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Topics - SnakeClock

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General Discussion / S
« on: August 15, 2014, 12:09:18 PM »

Sorry, you guys. Bit of a cop-out this year, but I've got a job interview in an hour. Happy Clock Day!

Clock Day 2013 / Duck.FLA Tales
« on: August 15, 2013, 05:25:41 PM »

Not just one, but TWO Flashes from me this year! My life really IS like a hurricane! Vote five!

By the way, if anyone finds the SUPER-SECRET SCENE, let me know.

Clock Day 2013 / Be Filled With Joy!
« on: August 15, 2013, 05:24:57 PM »

Vote five! It will fill our king with joy!

Clock Day 2012 / Pube Muppit Becomes the Universe
« on: August 15, 2012, 05:23:46 PM »

Pube Muppit's faggotry has reached such an extent that he was able to transcend his physical form and travel through time and space, and has chosen to confront the Almighty, to demonstrate that He has met his equal. Unfortunately, Pube Muppit's grand plan for the universe quickly starts to go awry.

I was hoping to finish What Is B this year, but it wasn't coming together in time, so I dashed this together. Enjoy!

General Discussion / I Need Two Voice Actors For My Clock Day Movie
« on: August 01, 2012, 02:38:09 PM »
What Is B? is almost done, but I don't like the Speakonia voices I've been using, so I'd like to get a pair of real voices to replace them.

There are two characters in this movie: SnakeClock and StrawberryClock. If you're interested in doing voicework for the movie, you can look at or download the script as a PDF here:

SnakeClock's lines are coloured blue, StrawberryClock's lines are coloured in red.

Keep in mind that this is a poem, so it needs to be read with a certain rhythm. If you're interested, let me know who you want to do a voice for, and send me some sample lines. If I like what I hear, I'll put you down as the voice actor, and ask you to record the rest. Thanks, everyone!

Mrs. McGruder's House / How Black is Kodiak?
« on: October 12, 2011, 01:36:33 AM »

This black.

The three games in question are:

  • Paper Mario
  • Mischief Makers
  • NFL Quarterback Club '99

What games should I get to bolster my collection a little? Rareware titles have circulated through my collection a lot, such as Conker's Bad Fur Day and Diddy Kong Racing (it's actually uncanny how often I've clamoured for Rare's N64 games), but what are some other titles worth pursuing?

It's a story about a genie who gets forced out of her bottle during the Battle of Baghdad, and now finds herself in a place and culture that she's unfamiliar with, even though it's still technically the one she came from.


A World Without Wishes

She walked the sun-baked streets, the sun above her still as abrasively bright and hot as she remembered it. The sun, however, was the only thing she still recognized.

The streets of her city, once lined with beautiful palaces, gardens and gates, were now surrounded by square, tan, purpose-built buildings, where there wasn’t rubble and remains. Once bustling, the streets here were now deserted, and they were covered in some kind of hard, black substance, like tar. The air was also quite silent, no longer bustling with excited chatter and song, just the hot desert zephyr and an occasional, muffled boom in the distance.

She ran into the occasional other person here and there, mostly tall, white men in strange, baggy clothes just as brown and tan as the dull surroundings. They shouted angrily at her in a language she did not recognize, and when they forcibly tried to take her away, she charmed them into forgetting her, and letting her pass.

The clothes she wore were airy and left little to the imagination, as fit the climate, and seemed to be made of a material far finer than silk. Golden bracelets and charms jangled gently from her wrists and ankles as she walked, her deep brown eyes were half-closed, looking almost sorrowful behind their youthful seductiveness.

She was a slender girl, her brown, bare curves shallow and soft. She was a spectacular beauty, to be certain, her long umber hair tumbling down her back like a bolt of silk, her face stunning to behold, but she was quite an understated beauty. Her delicate bare feet walked the streets slowly, pebbles and glass crunching underfoot, but she didn’t seem to notice, nor did her feet bleed or blister. In fact, if you looked at her closely, she seemed to have an almost smokey appearance about her. As she walked, it seemed almost as if small wisps lingered behind her, like a vapour that rose from her body.

She looked down at the unfamiliar black road, her expression distant and despondent. She walked slowly, but did not shuffle her feet as much as she could help it. She was well-mannered, and to drag one’s feet when they walked was slothful.

