A young man stands in his bedroom. It just so happens that today, the 13th of April, 2009, is this young man's birthday. Though it was thirteen years ago he was given life, it is only today he will be given a name!

What will the name of this young man be?

Your name is JOHN. As was previously mentioned it is your BIRTHDAY. A number of CAKES are scattered about your room. You have a variety of INTERESTS. You have a passion for REALLY TERRIBLE MOVIES. You like to program computers but you are NOT VERY GOOD AT IT. You have a fondness for PARANORMAL LORE, and are an aspiring AMATEUR MAGICIAN. You also like to play GAMES sometimes.

What will you do?

Your ARMS are in your MAGIC CHEST, pooplord!

Out of sympathy for John's perceived lack of arms, you pick up the CAKE for him and put it on his BED.

You retrieve your FAKE ARMS from the chest. You use these for HILARIOUS ANTICS.

You CAPTCHALOGUE them in your SYLLADEX. You have no idea what that actually means though.

There are other items in the 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.

You are neither of these things.

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.

Some of this stuff may come in handy at some point. For now, you decide to just take the SMOKE PELLETS.

You stow the SMOKE PELLETS on one of your CAPTCHALOGUE CARDS in your SYLLADEX.

You still aren't totally sure what that means, but you are starting to get the hang of the vernacular at least.

You have two empty CAPTCHALOGUE CARDS remaining.

You aren't totally sure if "EQUIP" is a verb copasetic with the abstract behavioral medium in which you dwell, but you give it a try anyway.

Unfortunately, you cannot access the FAKE ARMS! Their card is underneath the one you just used to captchalogue the SMOKE PELLETS. You will have to use the pellets first in order to access the arms. But this is probably unadvisable, since you'd just make your room lousy with smoke!

Your SYLLADEX'S FETCH MODUS is currently dictated by the logic of a STACK DATA STRUCTURE. You were never all that great with data structures and you find the concept puzzling and mildly irritating.

But with any hope, perhaps you will advance new, more practical FETCH MODI for your SYLLADEX with a little more experience.

Is it even possible to get any more hard boiled than that? You really doubt it. This poster was one of your wisest purchases.

There is a nice spot on the wall next to it. You've been meaning to hang another poster there soon.

This note is rich with the aromas of FATHERLY AFTERSHAVES AND COLOGNES.

Beside the note is a ROLLED UP POSTER.

Another BIRTHDAY ARTIFACT. You wonder what is printed on the poster.

You'll need some way to hang it on your wall.

You first place the HAMMER into your SYLLADEX.

But now all of your CAPTCHALOGUE CARDS are full. You wonder what will happen if you try to take the NAILS?

You guess it doesn't hurt to try.

You captchalogue FOUR (4) NAILS into the top card, and push all the ARTIFACTS down a card.

The FAKE ARMS are pushed entirely out of the deck!!!

Oh well. They're probably completely useless anyway. But you probably don't want to do that again, unless you want to drop the SMOKE PELLETS and suffer the consequences.

In any case, you now feel like you have gathered enough things to get down to business and do some really important stuff. The next thing you do will probably be exceptionally meaningful.

This is the dumbest idea you've had in weeks!!!

STUPID STUPID STUPID.

And yet the polished surface of your desk...

It beckons.

You MERGE the top two cards.

The HAMMER and NAILS are now captchalogued on the same card and can be used together.

You use the HAMMER and NAILS card IN CONJUNCTION with the card beneath it.

You use the HAMMER, NAILS, and POSTER on the blank space on the wall.

It's glorious. Exactly what you wanted. The old man really came through this time.

PUT THE BUNNY BACK IN THE BOX.

I SAID, PUT THE BUNNY BACK IN THE BOX.

WHY COULDN'T YOU PUT THE BUNNY BACK IN THE BOX?

Morgan Freeman's genteel, homespun mannerisms were perfect qualities for a president residing over a crisis.

OCEANS RISE. CITIES FALL. HOPE SURVIVES.

WOW.

Films about impending apocalypse fascinate you. Plus, a black president??? Now you've seen everything!

You've marked your birthday, the 13th of April. Another day you marked was supposed to be the arrival date for the highly touted SBURB BETA LAUNCH.

It's been three days already. It's starting to become a sore subject with you.

You are sick to death of cake!!! You've been eating it all day. And you have no intention of clogging your SYLLADEX with it either. The CAKE stays put for now.

You hear a notice from your COMPUTER. Someone is messaging you.

You pull up to your COMPUTER. This is where you spend most of your time. You decorated your desktop with some rather handsome WALLPAPER which you made yourself. You are really proud of it.

Your desktop is also littered with various PROGRAMMING PROJECT FILES. You are so bad at programming sometimes you wonder why you even bother with it.

Your PESTERCHUM application is flashing. Someone is trying to get in touch with you.

Only one of your CHUMS is logged in. He's sent you a message.

You see the view of your yard from your window.

Hanging from the tree is your TIRE SWING. In a kid's yard, a tree without a tire swing is like a proper gentleman without a monocle. That is to say, HE CAN HARDLY BE CONSIDERED A TERRIBLY PROPER GENTLEMAN AT ALL.

And there beside your driveway is the mailbox.

The little red arm-swingy-dealy thing or whatever it is called is flipped up!

What the hell is that thing called anyway. You do not have time for these semantics. The red flippy-lever thing means you have new mail. And that means the beta might be here!

You are about to hurry down stairs when you hear a car pull into the driveway. It looks like your DAD has returned from the grocery store.

Oh great. He is beating you to the mail.

If you go down stairs to get it, he will likely monopolize hours of your time. You decide to chill out up here for a while until the dust settles.

Sometimes you feel like you are trapped in this room. Stuck, if you will, in a sense which possibly borders on the titular.

And now your chum is pestering you again. The clockwork of friendship turns ceaselessly, operating the swing-lever dealies of harassment in perpetuity!

Whatever. The dude can just hold his damn horses.

You've put countless manhours into this assortment of quality titles.

You decide to consult with the Colonel's bottomless wisdom. Good grief this thing is huge. It could kill a cat if you dropped it.

But to really dig into this hefty book, you will have to captchalogue it. You are not sure you are ready to logjam your other ARTIFACTS beneath it just yet.

What did you just say?? You don't want to clog up your...

Oh, Jesus. In a momentary lapse of concentration, you accidentally captchalogue the arms again.

You don't think the situation is quite dire enough to go all the way to "RANCOROUS", but you still feel the PESTERCHUM client should reflect your mood change in some way.

"BULLY" will have to do. You guess.

This unsurprisingly does nothing whatsoever.

Oh, right, you forgot your chum is still pestering you.

You stick the FAKE ARMS in the CAKE on your bed.

This definitely makes the CAKE at least 300% more hilarious. You're sure COLONEL SASSACRE would know the precise index of elevated hilarity.

You check the back of your STRIFE SPECIBUS for the KIND ABSTRATUS you have in mind for it.

Your STRIFE SPECIBUS has been ALLOCATED with the HAMMERKIND ABSTRATUS.

The HAMMER has been moved from your CAPTCHALOGUE DECK to your STRIFE DECK.

Now that you've got some space in your SYLLADEX to work with, you figure you might as well start squandering it immediately.

Ordinarily this ridiculous book would be way too heavy to carry around in any practical way. You guess maybe this is one respect in which the cards present some convenience.

It might come in handy if you ever need something that burns easily.

You expend your final card on the MAGICIAN'S HAT.

You don't have a free card in your SYLLADEX!

However, you are able to MERGE the BEAGLE PUSS with the MAGICIAN'S HAT to create a CLEVER DISGUISE.

John? Who is this "John" you speak of? You are quite certain there has never been, nor ever will be...

Yeah, this is a really shitty disguise.

While you are wearing the items, they remain on the card, but it is temporarily removed from the deck, thus freeing up the cards beneath it.

You exit into the HALLWAY.

On one wall hangs a picture of a fella who sure knows how to have a laugh, a man after your own heart. You always thought he looked a lot like Michael Cera. But your DAD swears on the many HALLOWED TOMBS of Egypt that it is not. You're not sure about that though.

On the other wall is one of your DAD'S stupid clowns. Or HARLEQUINS, as he is quick to correct anyone who would venture such brazen assumption.

The accursed odor of fresh baking wafts into your newfound nostrils. Something is brewing in the KITCHEN. 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.

You check out the shelves of FANCIFUL HARLEQUINS.

Look at this fucking garbage. You hate this stuff. Funny is funny, but your DAD sure can be a real cornball.

Sometimes at night you pray for burglars.

A bright orange flame flickers in the FIREPLACE. It doesn't matter that it's April and not terribly chilly outside. In a home, a FIREPLACE needs a fire, because that's what FIREPLACE is for. 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.

It doesn't burn as quickly as you hoped.

Each GAMEBRO MAGAZINE is guaranteed to be printed on 40% recycled asbestos. For big ups to Mother Earth, yo.

You examine the SACRED URN containing your departed NANNA'S ASHES.

When your father gives her portrait a wistful glance now and then, you can tell it brings back painful memories. A tall bookshelf. A ladder. An unabridged COLONEL SASSACRE'S.

He never wants to talk about it.

You clumsily mishandle the SACRED URN. Ash is everywhere.

