Current Events > CYOA: The government put horny pills in the water supply.

(+) Yeah! (+)

Poetry slam. A speakeasy in downtown Manhattan. Exposed brick? Yes, a lot of it. Are you thinking about the day the government put horny pills in the water supply? No. You don't think about that all too often. The next poet steps on stage. Around his neck hangs a wooden sign sprayed with vibrant red paint. One word. "RHYMER."

Does rhyming have a place in modern slam poetry? It's not your place to say. However, you're happy to frequent an establishment that forces these perverts to identify themselves. No one should be rhymed at without adequate warning.
"So brave," you say. Every artist is brave simply for creating, simply for dreaming, simply for sharing, simply for existing. Even a rhymer.
"So brave," Candace confirms.

On Wednesday nights, the hard liquor ceases to flow at the speakeasy to make way for the untamed talents of small batch breweries, often run by the poets themselves. Candance has had a saison from Burlington, Vermont, a saison from Brattleboro, Vermont, and a saison from Stowe, Vermont. You have a saison from Windsor, Vermont, a saison from Burlington, Vermont, and a saison from Brandon, Vermont.

The rhymer speaks. "I'm Caleb. I'm from Montpelier, Vermont. For today's events I brewed a saison. This is called The Day The World Went Horny."

I learned that my son was afraid of heights
He fell off a climbing rope in gym class
I learned that fears can be passed down
The day my sink put horny in my glass

Cringing. But proud. After all, what bravery. You sip your saison. It's dry. It's wonderful. "Candace," you whisper.
Candace looks over.
"How was the saison from Burlington, Vermont? I'm thinking of ordering that next."
"It's dry. It's wonderful. A very Burlington saison."

I picked three peppers and a zucchini
More additions to the daily stir fry
I'll never forget the day the government
Put horny pills in the water supply

What's happening? Your chest? Flushed. Your heartbeat? Quickened. You look the empty glass that held the saison from Burlington, Vermont. Oh no. What was the water source this irresponsible, yet brave brewer used?

Kissed my wife goodbye as she went to work
Not in a horny way
Just a regular, y'know husband wife way
The day before she said "Let's have a daughter"
It's been a long six years since I have seen her
Seven since the horny pills have been in drinking water

Legs trembling slightly. "Candace!"
Candace looks.
"Public water was used in the brewing of the saison from Burlington, Vermont."
"How could you ever know that?"
"I am horny, Candace. Do you see how flushed my chest is?"
"You're wearing a turtleneck, darling."
"I can feel the flush, Candace! We must leave together at once, separate when we hit the street, and quarantine for three days."
"Nonsense, let me flag down a waiter. I will use a double armed wave to indicate increased urgency."

The waiter arrives. Shoulders? Broad. Jawline? Sharp. "Yes? Is everything alright?"
You slide down off your stool. "I'm horny. I'll see you in three days."
"Ma'am?"
"Where exactly does the brewery from Burlington, Vermont get their water from?"
"They built a manmade spring in Westmore, Vermont."
"Manmade?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"No public water at all?"
"No, ma'am."
"But my horniess?"
"Of your own accord, ma'am."
"Oh, what a relief." You sit back onto your stool.

I know my rhymes make your compassion hard
And I know this theme is worn and corny
But I'll never be as happy as
I was the day the world went horny

You snap. Candance snaps. The audience snaps in recognition of the art this Montpelier brewer chose to bestow upon downtown Manhattan.
"So brave," Candance snaps.
You nod and snap. "So brave of him to just go up there and rhyme like that."

What do you do?

A) Wait for the next poet.
B) Leave the speakeasy.

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awww yissss

@Eevee-Trainer

Imma vote A
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*snap*
*snap*
*snap*

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A

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@fire_bolt @Kircheis I wonder where this one might go.

I'll go with A as well.

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A

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foxhound101 posted...

A

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I wonder where this one might go.

Same.

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A lot going on here

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I'm putting a little more effort into the next poem (instead of just trying to make silly rhymes while high), so I won't update tonight. Alternatively, if any of you PM a poem you write (it clearly doesn't have to be good) and a description of a character you'd like to recite the poem, I'll put you in the next update.

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Hyyyyyyyype

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A) Wait for the next poet.

