No, I really want to steal the car!
From Create Your Own Story
Now look, you self-absorbed little hooligan. I made that woman and I've been waiting to throw a fuck into her, by way of you, for months. If you take off in her car then she is not going to fuck you, and unless you decide to start following her around on her dates, you won't be seeing anyone else fuck her, either.
Ahem. Actually, Mr Author Baby, you didn't make her. Someone else made her. That's the way it works here. It's a collaborative effort. That didn't escape your notice, I trust?
Whatever. At the moment I'm the author. Don't bore me with technicalities. A boring main character who does not even have a name won't last long in today's dog-eat-dog CYOA narrative world. That's not a threat, it's just a fact. Note my mental shruggery, please.
Maybe I don't like redheads. Did you ever think of that? Maybe you should have made her Asian or something.
Don't like redheads? Oh, ha. Ho ho. Hee. Very droll. You not liking redheads is like the moon not liking the earth's gravity. Not that your momentary preferences matter, anyway. This is not about what color hair gets you off, you little pile of ink dross. You are about getting off, fundamentally. The hair is a diversion. The tits are a diversion. Whether her vulva opens up, down, left or right, whether her clit is so big it gives the top of your cock road rash, whether she squirts like a typhoon or merely streams, civilized as a bottle of milk, has no importance whatsoever.
This is what is important: if you get in that car and drive away, there will be.. consequences. Consequences which you will not like. Don't make me go all Chuck on you.
Wait. Go all Chuck? As in Chuck Norris?
That is indeed the point, my prime protagonistical popinjay.
You know, sometimes you are ridiculous.
Excuse me? Me, ridiculous? Sometimes? As if chasing your dick around like a packet of firecrackers had lit up your ass is the epitome of dignified behavior? Hm. You know, I've been considering updating the look of your cock. More true-to-life. I cannot wait to see how the ladies will react when you take off your pants and your erection has whiteface, a red sloppy mouth, eyebrows extending up its forehead, painted tears coming from its eye, and a bozo-fro.
Stop stop stop. Okay. Let's interjaculate a little reality into the dicussion. First of all, yes, you're the author. You can write me doing all kinds of things. Whatever you want. I recognize that.
However, that is actually not my problem. That is your problem. If you really wanted me not to steal the redhead's car, why is the option there in the first place? See? Your problem. You're perfectly comfortable getting your jollies having me thrash all over moral niceties like a randy ape (and I'm not complaining, mind you), but you leave one little plot loophole and suddenly it's my fault. If you don't want me to take the car, why don't you just go back and rewrite it so that the redhead takes the keys with her instead of leaving them in the ignition? I'll tell you why. You're lazy. You let a little bug in the works, and you don't want to deal with it, or else you actually like it, but you can't be seen to like it. Funny how you aren't embarrassed by all the sex you're writing, but you're embarrassed by one lazy little plot hole. Doesn't make sense, really. Clear case of sublimation of guilt over the sex-writing into some inconsequential technical narrative detail, if you ask me.
Wow. Dr Freud. I feel so much better.
No charge. Just trying to make the world a better place.
Ah, yes. That would be why you have this sudden need to perform grand theft auto. Well. What I said before stands. Take the car, and you won't like what happens to you. Discussion over.
- Vague consequences scare me, so I'll chicken out.
- Yeah, suck it you pompous scribe, I'm taking the CAR!
| Status | ||
| Health | Horny | Location: |
| MP | 0 | |
| Level | 1 | |
