Lurker > HotLap

Work's been pretty busy lately, I'll try to get you guys an update before the weekend.
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Bump.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Thanks, man. u a real 1
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Bump. C seems to be a clear favorite.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

"In my defense, it seems you've been more villain than hero so far," Jimmy chides before realizing he may have upset you. "But I will digress to a different topic."
"Good," you whisper.
"How'd you get all super like?" he asks.
"That's not really a different topic, Jimmy. How'd you stay all normal like? Now that's a different topic," you declare.
"Well I have a 401k, I got married at 28, and I like to buy my cars used with a modest amount of miles on them. Normal's not great conversation," Jimmy states.
"It is for me," you shrug.
"Come on, you don't want to tell me?" Jimmy presses you.
You try not to roll your eyes in front of your host. "I was in a go-cart accident. My cart flipped over and I smashed my head off the pavement. When I healed, I had powers that I didn't have before, but I also had a nasty case of tourettes. The weirdest thing is, my ticks are only kept at bay with healthy dose of eggs every 36 hours. My last egg treatment was yesterday morning, so I was really lucky to meet you when I did."
Jimmy frowns. "Okay, fine. I get it. You don't have to tell me."
Worried you've offended your host, you tell him, "Look, it's nothing personal. It's not just you, I haven't told anybody about it. People probably think they want to know, but it's not really a happy story."
"Wouldn't it help to talk to someone about it?" Jimmy replies.
"Maybe. I'm not great at that though. Uuh, bathroom?" you ask.
"Yeah, down the hall," Jimmy points as his phone buzzes again.

As you close the door, you flick the scanner in your head back on, praying for a reason to leave. Jimmy's been kind to you, you don't want to blow him off with some half-assed excuse. Luckily, your prayers are answered as the scanner is ablaze with yells about a bank robbery in progress. Hostages have been taken. It's Memorial Bank just a few blocks from here.

You rush out of the bathroom and tell Jimmy as you head for the exit, "Hey thanks for the eggs man! Bank robbery is going down though, got to go!"
"Shit, hey sorry man! Don't go!" Jimmy calls after you as you close the door behind you. You sprint up to the roof and leap off towards Memorial Bank.

As you approach the bank you can see a couple cruisers outside, but no SWAT unit or anything yet. Most of the police are probably still down at Sloan Harbor.

What do you do?

A) Make your powers known to the officers at the scene and ask them what they want you to do.
B) Bust in there at full strength and try to take the robbers out.
C) Attempt to sneak into the bank and try to get yourself taken hostage.
D) Offer to act as communication between the two sides, but offer no immediate assistance.
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Jimmy puts his cigarette out and apologizes, "Oh, I'm sorry dude, I didn't mean it like that. Listen, if you promise not to accidentally destroy my apartment, I'll make you something to eat."
"That's nice man, but I don't know," you start.
"Hey, like I said, my wife's out of town," Jimmy cuts you off. "I don't have anyone to cook for. I've never met a hero before, let me cook you some breakfast."
"Breakfast? It's almost two in the afternoon," you inform him.
"Are you saying you don't want any eggs?" Jimmy asks.
"... Well yeah I could fuck with some eggs, sure," you confess.

You walk down to Jimmy's apartment and enter after him. You can tell his apartment definitely resembles one of a married person, even though there's the litter of a man who's been living on his own for a couple days scattered over it. He picks a flip phone up off his kitchen table and begins thumbing through it.
"A flip phone?" you ask, surprised. "Are you sure you're not having an affair?"
Jimmy laughs and answers, "Nah, I'm not. A few years ago I spent over fifty dollars on Candy Crush in a month. After that, my wife and I decided that maybe it was best for me to go back in time a little bit. Let me get to work on those eggs."

As Jimmy prepares a 2 PM breakfast, you move an empty pizza box from the couch to the coffee table and sit down. It looks like he was watching a Criminal Minds marathon before he went on the roof to smoke. The show was never really you or Mom's cup of tea, but you decide to changing the channel would be rude. Luckily, the eggs don't take too long and Jimmy calls you over to the kitchen.