A few hours ago, she was in regal comfort in her private quarters, as she had been for untold years. It was an opulent chamber, all colourful pillows, rugs and draperies. It was a large chamber, large enough that it almost echoed, but she was there all by herself, feeling the time pass, waiting for someone worthy to summon her. She knew when she would be called, because the chamber was lit by thousands and thousands of candles. If she was summoned from her chamber, all the candles would be snuffed out, and the white smoke would rise to a vent high above her. She would join this smoke and rise out of this place with it, to greet the lucky soul that summoned her.

What she did not expect, however, was her chamber to be violently shaken. She was suddenly stirred from an almost trancelike boredom by a sudden loud crash that shook her whole chamber. Before she knew it, her whole home was spinning wildly, rolling end-over-end, throwing her around like a cork. Her thousands of candles were upended, and set many of her adornments on fire, engulfing her room in a violent inferno.

In a panic, she dived out of the opening at the top of her chamber when it flipped around, escaping the raging flames. She rolled and tumbled against the ground outside, but was unhurt, and unscarred by the fire, thanks to her immortal composure. Panic-stricken and out of breath, it was a short while before she stood up to examine the damage.

To one side of her, a smoking black crater. To the other, a colourful, round bottle lay at her feet. It had a long neck, wrapped in a straw-like lattice shell, tied with all kinds of colourful strings and small pieces of fabric. The bottle was utterly destroyed, the latticework in tatters, the pieces of coloured fabric black and smouldering, and the deep green bottle itself smashed to bits. Black smoke rose from the ruined remains, the only evidence of the firestorm inside it. This vessel that was once this charmed spirit’s home, she was now able to pick it up in her hands.

So now here she stood, a ginnī with no home, and no master. A ginnī does not do well without either; brash and hot-tempered a creature as they are, they are slaves to whomever finds them, and while they are without one, they make comfortable livings in lamps and bottles, waiting for their candles to go out again. This one, though, now had neither, and she had not been summoned in what must have seen like an unfathomably long time: nothing around her was as she remembered it, except the sun she always knew.

So, left with no purpose to her existence, she did the only thing she knew what to do: walk away.

But even that showed little promise. She could not fathom the trauma she just experienced, and so she walked the streets in a stupor, too stunned to be angry or sad or terrified. She was a Hidden One that no longer had a place to hide. She saw no bronze lamps or colourful bottles lying on the streets; just scattered bricks, rebar sticking out of the ground like bony fingers, and the occasional body.

She walked aimlessly through the streets, until she heard a noise that stood out from her over the weak wind: a rustling sound, close by her. Glancing up, she caught a glimpse of someone ducking away into a small house. It’s impossible to hide from a Hidden One, the ginnī thought to herself, and overwhelmed with curiosity, she went into the house to see who this was.

It was dark in the house, and rather bare. What little furniture was there was upended or smashed. This must be the house of a peasant, the girl thought to herself; I’ve dealt with peasants before.

Quick footsteps sounded out from a nearby set of stairs, and she trotted up them quickly. The second storey was even more bare, and much brighter; it had many windows, which were smashed out. Walking slowly through the sunny halls, looking around bemusedly, she eventually found the person she heard, huddling in the corner, his back to her. He looked like he was trying not to move, but he shivered quite a bit.

The girl blinked in confusion at this person, the first one she had seen that wasn’t white and shouting at her. He didn’t look like them: he was much smaller, darker-haired, and was wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts. Unsure what to make of him, she kept her distance, but leaned closer to him.

“...Hello?” she called, softly. The man turned his head slightly, and turned suddenly around when he saw her, his eyes wide with amazement, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths.

“Who are you?” she asked, secretly hoping this man spoke her language, unlike the others she had seen. His lack of response was not promising, but she was also taught to be patient.

“...Where did you come from?” she continued, seeing if this would let her know what strange place she found herself.

“...I-I should ask you the same thing!” he said back, breathlessly. The girl smiled when he heard him speak in her language.

“I’m from Baghdad,” she replied, “is this not Baghdad?”

“Baghdad?” said the young man. “Of course it is, but where are you from? Were you at a costume party or something when the bombs dropped?”

“Bombs? What?” she replied. “No, I was at home, when suddenly it was shaken up, and I got out before it shattered.”

