Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Adventure #5: Eyeballs and suffering (feat. Jeremy)

Jeremy: Load
Brad: ....................................................
Brad: ..........
Brad: .
Jeremy: look
Brad: Welcome to Brad And Shay's Textellent Adventure. You stand in a clearing, knee deep in orange mist. To the North is a CAVE. To the south is SEVEN MAIDS a MILKING. To the East is a Legendary Lake. To the west is RODNEY DANGERFIELD
Jeremy: s
Brad: You approach SEVEN MAIDS a MILKING, but the path is blocked by a pile of basketballs, and a troll with a glass eye, who voted libertarian in the last election. He is very guarded about his name.
Jeremy: ask about glass eye
Brad: "You may not ask me questions until you find my name. These basketballs will attack on command!"
Brad: "Attack" yells BOSCO the troll, as nothing happens, since basketballs are inanimate objects and their magical abilities only exist in his mind.
Jeremy: Pickup basketball
Brad: A SPALDING basketball, ordinary in every way. Something is inside, however. and rattles as if it were a fish made of metal and cheese.
Jeremy: Throw basketball at BOSCO
Brad: Don't understand 'At'
Jeremy: Hit BOSCO with Basketball
Brad: Bosco goes down in flames, his glass eye rolls out of his thudded skull and stops at your feet, looking up and slightly to the left.
Jeremy: pickup eye
Brad: It's warm and soggy, and feels magical.
Jeremy: use eye
Brad: You grab the nearest stick and gouge your left eye out, painfully crying tears of blood and agony as you watch the stick remove the last bits of your once perfectly functional left eye. You insert the glass eye in your socket and begin to feel strange, as if you can see normal out of your right eye, and in 1970s disco fantastic vision© in your left eye.
Jeremy: look
Brad: You are on a path, a pile of Basketballs to the South, to the north, is PLANETFUNTIME AMAZING GIRAFFE Job fair. To the East are trees, to the west are Trees. In your left eye is INFECTION.
Jeremy: take basketball
Jeremy: e
Brad: You take one basketball and walk East. into several trees, banging your head on the thick woollen bark.
Brad: the way is clogged with vines and undergrowth, and littered with the remains of travelers and salesmen.
Jeremy: look woollen
Brad: The thick shaggy hide of the trees flow in the breeze. You have a strong desire to comb the trees. On the ground is Mr. ActionComb 2000. To the West is the path. In your left eye is MORE INFECTION.
Jeremy: hold eye
Jeremy: w
Brad: You remove your bloodied glass eye, a sickening TWOCK sound echoes through the great wooly trees. Obviously you don't care to comb the trees, and they are miffed at you. You travel back towards the path. A pile of Basketballs to the South, to the north, is PLANETFUNTIME AMAZING GIRAFFE Job fair. To the East are trees, to the west are Trees. In your left eye socket is an UNGODLY AMOUNT OF INFECTION.
Jeremy: n
Brad: You make your way North, occasionally stumbling, losing your concentration due to the UNHOLY MASSIVE AMOUNT OF BODILY FLUID TAINTING INFECTION taking up residence inside the left half of your stubborn "i don't want to comb the trees" head. As you reach the entry gate of PLANETFUNTIME AMAZING GIRAFFE Job fair, you beging to suffer greatly from dizziness, lack of speech, and begin to hallucinate tastes and smells such as: Moss, Tabletop Varnish, and sheetrock dust. You stand at the gate and realize you have no ticket. On the other side of the gate is a sign.
Jeremy: read sign
Brad: The words, blurried and barely coherent due to INTENSE BLOOD LOSS FROM INFECTION AND TOENAIL SMOLDERING PAIN FROM GAPING WOUND IN HEAD, reads: "Tickets available in the trees, comb them gently for extra FUNTIME happy ticket amazing." You have 14 seconds to live before your body convulses and liquefies.
Jeremy: sit down
Jeremy: close eye
Brad: You sit, barely aware of the decay coursing through your veins. Children and puppies and happy people avoid you on their way to the Job Fair. You close your one good eye, as the last thing you see is a basket full of LOWFAT ANTI INFECTION OINTMENT SALVE in the crook of a woolen tree. The tree ominously acknowledges your fate, and will tell his poker buddies how "The man who wouldn't comb us" died sputtering.
Brad: The Chiggers won't even eat your OMGINFECTIONPALOOZA body.
Brad: Game over.
Jeremy: From heaven above: *smile*
Brad: Unfortunately you have been sent to tree heaven, and have been made a COMBINGSLAVE level 1.
Brad: There are no smiles in tree heaven.

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