He makes you each a plate of eggs with onions, peppers, and hot sauce in them. "So what's it like being a superhero?" he asks.
You can take a bite of eggs and say with a half-full mouth, "I don't really know yet, I've only been doing it a couple hours. So far, not great."
"You just started today? How long have you, uh... I dunno - been super?" he inquires.
"A little over a year now, I think."
"And you just started now?" he blurts out. "What have you been doing all this time?"
"Nothing really-" you begin as Jimmy's phone vibrates on the kitchen table.
Jimmy quickly flips it open and reads the message.
"You need to take that?" you ask him.
"Aaaah nah," Jimmy says as he finishes reading and flips his phone shut. "Just standard 'How is your day?' bullshit with the wife."
Happy to drive the attention away from your hero career, you say "Where's she off to today?"
"She is visiting her parents this week," Jimmy answers.
"Visiting her parents, eh? You know that's a textbook affair excuse," you suggest.
"That's true," he concedes. "But maybe she's only made it seem that way because she's actually smoking in secret too."
"Aww, that'd be romantic as fuck," you gush.
"I know, right?" Jimmy beams. "But for real, her parents are from the Houston area and she just went down to make sure everything was alright with them after the hurricane. Hey, that could be a good hero name for you."
"What, Harvey?" you guess.
"No, Hurricane," he corrects you.
"Eh, I don't know. That seems a little insensitive. And also more villain than hero," you say.
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"And how'd you hide the smell when you got back?"
"I'd pop a mint or a stick of gum. Maybe put a little cologne on," he says. "But I haven't been doing that as much lately. I think she's just gradually gotten used to the stink over time. She's out of town right now, but I'm not dumb enough to smoke in the apartment."
You're not so sure about his level of intelligence. "So you spontaneously just go for a walk more than three times a day and would come back wearing cologne with a minty mouth? She probably thought you were having an affair," you tell him.
"Oh shit," he mutters.
"But when she figured out the truth, she was probably so relieved it wasn't an affair she just let you keep on smoking," you finish.
The man nods slowly. "Are you saying I could have an affair as long as my wife thinks I'm doing something much worse initially?"
You laugh. "Yeah I guess so, I don't know. Maybe."

The man sticks his cigarette in his mouth and extends his hand. "Jimmy."
You shake his hand. Jimmy has blue eyes and dark auburn hair that's parted on the left side. His beard appears to be freshly trimmed and looks to be a lighter shade of red than his head. "Hero," you tell him.
"Hiro?" he inquires, a little confused. "You look pretty white to be a Hiro."
You don't bother correcting him. "I get that a lot."
"You live in the building, Hiro?" Jimmy asks.
"Nope."
"You visiting someone here?"
"Nope."
"Then how'd you get on the roof?" Jimmy wonders aloud as he looks around and takes another puff of his cigarette.
"I jumped," you tell him.
"Y-you jumped up a five story building?" Jimmy stammers. "And now you're just sitting here, weirdly making creepily accurate assumptions about my wife and I?"
You calmly roll off the side of the building.
"OH MY GOD!" Jimmy shouts as he rushes to the edge and leans over to see you treading air, bringing yourself to a gentle landing on the pavement. You squat and launch yourself back up to the roof next to Jimmy in a single bound.

