You are testing your new fad diet "The Whiskey Workout." This hasn't been easy, as lifting an eighty pound jug of whiskey over your head and holding it still while you empty the contents into your stomach takes an ascending level of coordination that is directly at odds with the results of the whiskey entering your body. Regardless, you're hungry, your muscles are sore, and something needs to happen. \n\n"fuck this," you mutter and get up from your desk and walk out to the main hallway at work.\n\nYou can [[go to the kitchen area and steal someone's food|crook]]\n-or-\nYou can [[head to the nearest fast food joint for greasy food|slob]]

You are sitting at your desk. You've been at work since ten after eight this morning, and you're ready for lunch, even though it's only eight thirty. \n\nYou're hungry because you were [[drank too much|drunk]]\n-or-\nYou're hungry because you were [[up early working out|egomaniac]]\n-or-\nThe truth is you're hungry because you [[drank too much while working out|truth]]

"Ed always eats good," you mumble as you grab his lunch container. You smile to yourself, happy that for once you will be able to eat like a rich guy, and sit down and unzip the lunchbox.\n\nYou eat an amazing sandwich with free range sliced turkey and spicy mayo, a light salad with goat cheese, dried cranberries and an obviously home made vinagrette using what tasted like fresh dill, and organic gluten free butterscotch-chip oatmeal cookie with flax and chia seed. \n\nEd walks through just as you are wiping the corners of your mouth with a 1800 thread count egyptian linen napkin embroidered with woven threaded 24 karat gold string and drinking the last sips of melted glacial ice. \n\n"Oh, by the way, you're fired," Ed calls back to you as he walks out of the kitchen. \n\nYou throw the table out of the way and run into his office.\n\n"Is this about eating your lunch?" you demand.\n"No, that lunch was just rat poison shaped to look like all those things, asshole. I didn't get as rich as an astronaut trusting motherfuckers like you around my rich guy lunches," he replies.\n"Then....why?" you ask, feeling your throat closing up as your organs begin to stop working.\n"Because you're still not wearing pants even after being reminded to for the last three months."\n\nYou look down and see your genitals flowing in the breeze. You close your eyes and smile before heading for the light at the end of the tunnel.\n\nCONGRATULATIONS! BY DYING WITH NO PANTS ON IN YOUR BOSS'S OFFICE IT IS HIGHLY POSSIBLE YOUR LAST ACT AS AN EMPLOYEE WAS EMPTYING YOUR BOWELS ON HIS CARPET! YOU ARE A PANTSLESS POISON EATER! LET IT ALL HANG OUT!

The sad truth is that you're still drunk, and your hunger is just your body's way of trying to hasten the process of getting sober. \n\n"fuck this," you mutter and get up from your desk and walk out to the main hallway at work.\n\nYou can [[go to the kitchen area and steal someone's food|crook]]\n-or-\nYou can [[head to the nearest fast food joint for greasy food|slob]]

"You dumb sack of shit!" you scream as you throw the table out of the way, "I'm too drunk for your bullshit right now!"\n\nYou reach down and rip off your pants and then your shirt. You make fists with both hands and throw your head back to scream your well-known pre-combat phrase "I got the skillz to pay all your fucking billz!" The scream centers your chi and you begin to glow a bright blue. As you dash towards Agnes, you grab the bag of chips. He throws a punch, but you block with the hand holding the chips, just as you planned. The chips are now smashed into a dust. You rip the bag open, releasing a cloud of powderized chips into his face. He grabs his throat coughing, and is clearly blinded.\n\n"The sour cream....it burns!" Agnes yells. You don't waste a second. You bring your knee up to his chin. An audible cracking sound is heard for miles, with most people thinking it was just someone nearby eating Pop Rocks candy. Actually, it was his jaw being vaporized by your Tiger-Style Atomic Knee. Agnes drops to his knees, his body seized up in shock from such a terrible first blow. You chuckle and wipe your nose, and then flip backwards, your heel catching the bottom of what used to be his jaw and exploding his head into a fine spray onto the wall behind him. His body, know ending in a simple neck stump, falls to the floor and shakes for four seconds before growing still. \n\nAs you walk out of the kitchen, you grab the sandwich and take a bite. You return to your desk and begin your day of work, no longer hungry.\n\nCONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE A KUNG-FU/THAI KICKBOXING MASTER BADASS WINNER! HARNESS YOUR CHI!