In retrospect, upon mulling cinematic tropes regarding ash-filled urns, this outcome was a virtual certainty.

You'd probably better clean it up before DAD finds it.

You think now would be a good time to beef up your CLEVER DISGUISE.

Contemplating what could be inside this package is sort of exciting, but it makes you a little nervous at the same time.

Oh hell no.

First you prop the HARLEQUIN DOLL up on the couch. Having it in the middle of the floor sprawled out all akimbo like that struck you as unseemly.

You captchalogue the ASHES to your available card.

You merge the SACRED URN with the ASHES.

Most of the ASH is back in the URN, but it's a total mess. Really it probably would have been tidier if you just used a broom and dustpan.

No one will be the wiser.

Except maybe for people with eyes.

You just got another BRILLIANT idea for something to do with those pointless arms. You pry them out of the CAKE and captchalogue them.

Looks like PESTERCHUM is acting up again.

Another one of your chums is messaging you.

You can now execute that brilliant idea you had.

There should be just enough FROSTING on the FAKE ARMS to serve as an adequate adhesive.

Hehehehehehehehe.

You don't care what COLONEL SASSACRE says, that makes it AT LEAST a million percent funnier.

You put this back in the fire where it belongs.

As long as you're cleaning up...

You can carry hefty items, but that thing is just way too big. Get real!

Besides, you don't even want it.

You thought about consulting the text to determine exactly how hilarious the doll is now.

But this text is way too big to navigate in a timely fashion. You decide to forget it.

The door on the left leads to the KITCHEN, from which the smell of baking wafts -- a powerful aroma which could lift an especially portly hobo off his feet.

The door on the right leads to the STUDY, where your DAD spends a lot of time.

He could be in either room. Where will you go?

It doesn't look like he's in here right now.

On the desk is a DECK OF PLAYING CARDS, one of your DAD'S PIPES, the April issue of THE SERIOUS JESTER magazine, and a stray CAPTCHALOGUE CARD.

There is also a CAN OF PEANUTS on the desk. Ha ha, oh DAD. You won't be falling for THAT one again any time soon.

A severe peanut allergy is a terrible affliction to cope with.

You swap the MAGICIAN'S HAT with the BOWLER HAT.

This disguise is somewhat less funny, but A LOT more distinguished looking.

Your DAD maintains numerous pipes around the household. A father without a pipe is like a strapping roughneck without a toothpick. That is to say, HE IS A RATHER PISS-POOR EXCUSE FOR A ROUGHNECK IF YOU ASK ME.

You'd rather not take the PIPE, though. The first one tastes bad enough as it is.

How you suffer for your comedy.

Yes!!! This will be perfect for expanding the space in your SYLLA...

ARGH!!!

(Pages including sound will be preceded by [S] in the command.)

You play the prankster's favorite card game, even though you are alone in the room, thus rendering it an especially foolish version of Solitaire.

SO STUPID. Look at this mess.

The peanut gallery over there sure is getting a kick out of it. You are allergic to their scorn.

You go back into the LIVING ROOM and contemplate checking the mailbox outside. You think perhaps you should exhaust all possibilities before plunging headlong into a DAD encounter.

Your TELEVISION is currently airing a COMMERCIAL.

You exit the house.

Predictably, the mailbox is empty. You have already been scooped by your father.

The streets are empty. Wind skims the voids keeping neighbors apart, as if grazing the hollow of a cut reed, or say, a plundered mailbox. A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune.

It is your thirteenth birthday, and as with all twelve preceding it, something feels missing from your life. The game presently eluding you is only the latest sleight of hand in the repertoire of an unseen riddler, one to engender a sense not of mirth, but of lack. His coarse schemes are those less of a prankster than a common pickpocket. His riddle is Absence itself. It is a mystery dispersing altogether, like the moon's faint reflection, with even one pebble of inquiry dropped in its black well. It is the most diabolical riddle of all.

"Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire." -Walt Whitman

Yes, you are certain Walt Whitman said that. One hundred percent positive.

You have a feeling it's going to be a long day.

N...

No!

The door is locked and your DAD has the CAR KEYS. You peer in through the driver's side window.

You don't see any mail, but you do see a GREEN PACKAGE. There is also something underneath it that looks like a slip of paper.

Could these items have come in the mail? You don't see anything else that's usually in the mail, like bills and coupons. Maybe your DAD forgot to take this stuff inside.

You try to get a gander through the KITCHEN WINDOW, but you can't see a whole lot! It seems your DAD has been doing so much baking, the glass has steamed up.

God he is so weird.

But you can see what's on the table just beside the window. It looks like the mail is there! Included among it is a RED PACKAGE, some BILLS, your DAD'S PDA, and an envelope that appears to be suspiciously labeled with the SBURB LOGO. Could it be???

Unfortunately, the window is locked.

You have no other choice. You are going in.

CLEVER DISGUISE, it's time to work your magic.

Your DAD sees right through your costume! You don't know what you were even thinking with this foolish ruse!!!

You unequip the CLEVER DISGUISE. Your DAD wields a dreaded ARTIFACT OF CONFECTION. He stands between you and the mail.

There is only one way to settle this.

You cannot ABSCOND! This pesky GUARDIAN is blocking your path! You will need to engineer some sort of distraction.

And now he brandishes yet another ARTIFACT OF CONFECTION! The man is ruthless.

You'd better brace for impact in the most comedically striking fashion possible.

The BEAGLE AEGIS absorbs the brunt of the treat. Looks like DAD will enjoy the prankster's gambit on that exchange, as is usually the case.

You take PIE TIN and unequip the BEAGLE PUSS.

Everything in your SYLLADEX is pushed back a card. The SMOKE PELLETS are ejected from the deck.

Yes! This could be just the distraction you were...

Nothing happens.

What a huge letdown.

"When two great forces oppose each other, the victory will go to the one that knows how to yield." -Oscar Wilde

Wise words by a man who likely could resist everything but temptation.

The CAKE forces COLONEL SASSACRE'S TEXT out of your SYLLADEX.

Sassacre you beautiful bastard.

Now's your chance!!!

Now that DAD is busy placating the SMOKE DETECTOR, you can safely sneak away.

You snag your DAD'S PDA. Maybe later you'll switch the background image to something hilarious as a prank. Besides, it may come in handy later.

Your spare CAPTCHALOGUE CARD is forced out of the SYLLADEX, and consequently integrated with the deck. You now have five cards to work with.

This RED PACKAGE is addressed to you.

You got the SBURB BETA!!!

You captchalogue the CAKE on the couch, expelling the PIE TIN from the bottom card.

You then merge the two CAKES across all five cards.

Everything in your SYLLADEX is smushed between the CAKES. Why don't you think these things through first??

You pause at the juncture and head down the hall. You are going to need something to clean up the mess you are about to make by dissecting this CAKE.

To the left is the BATHROOM. To the right is your DAD'S ROOM. It is locked, and you are forbidden from ever entering. He has secrets.

You enter the BATHROOM. You can see your BACK YARD from the window. The jewel in its crown is the SWING SET which has provided you with years of joy. There is also a SPRING-MOUNTED POGO-RIDE, which has been responsible for more than one painful injury, and has provided you with years of lament.

On the sink is your DAD'S RAZOR. On the rack to the side is a FRESH TOWEL.

You take the RAZOR and use it to perform surgery on the CAKE.

You take the TOWEL and clean off the extracted goods.

The items force the MANHANDLED CAKE into the TOILET.

And just like that, your SYLLADEX is full again. God this thing is annoying.

You're not usually into chick-flicks, but Matthew McConaughey's cool charisma could salvage any heap of smoldering wreckage.

This is your "McConaughey Wall", a casual shrine to an amazing actor. The film above that one is a lot better, you think.

CAN YOU SEE HER? I WANT YOU TO PICTURE THAT LITTLE GIRL. [chokes up] NOW IMAGINE SHE'S WHITE.

You got us Matthew! Your smooth talking exposed our latent racism! Damn you are good!

You decide to space out on the computer for a while before doing anything important.

You open the TYPHEUS web browser and direct it to what is indisputably the most amazing website ever created.

The new adventure is ok, but you're not sure if you like it as much as the last one.

You decide it's time for less meta, and more beta.

You insert the CD and install the SBURB BETA.

What the fuck is this.

You go to your CLOSET, where you keep a lot of clothes and an array of handy COMPUTER PROGRAMMING GUIDES.

You're not sure you really want to dig into this huge tome. It looks really boring. And kind of ornery.

Maybe you'll just check out that free modus instead.

You turn to the back inside cover, where a free FETCH MODUS is included in a plastic sleeve.

This one is dictated by the logic of a QUEUE DATA STRUCTURE, operating on a "First In, First Out" method, rather than a "First In, Last Out" method of a STACK.

Items captchalogued in your SYLLADEX are no longer immediately accessible. You can only use the item on the bottom card, and must wait for items on upper cards to be pushed back to it.

For instance, the RED PACKAGE is now inaccessible. You can only use the RAZOR at the moment.

This modus doesn't strike you as a significant upgrade to your previous one. In fact, it almost seems more inconvenient. You figure you might as well give it a chance though.

You suddenly wonder if this is even possible. You don't even remember if you ever had a physical card for the STACK MODUS.

