Current Events > CYOA: You've been hypnotized into lying every time you speak.

(+) Yeah! (+)

You've never really believed in hypnosis. You've seen relaxation techniques and meditation work for people, but hypnosis always felt hokey and contrived, especially on-stage hypnotists. Imagine being on stage in front of hundreds of people and being put under a "hypnotic spell" by someone whose suit is clearly worth less than $100 and their financial support is 100% tied to whether or not you decide to cluck like a chicken on command. You could either play along, or ruin the show and take away this performer's food for the next week. That's why the hypnotist's commands are always something like "quack like a duck" and not "tape your dick to this car battery."

So when your date Claire suggested that you go to a hypnotist show on your first date, you were less than thrilled. She got the tickets for free from someone she works with.You lied and said it sounded like fun, but it was a date you didn't have to plan or pay for, so you couldn't really complain.

Everything was going well until you were randomly selected to come on stage by The Amazing Cynthia. "Dumb name," you thought to yourself as you were walking to the stairs. "Maybe she should hypnotize someone into choosing a more original title."

The Amazing Cynthia wasn't dressed like most magicians you've encountered. She wasn't wearing a three piece suit or an elegant dress, but a long sleeve white button down shirt tucked into some blue jeans. The top button of her shirt was undone with a loosened black tie hanging down the front of it. She looked like a blue collar hypnotist who had just returned home from a long day at the mindfuck factory.

She started you off with a couple softball questions before putting you under. "What is your name?"
"Griffin."
"Who are you here tonight with, Griffin?"
"I'm here with my date, Claire," you replied.
"First date?" Cynthia perked up.
You smiled nervously and said, "Yeah."
Cynthia turned to the crowd and announced, "Alright, in a moment Griffin will close his eyes, I will put him under, and when he wakes up he will no longer be able to tell the truth."
A series of semi-enthused murmurs flowed through the crowd. You remember closing your eyes and feeling Cynthia move around you whispering something you couldn't understand. She stopped in front of you and put her palm to your forehead for a few moments. You grimaced slightly, her hand was a lot sweatier than you thought it'd be.

You complied as she instructed you to open your eyes. You didn't feel any different. You still knew your name is Griffin, you knew you were here with Claire, and you knew you still hate hypnotists. Whatever she was trying to do clearly didn't work. "What is your name?" she asked again.
You sigh. As much as you wanted to blow up Cynthia's spot, it wouldn't sit right with you. You tried to think of a name that was similar to your own, something that would be a reasonable leap but wouldn't kill the illusion. However, before you could think of such a name, you blurted out, "People call me Kristen!"
The audience immediately bursted into laughter, but their bellows fell on deaf ears. "Whoa," you thought to yourself. "What the hell was that?"
Cynthia waited for the chuckles to die down before continuing, "And who are you here with Kristen?"
You froze up. You were so startled by the Kristen confession you weren't sure what to think about anymore. Again, some sort of manual override took over your body and answered, "I am here with my lovely mother."
---

More laughter from the crowd. "What the fuck is going on?" you started to panic inside your head. "I'm not here with my mother and my mother certainly isn't lovely."
"Last question," Cynthia smiled.
"At least this one is yes or no," you thought to yourself. "I can just say it's not our first date, then I can get the fuck off the stage."
But Cynthia didn't ask the first date question. She turned to you with a sweaty grin and whispered into the microphone, "How's your sex life?"
As the crowd pre-giggled before they full-on chortled their collective jeans, your mind rushed through the puzzle Cynthia had created. You're going through a bit of a dry spell. You haven't had sex in a couple years, but you're not a virgin. So if you say you're a virgin, the crowd will have a big laugh, but they- and more importantly Claire- will know you're not actually-
"I have... I h-have sex all the time," you stammered out in the middle of your mind rambling. The crowd roared in delight as red streaked across your face. God dammit.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give Kristen- I mean Griffin a big hand," Cynthia called out as you walked back to your seat.

That was three years ago. You spent the rest of that night getting to know Claire better, while accidentally telling her complete lies about who you were as a person. Later that night as you laid staring at your ceiling, you realized Cynthia never broke the hypnosis. You looked up Cynthia's next show. It was the following night two states away. You drove four hours the next day to arrive at the venue, only to find out The Amazing Cynthia had died in a car accident the night before. She fell asleep at the wheel and veered off the road into a tree.

