Lurker > HotLap

B) Ask Derek to help you get out from under this fridge.

Alright, he may have broken down your door while completely naked, but it's time to be mature and accept the help you've been offered. You're in no position to be picky about who lifts a fridge off you. "Derek, can you help get this refrigerator off me?"
"Absolutely," Derek replies, starting towards you.
"Be caref-" you start to say before Derek takes a step in the milk and loses his balance. His right foot slides towards your hip as the other stays in place causing him to hit the floor hard in a nude split. "God, don't break your fucking leg," you tell him as he doubles over and rolls back and forth in the white puddle. You can see some of the blood from his arm start to blend into the milk. "Are you alright?"
Breathlessly he whispers, "I just bashed my balls off your floor."
"Yeah, I saw that. If only you were wearing shoes... or pants." You let him regain his breath and nurse his injured testicles for a few moments before suggesting, "It might be safer to clean up the milk before lifting the fridge. I have some paper towels over by the sink, right above where I've shoved my foot through the cabinet."
Derek swallows bravely and nods once as he stares down the paper towels. He slowly gets to his feet before starting to slide around like he's losing his balance on a patch of ice.
"Jesus, the milk! The milk, Derek!" you shout.
Derek regains his balance and rants back. "I know about the milk! I'm in the milk! You're in the milk! You yelling at me about the milk isn't making this any easier! We both know about the milk!"
You're a little taken aback by Derek snapping. "Okay, dude... I'm sorry. It's just, y'know..."
"Don't say it-" Derek interjects.
"...Be careful of the milk is all."
"God dammit."
"That's all I'm saying," you continue to talk nervously. "The old saying goes 'Don't cry over spilled milk', but sometimes you slip in the milk and bash your testicles. No one's ever said 'Don't cry over bashed testicles' because that's just a fundamental misunderstanding of how testicles work. Derek, if you slip in the milk and bash your testicles again, you can take a moment to cry. I never want you to feel like you can't cry in front of me, Derek."
"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Derek shouts over you.
"I DON'T KNOW! You got mad and I felt guilty and this is just how I'm coping with it."

Derek cautiously starts creeping over towards the paper towels. As he steps over your head, you make eye contact with his sweaty man region you pray to whatever god will listen that he doesn't lose his balance again. Derek's taint isn't the salty snack you wanted to enjoy today. Thankfully, he makes it to the sink without incident.

As he cleans himself and the floor up, Derek asks, "How did all of this happen anyway?"
You inhale as much as an old fridge crushing your diaphragm will allow and respond, "It's been a long day...actually this all happened fairly recently. It's been a long ten minutes." You proceed to tell Derek all about your journey to the bottom of the fridge. He's done wiping up the liquid terror by the time you finish your tale.
"Damn, dude. That's some shit luck right there," he shakes his head. "Hopefully this will start to turn it around though." Derek takes a wide stance standing over your face, once again putting you into a staring match with his gassy devil, and strains to lift the fridge as you push from underneath it. As the fridge rises, the broken door is no longer pinned against you and lets everything fall out of it. None of the beverages burst open, but your shirt and pants are now covered in meatloaf, mashed potatoes, macaroni salad, and shattered eggs.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

I can give this an update Sunday night.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Do you think he's got a circumcised hog or does ya boi have a crinkle cut frenchie?
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

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

AC with the haircut being frosted tips.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

teepan95 posted...

ABC

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

B: 5
C: 3
A: 1

Also hi Smidge.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Morning bump but also stealing post #69.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

"Oh shit, oh shit, what do I do?" Derek talks to himself as he paces around the kitchen, genitals bouncing to and fro.
"Why the hell are you naked, Derek?!" you demand.
"I heard you from the shower!" he answers, coming to a stop.
"There's no way you heard my calls from the shower!" you protest.
"I did!"
"No way!"
"Yes way! How would you even know?" Derek asks.
"Well for starters, you're not even fucking wet, Derek!" you seethe.
"I dried off!" he explains.
"You had time to dry off but you didn't put your fucking dick away?!"
"Look, I came to help! What do you want me to do?" Derek offers. His flesh rope is still waggling as if he just made a sudden stop, even though the rest of him has been motionless for several moments now.

You've bashed two holes in your living room. You're trapped under an old fridge that you've detached the door from. You've kicked a hole into a kitchen cabinet where your foot remains embedded in. Your front door has been blown off its hinges by a nude neighbor. And your arm is still jammed in this fucking Pringles can.

What do you do?