You walk into the shared kitchen area at your work and look around. No one in line-of-sight of you is paying a shred of attention to your actions, so you open the fridge and quickly spot some potential targets:\n\n[[a brown paper bag with the name "Agnes"|agnes]]\n[[a plastic tupperware container with no name|no name]]\n[[a zip-up nylon lunchbox-type carrier that you know belongs to your boss Ed|ed]]

Stop lying. You're hungry because [[you drank too much|drunk]]

If there are two things life has taught you is that there is no such thing as a coincidence, and that letters written in blood never lie. You pull out the gun, take a second to get a feel for the weight of this particular revolver, and then turn to the cubicles. \n\n"Which fucking motherfucker here thinks they are going to kill me?" you scream as you throw the table out of your way and begin your charge towards your former co-workers-turned-secret-enemies.\n\nThe table hits the wall and the fridge opens to release a flock of doves that fly diagonally behind you as you charge. You begin to fire the gun, and after three bullets jump into the air while still firing. You twist your body in the air to avoid all the explosions from your assault. Computer CPUs, water bottles and office chairs explode into balls of fire as you shoot. After your second shot was fired about fifty generic henchmen ran into the room, only to be consumed by various explosions. As you land on the ground, you hear the loud hum of an assault helicopter. You smile to yourself and then slowly stand up as the chopper lowers in front of you just outside the windows. Another soldier is manning the side mounted 380mm chaingun. You see him mouth the words "die, amerikaner!" You begin your charge at the swastika emblazoned assault chopper with your now-empty revolver. You time your jump just as the first chaingun shells smash the glass, and land standing on that thing- you know, that thing that the helicopter lands on?- and jam the empty revolver through the substantial armor on the helicopter and directly into the fuel tank. Fuel runs down that thing you are standing on and under the chaingun, just as red hot casings are landing everywhere. The soldier looks at you in anger, then fear, as you have moved much to fast for him to adjust. You hear him scream as the entire chopper explodes, throwing you backwards and back into your building. \n\nAs you walk through the rubble to get to you office, you pick up a half exploded Snickers bar from one of the nazi-co-workers and take a bite.\n\nCONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE AN ACTION MOVIE HERO WINNER SO CLICHE THAT JOHN WOO IS SPINNING IN HIS GRAVE! U.S.A! U.S.A!

You may be drunk but you're no thief. You grab your keys and jump in your car and speed drunkenly off to the closest Jack-In-The-Box. You park your car on top of a bush and a trashcan and step out of the car directly in front of the door to walk in. Once inside, the smell of grease makes you vomit where you stand. You wipe your mouth on your sleeve when finished and inform the woman behind the counter "I didn't fuck a 65 year old statistics professor in college so that I could clean up vomit in a fast food joint." You look up at the menu are too drunk to read, so you reach into your pocket and pull out a balled up twenty dollar bill, 18 cents in nickles and pennies and an unopened condom and throw the contents of your fist into the girl's face. "Gimme some fucking chicken sandwich."\n"Sir we are still serving breakfast," she says to you, slightly annoyed. You reach into your other pocket and pull out fifty dollar bill folded in the shape of a crane, six m&m candies, a clipped newspaper article about how you saved some kids from a burning orphanage and pair of brass knuckles and throw the contents of your fist in the girl's face. \n"Well then gimme some fucking bacon and french toast and whatever those dirty a-rabs in muslim town eat for breakfast."\n\nYou stumble to a booth and sit down. Five minutes later someone comes by with a tray of bacon, french toast, helwa and shashukah. You immeadiately throw the ethnic food on the floor, declare to no one in particular that you "didn't toss the salad of a 450 pound Marketing Professor in college to clean a-rab food off the floor in a fast food joint" and then consume the four pounds of cooked bacon you apparently purchased. \n\nYou pass out about halfway through eating the french toast. Only replace "pass out" with "suffer a massive triple heart attack so intense that you are lifted about a foot in the air from blood ejecting out of your ass."\n\nCONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE A XENOPHOBIC BINGE EATING ASSHOLE WINNER! KILL 'EM ALL, LET GOD SORT THEM OUT!

What Ever Shall I Do?

