Closet Dance

Closet Dance

by Nolan Devine

The maximum score is 1. Is always 1.

The basement is a room.

The room is dark and smells of mustard — a scent normally hidden in the world you come from. From the darkness comes a hissing screech. A cat slicked in yellow darts east toward a foggy room. You follow.

The sauna is east of the basement. You step through its door. In the sauna steamed mustard comes through vents like cloudy vapors. The air is yellow and sticky. Wood panels the floor. The walls are made of bubble gum and condoms. Stuck to a wall is a bearded man. A voice in your head, your conscience perhaps, or perhaps the voice of the man, tells you to examine him.

Instead of examining the bearded man for the first time:

now the printed name of the bearded man is “George”;

now the bearded man is proper-named;

You peer closer at him and realize it’s George, an activist who’s famous for telling mustard enthusiasts to out themselves. George has been trapped in the sauna for years, chewing bubble gum and practicing onanism. His skin is covered in mustard, causing his brain to grow. To feel it would burn your fingers. Maybe.

He owns a condom factory, but only communicates to his workers via ESP. George beams messages from his head into the cat’s anal cavity. George says he and others like him won’t be free uness you kill the attack dog — Psychlo 57 — which belongs to the reverand, in the factory. To prove he is stuck you should try eat the bubble gum that traps him, then upon realizing your foolishness, continue following the cat. You’ll be slightly infected with ketchup, but at the core still know if what you desire by nature is red or yellow. The cat runs east. You nibble the gum. Pull at the condoms.

Understand “George” as the bearded man when the bearded man is proper-named.

Test me with “x george / x man / look / x george”.

The TV room is east of the sauna. Projected into the air, like a hologram, is a figure. He is a man of the cloth who asks you to examine him.

A hologram reverand is in the TV room. The hologram reverand is fixed in place in the TV room. Instead of examining the reverand for the first time:

now the printed name of the bearded man is “Reverend Fred Heinz-Phelpsfiftyseven”;

now the hologram reverand is proper-named;

You look at the reverand. He throws a bible at you but since it is a hologram it merely passes through and fades away, away, away. He calls you a filthy mustard lover. His cock sprays ketchup. Says that we should thank god for 9/11 since on that day planes were flown into the Plochman’s Mustard factory. Hurting the agenda. A mustard agenda that plagues America.

Dude says ketchup is the only path to God and tasty meals; that mustard is an abomination fueled by Satan. Claims the red tip on the yellow mustard bottle signifies the head of a blood filled penis. A penis ready to shoot filthy, unholy cum. Like the cum of animals into the mouths of men. Rhino cocks made erect by the fags who suck them. He finishes his speech which you can repeat an infinite amount of times, but the words he says never change, never compromise, never bring new insight or understanding into the world. The cat heads north to the kitchen.

The kitchen is north of the TV room. The kitchen is plastered with posters for Plochman’s Mustard. A small red item sits in the middle of the kitchen and begins to speak. It taunts you to touch it. To the west is the closet. You realize what the small red item is. You’d be a fool to try take it, but you’re probably a foolish person.

A ketchup bottle is in the kitchen. The ketchup bottle is fixed in place in the kitchen. You reach your hand for it:

You can’t touch the ketchup bottle you idiot. That shit is radioactive and would cold smoke your ass! The ketchup bottle screams DIE FAGGOTS DIE to the posters. You realize that not all ketchup is used in a way so hateful, and in fact some ketchup can be enhanced in the presence of mustard. But this ketchup is quite angry and hateful, empowered from being atop the food chain for too long. The bottle so blood red. Ready to cum but corked until marriage. The cat heads west to the closet.

The closet is west of the kitchen. The closet is dark and unwelcoming. The screams of people of all ages, genders, religions, and ethnicities, emit from here. The cat tells the people it is okay, that help is on the way. The people all speak Cat and English. The people, now filled with hope after seeing that you are on a journey to kill the dog, begin to plan a parade they will hold in the streets. The parade will be in your honor. There will be floats filled with men who shoot heroin and then eat sticks of frozen butter. Pussy grinding on pussy until dijon leaks out. A bearded figure that looks like George dares to be examined before moving on.

