Congratulations Mountaineer!

It is known that at high altitudes some people hallucinate things.  Sometimes, they'll hallucinate stuff like sexy cartoon animals, or weirdly elaborate cakes.  Sometimes they'll hallucinate loved ones reaching out to them, calling them to come and visit the great beyond, where they can be together forever.

Today, while climbing through the beautiful and deadly Himalayas, you're going to hallucinate a rope bridge.

"Check it out," you'll shout to your wife.  "Bridge!"

She'll stare at you like you're crazy, and shout "Wait, don't, it's a - " but before she can get to the overlong phrase, "Mountain mirage," you'll already have leapt on to the rope bridge with both feet and, having hit nothing but air, you'll begin your rapid and certain descent into a crevasse, where you'll break both your legs and die of blood loss in a matter of minutes.

If it's any solace, your case will be used for years to come as a cautionary tale, effectively educating thousands of climbers in proper mountain-safety, and lending credency to a seemingly fake phenomena.  Also, it'll free your wife from a loveless marriage that was figuratively sucking the life out of her, which is good, because no one should have to live without love.

Congratulations Mountaineer!

Congratulations Dragon Obsessed Teen!

As a pre-teen you were always kind of sullen.  Once you hit thirteen, it just got worse.  The hormones and self-hate grew overwhelming and before you knew it, pow.  You were an angst filled teen who did nothing but read shitty books and then talk about how fucking amazing they were all the time.

You chose books about dragons, and by association you’ve been discussing nothing but dragons for the last eight months of your life.  Dragonlance, Dragon Force, Enter the Dragon and, of course, Dungeons and Dragons.  You love dragon related media so much that you’ve even seen the short-lived Dungeons and Dragons cartoon from the eighties, now immortalized in a DVD boxed set that proudly documents its ignominious time in our world’s radio spectrum.

So it won’t be surprising to anyone when today, when you visit a theme park, you insist on riding the run down Dungeons and Dragons tram ride that mysteriously manifests itself in the park and is manned only by a giant man missing an eye who clutches a club and only speaks in a language of guttural snarls.  But it will be kind of surprising when that ride turns into an interdimensional portal and sucks you into another world populated by fantasy creatures, even though that happened on the Dungeons and Dragons TV show.  I mean, things like that don’t usually happen in the world.

But because this is the real world and not a television show, there will be no friendly gnome there to help you, no guide to keep you alive.  Instead you’ll arrive in a twisted jungle populated by creatures which, for the most part, mercifully ignore you.  You’ll wander around there for a few minutes before you have the ill fortune to happen upon a massive scaled beast, breathing lightning into the sky and shrieking madly at your approach.

“Cool!” you’ll shout, pointing at it.  “A dra-“

You’ll be cut short by the creature’s massive paw.  It won’t be sentient, or even particularly bright, but it knows that pointing is rude, something even a sullen teen like you could’ve learned in your brief span on this planet.  In Mannersworld, where you will be transported, such things are currency, a currency that insures survival.

If only you’d been less insufferable, alas.

Congratulations Dragon Obsessed Teen!

Congratulations on Falling Through That Ice!

Remember that movie The Dead Zone, with Christopher Walken? Where he falls gets into a car accident and almost dies and can then see into the future for brief missives about what is to come, allowing him to predict the future and potentially save hockey teams? No? It’s on USA sometimes, you should watch it. It’s not bad.

Anyhow, that happened to you a while back, and today you’re going to get a chance to save a hockey team from falling through some ice, just like in the movie. Except instead of saving some people and then hearing about a bunch of others dying under the ice, you’re going to try to directly intervene, running on to the ice waving your hands, begging those kids to get off the god damn ice. The ice will give way while hockey players pile on top of you to try and get you to stop ruining their game, and you’ll drown under ice, hammering on the surface and begging for life as it leaves you in one of the most horrible fashions imaginable. Hockey players will be grabbing for your feet to try and haul themselves up, weighed down to the bottom of the frozen lake by their skates. As you lose consciousness you’ll be dimly aware of their movement beneath you.

The downside of all this is that, unlike in that movie, no one will be around to stop crazy president Martin Sheen from launching nukes at Russia (which could still start a nuclear apocalypse, thanks to the Doomsday Device from Doctor Stangelove that it turns out was real) and we’ll all die horribly in the aftermath.

On the upside, you won’t have to deal with it, and your ex-girlfriend’s dick husband will die in a hail of nuclear fire, so you’ll kind of win on that front. Pity about the rest, though.

Congratulations on Falling Through That Ice!

Congratulations on Voiding Your Bowels!

Today you’re going to die with a pooper full of shit. And you know what that means. It means your last moment will be one of shame as your gastrointestinal track loses all control and you just shit all over yourself.

Normally this would be cause for deep shame, but today the guy that killed you is going to come over to your body and try to take a trophy from your supine corpse. He’ll be getting ready to lop off your ear with a giant knife when his boot catches some liquefied shit which, mixed with blood and urine flowing out of your body like it’s going out of style, is going to make the grass you died on real slippery. So the guy that killed you is going to lose his balance, knife in hand, and tumble on to it, ramming it into his ribcage and puncturing his lung.

He’ll lay there as his vision swims, bleeding out as breath fails him, and his last moments will be spent buried in your blood and excrement, providing you with perhaps the single most satisfying after-death revenge moment as your foe dies after killing you, smothered in your own shit and piss.

Congratulations on Voiding Your Bowels!

Congratulations on Accidentally Lighting Your Bed on Fire!

Today you’re going to be laying in your bed covered in money which itself will be covered in a thin residue of gasoline following a successful gas station robbery. You’ll have just finished having sex with your favorite prostitute using an oil based lube and extremely flammable condoms (she’s not very bright and doesn’t realize that the oil based lube makes the condoms worthless, devaluing her as a whore) so you’ll want to celebrate. And what better, more American way to celebrate a pretty big theft than to light up in bed with a woman who is paid to let you spill your seed on her tits while you’re covered in gasoline and flammable items?

The answer, of course, is by mourning 9-11 briefly and somberly following your sexual episode. Sadly this wisdom will be lost on you as it will come only seconds after you and your escort are engulfed in flames following the first strike of your disposable lighter. You will die screaming, your money burning around you, cursing Osama Bin Laden for condemning you to this fate.

Congratulations on Accidentally Lighting Your Bed on Fire!