I should totally write text adventures!
First you could play Stepdad:
I DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU! YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD!
I HATE YOU
*Incubus plays really loud*
*A skunky smell like armpits rolls out from under the door*
*there is a scurrying, and a window opens and a lysol smell rolls out from under the door*
> open door
the door is locked
> unlock door
> unlock door with key
you don’t have the key
you are in the hallway.
you are in the kitchen
You are in a suburban kitchen. There is a junk drawer here
> look drawer
the drawer is closed
> open drawer
the drawer is open. there is a key inside
> take key
you have a key
you can’t go that way
you are in a hallway
you are standing in front of a door. you hear incubus
> unlock door with key
DAD! WHAT THE HELL! CAN’T I HAVE SOME PRIVACY! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!
Or you could play “CC Club”, inspired by this terrifying exchange:
zach: WHY WON’T THE GIRLS FROM FOLK UKE MARRY ME
jessepmullan: the same reason why no woman will ever marry me
zach: your penis is too big too?
zach: funny we’d both have the same problem
jessepmullan: wanna swordfight?
jessepmullan: just wait for that one drunken night in the bathroom of the cc club
zach: I will so use the stall
Here’s the actual game:
> open door
the stall is locked
> unlock stall
there is no keyhole
you are in a dimly lit bathroom. there is a strong smell of urine
you hear zach in the stall yelling “you are NOT GETTING IN HERE”
you are in the bar area of the cc club. Many women are ignoring you.
> look women
the women are hot but unattainable. A hipster douchebag asshole is going home with one of them.
> drink beer
you have no beer
> GIVE ME SOME FUCKING BEER
My homework is not done because some retard didn’t program the PriorityQueue correctly or some shit. I’m going to bed now so that I don’t get triple fired tomorrow. Melody says that I should chase down the cupcake woman. I think that I agree. I will be a cheetah on the savannah. Okay, really, I’m just a grumpy old male lion who lets the lady lions do all the real work like hunting and raising kids. Jeremy Irons will voice me in the animated movie based on my life. I think that my brain came detached somewhere in the course of writing this.
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I had grand plans for my Saturday night involving an art gallery somewhere and an appearance at Paul’s roommate John’s birthday party with an armload of beer. All of those plans were dashed to pieces when my favorite surly lady said that if I were to be in the north suburbs I should come see her new bed. At first I was resistant, but she said “we could go to Coon Rapids Grumpy’s! There will be billa billa!” For a brief, terrifying hopeful moment I thought that maybe she had actually read some of my blog. No.
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Everyone is already talking about registerring, but as a lowly sophomore, I don’t get to register until December 2nd.
ARTS 1701 Photography (4 cr.) 6:00 P.M. - 10:00 P.M. , M
CSCI 4061 Introduction to Operating Systems (4cr.) 02:30 P.M. - 03:20 P.M, M & 12:45 P.M. - 02:00 P.M. Tu,Th
CSCI 5421 Advanced Algorithms and Data Structures (3cr.) 4:00 P.M. - 05:15 P.M. , M,W
CSCI 5403 Computational Complexity (3cr.) 6:30 P.M. - 9:00 P.M. , Tu
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“Knock ‘em dead, killer!” Cake Woman advised when we chatted before Paul’s party. Maybe that vote of confidence was all I needed to almost flirt with a half dozen ladies. You saw the pictures — aside from the first couple of women who were dressed as Minnesota sports players I was barely creepy at all.
The next night Lisa made a big deal about the three single women who would be showing up. I made a big deal out of my own terror over throwing parties and threw responsible drinking off of the deck along with the screen door. I had promised Cake Woman that I would protect her during the party. She doesn’t like people and parties make her nervous. I didn’t protect her. I feel guilty. I don’t feel guilty about staggering around my own party and blacking out my foosball losses.
The punchline for that party is perhaps the best part, and telling it leaves the door open for me to trickle out anecdotes involving things that I had to be told happened. My mom’s husband asked how we liked the jugs of microbrewery beer that he had left, and I confessed that I drank and enjoyed most of the Cragg, and drank but did not remember the Diablo beer. Even my mom laughed. Lisa spilled the punchline before my mother gave haircuts to Stan and I, so I had to tell the story. Honestly, it’s not that interesting — just the sort of minor argument that winds through a party like a tapeworm.
Somewhere in the darkest part of the party night, my boss Zach and his friends arrived. I swear that he brought as many people as Lisa or I — certainly more than I had directly invited. Before he arrived, he asked if they should bring beer. I said no, but joked that if they had beer in the car it might not be a terrible thing. I don’t remember ever running out of beer at a party, but I was not about to start now. When Lisa and I used to smoke, we would put out a carton of cigarettes in candy dishes, and we definitely ran out of those.
