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The Way of Moderation has ended (page 566)

Posted Nov 21, '09 at 12:40am



10,088 posts

I'm working on my entry . . . I'll get it before Monday, if time permits.


Posted Nov 21, '09 at 6:18am



14,025 posts


Hopefully the next round should begin on Sunday. Oh wait, there is still people posting...
When the entries we have been promised have been send and posted, then.

And just mentioning again:
Delay = send us an email = no trouble.
Delay = Saying nothing/mentioning it in thread after deadline/mentioning in thread long after deadline = Trouble, and more delay.


Posted Nov 21, '09 at 8:25am



21 posts

I'll be posting mine around... After 12:00 or so. About to leave to someplace for four hours, and I still have some additions/revisions and such. So yeah.


Posted Nov 21, '09 at 11:07am



21 posts

Hey guys

(Strop sez: since we've more-or-less ascertained everybody's activity now, I'll be going ahead and posting the entry, and looking into starting the next round ASAP after. The following was jointly written by Cen and

Rule Sixteen

One of the first things Strip noticed about her change was that apart from the ninja-suit and several of the... articles Strop liked to keep in his closet, her wardrobe was completely different. Particularly the t-shirts.

I'd just like to take this moment to comment on how much I love Cen's sketches- Strop


Somewhere in Newgrounds

"Hurry up will you?" Strip called over her shoulder.

Cen didn't reply. All his efforts were focused on somehow not dropping the hundred-or-so bags and boxes he was carrying, each one of them filled with a new kind of trash accessory. Actually, come to think of it, judging by the plethora of neon signs blaring questionable things, Cen really did have to wonder what kind of things were in said boxes, but he was so bored stiff that he couldn't even rouse his curiosity to ask.

"Oh, look!" Cen deliberately turned the other way at Strip's excited squeal. Surely it was another window-front full of inappropriate themed wares or something shiny. Then a black furry hand forcibly grabbed his jaw and wrenched it the other way.

"It's a forum!" Sure enough, people of various ilk had congregated in a giant square, except it was vast. Several times vaster than the humble atrium of AG. And several times more chaotic, too. Between the cheap one-liners, penis jokes and 4-chan memes it was fairly impossible to make head or tail of when one garbled line of chatspeak ended and another started.

"Wait, where are you going?" Cen started, as Strip plunged towards the center of the square without hesitation. "I thought you didn't like the NG forums."

"I'm not Strop, now," Strip shot back with a grin. "I'm a girl on teh internetz." And with a bounce and a swish of her tail, she jiggled through the crowd. Cen facepalmed. That grin surely spelt trouble.

Sure enough, not two seconds later, there was a collective gasp as a voice yelled out, "Jacob is soooo hotter than Edward!"


"Real vampires sparkle!" Strip yelled in a cocky way, while the group of people around her were almost tripping over each other to punch her hard in the face, while yelling that Twilight were for noobs and gays. Cen simply observed the crazy unfold itself in the busy shopping mall in NG. He wondered for a moment if he should try and help Strip out of the mess she were clearly jumping deeper and deeper into, but concluded that he did not really care to help her out of her own problems. She should be aware of it herself, and yet she was whinnying up about the wonderes of sparkly vampires and how Bella was how every girl should be and do. A few people had already lit up molotov cocktails and everything else that was able to burn, but they were held back by a rare few people with a little sense left.

"Flaming is for f*****s." Strip grinned.

And the people with sense left was suddently gone and chaos broke out. Flammable items were thrown everywhere, not one getting near Strip who laughed at the, to her, hilarious scene.

"STOP!" A police officer stared at the mess where every user had frozen up in whatever position they had been in before he had yelled. Cen nodded approvingly of the respect people had for mods here, before he realized it wasn't respect as much as the giant group og police officers standing a few meters behind the other, ready with clubs and water cannons. Strip... Strip saw nothing and continued her wild trolling with mentions of "their momma" and narutards.

The officer cleared his throat, poking her on the shoulder. Strip turned around, looking curiously at the officer, seemingly without realizing what he was doing there, much less why he looked rather pissed or why he was in the middle of arresting her.

"What are you doing, can't you see I am kinda in the middle of something here?"

