Topic: Lets start a story.

[Ghandi]

Pick up where the other person left off.

---

It was a beautiful, sunny spring day and Jim felt like shit. He woke with a grimace on his face and a terrible ache in his head. He didn't usually drink that much, but he felt like celebrating last night because of his job promotion. And although he couldn't remember much, he couldn't help but think that he made quite an impression last night, especially with that blonde girl.

As Jim got dressed, he noticed numerous scrapes on bruises on his body. No explanation. Suddenly the phone rang.

"Hello?" Jim said.

...

[gpw11]

"The call is coming from inside the house"



That's all I have.

[Ghandi]

"Who is it?" Jim asked.

"It's Gregg, motherfucker. Perpare to be ass-raped."

At that point, Gregg jumped out from behind the curtain. He was naked and covered in baby oil. He was a thin, pale man with little muscle. Jim took no time in taking him down and beating his face into the ground.

"That's the fucking asshole that keeps staring in my windows," Jim observed. "Glad that he's dead now."

[Quemaqua]

Except... was he really dead?  Suddenly the corpse of Gregg, not yet even cold, began to rise.  But surely he had been dead but moments before, thought Jim.  What abomination of nature could this be?

"Braaaaains," said the thing that once was Gregg, and Jim felt a chill run down his spine.  He resisted the urge to regurgitate his partially-digested chinese food.

[gpw11]

THREAD CLOSED

[angrykeebler]

Gregg advaned on Jim with his arms extended in typical zombie fashion. Jim staggered back in a panic. His life flashed before him and in desperation he began throwing whatever he get his hands on at Gregg.

Jim's hands found a cannister of liquid nitrogen he had for no particular reason. He took careful aim and flung it at Greggs crotch.

[gpw11]

I thought I locked this.  BANNED.

Uh, by the way, I think I should be a mod.  I promise I'll be very responsible.

[Ghandi]

Gregg was unfazed. He continued forward towards Jim, showing that, despite his zombie status, he was quite familiar with liquid nitrogen in his crotch.

Jim took a step back and calmed down, thinking about what his next move would be. Unbeknownst to Gregg, there was a flamethrower factory only two miles away.

Quickly, Jim crafted a plan.

[Xessive]

Jim quickly fashioned a sled out of the remains of his furniture. He set it up on the roof of his house and, with special thanks to the Chinese fireworks factory next door, he lined the sled with all sorts of suggestively named fireworks!

Jim prepared. He lit the fuse and clenched his fists around the reins.

But little did he know...

[Pugnate]

...that Gregg had followed him up the chimney, and was now slow limping towards him. As Jim patiently waited in the cold for the 50 foot long fuse to burn to its end, he thought out loud, "Boy, undead Gregg sure looked a lot like Sean Penn."

Suddenly, Jim heard a loud and angry moan, that almost sounded like a cat orgy. He frantically turned around, expecting to see a lot of excited pussies, but instead, was shocked to see the rapist homosexual zombie Gregg, shuffling slowly towards him with the can of liquid nitrogen somehow still dangling from his crotch.

Then...

[Quemaqua]

Jim had a seizure at the worst possible moment.  He felt as though he were falling as he blacked out, and suddenly found himself in a large room, claustrophobically laid out with empty hospital beds and populated by men in red suits.  The ceiling of this hospital then gave way, revealing an infinite expanse of blackness through which swirled canisters of energy that glowed with an eerie blue neon light.  He reached out for them, trying to touch their beckoning, blinking lights, when the facade of these visions collapsed around him and he found himself strapped to a hospital bed, a team of leering doctors looming over him.  They swam languidly before his vision, seeming to stretch and contort as he tried to convince his eyes to focus.

Then Jim remembered how he'd gotten the bruises.  These weren't doctors.  It... it was THEM.  Had they found him again?  In his fever dream he couldn't grasp what was real and what wasn't.  It couldn't be them!  It just couldn't!

As their bludgeoning instruments descended upon him, he tried scream.

[Pugnate]

But he couldn't. Jim tried to move his legs, but nothing. He tried to move his hands, but nothing. Panicked, Jim tried to tilt his head to see how thoroughly he had been strapped, but his head wouldn't respond. He tried moving his fingers, but they wouldn't respond either. With great despair, the realization came to Jim; he was under drug induced paralysis.

After running a mental check on his self, Jim realized that there wasn't an inch of his body that he could move, though he could hear and feel everything. What sort of a sick fucking drug is this? Jim thought, as anger slowly started to replace his feelings of hopelessness. How the fuck did they find me again? I shouldn't have answered that newspaper ad in the first place! $800 to donate a little blood? I should have known it was too good to be true.

Jim's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud and familiar sound, a sound that filled him with dread.

GNRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

A chainsaw!

As Jim's mind raced, his sedentary eyes met an unwelcome sight. One of the redsuits was wearing a surgeon's mask, and was staring directly at him. As Jim helplessly started back, the man lowered his mask to reveal a handsome middle aged face, that looked distinctly middle eastern. The man had light olive skin, a thick goatee, and an angular nose on which rested a pair of glasses that seemed to have been cracked recently.

