Current Events > CYOA: You're an angel with only one prayer left to grant.

(+) Yeah! (+)

Wont get around to it tonight, bumping to stop the purge.
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Up
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Tonight the night. I gotta drive to my parents after work and then by God Im gonna do it.
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I prayed for this day but then something weird happened to my dick

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B
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D) The exotic pet and muffler discount center.

As you take the clothes the wardrobe manager gave you behind the changing curtain, you ask him, "Is there anything I need to know about Florida?"
"Have you ever been?" he calls back.
You remove then carefully fold your crotchless pants and reply, "No, never been."
"Alright, I'll teach you a few things that'll help you blend in a little."
"Mmhmm. Okay," you say half listening, holding up the pair of dark jeans in front of you. You search around your immediate area for a pair of scissors.
"If you're ever in a bad situation, say the phrase, 'Well ain't that just a gator in the garage'. That should diffuse the situation while letting them know you're one of them," he instructs.
"Gator in the garage? That's just an expression, right?" you perk up, concerned.
"Yes and no. It's mainly used as an expression, but it's also used when there's an alligator in the garage. And when there's an alligator in your garage, well ain't that just a gator in the garage," he says sternly before you hear him spitting on the floor.
You raise an eyebrow. "Do I have to spit when I say it?"
"You absolutely gotta spit," he confirms.
"You got any scissors back here?" you return to the task at hand.
"Do not cut out the crotch of those jeans, Sam," the wardrobe manager grumbles. "Florida's bad, but it's not there yet."
"Oh... alright," you mutter dejected.

"Now, for the opposite effect, you'll wanna say, 'Well ain't that just a brawl at Checkers.'"
"A brawl. That's a good thing?" you wonder aloud, sliding your legs into their denim prison.
"Yes."
"And Checkers is?"
"It's a fast food restaurant," he informs you.
"How... how is any of that good?"
The wardrobe manager breaks down the benefits. "Floridians love people brawling at Checkers. The customers get a free show, the employees get a short break, and the people who are fighting one another often become lifelong friends after the loser wakes up from being knocked out. Fact! At eight percent of weddings in Florida, the groom met his best man while punching him over some chicken strips. Of those eight percent, thirteen percent actually held their weddings at the very same Checkers. And at one hundred percent of those weddings, the groom and best man got into another brawl inside Checkers, effectively ending their friendship."
"Huh," you make note of the statistics that have been laid out before you. "Is the food really good enough to brawl over?"
"No," the man curtly dismisses the notion that anything in Florida is good. "Now in the case that those two phrases don't work, there is a fail safe. Just put your hands on your hips, look down and softly say, 'Hope your grandpa's okay.'"
You slide the tanktop on. "Oh, that's kinda wholesome," you respond as you walk back out from behind the curtain. "I was expecting something gross and weird."
The wardrobe manager claps you on the shoulder happily. "Well get ready, because we've reached the last chapter of our lesson."
"Oh no," you try to mentally prepare for the worst.
The wardrobe manager strides over to his leather chair and lounges into it, relishing in the fact that he's about to tell you something disturbing. "Don't cut yourself while you're down there."
"Wh-what?" you ask confused.
"You heard me."
"Well, I'm pretty stressed about the Hell thing but I don't think I'm at that point yet," you tell him.
"Not just that," he warns. "Don't bleed - at all."
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"Why not?" you are becoming more terrified by the moment.
Th wardrobe manager swings forward and plants his hands on his knees, a gigantic grin strewn about his face. "You know how eating ass became more mainstream a few years ago? Florida skipped that step altogether and instead pivoted to drinking blood!"
"What?!"
"That's the entire state's new fetish. Drinking blood," he stares you straight in the eyes.
"Oh my gosh, that's so unsafe, Florida," you scold the entire population.
"In a way, it's kind of beautiful," he surmises. "The thing that's giving them such a sexual thrill isn't sexual in nature. So homophobia and transphobia has fallen by the wayside. Racism too. Because at the end of the day... Everybody bleeds. And all anyone in Florida wants to do is drink a shot of someone else's blood while they no hands cum."
You push your tongue uncomfortably hard into your cheek. "That's a really glass half-full way of looking at the least beautiful thing anyone has ever described to me."
"Yeah," he nods in agreement. "Ready to go?"
"I need a moment." You try to run your hands through your hair, but forget you're wearing a bandanna. "How do I look?"
"Eh," the wardrobe manager shrugs.
"It'll look better when I'm 6'4," you reassure yourself.
"Probably not," he disagrees.