Jimmy's brain takes a moment to process his new reality. He seems to connect the dots. "Ah, Hero. Not Hiro-san."
"That was mildly racist, Jimmy."
"Is Hero really your superhero name? That's a little lazy and frankly uninspired. Is your supersuit a beige polo and a sensible pair of khakis you bought on clearance at TJ Maxx?" Jimmy ribs you.
"I haven't thought of a name to be honest," you admit. "And I just came from a place where people were calling me Pudding Man, so anything's better than that really."
Jimmy makes a strained effort to not look down at your stomach. "I can't- I don't... I uh- can't imagine where people would get that name from."
At least he tried. "Thanks, Jimmy."
"So what are you doing on the roof?" he tries to change the subject.
"Listening to a police scanner, trying to find some crime to stop," you tell him. "But all the chatter is unfortunately about me."
"Why's that?" Jimmy asks with a quizzical look.
"I kinda accidentally destroyed most of an office building on the edge of town, so now all the cops are mainly concerned with that," you reply.
"Interesting..." Jimmy takes a step back.
"What's interesting about it?" you demand.
Jimmy shrugs. "It's just I've uh, never met a superhero before. I just figured that heroes were like... good at their jobs, I guess?"
"Thanks, Jimmy," you say, thinking about rolling off the roof again. "By the way, I don't feel guilty about the office incident at all," you say sarcastically.
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B) Listen to the police scanner in hopes of finding a juicy crime to stop.

The badly damaged Sloan Harbor office building grows smaller as you fly over the city. You can see several cruisers heading towards the direction you just took off from. Even though his marinara stained crotch was a distraction, Meatballs had a point. You weren't taking this hero thing very seriously. You walked into Sloan Harbor basically thinking Katie's problem was a joke. You didn't control your emotions and because of that, people got hurt and will probably lose their jobs. Although you didn't mean for it to happen, you're to blame for their pain and suffering, and that feeling sucks.

You land on top of an apartment building downtown. Your mother used to have an old police scanner that she'd listen to in her armchair for hours on end while she knit, read a book, or did other mom things. There were rarely ever any major crimes that were reported and even if there were, it wasn't like an episode of Cops where you could watch what happens. You could just listen to the patrol officer request another squad car for backup or say that they've apprehended a suspect and will be at the station soon. On most days, all that came through the scanner was the dispatch officer and the squad cars messing around like they had their own radio show. You asked your mother at one point, "Why do you listen to that thing all day when there are never any crimes reported?"
She smiled at you and said, "I listen to it all day because there are no crimes committed. It makes me feel great to live in a place so safe. If the scanner was chirping on and on about murder and gangbang all the time, I don't think I'd use it anymore. That'd be such a bummer to listen to, wouldn't it?"
"Mom, don't say gangbang."

Thanks to your mom, you memorized what channel the police broadcast on. You sit on the ledge of the building, put the tips of your thumb, pointer, and middle finger to your temple, and tune in to the static.
Not long after you tap into the channel, you hear, "We're gonna need more ambulances over here. Several injured, no fatalities so far, but we haven't finished going through the building yet."
The dispatch officer replies, "Any description of the suspect?"
"People here are saying it's some heavyset guy who did all this with a swing of his arms. A couple guys outside said he could fuckin' fly and shit?"
Oh right. You just accidentally committed corporate terrorism like five minutes ago, of course they're talking about you.

You listen to the officers describe you and the destruction you've wrought in greater detail while feeling increasingly guilty. After awhile your hear a door open behind and see a man in a grey t-shirt and flannel pajama pants walk out onto the roof. He gives you a friendly nod as he lights a cigarette. "My wife doesn't know I still smoke," he says. "So I have to come up here a few times a day."
"Believe me," you respond. "She knows."
"Why do you say that?" he asks.
You turn off the scanner in your head. It's all going to be about you for awhile anyways. "The smell's kind of hard to hide. I knew before you even lit that cigarette."
"If she knows, why hasn't she said anything?"
"Well, tell me this. How were you explaining just leaving your apartment for twenty minutes at a time?" you wonder.
"I'd tell her I was going for a walk or to the store or the post office. Something like that," he replies.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Writing an update now.
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Bump to keep alive
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Vortex_of_Hope posted...

Great to see you still doing CYOA too. Still funny as ever.

LordFarquad1312 posted...

HotLap posted...

Glad to see so many familiar faces (Smidge, Vortex, Farquad, teepan, fire_bolt) still here even though I haven't done one of these in like 2+ years.

I specifically tagged you in case something like this happened, but I pretty much remember your username by now anyway. Glad you decided to make a new one!

SmidgeIsntBack posted...

