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

> Commitment is all well and good but marriage is like jumping over a wide abyss. You have to be ready for it and to face the consequences fearlessly. For if you face this abyss with imperfect courage it will utterly annihilate your soul.

The lift is falling at an astonishing speed, but you take a moment to reflect. You can't just leap head first into marriage, you've got to prepare yourself. Gird your lllllllooooins. Steel your spirit for the inevitable draining of all your resources, and will to live, and free time. Ready yourself for the ultimate betrayal when your partner pisses off to marry some new, younger version of you while you die alone and unmourned in a retir-...Wait. Die. You've already died. Do marriage vows even function in the world of the dead? How can it be “Till death do you part.” when we're already dead? You imagine marriages must take place and then are instantly annulled because of technicality. What a strange world we live in. Huh. Oh right, the elevator is falling. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

>Your current situations isn't so bad. It's just like all those carnival rides you never went on. React appropriately.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH- Oh hey, maybe this isn't so bad. This feels kind of how you imagined the rides from Theme Parks felt. You remember how much you wished you could ride a big roller-coaster, and how much you begged your mama and papa to take you to the theme park. You recall distinctly they beat you if you asked, but then they also cried. You recall their weeping faces as they tied you to the kitchen sink and slapped you about the neck and head with slightly dirty spoons, specifically slightly dirty spoons. If they were too dirty they would clean them before they beat you, and if they were too clean they'd roll them in muck for a few moments. Occasionally prodding your little baby gut as penance for your desire for more in life. Occasionally they would stick you to a chair with cheap, off brand discount anti-gourmet semi- soulless machine-made glue and poke around your eyes with rusty forks, with a bizarre amount of gentle urgency. You think the reason the beatings only hurt a little was because they were too busy crying to put much effort into it. You've made yourself sad.

No, damn it, no Sadness for Samuel! You're in the closest you'll get to a fair-ground ride, and you're going to enjoy it god damn it! You start twirling yourself in the air, shaking your fingers and yelling...well whispering, hurrahs. You don't want mama and papa to hear you having fun. Fun is too good for the likes of a Larbawitz, Papa always said.

The elevator stops. You are broken from your fancy-free festival of fun. You smack into the floor a bit harder than you'd have liked...and you can feel the glass shard push slightly further into your skull. Hmm, the sensation of a huge chunk of glass scraping against the inside of your head. It is a strange mix of pointless and incredibly painful...oh and utterly revolting. You push yourself back to your feet, trying to think of anything other than the massive shard of glass that has embedded itself deeper into your (presumably) ethereal brain. The lift doors open, and you are blasted by a huge wave of heat. It's like walking into a conservatory in spring. You walk out into the heat. You're no longer in an office building, you're in a blasted hell-scape. A vast underground cavern sits before you, lit only by the occasional belching fires that erupt from the ground, and pools of stagnant lava. There is a path before you, leading deeper into the hellscape. You can hear screams echoing from beyond the edge of sight. To your left is a port-a-loo, fitted with a sign that reads “Go now. Everywhere else it's Damnation without Relief!” Some one clearly thought that quoting Rowan Atkinson would be a good idea. He's probably a German. A dead, dead German.

You are standing in what...seems to be Hell. To your left is a port-a-loo with an old joke on it. Before you lies a screaming path deeper into the Hellscape. Behind you sits an elevator. It starts speaking. “Human Resources Department. Human Resources Department.” It repeats.

What do you do?

Inventory:

SpoilerShow

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

Nightmare Chest:

SpoilerShow

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
Germans who think they are funny.