Your mood is a mild one. Mild inebriation, mild horniness, with mild anticipation for the next poet. You haven't had a slam throw you into the wilds of passion in quite some time. The next poet steps to the stage. White tank top, black denim pants, and faint traces of a beard recently shaved away. He's a slender man, but seeds of a beerbelly have rooted themselves in him. You're drawn to his sunglasses. Why? They're on indoors.

"Hallo. I am Lennox and I am originally from Berlin," he introduces himself.
"Oh, Berlin?" you try to sound intrigued, but end up coming off as concerned. Which you are.
"I'm concerned," Candace whispers across the table.
"Yes, me too."
"Berlin? I bet he brought a pilsner or - heaven forbid - a lager."
"I brought with me a saison that I brewed in Greensboro, Vermont," Lennox announces.
Relief washes over the two of you.
"Crisis averted."
Lennox looks nervously out into the audience. "Do you say go or...?"
You snap. Candace snaps. The audience snaps. It's time for art.
Lennox lifts the mic out of the stand.

Liebe Currywurst
How divine is your great Duft
Get into my Bauch

Lennox drops the microphone on the floor and leaves the stage. He darts through the crowd to return to his table for one. Waiting on a plate is a decadent, steaming currywurst. Lennox aggressively shoves a fork into the sausage, brings it to his mouth, and rips a chunk away.
Confused snaps. Half-hearted mutterings of bravery.
"My, my, my," you say under your breath, impressed. "Aren't we full of surprises?... Candace, flag down the waiter."
Candace waves both hands over her head.
"Yes?" the strong jawline returns.
"Is the speakeasy serving food now?" you ask.
"No, ma'am."
"Then how come he has that currywurst?"
"He brought that from home, ma'am."
"He brought it from home?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"He cooked a currywurst at home, brought it to a poetry slam, recited a poem about how he was going to eat it, and is now eating it in front of all of us?"
"It appears so, ma'am."
You run the tips of your fingers along your collarbone. "That'll be all. Thank you."
The waiter turns to leave, but then leans in and asks, "And how is your horniness, ma'am? Has it subsided?"
You sigh and shudder at the same time. "Horribly inappropriate. I appreciate your concern, but that's a terrible thing to ask."
"Very sorry, ma'am."
"Awful."

Another poet strides to the stage and snatches the mic from the ground. He's tall, he's thin, and with his announcement of "I didn't brew anything," he's got your attention.
"This next piece is called Houseplant, but this artist is untitled."
"Untitled?" Candace repeats, followed by a curt sip of saison. "A bit pretentious."
"Oh come now, Candace. I don't think we should be beholden to the names we were given to us by people who didn't know who we were. Just look at Lennox over there. His parents named him Lennox, but eating a pre-prepared sausage alone in a dark club isn't very Lennox of him. He's very clearly a Doug. After over three decades of being you, do you think you're a Candace?"
"You're only making this argument because your last name is Weiner and everyone calls you Miss Weiner."
"Do you not see him Douging out over there?"
"My parents retired to upstate Maine and have an alpaca farm. They used your approach and did not name the alpacas to allow them to choose their own identities."
You snap.
"Stop it," Candace swats your hands. "All of their names are some form of hiss, scream, or bray.
"You fence me in and make me eat hay and my identity will become a hiss too."

When I was ten my parents asked me if I wanted a cat or a dog.
It was okay if I needed time to think about it. No rush.
So I didn't think about it.
When I was eleven they asked me again.
There's no wrong answer. We're happy with whatever you decide.
It doesn't have to be just one.
You can choose both.
It doesn't have to be just one.
...What about like, a houseplant?

"Did you have a cat growing up?" Candace whispers as she keeps her eyes on Untitled.
You nod. "She was very sweet. Her name was Purrrrrrrrrr."
Candace's brow furrows.

Dogs eat whatever they can find. They fill backyards and sidewalks with shit. They roll around in mud and chug swamp water if you'll let them. They'll lick their ass and try to put their swamp ass tongue on your face.
Take your time.
Cats piss in a box and then the piss box just hangs out and now there's just a piss box in your house? They should have led with that. Do you want a box filled with piss? Do you want to watch an angry animal eat its fur and then barf it onto the floor several rooms away from the piss box?
It doesn't have to be just one. It can be both.
But it can't be a plant? None of the mess, but plenty of growth.
They said-

The sound of the Rhyme Gong reverberates throughout the speakeasy. Everyone turns to the bartender who holds up one finger. "Strike one!"
Untitled nods and continues.