Your cyoas are some of the funniest things I've read on the internet. I've always regularly searched "cyoa" on this board in the hope you have something new, especially nowadays when CE is such a political shithole and very few people just want to make people laugh. So thank you for that.

Thanks dudes. I love doing these for you guys, but it's hard to find time these days. I started writing these on CE when I was 16 I think and just turned 25. Had a lot more free time when I was 16 haha.

Update hopefully tomorrow.
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B - 4
CB - 3

Close vote.

Glad to see so many familiar faces (Smidge, Vortex, Farquad, teepan, fire_bolt) still here even though I haven't done one of these in like 2+ years.
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teepan95 posted...

Tag

Welcome back, man!

What's up, babe?
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"Well your little accident probably just cost a lot of people their jobs," Meatballs reprimands you. "Like I said, it's a small company. They won't be able to recover from half the building being destroyed. And even if they do, they're gonna have to lay a lot of people off."
You raise an eyebrow. "You mean this insurance company didn't insure it's own office building? It seems like this would be covered-"
"Is this just a joke to you? I know you've got powers that make you more than human, but do you understand the struggle of the everyday person?" Meatballs asks. "If I lose my job, I'm not going to be able to pay my mortgage."
You hang your head. You didn't really understand people even before you got these powers.
As he walks over to the window and tries to pull the snitch outside despite the man's grunts of protest, Meatballs continues his tirade, "So you've possibly bankrupted a company and messed up dozens of lives today. What was it all for?"
"I wanted to make a woman stop swearing at her coworker," you say.
"Please stop. No, no, just leave me here," the man trapped in the window gurgles as Meatballs yanks on his arm.
"Did it work?" Meatballs asks you.
"...No," you mutter.
Meatballs puts his foot against the wall to get more leverage to tug at the man's arm even harder. "Well... nice job, hero."
"H-his name is Pudding Man," the guy stammers as he plops free from the window's grasp and out onto the soft grass.
How did that spread so quickly?

You hear sirens in the distance. "I gotta go."
"Go?" Meatballs shouts. "You should stay and own up to what you did when the police get here. That's what a real hero would do when he messes up."
You tell yourself you're not a real hero yet. You're still learning. It wouldn't be fair for you to be condemned for causing one crazy accident when you were just trying to help.... right?

"Sorry," you whisper as you take a couple running steps and jump away from the scene. Maybe you just need to find a job where the stakes are a little higher. Causing all that collateral damage when the best possible outcome was to make an old woman stop swearing was a little disproportionate in retrospect. One public spectacle where you save a couple lives or something similar, and your luck turns around.

Or maybe you should face the consequences of what you did back at Sloan Harbor and try to earn back the trust of the people you've hurt.

Or maybe you're just a fuck up who will never get it right.

What do you do?

A) Go back and turn yourself into the authorities.
B) Listen to the police scanner in hopes of finding a juicy crime to stop.
C) Wallow in shame, self-pity, and alcohol.
D) Try another job from your e-mail inbox (Specify which one).
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D) You've caused enough damage to this office. Flee.

You're new at this, everybody bombs their first gig. Sometimes people boo a new songwriter, sometimes nobody laughs at a new comedian's jokes, and sometimes a new hero destroys an office building. Everybody's got obstacles they need to get through when they first start.

