Let's play a game.

Back when I was a kid, I used to run a BBS, or Bulletin Board System, on my computer. This was back before the web, so back then a lot of computer nerds would call another computer over the phonelines(remember modems? =) and trade files, play games, and post messages. It was a lot of fun, and I miss it dearly. Global communication on the internet is phenomenal, but I miss the days where you could get to know a group of people with similar interests, in your area, without ever meeting them. I would spend literally hours calling various BBSes with names like 'the dead end','The Serpent's Twist', and 'the nocturnal me system'. There are a tons of others I feel like I should mention, but I think think those convey the overall tone of the BBS 'scene' as it was called. It was possible to get just about any file you wanted, free of charge. All they asked was for you to upload something else in return. BBS games were actually kind of fun, considering they were composed completely of text characters. There were thousands of artists making sometimes very beautiful art out of text characters, which to this day I attempt(and fail) to replicate. But the real fun was in the message bases. Most message bases were organized in a manner where you had several generic forum topics, and people would post until the discussion died, and then at some point somebody would jumpstart it again. Nowadays, it seems kind of quaint. Theres a great deal of nostalgia for me in it, however, and I wanted to post something as a tribute to it.

One of the message forums on my BBS(tv²,it was called) involved collaborative story-telling. I would post the first paragraph or so of a story, and then someone would reply with the next part, and so forth. I was always intrigued by how far off the evolving result is from how I imagined it would unfold. So, I want to try it here.

I'm going to start out a story for you all, and the next person to participate should continue, and the next person continues whereever he or she left off. It doesn't matter what you say. Get creative with it. It can be one word, if you want. Or a whole chapter. You'll have to read the comments, obviously, to continue the story. Whatever you do, don't end the damned story! Here goes:

Timmy couldn't stand it anymore. "A high school diploma should be worth more than this," he thought as he glared menacingly at the task in front of him, as he stood in the bathroom of the Dairy Queen where he was recently promoted to Assistant Manager. Not that the job didn't have it's pluses: All the chicken fingers and Blizzards he could eat, plus he got to boss around a bunch of high school kids. The pay was decent, in this neck of the woods. And his Boss was a MILF of the highest order. For the first time in a while, Timmy felt like he was going somewhere with his life. He was climbing the rungs of the Dairy Queen ladder. He liked the extra responsibilities involved, not to mention the authority. This, however, was a responsibility he would rather not have.

"How in the hell did I get myself into this mess?"