You find this all to be a little abstract and you'd prefer not to think about it too much.

Put it...

Down?

...

You're not quite sure you understand.

You captchalogue one of the CAKES.

You've finally found a use for all these loitering pastries: DEAD WEIGHT.

The second CAKE causes the RAZOR to launch out the front of your SYLLADEX.

Oh good lord.

THAT BEAUTIFUL FACE.

You wish the RAZOR would have failed to launch.

You open your MAGIC CHEST and captchalogue one of your favorite books of all time, WISE GUY BY MIKE CAVENEY.

There goes the FRESH TOWEL.

You take the TRICK HANDCUFFS, expelling the PDA like a bullet.

Oh God dammit.

You examine the package. It is from one of your internet chums.

It's bound in packing tape though. You'll need something sharp to open it.

Ah, of course! The RAZOR! It's all so simple, you wonder why you didn't...

Let's take this from the top.

You take three GLASS SHARDS in quick succession and duck for cover.

Your SYLLADEX rains devastation on your room from above.

And now that your cards are packed with glass, you probably don't want to do that again any time soon.

You should probably go get that stuff before you forget.

You open the package. There is something suspicious inside.

Something suspiciously dirty and smelly.

It is a STUFFED BUNNY. Much like the one held hostage briefly by Malkovich's Cyrus "The Virus" while taunting hard-luck protagonist Cameron Poe. And strikingly similar to the one scooped up from the soot of a burning Vegas strip by Cage's Poe and offered to his daughter, a gesture symbolic of a tattered exterior surrounding a heart of gold. Poe wasn't much to look at. But he was a good man.

But no, it is not merely LIKE that bunny. According to this NOTE OF AUTHENTICITY, it is the VERY SAME BUNNY.

This is so awesome.

It looks like your computer is trying to get your attention.

[Mouseover the interface buttons. -AH]

You find your missing STACK FETCH MODUS, and quickly reapply it to your SYLLADEX. You can now opt for either the STACK or QUEUE modus any time.

You toggle between your FETCH MODI with gleeful abandon.

It looks like your DAD is leaving again for more baking supplies. You're relieved to have the house to yourself again, if only for a few minutes.

You just hope he doesn't notice the MAGIC CHEST on the roof. Or all the shit you threw out the window, for that matter.

You cannot select a PLAYER!

JOHN abjures the meddlesome cursor.

You don't know what the heck this thing does, but it looks neat!

You grab the PDA, switching back to STACK MODUS so it is readily accessible.

The interface is oddly sterile. No hilarious clown wallpapers or anything like that. (Oops, you mean harlequin wallpapers.)

The SERIOUS BUSINESS application is open. It seems your DAD uses it to keep tabs on various acquaintances... his fellow street performers, maybe?

You guess the performing arts must be pretty serious business after all.

This should be useful. Now you can keep tabs on your chums while you wander around the house.

You have no idea what to do with this thing. You can't find any controls for it.

Having exhausted all other possibilities, you just decide to stand on it.

This isn't very cautious of you, actually.

It is a clear, sunny day. Nothing out of the ordinary to report. At least, not beyond the walls of your own home.

You jump down to the UTILITY ROOM.

You take the SLEDGEHAMMER and the CAPTCHALOGUE CARD, combine the two, and quickly apply it to your STRIFE SPECIBUS.

You think it's cool that things don't always have to be a federal fucking issue.

It looks like another one of your chums is pestering you on your PDA.

When you turn the wheel, something seems to be pushing up from underneath the lid.

But you aren't strong enough to make the lid come off!

On the tub's journey to the driveway, the connection is interrupted.

You extrude ONE (1) CRUXITE DOWEL.

A SHARD OF GLASS is expelled from the deck and maims the HARLEQUIN DOLL.

You take TWO (2) FANCIFUL HARLEQUINS.

The additional useless freight pushes your PDA to the last card. You then switch to the QUEUE MODUS so you can access the PDA.

More glass shrapnel flies from the deck.

The KERNELSPRITE has been prototyped with the HARLEQUIN DOLL.

There is no slot for a card anywhere to be found on the ALCHEMITER!

The KERNELSPRITE followed you upstairs.

Acquiring a CRUXITE DOWEL seems to have populated the ATHENEUM with one item: a PERFECTLY GENERIC OBJECT.

You snatch the TELESCOPE from its TRIPOD. Who knows, it might be useful. But more importantly, it pushes the CRUXITE to the last card making it available for tinkering.

The PDA is predictably jettisoned into the yard, over the neighbor's fence.

You place the CRUXITE DOWEL on the ALCHEMITER'S small pedestal.

Something is happening...

You set the ALCHEMITER to cast THREE (3) PERFECTLY GENERIC OBJECTS for some reason, expending a total of 6 units of BUILD GRIST.

These things look completely useless. What a waste!

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice there's something in the sky.

You switch back to STACK MODUS and get a closer look with your TELESCOPE.

Whatever it is, the KERNELSPRITE seems particularly agitated about it.

You're no astronomer, but its trajectory looks suspiciously head-on with your current perspective.

This is a troubling development.

You figure you've left him hanging long enough.

It is tempting because they strongly resemble Rockin' Blue Raspberry Gushers. However, units of BUILD GRIST are a gaming abstraction and do not seem to exist on the physical plane!

There is apparently no crisis so imminent that will deter you from contemplating idiotic and frivolous actions.

Two chums have been trying to message you.

You slip the PRE-PUNCHED CARD into a slot on the TOTEM LATHE. Above, the TOOL ARM deploys a configuration of chisels.

Now you just need something to lathe.

Cursing your lack of foresight, you return to the BALCONY for the CRUXITE DOWEL you left on the pedestal.

You navigate the hallway leery of your DAD, who is presently puzzling over the new fixture in his hallway.

The perfect crime.

You retrieved the CRUXITE DOWEL.

DAD just shrugs and heads back downstairs, presumably to do some more baking.

If only he knew you were hard at work saving his ass.

You clamp the CRUXITE in the lathe.

The lathe carves ONE (1) TOTEM.

You take the TOTEM.

A young lady stands in her bedroom. Due to a violent storm, her house has just lost power, along with her wireless internet connection. This has severed her link to a popular video game she was playing with a young man at a critical moment. That young man is relying on this young lady to reestablish a connection somehow. This young lady named...

Named...

It's on the tip of your tongue. What was the name of this young lady again?

No, that wasn't it!

Your name is ROSE. As was previously mentioned you are without ELECTRICITY, although your LAPTOP COMPUTER still functions on BATTERY POWER. You have a variety of INTERESTS. You have a passion for RATHER OBSCURE LITERATURE. You enjoy creative writing and are SOMEWHAT SECRETIVE ABOUT IT. You have a fondness for the BESTIALLY STRANGE AND FICTITIOUS, and sometimes dabble in PSYCHOANALYSIS. You also like to KNIT, and your room is a BIT OF A MESS. And on occasion, if just the right one strikes your fancy, you like to play VIDEO GAMES with your friends.

What will you do?

The PURPLE PACKAGE'S contents are private! No one is allowed to look inside.

Ugh, what a terrible idea! The thought alone makes you sick to your stomach.

You would only resort to such an embarrassing activity while no one was watching!!!

These journals are for your eyes only.

You captchalogue the VIOLIN, storing it the ROOT CARD of your SYLLADEX.

You waste approximately 40 seconds playing the violin while your friend is in peril.

Nice time management skills there, sweetheart!

Since your good for nothing friend is obviously not going to bail you out in time, you issue words of parting fondness to dear, sweet Liv. Oh, if only Affleck could have been the one to make the final sacrifice instead of her stubborn, blue collar, salt-of-the-earth father. Then she would fall into your arms for consolation, and YOU would be the one to make the deceased Bruce Willis proud.

You get the KNITTING BAG. It occupies the LEFT LEAF CARD under the VIOLIN, per the TREE MODUS'S alphabetical sorting method.

K < V.

Your panoramic window offers a view of your yard below, and the mausoleum housing your dead cat, JASPERS, who died when you were young. Your MOM had the structure erected with a spirit of scornful IRONY in response to your youthfully innocent request to hold a funeral for the animal. At least, that is how you have come to interpret the gesture in retrospect.

You can also make out a silhouette of the LABORATORY next door, a facility which likely broadcasts a strong WIRELESS INTERNET SIGNAL. You may be able to connect to the signal from a different part of the house. Perhaps if you seek higher ground?

You take your LAPTOP and prepare to make the journey through the house.

L < V. L > K.

This causes the tree to be unbalanced, so your SYLLADEX auto-balances itself. Now the LAPTOP occupies the ROOT CARD, while the other two items comprise the LEAVES.

K < L. V > L.

This book is absolutely indispensable for enthusiasts of your ilk. Of which there are very few.

You take the GRIMOIRE.

G < L, G < K.

You leave your BEDROOM.

Hanging just next to your door in the hallway is a painting of an EXQUISITE WIZARD. Your mother collects these awful things IRONICALLY. She must know how much you detest them, and there is no doubt in your mind she stores these dreadful things in the house to bother you.

Down the hall to the right is the way to the OBSERVATORY. Perhaps you will be able to connect from up there?