Things unsurprisingly didn't work out with you and Claire. You actually really liked her, you just couldn't find a way to tell her that. You've gotten better at lying over the years. Originally, it seemed like when you took too long to think of a response, your brain would shout out the worst possible lie it could. A few tricks you've learned are answering a question with a question, speaking in superlatives, fuckin' LETHAL doses of sarcasm, and when in doubt, just spilling out any random lie that has nothing to do with the conversation at hand. You think about the movie Liar Liar a lot more than anyone should. It really should have been called Truther Truther. Your life should be called Liar Liar. Only this isn't just for 24 hours. This is forever.

You've adapted your lifestyle to fit your affliction. You've lived with your friend Reggie for a little over two years who knows all about Cynthia's curse. He knows that everything out of your mouth is untrue and is the only person in your life you're able to hold a normal conversation with. You've actually been able to earn a comfortable living off your lies, writing bullshit articles for a celebrity tabloid magazine, Public Periodical. You're surprised that everyone who works at PP wasn't forced into scandal making by a dead hypnotist. The last piece you wrote was about Adam Driver killing three seagulls on the beach while eating a jar of grape jelly with his bare hands.

Sure, life has been significantly harder since the night both Cynthia and your former self died. However, today you wake up with a smile. All the bitterness and resentment you've felt over your last three years of suffering will be deeply repressed for the next couple days. It's October 29th. Halloween is almost upon you, the one time of year where you can lie as hard as you want and it's just part of the tradition as long as you're in a costume. You can finally let the weirdness you've been storing inside you all year shoot out of you like a sprinkler.
---

You check your phone to see you have a text from your mother. "Mary misses you. When's the next time you're going to visit her?" You promptly shove your phone into your pocket without crafting a reply. Nnnnnnnope. You're not engaging with her guilt trips. Not today.

As you walk into the living room, Reggie is leaning over the coffee table eating a bowl of cereal and asks, "Hey did you eat my last bagel?"
"No," you reply.
"Did you at least write bagels on the shopping list?"
"Of course I did, Reggie. It was the first thing I did after I finished not eating it," you say as you quickly scrawl "bagels" on the list hanging from the fridge.
"Mmhmm," Reggie mumbles as he drinks some milk from the bowl. "You remember that I'm flying back home tomorrow morning to help my parents move, right?"
You turn around in shock. "Umm, no! I can't believe this is the first I'm hearing about this."
Reggie nods. "Alright, just checking. See you tonight at JJ's?" he asks as you head for the door.
JJ's is the local bar down the street from your apartment that's hosting a costume night. "I wouldn't be caught dead at JJ's," you grumble as you exit the apartment into the hallway. Before heading outside you quickly pop your head back in and say, "Hey Reggie?"
"Yeah?" comes the response.
"I love Jim Carrey."
"I know, Griffin," he replies solemnly.

What are you going to do with your day?

A) Write some tabloid trash at the PP offices.
B) Go find a costume to wear at JJ's tonight.
C) Buy Reggie some bagels to replace the ones you ate.
D) Decide to visit your not-so-lovely mother against your better judgment.

P.S. Sorry this first post is hella long. Usually I don't like to make the first update more than one post long but I got carried away I guess.
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HotLap posted...

last piece you wrote was about Adam Driver killing three seagulls on the beach while eating a jar of grape jelly with his bare hands.

I could see that.

Also B
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oh man ass muff it's been too long :'D

D
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B

Hey tc great opening!
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Fuck yeah, I needed an Assmuff CYOA in my life again.

C, gotta hook our homie up with those bagels.
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Assmuff!! <3

A
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a then b
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P.S. Sorry this first post is hella long. Usually I don't like to make the first update more than one post long but I got carried away I guess.

Was totally worth it.

Anyhow, D.

@fire_bolt @Kircheis get y'all's butts in here
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B
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LedZeppelin posted...

a then b

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This needs to be a movie. Also, d.
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Tag
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DrizztLink posted...

DocileOrangeCup posted...