A) Demand Derek put clothes on immediately.
B) Ask Derek to help you get out from under this fridge.
C) Ask Derek to call the police.
D) Dismiss Derek. You don't want anything to do with this weirdo.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

"Help," you whisper. "Gotta call for help." You pat your pocket, but find it empty. You look up at the kitchen counter and see your phone sitting where you left it after you decided not to call your girlfriend. "Gooooood dammit!" you yell. You reach your left foot out and press the sole up against the cabinet. "Okay, okay," you think to yourself. "Stay calm. I'll just kick the cabinet repeatedly. Slowly, but surely the impact will jostle my phone off the counter and onto the floor. If it doesn't break on the tile, I'll use my foot to slide it over to my hand and call the police. I got this."

You bend your knee and kick the cabinet as hard as you can. Your foot immediately blows a hole through the musty wood. Your foot is now lodged in the cabinet up to your ankle. "Fuck my fucking life!" You try to take your foot out but the cabinet just opens gently with your foot still jammed inside. Your positive demeanor from a few minutes ago has melted away. You're fucking useless. You'll never get a job again. Who on earth would hire you? Today your only goal was to eat snacks, and you fucked up so bad that you're going to lose your security deposit and probably die trapped under an old fridge.

Without your phone or your mobility, there's really only one recourse you have left. "Help!" you scream from the milk soaked floor. "Police help! Police! POLICE!" You keep chanting "POLICE HELP" until you hear a knock at your door.
"Is everything alright?" the voice from the other side calls.
It's the voice of Derek, the man who lives in the apartment next to you. You haven't spoken to him much besides some idle small talk, but he seems like a nice enough dude. "Derek! I'm trapped under my fridge!"
You hear the doorknob rustle. "The door's locked!"
"I know! Just call the p-"
You hear the sound of Derek slamming his body against the door.
"Wha-.. huh?" you stammer, confused.
There's another crash, this one louder than the first. Shit, he's gonna try to ram the door down.
"Hey- no! Derek stop!" you plead.
You see your front door shake as Derek tries a third time. You swear you heard a small crack this time.
"DEREK STOP!" you bellow. "THE LANDLORD LIVES THREE DOORS DOWN! JUST GET THE LANDLORD, HE'LL UNLOCK THE DOOR FOR YOU!" You sigh. You might as well let the landlord see the chaos you've wrought before Derek creates even more damage.

There's a brief, stressful silence before you hear Derek's footsteps recede down the hallway. Thank Christ. You've already got two holes in the drywall, one in a cabinet, and a nearly destroyed refrigerator. The last thing you need is-

You hear Derek's footsteps rapidly re-approaching. Before you can react, there's a deafening boom as your door blows off its hinges to the floor and Derek slides across the kitchen on top of it. Your lip quivers with terror as your eyes fall upon Derek. He is fully nude. Derek stands up and shouts, "Oh my God, are you okay?!"
"DEREK, WHAT THE FUCK?!" is all you can respond with. Derek has a gash on his right shoulder from where his shoulder splintered the wood. It's bleeding down his arm and onto your floor.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

B) Attempt to duct tape your fridge shut so your food doesn't go bad.
D) You can't go to the hospital, you don't have health insurance. Go to the police instead.

You take a deep breath after your most recent expletive laden rant towards a fictional mustache. You're getting frustrated and you're not thinking clearly. If this thing stays on your arm much longer, you fear it'll suck out your sanity. But if you go to the hospital without insurance, it will bankrupt you. Having three nurses and an orderly tug a chip canister off your arm is probably the dumbest and most embarrassing way somebody has declared bankruptcy. You know who won't charge for Pringles removal? The police. There you go, you're thinking logically again. Sure the cops might try to shoot the can off your arm, but that's a risk you're willing to take at this point.

You decide to head to the police station, but first you need to do something about your refrigerator door. The hinge has completely snapped off, so you're going to need to find another way to get it closed. Good thing you've got a couple rolls of the ultimate home repair solution under the sink. You kneel down and grab a roll of duct tape, sliding your Pringle'd arm through the hole. You hold your tape holster on the countertop and yank a piece of tape away from the roll. You use your left foot to prop the fridge door up and once it's in place, you press your body against it. You attach the end of the tape to the side of the fridge and extend it around the corner, ripping it off once you reach the center of the door.

You take a step back to admire your progress. The door stays in place for a few seconds before detaching and sinking to the floor again. Yeah, you figured one piece of duct tape wasn't going to be enough to keep a door that heavy in place. In order for this to work, you're going to need to wrap the tape around the entire appliance, but you'll need to move it out of its alcove to do so. You try to grasp the fridge on both sides and shimmy it out, but you can't get a grip with the Pringles container on your right hand. You quickly wrap some duct tape with the adhesive side facing out around the can.