You can't let one bad hero performance ruin the rest of your career though. You better get out of here before the police show up and blacklist you from heroing. You turn to Katie and say, "Hey, I'm gonna get going. I guess beginner's luck isn't a thing for everybody, huh?"
Katie's lip trembles as she surveys the wreckage. "How did you do that?"
"I tried to kill the fly," you respond. "I missed it though, it's still buzzing around."
"N-no, I mean how did you destroy the entire office with a single clap? Like what are you?" she asks.
"The ad is pretty clear, I thought," you tell her. "Says hero right on it."
"Well yeah, but I thought you were like the thoughtful and innovative business solutions type of hero, not like an actual superhero!" she exclaims.
"I started the flyer in WordArt and almost ran out of room so I printed it out and finished it with crayon. What part of that says business solutions to you?" you demand.
Katie's fear seems to be subsiding into awe, but she's still clutching the front of her shirt tightly. "How did you get your powers?"
"Uh, well if you eat sixty Snack Pack pudding cups in an hour, it unlocks a new level of consciousness and physical ability that humans have never seen before. Unfortunately, the pudding never leaves your body and you look like this forever."
Upon hearing your answer, Katie's awe rushes away and her fear returns.
"Well, sorry about the office. This was my first hero attempt. I know it didn't go so well, but if you could not fuck me up on Yelp I'd really appreciate it," you request. "You'd be the only review and having a one hundred percent negative score wouldn't be good for business."
"You're literally still swearing," Katie folds her arms.
"I'm gonna fuck you up on Yelp," Janice chimes in.
"I'll fuck you up in real life, Janice!" you yell instinctually.
Katie grabs your arm and pulls you away, "She doesn't even know what Yelp is, please just go Pudding Man."
"Shit, I really hope Pudding Man doesn't catch on," you sigh.
"Get out of here!" Katie commands.
"Right. Sorry again," you apologize as you walk back to the entrance and out of the building.

Meatballs is still outside, staring at Sloan Harbor Insurance in disbelief. The bench Meatballs was eating his sandwich at was right outside the wall you sent all the cubicles flying at. The windows are all broken, chairs and desks shoved halfway through them. As he sees you exit, he shouts out, "What the hell did you do in there?!"
"Oh, it wasn't me," you lie.
A man lying stuck halfway out of a window, lodged between the window frame and displaced desk, groans, "Yeah... yeah it was him."
"Not cool, man," you scold him. "I wouldn't have ratted you out if you did this."
"Why?" Meatballs cries in bewilderment. "We're just a small family owned insurance company. Why would you do this?"
"It was an accident," you confess.
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Updating now.
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Will update tomorrow.
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Bump.
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D - 2
A - 1
B - 1
BD - 1
C - 1

I'll wait for a couple more votes.
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Bump.
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Janice beckons you to lean in close. "I've been here for thirty years," she whispers, "and I'll say whatever the fuck I want to."
"Hey now, Janice. Come on-" you begin.
"I won't be bossed around by some uptight slut and her sweaty shitstain of a brother," she interrupts.
Why were you automatically the brother? You couldn't have possibly been the boyfriend? "Fuck you, you cracked ancient ashtray."
"Get the fuck outta my face, you limp dick," she retorts.
Katie rests her hands on your shoulder and gently tries to pull you away. "Dried up catcher's mitt lookin' motherfucker."
"Eat my ass, fatso."
"Stop cussing, you two-years-away-from-death lookin' colostomy bag," you add, proud to use an curse-free insult.
"It's not working," Katie says, still trying to pull you away to no avail.
"Screw you too, Katie," Janice calls out.
"Well that's an improvement," you whisper to Katie. "Technically not a swear and she called you by your real name."
"Blown out little fuckslut," Janice adds in.

"Okay," you breathe in heavily and turn back to face Janice again when the fly buzzes to your right. Acting on instinct, your hands clap together in an attempt to kill the fly. As they collide, a wave of force erupts from your hands and rushes towards the direction your fingers are pointing. The wave slams into cubicle walls across from Janice and Katie's, sending some flying backwards towards the wall and just splintering some entirely. Other coworkers who have been not-so-stealthily watching this old woman and neckbeard argue are sent flying from their office chairs. Some are caught in the cubicle storm and are buried while others are sent speeding into the drywall. The result is a unstable jungle gym made of fractured cubicle walls and panicked office workers that's been pushed to the corner of the room.

"Ah shit," you mutter as you try to determine the severity of the damage you've just caused. Half of the office is destroyed for sure and can no longer be used to drive revenue for Sloan Harbor Insurance. On the bright side, you detect no fatalities from the accident. You start to hear moans of pain from the wreckage.