The wardrobe manager walks you down past the racks upon racks of clothing. Eventually the room ends with an obsidian wall with an inelegant wooden door in the center of it. There are places where the wood has cracked over time and a thin layer of rust across a portion of the doorknob. "I picked a spot for you to start at," he tells you as he hands you a plastic shopping bag full of a stack of papers. "Here's all the prayers for Pensacola. You know you can just bring up the prayer database on your phone, right?"
You ignore his comments and press your hand against the obsidian. "I gotta say, the jet black wall paired with an old crumbling door kinda seems like this is a gateway to the underworld."
The portly man shrugs. "There are alligators everywhere, it's always 100 degrees, and everyone's started drinking blood. It's basically Hell on training wheels."
"Fair enough," you concede.
"Although, I do have to confess something before you go. I was fucking with you," he admits.
"Oh thank God," you slouch over and catch your breath. "Whew, that was... I was not in a good headspace."
"Just about one of the things I told you though!" he clarifies.
"Well, clearly it was the drinking blood thing," you determine.
"Yeah, it was the blood thing," he laughs.
"Because the other ones were a little weird, but the drinking blood thing was so over the top, I was thinking there was no way it was real," you chuckle.
"Yeah, it was the blood thing," he repeats.
The two of you laugh together as waves of relief pulse through your body. Eventually you stop laughing but notice the wardrobe manager is still giggling.
"Wait, is it not the blood thing?!" you shout.

The wardrobe manager promptly reaches forward, swings open the door, and drives you through the opening. All you see is darkness as you hear the door slam behind you. "Oh ha-ha, very funny. You locked me in a closet," you say as you turn around and feel the bright Florida sun stinging your eyes. You squint as you bring your left hand to your forehead to shield yourself from the brightness to try to get a sense of your surroundings.
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You slide the arm of your sunglasses out from the neck of your tanktop and put them on. You see a mostly empty parking lot riddled with potholes. You can't tell if the cars that are present were recently driven here or left behind years ago. You turn around again to see a brick building with the name "Live Hides and Smooth Rides" proudly emblazoned on the sign above the doorway. There's a man on a ladder spreading white paint sloppily across the bricks.

You uneasily creep over to the building, already feeling the sweat start to bead on the back of your neck. The man on the ladder notices your approach and calls out, "Hey! Hey buddy! Can you help me out here?" You look up to see a man in dark jeans and a white tanktop. His sunglasses are sitting underneath the ladder and his bandanna is on the ground, half of it laying in a pan of white paint.
"What do you need?" you shout up to him.
"Can you go to that cooler over there and get me another one of these?" he slurs as he shakes an empty beer can before trying to lob it into the cooler. The can clatters to the pavement and rolls into one of the several other empty cans surrounding the cooler.
"Do you think you should really be drunk on a ladder?" you reason with him.
"Painting's so boooooring though," he argues. "Gotta do it with a bit of a - *hic* - bit of a buzz."
You stare intently at the cooler with only one thought coursing through your head. What would Jesus do? This ladder drunk would like a beer, so maybe the best option is to just give him one. Although, maybe it's your duty as an angel to protect this guy from himself. Drinking and ladderplay is very dangerous. Jesus was a carpenter from a time without electricity, he probably encountered his fair share of ladder drinkers. You wish he spent a little more time spelling out how to handle these situations instead of his standard cover letter of bathe the sick and feed the blind, or whatever.
"Buddy?" he calls out again.
"Uh yeah, just a sec," you comply as your grab a beer from the cooler and hand it up to him.
"Could I actually get one more?" he pleads. "I'm not sure when someone's gonna walk by again."
"I... I can't," you tell him, holding up your plastic bag of prayers. "I gotta go inside, I think."

As you enter Live Hides and Smooth Rides, you look to your right to see an entire wall of stainless steel auto supplies. Turning your head to the left, you see a large selection of animals in tanks and cages. Finally, looking dead ahead you see a man wearing overalls and a safari hat. He looks to be in his late forties, inconsistent stubble plaguing his face, and a permanent sunburn across his arms. "Welcome to Live Hides and Smooth Rides! Can I get you an almost healthy baboon? Or a muffler?"
"I um... hi," is all you can manage to say, bewildered by the spectacle of this man and his no-purpose store.
"Hey there yourself. Can I help you with anythang or d'you wanna have a look see 'round yourself?" he asks.
"Um... what do you have?" you ask the storeowner.
"Heh," he lets out a short, girthy laugh. "My name is Craig Dump and I have everythang you lookin' for."
"Craig Dump?" you repeat.
He grabs your hand and pulls you in close. "Craig Dump," he confirms directly into your ear canal.