Your mother's room is also in that direction. You will have to watch your step.

You approach a juncture in the hallway. Beyond the juncture is the OBSERVATORY.

This door leads up to the OBSERVATORY. You haven't ventured up there in quite some time.

The door opens to an exterior walkway, leading to the observatory entrance.

You've seen less inclement weather before. Oh the things you'll do to help out a friend.

You first put your LAPTOP down on the floor to get it situated.

But removing it from the ROOT CARD causes all the branches and leaves to be severed! Your items are dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

You're in a hurry, sure, but that doesn't mean you can't take moment to peek through the HUGE TELESCOPE.

You find a gap in the clouds. It seems a flurry of smaller METEOROIDS is streaking steadily overhead. You're not sure what this means, but it is somewhat disconcerting.

You'll need every advantage you can get.

There are several signals being broadcasted from the LABORATORY, each of relatively decent strength.

One of them is mysteriously and quite conveniently UNSECURED, requiring no password.

You select the signal, and reconnect to the game with John.

There goes the rest of your BUILD GRIST.

You probably should have just done this in the first place.

Got to get those stupid blocks out of the way first!

The KERNELSPRITE is getting awfully worked up about all this!

You store the PERFECTLY GENERIC OBJECTS in your PHERNALIA REGISTRY, potentially to be deployed at a later time.

A WAYWARD VAGABOND records a stuttering step in the sun-bleached dust.

The KERNEL divides. The two halves go their separate ways, leaving behind the SPRITE portion.

What is left of the SPRITE undergoes a mysterious transformation.

For a moment you thought you heard someone say "BOY", as if whispered in the periphery of your awareness.

It was probably just your imagination though.

For the last time, this boy's name is John!!!

You go back up to your bedroom, tiptoeing around this weird petroleum-based sludge.

The TOWEL? Why?

Oh well, you're the boss. You captchalogue the TOWEL. What now?

John makes his way to the balcony per your awkwardly-worded request.

You whimsically decide to captchalogue the TOTEM which was used to create the APPLE TREE earlier.

John cannot do anything with the GRIST as of this moment! That is up to the Sburb player.

Yes, that will suffice.

Rose deletes the PERFECTLY GENERIC OBJECTS. 6 units of BUILD GRIST are restored to your GRIST CACHE.

Rose expends the GRIST to drag a new plank from the balcony in the direction of the PDA.

John isn't sure about that. It's a long way down.

John is very nervous about the idea, and the strident tone of your commands is starting to make him a little upset!

You cautiously walk within range of the PDA. Rose retrieves it.

You grab the PDA, launching one of the HARLEQUIN FIGURINES into the night.

You can kiss that one goodbye.

Just one ==> command will suffice. Thanks.

It looks like you're not the only one trying to locate your father after the disaster.

What? No! That sounds incredibly dangerous!

Now you're just being a pest.

Which turnip truck did you just tumble out of, anyway?

Who are you?

An unsealed tunnel welcomes hot desert air into its stagnant depths.

In the distance, meteorites fall with greater frequency. The fire in the forest burns so hot, not even the rain is putting it out!

Your LAPTOP BATTERY is alright for now, but it won't be for long.

If the power in the house doesn't come back on, you can think of one last resort: the small BACKUP GENERATOR stored behind the MAUSOLEUM.

The SPRITE is playing hard to get! You guess that's what you get for originally prototyping it with something that engenders mischief and pranksterism!

Pipe down, you. This is Rose's decision, not yours!

The SPRITE finds the DISTRACTING MANNER in which you FLAIL ABOUT to be rather DISTRACTING.

The pesky SPRITE eludes you again! Not even the great Colonel himself can outfox it!!!

In narrowly missing with your attempt to create the COLONELSPRITE, you drop the massive tome. The entire house rattles under the astonishing girth of the book.

In the other room, NANNA'S ASHES dump onto the SPRITE, which is caught unawares by the dousing.

You find the SACRED URN toppled again. This time you're quite sure it wasn't your fault!

The SPRITE is nowhere to be found.

You are about to head upstairs, but you thought you heard something behind you.

It was faint, but you could swear it was a small, lighthearted chuckle. Along the lines of a spirited "Hoo-hoo-hoo!"

You're not sure you even saw a woman, let alone any of her hypothetical antics. But whatever it was you might have caught a glimpse of, it sure gave you the willies.

You head upstairs on your way to the balcony. Your PDA is acting up again.

You head out to the balcony to find out what Rose has in mind. She is messaging you again.

You're inclined to agree, but hey, accidents happen. You double check your PDA to make sure if Rose is really gone. Indeed this seems to be the case.

TG is still pestering you of course. But another chum is now logged in as well.

Your LAPTOP is out of BATTERY POWER. There's only one thing left to do. Time to make your way to that BACKUP GENERATOR.

That would be such a waste of time!

Besides, you already knitted one a while ago. You retrieve it from your KNITTING BAG and apply it to your LAPTOP.

You captchalogue the LAPTOP PLUS COZY.

That would be incredibly ill-advised!

There are some dark forces you just don't want to mess around with. You understand this better than most.

You put the book down.

You grab the KNITTING BAG and the GRIMOIRE, in that order. It's always a logistical puzzle with your TREE MODUS.

The tree AUTO-BALANCES, leaving the KNITTING BAG accesible in the ROOT CARD.

You feel a lot more comfortable with this as a weapon. You're so handy with those needles, you feel like you could probably use them to filet a sword fish.

You lose the ROOT CARD in the process, severing the tree.

Hey, careful with all that stuff!

That would also be a preposterous waste of time!!!

Besides, you're quite sure you've never heard of this creature called "Cthulhu" before. There are however many other specimens of the ZOOLOGICALLY DUBIOUS you're familiar with.

Such as...

FLUTHLU, FOUL PATRICIAN OF MISERY. To hear his mammoth belly gurgle is to know the Epoch of Joy has come to an abrupt end.

And NRUB'YIGLITH, SHAMEBEAST KING OF GROTESQUERY, WRITHE-LORD OF THE MOIST BEYONDHOOD. Hearing his melodious chirps and tongue-clicks causes one's bones to explode.

And of course there's OGLOGOTH, THE DEEP ONE. Whenever he grinds his teeth, all the children of a random galaxy somewhere will frown continuously for a nine thousand year span. He is the first and smallest of the SMALLER GODS, appointed in servitude of a vile, unfathomable pantheon of MIDDLING GODS which caters to the whims of the NOBLE CIRCLE OF HORRORTERRORS, an omniscient, omnipotent order of the elite few, forever cloaked in the darkness of the FURTHEST RING.

And then there's this strange page containing some rather mysterious notes on summoning procedures. You've never been quite sure what these diagrams are getting at.

You re-captchalogue everything the way you want it to appear in the tree, and head downstairs.

You figure that's enough dilly-dallying. Time to get a move on!

You wonder if this rain will ever let up. It's driven since the month began, perhaps long enough to forget its purpose. It no longer even knows to assuage fire. Somewhere a zealous god threads these strings between the clouds and the earth, preparing for a symphony it fears impossible to play. And so it threads on, and on, delaying the raise of the conductor's baton.

How you hate this season.

"April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain." -American sports legend, Charles Barkley

Surely your mother is lurking nearby. You should be prepared for an unpleasant confron...

There's this really cool dude, ok? He's standing around being all chill, like cool dudes are known to do sometimes. A cool dude like this probably has a real cool name. But he probably wouldn't just tell you what it was if you asked. He'd be way too busy for that. Busy being totally sweet.

But you could always try to guess his name. And if you were right, he might nod ever so slightly. That's a cool dude's way of letting you know there might just be hope for you yet.

This guy doesn't have time for this sort of bullshit.

Your name is DAVE. It is an UNSEASONABLY WARM April day. Your BEDROOM WINDOW is open to let some air in, and your FAN is cranked. Arguably even more cranked would be your FLY BEATS, which brings us to your variety of INTERESTS. A cool dude like you is sure to have plenty. You have a penchant for spinning out UNBELIEVABLY ILL JAMS with your TURNTABLES AND MIXING GEAR. You like to rave about BANDS NO ONE'S EVER HEARD OF BUT YOU. You collect WEIRD DEAD THINGS PRESERVED IN VARIOUS WAYS. You are an AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHER and operate your own MAKESHIFT DARKROOM. You maintain a number of IRONICALLY HUMOROUS BLOGS, WEBSITES, AND SOCIAL NETWORKING PROFILES. And if the inspiration strikes, you won't hesitate to drop some PHAT RHYMES on a mofo and REPRESENT.

What will you do?

Nah.

This notion strikes you as nonsensical. You can't imagine how a video game could save someone's life, and in any case, you're quite sure no one you know is in any danger.

Anyway, these are your copies of the beta you received in the mail recently. You've labeled them with your name in BOLD RED PRINT to distinguish them from your BRO's copies, who labeled his in kind. Neither of you really gives a shit about this game or has any intention of playing it, but you'll be damned if you'll let that get in the way of your campaign of one-upmanship.

You would never consider allowing any fluid even remotely resembling urine to touch your beloved TURNTABLES. That would risk breaking them, and a world without the gift of your godly science just doesn't sound like a place you want any part of. While you're at it, you might as well wipe out human civilization with a meteor or something ridiculous like that which will probably never happen.

