S.A.M.L.A.R.B Spectral Aquisitons of Material Lands And Resources Bureau

>You are prone and vulnerable. Fearfully weep at the possibility for retaliation of your earlier jive.

Well Samuel. This is it. This is what you deserve. You can feel your cheeks being clenched tightly against your will between the teeth of an angry equine fused with an annoying cow-boy stereotype. All your life has driven you to this moment. Where did it all go so wrong?

Why are you even asking that, Sammy Boy? You know where it went wrong. It went wrong when you began acting like you are an individual. Like you have rights. Like your miserable little life is worth ANYTHING. It isn't. You know it isn't. You are just a cog in the machine, and when that machine breaks you become a cog in a LARGER undead machine. You should have just ground along like the other greasy cogs, but no. No. YOU had to be special. YOU had to act out! You had to rub the Television man, widdle on the carpet, knock over people's desks and try to be a human being. You're not a human being, Samuel, you're a weeping pustule. Your jive is weak, as weak as your pathetic will. Weep, pustule, weep, and pray they are merciful in punishing you for your useless, offensive, spineless, god-damned JIVE.

listen: you keep vacillating between humiliating yourself and retracting into yourself like a dick in ice water from shame. the issue is that you wish to change, fundamentally, who you are at this juncture of your existence, but your only idea of change is insanity, which is wildly unsatisfactory

you must break all your habits and commit. commit to something for once in your god damn unlife, sam. marry the nearest individual

No. No. No. You're not broken just yet. There is still time, still a chance to fix yourself. A revelation hits you. Your girlfriend didn't hate you, she loved you but was frustrated that you never popped the question! You don't know why this had never occurred to you before! Marriage, marriage will cure all of your ills! You are broken because you are one half of a perfect whole, you just have to find your second half! You cast your love-sick eyes around the office, your entire body reddening with a mixture of furious passion and carpet burn from your unwilling dragging. You see the Beige Da-Ba-De-Da-Ba-Dead man, and want to have his children. You see the TV man, and want to bend him over an alter and say some vows. You see the horse dragging you by your backside and wonder if the cowboy ontop/inside of him is his friend, or his life partner. Oh to be alive, oh to be in love!

You are thrown into an elevator at a distant corner of the office complex. The office workers seem pleased about this, as you've been making awkward kissy-faces at them the whole way down. Your charms are lost on them, but they'll come around. You hit the back of the elevator with a clunk. The horse spits obscenities at you, largely about how your backside tasted. You ask if it will marry you. It stops swearing, utterly confused. The cowboy that functions as it's top half speaks in it's comforting fake drawl.
“Are you okay there, Pilgrim? You're talking mighty strange there, Pilgrim. Do you need a doctor, Pilgrim?” You shake your head violently. You are in LOVE damn it! LOVE! You don't need a doctor, you need a priest to wed you to the Cowboy, or the horse. Hell, both of them, the more the merrier! “...I think you need help that I can't get for you there, Pilgrim. Have a nice trip, Pilgrim.” The elevator door closes, leaving you alone. You sigh yearn-fully. Oh how you burn to see that horse/cowboy freak again. How you ACHE for his touch, how yo-

You notice there are no buttons in the elevator. Odd. You love it. You feel the elevator begin to descend without prompting. Odd. You adore it. You feel it begin to heat up in here, as if baking. Odd. Pure, almost orgasmic, elation. You feel the lift picking up violent amounts of speed, yourself literally being lifted into the air as the elevator falls faster than you do. Sheer unmitigated terror.

You are Samuel Larbawitz. You are terrified. Odd. You love it. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Inventory:

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Shard of glass embedded in head.
Blood (Hands)
A sense of smug self-righteousness
Mango Cat Tape

Nightmare Chest:

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An Office Complex in a sea of screaming faces and stars
The Concept of Eternity in an Office Job
Being Called Sammy Boy
Lady Blaze's Bloody Horrible Appearance
Small Fruit
Everything about your current situation