Katie looks shocked and devastated. Janice just looks annoyed. "Now look what you've done, you piece of shit."
Your eye twitches as the fly lands on your cheek. Did this goddamn bitch just cuss at you again?

What do you do?

A) End Janice.
B) Just maim Janice by taking one of her legs.
C) Cut out Janice's tongue.
D) You've caused enough damage to this office. Flee.
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Katie extends a hand out to you and introduces herself, "Thank you so much for coming. I'm Katie."
"Hi," you reply. "I'm uh-... I'm the hero guy."
She nods, still trying her best to mask her true feelings. "I... Well you weren't exactly what I was expecting," she says.
You shrug. "I get that a lot." What is wrong with these people? You can throw a truck over goddamn building without even straining. It's kinda hard for you to get some genuine fucking exercise these days.
"Well, um... I'll show you to my cubicle," Katie offers.
"Right, let's do this sh- uh... do this bitch. Fuck, bitch is still a swear. Whoops, so was the other word. I'm sorry Katie, I'll get it together on the walk over," you reassure her.
Katie doesn't look so assured.

On the way over, a fly starts buzzing around your hair. You gently swat it away, but it returns almost instantly. You bat at it again, but it comes back. You open your hands before reminding yourself in your head, "Don't clap." The fly eventually loses interest and goes off to bother someone else. "Are there a lot of flies in here, Katie?"
"I don't think so. Why? Did you see one?"
"Yeah," you confirm. "I only ask because I get a little distracted when they're around. Buzzing in my ear and whatnot."
"A hero who's kryptonite is a common house fly?" Katie jokes. "Can't say I've heard that one before."
You laugh politely. It's not you who the fly would hurt though.

You get to Katie and Janice's workspace and see a grey-haired woman with holes in the elbows of her sweater and cigarette burns on her jeans. She's sitting at an unkempt desk with loose papers and food wrappers that have likely been collecting dust for months. Katie's desk is pristine, not a pen or post-it out of place. "Janice?" Katie calls out.
Janice turns around and squints at you with darkened raccoon like eyes before a smile creeps across her weather-worn face. "Who do we have here, Helen?"
You step in front of Katie and state confidently, "Her name is not Helen, it's Katie. And I think you know that Janice."
Janice leans back in her chair and barks in gruff smoke-stretched voice, "Who do we have here, Katie?"
"I'm just a guy who's trying to help out," you tell her. "I've heard you've been using some pretty blue language in the office lately. Maybe try keeping it a little more professional from now on, huh?"
Janice tries to feign ignorance. "I... I don't think I've been saying anything unprofessional."
"Well, now I think we both know that's not true," you try to remain polite. "I heard that you've been using the s-word and uh-"
"Which s-word?" Janice interjects.
"Well, um... the one where uh..." you awkwardly make a fist with your thumb outstretched and make a couple pumps behind you. "Y'know, the one where the stuff comes out the back of you. And um... what was... what else," you mumble as you look back at Katie.
Katie makes an F with her fingers.
"Oh right, the fuck word. Heard you been saying lots of things with the fuck word," you continue.
"You just said the word you're telling me not to say," Janice points out.
"I don't... I don't fuckin' work here," you reply, as your lazily constructed language filter leaves your brain.
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C) "My coworker Janice won't stop swearing at me in the office."

You decide it's better to start with something simple and choose the foul mouthed old lady. The other options would require actual investigation skills on your part. How are you supposed to know where this person's car went? Or where this woman's husband is? Or how to heal the racial divide in this Uh-Oh Oreo of a country?

Hell, the husband's probably dead. Car's probably dead too and has been taken apart for scraps. Racism certainly isn't dead but your public persona will be if you show up to Julio's Tavern to a conflict between Venezuelans and Guatemalans and can't figure out which side is which.

You open up the rest of the email which reads, "I just started working at Sloan Harbor Insurance a few months ago after graduating college. My cubemate is an old grouch named Janice who's been working here for thirty years and smoking for forty. I think I can help improve this company and make it grow, but every time I tell Janice an idea she calls me a doe-eyed little s*** or a sassy f***nut. Sometimes she just calls me Helen because that's what her last cubemate's name was and she can't be bothered to remember mine. I tried talking to management about it, but my boss told me "That's just Janice. She'll either retire or die soon." I don't want to lose my enthusiasm so quickly out of college. Please help.

