Pals Prompts (excerpt)
\-\-\--
brian's words:
eat a dong
lick my love pump
phallus
red rocket
exfoliate
"you know, you get so tired of it sometimes. all these drunk hairy bears wandering in around bar time, starting off with something incredibly witty like 'care to eat a dong?' or 'lick my love pump', then eventually settling down enough to order some kind of coffee drink they won't drink, just end up passing out in. i'm sure they're slumped there drooling and dreaming: 'run from the red rocket! quick! the phallus will save us! into the phallus!' or something like that. by the time sunday night rolls around all i really want to do is wash out the coffeepots, turn out the lights, go home, and exfoliate. strip away the whole weekend. sometimes, depending how things turn out, i'll want to add 'toss some gas around and throw down a match' between 'turn out the lights' and 'go home'. the way things are going lately, chances are pretty good i'm going to wake to the cops knocking on my door one of these mornings."
\-\-\--
elly's words:
atmosphere
command
inexorable
Brian's prose is a stark and vivid portrait of bar life at its bleakest, with an unmistakably raw and unflinching voice that cuts right to the bone. The dialogue he fabricates for his patrons is crass but oddly poetic in its blunt absurdity—phrases like "lick my love pump" and "run from the red rocket!" feel both jarring and strangely rhythmic, almost as if they're part of a twisted nursery rhyme. His use of stark imagery, like slumped bodies drooling over half-drunk coffees or the longing for violent catharsis ("toss some gas around and throw down a match"), adds a layer of visceral honesty that makes his narrative compelling despite its bleakness. However, the structure can be a bit choppy; transitioning from the absurdity of drunken banter to the stark reality of waking up to police knocks could have been smoother. Despite this, the emotional undertones are clear: an overwhelming fatigue and frustration with a monotonous and sometimes dangerous routine that Brian yearns to escape, even if only through the act of exfoliation as symbolic of shedding the grime of the weekend.
—qwen2.5:32b, 2026-01-17