Trying to be funny

- Grant's Adventures in Norwich and Beyond -

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A choose your own adventure game about sex (part 2)
This is two posts long.  Open this post and the post above it to play.  Good luck, adventurers!



Looks like it’s your lucky night, as the bouncer was looking disdainfully at that guy in the white baseball cap behind you.  He waves you through and sets about making an example of White Baseball Cap instead, with several other bouncers coming to help wind him up and cart him off when he gets angry.  The system works, you think, as you walk into the club.  Turn to 8.



They’ve clearly left, the wankers.  They’ve just upped and left.  You search around for someone that you know in the crowd, and after fifteen minutes of awkwardly poking around you come across Jen from Accounts.  You’ve always fancied Jen from accounts.  She’s sat on her own.  Do you go up to her and say hello, hopefully leading on to some dancing, hopefully leading on to something else?


That’s why I came out, after all, let’s do it turn to 9

She’s probably not interested in me turn to 11



You decide (perhaps wisely) that going out is almost never worth the bother, especially when you’re as tired as you are.  You spend the evening eating crisps and reheated pasta while watching episodes of Scrubs that you illegally downloaded to your computer.  You watch the one when Carla loses JD and Turk’s stuffed dog.  It’s probably the fifth or sixth time to date that you’ve seen it.  You really like that episode - you wish Scrubs was still that good, and lament the fact that it bottomed out at the end of season five.  You briefly consider blogging about this, but think better of it.  You polish off the evening with a bout of distinctly lacklustre masturbation and go to bed. 


Your adventure ends here.



The bouncer turns out to have been just generally disdainful in your direction, as they are wont to do.  You guess it comes with the job.  There’s nothing wrong with your clothes, though, and he waves you through to the club.  Turn to 8.



You run, nearly knocking over an old woman in the process, and manage to make it onto the bus just in time as it starts to pull away.  The bus driver gives you that look – you know the one I mean, the one that says “I’m a bus driver and therefore I must hate all who ride on my bus” – and you fumble with your wallet for change.  If you have the Handful of Loose Change, you use that to pay for the bus and find a seat at the back.  If you do not, the bus driver dials up the hate in his eyes as you fish a tattered fiver out of your wallet and he has to lower himself to hand over change.  What’s the deal with bus drivers and change, anyway?  You hate that.

You sit down and the journey passes without any significant result, although you realise that you’re not as young as you used to be and something might have gone wrong with your knees when you did all that running.  Lose 3 STAMINA and turn to 30.



You’re not Good-looking – I’ve seen you.  Turn back to 9 and lose one dice worth of STAMINA points as punishment for cheating and/or being cocky.



Yeah, he’s not getting the hint that you don’t want to be friends.  He keeps talking at you, and you realise that perhaps you can fob him off with something.  If you have the Half a badly made sandwich, Handful of loose change or Packet of cigarettes you can give any of them to him - turn to 13 after you have crossed them off your character sheet.  If you do not, or you do not wish to give them away, you can pretend you have a phone call and walk off halfway through, probably to the next bus stop, you don’t care, just you’re getting sort of uncomfortable here and turn to 31.



He stares back at you for a second before reaching in his bag for something with a glint in his eye.  After a while, however, he gives up and resumes his speech.  Turn to 24.



You quickly towel off your hair and run downstairs to your room.  Why do you never wash your clothes?  Admittedly, you know why – you hate washing clothes, it’s boring – but now, when you can’t even find clean pants without performing the Smell Test, it’s getting to be a bit of a problem.


Roll a dice.  If it is under your LUCK score, go to 3.  If it is over, go to 14.  Subtract one from your LUCK rating whatever the result.



Fuck!  Ow!  You’ve cut yourself.  You always cut yourself there – just above your adam’s apple, yeah – because you never pay enough attention.  You’re jamming sharp metal against your neck, for Christ’s sake – if there’s any point of the day you should watch what you’re doing, it’s now.


Roll a dice, and lose that many points off your STAMINA due to blood loss and demoralisation.  Turn to 10.



He smiles and agrees with you in turn, happy that you have clearly understood the joke that he told.  Turn to 24.



Attractive women aside, you manage to complete your shaving with no ill effects and splash on aftershave, wondering why you do it as it hurts so fucking much agh.  After the stinging subsides you dry your hair with your towel a bit and vaguely smear gel into it, spending a full two minutes trying to make it look somewhere half-decent.

