A man who called himself Ghost led me down a long, checkered-floor hallway. He claimed to be able to tell me the truth about some suspicions I’d been having about my life for a long while. Not just my life, but the world in general. He was dressed like he was full of shit, but I would have to see if he was worth the time I was spending. I just thought it a bit strange that a man dressed in a white suit would be strutting in a damp basement like this.
We finally stopped in front of a pair of double doors. He turned on the tip of his right foot in a crisp about face and said “We don’t want to keep our good friend waiting do we?” followed by a smooth black leather-clad hand motion toward the doors.
My breathing took a turn for a sharp inhale. I silently nodded as I opened the asylum basement door. There she sat. The rumors were true. Her perfect hair, those one of a kind sunglasses, the red leather, the boots… God I wanted her to step on me, though I’d never admit it to myself at the time.
A single light shined behind her as she sat unmoving to greet me. “Hello, Shapiro.”
I gave a listless wave. God, what a virgin move on my part. Definitely a negative three on the manliness scale.
She started to talk to me about why I was there. I stopped listening. All I could think about was what I was going to do to her after we were done with all the bullshit she was talking about.
Suddenly, I realized she was holding two pills in front of me. A red one and a blue one. The red one looked like robitussin, and the blue one looked like X, so I just grabbed them and took them both.
“Goddammit, not again,” the Femoid said as she called for Ghost and drew a gun and pointed it in my face. I was already changing. My tiny, worthless virgin wrists and hands were metamorphosing into those of a beefcake Chad. I could see my clothes change, too. From my shirt and jeans to a black suit and tie. Not quickly enough, though, because my new white shirt was stained with crimson, with a matching hole.
The hole had come from Ghost’s pistol. He fired several more bullets. Well more than necessary. Rude. The Moid put a round in my brain. That’s what killed me before I finished my Chad Awakening.
Looking back on it, I guess maybe I deserved it? I don’t know. This Kernel Sanders fucker keeps telling me over and over again how I’m a prime example of the rotisseries of human nature or something? And showing me how I died on this array of TVs in his office, but I wish he’d just leave me alone. It’s probably been at least seven years. If I’m already dead, I just wish he’d let me black pill already…
Our Lady of the Perpetual Metamagic 