Choose Your Own Friday

A. You pop in to check on your dear old friend, Demons in My Britches, and you notice a new post. You scan down real quick to see how long it is.

a1. You don't have time for this shit.  You leave and come back in 15-360 minutes because you're bored again. Go back to A in 15-360 minutes.

OR

a2. You continue reading because you don't care about everything else you should be doing at the moment. Go to B below and hold onto your butts.

    
B. You find yourself at the end of the week hoping to deflate and unwind after your job-is-everything-in-the-DC-area type of week.

b1. You take an invite to drive, bus, train, and walk your ass all the way to the far corner of DC at the hipster/youngster/whitester oasis of H. St. and then dance your ass off at various rockin' pubs, clubs, and attics. Go to C below and grab an extra PBR for the fifteen minute wait for the shitter.

OR

b2. You decline an invite and sit your ass down on the couch with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and a four hour marathon of That 70's Show.  Go to D below and take a fifteen minute bathroom/reading/meditation break.

OR

b3. You decline an invite and a compulsion to collapse and cart your fearful ass out the door to work out.  After developing a pain in every part of your body, you manage to smile briefly for doing something physical for the first time in months.  Go to D below and take fifteen minutes to catch your breath before braving the stairs to your apartment.

OR

b4. You go on a whim to see The Tree of Life, and you are mysteriously never seen again.  The End.


C. Oh look, you're drunk again and far from home.  Your motivations and desires are quickly blurring and it looks like any of the images you're now seeing of the gyrating strangers around you, the approaching homeless family, and a strange neon sign at the end of the lit street stating plainly, "Rosebud", could be your last memory of the night.  Blackness is falling.

c1. You grab onto the nearest immovable object to steady your balance and out comes your first three hours worth of drinks followed by your dinner courtesy of the fine people at Checkers.  Go to E below and look for some napkins or a removable article of clothing you don't care about to clean yourself up.

OR

c2. You grab onto the nearest moving object of what appears to be the opposite sex to steady your balance and out comes the line, "I want your sex!"  You're not sure how they feel about it but since you haven't been tossed to the ground, you assume that they were either cool with it or didn't hear you.  Go to F and find some moves, Tony Manero.

OR

c3. You grab onto the bulky, surly bouncer to discuss the importance of his chinstrap facial hair, and he punches you in the stomach then escorts you to curb.  Here you are kindly helped into a cab by some Gallaudet students, one of which you are sure is your soul mate.  You scream out for their name, but they wave, unable to hear you, as you drift away from them into the night.  The End.

D. Fez is starting to get on your nerves and outweigh your appreciation for this easily accessible and enjoyable show.  You look around at your options.


d1. You turn off the TV, take a shower, clean up your room, reply to an email from someone you care about that you've been putting off.  You brush your teeth, climb into bed, and fall asleep to the sound of airplanes delivering souls to O'Hare, Atlanta, and Dallas-Fort Worth.  The End.


OR

d2. You start to get the itch, hop over to the ABC store, avoid the knowing looks from the cashiers that recognize you, and get out as fast as you can.  Find your way back to the apartment, pop open the bottle, and start sifting through your DVD collection.  Go to G.

OR

d3. You start to get the itch, put on slippers and a robe, and saunter over to the local watering hole, known as The Quarterdeck.  You proceed to drink 8 screwdrivers, 2 gin and tonics, and something that the fifty two year old man named Scotty bought you as he discussed his reasons he preferred life in Arlington versus anywhere else in the world.  Stagger back home.  Go to G.

E. After doing your best to wipe yourself off, you befriend a group of 30 year old women out for a bachelorette party, and they ask if you need a ride.  You're so happy to not have to pay for a cab that you can't even speak, and you squeeze into the back of their Ford Excursion.  If you were more awake, or less drunk, or both, you would worry about the state of the driver or how you might smell, but you pass out on the lap of Julie sitting next to you within seconds.

e1. They dump your carcass off miraculously by your apartment.  You climb up the stairs on all fours. Go to G.


OR

e2. They forget all about you, and you wake up in the back of a Ford Excursion wondering where the hell you are.  By the time you cab it back home and charge your phone a text message appears from the night before from someone named Julie: "You slut".  The End.

F. You find a second wind and dance like you found out you were no longer paralyzed.  All your friends seem impressed, but then when you walk out into the streetlight with them you realize you know none of the people you're with, and they all live within walking distance of the bar.

f1. You catch a cab home, well to an ATM first so you can take out enough money to pay for the cab, and then you catch it home.  Go to G.

OR

f2. You decide to walk it home because it seems like a nice night and you don't want to pay for a cab.  Four and a half hours later, the sun is out, you're fully sober, and the morning joggers try to avoid the sight of your zombie face.  You get to your apartment door and realize you forgot your keys, and your roommate's gone home for the weekend.  You curl up into a ball on the landing outside the door and go into comatose sleep.  The End.

G. You knock over all of the DVDs on your shelf as you grapple a hold of The Shining.  You throw it on and pass out during the scene where the naked lady from the tub turns into the most hideous creature ever recorded on film.  The End.