"You are arrested for trolling and creating chaos." He simply remarked, leading her towards the exit.

Cenere did take a moment to think of what else he could do that day before following the complaining Strip and rather annoyed officer. A weird beeping noise seemed to follow them, when they stepped out of the store and moments later he was the buttom of a pile of police people yelling about shoplifting and resurrection of the mafia.


"And to the left." Cen turned to the other side, and the officer took another photo, before leading him back to the cell. Nice and easy. Strip on the other hand was quite the opposite.

Uh, look, I'm going to have to link this indirectly because the image is probably a bit too racy to go on AG.

"I think that's enough Missie." The female officer dragged Strip to the cell with annoyed mumbles while Strip continued her, uhm, posings.

The door clanged shut. Strip shook the bars and poked her nose between them as far as it would go. "You're just jealous!" she called to the departing officer, but (fortunately) got no reply.

Strip humphed, then turned around. Cen was staring fixedly forward with an even more disapproving look than usual on his face.

"What? Can't a body do a good trolling now and then?"

Cen ignored her and remained seated on the bench. Strip glanced to the corner of the cell and hopped onto the bunk.

"Suit yourself. Shotgun the bed!" Then she promptly turned over and settled in for the night.

Cen finally looked over at the bed. There was only one, and it was being occupied by a certain mischievous filly. As if to unconsciously taunt him, Strip's tail twitched and her bum wiggled. Cen's own posterior was already getting numb from the hard metal bars of the bench.

It was going to be a long night.


Several days later, because Cenere refused to talk to Strip for a good while after that...

"Thanks," Strip said as she took the towel and started wiping herself off, oblivious to Cen's nose.

"Mmpf bhhh nnnht?" Cen attempted, before removing the bloody handkerchief: "Aren't you going to look for a cure?"

Strip shrugged, liberally flapping the straps of her tank-top. "No. There's no point. Have you heard what happened to some of the victestants? Something about a herbalist... and extra body parts..."

Cen decided it was better not to ask, so he redirected his line of enquiry, along with his line of sight. "But when do you expect to return to normal? Don't you have moderation duties?"

"Of course I do." Strip raised her arms, tying her still dripping mane into braids. "But if Zophia doesn't know how to reverse her own work, then we'll have to wait until Carlie returns. Administrators wouldn't have a problem fixing this."

"But... nobody knows when Carlie will return!"

"We can assume that she will, at least." Strip disappeared into an adjacent room, re-emerging some moments later in her ninja suit, wrapping her bandages on. "And besides, I'm kinda getting used to being ninja filly. I might be slower and weaker but there are... advantages."

Cen frowned, but didn't have time to reply (just as well), for there was a vibrating noise. Strip dug around in her ninja suit, and took out the modphone.

"Can I help you? Oh, hi Moe, what's up? Oh, woah, calm down... no, stop. Crying doesn't translate well over your voice-box. If it's that bad, I'll get right on it."

She slipped the phone back into her suit (wherever did it go!?), and clapped her hands. "See, and now for a demonstration!" She raised her hands and the familiar Thor (now much larger compared to its wielder) poofed into it. Then Strip dropped it with a startled squeak, and it crashed to the floor, splintering the wooden slats.

"Oops, a bit slippery," Strip muttered, before bending over (her back turned to Cen, who was now desperately fishing around for an unsoiled hanky), grasping the handle and lifting.

She couldn't lift the banhammer.

"So..." Cen said.

Strip panted, before straightening, fire in her eyes. "We need to find a cure. Right now."



Posted Nov 21, '09 at 5:50pm



21 posts

Frank gave a sigh, tapping his foot impatiently. It was time for the revelation of the challenges for the next round in the Way of Moderation. He had a cold, a headache, and he hadn't gotten enough sleep last night, and on top of all that, it was slowly growing colder in the Land of Armor. Frank had yet to prepare for the winter, when game would be sparse.