That sort of thing only happens in stupid idiot movies for stupid idiots.

You will however contemplate bleating like a goat for IRONICALLY HUMOROUS purposes at a later date.

This is your closet. This is where you keep a lot of your crap.

Like that BOX. And that bottle of... what is that?

Is that...?

This is the package that your friend John Egbert sent you for your 13th birthday a little while ago. It now contains nothing except a NOTE and a CERTIFICATE OF AUTHENTICITY vouching for the genuine Hollywood memorabilia which the box originally contained, and which you are now wearing to be IRONIC but also to be INCREDIBLY COOL IN A WAY SOMEHOW INTANGIBLY RELATED TO THE IRONIC NATURE OF THE ACCESSORY. You find it sort of exasperating to explain these subtleties to people.

The BOX also included a signed photo of BEN STILLER which now proudly hangs above your closet. Proudly and IRONICALLY.

You captchalogue the BOX through your HASH MAP FETCH MODUS.

Your modus's current HASH FUNCTION resolves the index by valuing each consonant at 2, and each vowel at 1. The total is divided by your number of cards, and the remainder is the index.

BOX = 2 + 1 + 2 = 5

5 % 10 = 5

The BOX is captchalogued in card 5.

Oh hell yes. It is an unopened container of APPLE JUICE. You thought you were all out. It is like fucking christmas up in here.

This is so great. You've got to tell John about this immediately. He'll be so excited.

You captchalogue the JUICE into card 7.

2+1+1+2+1 %10 = 7.

In addition to letting your buddy know about this outstanding juice windfall, you figure you'll wish him a happy birthday while you're at it. In your own cool, sort of roundabout way of course. Good thing you looked at that box he sent you, or you might have forgotten.

You also might as well ask him about that beta. The kid's been harping about it for weeks. It would be cool if it came on his birthday. He'd be one happy camper.

You open the HEPHAESTUS web browser and direct it to your ironically maintained blog where you post monthly satirical reviews of GAMEBRO MAGAZINE. Your latest post is a review of the MARCH ISSUE.

You've been meaning to write a review for the latest issue too, but you've been sort of dogging it. Something about the game they're reviewing just doesn't strike you as ripe for satirical purposes.

In a new tab you open another one of your sites, a webcomic ironically maintained through a satirical cipher vaguely similar to that of your blog. It's called SWEET BRO AND HELLA JEFF.

You have legions of devoted fans, most of whom are totally convinced of your creative persona's sincerity. Which is just how you like it.

You figure as long as you're chilling at your computer you might as well see how that new MSPA story is going. You haven't looked at it in a while.

"You are members of a sinister gang called the Midnight Crew. Your nefarious plots are serpentine in complexity. Your schemes, convoluted. You are planning a heist in your underground hideout.

What will you do?"

"Spades Slick uses OCCAM'S RAZOR to carve a circular hole into the HEIST PLANS, freeing it from the knife.

You wonder what moron would jam the knife so hard into the table in the first place."

"You push against the MANHOLE COVER, but it seems some unbelievable jackass has parked your GETAWAY VAN on top of it.

A familiar feeling stirs. That feeling is overwhelming, soul-blackening rage.

It's the sort of rage that'll make a man feel totally justified in sporting an unnecessarily elaborate assortment of fancy blades."

You don't remember where you last left off, so you jump way ahead. You always forget to save your place in the story.

It looks like tempers have become short in this pressure cooker already. You speculate that the tipping point may have been an ill-advised motion for a game of 52 PICKUP.

Even though the adventure began recently, it's already over 3000 pages long. You just don't have time for this bullshit. You'll catch up later.

Besides, it looks like someone's pestering you. You're pretty sure you know who it is.

Meanwhile in the present, in a place where the present may be a concept of dubious merit, John is spacing out.

But a vague and forceful thought jolts him to attention.

Or maybe it is that bumping sound coming from the other side of the door. What is that?

A thick, unpleasant fluid pools from beneath the door.

There is a trail of this fluid in the hall leading to your room.

You've had enough of the computer for a while. You feel like you've been messing around on it all week. It's time to get your jam on.

You pull up to your trusty AKAI MPC-1000 SAMPLER and prepare to get sicknasty.

Left knob: volume for current sample.
Right knob: master volume.
Store patterns in F1, F2, F3... buttons.

Those beats were so fresh they belong in the produce aisle, is what you're talkin' about. Soccer moms be thumpin' that shit for ripeness like melons. Know what I'm sayin'?

After beats that fresh, it would be a crime not to reward yourself with a celebratory SWIG.

2+2+1+2 %10 = 7.

You can't do it!

John's got you all twisted up inside now. All you can think about is Mandel's gross monster piss.

Damn you, Egbert!

You re-captchalogue the JUICE.

Your STRIFE SPECIBUS is already allocated with the BLADEKIND ABSTRATUS! There is no need to allocate it.

You can wield your sweet NINJA SWORD as a weapon once it is in your STRIFE DECK. But you will have to captchalogue it first before moving it there.

The NINJA SWORD (2+1+2+2+1 + 2+2+1+2+2 = 17 % 10 = 7) occupies the same card as the JUICE (2+1+1+2+1 = 7 % 10 = 7), expelling the JUICE from your SYLLADEX.

It splashes all over your TURNTABLES and your copies of the BETA.

Argh!

You head out to get a TOWEL from the bathroom across the hall.

You glance at one of the many RADICAL PUPPETS in your BRO'S collection and nod in approval.

Is there anything not awesome about your BRO? No, you think not.

You enter the bathroom. There's a damp towel on the floor you can probably use for this crisis.

You stop to pay a little respect to one of your BRO'S boys up there. Hey lil' man. How's it hangin'?

You take the DAMP TOWEL (2+1+2+2 + 2+1+2+1+2 = 15 % 10 = 5), expelling the BOX (2+1+2 = 5 % 10 = 5).

Nah, you just decide to wring this towel out into the toilet to make it less damp.

It is now just a TOWEL (2+1+2+1+2 = 8 % 10 = 8).

You take the TOWEL, and grab the BOX again while you're at it.

You CLEAN (2+2+1+1+2 = 8) up the juice with the TOWEL and hang the damp BETA ENVELOPES on your line to dry off.

In the breeze of the FAN, the betas jostle near the OPEN WINDOW.

This arrangement is a little disconcerting. If they fell out, it sure would be a stupid way to lose them.

The crisis is easily averted. You can't imagine it will ever resurface later in any way, shape, or form. That beta is as good as yours, forever.

You should probably go pester Egbert again. You wonder if he found the beta yet. You also might chat about your respective SYLLADICES and FETCH MODI, if the topic happens to come up. You wonder if he is anywhere near as smooth with his sylladex as you are. Probably not. It's probably not even humanly possi...

Suddenly a RAMBUNCTIOUS CROW flies in the open window and snatches the beta, possibly to make a nest with, or maybe just for the sake of being a brainless feathery asshole.

You yell at the bird.

You accidentally launch your NINJA SWORD. Everything goes flying out the window, dead bird and all.

No one can ever know about this.

Yeah, you can kiss all that stuff goodbye. You feel sorry for the bird, but at least you never planned on ever using that beta, ever.

Anyway, now that that bit of ugliness is behind you, you guess you can look forward to several more hours of messing around in your room WHOA WAIT WHAT???

You prepare to descend the stairs to your living room. You are standing eye-to-eye with a familiar foe, a 20-foot tall granite statue of the mighty wizard, ZAZZERPAN THE LEARNED. Your mother had him installed through a hole in the roof with a heavy-duty crane.

Just look at that mystical gaze. To peer into those aloof, glassen eyes is to arrest the curiosity of any mortal. To behold the wisdom concealed in the furrows of that venerable face is to know the ceaseless joys of bewonderment itself. Any man so fortunate as to catch askance his merry twinkle or twitch of whisker shall surely have all his dreams fulfilled.

You find this grisly abomination utterly detestable.

There is nothing to psychoanalyze. Your mother clearly has no real affinity for these damnable things. She only collects them to spite you.

If anything, she finds them even more repellent than you do. She's just a committed woman.

You descend to the living room area of your home's expansive open layout. There is the sound of rushing water beneath the floor. It tends to strike guests as a strange presence in a living space, but it's become hardly audible to you through familiarity.

There's the front door. But hopefully there's no need to make the long trek around the house in the rain. You might as well see if you can slip through the kitchen and out the back unnoticed.

Ok, but it's bronze, not copper!

But it wasn't always. A while ago you gave this as an ironic gift to your MOM for mother's day. You even customized it with a drink holder to support one of her ubiquitous ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES.

She "liked" the gift so much, she had it bronzed and put on this pedestal. She even left it plugged in so it can still be turned on now and then. But never to do any cleaning. It never leaves this display.

Sometimes at night when you are in your room, you can hear it wailing from downstairs. She MUST know you can hear it. She's completely deranged.

It's too big to captchalogue!

Not that you would want to move it anyway. The PRETTY PRINCESS DOLL has been sitting there for months, ever since your mother got this abomination for your birthday as a totally PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE gesture.