You are now Well-Groomed.  Make a note of that on your character sheet next to “Effects.”  Turn to 10.



Finally!  You make it to the club, thanking the bus driver as you leave.  If you have the Packet of Cigarettes, smoke one now because the outside bit at the back is a fucking zoo past around eleven and you just want a quiet fag, thank you.  Your friends refuse to answer any of their phones despite repeated calls.  Guess you’ll have to go in there and find them.  You join the queue and various gaggles of loud, underdressed, big-haired women are waved past you on account of their legs, or something.  You find that really unfair.  As you eventually approach the door, the bouncer looks at you with disdain.


If you are Well-Dressed, turn to 21.  If you are Well-Groomed, turn to 5.  If you Look like you lost a fight with a Wardrobe, turn to 6.  If you are none of the above, turn to 18.



You thank those acting lessons your mum made you take when you were twelve as you pretend that your phone was on vibrate and what was that?  You’re at your house?  Oh, cool, oh, you’ll be right there.  You keep talking on the phone and wave to the drunk man as you leave, catching the bus ten minutes later at the following stop.  Turn to 30.



You find your friends, all sat in a group, a few drinks in already.  They grin at you and welcome you in to the circle, and you ask them why they didn’t answer their phones.  They can’t hear you, predictably, so you go off and get a drink of expensive, unsatisfying lager and sit back down with them.  The night wears on as it always does, and you end up talking about bands no-one else likes and computer games and how rubbish the smoking ban is and, even as a group, not getting the courage to talk to any girls.  In fact, the safety of the largely homosocial space lulls you into a sense of security, and you are quite happy to blather on and watch endless streams of attractive, available women go past with little but a twang of regret and a shared elbow nudge.  You return home and knock your way through half a bottle of whisky looking up women you fancy on Facebook until around 4am, falling asleep face down on your keyboard. 


If you are Not sure you should have eaten that, the wisdom of your actions becomes abundantly clear through the medium of sick at around half past six the following morning.  As the sun rises you kneel, fruitlessly mopping up a pool of your own vomit, barely able to open your eyes.


Your adventure ends here.



You sit down at the bus stop and wait.  The timetable says that another bus is arriving in ten minutes, but after twenty pass you can see that it was clearly lying.  You are going to be so late.  You’ve probably missed them already.  You try to use your Mobile Phone to contact them but they’re not picking up.  Bastards.  It’s so cold.  You should have worn a coat.


An old drunk man approaches!  Looks like he wants to be your friend, possibly, but it’s not entirely clear what he’s saying through the lack of teeth and abundance of cider.  He pauses, looks at you and utters – “Gfaaah ha an dublish an kina ripenbach.” At least, you think that’s what he says.  How do you respond?


Ah, ha ha, yes, turn to 28

Really? turn to 17

A blank look of puzzlement turn to 25




Jen from Accounts gives you the benefit of the doubt for a while and lets you talk to her for maybe five minutes longer before she gets a phone call – no, it was on vibrate, apparently, you wouldn’t think you could feel that through a bag but hey – and leaves, making some excuse that is lost in the noise and tumult of the club.


Disheartened, you cast around the club for a friendly face, anything, even someone you don’t get on with that you could properly hate.  But nothing.  Nothing.  You ride the next bus home and numbly get into bed, watching Finding Nemo on a DVD you borrowed from your older sister in 2005 but are in no way ever returning.  You, too, wish you could speak whale.


Your adventure ends here.



You never found out what was in the bottle – at least, you figure, maybe you did but you can’t remember.  The last thing you can remember is dancing with your shirt off on top of a parked car in time to the alarm while the drunk man looked on, clapping his hands frenetically.


Your adventure ends here.



Wait!  Wait, you bastard!  Don’t drive away!  You swear you will kill that son of a bitch bus driver and all that he has ever loved.  But that comes later.  Now come the searing chest pains.  God, you’re out of shape.  Lose 4 STAMINA and turn to 33.


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It is my copy of Finding Nemo and my sister is getting her grubby paws anywhere near it.

Other than that the route I took was a shockingly accurate description of my life.

and now having read it through more I realise that also like my own life, the sex alluded to in the title will never happen.

(Deleted comment)
I was always under the impression that the "happy" ending was to end up dancing on top of a car. At least at that point you've made a friend.

Screw you, poorly-made sandwich.

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