tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80227882023-11-15T09:15:07.984-08:00Kegger! : A Booze Your Own AdventureYOU'RE THE STAR OF THE STORY!
CHOOSE FROM A SHITLOAD OF ENDINGS.War Roomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01274136121509999013noreply@blogger.comBlogger100125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1094000395487726582004-08-31T17:59:00.000-07:002009-12-31T19:29:43.761-08:00<font color=#E32E30><CENTER><font size=4><strong>BOOZE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE #1</strong></font size></bgcolor></font color><br /><br /><strong><font size=4>YOU'RE THE STAR OF THE STORY!<br />CHOOSE FROM A SHITLOAD OF ENDINGS.</strong></font size><br />_________________________________<br /><br /><br /><font color=#1E90FF><strong><font size=500>KEGGER!</strong></font size></font color><br /><br />_________________________________<br /><strong><font size=4>BY 301 CITRUS</strong></font size><br /><br /><br /><br /><img src="http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b47/impactj/beerKegIS_170567.jpg"><br /><br /><br /><p><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.tinycounter.com" target="_blank" title="free hit counter"><img border="0" alt="free hit counter" src="http://mycounter.tinycounter.com/index.php?user=warroom"></a><br /></CENTER><br /><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093998929761586272004-08-31T17:32:00.000-07:002010-01-06T17:58:25.052-08:00<center>RL 8, age 18 and up<br />KEGGER!<br />A 301 Citrus Book<br />War Room Edition / 2000-2007<br /><br /><br />BOOZE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE <l></l><br />is an illegal copyright infringement of<br /><a href="http://www.gamebooks.org/cyoalist.htm">CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE</a>,<l></l><br />a registered trademark of Bantam Books,<br />a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.<br />Registered in U.S. Patent Office and elsewhere.<br /><br />Original sweet concept by Edward Packard,<br />who later fucked up the series' direction,<br />which is why we've taken the concept back. In yo face!<br /><b></b><br />Copyright 301 Citrus. For marketing rights, holiday recipes, and job offers, contact <span style="font-weight:bold;">301citrus@gmail.com</span></center><br /><p><br /></p> <p><br /></p> <p><br /></p> <p><br /></p> <p><br /></p> <p><br /></p> <p><br /><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093998440800098472004-08-31T17:19:00.000-07:002007-03-03T10:24:04.136-08:00<CENTER><font-size=4><strong>WARNING!!!!</font-size=4><br />----------------</CENTER><br />Do not read this book / blog straight through from beginning to end! These pages contain many different adventures on your journey toward the kegger. From time to time as you read along, you will be asked to me a choice. Your choice may lead to success or disaster! <br /><br />The adventures you take are the result of your choices. <em>You</em> are responsible because <em>you</em> choose! Fucking righteous. After you make your choice, follow the instructions to see what happens next. <br /><br />Remember, you cannot go back! Think carefully before you make a move! One mistake can be your last. . . or it <em>may</em> lead you to fame and fortune! God speed, pilgrim . . . </strong><br /><p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093996856872611892004-08-31T17:00:00.000-07:002007-03-11T17:15:56.184-07:00<a name="">1</a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Wham</span>! Your roommate Chad slams the door. You lift your head from your introduction biology textbook, startled from an impromptu study nap.<br /><br />"C’mon bro, you have to stop hitting the books so hard," Chad says as he grabs a 40 oz. of Mickey’s from your small rented fridge. "All I see you do is study, study, study. What you need is a break. You should go out on the town with me tonight."<br /><br />Chad does have a point. You’ve committed yourself to some intense studying since you started at Greenville University almost two months ago. You’ve enjoyed the rigorous challenges of college life, and you feel that you owe yourself a respite. Your neighbor from down the hall, Manuel, told you about a kegger going down tonight that perked your interest. You ask Chad if he's game.<br /><br />"Screw that. I’m heading over to the Boobie Barn," he responds. "I want to see some poozle without having to play any reindeer games to get there. Are <em>you </em>game?"<br /><br /><a href="#Page 16">Do you have your heart set on the kegger? Solidify your plans to page 16.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 13">Do you decide to join Chad and go see some T & A? Invite yourself along on page 13.</a><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093996818393617832004-08-31T16:57:00.000-07:002007-03-03T16:35:11.043-08:00<a name="Page 2">2</a><br /><br />"No thanks, ladies. Smoking pot is illegal,not to mention unhealthy," you say.