You decided to make it much less abominable by knitting Her Majesty a new head and new arms. Now it brings a mischievous smile to your face whenever you walk by. Your mother hasn't removed the doll yet, and probably never will. She would never be the one to blink first.

U > L. U < V.

You're going to have a hell of a time accessing that card when you need it. You guess you'll just cross that bridge later.

The LIQUOR BOTTLES are out in full force. MOM is surely nearby.

That would be your REFRIGERATOR, whose surfaces have customarily served as the battlefield for a chilly siege of PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE one-upmanship.

This was a drawing you did of your cat JASPERS when you were younger, along with a poem about him. Your mother bought this ostentatious $15,000 frame for it, and had it welded to the door.

Using the colorful MAGNET LETTERS, you recently left a succinct message, which may or may not have been directed toward anyone in particular. But you couldn't find the letter W, so you just stuck two V's together.

Your mother then purchased a fresh pack of W's and left them there for your convenience.

Appreciative of the thoughtful gesture, you left her a sincere THANK YOU NOTE, which you had legally notarized, and then marked with a drop of blood.

But part of it was touching the floor, so your mother was kind enough to lift the lower portion of the document with a VELVET PILLOW.

This is incredibly silly, and you're not sure how it fits into your campaign against your mother, OR getting your computer back online to escape your doom!

But it's hard to resist getting a little silly sometimes. Especially when you are absolutely positive no one is watching.

W > L. W > V.

But that unsightly void in the W pack won't do, nor will the gash in the plastic.

You deposit 12 CENTS in its place, which is your approximation of the letter's value. You also make a vow to return later and neatly sew the plastic shut.

You now wonder how to address the pillow situation. It seems the woman has you at a clear disadvantage.

Perhaps slipping a fresh doily under the pillow will do the trick? Or maybe spilling a bit of WORCESTERSHIRE SAUCE on it, and then having it dry-cleaned and returned along with a laboriously ingratiating apology note? No, there's no time for anything like that. Or maybe (just thinking out loud here) you could use the entire pack of W's as M's? Oh yes, that would burn.

But you've already done something with that W pack, and there's no need to go back and gild that lily. This is delicate business. And that pillow is screaming for rebuttal.

You decide to take the VELVET PILLOW and lovingly embroider a poem in praise of MOTHERHOOD on it. Hopefully you can pull this off before she notices it's gone.

Ve > L. Ve < Vi. Ve > U.

But it causes your tree to be pretty badly unbalanced. It surely will AUTO-BALANCE itself in a moment.

And just like that, the UMBRELLA becomes accessible in the ROOT CARD. That's one of the things you love about the TREE MODUS. The happy surprises.

Ok, enough's enough. Time to get goiAUGH

You don't know how she does that. You're never safe in this house.

And of all things to be doing during a power outage. She's up to her IRONIC HOUSEWIFE routine again. That mop bucket doesn't even have any water in it! What an absolute madwoman.

This bird's gotta fly!

Lousy goddamn stupid wizards.

You're almost done patching up the hole in your window with the GAFFER TAPE.

But it's sort of hard to get any work done when people keep pestering you all day. You guess you better get that.

It will be handy to have your PHONE (2+2+1+2+1 = 8%10 = 8) on standby so you won't always have to go back to your computer whenever someone pesters you. This way you can TEXT MESSAGE (2+1+2+2 + 2+1+2+2+1+2+1 = 18%10 = 8) people no matter where you are or what outrageously cool thing you're up to.

SO.

COOL.

And even meanerwhile, in the present. Sort of.

Once again, the slippery antagonist eludes you. You only find more of these unpleasant oily smears.

Someone is pestering you. Both your PDA and computer register the message.

Pff. Monsters.

Only retarded babies who poop in their diapers believe in that stuff.

It looks like MOM has satisfied her [S] STRIFE! quota for the day. She simply returns to her housework.

No point in going out the front door anymore. Might as well head out the back, like you originally planned.

You can't be this stupid pony, and frankly you can't imagine why anyone would want to!

But you give the pony a begrudging pat on the snout anyway.

Her name is MAPLEHOOF.

You're TRYING to read, ok? This book is already unpleasant enough as it is without weird voices in your head nagging you to do things.

Besides, I thought we already agreed there's no such thing as monsters.

Fine, you'll interrupt your reading and turn around, but you don't see what could possibly be so oh my god it's a monster.

You leave through the back door.

Nearby is the TRANSFORMER which distributes electricity from the UNDERGROUND GENERATOR powered by the river flowing beneath your house.

The transformer was struck by lightning though, and no longer works. You wonder if your mother has any plans to have it fixed. You guess she'd rather just play her mind games in a dark house like a weirdo.

You can see the MAUSOLEUM and the PORTABLE GENERATOR across your back yard. You're almost there.

You regather your items and begin the soggy trek mausoleum-ward.

Retrieving the W never even crossed your mind. It's just a stupid magnet.

Now why couldn't he put the bunny back in the box?

The amazing victory allows you to scale the first two ACHIEVEMENT RUNGS on your ECHELADDER. You are now a PLUCKY TOT, with a new feather in your cap to show for it.

The ECHELADDER rewards your bold ascent with 125 BOONDOLLARS. You waste little time in storing them in your CERAMIC PORKHOLLOW.

Additionally, climbing the rungs has boosted your GEL VISCOSITY and CACHE LIMIT.

By expanding your CACHE LIMIT, you've made room for all that nice grist you just collected. You now have 32 fragments of BUILD GRIST, and 10 fragments of SHALE.

It seems the SHALE IMP had allocated the BUNNY to its STRIFE SPECIBUS.

Sort of a stupid thing to use for a weapon, but you might as well grab it, and stick the BUNNY in your STRIFE DECK while you're at it. It will at the very least be safer there.

You group the two SPECIBI in your STRIFE PORTFOLIO.

No self-respecting strifer would be caught dead without one.

Oddly enough, it seems breaking the SLEDGEHAMMER altered the ABSTRATUS from HAMMERKIND to HANDLEKIND, even going as far as expelling the head of your smaller HAMMER from your deck to force compliance. You didn't even notice in the heat of the battle.

You grab the SLEDGEHAMMER HANDLE, expelling the useless HARLEQUIN FIGURINE.

You merge the SLEDGEHAMMER HEAD with its HANDLE, and return it to your STRIFE DECK, repairing the HAMMERKIND ABSTRATUS in the process.

The smaller HAMMER HANDLE is ejected from the deck, since of course handles of any sort no longer belong in there. Obviously.

Dave is pestering you. But you don't have time to deal with his nonsense right now.

Something is amiss in your room. You can't quite put your finger on it...

You fire up the GENERATOR and drag a cord into the MAUSOLEUM.

It of course would be foolish to run the GENERATOR inside a confined space. GENERATOR SAFETY is everyone's business.

Sorry, Jaspers. Have to make space for the LAPTOP.

Besides, your final resting place is already a mockery. You should have decomposed years ago under a bed of petunias like a normal cat. Not given to a taxidermist and fitted with a tiny, custom-tailored suit, and then stuffed in a coffin built for infants.

You plug in your LAPTOP and connect to the internet signal again.

Everything predictably falls out of your SYLLADEX, but you're not about to get bent out of shape about it. You have bigger fish to fry.

Looks like Dave noticed you're back online. He pesters you like clockwork.

And there's John. What on earth is he up to now?

You're right. Didn't Rose yank the door off its hinges and prop it on your bed?

Someone or something has put it back and left it slightly ajar.

HOO HOO HOO HOO HOO!

Oh God dammit, that's just what you need. More baked goods.

You totally abjure the hell out of that idea.

You're so busy abjuring, you don't even notice Rose has been trying to pester you this whole time.

You give John a swift drubbing in the noggin, but he is undeterred!

That is some fit he is throwing.

Perhaps you will take this spare moment to contemplate the Nannasprite's strange tale. It may also behoove you to record your thoughts on these developments in your GameFaqs walkthrough/journal. It can be hard finding time to update it. In fact, you're not even sure where you found the time to write what's already there!

Oh is that so, Jaspers? And just who do you think you're looking at with that smug grin???

The last thing you need is sass from a dead cat. It's pretty much all his fault you're in this mess in the first place, so he can just button it.

You refuse outright!

Well when you put it so politely, how can John decline??

You really need to work on your manners.

That's not a command. It's nothing.

It's stupid.

You're stupid.

It's just not going to happen buddy!

But really not enough to write home about.

An agitated finger slips mid-keystroke.

She's not finished with this yet! Jeez, cut her some slack.

Maybe you could go bug someone somewhere else for a while? Or at the very least, somewhen else.

You captchalogue your KATANA (2+1+2+1+2+1 = 9%10 = 9) and prepare to venture out into the apartment to retrieve your BRO's copy of the game.

But first, maybe...

Just maybe...

Dude, that bird is long gone. It probably won't last long in this heat anyway.

You don't even know what's up with this sick heat. The sun threatens to set but won't step off. It's staring you down, like the big red eye of a hot needle skipping on a groove its tracing 'round the earth. While lingering in midair its heat seems to suspend time itself, stretching it like warped vinyl. It's meant to rain this season but there ain't been a drop in sight. Even a little drizzle would help. Might help to fizzle this sizzle a little bizzle, set the record straight on this global turn-tizzle.