-Katie"

If there's one thing that's valued above all else in the business world, it's child-like innocence. You like how she even censored the words shit and fucknut in her email. She shouldn't lose all passion and drive only three or four months removed from college. She has a right to lose it six or seven months out of college, like everyone else does.

"On my way," you reply.

You step out of your house, jog a few steps and leap into the air in the direction of Sloan Harbor. You wouldn't call what you do flying, it's more skyrunning or treading air. You see Sloan Harbor rapidly approaching about fifteen seconds after you left the ground. You stop kicking the air and let yourself drop eighty feet onto the parking lot concrete, fracturing off some of the pavement.

A man eating a meatball sub stops mid-bite to stare at you. A saucy meatball falls out of his sandwich plops on his khakis. "Wh-who the hell are you?"
"I'm just a guy who can jump really long and punch really hard," you reply. "Among other things."
"How did you get your powers?" he asks bewildered.
"I... uh... I blend three frogs with my protein shake whenever I work out," you respond.
The man raises a brow and eyes you up and down. "You work out?"
You squint and think about vaporizing Meatballs. You just told this fucknut you kill a minimum of three frogs a day and he didn't bat an eye at that shit. But the working out bit, THAT'S what tipped him off you were lying.

You leave Meatballs to his business of making a bad stain worse via Tide-To-Go crotchal scrubbing and go inside. You make a mental note to try to repress your own cussing. You typically have a pottymouth and don't want to come across as a hypocrite. You knock on the reception desk and say, "I'm looking for Katie." Before the receptionist can respond, a young woman with a brown ponytail rounds the corner in black pants and a red dress shirt. She was smiling as she rounded the corner, but upon seeing you her face briefly recoiled into a look of confusion and disappointment - but only for a second before she regained a less natural smile.

Look at that - she recovered. What a pro. She might make it in the business world yet.
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Podrick
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LordFarquad1312 posted...

C.

Is there a place where your previous CYOAs are archived?

https://www.gamefaqs.com/boards/586631-aerial-assault
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This is the fucking greatest news.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

You're lying on the carpet in your mother's basement, gently tossing a tennis ball in the air to yourself. Your lumpy body usually prefers the beaten down couch against the wall, but for some reason your nerves drove you to the floor today. You're nervous because today's the day you finally decided to start helping.

You've had your powers for a little over a year now, but nobody's ever seen you use them. After all, this isn't a movie. This is real life. Nobody's trying to take over the world or lay waste to a continent. Sure, you could use your powers to try to impress some girls, but the overflowing mush pile that is your torso would certainly inhibit that effort. After a while, it was this kind of thinking that started to make you feel guilty. You're the closest thing to a walking god this planet has ever seen. And all you can think of is what - how that might get you laid? That's not how your mother raised you.

Your mother passed away a little over a year and a half ago. So technically, this isn't your mother's house anymore. It's yours. You still sleep in the basement though; it'd just feel weird sleeping in her room. You got your powers after she died, but if she knew you had them, she'd want you to use them for good. The problem is, you don't really know how to get the word out there. Furthermore, you've never really liked being the center of attention, so lifting a bus with each arm in the middle of town isn't really your style.

You decided to hang up posters advertising a local hero with the tagline "No Problem Too Small". You created an email address where requests for help can pour in. You drag yourself off the floor and over to your computer. Four emails have come in so far.

Which email title do you decide to address?

A) "Someone's stolen my car!"
B) "My husband's gone missing!"
C) "My coworker Janice won't stop swearing at me in the office."
D) "I think the bartender at Julio's Tavern is racist."
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Podrick
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Damn, you're offline now. Haven't been on CE in forever but you're one of the few people I remember. We gotta Drunk League together soon. Username is Catfish Johnson.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.