You're Screwed
5:07 PM, Friday-- After a long, hectic day at the office, you shuffle along down the hall, briefcase in hand. You narrowly dodge one of your more annoying coworkers as he skids past in his rolling swivel chair, and with the sound of a collision between him and another person, hopefully his boss, you step into an elevator crowded with various men and women in suits. Among these formally-dressed drones is a young man with long, blonde hair and a multicolored T-shirt emblazoned with a peace sign. The fellow greets you with a friendly "Peace, man," but your mind is too wracked with stress to take any notice.
As the elevator gradually falls to the first floor, your nostrils are filled with the scent of paper, fresh off the copy machine, as well as the strange scent of dry-roasted nuts. "Must be John with his can of cashews again," you think to yourself. "That guy is going to end up in the hospital with some sort of rare nut-related disease." As you step out of the elevator and onto the white-tiled floor of the lobby, you think about all the work you have piled up on your desk at home, and how you would much rather curl up in your chair with a tub of coffee-flavored ice cream and watch reruns of That 70's Show until you pass out. As you cross the room to the glass-paned rotating door, your eye catches a glimpse of some massive brown object just outside the office.
Uh oh ...
You say to yourself, "What is tha ..." but that is all you have time to say before you are silenced by a blinding flash of light, followed by an ear-splitting explosion that blows the office door off its hinges and knocks you and everyone else in the vicinity, as well as that giant waving mechanical chipmunk your boss put in the lobby last week, to the ground. As you lay stunned, a small television set on a nearby wall immediately tunes in to a breaking news bulletin, and a man's voice blurts out: "Breaking news! A giant, brown, box-like creature is attacking the city. Reports of buildings being demolished and uncounted lives being lost are flooding the station. As I speak, the United States military is on its way to the scene, ready to handle the situation." The screen flickers, and a man with a blue shirt, slicked-back hair, a thick beard, and a gaping smile comes on. GOT STAINS? THEN YOU NEED OXYCLEAN STAIN REM ... He is silenced as the television screen shatters from another resounding explosion from outside. As you stagger to your feet, a glimpse out the window reveals a terrifying fact: the monster is headed straight towards your building.
Maggots! RUN!
As your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates (the really big trays, not just the small sandwich plates), you stumble and begin to run towards the front door, which is now a pile of shattered glass in front of a gaping hole in the wall. Gasping for breath, you make a mad dash for your car. Unfortunately, in your pitiful attempts at weight loss, you parked your car several blocks from the office, and even more unfortunately, directly in the monster's path. Horrified, you watch as the monster smashes your once-proud automobile with a single step. Your heart beating faster than it ever has before, you sprint in the opposite direction, tie flying behind your head. As you search for any form of cover, your eyes fall on a Starbucks a block away. You run for the door of the coffee shop, hoping that perhaps the monster has a fondness for caffeine and will not damage the cafe. Stumbling through the door, you are greeted with the sight of Starbucks customers hiding under their tables for protection. You madly search for something, anything to hide you from the monster, and at the same time, wishing you had bought that life insurance plan. However, at the same moment, the roof of the Starbucks is lifted right off the walls, and is thrown aside by the monster. Looking up, you can now clearly make out it's form. It appears to be an enormous, brown, box-like thing, with beady black eyes and a wide open mouth filled with viciously sharp teeth.
FUCK!
"I remember seeing that thing before," you think to yourself. "It's from some website, Unrecyclopad or something like that." But your thoughts are pushed from your mind with a spurt of adrenaline, and you make a furious run for cover under the cafe counter. But to your horror, you are grabbed from behind by the creature's fuzzy appendage, and you find yourself being raised hundreds of feet off the ground. Sweat pouring off your brow, you remember some kind of chart about these things and what to do if you are attacked by one. "Something about Chuck Norris, I think?" you say to yourself. In a desperate attempt at freedom, you reach into your suit pocket and pull out a tiny object, resembling something of a dog whistle. Bringing the instrument to your lips, you blow as hard as you can into it. A musical piece, sounding something like the theme from "Walker, Texas Ranger", emits from the device, and a low rumbling is heard in the distance. The creature takes its attention off of you and looks in the direction of the sound, and as you look in the same direction, you can make out a dark speck on the horizon. As the speck grows bigger, you can make out a man in a ten-gallon hat speeding towards the monster. However, as the man is almost directly beneath you and ready to defend, the monster lifts up one gigantic foot and squashes the figure with a watery SPLAT!, and a pool of blood forms beneath the monster's toes.
Awww, crap ...
The monster makes a low, gurgling sound, resembling some mutated form of laughter, as the horrible realization comes to mind that this beast just killed ... no, DESTROYED your only hope of survival. The monster then turns its head to look at you, and with one last look of spite in its eyes, it tosses you into its mouth like a potato chip.
YOU ARE DEAD.
- Featured
- Things George Bush most certainly cares about
- Things likely to be eaten by a grue
- Monsters
- Things George Bush has Apologized for
- Nightmares Made Flesh
- You Are
- Horror
- Is there anything else on?
- Things Bigger Than Jesus, But Smaller Than The Beatles
- Things That Will Kill You
- Things controlled by Jews
- FA Non Encyclopedic
- FA Work