After a nice break from Fucktitles, I’ve come back, full-force. And I’ve got some little presents for you people. I have a collection of short stories to share with everybody. Now, these aren’t your normal breed of short stories. First of all, they are written in the second person. And there’s a reason for that.

These stories came from a game I like to play. It’s called “Worse Case Scenario.” It has no tie-in with the books or the crappy game show though. Instead, it’s a game for writers. I guess you could say I invented it, but it really came from a bunch of my friends and I sitting around trying to offend and gross out each other.

The idea behind this game is that somebody offers you a bad scenario, such as “You’re having the wildest sex of your life, when suddenly… their husband walks in.” Then the person who is playing will take that, and run with it, slowly making the situation worse and worse. It’s a really fun game that can only be played with the most open of minds. But since I like you all, and I figure very few of you are prudish, I’d like to share a few examples of these stories.

The first story was taken from a game of WCS (What we people on the street like to call it…. Because we’re basically lazy and don’t want to say the whole name). It was a Tuesday night at work, and a co-worker and I were busy. I told him about the game, and seemed interested, so we played a couple of rounds. By the end of the game, I was crowned the champion of it… all because of this scenario. I hope you enjoy.

Scenario: You are receiving head from your girlfriend. Suddenly, lights pull up in the driveway. Her parents are home.

The problem here is that this particular girl is very shy about her mouth. The fact that she's even giving you head is a God-send. You see, her teeth have always been her worse physical characteristic. So for the past few months, she's been undergoing radical dental surgery, and now she's wearing corrective braces.

As soon as the lights flash through the window, her head jerks a little, and her braces become entangled in your pubic hair (Which... if there's any reason keep yourself trimmed, this would be it).

Time is of an essence, though, so we'll get back to the P.S.A. in a minute. You have to get her off of you, and quick, because the engine just cut off outside. You slowly walk towards the kitchen, partly out of courtesy to her knees, partly out of courtesy to... well... you don't really have a fucking choice, do you?

Scooting your way to the kitchen slowly, you finally make it. She slips a little, almost taking you down with her. You reach out to steady yourself, knocking over a pitcher of water, spilling it all over the ground. You stumble a little bit more, knocking over a lamp. The lamp hits the ground, exploding in sparks, but that's the least of your worries. Outside, you can hear car doors slamming shut and the quiet murmur of her parents talking.

Through a series of weird hand signals, your girlfriend manages to point out that either there's a pair of scissors in the drawer behind you, or that the boogeyman is about to jump you from behind. You turn around, and luckily, there's just a pair of scissors in the drawer behind you.

You turn around quickly. In fact, you turn around a little too quickly, slipping in the water. You fall forward, accidentally driving the scissors into your girlfriend’s eye socket. She doesn't have a moment to respond, she just kind of gargles out a series of throat convulsions (Which, guiltily, you have to admit, felt pretty good) and dies.

It's about this time that the curtains catch on fire from the broken lamp shooting sparks.

So her parents finally open the front door to find their living room on fire, their kitchen a mess, and there you are, standing over the corpse of their daughter, a pair of scissors in your hand, the other end of them stuck in her eye socket. You’re covered with blood. Not to mention that your pants are around your ankles and her cold, dead mouth is still wrapped around your semi-limp cock

As you look at her parents, you figure tact won't be the way to go with this one, so instead you say, 'Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me get the scissors out of her fucking skull?' And as her mother passes out onto the ground, and her father just gives you 'the look' you understand that... you probably could've handled this situation a little better.

Wasn’t that fun? Fun for the whole family! And if you thought that was horrible, wait until you read the next one.

This was from a different time. A friend and I were sitting around smoking a bow- err… making paper airplanes for charity. And he suggested this scenario and let me run with it. The fact that I remember this, especially after all the wee- err… paper cuts I got, is a testament to the power of my brain. Bow before my almighty brain! Scrape the residue off of it and smoke it! Be healthy! I should note that I don’t really smoke as much pot as I just hinted at.

I should also note that this is probably the least-offensive one of the whole group. Enjoy.

Scenario: You’ve just jumped out of an airplane. You pull your ripcord, but nothing happens….

Staying up all through-out the night before, doing shots of Vodka and singing old Beatles songs wasn't the brightest idea. And you were paying it for this morning, in a big way. In your still semi-drunk mind, the plane and parachute scenario seemed easy to explain... but the actual situation was a bit more complex than that.

The 'plane' that you jumped out of was actually a Russian space shuttle. You were supposed to go out and fix a leaky oxygen valve on one of the compressor units, but your alcohol-soaked mind forgot to hook up the fucking anchor line.

And that 'ripcord' you pulled was actually your own oxygen line. So congratulations, you're officially one dead mutherfucker.

Oh, and by the way, the moment you figured all of this out, you shit your pants.

So as the pressure from the vacuum of space starts to crush your head into a pulp, remember this one reassuring thought: Space is a pretty big place. They may never find your body. But if they do, they're going to find you, oxygen line in one hand, and a huge load in your space suit. How are they going to explain all that to your family?

Ready for the worst part, jackass? Think about the stringent laws that NASA has against contraband. How did they smuggle vodka on board of the shuttle? And since when has vodka been thick, green, and peppermint flavored?

You got drunk off of watered-down toothpaste, you dumb shit. Pat yourself on your back. And enjoy the flight.

In next few days I will be unveiling two more stories. One is about a teenager being dumped by his prom date and an act of defiance gone horribly wrong. The other is about a man who has to identify the bodies of his dead son and wife. This story could quite possibly the sickest, most disturbing thing I’ve ever written. So set your VCR’s.

And as always, suggestions are always accepted. Sign the guestbook, leave me a note, or e-mail me with ideas for your “Worse Case Scenario” and I’ll see if I can’t stretch my pot-soaked brain into coming up with decent stories from them.

And by pot, I am, of course, referring to popsicles.

It’s just what we’re calling them on streets these days. Represent, beeyatch!