Craig Dump brings you to a tank with a large black snake coiled inside it. The snake looks entirely too big for the container it's being kept in. "This here's just a big ol' snake."
"What kind of snake is it?" you ask.
"It's one of them big ones," Craig replies as if it's an answer.
"Is it venomous?"
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"Not sure on that one," he scratches his head. "We found him in the dumpster out back and we wasn't sure if he had the poison in him. Months go by and eventually this ol' boy bites my niece Tiffany. We hadda put him in this penalty cage for misbehavin'."
"Ain't that just a gator in the garage," you shake your head before spitting onto Craig's floor.
"Mmhmm, exactly," he claps you on the back. "But at least we was gonna figure out if he poisonous or not, right? Wrong. Not twenty minutes after we put this boy in this tank, Tiffany gets slammed by a go-cart out in that parking lot right there. Now she didn't die right away, mind you. But she did die after fallin' out of the emergency go-cart on the way to the hospital," he chuckles for some reason.
"That's a lot to take in," you nervously join in on the laughter.
Craig cocks his head to the right. "Over here now." He leads you to the other side of the store. "This here's a muffler. Makes your car or truck real quiet kinda.... Back over here now."

Craig leads you to a fishtank that's filled to the brim. Floating motionlessly at the top is a long furry animal. "Here we got ourselves a watuh ferret," he informs you.
"Oooooh," you unsuccessfully try to hide your uneasiness. "I didn't know water ferrets were a thing."
"They sure is, they sure is," Craig nods happily.
"He's not swimming much," you point out.
"Well yeah, he's sleepin' right now," he retorts.
"How long has he been sleeping for?"
"Pfft... long time. He's hibernatin'."
"Do animals need to hibernate in Florida?" you ask.
"Y'know, I asked myself the same question," Craig admits. "But I figure I'll leave that up to him, you know? He's still new at this, he figuring it out, know what I'm sayin'? Plus if he don't hibernate, how he gonna emerge from the watuh as a big, beautiful otter?"
You turn your back to the drowned ferret. "What's over there?" you point back to the auto supplies.
Craig brings you over to a muffler completely covered in rust. "Yup, it's another muffler," he says triumphantly.
"It's a little rusty, Craig."
"Hey hey hey, it may be rusty but it still muffs real good," he argues. "But you can buy this rusty metal anytime. I got a daily special for you over here," Craig announces as he pulls you against your will back to the animals.
You approach a closed tank with a sticker that says "$50!" taped to the front of it. As you grow closer to the tank, you can hear louder and louder buzzing. Craig cups his hands and leans towards your ear. "It's just a whole lotta bees," he whispers.
"I don't think I have room for this in my apartment," you feign disappointment.
"Say no more," Craig drags you back to a muffler that has plastic caps inserted into the openings and a familiar buzzing. "It's just a whole lotta bees," he repeats.
"It sure is," you nod halfheartedly. "Can you give me a second, Craig?"
"Absolutely, you take all the time you need. I'll be waitin' 'round the counter when you decide on which bees you want," he tells you.

You reach into your plastic bag and start scanning through the papers for Craig Dump. There's gotta be a reason you're here. Your finger scrolls alphabetically from Donnolly to Donovan and right on through to Duncan. None of these prayers are from Dump. You sigh. "You really are out here living your best life, aren't you?"
"Sure am," Craig pops a strap of his overalls against his shoulder. "And that's a completely normal thing for someone to say after lookin' through a bunch of papers for several minutes."
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"I guess you have it all figured out," you barely contain your disgust.
"Mmm no sir, that's my older brother. He's up in Buffalo and just did the ol' Buffalo 96 with his wife last week."
"What on Earth is a Buffalo 96?" you blurt out in spite of yourself.
"It's like a 69, but both partners got their backs turned t'one 'nother and each person's tryna hide the fact that they're eatin' hot wings in bed," he explains.
"... Cool. I think I'm going to get g-" you stop your sentence as you notice a tuft of plumage from behind Craig. "What is that?"
Craig steps out of the way. "Oh this? He's my birdver."

Behind Craig is some sort of beaver-parrot hybrid. It's torso is covered in alternating splotches of brown fur and colorful feathers. It has wings, but they're covered entirely in fur and seem too heavy to lift. The birdver's long beaver tail begins thumping against the wall once he realizes he's been noticed. His head appears as a parrot's head, but with a large pair of buck teeth protruding from it. The tail thumping soon stops and is replaced with heavy, labored breathing.