Vortex_of_Hope posted...

teepan95 posted...

Eevee-Trainer posted...

I love and missed you all.

MhkaCHemistry posted...

Shit is that Math? I don't think I've seen you since the old tinychat days.

tainted_emerald posted...

This needs to be a movie. Also, d.

Thanks! But let's wait to see how I fuck things up first.
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Tag. Glad to see another good CYOA starting on here! Ill also vote A -> B
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C
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I didnt read that.
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C
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AB, B, C, and D are all tied right now.

Gotta wait til tomorrow to update anyways because I gotta watch The Bachelorette, ya feel me?
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Bump so someone can break the tie before tonight.
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C
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C
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C
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C

Oh hotdamn it's an assmuff cyoa
Amazing opening
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SmidgeIsntBack posted...

C

By the way, you all have Smidge to blame for how well or poorly this goes. Writing an update now.
---

C) Buy Reggie some bagels to replace the ones you ate.

You plan your day as you shuffle down the stairs and into the street. You're not going to visit your mother, that's for sure. She'll turn your overeager excitement for tonight's Halloween party into just a dull giddiness. Spurting all the weirdness out of your system is going to be like taking ecstasy for you. Coming down off of ecstasy is probably the best analogy you can think of for talking to your mother. Plus you're not so fond of her boyfriend Grant, who you actually get along really well with. It's probably because you can't think of a single thing you like about him. Granted, Grant is nothing like your father, who you never got along with either, but Grant does like your mother which ruins any appeal he may have once held.

You stand motionless a foot outside your front door. You have no idea what you're going to do today. You suppose you could go into work and manufacture some juicy celebrity gossip, but your feet just aren't moving. You look to your right and see a young man wearing khaki shorts below a pastel green polo coming toward you, then to your left to see a middle-aged woman walking her dog. As the man walks by you, you point at him and command, "Quick, sir! Name a celebrity!"
"M-Mark Ruffalo," he stammers out after a quick jump.
"Quick, miss! Name a fetish!" you shout as the dogwalker passes by.
"No."
"Okay, no harm done. I hope you have a great day, miss."

And there you have it. Your next story will be about Mark Ruffalo chasing a dogwalker through the city and verbally berating her until she cries. You can pop into the office at any time and bang that out in 45 minutes. Shit writes itself.

You were thinking about heading to the Halloween store, but let's be honest you've already bought too many costumes the last two years. "Hmmm," you hum as you kick a small rock into the street. You can't go back inside now. You just left. That's so embarrassing. You could always go buy more bagels so Reggie has something to eat tomorrow morning since you're planning on upending that entire box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch when you get home at 2AM after JJ's. To the grocery store.

Not even a block away from your apartment you can already feel the sweat beading on your forehead. Why is so hot and humid today? It's almost November. Hell, the trees have hardly started changing their colors at all, but many of the trees still seem to be light on leaves anyways. You peer down at the sidewalk to see several dry, cracked leaves littering the ground. This isn't the way you like to watch trees die this time of year.

Sensing you might succumb to pit stains, you turn into a coffee shop to cool off in the air conditioning. Plus, chugging along through this muggy air might tire you out. Better order a coffee. As you reach the counter the barista perks up and gives you a contractually obligated smile. "Hi, can I-"
"Large iced americano black, please," you interrupt her. You can never let the barista finish saying "Can I help you?" because then you have to tell her no and leave the coffee shop.
"We actually have a new product that's actually an americano blended with a frappe," the barista informs you. "It's called an Americanappe."
Why the hell would anyone mix an americano with ice cream? The ice cream negates the entire point of the coffee. Now you're just going to be drinking milk outside on a hot day. "Is it called an Americanappe because it'll put me to sleep?"
"Hahaha noooo," she laughs at the joke she's clearly heard several times since this product came out. "So would you like one?"
"Sure," you wince.
As she punches your order into the register, she looks up and asks, "You want whipped cream on that?"
God dammit. "Absolutely."
---

You fold your arms and pout as the barista tries to engage you small talk. "You enjoying the heat today?"
"I LOVE IT," you bellow in frustration before announcing, "I'm gonna fuck my girlfriend in a public park while the gettin's good."
"O-Okay," she recoils before handing you the Americanappe.
You grab your dairy Nyquil and barrel through the door back into the sweaty abyss.

