MDR's Midweek Mutiny: CYOA 7

Editor's Note: This was written by DC's Middle Distance Runner. This is part of a series of posts that they are writing today. Continue to the bottom, to link to the rest. You may want to start at the beginning, to have this make any sort of sense.


“Hey, Jay. What do you say?” you say, thinking you are being clever by rhyming.

“Jay stares at you blankly.

“I said ‘hey’”, you say ... again.

“I don’t speak to mortals”, he wheezes, huskily, with excessive breath.

“Why not?”, you ask with great uncertainty and dubiety.

“Cause I’m SUPER goth”, he croaks as his long, black bangs seem to irritate his face.

“LAME”, you say.

“Shut up”, he says.

You refuse, and Jay casts a level three shutting up spell on your mouth. The spell doesn’t actually do anything because it’s only outfitted with light armor, sans oratory enchantments, and because he’s actually not a wizard, just a goth guy. Erik is slouched in the hot tub, his head just above the water, laughing at Jay. Jay scowls at him from underneath the hood of the black robe he is wearing.

“So what do you do in the band?” you ask.

“I don’t consider myself part of a ‘band’, per se”, he hisses. “I am a sovereign entity, a pillar of light . . . dark light . . . and wisdom. I am afloat in a sea of mediocrity, a buoy of truth bobbing on the waves of iniquity which are drawn upward by the moons of ignorance. I play guitar.”

“Really? I always thought you played the keyboards ... isn’t that you playing keyboards at the beginning of Naturally?”

“NO, GODDAMNIT!!” he protests. “THOSE ARE NOT KEYBOARDS! THAT IS MY GUITAR! WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK I PLAY KEYBOARDS?! I’M SO MISUNDERSTOOD!!” Fed up, Jay grabs Erik by the hair and wrenches his head from the water. Oddly, Erik’s expression does not change. Then you realize why . . .

His head is no longer attached to his body!!!! WHOA!!!

Then Jay’s voice drops like 5 . . . no, like 10 octaves, and he booms with relish, “Nobody laughs at Jay Smith and continues to enjoy a bubbly hot tub!!! Nobody!!!” He flies away into the November sky, leaving you wading in a bubbly pool of bloody water, wondering where he’ll land and whether he’ll catch cold from that soaking black robe.

The rest of the band apologizes profusely, saying, “He had a lot to drink tonight. We’re really sorry . . . he’s not usually like that.”

In the background, you can hear Fred Durst rapping ... no, wait, he’s rocking ... no, wait, you’re not really sure what Fred is up to back there. Perhaps he is rapping and rocking at the same time. Oh well. Whatever.

You try your best to zone out Fred and continue your conversation with ______.

If you choose to talk to Steve, CLICK HERE.
If you choose to talk to Ian, CLICK HERE.
If you choose to talk to Erik, he's dead.
If you choose to talk to Allan, CLICK HERE.
If you’re confused and want to start over, CLICK HERE.
If you're sick of this and want to quit, CLICK HERE.