A bearded girl is in the closet. The bearded girl is fixed in place in the closet. Instead of examining the girl for the first time:

now the printed name of the bearded man is “Georgina”;

now the bearded girl is proper-named;

The bearded girl is Georgina, the ruler of the closet, who looks like George except she is naked and covered in scars on her crotch — a gaping cavity. She refuses to acknowledge you. Caulking her makeshift vagina is mustard, which drips onto the floor. The cat laps up the mustard and heads east.

Understand “Georgina” as the bearded girl when the bearded girl is proper-named.

The factory is east of the closet. The factory is filled with mustard bottles on assembly lines that only a day before made condoms. The mustard bottles are designed as condom packages. If mustard is openly allowed to be a part of this country’s favorite sport, then perhaps there will be some connection between the warring factions.

There is a copy of a bible on the assembly line. It is read aloud by a hologram of Reverand Fred. Some workers of the factory feel empowered by your presence and slather the bible in holographic mustard; flick off the hologram.

Workers stand around and listen to previous ESP communications from George that play through loudspeakers. George’s voice talks about fairness and equality in the workplace, the home, public sphere, the country. George’s voice is occasionally replaced by that of a deep throated girl named Georgina.

Georgina says that in a world dominated by ketchup bottles, it is time for mustard to squirt itself into the condiment stream. That those born bathed in mustard can no longer suck the ever pervading kethupy sack. Georgina goes on to explain that if ketchup and mustard mix then a delicious new flavor will emerge, creating a world where all condiments can get along. Can fuck as one.

You know that if this is to happen then the dog must die. Violence does not seem to be the answer to you, so perhaps if the dog is peaceful you will let it go. If not, then action must be taken. The dog dares to be examined.

The dog is an animal. It can be alive or dead. It is alive. The description of the dog is: The dog, wearing wearing a Heinz 57 shirt, rips the cats neck open and shakes it all about. The dog does the Hokey-Pokey before finishing the cat off. The cat’s anus ejects mustard. The workers lap up the mustard, but don’t gain George’s knowledge. The knowledge will be forever lost unless the dog is stabbed. A knife lays on the ground before you. A worker shouts that the knife has been decontaminated by a society of free underground activists and is safe to touch, but that you should examine it before picking it up. It is fixed in place in the factory.

The player is in the basement.

A knife is in the factory. The description is: The knife is solid gold. It looks hecka badass. Written on the side of the knife in bold are the words PUPPY MASTER. The knife talks to you via ESP. It says it’s desperate to be thrown at that wretched dog. That with one act of violence the rest of the country can be freed from the shackles of only allowing ketchup to fuck you in the ass.

Before throwing the knife at the dog:

if the dog is alive, say: You stick the dog directly in its crotch, killing it. Its penis falls off and oozes rancid ketchup. You have liberated George, the closet people, and all mustardists and mustard supporters in the country. The workers rejoice by shaking up mustard and shooting it onto each other’s faces like mid priced champagne. Like carbonated cum. Your brain boils hot.

The assembly line will send the mustard into the world, and though mustard is banned in many states, this gives new hope for the legalization of mustard in the future. To educate the masses that mustard is not a choice, but simply what some need, how some are.

Another ESP voice enters your head and tells you that this is the end. The future is now set in motion, and though you may think that you are changing something by going back into old rooms and repeating your actions, what’s done is done. So try to go back, I dare you.

You’ve done your task and completed the game. Created a new dimension that exists in the future, a future where all the actions you’ve just taken are now playing out in terms of reactions and consequences. You’ve done well, player. This is the end. You’ve accomplished your goal. You’ve liberated the mustard. Congratulations! Click the red x in the upper right hand corner of this page and go reward your handsome self with a suck off that legalized red tip.

Now the dog is dead;

Award 1 point;

Stop the action.

End the game in victory;

otherwise:

continue the action.

 Your Yellow Bottled Narrator, GABFRAB:

I got zero replies.

P.S. Just got done Left Coast tripping: Abandoning North Dakota — faux state where hay bales are used as roadblocks. Pissing in Yellowstone. Camping on a gnat infested island. Using cooler of rotten meat to anchor tent amid wind storms threatening to carry us off like Dorothy in the tornado shit. Swimming in the Great Salt Lake which is awesome because I love to lick my arms. Pawn Stars shop in Vegas (saw them filming and Corey waved at us!) Camping at a beach in Malibu. Hobo with five foot cardboard sign rant in Hollywood. Pointing a Big Mac at the Golden Gate Bridge.

Comment below.

Cheers, folks!

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