xerowattbulb

You learned a long time ago to never trust a note written in blood, and the last time you found a mysterious loaded gun you were framed for the murder of you girlfriend and spent 20 years in jail. You're 25 now and can't do another hard 20, so you know you need to think this through.\n\nYou open the door to your office and there's a woman sitting in your chair.\n\n"So I see you found the gun," she says while lighting a cigarette. You sit in the chair across your desk and put your feet up on the desk.\n"I didn't think I'd ever see you again, kid," you say.\n"Oh really?"\n"Yeah, well, after I was framed for your murder, I assumed even if you were stupid enough to stay in the land of the living you couldn't be so stupid to come around here again."\n"Still hold a grudge, do 'ya?"\n"I did 20 years for your murder, Ginger, and I didn't even get the satisfaction of murdering you."\n"Stop living in the past. Things were different then. I had to frame you, people needed to think I was dead. But now I need your help. I'm in over my head, and if we don't act fast the gangsters in this dirty little town we call home are going to be running everything."\n"If you need my help, why'd you write the note in blood?"\n"What note? Blood? ....Oh my God! They must have found Geraldine!"\n\nJust then the door to your office swings open and two men in fedoras and trench coats burst in. Their tommy guns riddle Ginger with bullets, and you dive over the desk for protection. You pull open the bottom drawer and grab your half empty bottle of whiskey, take a swig and then throw it between the two men. It smashes on the floor as your desk is being rendered to splinters by their bullets. You roll away from the desk, and mid-roll grab the lit cigarette from Ginger's dead mouth and flick it onto the former contents of your most trusted friend (the alcohol), causing a flash as flames ignite the men. They crumple to the floor, dead. \n\nAs you stand up, you see there was actually a bag of peanuts in the drawer, too, and that you never even needed to go to the kitchen for food.\n\n"Great...." you mumble, munching on a salted peanut, "...I'm gonna need a new office. This one smells like dead people."\n\nCONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE A NOIRISH ANTI-GANGSTER THAT'S TOUGH AS NAILS! GO SMACK A DAME!

You take off running, but you can hear him pursuing close behind you, and getting closer. You're being slowed down by things such as doors and walls, while Agnes seems to be running straight through all that gets in his way. You consider for a half second trying to talk to Agnes about the misunderstanding, but then you realize that you've seen the name "Agnes" written on something before- that girl you had unprotected sex with last night. Come to think of it, she mentioned when you first started talking to her at the bar that she had an eight foot tall bald boyfriend that worked at the same company as you. Her tramp stamp said "Agnes' Bitch" in that annoying olde-english font, you just assumed her name was Agnes despite the fact she had asked you to call her Tonya. You begin to regret sending those pictures of your escapades with her to her entire contact list on her phone. \n\n"I knew this wasn't about the sandwich!" you tell yourself as you make it into your office and slam the door shut. Just as you click it locked, a fist comes through the door, and through your guts. You look down and see that Agnes is elbow deep and you can actually feel your guts falling out of your back where his fist punched through you. \n\n"Dude...." you stutter, but then collapse from the lack of organs needed to keep you alive. \n\nCONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE A PANSY-ASS PROMISCUOUS COWARD LOSER! AT LEAST YOU SAVED A FEW BUCK ON NOT BUYING CONDOMS!

Assuming that if someone was going to take the time to use a tupperware container, there must be a delicious casserole inside, you grab the container from the fridge and a plastic fork from the drawer and sit down. The container opens with a satisfying pop, but when you have the top off you find that inside is a piece of paper rolled up and a revolver. You unroll the paper and read the note:\n\n"Someone in the cubicles is going to kill you if you don't kill them first" is written in either red ink or blood, you can't tell which, although the smeared red fingerprints mean it was either a leaky pen or blood. Seriously, at this point, to assume it was anything other than blood would probably be a mistake. \n\nAt this point, you\n\n[[grab the gun and begin to shoot everyone you can find, assuming that you will eventually be right|maniac]]\n-or-\n[[close the container and walk quietly back to your office to plan your next move|strategy]]

You grab the bag labeled "Agnes" and sit down at the table. No need to take the stolen goods any further than you have to, and besides, if it's garbage you'll want to be able to quickly snatch one of the other options.\n\nInside the bag is a sandwich wrapped in plastic wrap, an apple and an individual bag of sour cream and onion chips. \n"Jackpot, motherfuckers!" you say and unwrap the sandwich quickly. \n\n"Early lunch, huh?" someone asks you. You turn and see a man standing there. He's almost seven feet tall and his short sleeve button down shirt looks about five sizes too small on his heavily muscular body. His bald head is so close to the lights that you can actually see a glare off of it. He looks angry.\n\n"Um..." you say, trying to figure out why he's so angry looking, "yeah, you know, early morning, early lunch?"\n\n"That's my lunch, asshole," he says to you through clenched teeth. You look down at the bag and the word "Agnes" on it. You look back at him.\n\n"The bag says 'agnes' bro..." you tell him casually.\n\n"Yeah, I know, "bro." I'm the new programmer, Cassius Agnes."\n\nAt this point, he flexes his muscles and his shirt explodes off of him. His chest and arms are covered in violent tattoos of various animals being killed by him. Without spending too much time taking notes, you see tattoos of him:\nClubbing a seal with another seal\nPunching an elephant's tusks through the back of it's skull\nSodomizing a full grown black bear while eating a banana\nBeating a kangaroo with a pillow case full of bald eagles.\n\nYou can see an orange glow surround him as he flexes and gets into a kung-fu stance. At this point you\n\n[[throw down the sandwich and throw the table out of the way to engage this dipshit in a fight|fight]]\n-or-\n[[throw the sandwich at him and yell "I'm so sorry!" over your shoulder as you run in the opposite direction|flee]]