You attempt the shimmy maneuver again. It's working well to your surprise, thanks to the leverage you've gained from the can sticking to the fridge. Inch by inch, you're walking the refrigerator out of the alcove. You smile. See? Even with one hand, as long as you take a deep breath and think things through, you can accomplish anything you put your mind to. Maybe this whole Pringles debacle is exactly what you needed to get you out of your rut. If you can duct tape a fridge closed with one hand, then finding a new job should be no problem.

With your next step, you right foot trips over your left leg and you start fall backwards. Normally, taking a spill wouldn't be an issue, but seeing how you've taped your arm to the fridge, it's about to become one. As you fall to the floor, the 250 pound fridge comes tumbling down on top of you. You grunt and wheeze as you attempt to regain your breath after having the wind knocked out of you. Your ribcage is throbbing. You don't think anything's broken, but your ribs definitely feel heavily bruised. You attempt to muscle out from underneath it, but to no avail. During the fall, the door became fully dislodged. Your pants feel wet. You look towards your legs and see a white puddle forming under the fridge. Great, your milk carton burst open. At least the wet feeling wasn't blood or urine.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

0AbsoluteZero0 posted...

DocileOrangeCup posted...

Eevee-Trainer posted...

Is TC the new pinky?

pinky? ass muff has been around forever

Shes referring to when @pinky0926 started an entertaining, promising new CYOA, and then abruptly decided to quit in the middle of the story, leaving us all hanging. I still have abandonment issues from that topic

Well if that's what she's referring to, then yeah, 100%. I've leaving CE hanging since 2010, brah.

DocileOrangeCup posted...
0AbsoluteZero0 posted...

Shes referring to when @pinky0926 started an entertaining, promising new CYOA, and then abruptly decided to quit the topic and leave us all hanging. I still have abandonment issues from that topic

oh...well assmuff finishes his.

Who told you these lies?
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Eevee-Trainer posted...

DocileOrangeCup posted...

Eevee-Trainer posted...

Is TC the new pinky?

pinky? ass muff has been around forever

Never knew who that was tbh

https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/boards/586631-aerial-assault/70818646

Check that out.

Writing an update now.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

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

Okay I lied, but soon.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

I can update either tonight or tomorrow.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

fire_bolt posted...

Not trying to steal TCs thunder butt i know my bois and gurls are gonna want to C this xD

https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/boards/400-current-events/76358400

Oh FUCK yeah I love Ponch CYOAs. I can't update tonight, so everyone read that.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

I fucking loved the NBA Live franchise. I got to top 100 in the world in NBA Live 09 using exclusively the Lithuanian national team.

I suck at the 2k series though.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Yeah, when I was in college I got banned a lot.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

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

Vortex_of_Hope posted...

D

Was just thinking about CYOAs earlier and happy to see this.

Good to see you, old friend.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

The wall's clearly not working. You go back into the kitchen. The fridge looks pretty sturdy you suppose with a shrug. You're never seen someone put a hole in a fridge before. You swing your arm at the side of your refrigerator and hear a loud thud as the canister collides, followed by several smaller thuds as the appliance shifts in its alcove and the food inside shuffles around. You inspect the damage. None to the demented potato prison of your own creation, but thankfully, also none to the fridge. "Alright," you smile. As long as the fridge can take a couple more hits, you should be out of this in no time at all. You smack it a little harder this time. The familiar thuds you expected were immediately joined by a sharp crack, as the bottom hinge of the door snapped off and shot across the door. The bottom left hand corner of the door plummeted to the tile floor, leaving all your food fully exposed to the world.

"God dammit! This fuckin' thing," you cuss as you flail your arm about wildly in frustration. You grit your teeth and stare again at the mustachioed mascot on the packaging. "WHO THE FUCK EVEN ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO DO WITH CHIPS? FUCK YOU!"

You're slowly destroying your apartment. It might be time to take a break from smashing.

What do you do?

A) Soldier on. This thing's gotta break sooner or later.
B) Attempt to duct tape your fridge shut so your food doesn't go bad.
C) You're getting sad and frustrated. Join a support group for the physically handicapped.
D) You can't go to the hospital, you don't have health insurance. Go to the police instead.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

D) Attempt to break the can by smashing it against things in your apartment.

