Choose Your Own Nuthouse

Section 63

<>(Paul)
Opting against trying to kill the creatures (it wasn’t all that effective earlier), you decide to stay in your car. You could have jumped out and run away, but there is a nagging idea in the back of your mind that tells you this would be pretty ineffectual. So you stay put and hope things work out in your favor.

“Well, you really blew it, didn’t you?” Says your radio.

“Okay, who the hell are you? Did you bring me here just to kill me? Because that’s just rude, you know.”

“I didn’t bring you here to kill you, foolish mortal. I brought you here to participate in a Quest. You’re the one who pissed off the fog-obscured creatures. This is out of my hands now. Or rather, it would be if I had hands. Sorry, Sparky.”

“Well, fiddlesticks,” you say. By this time the creatures have hauled your car to the very brink of the Pit of Insufferable Misery. It looks as though you’re doomed, so you open the door to attempt running away, but one of the creatures pokes you with a pointy stick and makes a rather unpleasant noise which probably means something like, “Stay in the car, asshat!”

You glare at the creature, shut the door, and wonder how you’re going to get out of this mess. Of course, it’s much too late for that now; the creatures tip your car over the edge of the Pit. Maliciously, they give it a rapid end-over-end spin. What a bunch of little pricks. You wish you’d been wearing your seatbelt.

You are tossed around the interior of your car as it plummets into the darkness. Your windshield cracks as you smack into it over and over again, splattering blood and vomit. You fall for what seems like ages, but it’s actually only a couple seconds. Abruptly the car hits what you hope is the bottom of the Pit.

Dazed, you crawl out of the car and drag yourself away into the darkness. The only light comes from your hazard blinkers, which under other circumstances you would find darkly amusing.

Bleeding and broken, you lie there and gasp for a short while. Then you do the only thing you can think to do: light a cigarette. You feel better immediately as you drag a lungful of smoke. Your head begins to clear a bit, and you put your god ol’ brain to work on the problem of escape.

You wobble insecurely to your feet and stumble back to your car, which seems miraculously intact. You put on the headlights to get a better view of your environment. By their light, you see that you are in a narrow corridor which seems to lead gently downhill before curving to the left. With no pther immediate plans, you pop the car into neutral and begin rolling downhill. You round the curve and see that the corridor continues on downward.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Asks the radio voice.

“Not doin’ much else at the moment. Why? You got a better suggestion?

“Not really,” admits the voice. “You’d have been much better off if yo*BEEP*ot tried to kill the little fog-obscured creatures. Bit too late for that now, though.”

“You’re a lot of help.”

“I cou*BEEP*ave been. But no, you have to go acting like a drunken asshole. Seriously, wh*BEEP*it with humans? Are you all deranged vicious lunatics?”

“Oh, you’re one to pass judgment. You’re a cree*BEEP*oice on my radio. I don’t think you’re in any position to judge humans.”

“Tec*BEEP*ically, I’m not really in any position at all. I’m not what you would call ‘corporeal’.”

While this conversation is occurring, you are steering aro*BEEP*e twisting of the corridor, picking up speed gradually as the slope steepens. Hours pass. Cigarettes are smoked. Beer is consumed.

“…So, I figure Lucas did a pretty good job of it overall. I mean,”

“What?” The radio voice interrupts, “You can’t seriously tell me y*BEEP*ught The Phantom Menace was a goo-”

“Alright Episode I was kinda a dud but…”

Cigarettes, beer, hours…

“…and then the bitch has the audacity to tell me it’s all my fault, jus*BEEP*use I was the one holding the chainsaw!”

“You dumped that bitch right? Hell, even a disembo*BEEP*oice like I, the almighty Grrrnaorth would not tolerate such a transgression!…”

“Your name’s Grrnoath? I have a cousin named Grrnaorth!”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Any relation, you think?”

“I doubt it.”

At this point you’ve pretty much forgo*BEEP*bout your predicament, so it’s a terrible shock to when, as you round another twist in the corridor, you are blinded by a menacing red glow. The glow is coming from the eyes of*BEEP*ormous beast of unspeakable terror. You scream, dropping your cigarette into your lap. The smoke lights your pants on fire as the beast opens what is unmistakably its mouth.

“Don’t panic!” shouts Grrrnaorth. “All you have to do is*BEEP*