You sip on your milky sedative just enough to keep cool until you reach the grocery store where you promptly huck it into a trash can. The milk didn't do it's job though, you still feel like a slimy mess. You just want to get in, grab, the bagels, and get out. You desperately need a shower and a nap before JJ's.

You head straight to the last aisle, grab a six-pack of everything bagels, and slam them on a conveyor belt.
"Will that be all today?" the cashier asks.
You hate that question. Why do all cashiers ask that question? Has anyone ever purchased their items one at time? "Nope," you smile as you look at her nametag. "I actually forgot something. Thanks Candace."
You snatch your bagels off the belt and head back into the heart of the store. You wander around trying to think of something that goes good with everything bagels. Maybe dental floss, to get all the poppy seeds out of your teeth. Eh, maybe Reggie will want something heavy for his plane ride tomorrow. You grab some eggs and cheese so Reggie can make himself a breakfast sandwich before his flight. That and an Americanappe should have him snoozing through a four hour trip like it's no time at all.

You place the three items back on the counter as Candace jests, "There we go! Although I don't know how you could forget two of of three of the things you came to the store to get."
"I don't know, Candace. I guess I'm just forgetful sometimes," you reply.
She looks you dead in the eyes and asks, "Did you forget anything else?"
You furrow your brow, purse your lips, and turn the meanest frown you can muster. "YES, CANDACE! I think I did!"

Back into the store you go. You can feel your face getting hotter as the frustration courses through your body, which is only getting you sweatier and angrier. You gotta chill out or you'll never get out of this god forsaken store. You can't really think of anything in this store that would make you happy if you bought it. Looks like you gotta get sad.

You stride down Aisle 7 and let out a long, mournful sigh as slide a can off the shelf. A portly man with glasses is standing next to you without a cart or a basket. His thin brown hair trails off into wisps as it reaches the top of his head. "Buying Bush's Baked Beans, huh?"
"No, I just came over here to stand next to the beans like you're apparently doing," you retort.
"Don't you want to know why I'm standing next to the beans?"
Not even a little bit. "Tell me."
A little smile peeks into the corner of his lips. "I feel like people are forgetting that Duke was the villain of the Bush's baked beans commercials."
"Mmhmm," you nod. "So you're just here to shit on a dead dog?"
"The recipe for those baked beans were his family's livelihood! If that recipe got out, everyone could make their own baked beans and the Bush family would go bankrupt!" The man quickly looks around to see if he's attracting any other listeners, but he most definitely is not. He turns back to you and continues, "But did Duke care? Naaaah. He was planning on selling that recipe, driving the family that raised him into financial despair, and making off with the profits."
"Why are you doing this? Are you just too hot to go outside?" you wonder.
---

"I'm doing this because we as a society need to separate art from the artist," he declares. "We can mourn the death of Sam the dog, but celebrate the demise of Duke the scourge of the Bush family. If Jack Gleeson died in a car accident tomorrow, people would be rightfully devastated, but they aren't going to suddenly come out of the shadows announcing that Joffrey was their favorite Game of Thrones character."
"So Joffrey and Duke the talking dog are on the same playing field for you then?"
He ignores your question and finishes his tirade, "Dr. Huxtable was a great man, but Bill Cosby is a monster. Sam was a great dog, but Duke was an asshole. Do you see what I'm saying?"
"Not only do I understand what you're saying, but I respect the hell of you for saying it," you pat him on the shoulder.
The man envelopes you in a great hug. He definitely smells like he's too hot to go outside. As he releases you, he smiles much wider this time. "So... why are you buying those beans?"
"I'm buying these beans because Tom Brand was a great cat in Nine Lives, but Kevin Spacey's a hardcore bag of shit," you grunt as you stomp away before you can see the man's gleeful reaction.

As you reach the end of Aisle 7, you see Candace stand on her tippy toes and wave to you. You pretend you didn't see her and proceed to self-checkout.

