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Chatterbox: Pudding's Place
Day 0This pe
Day 0
This person might consider themselves to be an ordinary person, but today the life they have always lived might take a turn for the extraordinary. On May 15, a day like any other, this person picks up the mail. There are the usual ads, a letter from a family member, and- what's this? A letter addressed to the person but with no return address? Curious, this person thinks. Tearing open the envelope, the person reads the letter.
Dear Reader,
If you have received this letter, you have been invited to the greatest ski lodge party ever to occur. We would be very pleased if you would attend. We shall begin on July 15, giving you two months to RSVP. We shall be very sad if you cannot attend. Come, come! Join in our celebration. We have but a few rules:
- In the past, a couple of murderers have seemed to sneak into the lodge and murdered everyone. If you're a murderer, stay away, unless your name is Melody, Red, or BHR.
- It's all fun and games here. No matter what happens, everything shall be silly and fun.
- If you have no idea what I'm going on about, you can read the rules to any of the past ski lodge adventures (the top comment on Pudding's Place should be one). If you do, ignore this and keep reading.
- A new day is usually posted in the morning by me. Every day, a new installment in the story occurs.
- You're very welcome to write your point of view of the day (why most people don't is a mystery to me!) but please wait for me to put the day up first.
- Logic sometimes gets tossed out the window. Nobody needs that stuff!
- I do not pick who lives and dies- my immortal companion, the Sugarbowl, carries your names and I randomly draw them out.
- If you ask me to put a really long, narcissistic, name into the Sugarbowl (*cough cough Melody cough cough*)- Excuse me, I seem to have come down with a bit of a cold. As I was saying- if you do ask me to put such a long name in, I will ignore you and probably tease you about it for the rest of your life. Don't think I won't.
- I tend to make fun of people a lot (*cough cough Melody cough cough*). My goodness, that really is a very persistent cold! Please don't take it personally. Also, I am sure I will mess up someone's gender. Don't take that personally either. I botch personalities and tend to make a general mess of things. Moral of the story: Don't take anything here personally. If I mess with you, it means I like you.
- What a hypocrite- "but a few rules", my foot.
- I always feel like this section is hard to write. Eh, if you don't get things, read another rule page, or ask me questions.
We look forward to your participation. Please come join the show.
-The Omnipotent Narrator
The Sugarbowl is waking up... It is time to choose your own adventure. Will you come join?
submitted by T.O.N.
(May 15, 2014 - 5:35 pm)
(May 15, 2014 - 5:35 pm)
Dearest... Journal,
This past week has been the wierdest, creepiest, and altogether most horrifying week of my life.
It all started with a letter. Oh yes, the letter. I guess I should have seen it coming. I mean skiing--in the middle of the summer? Meeting up with kids I only knew from an online website? What was I thinking?
That's just it. I wasn't thinking. Not at all. I must've been hypnotized! Ohh. It's all starting to make sense! Why I ran off without even a word to my parents, why I said I'd hate to be logical, why I started a limbo, why I was sitting on SPF (and really quick, in no disrespect to SomeonePlusFour, isn't SPF an abbreviation for sunblock? Oh, whatever. Back to my ranting monologue of realizations), and everything else I've been doing that's out of context. I think this T.O.N. figure is really starting to give me the creeps.
And it doesn't help that she's (it's?) a very great writer. I mean, they should write a book or something (other than the ski lodge). I just can't take my eyes off her (their?) writing! Oh wait... that must be the hyptonization kicking in! ASDGALKGHPAODIHADLKGLK
Whew! Excuse me. I do not know what just got into me... OH WAIT!!!!!!!!
*Frantically looks for a way out*
KATIE! STOP LOCKING THE DOOR! IT DOESN'T MAKE FOR A QUICK GETAWAY!
Where is that darn key...!
(July 21, 2014 - 9:43 pm)
This post has made the Ski Lodge very happy. You may be on to something...
I'm a "he", but I don't mind being called "it" if you want. Thank you for the compliments, but I certainly don't have the stamina or the skill to write a book. I love your drawing scribble.
(July 22, 2014 - 12:38 pm)
So Close happens to be one of my favorite songs. I love that scene from Enchanted! I'll make it up to you though. A day or two next week can be Narrator's Choice.
(July 21, 2014 - 10:24 pm)
The narrator has a very, very shoddy knowledge of Disney songs, but I'll do my best.