Up on the stage, Strop prepared for his speech.
"Thank you for making it out here. As you know, the past few days have been rather tumultuous." he said, brushing something from his eye.
"I shall now announce the results from the previous round. Cen?" The young man brought out a clipboard and slowly flipped through the pages. Strop bowed his head for a moment, probably reflecting upon something. Or meditating. Or maybe something else all mystical and ninja-like. Cenere cleared his throat, waving the results in Strop's face. The ninja snapped out of his trance, glancing over at Cen. Then he spotted the notes.
"Oh, yes, thank you." He took the notes and began to speak, but was cut short by a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to meet the disturbance.
"Hm?" He was met with what appeared to be a jester, but upon closer inspection, the figure was recognized as Zophia, a fellow moderator.
"Zophia, what in the name of McNeely are you- I mean, can I help you?" A sly grin slowly spread across the Dryohr.
"Trick... Or treat?" She dropped a small black sphere near Strop's feet.
"What are you talking abo- Uh!" Tic tic tic it went, and then exploded. When the smoke cleared, there was no sign of Zophia. The victestants got up from fetal pos- Duck-in-cover mode, and looked around, and then at Strop. Who had either magically obtained implants, or had taken waaaaaaaaaay too many steroids.
"Ugh, what was that...? Huh..." He looked towards Cenere, whose cheeks had flushed red.
"Since when did you grow so tall? And how come my voice has gone all high..." Strop cleared his throat, trying to work it out, but to no avail.
"Hrm... And why do I feel so lumpy? And what are these funny bumps on my ch-" Hi- Her head shot up in surprise. H- She knew what had happened. At this point, Frank had stopped staring at Strop's new endowments and examined his own body, which he realized had taken a turn for the femme. Wide eyed and shocked, he glanced around at all the other victestants. There was no longer any man - besides Cen - standing at the District Courts that morning. And one, in particular, really needed to cover up.
"Oh em gee..." Frances said, unable to find proper words to describe the glorror. "I have a... And... Ohmygosh..." She fainted, right there on the spot.

Several minutes later, Frances was startled awake by the sound of an engine revving. She rose, quickly spotting the source of the disturbance. It was beautiful. A Harley-Davidson 2010 XL1200N Sportster, completely customized to perfection. Jet black, chrome, and a whole lot of kickass. And it was all hers.
"I get the feeling I'm gonna be saying this a lot more often, but oh... my... god... It's... Perfect!" She pounced on the bike, hugging it's cool metal frame to her body. Then she got seated properly, released a wild laugh, and set off to the nearest clothing store, because she suddenly had the urge to purchase new shoes, among other, more necessary items.

Fortunately, there was a huge sale in the freemarket, and Frances was able to pick up a new pair of boots and some fingerless gloves, along with a tanned leather vest and black t-shirt. Sadly, the bra and panties were going to have to wait, because something was going on in the square. Somebody was... Selling something.
"Ugh. People should just keep to their stalls..." But this person wasn't. He- it was a he, Frances thought, but she couldn't tell through all that beard- was yelling about a cure for something. Whatever it was, though, Frances was sure she didn't need it. As she was walking out of the market, a small vial rolled unnoticed under her boot, tripping her and causing her to knock her head on the stone of the streets.
"Oooooh... Ow.... What was that...?" She probed her skull gingerly, searching for any sign of damage. There were two large bumps, but that seemed to be it. "Ugh... Dammit... Gonna have such a headache now..." Frances picked up a particularly ripe orange that had rolled near her feet, and proceeded to throw it at the old man, but before she could throw, some newbie got in her way. Though the orange made a satisfying squelch, it had missed it's target, and in turn, enraged the young newb. Flaming would soon follow.

The newb conjured up a fireball and threw it with, luckily, poor accuracy, and proceeded to throw another, and another.
"Oh, not good, not good!" Frances said to herself, trying to get by the crowds surrounding the square. An opening, and beyond, another group to get lost in. Good. Frances ran like mad through the opening, but before she could make it to safety, a bit of flame caught her in the foot. Quickly, batting her heel like hell, she suffocated the flame. But the newb was upon her, now. And conjuring up another fireball. Frances pounced, pinning the boy down, and quickly covering his mouth with her boot. "Whew... Okay, okay... Ah!" The newb was melting through her sole. "I just bought these, you little jerk! Grah!" Now, flame began to seep through Frances' own pores, nearly engulfing her in the stuff. Quickly, though, she calmed down. It was no good setting a poor example for a newb. But, that didn't mean that Frances couldn't make an example of the boy. So, she drew her bow and ordered the boy to follow in front of her, all the way to the Tavern. There, she tied the boy by his hands and feet to a target that she had dragged out, and proceeded to fire, each arrow pinning down his clothes in a different position, and nearly grazing the skin. Then, she took the target board, with the flamer, off of the stand, and kicked it down the nearest hill. "Well, that was fun. But now I need more arrows... I'll get some tomorrow. 'S gettng a bit late out."