The trek back through the porridge-like air leaves sweat stains all around your t-shirt. As you walk back through your front door, Reggie asks, "Jesus is it that hot out?"
"No, the ghost of Duke the dog jumped in a puddle and shook his muddy water all over me," you correct him.
"Dude that's a little fucked up to joke about," Reggie scolds you. "It's only been like three months. We as a nation haven't fully recovered yet."

You ignore Reggie and hop in the shower. After you've wiped all the grease and slime from your rancid husk, you collapse naked on your bed where you remain until you reawaken at 6PM. You leap from your blankets a throw open the closet door. There are four costumes from previous years that you never got the chance to wear.

What costume to you wear to JJ's?

A) Honey bee.
B) Army soldier.
C) Chef.
D) Doctor.

I'll allow combinations of up to two costumes, but you can't go as the Army medic who made five star meals using his own honey.
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A+D. I want Dr. Bee
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0AbsoluteZero0 posted...

A+D. I want Dr. Bee

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A+B Soldier Bee
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BD

Army doctor
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HotLap posted...

but you can't go as the Army medic who made five star meals using his own honey.

Damn it, but that's what I wanted. :(

DrizztLink posted...

0AbsoluteZero0 posted...

A+D. I want Dr. Bee

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A+D
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0AbsoluteZero0 posted...

A+D. I want Dr. Bee

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tainted_emerald posted...

0AbsoluteZero0 posted...

A+D. I want Dr. Bee

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Funkydog posted...

tainted_emerald posted...

0AbsoluteZero0 posted...

A+D. I want Dr. Bee

---

Looks like Dr. Bee is the winner. I'm not sure if I'll be able to update tonight, but tomorrow at the latest.
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Bump
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A) Honey bee.
D) Doctor.

You know how terrible your willpower is. You're going to reward yourself for not buying any costumes this year by buying four more costumes next year. Which means all these beauties will never get worn. You need to make the most of the time you have left with these magnificent souls without tarnishing their individual legacies. You feebly take the sleeve of the soldier outfit and bring it to your cheek. Tonight your place is here, soldier. You will fight the good fight another day. You put on the chef hat and stare at your nude body in the mirror. This... this look is doing something for you. While Reggie's gone, you're gonna do some naked cookin'.

That just leaves the honey bee and the doctor. You can make this combination work. Are you a doctor who is dressed as a bee for Halloween? Or are you a bee that's dressed as a doctor? Are you a doctor who exclusively treats bees? The answers to all those questions and more, are sure to be answered untruthfully on the fly after several drinks have been funneled into your gullet.

Combining the two costumes is going to be tricky but not impossible. The bee outfit is essentially a onesie with a rotund middle section. You shove the scrubs on tightly over the bee torso with great difficulty and only two breaks to catch your breath. The wings went over the scrubs with relative ease. All that's left is the antenna, the stethoscope, and the stinger. Viola! Dr. Bee is ready to make the rounds.

In the kitchen, you twirl open the bag of bread and grab a few slices. Reggie emerges from his room dressed as a scarecrow. "Are you just eating bread?"
You swallow the last bit of the third slice. "No."
"Did you put so much effort into this weird bee doctor costume that you forgot how to eat properly?" he laughs.
You open the fridge, squirt some mustard on the next slice, crumple it up, and push it into your mouth.
"Boy, you nasty," Reggie squirms. "Go brush your teeth. Two beers in and you're going to be burping mustard gas all over everyone in the bar."
You grab a bottle of honey head towards the bathroom.
"Do not brush your teeth with honey!" Reggie commands.
Without breaking stride you drop the honey on the counter and say, "Doesn't matter, I have another bottle in the bathroom anyways."

After Reggie makes you breathe in his face to prove you used actual toothpaste, he grabs you by the shoulders and says, "One last thing."
"What's that?" you ask.
"You need to put your stinger in the back of the costume."
"This is how God made me," you argue.
"Griffin..."
You sigh and maneuver the stinger to its rightful location. Well at least according to Reggie.

