"In virtual life, there are but two true horrors: power surges and bad programming."
After running into ghost girl Ramona, she runs off and leaves you in the dust. You check your pocket to make sure she didn't make off with the twenty bucks her father gave you. To your relief, she only took a five.
Carrying on, you venture further into the rose-petal scented sewers beneath the wonderful haven of Innsmouth and come upon a man devoid of a face and leaking eyeholes; obviously, you conclude with your detective instincts, this man had been the inspirational source for Lady Gaga's latest outfit to express her individuality and non-totally-fucking-insane-personality.
Once you finish looking the man's pockets of his Rolex, pack of chewing gum and a broken pencil, you head further down the dank hallways until you are met with an unearthly sight for your already scorned eyes: amotherfuckingpuzzle.
Climbing atop the pool of water you look down and realize that getting in slimey, uncleanly water was just not your style. At this prospect, you kill around half and hour bashing your fucking head against rusted pipes until you finally open up Game FAQs and realize you're an absolute idiot and need to clean the pool THEN drain it; ignore the sense of low self-confidence and subconscious wishes of courage enough to commit suicide and carry on.
Once the pool is drained you carry onward through the pipe and are met with a reject character that was to be casted in The Weather Girls' music video for It's Raining Men. One acid trip later, said reject is eaten by a giant squid. NEAT.
Because life cannot get any worse, you decide to carry on and hope for the best. You're stupid. Oh, you also realize you can walk backwards now, but that's not important, because no one cares about your emotions.
As you progress upward up the ladders of the giant well-like-thing-that-just-so-happens-to-be-riddled-with-corpses-and-hanging-bodies, your ears are met with the wonderful sounds of Ramona complaining of menstrual cramps and fear of her growing body. This is understandable; because in 1922 sex-education was not the most popular course in public schools.
Even though you just spent time climbing upward, you decide to go down again because, honestly, why the fuck not? You are then greeted by Ramona, bloodied and scarred, behind the gate as she giggles nonchalantly about the predicament she is in (you also suggest she use the five dollars she lifted from you to purchase napkins, tampons, and some soap; but that is not important). Once she is spirited away, you turn to find more ladders.
Joy! Is what you think, but Fuck! is what happens, when you climb said ladder only to be motherfuckingshot by two fools waiting for you. But fear not, as once you go back down in plain sight of the two men, they shriek in bewilderment, asking of your current location and admitting their entirely confused nature of having absolutely nofuckingidea where in Dagon's name you went.
Oh, you also black out and can't move anymore. Or you have a seizure and hit your head. Or you have a heart attack. Or your internal mind computer's explorer.exe freaks out and you forget how to ctrl+alt+del, hit new process and command explorer.exe to run.
Seriously, your shit is fucked. You cannot help the way you were born. You cannot blame anyone for your current scenario. You cannot do anything but imagine what might have been:
Up that ladder, past the two men, lie in wait a rocket pack, a 4-pack of Monster Energy drinks, and three bags of beef jerky.
Such paradise, lost, within faulty programing.
May we meet again, Bus Driver Guy, Gilman the Handsome, Zadok the Drunkard, Lady-who-walks-backwards-to-taunt-me-but-I-learned-how-to-walk-backwards-so-it's-cool-now, Ramona the Zombie, Ruth the Prostitute, and you, Mister Insane Detective.
Until then, goodbye.
This article follows part nine.
This was very entertaining to read through. As with all your cancelled projects, I hope to see them completed/continued but am grateful for anything you (er) upload.
ReplyDelete... so there.