<br /><br />"Are you fucking kidding me?" Lisa replies.<br /><br />"Thanks for the update, dork!" says Julie as they storm away in a huff.<br /><br />"Buh-bye," you call after them. "See you after supper." <br /><br />You turn your attention to your flute, realizing you have a recital tomorrow that you haven’t rehearsed for yet. You play for a good 45 minutes when Lisa and Julie reappear at your door.<br /><br />"Hey, we’re sorry about getting mad before," says Julie.<br /><br />"Yeah, we want to make it up to you. Here’s a home-made brownie. It’s kind of chunky, and really good," says Lisa, holding a plate with a large, moist, glistening brownie upon it. <br /><br />Playing the flute sure worked up an appetite. A brownie might hit the spot, but then you remember you have a dentist appointment next week. You might not want to tempt Mr. Cavity.<br /><br /><a href="#Page 11">Are those chocolate chunks? Put on your bib on page 11.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 6">Not the novocaine! Keep your pearly whites shiny and bright on page 6.</a><br /><p><br /></P>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093996625330515172004-08-31T16:50:00.000-07:002009-12-31T19:48:42.714-08:00<a name="Page 3">3</a><br /><br />"Let’s all get fucked up together," you announce.<br /><br />"How considerate," says Julie. Soon, you are as high as a kite in the sky.<br /><br />"Its like, you’re the Steelers, I’m the Cowboys, and we just smoked the 'Super Bowl,'" says Lisa.<br /><br />"Oh, hey... I know of... this... kegger..." The words stumble out of your gums. "Should... be… sweet."<br /><br />"Whoa, it’s totally 4:20 in Hawaii right now," giggles Lisa.<br /><br />"Kegger, yeah," responds Julie. "We’re going to this party at Alpha Omega. It’s tiki-themed, with coconuts and windsailing and shit."<br /> <br />"Illegal use of the bong, offense. Repeat fourth down,” continues Lisa.<br /><br />Even in your drug delirium, you know you can’t get into a fraternity house party without being pals with one of the "brothers." And you’re pretty set on the kegger anyway. So no harm, no foul.<br /><br />"Whatevers," you sigh. Lisa packs another bowl with glowing emerald weed and passes you the bong.<br /><br /><a href="#Page 8">Another hit? All right, it’s your future. Smoke up on page 8.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 37">No peer pressure. Pass the bong along to page 37.</a><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093996237789140802004-08-31T16:48:00.000-07:002012-02-03T10:36:11.429-08:00<a name="Page 4">4</a><br /><br />Manuel ditches you at the campus hospital, where doctors soak your dick in diphenhydramine and instruct you to rub anabolic cream on your nuts every 6 hours. You then trudge back to the dorms, unable to resist the urge to scratch. Finally, after a month of occasional break-outs, runny scabs,and gauze galore, you can walk upright without feeling a burning below.<br /><br />On your first day back to class, you see that there's an internship fair going down at the Career Center. You apply for a summer position that will send you to Ireland to direct a musical at a children's theatre camp. You decide to tell your father that you're going there to intern in the field for the Red Cross. <br /><br />Among your other creative forays, you've have your heart on turning the TV hit "Growing Pains" into a two-act play, focusing on the episode where the principal accused Mike of cheating on his math test in getting an "A", when he actually studied with the new girl on campus to win her attraction. A sub-plot will involve Ben also learning about the ways of love, getting beaten up every day at lunch by the new girl's younger sister. You plan to play Mr. Seaver, and hope the ginger kids in your charge have the stage skills to match.<br /><br />"Wait till they hear my thick Irish accent. Alan 'Thicke' that is!" you exclaim to the the application director, who nods her head slowly. Ha ha ha!<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">THE END</span><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093996078919618732004-08-31T16:44:00.000-07:002007-03-03T17:30:35.443-08:00<a name="Page 5">5</a><br /><br />What the heck? you think. As Father Patrick always said, "Every penny counts." Sound advice. You and Chad climb into Luther’s brand new Honda Civic.<br /><br />"You’ll dig the sound system. It’s the bomb," proclaims Luther, turning up the stereo and pulling the car forward. You’re on your way.<br /><br />Luther leans over Chad. "Excuse me, bro," he says, as he opens his glove box and pulls out what appears to be a cigarette rolled in brown paper.<br /><br />"This is some mad chronic, yo. Let’s burn it." He lights it and takes a hit.<br /><br />"Thanks, L," says Chad, who takes it and puffs on it. He points it toward you. "It’s all right. It’s only a blunt."<br /><br />Hmmm, you think. What would Father Patrick say about <em>this</em>?