You grab your phone and think about calling your girlfriend for help. Would she have to leave work to come to your apartment and rip a junk food container off your arm? Yeah, probably. Has she expressed concern and polite, but stern dissatisfaction with your new sedentary lifestyle and additional pounds? Yes, absolutely. Do you think your problem is more important than whatever she's working on? Maybe. That question would be a lot easier if you knew what she did for work. You should know this. You rack your brain to try to find the answer but all you can think of is the word "gingo". You're like 90% sure that's not even a real word, and if it is, it sounds like it'd be a racist one. You don't know towards who. Back to the matter at hand, how would your girlfriend react if you made her leave a job that you can't identify to tug a Pringles can off your arm? She'd probably call you a lazy gingo and dump your ass.

You put the phone back down on the kitchen counter. Better not. You lean against the fridge door and sigh. The worst part about this situation is that, like.... you weren't even done eating chips yet. You definitely wanted to eat more chips than you ended up eating. You plop your head on your shoulder, cheek being pushed up to force your eye halfway shut, and give the pantry a sidelong glance. There's a fresh tube of Sour Cream and Onion in there. You can finish what you want to do, and then you'll be motivated to free your arm. Right?

"No!" you shout to yourself. You piece of shit, remove the goddamn Pringles can that's probably cutting off your circulation from your arm. Your laziness has already gotten you into trouble since you lost your job. That first night you were walking into the kitchen and missed the light switch as you meekly flopped your arm at it on your way by. You stopped dead in your tracks and swiveled your head around. The light switch was one step away. All you had to do was take one step back to illuminate the room. Instead you trudged onwards into the darkness. You broke three toes.

Well, you've already established that you can't slide this thing off of you, so you figure you'll have to smash it. However, you'll have to be careful. When you lost your job, your lost your health insurance. You can't shatter the can, but also break your arm. You walk over to the wall that separates the kitchen from the living room. You rear back and ram your arm into the living room wall. A cloud of drywall and plaster explodes from the wall as you make contact. "Aw shit," you curse as you stare into the five inch hole you've created in your living room, then down to the perfectly intact Pringles can.

"I should have found a stud before I slammed my arm into this wall," you mutter. You spend the next few moments gently knocking on the wall to the left of the hole. Finally satisfied, you exclaim, "A-ha!" before bashing an even larger hole into your living room. "Fuck, I don't... I don't know how to find studs."
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

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

Who the fuck are you even talking to right now?
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Bump before bed.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

At first I thought this topic might be a little creepy.

Thankfully, TC clarified what he meant and now I know it's very creepy.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

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

Snow falls from the heavens pure. We cannot blame the snow for being soiled by the earth.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

You lost your job about a month ago. Your boss said it wasn't your fault. After all, all you did was type numbers into a computer for eight hours a day. Unfortunately, another company was willing to type numbers at a lower rate than your company, so you lost your client and got laid off.

Losing your job put you in a bit of a depression, so you've been eating a lot more and moving a lot less. Your life is now video games and collecting unemployment checks. Your friends have tried boosting your spirits by expressing their jealously that you don't have to go to work for a while, and you've been putting on a brave face by calling your new, sad life "funemployment". But your brave face is a lot jowlier than your old face.

You reach for another short stack of salty comfort food but your arm stops before you can grab the few remaining chips at the bottom of the can. Determined, you take a deep breath and shove your arm further into the Pringles can. God, it's really wedged in there now, but the chips still avoid you, mere inches away. "To hell with it, I'll just take my arm out and pour the chips onto the table like a quitter," you think to yourself.

You attempt to yank your hand out of the can but it doesn't budge. You strain and pull a little harder this time but to no avail. You clutch the can with your meaty thighs. With a slew of grunts and grimaces, you try to free your hand from it's cylindrical prison. Nothing.

"Fuck I might be in some trouble here," you call out to your empty apartment, voice cracking from panic. You head to the fridge and find the butter. You lather up your arm in a desperate act of makeshift lubrication. You instinctively give the butter on your arm a small lick. "No!" you scold yourself. That's how you got yourself into this mess in the first place. Lubing up your arm offers no hope, however, as your arm is still firmly one with the canister. You stare your new mustachioed god in the eyes. "Fuck you," you whisper defiantly.

It's 11 AM on a Tuesday. While everyone else is at work, you're stuck inside a Pringles can.

What do you do?

A) Call your girlfriend at work and ask her for help.
B) Grab another can of Pringles from the pantry.
C) Check your email about potential job interviews.
D) Attempt to break the can by smashing it against things in your apartment.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.