They said you just need more time to think.
Fish are slimy.
Birds are just screams with feathers.
Ferrets are mean.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with a turtle?
Rabbits are footballs that shit and bite.
Every single one of them is gross.
Except a plant. All it needs is water.
But a plant is nothing.
It doesn't have to be just one, but it had to be at least one.
But I'm a houseplant.

Untitled's tone is getting harsher. He's angry. You grab an ice cube from your spring water and run it across the back of your neck.

The dam burst and the flow watered us all
And I watched you go from thirst to hydration to dehydration to exhaustion to acceptance
Everyone decided to pick up a plant like it's a hobby and not who I am
You motherfuckers had to binge til you puffed out dust to make me feel like I belonged
You filtered the salt from my tears and offered me a sip
But fuck you I am not thirsty
The flood is here and I'm still swimming
Everyone else was thrashing on the surface
Some drowned but you all crawled back on the shore
You hide from the flood and close your eyes on your yachts
But the flood's still here and I can breathe underwater

Untitled leaves the stage without waiting for the snaps that confirm he did art. The delayed snaps chase him to his seat at the bar. "My, my, my..." you mutter again. "Another brave boy. What a night for Miss Weiner."

What do you do?

A) Buy Lennox a saison.
B) Buy Untitled a saison.
C) Wait for the next poet.
D) Leave the speakeasy with Candace.


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B

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B. They're certainly ... interesting.

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HotLap posted...

"He cooked a currywurst at home, brought it to a poetry slam, recited a poem about how he was going to eat it, and is now eating it in front of all of us?"

Legend

A
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D
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@AssAssasin69 , I never left, my child.

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A, actually.

Gotta learn about that sausage.

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AYYYY! you're back dude!?

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Barring any additional votes, well talk to Lennox tomorrow.

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CYOAs are not dead!
A (which i guess doesnt actually change anything lmao)

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HotLap posted...

Barring any additional votes, well talk to Lennox tomorrow.

I'm pretty sure this is actually like a week or something in HotLap years. c:
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Bump
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up!

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Race around the world dad
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24 hour BUMP

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A) Buy Lennox a saison.

After finishing your fourth saison, Miss Weiner is officially on the hunt. Your eyes shift between Lennox and Untitled. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Caleb staring at you. When you meet his gaze, he gives you a half-smile and an uninspired wave that rattles the "RHYMER" sign around his neck. You make sure to make direct eye contact while giving him a violent thumbs down. He was brave for trying, however.

You don't mean to be cruel, but sometimes cruelty can be a time saver. There's nothing worthwhile to say to Caleb because he had an opportunity to say something worthwhile to you on that stage and he didn't. His big moment was him telling everyone that his life was better before the government put horny pills in the water supply. No shit, Caleb! Fuck. And he fucking rhymed it! But with Untitled, there's a man of rage. Not a violent rage, but a righteous rage that he can channel and articulate into results. He overcame so much adversity just to claim his identity, and now others are trying to attach themselves to it. All while sneaking around and fucking on the weekends, as if having sex on Fifth Avenue doesn't count. Hell, you do it too. Looking at Untitled makes you feel like the worst version of yourself is who you really are. And if that weren't enough, there's one unsolvable problem with making Untitled your prey.

But Lennox is a man who knows what he wants. He's not afraid to say what he wants. And he wants everyone to see him as he gets what he wants. "I'm going to go buy Lennox a saison."
"Are you joking?" Candace asks.
"Absolutely not."
"He's going to smell like pork."
"He better."
"You need a cold shower."
You bite your lower lip. "I'll take a pork bath."
"What?"
"Cover your eyes, Candace. It could get bloody."
"In the pork bath? Whatever, I'm going to talk to Untitled. He's much taller and probably smells like an alpine spring."
"What?"
"An alpine spring," repeats Candace.
You try to find the right way phrase it, but ultimately you just come out and ask, "Candace, you know he's asexual, right?"
"A sexual what?" asks Candace.
"Nevermind, he'll tell you himself. You go... you give it your best."