“I... Why were you dressed like that at your house?” the man continued, no less confused. The girl tilted her head, making a screwed-up face.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he said, “my name is Hassan. What’s yours?”

“Maamazi,” answered the girl. The man came out slowly from the corner, and looked at her with an incredibly baffled expression.

“What sort of a name is that?” he asked. Maamazi crossed her arms and looked back with a playful scowl.

“It’s my name!” she remarked. “Better than Hassan, to be sure. Now, you’re certain this is Baghdad?”

“Very certain.”

“But where are the palaces?” Maamazi asked, indignantly. “The gardens, the bazaars, the baths? Did the Mongols invade again?”

“The Mongols?” Hassan said. “Are you joking?”

“It’s nothing to joke about,” she answered, “the last time they were here, they razed the House of Wisdom. It’s a shame, too; I liked hanging out there.”

“‘Hanging out there’?” he continued. “What are you talking about? That was nearly 800 years ago!”

Maamazi blinked in disbelief. “Was it? My, I have been gone a long time.”

There was a long pause. Hassan stared at her, Maamazi stared idly at the ceiling.

“...What are you?”

“A djinn, of course,” she announced with a certain panache. “A djinn in a bad place, I must admit.”

Hassan hung his head.

“I’ve seen a lot of cold, hard reality today,” he said. “An army from across the ocean thought we needed to be liberated, which they did by hailing fire upon us. They left our proudest city open like a vault with a broken lock, and the vultures and the desperate tore off the pieces of it they wanted the most.”

He looked up at Maamazi.

“The last thing I thought I’d see after all this was a fairy tale.”

Maamazi looked back at him, cock-eyed and unsure how to respond.

“So what are you doing here, then?” he finally asked. “Shouldn’t you be, um... In a lamp or a bottle or something?”

“I was in a bottle,” she said, “but it ended up falling and getting smashed. Now I’m just in the open.”

She embraced herself, as if she was cold, and looked around tensely.

“I don’t feel very comfortable about it...” she admitted.

“Why not?” Hassan asked innocently.

“A djinn without a master is supposed to be hidden,” she explained, “we can hide anywhere, in bottles or lamps or clay pots. We reward those who are curious enough to find us, we are bound to do whatever they so desire, until we fulfill their wildest dreams.”

“Um... Well, I just found you,” Hassan suggested meekly, “does that mean I get three wishes, or something?”

Maamazi leered at him.

“That’s a bit forward, isn’t it?”

“Um, I meant nothing by it,” Hassan replied embarrassingly, “just I thought that’s what you were suggesting.”

“Well, I was the one that actually found you,” she corrected, “but it might make me feel better to use my old magic again.”

Maamazi waved her hands in a strange way, and the scattered furniture around the room stood back up, arranging themselves neatly, the rubble sliding out of the way as best it could. Fat silk cushions popped out of the air like bubbles and settled on the bare chairs. Draperies and rugs streamed out of the air and cast themselves across the floor and tables. Little brass lamps popped out of nowhere, and even in the bright, arid room, it gave the room a homey charm.

After it was done, Hassan and Maamazi stood in the middle of it all, him looking quite wonderstruck, her looking very proud of herself.

“Well?” she said. “Won’t you take a seat?”

Hassan, still stunned silent, did sit down in a chair behind him, sinking down slightly as he sat on the plush, puffy cushion. Once he was sat, Maamazi lied down on a pile of pillows at her feet, looking up at Hassan as she was draped lavishly in front of him.

“Well, go on,” she offered. “Your wish is my... courtesy, I guess.”

“Not your command?” suggested Hassan. Maamazi shrugged.

“You’re not my master, I’m just bored and felt like doing you a favour,” she remarked, “so go on, what are you after?”

“Um... I’m not sure. This is a pretty sudden thing to ask me, under these conditions.”

“I’m sure you can come up with something,” reasoned Maamazi, “just give it some thought.”

“Well... Honestly, there’s a lot I wish for, but not a lot of wishes I can make.”
Maamazi blinked confusedly. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what did people wish for in the old days? Power, riches, fame, immortality... and you could grant these things if I asked for them?”

“No problem at all, just say the word.”

