Who has posted? | | View a Printable Version

SideWaysThinker · 05-04-2016, 12:19 AM

typeandkey;7904571 Wrote:>Despite being a human meat candle, this woman is still miles more attractive than your girlfriend. Flirt with her a little. It could also help you climb the corporate ladder.

This woman...you don't know how to put it, but she is SMOKING. No literally, she is smoking. She is a screaming human bonfire but DAMN SHE IS HOT! Literally, she's on fire. There is no more a literal description of some one suffering from intense heat than them being literally on fire, but christ she is FINE. Well, demonstrably not. You're getting at the notion that you think she is attractive, and this thought worries you. She is a screaming, burning, French, cadaver, and you think she is attractive. More attractive than your girlfriend anyway. She hasn't rubbed snot on your pillow yet. “Yet”, being the operative word, but so long as she is suffering in burning torment you don't think the thought will cross her mind. You're not even sure if you own a pillow anymore. You don't know if ownership continues through death, though the existence of A Last Will & Testament implies it doesn't. The thought of your hateful girlfriend inheriting what little you own fills you with impotent rage. As revenge, and as a method of climbing up the corporate ladder, you decide to TEST YOUR METTLE.

You prepare yourself mentally. You fix your gaze upon the burning pile of meat and aristocracy that is Lady Blaze. You wiggle your toes and your eyebrows and do that squinty thing with your eyes, your best effort at a 'come hither' stare. It doesn't appear to be working, she seems more confused and in pain than seduced. You pull out the big guns. You stand to your feet and lean backwards roughly ninety degrees. You try to ignore the searing pain in your back as you do this. You wiggle your pelvis suggestively in her direction, and you begin to feel it. Yes, it. Confidence. You da man, Sammy Boy, you da man.

“Mr Larbawitz -PLEASE GOD MAKE IT STOP- are you okay? -MY FINGERS ARE NOTHING BUT ROTTING BURNT STUMPS- You seem to be having some kind of -MY EYES ARE RUPTURING AGAIN SOME ONE HELP ME- fit?”

And there it is. Confidence gone, and all you are left with is back problems and regret. You give one last furtive wiggle in her direction, and then sit back into your seat, dejected and alone. You used to be DA MAN Sammy Boy! How could you have let your moves rust in a shed for so long? No...it must be a cultural thing. She's from several hundred years ago...and she's FRENCH. She just doesn't understand how women are supposed to react to your masculine wigglings. It's her fault, not yours, clearly. You try to convince yourself of this, and many other, pathetic attempts to save your own ego. Now, like then, it doesn't work, and you realise you're mouthing out your words and mumbling gibberish. You look insane. You probably are insane. Maybe you should just kill yours-...You already did that and it didn't work. Both life and death are cruel mistresses...Wait did you call yourself Sammy Boy again earlier? Oh dear god, you think you're going to throw up. Perhaps the vomit would help douse the flames consuming Lady Blaze? Maybe she would be happy? No...if she could be put out some one would have by now, wouldn't they? Or maybe this place is just very inhuma-

You are shaken from your self-hatred spiral by another round of pleasant conversation, and screaming.

“Mr Larbawitz -SOME ONE GET WATER OH GOD- since my request for questions seems to have -WHY WON'T THIS TORMENT END- confused you, perhaps I should be more blunt. Where -IS THERE NO GOD IS THIS HELL GAH- do YOU feel you'd be best placed to work with us here at the GBH?”

You're in an interview room. Before you sits a horrifying monstrosity of burning meat. It wants to know where you would like to work. You're having trouble seeing, thinking, living, and loving, in this room. What do you do?

Inventory:

SpoilerShow

Nightmare Chest:

SpoilerShow