"So don't change the dizzle, turn it up a little
I got a living room full of fine dime brizzles
Waiting on the Pizzle, the Dizzle and the Shizzle
G's to the bizzack, now ladies here we gizzo

When the pimp's in the crib ma
Drop it like it's hot
Drop it like it's hot
Drop it like it's hot..."

-English Romantic poet, John Keats

Sorry little dude, coming through. Gotta put you down for a bit.

You figure you've left him hanging long enough.

You barge in and see a familiar face. A friendly face.

You stand in the living room. Your BRO spends most of his days in here. At night he crashes on the FUTON over there. You don't see him anywhere though.

There's the PUPPET CHEST he stores LIL' CAL in when he takes him out on gigs. But when he's home he usually leaves CAL on display somewhere. And with good reason cause CAL is totally sweet.

So sweet.

Man.

It's your brother's MR. T PUPPET, which of course is kept in the apartment with a sense of profound humorous irony. But as usual with your BRO's exploits, this is no ordinary irony, or anything close to a pedestrian TIER 1 IRONIC GESTURE which is a meager single step removed from sincerity. This is like ten levels of irony removed from the original joke. It might have been funny like eight years ago to joke about Mr. T and how he was sort of lame, but that was the very thing that made him awesome and badass, and that his awesomeness was also sort of the joke. But in this case, the joke is the joke, and that degree of irony itself is ALSO the joke, and so on.

Only highly adept satirical ninjas like you and your BRO can appreciate stuff like this. It's cool taking stuff that other people think is funny but you know really isn't, and making it funny again by adding subtle strata of irony which are utterly undetectable to the untrained eye.

Also, for good measure, Mr. T is wearing a LEATHER THONG and handcuffed to a pantsless CHUCK NORRIS PUPPET.

God you hope you can be as good as your BRO at this some day. You'd never tell him that though.

CAL's nowhere in sight. All you see is a bunch of your BRO's weird nude puppets strewn around haphazardly.

You...

You guess these things are kinda cool.

Sort of...

It looks like your BRO was playing. It's not like him to leave in the middle of some totally intense gaming.

Not like him to misplace CAL either... man you hope the little guy's alright.

Oh there you are dude. Didn't see you there.

We be chill today, Cal? Yeah you better fuckin' believe we be chill.

Cal is the man.

You fail to resist the urge.

You start thrashing up stunts something uncannybrutal on your quest for "MAD SNACKS YO" and get this way rude hunger under control. Shit is basically flying off the hook. It's like shit wants nothing to do with that hook. The hook is dead to that shit.

But you get stuck in some poorly modeled 3D fixture or something. Like a railing or a piece of the wall? You'll have to reset.

Fuck this shit.

Aw man you almost forgot. Gotta give the C-man some props.

Your BRO has so much sweet gear it's hard to keep up with it all sometimes. Here's his computer setup. He's usually got a lot of stuff cooking on here at any given moment.

Since he's not around you might as well sneak a peep.

Your BRO's computer is password protected of course to protect all the incredible top secret shit he's got on the burners.

Of course you know what the password is, and he knows you know it, and you're both cool with that because the password is the most awesome thing it can be.

You enter the password. On the desktop is a hodgepodge of unnamed folders to store all the stuff he's working on. No one can decipher his organization system but him.

He also tends to use the application COMPLETE BULLSHIT to keep up with the ludicrous amount of websites and news feeds he monitors to stay hip to the scene.

This is COMPLETE BULLSHIT.

Your BRO keeps up with your projects in his aggregator, just like you keep up with his. He's tuned into your various blogs, and of course SWEET BRO AND HELLA JEFF.

You navigate to the LATEST COMIC in one of the many BULLSHIT FEEDBANDS.

Another one of your BRO's many ironic websites. The difference here is he rakes in thousands of dollars a month through this enterprise.

SMUPPETS are a multi-billion dollar a year enterprise, and it's awfully hard to resist taking a firm squeeze from the plump udder of that cash cow.

You guess you've messed around on his computer long enough. Better get a move on before it's too late for Rose, or worse yet, your BRO catches you.

But my God... the rumps. They are transfixing.

You know this is ironic and all, and your BRO reaches echelons of irony you could only dream of daring to fathom. But on rare occasions, when your guard is down, it all seems just a tad unsettling to you.

Oh. Uh...

Hey...

Hey there, Cal.

You are sort of starting to flip the fuck out.

Without losing your cool of course.

You get Egbert on the line again to give him the lowdown on your progress. You feel it's important to keep the wires hot.

But he's not answering. You wonder what that guy is up to.

Looks like Rose is finally logged in again.

Didn't John say her house was burning down? You wonder if she's on fire yet or what.

You are getting way better at this sort of thing.

Thank God your sanity has returned so you can entertain extremely rational, coherent thoughts like this one.

You examine the POGO RIDE from the bathroom window. You do not like what you see.

Those sons of bitches. NO ONE risks painful injury on your GREEN SLIME GHOST POGO RIDE.

No one but YOU.

Doesn't look like that GRIST is going anywhere.

You just never know with these gaming abstractions.

The piano in its valiant effort has unfortunately been slain.

But if it hadn't, it would have raked in so many BOONDOLLARS, you have no idea.

SO MANY.

Ok, you obviously don't have enough grist yet for something that ambitious. But you can get started with something of a foundation for upward construction, at least.

No imps in here. Just a lot of SHAVING CREAM.

Dads love shaving. It's basically all they do. (When they're not baking, that is.)

You captchalogue two cans of SHAVING CREAM just in case. You never know when you'll need to bust out a hilarious SHAVING CREAM SANTA BEARD to ratchet up your PRANKSTER'S GAMBIT.

Your TELESCOPE goes flying out the window.

It's a little cramped in here for any sort of proper reckless pogoing. You'll just grab it and hang on to it until the right moment presents itself.

The TOWEL floats back down to the rack.

The circle of stupidity is complete.

It looks like the imps have taken a shining to the CRUXTRUDER.

Cruxite and black goo. Everywhere.

Well ok, it's not a Slimer pogo, but you mount it anyway and brandish your deadly armaments.

This is incredibly dangerous!

Let's see how they like the old doublebarrel latherblaster WHOOPS OH SHIT.

DON'T MOVE OR THE POGO GETS IT

The REFRIGERATOR skyrockets up the ECHELADDER to a new rung: FIVESTAR GENERAL ELECTRIC and earns 285 BOONDOLLARS.

Things are really looking up for this feisty appliance.

For some reason you feel a sense of positive reinforcement. Wherever that feeling is coming from, it sure is a welcome change from your erratic moods earlier.

Oblivious to the commotion behind you, suddenly you find yourself pondering the whereabouts of a CAN OPENER.

You think there is probably one in the kitchen, but the path is blocked by your REFRIGERATOR.

John is completely unresponsive.

What the hell is that nincompoop doing???

But let's not get totally carried away here.

A studious eye darts about a page like a honeybee gathering the nectar of wisdom.

http://tinyurl.com/0413sprite
http://tinyurl.com/0413power
http://tinyurl.com/0413internet
http://tinyurl.com/0413build
http://tinyurl.com/0413prototype
http://tinyurl.com/0413disconnect
http://tinyurl.com/0413nanna
http://tinyurl.com/0413weirdo
http://tinyurl.com/0413designix
http://tinyurl.com/0413grist
http://tinyurl.com/0413up
http://tinyurl.com/0413steed
http://tinyurl.com/0413barbasolbandit
http://tinyurl.com/0413really
http://tinyurl.com/0413hmm

Yes, it seems so.

It is unfortunate.

I guess.

What are we talking about again?

Thanks for the courtesy.

It's not really necessary, but thanks anyway.

Ok.

Wait, where did all this sweet loot come from?

And why is there suddenly a crumpled hat on your head?

Feeling especially economical with your behavior suddenly, you scoop up all the grist in the room, and turn your attention to the PUNCH DESIGNIX all in one fell swoop.

The device features a counter-top station design with a KEYBOARD SETUP, not unlike an old fashioned computer. There is a blinking red light, and a DIAGRAM etched into a panel.

You flip over the top card containing your POGO RIDE. Any time you captchalogue something, a new code appears on the back of the card. You've always wondered what the code was for.

Damn these things are hard to read. But then, you've never really found any reason to decipher them.

Until now, perhaps?

Looks like cards from your STRIFE DECK have codes too.

You enter the code "DQMmJLeK" into the KEYBOARD. At least you think that's what the code is.

The red light switches off. A green light begins blinking.

In the interest of due diligence, you enter the other code and repeat the process with that card too.

Both cards are now punched with different hole patterns.

Oh, well that should just be a simple matter of...

Uh oh. It looks like it's trapped now. You don't see how you can access the item anymore, or store a new item there for that matter. These cards are pretty much useless now, and the items they contain are toast!

But maybe all is not lost. Recalling from your experience with the PRE-PUNCHED CARD, you may be able to use the cards to replicate the items in question.

Assuming you got the codes right, that is...

Not quite through with your cowboy empiricism just yet, you mash at the KEYBOARD to generate a random code.

You enter "dskjhsdk". The DESIGNIX stops you after eight characters, which appears to be the maximum length for a code. The green light goes on, signaling its readiness for a card.