So, after punishing the flamer and picking up the rest of the things she needed, Frances rode back to Profile Lane, did a few donuts in the street (to the annoyance of her neighbors), entered her apartment, and slumped into bed, hoping that Strip had found a cure for this gender swap. Or not. She couldn't decide. So instead, she went to sleep, looking forward to the morning.

Thar. Longer ending, too.


Posted Nov 21, '09 at 7:07pm



10,088 posts

My. Entry. Is. Almost. Finished

Coming to you soon.


Posted Nov 21, '09 at 7:18pm



4,696 posts

I finally sent mine in. I actually finished yesterday, but forgot to send it... :S


Posted Nov 21, '09 at 11:38pm



10,088 posts

It has been sent! Rejoice, thine brothers!


Posted Nov 21, '09 at 11:43pm



10,088 posts

It has been posted! Continue rejoicing, thine brothers! Continueeth unabated by my posting of thine story!

Chill awoke in what could be properly and with no reservations called a stupor. He got up out of bed, and already he could feel as though he was needing to carry himself differently. At first he thought he had put on weight, put when he froze up a quick mirror, he realized it was deeper than that.

She needed room to let the steam run off. He looked around the area, checking to make sure everything was in order, then he realized she was missing something. something . . . important. Slipping on anothe sweatshirt, Chill ran out into the armor stores to procure some proper female stuff.

"Okay, all I'm getting are girl shirts, girl pants, and- OMIGOSH OMIGOSH LOOK AT THSE SHOES" she ran over to the window, her eyes almost busting down the window with their covetous stare. He didn't know why. But she couldn't peel her eyes away. She had been rabidly fixated on a pair of shoes on display in a window that were multiple sizes too small for him.

Shaking her head, he continued onward. First stopping into a gneral store, she bought two pink pens and a pad of stationery the size of a shopping list - perfect! Now she could list all the stuff he wanted to buy.

Soon after, she found himself running back to the store to buy three more pads of paper, another pen (her first had already run out of ink) and a team of native bearers to carry all his stuff. Exiting the store, she led them out to the armor forest (she had also hired some armed guards, because she didn't trust the bearers with a girl alone in a forest) and took an inventory. In about four hours, Gail had bought:

47758 assorted pieces or sets of jewelry
1864311 pairs of shoes
239,000 gallons of ice cream
3650 scarves, one for each day in the year for the next millenium
76,000,000 posters of Edward Cullen
13,400 armed guards, complete with automatic rifles and hand grenades
974,000,000,000 native bearers to carry all the crap she bought

Looking around, she smiled and winked. "Everything's heee-eere," she chimed, closing her eyes and tilting her head in a stereotypical gesture of brattish contentment. So she led the fleet to her house, and dropped off the first round of stuff in a large underground warehouse she had had built earlier. Loading trucks were coming and going, and her very own combination of a wind farm and a photovoltaic field was providing power.

"Green is postmodern AND in!" is what she provided as her reason to the contractors.

A man wearing a hard hat (he was presumably in the shoe or the jewelry department, where small objects were prone to fall) and greeted him.

"Ma'am," he said, "There's a bit of a problem. WE're out of storage space, and there're still loading trucks coming in. What're your orders?"

Gail froze, visibly terrified. She started to tear up, before her eyes completely dried up and she began to get very angry.

"You know what? I think Zoph dropped the F-bomb a bit too early."

The man was perplexed.

"Why do I think this? Because even after that thing swept the entire god-d*** kingdom and totally flipped the chick-to-d**k ratio, there are still stupid, idiotic MEN coming in to this place every day who CAN'T. SOLVE. CRAP. ON THEIR. OWN! She began to perspire napalm (the gender change had also flipped the temperature change she controlled, so she was now sweating napalm instead of liquid nitrogen when angry) and the man was crying and trembling in terror.