Your neck snaps back to Lennox. Walk. Walk. Walk. Walk. Strut. Walk. Walk. Walk. Walk. Strut. That's one strut for every four steps. No one could ever say you were strutting through the bar. People can gasp at the one strut and think, "Did Miss Weiner just strut? Is she strutting? Oh no, my mistake. There's four consecutive non-strut steps. My eyes are playing tricks on me." But then the strut kicks in again and they'll forever have their doubts if you were strutting or not.

You arrive at Lennox's table. He saw you approach. He must have seen at least three struts. You sit down on a stool next to his. He opens his mouth. Here it is. His opening line - just dripping with genuine concern, "Are you okay? I have a cousin who has scoliosis. He would walk like that sometimes."
My, my, my. Isn't someone a curious cat? This wasn't the intended effect, but he will forever have his doubts about your fervent scoliosis denial. "My backbone is as straight as the Prime Meridian. it's a shame my head grew there to stop it."
"I'm... I'm glad. Both about the straight backbone and the existing head attached to it."
"And I'm glad to meet a man who's not afraid to say what he wants."
Lennox smiles. "And what do you want, Miss Weiner?"
Your heart misses a beat. "You recognize me?"
"Please, your father is one of the wealthiest men in the city. You could be on the cover of Socialite Magazine."
You overcome the urge to ask if Socialite Magazine is real. You'll Google it later and if it is, you'll be on the cover within a month. "Well, to be perfectly honest - all I want right now is a bite of that currywurst."
Lennox thinks it over. "Ah, what the hell?" He pins the end with his fork a takes a knife to the flesh. Once the blade punctures the coating, a spurt of grease shoots out of the opening and onto the table.
"Oops," falls out of your mouth in a breathy whisper.
Steam rises from the meat as Lennox has severed the link between chunk and shaft. "Careful, it's hot," he warns. "You might want to blow on it."
"I will if I could get some help."
You lock eyes with Lennox as your faces descend to the fork. You both halt inches away and loose streams of cool air onto the steaming meat. His stream smells like pork.

You're startled out of your trance by an abrupt, "Everything okay over here?"
"Jesus Chr-!" you jump as you separate from Lennox.
"She's not bothering you, is she?" the waiter asks him.
"No, she's not-"
"What the fuck kind of question is that?" you interrupt.
The waiter responds, "It's just earlier you said you were horny, and now you're over here fraternizing with this patron, and I thought-"
"You thought I better not mind my own fucking business, apparently."
The waiter drops his customer service faade and tells you plainly, "Remember where you are, Miss Weiner."
You give him your most insincere smile. "I'd advise you to do the same. Two saisons. Please."
The waiter sighs as he shuffles away.

Lennox seems perplexed by the interaction you just had. "What is public horniness a crime on Fifth Avenue?"
You gingerly take the currywurst off the fork and chuck it into your mouth. "Might as well be."
"And are you still?" Lennox asks.
"Still what?"
"Publicly horny."
You take a deep breath and rub your temples in exasperation. "What is it with men today thinking it's acceptable to ask me if I'm horny?"
"I'm sorry. That was rude of me to ask," Lennox admits. "Still, must be nice to get asked that question without everyone automatically assuming the answer was yes."
"... What are you talking about?"
"When's the last time you left Fifth Avenue, Miss Weiner? I mean, the wealthy families of New York City essentially walled off several blocks of Fifth Avenue. Private security surrounding the perimeter. Your own supply of filtered spring water coming in from out of town, off the public line. You think the people in Queens have a private line?" He leans in closer to you and asks in a gruff whisper, "How many guys in Queens do you think have boners right now? Hm?... Probably more do than don't, I'd say."
"It's not my fault-"
"I never said it was. You didn't do this to us. The government did. And in the beginning, granted it was hell, but we were all equals. Just millions of people orgasming without control. But when everyone finally figured out what happened, the wealthy made sure to reinstate their status. You made bubbles for yourselves and said everyone outside it can fuck themselves to death."
"Aren't you forgetting you're here too? This speech of yours might be more effective if you weren't standing on Fifth Avenue right next to me."
"I'm a guest. You let us in because we entertain you with our poems and we brew beer for you. And the pay is shit, but we do it anyways because the real pay is staying in the bubble for three days and away from the hell that's outside this place." Now Lennox leans all the way in until his lips are nearly on your ear. "Have you ever seen your whole family cum at the same time before?"
He leans back to view your horror.