You figure you might as well burn the SHAVING CREAM since the product is not exactly at a premium in your household. You also figure you might as well merge the two cans on to one card.

You're a little sad that your DAD isn't around for this. You have a feeling he would get a real kick out of the idea of duplicating more SHAVING CREAM.

You punch the card with a pattern that is in no way related to the code for the item it contains. This should make for an interesting experiment.

Mad science is a lot of fun.

Unfortunately, you just burned another card in the process. Your deck is really dwindling now. Maybe you should have thought this through a little better.

On the plus side, you just freed up your PDA, which is overflowing with the pent-up chatter of anxious pesterers.

You swoop up the bountiful supply of grist generated by your co-player's recent exploits. From now on it will probably go without saying that you'll nab any grist lying around without making a big fuss over it.

You check out the busted SAFE, which has made a noble sacrifice in battle. Some of your father's odds and ends have spilled out, including some old NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS, and two rather hefty TOMES. It's a fair bet that these books comprised at least half the weight of the safe.

It's another copy of COLONEL SASSACRE'S DAUNTING TEXT OF MAGICAL FRIVOLITY AND PRACTICAL JAPERY. This one looks really old, perhaps an original printing. Could it be the same one involved with your grandmother's unfortunate accident on that fateful day? DAD would never speak a word about it, but maybe NANNA wouldn't be so tight-lipped?

You give it a cursory perusal. It appears to be similar to your reprinting, listing all the japes and chicanery you have come to know and love. You captchalogue it, thinking you may give it a closer look later.

You take a look at the other book. You're sure DAD thought this was a scintillating read, but it looks pretty boring to you. Maybe you'll crack into it some day when you're old enough to shave.

Everything in this safe was obviously very important to your father. You wonder why he kept it locked away from you?

Some things about him you will never understand.

It seems he has been collecting scraps from the news over the years. These articles go back decades.

You guess this is the combination to the safe.

This is completely useless.

You guess these are all zeros? Or are they capital O's? Zeros would probably make more sense for an empty card, you think.

What?

The two card sylladex: inventory of dumbasses.

The Colonel soars to new heights on his ECHELADDER, reaching the rung: ONE MAN JULEP VACUUM, and pockets 9550 BOONDOLLARS.

Chump change for the genteel, aristocratic southern colonel.

The BATHTUB surges heroically and surpasses the rung: ARCHIMEDES' AQUACRADLE, proceeding directly to vaunted rung: TAFT-JAMMER. The tub makes off with a cool 490 BOONDOLLARS.

The tub's BASIN CAPACITY remains unaffected.

The SAFE was slain in battle. A great flaming nautical pyre carries it off to VAULTHALLA.

You're not sure. They look pretty precarious to you.

But you've been assured the stairs are perfectly navigable.

Lousy goddamn stupid stairs!

You wander over to the place where your BRO keeps his sweet turntable gear. Man that setup is sweet. You feel pangs of jealousy whenever you walk by it. Really cool jealousy, though. Like the kind where instead of getting all worked up about it, you don't actually give a shit.

One of your brother's rad and extremely expensive NINJA SWORDS is missing though.

You know this drill all too well. Trouble's a brewin'.

What sword?

You approach the exit.

There's something on the door you haven't seen before. Looks like one of your BRO'S ironic comics he left for you to check out.

Ok, some of this stuff you KNOW he's just leaving around to get under your skin. This is obviously another ploy in his relentless siege of one-upsmanship to get your goat (the same goat you've been meaning to bleat like ironically, but that will still have to wait for a more appropriate time).

You think he knows that deep down you feel like you're still not ironic enough to get stuff like this, and this is probably some weird gauntlet he's throwing down to see if you will "GET IT".

But honestly you think this material is just a little TOO ironic. You just don't need to see this shit right now.

No sign of BRO in here either.

Well, aside from the absurd quantity of awesome dangerous stuff he leaves lying around.

With an escalating sense of threat, you think it's time you SHIFT (9) your KATANA (9) to your specibus.

You figure it's better to free up the card anyway, since you might need to grab some of this stuff.

You guess BRO stuck some FAKE BLOOD CAPSULES in that puppet? Pretty gross.

You spot one of your BRO'S many WEBCAMS nearby, recording the incident.

It seems you may have just been an unwitting accessory to some sort of grisly puppet snuff film. You're not totally sure how you feel about that.

This might be the only thing in the whole apartment that's a bigger piece of shit than your own sword.

You put it back behind the microwave where it belongs.

It's just sort of bouncing around in there.

You're making a bit of a mess now.

See, like, his hobbies are cool and all, and you guess he's got to put his shit SOMEWHERE. But what if you just wanted to heat up a burrito or something?

This kitchen is pretty much useless.

You captchalogue all the FIREWORKS (2+1+2+1+2+1+2+2+2 = 15%10 = 5) the sink has to offer.

You just KNOW these are going to come in handy. Why would they be in the sink if they weren't?

Looks like one of them is still stuck in the GARBAGE DISPOSAL.

You grab the SHURIKENS (5) and...

Hey! Careful where you're putting stuff, especially if you're looking to turn your sylladex into a powder-keg full of sharp things.

You put the BOX OF FIREWORKS (3) back into card 5 and prepare to start ov...

Or card 3, apparently. That settles that, you guess.

You take the NUNCHAKU (3), once again grabbing without thinking ahead.

First you captchalogue the BOX (5) again, while adeptly avoiding the SHURIKEN trap, which you yourself set only moments ago.

You again round up all the FIREWORKS. Time to regroup here.

You grab each SHURIKEN (3) one at a time, knocking out those NUNCHAKU.

But no worries. You've got a plan.

You take the NUNCHUCKS (6). Everything seems to be in order now.

It would have been badass to go with the authentic Japanese names for each weapon, but sometimes you've just got to compromise with this modus.

You flip over your FETCH MODUS and check out the back.

You're not really sure where it is you're keeping this thing. Oh well, who cares.

Oh hell no. Not after all that trouble you went through to get that stuff situated.

This is potentially a very dangerous button.

First you program your modus with a SCRABBLE POINTS HASH FUNCTION, adding it to the list.

A=1; B=3; C=3; D=2; E=1; F=4; G=2; H=4; I=1; J=8; K=5; L=1; M=3; N=1; O=1; P=3; Q=10; R=1; S=1; T=1; U=1; V=4; W=4; X=8; Y=4; Z=10;

This might be a cool function to use, but it looks like you'll have to empty your sylladex to select it. You're just not gonna do that yet. No way.

Ok.

And just what is this guy so happy about? What's he looking at up there?

You think if you see one more soft, bulbous bottom being like

kind of jutting out and impudent or whatever

you're gonna fly off the handle.

You take the SKATEBOARD (6).

Actually, no you don't. A collision has been detected.

You take the... uh...

WHEELED...

uh...

RIDE (7).

Man, your inventory's nomenclature is getting lamer by the minute.

You take the POWER CORD (5)... wait, no. Not going to work.

You take the BATTERY PACK (8). Dammit.

You take the BATTERY PACK (9), using the 'Y' as a consonant. Your sylladex reluctantly accepts.

It's a tactic notoriously employed by hashmap noobs, but you just don't care about that now. Besides, it's not like your BRO is around to see.

Oh, it was just Lil' Cal again. You can never stay mad at him.

Anyway, you've got to get this way rude hunger under control. You figure you oughta scope the fridge for some grub. This hunger is so ill-mannered it would make a room full of snooty dowagers commit mass suicide.

Oh god more shitty swords.

Of course you knew these were in here. You're not even sure why you looked.

If you want to keep any food or beverages in this apartment, you've pretty much got no choice but to hide stuff away in your closet.

The hell with it. You try to take the entire JUMBLE OF UNBELIEVABLY SHITTY SWORDS and brace yourself for...

Looks like that works, actually. (2)

You captchalogue the JUMBLE OF UNBELIEVABLY SHITTY SWORDS.

You dispense several CHERRY BOMBS.

Wait...

Who's that looking at you in the reflection?

Where'd the little dude scamper off to this time?

You go for the CHERRY BOMBS (9) unsuccessfully.

After mulling it over a bit, you take the RED SPHERICAL SALUTES (1).

BLENDER (2) is a pretty simple word, and you can already tell that's not going to work.

Instead you take the...

WHIRLING BLADE PITCHER (4).

That's really a much better name for it anyway, you think.

You're still not sure what he's so happy about, or what he's looking at up there.

While you're at it, you dump the contents of the BLENDER, oops I mean WHIRLING BLADE PITCHER, into the disposal. But you suffer an unfortunate GARBAGE DISPOSAL HEAD JAM.

You notice something in the reflection. Something above you.

It's the hatch to the crawlspace above your apartment. BRO'S always tucking away in there when he's busting out his rad stealth stunts. He's so slick that dangling cord never even jostles.

You just know he's being ironic with these weird mind games. There's no way anyone could be serious about aping those shitty movies.

It's a pretty sweet fort you just made and you're pretty sure your brother would agree. Under different circumstances, you might be high-fiving over it right now.

But rather than get inside and take her for a spin, you really just need to use it to get up to that hatch.

It is time to face your destiny. No going back now.

Yeah, there was pretty much no way there wasn't going to be a bunch of puppets in there.