Craig strokes the birdver's back as it seems to recoil from his touch. "Yeah, I've been tryna cross a bird with a mammal for some time now. He may not be perfect, but he's perfect to me. I don't have no kids of my own, so he's my Little Dumper."
You tear through the pages in your bag until you get to the L section. Sure enough, there's a prayer from Little Dumper. It reads, "Please kill me. I should not exist. The pain never ends, so end my life. I am an abomination," with a quantity 1,274 next to it. Little Dumper has made this prayer every day he has been alive.
"What can he do?" you ask, trying not to look directly at it.
"Well he can't fly none," Craig puts his hands on his hips. "And he don't build no dams. He can talk though."
"Really?"
"Well, sorta. It's more of a scream. Go on now, Little Dumper. Show this man right here how you scream so good for Daddy. Go on now," he commands.
Little Dumper continues to wheeze, but otherwise remains silent.
"Well he just did it right 'fore you walked on in here, he's probably all tuckered out now," Craig rationalizes his hybrid's disobedience.
"Well I.... I like him a lot. Ain't he just a brawl at a Checkers," you try to smile pitifully at the birdver.

A crash and a loud shriek of pain is heard from outside.
"Oh god dammit, Tony prolly fell off that ladder again," Craig shakes his head. "Can you go make sure he's alright? I gotta feed Little Dumper his wood chips."
You rush outside and see a couple people have already come over. Tony's ladder is tipped over onto the ground and Tony is splayed out on the pavement. He has pulled his pantleg up to his knee and revealed that his shin bone has punctured through his skin. Blood is draining down his leg.
Tony takes two fingers and runs it across the blood stream. He quickly sticks his fingers in his mouth and quivers for a moment. "Oh fuck yeeeeeah," he mutters.
"God that is so fucking hot," one of the bystanders comments as he pinches his own nipples.
"He's just fucking bleeding, Florida!" you shout.
The bystanders approach Tony and sample the blood pouring out of his lower leg before moaning in ecstasy.
"I'm getting a little woozy," Tony whispers while making direct eye contact with you. "Dehydration. If you know what I mean."
"No, Tony! Blood loss!" you cry. "Quickly, before you pass out, what's your blood type?"
"Horny," he replies.
"No!" you wince.
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What do you do?

A) Call the emergency go-cart.
B) Break into an abandoned car and take Tony to the hospital.
C) Buy Little Dumper from Live Hides and Smooth Rides.
D) Release the bees.
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...this was so Floridian I think Bush just got elected president again

DB

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C
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DB
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DB
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DB
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I think my favourite thing so far is still the sea-creatures-in-red-thing tangent

uh... tag I guess

also CDB
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DrizztLink posted...

...this was so Floridian I think Bush just got elected president again

Hope your grandpas okay :/

averagejoel posted...

I think my favourite thing so far is still the sea-creatures-in-red-thing tangent

I feel like I missed an opportunity to include this at Craig Dumps place.

As always, thanks for your patience everybody. I really appreciate it. <3
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Happy Thanksgiving to those who are celebrating!

No update today. Im gonna eat and sleep and watch football and eat again and drink and watch football and sleep and watch football and eat.
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Happy Thanksgiving!!
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Bump
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C
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D

CD
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Haven't seen a HotLap CYOA in a while. Just moved to Texas a month ago and I only just got my laptop unpacked. Thanks for the mention @Eevee-Trainer otherwise I probably wouldn't have noticed this for a while.
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Hope everything's going great in Texas, Kircheis.

Not sure when I'll get the next update in, I'm still trying to gauge how long it should be and what direction I want it to go. There's a potential for this update to be longer than the last, so I may have to break it into two parts.
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HotLap posted...

Hope everything's going great in Texas, Kircheis.

Food-wise it's pretty great, got a lot of options here. I can have Chick-fil-A and Steak 'n Shake delivered to me, so that's pretty tight. It's a bit warmer than Washington though. Even some of the nights here have been more uncomfortably warm than I'm used to.
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Kircheis posted...

Food-wise it's pretty great, got a lot of options here. I can have Chick-fil-A and Steak 'n Shake delivered to me, so that's pretty tight. It's a bit warmer than Washington though. Even some of the nights here have been more uncomfortably warm than I'm used to.

Hows the BBQ? Ive never had authentic Texas BBQ before and I want it. I want it bad.

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HotLap posted...

Hows the BBQ? Ive never had authentic Texas BBQ before and I want it. I want it bad.

Haven't had much "authentic Texas BBQ" yet lol. You'll have to ask an actual Texan about that, sorry.

I mean, Steak 'n Shake has this BBQ steakburger if that counts, it's fuckin' delicious, yo.

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Keeping it alive until I can update.

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HotLap posted...

Keeping it alive until I can update.

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Sorry for the long delay. Im thinking I can make something happen tomorrow.

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Im a bad man.

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HotLap posted...

Im a bad man.

Sorry everyone.

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It's fine, we can wait
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Eevee-Trainer posted...

It's fine, we can wait

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fire_bolt posted...

Eevee-Trainer posted...

It's fine, we can wait

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It's can, wait fine we.

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Shit I keep forgetting to read this. Posting to remind myself.

This topic gave me a boner.

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MetaMajik posted...

This topic gave me a boner.

The intended effect.

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