In a deep and unaccented voice, the redsuit spoke quickly, "Hello Jim. I apologize for your predicament, but the world hit turmoil much faster than we expected. We had to act...quickly." The man stared deeper into Jim's eyes. "I know you will hate me for this now, but the world needs you Jim. And if you do not cooperate with us, after your...ah... modifications, well let's just say that we've got your neighbor Gregg in a cell, and he seems to need you as well...pretty badly" 

Jim's mind screamed profanities.

"By the way, my codename is Xessive. So you may call me Dr.Xessive."

More like doctor motherfuc...

GNRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Without warning, the chainsaw hit Jim's shoulder. Jim's mind screamed from all the horrible pain. He tried to concentrate on happier thoughts, but it was no use, the pain was too much...

Days later, Jim opened his eyes...

[Raisa]

"puff the magic dragon, lived by the sea...."

sang the head with two brown braids leaning over Jim's bed.

[Ghandi]

A delirious fervor enveloped Jim as he attempted to seize control of the situation. The dragons he instantly recognized as nonsense, an aberration. But the mad doctor, the chainsaw - they all seemed so real!
 
As the drugs began to fade he recognized the obvious signs that he had been hallucinating. Dragons, doctors with chainsaws - all things that he had dealt with on numerous occasions while experimenting with drugs in college. He laughed at his naivety.

A terrible ache spread throughout Jim's body as he sat up. Frantically patting down his body, Jim quickly asserted that all of his limbs were intact. And yet...he didn't feel whole. He knew what the men in red suits had done to him. This wasn't the first time he woke in this chamber. Maybe not this particular one, but they were all the same. And Jim knew that he wasn't the only one. There were others, and he needed to help them.

Painfully, Jim got up and looked around for an exit....
 

[Pugnate]

When his asshole suddenly exploded!

[Ghandi]

The pain was extreme, and Jim nearly passed out. His pain caused him to flash back, as he remembered entering the country years ago. He had to change his name in order to ensure he was granted citizenship, but he always remembered what he was called back in his home country. His family, his friends - they all remembered him by his birth name. He was Pugnate.

But Jim quickly shook off that memory. It was a dirty name. Luckily the damage was minor. He continued on.

[Pugnate]

As the drugs started to wear off, Jim realized that he had been fantasizing again. Despite wanting it to be, Pugnate was never his name. Pugnate was an internet friend that Jim had been obsessed with for over a decade, until his therapist had helped him come to terms with his feelings.

Quickly, Jim began a mental exercise that he often used to subdue his feelings for Pugnate. As Jim mentally reenacted his favorite goat pr0n movie, he noticed a computer sitting quietly in the corner of the room.

He slowly shuffled towards the computer, as best his exploded asshole would allow. As he moved, his mind slowly drifted away from BAAA BAAA and Schlotzky5, and on to the first website he planned to visit on the computer, Overwritten.net.

Finally, he arrived, and quickly typed in the URL. As soon as he hit enter, he was presented with the login page. He carefully entered his details:

"USERNAME? G-H-A-N-D-I. Password? ILOVEHORSECOCK"

While the website loaded, Ghandi decided to set himself on the computer chair.

"OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW", Ghandi stood up screaming. "Boy, that exploded asshole sure hurts! Though I guess it doesn't hurt NEARLY as much as that time I made that little video in Mexico!"

[Ghandi]

Jim shook off the vision that he was having as he walked out of the room. He remembered something about a typewriter, but it was quite foggy to him. He felt out of place; a stranger. As he examined his surroundings, he spotted a calendar on the wall. "June 12, 1938."

Three days since he left home. It felt like weeks. Disgusted with himself for even thinking of the name "Pugnate", Jim decided to get out of this place quickly. He wasn't surprised that the men in red were gone - they came as quickly as they left. It was one of their better qualities.

Jim staggered across the foreboding test chamber towards the door, welcoming whatever lie beyond. Opening the door, he found himself at the end of a long, narrow hallway. A light flickered above. Fucking lazy janitors.

Aching all over, Jim ran towards the end of the hallway and pushed open the door, only to find himself blinded by light. He breathed in the stale air, relishing it. Outdoors. Freedom.

Scanning the horizon, he moved on.

[Quemaqua]

He tried not to wonder how the Internet had come into existence prior to or during 1938.  It made his head hurt, much like his exploded asshole.  He also tried not to wonder what in the world an exploded asshole could possibly be, because it seemed rather preposterous, if not medically tragic.

Ahead of him, not 10 feet off, darted a small form.  It crossed the street quickly, and it was only then that Jimpugnaghandi (for so he'd come to think of himself) realized he was back in town.  But had he ever left?  He turned around and saw that he'd just come from a butcher shop.  He looked in the window and saw only a fat smiling man in a white hat who waved to him.  He looked down at his hands and saw they were clenching a small package of some kind, wrapped in white paper.

"You just gonna' fuckin' stand there?" a voice said to him.  He looked up, startled, and saw no one.  He looked around in a bewildered stupor.  Who had spoken?

"Oh, this one's a real winner," the voice said again.  "About as bright as a box a' bitchcakes."

Then Jimpugnaghandi looked across the street and realized who was speaking to him.  It was his fairy godweasel.