"M-m-m-m-ma'a-a-a-a-a-m-m-m-m-m . . . s-s-s-sorryy . . . ." he whimpered.

Instantly Gail saw what he had said, and she began to weep. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you! IT's just that-that-that people always assume that because I'm a girl in the internet, I spend all my time looking up porn and pictures of puppies over the web! It's painful, yaknow?" Her tears began to steam off her face, vaporizing a nearby fly.

"Ma'am, what do you want me to do with the extra shipments?" The man asked, vexed.

"Hold 'em up, and send in some more helicopters to build another warehouse to put the new stuff in. I'm so sorry," she said, hugging the man and running away back to her house to get more money.

She was about to turn into the mall hwen she saw a man pitching something. Her interest piqued, she strolled over to see what he was talking about.

"Come one, come all, to Hectichermit's alchemy staaaaaaand! Special treatments today for the effects of the recent f-bomb! Mysterious potions that will correct all your genderial mutations in one sip! Sa-tep right up and try some for yourself, risk-free or your money and your life back!" The man smiled, and a quick sparkle illuminated his teeth as if the entire world was an infomercial and he was the pitchman.

Of course, Gail was transfixed, and pushed through the crowd to speak with him.

"Hello young lady, I do believe there's a line but you have a lot of money with you so I am kindly disregarding that! What are you searching for, today? Cure for the f-bomb, or maybe-"

"Yes, that's exactly it!"

"Then try this!"

"What's in it?"

"Triboron oxide, unonoctide, Nitrogen Strontide, aspartame, saccharine, guarana, mangosteen, liquefied moon rock, a dash of cinnamon, senna, some space-grade polymers, xanthan gum, soy lecithin, tree rosin, shea butter, naga jolokia, eup-

"DID YOU SAY SHEA BUTTER???????!?!?!?/!1?1/1//1///1/!//1!/1//1??!?!?!?!?!?!?!/1/!!/1/!/!/1//!?" Gail yelled.

"Yes, I! doooooo believe I diiid . . . .

"How is this stuff ingested?"

"It's drank straight."

"What does it taste like?"

"Like the sap and leaf of a spurge with some citrusy sweetness and a hint of unstable radioactivity to it. Did I mention that it's the leading example of how a dangerous neurotoxin can be extremely beneficial?"

"It sounds professional. I'll buy a bottle."

"That'll be . . . how much money do you have there?"

"Four dollars," Gail lied.

"Four dollars it is then!"

Gail took four dollars into her hand and gave it to the man. She had the rest of her money hidden, and for good reason.

She took the bottle in hand, closed her eyes, got some water, swallowed an extremely powerful sedative (the last ingredient of the drink was euphorbia sap, which contains a neurotoxin that causes a capsaicin-like heat sensation that scores a 16 billion on the Scoville heat unit scale. To put this in perspective, habanero peppers score a 350,000 on average.) and then chugged the entire thing.

The burn got through the sedative. She could feel the sap inside of her, burning up her stomach. She rushed to the restroom, where she remained for over 48 hours. Luckily, the guarana present in the drink kept her awake. And the mangosteen and rthe radioactive chemicals (strontium-90, ununoctium, etc.) kept her breath fresh.

Gail lost her memory for a few days, and woke up with a note taped to her forehead. It read "all 377 warehouses full. All of the legal and for-use underground property has been used up. You now own over 804 trillion retail items, and owe 3 quadrillion dollars to the industries of armorgames, which are now all filing for chapter 11 bankruptcy due to lack of inventory. Included in the stock of warehouse 274 are 460,000 money printing machines, of which it is advised you put to use.

After reading the note, she immediately got 5 dollars, went down to the bookstore, bought the entire writing catalogue of Norah Jones, and went home and began reading. All she knew after the potion debacle was that she was most certainly not cured of her femality, and just how dangerous a female version of her would be. Ending this on an emoish note, she spent the next three hours writing poetry, crying and drawing frowny faces on her forehead with the last remaining ounce of naturally occurring astatine.


Posted Nov 21, '09 at 11:46pm



4,437 posts

Funny Strop...I don't want to know where Strip kept the Modphone in her ninja suit, especially with its vibrate function...

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