“I can’t wish for those things, not in a time like this,” reasoned Hassan. “Where I’m from is so screwed up, those kind of wishes would be selfish and juvenile. There’s a lot I could wish for, like peace in this region, skilled leadership, a true return of the Baghdad you once knew. We’re from the same place, but those two places could not be more different.”

Maamazi sat up on her cushions, suddenly quite rapt with Hassan’s description.

“These are things I wish for, things I hope for, but they’re not wishes I can make. I can’t really ask of you to fix the world, impart a bit of sanity, and restore the pride and beauty that were the foundations of my people. You... you’re like a time capsule, a little piece of history, suddenly forced here by the toils of the present.”

“...Are you some sort of poet?” the djinn asked, innocently.

“I’m not sure,” Hassan replied, “that’s just what I feel, finding you after this happened.”

“This new world I’m in... it’s a world where wishes do little good, don’t they?” she said. “The things that everyone needs to wish for, they’re not in anyone’s power, especially not my little magic tricks. How can these wishes be granted, Hassan?”

“I’m not sure of that, either,” he admitted. “Things seem to compromised to let that happen.”

“It... would be hard for me here, in a world without wishes. Maybe it’s time I went to the Majlis al-Jinn.”

“The what?” Hassan asked, curiously.

“The Meeting Place of the Jinn,” she repeated, “it’s a great, sacred chamber out in the desert; some of us have nicknamed it ‘The Bottle of the World’. It is where a djinni goes if she feels like she can’t do her duties in the world anymore; it’s where they can start again.”

“The Meeting Place of the Jinn? You mean that huge cave in Oman?” he clarified. Maamazi stood up excitedly, and nodded.

“That’s the place,” she said. “You know of it?”

“I know it’s over 1000 miles from here,” he remarked.

“Then we’d better get started,” she replied. “Come on, we can ride down the Tigris a bit and-”

“Wait, we?” Hassan said. “When did I get involved?”

“You can guide me there,” she suggested. “I lived a simple and charmed life, 800 years ago. If everything is as different, and as dangerous, as you say it is, I’ll need someone by my side for guidance. Don’t worry; I’ll be able to protect you on our journey.”

“...But what about the end?” he asked. “What happens when we get to Maljis al-Jinn?”

Maamazi stared idly at the ceiling, deep in thought.

“I’m not too sure,” she said slowly, “all I know is that if I was ever in trouble, I would just need to go there, and everything will be alright. Will you come with me?”

Hassan looked around the room, still beautifully lit by candles of enchanted flame, even the drab walls and furniture looking almost palatial in its light. Outside, the sun was still bright and hot, and distant sounds of explosions came in though the window.

He stood from his chair.

“It’s not like much is keeping me here,” he asserted, “and it would be an experience like no other to travel with a djinni. Let’s do it!”

Maamazi’s face brightened up happily, looking all the more beautiful for it.

“Hooray!” she said. “Come on, then! I haven’t been anywhere in 800 years, I’m anxious to get going!”

She started to walk out the door, but noticed Hassan still looking awkwardly about the room.

“Wouldn’t this look... suspicious, if someone found it?”

Maamazi shrugged.

“It’ll be a nice surprise for them,” she said. “Come on, you can show me the way to the Tigris.”

“Alright,” Hassan said, and went to the door with her. They walked abreast down the hall, prepared to go back out into the street.

“Thanks for doing this for me, Hassan,” she said to him. “I wouldn’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t found you, here in this city I’ve never known. For all I know, I could have wandered the streets forever.”

“Well, I’m glad to have met you,” he said back. “My life seemed to fall apart after this day, but now I’m walking with one of the spirits of Allah. Who knows where we’ll walk together? Maybe you and I will find a place where there are still wishes to make.”

“Maybe,” Maamazi said, as they walked back into the familiar sun.


The parts I like best are at the beginning, before all the dialogue starts. I think towards the end, the dialogue gets a bit stilted; it probably needs a bit of a polish. Perhaps I should try and see if I can depict this entire story in narration, rather than dialogue?

Comedy Goldmine / So Apparently Second Prize for Madness Day was $750
« on: October 06, 2011, 11:27:58 PM »
Where the hell are shitty cartoons like this getting that kind of sponsorship?

Y'know, the one with all the pegasuses and the unicorns.