---

He nods. "Mmhmm. It was Nana Freida's ninetieth birthday. She'd never visited the U.S. before and was rightfully a little concerned. See, the German government didn't make all its citizens horny. But we had assured her not to worry. We saved up to buy a few gallons of private water. The horny chemicals were filtered straight out of it. After months of convincing, she was here. We ate and we laughed and we drank water without fear of what it might do to us. But later everyone was sitting in the living room. Something didn't feel right. Turns out... we got a bad batch."
You cover your mouth with your right hand.
"I remember everything," Lennox continues. "I remember every facial twitch, every viscous scent, every guttural snarf. I saw my Nana cum, Miss Weiner. And afterwards... we were all still horny for three days."
"I'm so sorry." You don't know what you'd do if you saw your dear old Grammy's eyes roll back in her head.
"I don't want your pity, Miss Weiner. I want your anger. Someone did this to my family. And they did it to yours too! But the fucked up thing is you all are just pretending like they didn't."
"You're starting to sound a little like Untitled," you tell Lennox.
Lennox dons a faint smile and looks over to Untitled, who is talking to a stone-faced Candace. "He and I want the same things, I think. We just have different ideas of how to get there."
"And how is it you're going to get what you want?" you ask.
"I can show you," Lennox looks back to you and offers you his hand. "But it's going to take us off of Fifth Avenue."

The waiter hastily drops two glasses on the table. "Two saisons."

What do you do?

A) He's from Queens?! No thanks.
B) Take his hand and follow.
C) Check in with Candace.
D) Decline his invitation, but call Daddy to see if you can do anything to help horny people.

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B

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I swear when I was 18 and in Army basic training for 9 weeks, they put saltpeter in the food. Before I went into the Army I was beating off like 5 times a day, and then the entire time I was in, even with one of the drill sergeants being a fit, attractive latina woman, I didn't get an erection for over 2 months. Even if I was on firewatch and everyone else was asleep and I tried to sneak off to the bathroom for a quick tug, absolutely nothing. There's something to that.

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Lennox is gr8

B!
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MabusIncarnate posted...

I swear when I was 18 and in Army basic training for 9 weeks, they put saltpeter in the food. Before I went into the Army I was beating off like 5 times a day, and then the entire time I was in, even with one of the drill sergeants being a fit, attractive latina woman, I didn't get an erection for over 2 months. Even if I was on firewatch and everyone else was asleep and I tried to sneak off to the bathroom for a quick tug, absolutely nothing. There's something to that.

Maybe they were trying to get everyone to jerk themselves out during basic so thered be nothing left when you were active.

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B

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ump

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No update tonight, but keeping it alive.

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I will try to update soon but I am addicted to Among Us lately.

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Honestly TC. No one blames you. Among Us is great.

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I came for the assmuff, but I stayed for the brewing class warfare. B.

HotLap posted...

Birds are just screams with feathers.

I want this tattooed somewhere on my body.

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Bump

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Bump for tonight (hopefully)

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Ooh one more bump

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I have the rest of the week off from work, Ill try again tomorrow :(

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No worries champ, these topics take a lot of work

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Trying to build my first PC tonight and I'm about five minutes away from loading all the parts into my car, driving to an empty parking lot, and destroying everything on the pavement.

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HotLap posted...

Trying to build my first PC tonight and I'm about five minutes away from loading all the parts into my car, driving to an empty parking lot, and destroying everything on the pavement.

https://youtu.be/N9wsjroVlu8

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Bada baBUMP

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.

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Couldn't finish what I wanted tonight, but wanted to at least post something since it's been too long.
----------------------------------------------
B) Take his hand and follow.