By the time Zach showed up I was drinking Octoberfest as quickly as I could pour it into my “Our Beer Must Be Good” glass. If you haven’t seen the glass that my mom bought me, it features a naked pinup lady, as though high quality beer causes women’s clothing to evaporate. In my experience, this is not true. I have experienced evaporated clothing, but the clothes were mine, and it turned out that I had merely stripped down naked in the living room before carrying a woman to her bed. The next morning when the room stopped spinning long enough for me to stand up, I exclaimed “what happened to my clothes, did they evaporate?”
Yes, I have made that mistake when drunk, and even when sober. Even more surprising is that other people have made the same mistake with me. When I was thirteen I knew with firm resolution that I would never date any woman. At seventeen I got an unsolicited phone call from a girl, whom I dated and promptly scared away by having absolutely no idea how to relate to a woman in a high school relationship. Things ended badly — or at least weirdly, but she had broken the seal that had imprisoned me.
On the party night Lisa’s friend scolded me for wearing a baggy shirt and told me that I looked much better than I had in photographs from a couple of years before. I don’t remember her leaving, but even I remember rambling on for too long about my magical weight loss methods involving pizza and beer. Probably not cool, but it was my party to wreck — at least partly.
After Zach tried to tell his “scariest story ever told” I found my way inside, where I found Cake Woman taking her knapsack and trying to leave the house. I told her not to leave. I begged. I pleaded. She said that there was no way that she could stay and not seem like an asshole. I sat down. She walked out the door. The whole room looked at me. I sighed, rolled my eyes, took a gulp of beer and stormed outside. I begged some more and told her that if she stayed I would throw everyone else out. Aside from Paul and Zach, Cake Woman was the only guest that I really wanted there anyway. Paul had left for a better party and Zach was trying (but failing) to catch up to my own hideous drunkeness. We argued, and finally I asked “if you go, can I come with you?”
“Get in the car then.”
I swallowed the rest of my beer and set my glass on the lawn. As we pulled away from the curb, I looked down at my bare feet and wiggled my toes.
On the way to Anoka Cake Woman smoked an impossibly long Virginia Slims Extra Menthol Light (or whatever the hell it was). I put one in my mouth and got the filter all wet.
“Take that out of your mouth. I’m not going to let you smoke.”
I didn’t take it out of my mouth, but I didn’t smoke it. I didn’t even want to light it, I just wanted to be funny ol’ Jesse, always quick with the pratfalls and jokes.
The world outside the car was a blackened tunnel. Highway 10 slid by beyond the focus of my eyes. It narrowed to a lane and a half for construction, and then we were spit out onto an exit. My feet were pale against the cold asphalt of the parking lot, the industrial carpet of the stairs, and the spongy carpet in Cake Woman’s apartment. I pulIed off my shirt. I passed out on Cake Woman’s bed against the wall.
The next morning I woke up alone next to a woman. She was alone too. Neither of us had moved from where we had fallen. We hadn’t touched during the night. I wasn’t even under the blanket.
And that’s how I woke up in Anoka with no shoes.
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So Cake Woman works six days on and three days off. Her weekend this round was composed of Tuesday, Wednesday, and today, except that she had a ride along today at six AM which involved wearing a bulletproof vest and traveling at a speed of one hundred and twenty miles per hour in a Crown Victoria. Yes, I’m terribly jealous — the fastest that I have gone in a car was about 117. Despite only getting two hours of sleep and me suddenly remembering that I had to babysit after school, we still managed to hook up to do fun things. Most of the time the fun things that I do involve intellectual pursuits like television or reading on the toilet, so it was nice to break the tedium with some Addams Family Pinball at the Viking Bar and bowling at Elsie’s. Our penultimate game was my best game ever! I bowled a 119! I think that it was the Slipknot that turned my game around. I can’t say that I like metal, but sometimes you just need a little screaming to get your game on.
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I just used my new cell phone in my room. Five bars.
You are the ones who are ball lickers.
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I really meant to go vote, I just wanted to close my eyes for a minute…
Like Rhonda Shears and Gilbert Godfried I was up all night. This had deleterious effects on my sanity today. When I got home I slipped into a coma crossways in the big chair. I’m kind of ashamed of myself for not stopping on the way to school, or on the way home, or after I got home when Lisa and Stan offered to drop me off. Okay, terribly ashamed.
I wish that my classes were at night again, this interleaving classes into work really blows.
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