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04/14/09 "John: Examine contents of chest." In here you keep an array of humorous and mystical ARTIFACTS, each one a devastating weapon in the hands of a SKILLED MAGICIAN or a CUNNING PRANKSTER. Among the ARTIFACTS are: TWO (2) FAKE ARMS [CURRENTLY CAPTCHALOGUED IN YOUR SYLLADEX], ONE (1) PAIR OF TRICK HANDCUFFS, ONE (1) STUNT SWORD, ONE (1) MAGICIAN'S HAT, ONE (1) PAIR OF BEAGLE PUSS GLASSES, SEVERAL (~) SMOKE PELLETS, SEVERAL (~) BLOOD CAPSULES, and ONE (1) COPY OF COLONEL SASSACRE'S DAUNTING TEXT OF MAGICAL FRIVOLITY AND PRACTICAL JAPERY, and ONE (1) COPY OF HARRY ANDERSON'S "WISE GUY", BY MIKE CAVENEY. 04/15/09 "John: Examine incoming message." You pull up to your COMPUTER. You decorated your desktop with some rather handsome WALLPAPER which you made yourself. Your desktop is also littered with various PROGRAMMING PROJECT FILES. 04/15/09 "John: Open Pesterchum." Only one of your CHUMS is logged in. 04/15/09 "John: Open message." |PESTERLOG| -- turntech Godhead 04/15/09 "John: Look out window." You see the view of your yard from your window. In a kid's yard, a tree without a tire swing is like a proper gentleman without a monocle. The red flippy-lever thing means you have new mail. 04/15/09 "John: Go outside and check mailbox." You are about to hurry down stairs when you hear a car pull into the driveway. You decide to chill out up here for a while until the dust settles.
There should be just enough FROSTING on the FAKE ARMS to serve as an adequate adhesive.
04/20/09 "John: Attach arms to doll." Hehehehehehehehe.
Check mail later." If you go down stairs to get it, he will likely monopolize hours of your time.
04/18/09 "John: Captchalogue magician's hat." You expend your final card on the MAGICIAN'S HAT.
You pry them out of the CAKE and captchalogue them. 04/20/09 "John: Examine 3rd and 4th walls of room." 04/20/09 "John: Check Pesterchum." Another one of your chums is messaging you.
04/20/09 "John: Check message." |PESTERLOG| 04/20/09 "John: Go back downstairs." You can now execute that brilliant idea you had.04/18/09 "John: Go downstairs." The accursed odor of fresh baking wafts into your newfound nostrils. It must be the connivings of your arch nemesis, BETTY CROCKER, and the rich, buttery aroma of her plot stinks to high heaven.This mission is going to be more difficult than you imagined. Funny is funny, but your DAD sure can be a real cornball. 04/18/09 "John: Examine fireplace." A bright orange flame flickers in the FIREPLACE.A fire BELONGS in a FIREPLACE, dammit, cata(ptcha)gorically, at all times, without exception.As domestic myth of unaccountable origin holds, a home borrows the spirit of the flame for as long as it makes a guest of it, much as the moon takes liberty with the sun's rays."The moon's an arrant thief, and her pale fire she snatches from the sun." -Mark Twain You are almost certain Mark Twain said that. 04/18/09 "John: Topple urn." You clumsily mishandle the SACRED URN. In retrospect, upon mulling cinematic tropes regarding ash-filled urns, this outcome was a virtual certainty.Tags: Adult Dating, affair dating, sex dating