You feel so happy you could puke and you do, all over the garage floor! You'll have to clean that up later, but right now all you want to do is dance and sing! You run outside as fast as you can and do your stupid dance in the pouring rain. It's alright, no one will see you since everyone is inside away from the storm. As you dance like a retarded monkey on crack you sing as loud as you can:
"I'm on the top of the world lookin' down on creation
And the only explanation I can find..."
You twirl and spin and disco dance and do your gay little prance all over the lawn. Then you close your eyes and twirl and spin and twirl some more.
"Is the love that Ive found ever since you've been around
Your loves put me at the top of the..." SMUCK!
Oh no! You danced out into the road and old man Finklestein (who was rushing to get home so his wife wouldn't know he's been screwing that cutie down at the bingo hall) couldn't see you because of the rain and the fact that he's as blind as a naked mole rat! You fly through the air and land on the ground in a bloody heap. Oh geez, it looks like all your bones are broken and several of your internal organs are now in your chest. The last sound you hear is the old man's tires burning rubber off into the distance. Stupid old geezer probably thinks he hit a squirrel is your last thought as everything fades to black.
YOU ARE DEAD!
Game over man, game over!
Or is it...
You feel so happy now that you have control of your own body again and never have to watch another episode of The Brady Bunch ever. You probably will though, you have a horrible crush on Mrs. Brady, you poor fool you. What should I do now, you think and stroke your imaginary beard.
Suddenly Betsy Ann Morgan pops into your head. Something else pops too but you choose to ignore it and it goes away. Betsy Ann is the cutest girl in the whole school and you were stupid enough to think you'd have a chance with her. That was until her boyfriend put you in a dumpster out behind the lunch room with all the candies you gave her shoved down your pants. Your mind turns from what she'd look like lying on your bed covered in cooking oil to thoughts of revenge! You smile an evil smile and scoop up some of the nasty crud and head over to her house just a few blocks down the street...
The rain has let up a bit and now it's only drizzling. Thunder rumbles off in the distance as you ring her doorbell. You've got the goop tightly concealed in your hand, hidden behind your back. Oh boy! Is she ever going to feel sorry she rejected your persistent and sort of creepy advances...
Okay, it's time to pick where the story goes!
Who will answer the door?
Betsy Ann the way she'd look in your sickest fantasies?
A monkey with a flamethrower?
Or...no one at all.
or just make some shit up, that would be cool too!