You reluctantly take Lennoxs hand. Its still greasy from the currywurst.
Lennox wraps his thumb around the back of your hand, almost as if he didnt expect this result and hes making sure your hand is real. Well alright then, he smiles in spite of himself.
Normally his incredulity would be a little off-putting, but you didnt expect this result when you walked over here either. You came over for sex. Also a bite of pork, but mainly the sex. You cant say with any certainty that sex is definitely off the table, but it seems like the night is evolving beyond that.

You take your hand back and nod at the fresh saisons the waiter left. Its a cold night. Better down another glass of liquid warmth before we go. You grab the glass in front of you which promptly slips out of your hand and smashes on the floor. Saison and broken glass everywhere. The bartender motions for the waiter to take care of the mess. You feel no guilt knowing hes the one who has to clean up this mess.
Mmm. Always use the non-greased hand, Lennox ribs you. You can have half of mine.
You happily accept the drink with your left hand and swiftly down half of it in a couple swallows before handing it back.
Lennox looks impressed. Are you allowed to chug saison on Fifth Avenue?
You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater. Doesnt matter. Were not going to be on Fifth Avenue for much longer.
Lennox follows suit and finishes the rest of Burlington, Vermonts fourth driest saison. You both rise from the table and pass the forlorn waiter holding a mop and broom.

You throw open the door and find yourself on the twenty-eighth floor of a Fifth Avenue skyscraper. You take a moment to readjust to your surroundings. The exposed brick is designed to make you feel like youre in a basement club and usually you see right through it. After four and a half saisons, however, the glass windows looking twenty eight floors down left you slightly disoriented.
Lennox puts his hand on your elbow to stabilize you. You alright?
Yeah. Yeah, Im fine.
Lennox looks down at the city. Hey I know I asked you this during my rant earlier and I never gave you the chance to answer, but when is last time youve been off Fifth Avenue?
Years. Its been years. I uh I cant
Its fine, Lennox sees your wheels spinning. You dont have to answer. What Im trying to get at is youre, yknow, famous. Youd likely get recognized out there in a turtleneck. And if you havent been off this street in well just call it a while - it might be better to float under the radar.
You nod, but dont entirely understand. I didnt bring a change of clothes with me.
Im staying in this building. I can get you a hoodie, he offers.
Okay. Where are you staying?
My rooms on the second floor.
Oh they put you in the basement? you ask without thinking.
Hes confused. ...No, Im on the second floor. I can grab it and meet you on the street?
Sure. The street.

You ride the elevator down and part ways as Lennox gets out to retrieve his sweatshirt. You let out a deep breath as the doors close behind him. Guilt briefly clouds your mind when the elevator dings and you step onto the ground floor.
The doorman eyes you suspiciously, but quickly remembers to smile. Hello, Miss Weiner. Are you going outside? You can tell he was trying to find a way to phrase that more delicately.
Yes, its been a while since Ive actually walked across the street. The actual street.
You and Lennox have different definitions of what the street means. For Lennox its the roads he drives on every day, the sidewalks and the poor horny souls walking on them. For you, the streets are the roofed bridges built across Fifth Avenue three stories up. You dont live in the same building as the speakeasy, so to go home youd need to cross the street. Anything below the third floor is the basement. Where they put the people who entertain you. Who brew you beer. The people who get horny to survive, not the ones who have the luxury of feeling it organically. You cross the threshold of the entrance and inhale your first natural whiff of the city in ages. Lavender. Lilac. Is that petunias you smell? Its been so long that you forgot about the Fifth Avenue air fresheners constantly showering the area. You don't remember it being this strong. Its like someone took a shit in a bathroom, then sprayed an entire can of Febreeze to hide the wreckage. Except the bathroom is the entire country. And the shit is cum.

Lennox emerges after a couple minutes and hands you a black sweatshirt. You hastily shove your arms into the sleeves and throw the hood over your head. It doesnt smell dirty, but it doesnt smell clean either. Its as if the hoodie came straight out at the dryer without a dryer sheet after being washed without detergent. Are you ready?
You pull the drawstrings tight and shrink the amount of fame youll allow the rest of New York to see. Yep.

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Oh fuck, how did I miss that a new AssMuff CYOA was happening?

Tag

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WafflehouseJK posted...

Oh fuck, how did I miss that a new AssMuff CYOA was happening?

Tag

Youve entered on the heels of a two week absence resulting in half an update, the perfect time.

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