<br /><br /><a href="#Page 19">Do you take a hit? Ride that magic carpet to page 19.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 14">Thanks but no thanks. Keep your head straight on page 14.</a><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093995849038760652004-08-31T16:41:00.000-07:002007-03-03T09:50:07.566-08:00<a name="Page 6">6</a><br /><br />"I appreciate your apology, ladies, but I’m standing by my convictions," you answer. "Now good night and God bless."<br /><br />"Fine, whatever," they respond, returning to their room.<br /><br />You pack up your flute and head down to dinner. You treat yourself to an apple for dessert. You return to your room, and after a little Bible reading, you decide to pass on the kegger and go to bed early . You brush and floss and put on your pajamas. They feel so soft and warm, especially with the fall weather getting chilly. You tuck yourself in, close your eyes, and say a good night prayer. <br /><br />Pretty soon, you’ll be in slumberland. Hopefully you have that carnival dream where you’re an astronaut and win a magic unicorn in the Pie Eating Contest. Then you’ll be up and at 'em in the morning, ready to perform at the recital and later hit the books. Face it, you’re going to be valedictorian.<br /><br /><strong>THE END</strong><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093920775486720702004-08-30T19:51:00.000-07:002007-03-06T13:03:43.246-08:00<a name="Page 7">7</a><br /><br />“Boo-yeah!” cries Manuel as he budges his way back into the room. “Let’s celebrate.”<br /> <br />You and Manuel bring out the bong, pack a bowl, and proceed to get blazed. Manuel begins to tell you stories of his high school pranks, which soon deteriorate into sad tales of yore.<br /><br />“I had let Bowjangles off his leash when he got hit by that truck ” he sobs at one point. “My Dad said I was the milkman’s son. And Veronica Wu broke my heart! She broke it and stomped on it.<br /><br />A knock interrupts Manuel’s melancholy admissions. Manuel opens the door to your floor R.A. Jeff, who does not seem happy.<br /><br />“Did you guys throw a bag of shit into the next room?”<br /><br />“Hell yeah!” screams Manuel. “It was fucking hilarious ”<br /><br />“Yeah, I thought you did," he replies. "You’re both in big trouble." <br /><br />You never make it to the kegger. Instead, you and Manuel spend the night scrubbing diarrhea of the wall.<br /><br /><strong>THE END</strong><br /><p><br /><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093919518020765182004-08-30T19:28:00.000-07:002007-03-02T22:10:32.220-08:00<a name="Page 8">8</a><br /><br />"No escape, no surrender!" you exclaim. <br /><br />Another couple hits later and you are flat on your ass. You hear strange voices and feel the carpet tingling beneath you. You feel stuck in place, like gum underneath a desk. So you wonder about the past, present and future. <br /> <br />Mostly about the past. Specifically about last night, when you made eye contact with the Art Chick down the hall. Her smile was like Mona Lisa’s, and she smelled of warm peaches. You wish you could call dibs on girls like you could on bird-watching binoculars back in your scouting days. That yellow-tailed wren was sure a beauty. <br /><br />"We should really get our grub on," Lisa says sometime later, and the three of you amble down to the dining hall and load up your food trays.<br /><br />After saying grace, you commence to devour everything in sight, including five helpings of pudding. You and the girls gab about stationary, horse racing, and the intricacies of American politics.<br /><br /><a href="#Page 18">Clear your table and head back upstairs on page 18.</a><br /><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093919077365936182004-08-30T19:23:00.000-07:002007-03-04T00:21:57.280-08:00<a name="Page 9">9</a><br /><br />THC, T & A, F’d-up, it doesn’t matter. Nothing beats a little JC in the AM. An early morning mass will clear up your puff-the-magic-dragon mind. You hope that Father Patrick will read from the book of Revelations. That shit is wild. If it ever does rain fire and brimstone, you hope that you’re wearing your galoshes.<br /> <br />You light some incense, lay down to sleep, pray to God your soul to keep, cause if you die before you wake, this night was your final bake. You fall into a deep sleep. It’s like a canyon of unconsciousness filled with howling coyotes.<br /> <br />Or is that your alarm? How long has it been going off? Curse the cheeba! It’s already noon! You’ve overslept again. Hope they have sunscreen in the afterworld, sinner.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">THE END</span><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093918686114247152004-08-30T19:16:00.000-07:002012-02-03T10:19:55.801-08:00<a name="Page 10">10</a><br />
<br />