A couple blocks from your apartment you cross the threshold of JJ's Tavern and are greeted with a sea of costumed bar patrons. A sense of relief washes over you as you spot a soldier and a chef in the crowd. Close call. However, there is another honey bee near the opposite wall. He's not wearing scrubs though. He's probably some uneducated dockworker bee. Reggie turns to you and says, "I'm gonna grab a couple-" but you're already making a beeline towards your new rival.
He sees you coming and lets out a yell, "Heeeeey! Another bee!"
"I go by Dr. Bee, actually," you correct him.
"Well alright Dr. Bee, I'm Darren," he replies. "So do you-"
"What line of work are you in, Darren?" you interrupt.
"Uh, I'm in consulting," he chokes out, caught off guard by your aggressive line of questioning.
"Do you advise your clients to become nudists, Darren?" you continue to pressure him.
Darren's confused. "Um, what?"
---

"You're naked, Darren. Everyone can see your endophallus," you clarify. "I'm not sure why you're putting the fact that you're a virgin on display in a bar. As you can see, my endophallus was ripped from my body by my queen several years ago. Luckily, I was able to survive my abdomen being torn open with my surgical training."
Darren chooses to go back and focus on the career aspect of what you said instead of all the weird bee penis removal. "Oh you meant like what's my bee career. Oh I'm... I like do accounting stuff back at the hive."
You grip Darren by the shoulders and maintain an uncomfortably tense level of eye contact. "Last week a worker bee was rushed to the emergency room. He wanted to tell me what was wrong, but his glossa was completely gone. I've never seen anything like it. Darren! He... he tried so hard to tell me what was wrong, but blood just rushed down and out of his proboscis and onto the floor," you start to shudder. Darren glances back at his friends who look appropriately horrified. You feel Darren try to take a step away, but you shake him and yell, "But at that moment, another bee comes barreling through the door on a stretcher! Freak workplace accident. His thorax was completely collapsed. If he didn't get help soon, he'd never be able to use any of his six legs or his wings again. I was the only one on call at the time, and I had to treat patients based on severity of condition. I figured as long as the first bee stopped trying to scream, he'd stop bleeding. I remember the look he gave me as I wheeled the second bee into the back. His labial palp was covered in red, but once those doors closed and I looked down at this bee's crushed thorax all I could see was red. It was... so much worse than I thought it was Darren. It wasn't about saving his legs or wings anymore, it was about saving his life. But even if I was successful, what kind of life did he have ahead of him? Would it be nobler to-"
"Is this guy bothering you?" Reggie asks as he steps beside you holding two beers.
"Yes!" Darren's friends shout in unison with a meek "very much so Mr. Scarecrow" added from Darren.
As Reggie leads you away from Darren's group, you call out, "Neither one of them made it Darren! The first bee bled out in the waiting room! But I don't blame myself. Some patients just can't be saved, it's not my cross to bear!"

Reggie shoves you in an empty booth. "Dude, it's a party."
"What's your point?" you ask him.
"Why do you always have to tell lies that make people feel like shit? Would it kill you to try a happy lie?"
"Probably," you admit.
"Last year you went as Mickey Mouse's dad and talked about how you lost touch with your son after his film career took off," Reggie criticizes you. "That was bad enough, but then you took it a step further by saying you turned to drug use to cope with your mousy depression. Turns out Mickey was abusing narcotics in Hollywood as well, and you found out. You told people every time you shoot up you feel more connected to estranged son."
As Reggie takes a deep breath, you tell him, "That doesn't sound like me. Are you sure you're not thinking of someb-"
"And the year before that you went as a Minion, but spent two weeks beforehand studying Minion language. You spoke only in Minion and became visibly distressed once no one could understand you. You worked up tears, man. You cried in public on purpose... as a joke, I think? Was it a joke?" he asks you.
"It was committing to a role. Ninety percent of Minion communication is tears and fear," you lie.
---

"Well shit, man. I know you have a deep well of misery you could mine from as a doctor, but can you keep it light this year?" Reggie pleads. "Talk about Bee Movie or something."
"I've never seen Bee Movie before," you say before giving him the slightest of nods.
"Okay." Reggie gets up from the table. "Light, please. I'm begging you. Let's go talk to some more people."
"In a sec, I need to put some urine inside me," you tell him as you head toward the door to the alley. It's been three years and you still haven't found a non-gross way to say you're going to the bathroom.
"You really can't just suck it up and go inside?"
"I told you, Reggie," you answer. "The bathrooms here are just too pristine and I won't tarnish them."

