thing to post! Shit knows I should write a certain amount every day or so. But, well, art is useless if you don't let anyone see it, so here it is! I could make excuses about how I needed to like, proofread it or like change some words or change some shit or how like this a rough draft or something or how I barely messed with the format after CTRL Zing it off of word... whatever. Enjoy this overblown fanfiction.

 

 

 

 

Shamelessly Ripping Off Doom

 

 

               Tired eyes caked over by a long night’s debauchery blink open at the afternoon Mars sun.

               “Aw… shit.”

               It’s about to be another shitty day in a shittier month on the shittiest planet in the solar system. By all accounts, Venus is widely regarded as being the worst of the worst when it comes to assigned postings of the Sol-brigade. Jupiter smells horrible, and Uranus isn’t one for the seasick. But for Specialist Kurt Jonvern, any ground he walks on in the boots of military service is the shittiest ground of them all.

               Rising bedraggled from his bunk, he throws on his grey fatigues and steps into his dirty boots. He approaches a door at the end of the barracks and curses to himself when he realizes he left his ID in his footlocker, four beds down the room. After grumpily retreading back down to the other end of the barracks, he acquires his keycard ID and promptly leaves the room.

               The orange sky glows through rectangular portholes the line the angled ceiling above. Kurt continues down the dark halls of the Carter Corporation’s colonial outpost, or colonial cunt-sphere, as Kurt would put it. His wasted footsteps quietly echo on the metal floor, a more vehement pair of approaching footsteps soon drowns them out.

               “Jonvern! Where the hell have—”

               “I know I know. I’m late and all,” Kurt says. There are many things Kurt doesn’t want to deal with at this early hour. Corporal Jennings is one of them.

               “Oh, you’re more than late shithead: you’re fucked,” she says, “what is this, the third time?”

               “Fourth. Probably,” Kurt rubs his forehead, “on this planet at least.”

               “Geez… you’re fucked. You’re fucked Jonvern. Corporal is gonna kill you.”

               Kurt groans and rubs his forehead harder.

               “No use bitching about it, get down there.”

               “Could I uh… could I go get a coffee first.”

               “A coffee? Sure, why not. It’ll be your last cup on this post.”

_____________

               Kurt is standing by the Carter Corporation colonial coffee creator right outside the community cafeteria. He didn’t have any credit left in his account, so he had to beg some citizen to loan off $6 for his morning joe. He has one shoulder against the red machine and is watching a spigot spit out the black liquid into a paper cup as a familiar silhouette enters his peripheral. It’s Corporal Geeson, and he’s standing with his hands on his hips, his accusatory eyes burn into Kurt. They stand, eyes locked in silent showdown. Geeson turns his head slightly and raises his hands in question.

               “At least let me get my creamer,” Kurt says.

               Geeson’s lips purse tightly and his fingers begin to clench and shake.

               Kurt sighs, “alrighty. Let’s do this.” He grabs the paper cup and follows Geeson down the hall. The burning spillage on his hand doesn’t bother him.

_____________

               In the Colonel’s office Kurt sits in an antique wooden chair with a fuzzy green seat. Kurt thinks the Colonel has a weird taste in style, not that the style itself is weird, it’s the lengths Geeson will go to decorate his living quarters to match the style that Kurt thinks is weird. Although, the wood paneling and warm library feel is a good break from the cold metal halls that pollute the base. Kurt is swirling a hot sip of coffee around his tongue while the colonel sits across from him slowly rolling his knuckles, opposite a wooden desk decorated with antique trivialities. The two sit in that yet unbroken silence, waiting for the other to make their move.

               “So,” the Colonel says, licking his teeth, “did you have fun last night.”

               “You bet,” Kurt says with a point of his finger.

               “Amazing,” the Colonel makes special care to stretch out all of the vowels, “I truly. Truly! Exercise the most care in making sure that my men have the most fun while stationed here. It is truly their… duty… to have as much fun as possible while stationed here on Mars. Oh, never mind anything such as the job assigned to you, that can wait. Having fun, fucking off with your… whoever the hell… that! That is what you’re here to do.”

               “Oh, I strive to make you very proud Geeson.”

               “I’m sure you do cock sucker,” the Colonel leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

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  • 2 weeks later...

It's pretty cheesy and in a good way, i don't really see any grammar mistakes so it's pretty good.

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On 5/22/2020 at 1:34 AM, BluePineapple72 said:

Shit knows I should write a certain amount every day or so...

proofread it or like change some words or change some shit or how like this a rough draft or something... 

“Aw… shit.”

It’s about to be another shitty day in a shittier month on the shittiest planet in the solar system. By all accounts, Venus is widely regarded as being the worst of the worst when it comes to assigned postings of the Sol-brigade. Jupiter smells horrible, and Uranus isn’t one for the seasick. But for Specialist Kurt Jonvern, any ground he walks on in the boots of military service is the shittiest ground of them all... 

“Oh, you’re more than late shithead: you’re fucked,” she says, “what is this, the third time?”

The key word here is shit

 

all jokes aside, this is great! I know that this would be fun for Doomworld, but I think that you should try to actually write a real book. your writing style is great, and definitely something that would be an interesting read. never give up, and make something great! I believe in you! everyone's got talent, and I think this is one of yours!

 

Great job!

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10 minutes ago, LiT_gam3r said:

The key word here is shit

 

all jokes aside, this is great! I know that this would be fun for Doomworld, but I think that you should try to actually write a real book. your writing style is great, and definitely something that would be an interesting read. never give up, and make something great! I believe in you! everyone's got talent, and I think this is one of yours!

 

Great job!

Aw! Thank you very much!

 

Ive been tossing around a few ideas for stories I want to write, but I just haven’t gotten a round to it. I know I need to finish this one but.... I don’t know man. I’ll do it later. 
 

But seriously! Thank you very much! Your comment was a huge boost to my confidence. You alone may have inspired me to pick this story back up!

 

@DRMman

 

That was my intention! I wanted to channel as music 80s cheese energy as I could possibly muster (and a little doom comic energy as well ;) ), while still maintaining a nice sheen of sincerity. Think Robocop, or (almost) any Swarzenegger film. 

Edited by BluePineapple72

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