You look at the book cover: <em>Adventures of the Samurai</em>. Good title. You open it. In an instant, you are sucked into the pages like a vacuum. Inside, you find yourself at the foot of a lake bordering a golden temple. Suddenly,a samurai bounds out from a bamboo forest and appears at your side. Man, are they quick!<br />
<br />
“You have come looking for answers, young traveler,” he says, “But what is the question?”<br />
<br />
You ponder this. What <em>is </em>your question?<br />
<br />
<a href="#Page 60">What is the meaning of life?" Wax on wax off to page 60.</a><br />
<br />
<a href="#Page 89">"Why does Ranch dressing taste good on everything?" Cowboy up on pages 89 and 90.</a><br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093918495300363972004-08-30T19:12:00.000-07:002007-03-02T22:20:58.153-08:00<a name="Page 11">11</a><br /><br />"Wow, ladies, thanks! And no hard feelings!"<br /><br />The girls smile and leave you to your chocolate feast. Soon you are staring at a plate of crumbs. Snack-tastic. You’re reminded of how Mom would make brownies wheneveryou would earn a new Boy Scouts badge. Man, you miss home.<br /><br />Later, you’re making paper cranes out of origami paper, when the room starts to get blurry. You try to stand up and make your way over to the window, but your legs are like strawberry jello (yum) and give out under your. You collapse on the floor admist your crane creations, which flutter about you. <br /><br />"<em>Konnichiwa! Konnichiwa!"</em> they begin to sing, as they scuttle over your chin, cramming themselves intoyour mouth and nostrils. As you suffocate to your death, you realize that drugs are the true devil. At nine o'clock, Chad arrives to find you motionless on the floor, frozen in the act of feeding yourself paper. Snap.<br /><br /><strong>THE END</strong><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093909499655164302004-08-30T16:35:00.000-07:002007-03-03T17:51:52.783-08:00<a name="Page 12">12</a><br /><br />"A lap dance would be wonderful," you coo, forking over a Jackson. And it is. There’s more grinding going on than a squaw making cornmeal. In fact, it’s so transfixing that you faint and slam your head on a striptease pole. <br /> <br />A throbbing headache wakes you up, and you find yourself in the hospital. Through the window, you see the sun perched high in the sky. You missed last night’s kegger! Let that be a lesson to mixing strippers with excessive drinking, which you realize is a good paper topic for your chemistry class.<br /><br />As a consolation, the hospital TV carries the USA Network, which is playing your favorite show, <span style="font-style:italic;">Life Goes On</span>. It sure does, Corky, it sure does.<br /><br /><strong>THE END</strong><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093658539093431752004-08-27T18:51:00.000-07:002013-02-27T17:24:33.124-08:00<a name="Page 13">13</a><br /><br />“Sure,” you say. “I’ve never been to a strip club.”<br /><br />“Listen, I’ve got an Economics mid-term right now,” Chad tells you. “Speaking of, remember to bring lots of single dollar bills. Let’s meet back here at nine." <br /><br />Chad bails, and you return to your desk. You spend the rest of the afternoon working on your theatre midterm assignment, writing a play entitled <em>Plymouth Rocks!</em>, a musical based on the Pilgrim’s early adventures. You’ve shown an early draft to your professor, Mr. Nunes, who commented that it would be perfect for the student Winter-Fest drama show. You couldn’t agree more.<br /><br />You’re up to the part of play where John Smith is in a stand-off with Squanto’s brother, Balding Eagle, and at a crossroads as to where to take the action next.<br /><br /><a href="#Page 57">Make Pocahontas run in between the two combatants? Intervene on page 57.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 95">Have John Smith slay Balding Eagle? Manifest your destiny on page 95.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 35">Put the play of until later? Procrastinate on page 35.</a><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093657277773191162004-08-27T18:38:00.000-07:002007-03-03T16:48:38.720-08:00<a name="Page 14">14</a><br /><br />You know the road to H-E-double hockey sticks is paved with good intentions, and what Chad’s offering is a free ticket.<br /> <br />"Thanks Chad, but I’ll pass,” you say. No devilweed corrputing these lungs, you think. Luther and Chad, however, continue to smoke it up and have strange conversations. <br /><br />"You know, you need three people to play tag, realistically," says Chad.<br /><br />"Man, getting high is all about getting in touch with your senses," says Luther.<br /><br />“Yeah,” replies Chad. That’s why I want to 'see' me some titty."<br /><br />"I 'hear' that," says Luther, taking another toke off the dutchie. His driving starts to freak you out. You’re on a 35 MPH road, yet he’s going only 10 MPH. You’ve seen <em>License to Drive</em> enough times to know this kind of situation only leads to trouble. <br /><br />You want to ask Luther to let you out, but the drug may have already sabotaged his brain, leaving him nothing but a soulless pawn of Satan himself.