You head into the alley. To the left is a dumpster then a dead end. To the right is the street. You position yourself behind JJ's dumpster and look down at where your endophallus should be. Wow, you really didn't think about pissing when you put this bee onesie on and then more clothes over the onesie. You peer out from behind the dumpster toward the street. Coast seems to be clear. You retract your arms into your onesie, ready to fully disrobe when you hear what sounds like an argument coming into the opening of the alleyway.
"Leave me alone!" you hear a woman shout.
You immediately crouch down behind the dumpster and try to glance around the edge. Realizing your antennae are still on, you reach up to take them off to avoid detection, but your arms are still inside your costume. You quietly attempt to scrape your antennae on the brick wall to knock them off your head. The antennae flip down to dangle beneath your chin, but are still firmly attached to your face. Good enough, at least they won't stick out from behind the dumpster.

A blonde woman walks into the alley holding her cell phone. You can't make out any other features, as her back is to you and she's wearing a full body Scooby Doo costume. The hood is Scooby's head, which has been pulled down so she can argue with the next alleyway entrant. He's a bald, jowly man with a Van Dyke beard who appears to be in his late twenties. He's wearing a hooded sweatshirt, with his arms folded inside as if he's pouting, and not trapped in a bee outfit. The sweatshirt doesn't appear to be a part of a costume, unless his costume is a fatter, bald Vince Gilligan.
The guy keeps repeating phrases like "come on" and "just listen to me" while the woman is repeating "oh my god" and "stop."
Eventually the woman cuts through the repetition with, "Do I seriously need to get a restraining order on you?"
Oh damn, it's getting real. "Ruh roh," you mutter under your breath.
Scooby continues, "I came here with my friends to relax and have fun and to forget about all your bullshit and you show up anyway."
"I just really need to talk to you," he says.
"There's nothing to talk about, dude. I didn't even tell you I was coming here. How did you find me? Are you stalking me?" she demands.
The man denies the accusation. "No, of course not."
"Then how did you know?"
No response.
"Fine, fuck it. I'm getting a restraining order," she says as she takes a step back toward the street.
"Stop!" he shouts as he pulls a revolver out of his hoodie and points it at Scooby. There appears to be a silencer spun on to the end of it.
---

"Oh shit," you whisper as you move fully behind the dumpster. You put your face to the ground to try to witness the scene through the gap between the dumpster and the ground, but you can only see the parties from the knees down.
"Okay..." you hear the woman say, voice wavering. "Is that a silencer?"
There's no answer from the guy, just heavy breathing. He's turned a corner he can't unturn and is thinking of his next move.
"That is a silencer," Scooby sighs before thinking aloud. "This wasn't a spur of the moment thing. You planned this.... But it only started getting bad recently, I don't think you could have gotten... Have you done this bef-"

Scooby's sentence is cut short by what sounds like someone punching a stapler twice. As you see the woman's body hit the pavement you stop breathing. Her phone clatters across the blacktop and rests against the brick building you're pressed against. She's lying perfectly still, a pool of blood starting to surround her. You don't want to turn your head away, fearing it'll make a sound, so you just shut your eyes tight and pray the man doesn't walk this way. As he stands over his victim, all you can hear is his labored breathing, broken up by an occasional sob. You keep clenching your eyes shut so tight you start to see lights sparking off like fireworks in your head. You hear quick footsteps exit the alleyway, the slam of a door, and a car speeding away.

You open your eyes. His knees are gone, there's only the woman staring blankly at the sky.

You really wish you could walk back that "Ruh-roh" joke. What do you do?

A) Call 911 on the victim's phone.
B) Call 911 from your phone.
C) Go inside and tell Reggie what happened.
D) Go meet some new people with Reggie. But keep it light!

Sorry if there are more typos in this one, it's like 4AM and I'm pretty buzzed.
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HotLap posted...

"You need to put your stinger in the back of the costume."
"This is how God made me," you argue.

lmao.

I'm guessing "E) track the shooter down and sting him" isn't an option?

I'll go with A.
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C while trying (and failing) D. Specifically the "keep it light" part.
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A/B would be hilarious

But C is the responsible choice

Screw it, A
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A
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C
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BC
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