It was always my least favourite bit since it's so twee and cartoonish, but it just occurred to me that it reminds me uncannily of that silly new My Little Pony show, what with all the brightly coloured horses drawn with soft, simple lines, prancing around and generally being silly.

Damn you, My Little Pony! :fuckyou:

Entertainment / What Blu-rays Should I Get?
« on: October 05, 2011, 04:25:05 PM »
I just got a new PS3 and hi-def TV, and I'm wondering what are some movies I should get to take advantage of the PS3's Blu-ray capability? So far, I've got the Fantasia/Fantasia 2000 Double-Pack, the Avatar extended edition, Dark City Director's Cut (bought during my local Blockbuster's closing sale), and Ocean's Thirteen. Other movies I've thought of getting are L.A. Confidential, WALL-E, and The Secret of Kells. Any other ideas?

Reading and Writing / I'm Reading Naked Lunch, by William S. Burroughs
« on: October 03, 2011, 12:23:53 AM »
It's really weird. :concerned:

Clock Day 2011 / The Complete Duck.FLA Collection
« on: August 15, 2011, 11:59:30 AM »

I know I said I'd have "What Is B?" done for this year, but a week before Clock Day, I noticed that all my sound files got corrupted, and that annoyed me so much that I thought I'd rather do a bit of spam this year.

Anyways, here it is. Vote five!

Mrs. McGruder's House / Where Is WindUp?
« on: August 27, 2010, 01:35:58 PM »
I miss his jolly antics. :(

Clock Day 2010 / What Is B? Trailer
« on: August 15, 2010, 01:45:54 PM »

I'll have another movie for later if Flash can stop crashing for five seconds.

Entertainment / Avatar: Special Edition
« on: August 13, 2010, 10:43:05 AM »
Well after we're all done shitting our pants over Scott Pilgrim, James Cameron's going to try and bleed us all a little more with a new, uncut release of Avatar:

There's ten minutes or so of new footage, including Ney'tiri chasing around some of those helicopter-lizards like a giddy little girl, extended war scenes, and of course, the Jake and Ney'tiri boning scene that was skimmed over in the original cut. That should at least help the film clear three billion.

Coming out August 27.

Mrs. McGruder's House / Thor Appreciation Thread
« on: July 31, 2010, 12:58:58 AM »

My God.


Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.


General Discussion / The World's Most Useless Machine
« on: January 05, 2010, 12:07:11 PM »

Technology has reached its zenith.

Mrs. McGruder's House / I Had So Many Weird Dreams Last Night
« on: January 01, 2010, 11:26:40 AM »
I know it's a scientific fact that there is nothing in the world more boring than hearing about other people's dreams, but this is more dreams than I've had all last year, and they were pretty weird.

The first one was where I went into the attic of my dad's two-storey garage, and part of it was outside for some reason, on some kind of wooden platform. The boxes were all full of rare video games and things I didn't know we had, like a mint-in-box copy of Super Mario RPG, a bunch of really old Sega Genesis games, a bunch of old iMac G3s, and so on. Weirdest, though, was this system that combined an NES and an Atari 2600 that looked like this:

Except there was an Atari cartridge port in the back and a bunch of exposed plugs on the side, and this weird, rusty switch that looked sort of like this:


I wasn't sure what it was for. Anyways, when I tried to start it up with an Atari game (which we also had a lot of for some reason), it kept making a weird grinding noise and the TV blinked. I tried to figure out what to do, and it was apparently missing a part. I put it in, but the game didn't look right.

Then I woke up and thought to myself "Aw dammit, that big warehouse full of games was probably just a dream." Weirdly, though, I think this part was part of the dream, too. I though I'd go take a look through the "warehouse" the next morning, and went back to sleep.

Then I dreamed I was watching Jeremy Clarkson testing a car on Top Gear called the Volkswagen Stieg (which is apparently German for "rose", but I didn't know that before), a small coupe model. It was white with a black soft-top, and it looked a bit like a late-80s Jetta but with the backseats removed and it was a lot more slick. Clarkson was driving really fast in it on the highway near my house, much to the chagrin of some guy next to him who insisted he slowed down.

At the end, he had taken the car back and was feeding ducks at a pond, ruminating some more about the Stieg. Weirdly, he didn't talk much about the car while he was driving it, and I woke up (for real) before I could hear any more about it.

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