<br /><br /><a href="#Page 29">Get out of the car A-Team style? Hurl yourself over to page 29.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 38">Ask Luther to drop you off so you can get enough sleep before church? Politely excuse yourself on page 38.</a><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093656824284677252004-08-27T18:31:00.000-07:002007-03-03T16:42:00.300-08:00<a name="Page 15">15</a><br /><br />Eventually, you hear the sounds music blaring and people vomiting from one of the apartments up ahead. The kegger is on. Magic feet, don’t fail me now, you think. <br /><br />The house party is already in high gear. You see people strewn out throughout the front room. A garage band is rocking out. The television is playing “227.” Jackie could sure make an entrance. How are you going to make yourself known?<br /><br />Before you do get your game on, you need your vitamins and minerals. You look over to the dining table and see a long row of grubbage, including one delectable-looking chocolate cake. You also need to be hydrated, but you don’t see the keg. Where is that sweet little baby hiding, eh? <br /> <br />Suddenly, the music stops cold. It seems the band has stopped playing. Something’s gone amiss. <br /><br /><a href="#Page 76">No more munchies! Eat some cake on page 76 and 77.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 79">Sobriety sucks. Find your blue-ribbon oasis on page 79.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 42">We need music. Find out what’s up with the band on page 42.</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093651929137807262004-08-27T16:16:00.000-07:002007-03-03T17:31:23.486-08:00<a name="Page 16">16</a><br /><br />“Chad,” you begin, “paying ten bucks just to sit around with a bunch of drunks hollering while watching some chick gets naked just isn’t doing it for me.”<br /><br />“Whatever, fag. Your loss.”<br /><br />Chad leaves your room, and you continue working on your assignments. Biology really doesn't do it for you either. But according to dear ol' Dad, whose "writing the checks," you'll be a doctor just like him and his father, or whatever else he damn well wants you to be. <em>Aide-toi, le ciel t'aidera.</em><br /><br />You study biological taxonomy for the rest of the afternoon. You can't decide whether "kittens pounce clumsily on furry green spiders," or "kids prefer cheese over fried green spinach" is a better mnemonic to remember Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species. Speaking of food, you soon start hearing voices out in the hallway, as fellow students begin to head down to the dining hall. Your door opens to Lisa and Julie, your next-door neighbors.<br /><br />“Hey, we’re going down for dinner. Do you want to join us?” asks Julie.<br /><br />“Nah, I have to finish this case study. Thanks anyway,” you reply.<br /><br />“Looks like someone needs a 'case' of the munchies, says Lisa. “Why don't you come over for our room for a group 'study' session?"<br /><br /><a href="#Page 2">Concerning intoxicants, you're strictly on a liquid diet. Just say no on page 2.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 27">Botany sounds a lot better than biology. Join the ladies on pages 27 and 28.</a><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093574721613641692004-08-26T19:43:00.000-07:002010-01-06T18:02:12.313-08:00<a name="Page 17">17</a><br /><br /><em>Hai!</em> A haiku has seventeen syllables. The meditative scene around you dissolves, and you find yourself standing amidst a party with a cup of beer in your hand. Somehow you’ve been transported to the kegger!<br /><br />During the evening’s festivities, you and Senor Alcohol become such good buddies that you begin to high five and hug people you don’t even know.<br /><br />“Strangers are just friends I haven’t made yet,” you confide to a those around you.<br /><br />As dawn ascends upon the land, you grab a half-empty bottle of vodka and sit in a lawn chair next to a girl you think is in your theatre class. Or is it biology? You can’t really remember. Thinking makes your brain hurt.<br /><br />“Here’s to higher education,” you say as you finish off the bottle.<br /><br />“Exactly,” mumbles the girl, right before she hurls.<br /><br /><strong>THE END</strong><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093574401591948112004-08-26T19:22:00.000-07:002007-03-06T18:41:07.399-08:00<a name="Page 18">18</a><br /><br />Back up in your dorm room, you feel totally bloated. That Rose sure can make a good grilled cheese. You’ve still got a couple hours before heading the kegger. Right on schedule. <br /> <br />Who else is going to this thing, you wonder. It’d be pretty lame to how up solo and not know anybody. <br /><br />Lisa and Julie are going to that frat party. You thought about rushing when you first arrived on campus. The suds 'n buds you could've easily managed, but the peer pressure that goes along with it? The only guy that's gonna make you do naked keg-stands while singing the school fight song is you.<br /><br />Manuel told you about the kegger in the first place, and that guy’s a riot and a hoot to boot. Or just maybe it’s time to muster the courage to ask that cute yet steely art chick at the end of the hall. <br /><br /><a href="#Page 33">See if Manuel is going? Find your party pal on page 33.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 55">Press your luck with love? Hit no whammies on page 55.</a><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093572408473064242004-08-26T19:05:00.000-07:002007-03-03T17:14:27.077-08:00<a name="Page 19">19</a><br /><br />You inhale deeply. Eventually you exhale, and enormous cloud of smoke erupts from your mouth. Instantly, you begin to cough and can’t seem to stop.<br /><br />"Dude, are you okay? You look a little green," says Chad.<br />"He better not puke in my car. That’s new leather," Luther warns. <br /><br />You finally stop coughing and look out the car window. Time seems to slow down, and you feel as though you’re floating.<br /><br />You’re high.<br /><br />Soon the neon glow of the Muff Wagon sign emerges, and Luther drives into its parking lot. You get out of the car and shake off the dizzies. Its time to meet your destiny. <br /><br />However, after some time in the Muff Wagon, you come to understand why there’s no admission charge. The girls are fuh - uh - gly.<br /><br />"Guys, let’s get out of here," you say. Chad agrees. But Luther wants to stay, and he’s your ride. If you leave, you’ll have to wait for a bus for the long ride back into town.<br /><br /><a href="#Page 30">Stay here and suffer? Grit your teeth on page 30.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 25">Bail? Walk out the door on page 25.</a><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093571932744846372004-08-26T18:57:00.000-07:002012-02-03T12:46:50.231-08:00<a name="Page 20">20</a><br /><br />(pet le tigre)<br /><br /><br /><br />
<center><a href="#Page 21"><img height="350" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kxtuhfIuuK1qakz20o1_500.jpg" width="340"></a></center><br /><br />
<center><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Eye of the tiger"</span></center><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093571669488364722004-08-26T18:53:00.000-07:002012-02-03T08:52:50.546-08:00<a name="Page 21">21</a><br /><br />"Yeah, sixty dollars,” you say, trying to sound as cool as a cucumber.<br /><br />“I need the money before we go any further,” Havana Jane states. “Comprendres?” <br /><br />“Right, right,” you stammer. You reach into your wallet, pull out your fives and singles, and, with a nimble sleight of hand,perform the “Fuddrucker Foldover,” a trick that your magician Uncle Jimmy taught you back when you were a kid. To the innocent eye, your inadequate sum is transformed into sixty big ones. She smiles and beckons you to her. <br /> <br />After running the gamut of sexual indulgences, you and both lay on the floor exhausted. But you know you must summon enough strength to pick yourself up, tiptoe out, and skedaddle.<br /><br />“Eye of the tiger,” you whisper to yourself. You’re almost fully dressed when the temptress stirs.<br /><br />“Donde vas?” she asks. This, you realize, is the point of no return.<br /><br /><a href="#Page 61">Make up an excuse and hope she falls back asleep? Rub that rabbit foot on page 61.</a><br /><br /><a href="#Page 71">Get out of Dodge? Lace up your sneakers on page 71.</a><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8022788.post-1093571563192710772004-08-26T18:49:00.000-07:002012-05-01T13:22:56.749-07:00<a name="Page 22">22</a><br /><br />You are committed to making it with this girl by any means necessary, just like Malcolm X.<br /><br />"Hi there. Nice dress. It would look great on my floor."<br /><br />"I'm sorry?" she says.<br /><br />"Let's party. My place. Ten minutes. Have your panties come on down." <br /><br />"You perv!" she shouts.<br /><br />"Guilty as charged. And speaking of Johnny law, if there was a Supreme Court of Gorgeous, you'd be Chief Justice."<br /><br />“You are beyond lame,” she snaps.<br /><br />“And you are beyond beautiful," you reply. "Truly, you are one in a million. There are a hundred people in China just like you."<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Whoooosh</span>!!! Her beer soaks your rayon shirt and Dockers khakis to their core. Everyone around laughs at you, like they did to Beethoven when he went deaf and could no longer hear his own symphonies. At least he didn't have to hear them laughing. Duh duh duh damn.
<br /><br /><strong>THE END</strong><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com