(July 22, 2014 - 12:32 pm)
Ellie's book of ski lodge feelings: Day 7
Well, I've been here all week. Today was definitely the weirdest day of this week (and probably the weirdest day in the history of me). Corina got abducted by aliens. I'm not sure if she's really dead or she's just trapped in a cage in space. Good thing the emergency song Melody taught me made them not take us. She wasn't kidding when she said it would come in handy. What's the title of that anyway? I hardly know. Oh yeah. And the aliens were unicorns. I thought unicorns were supposed to be fluffy, nice, pink, and cute! These were mean. And green. And killing machines!
I can't think of anything else to say. I am just so blown away by the unicorns. I'll miss Corina. I thought they were just taking away the boys from now on! Gotta go!
Ellie
(July 22, 2014 - 4:23 pm)
“Dear Tapetape,
I have much to tell your. First and foremost, I will tell you my of
death. I was lured into the cellar and locked in an airtight room,
where I suffocated. Not the worst of deaths, I must admit, if it
weren't for the fact that just as I was going to the dank, dark,
slightly splotchy spot at the end of the universe (Where I would have
helped The Creator Of All Time And Space or “....................”
as he prefers to be called, figure out how to un-create Time***)
Well, anyways, as I was doing this, I heard a voice call out “Stop!
You are alive and dead,
go back to earth or the law will hunt you down!” “Darn finickity
lawyers!” I thought. But, not wanting to disobey such a diabolical
voice, I went back to Earth as ghost. Second and second foremost,
Jack ate a suspicious quiche under suspicious circumstances, on a
suspicious birthday with suspicious people. As you might suspect, all
this suspiciousness led to poor Jack's demise (R.I.P, Jackie boy).
Third and third foremost, today Corina was abducted by Alien Unicorns
and possibly brutally murdered (other possibilities include being
tossed into the vacuum of space, listening to bad poetry, eating
rainbow ice-cream, and death), and a cow was found murdered with a
dart. To conclude this report, here are six words and a poem:
Dance
Good
Ball
Night
Soon
Tapetape
poem:
I
ate a cow,
That
ate a pig,
That
ate my mom,
Who
couldn't dig.
(July 22, 2014 - 5:46 pm)
Whoops! I forgot to add the note at the bottom. Here it is:
NOTE: This note is best read in the voice of the Hitchhikers' Guide, and is to be taken with a pinch of salt and pepper, if at all. Note is as follows:
*** "The creation of Time has been widely regarded as an unfortunate mistake, which indeed it was, and everyone agrees that we would all be much better off without it. The Creator Of All Time And Space has absolutely no idea how he created Time in the first place, and so has ever since been staring into a small glass cube covered in numbers, which depicts all of the multiverse, in search of the answer, which he has formally dubbed Formula42B."
(July 22, 2014 - 6:35 pm)
The song is So Close from Enchanted.
(July 22, 2014 - 10:01 pm)
[Warning: After studying one of the obscure branches of higher mathematics this summer (uh... Pre-Calculus), I have decided today we shall be embarking on a perilous journey through the realm of... bistromathics. *Dun dun dunnn!* It is not a journey for the faint-hearted. If you were told there would be no math questions, I suggest you go home now.]
Day 8
The sun rose slowly, as if it wasn’t sure it was worth the effort. Malibu had turned out not to be all that was promised on the travel brochures, mostly it was a lot of American people vacationing on beaches, which in it of itself is not a particularly scenic view. The sun had taken the Redeye flight back home and was now properly jet-lagged. All it wanted was to hole up somewhere with a strong cup of coffee and the Sunday newspaper, but the clouds complained they were dead on their feet and they sent the sun out to do its rather reluctant business.
In other news, the ski lodgers finally managed to fully explode the kitchen. Tomato sauce splattered everywhere. Knives flew, stabbing an innocent bystander. A hole blasted through the ceiling in such a way that suggested someone was about to get their bank account punched like, say, Chuck Norris punching a piece of cardboard. BHR was unavailable for comment.
Mag Fan: And... a week! Guess who was betting two weeks?
Alice: Fine, fine, you got me. Kitchen, I had faith in you!
Mag Fan: Pay up.
Moss: That’s all very well, but... what are we going to do about dinner?
Ivy: We could order takeout.
Zach: We’re snowed in. Who’s going to bring takeout here? The snow plows aren’t here yet.
Theo: Wait! I have a plan!
Max: Theo, is this going to be one of those “plans” that ends up with tied upside down to a pine tree while a little old German man on a unicycle yells at us for teaching his cows to tap dance when he was busy trying to teach them to do ballet?
Theo: ... No.
Max: Just checkin’.
Theo: All right, everyone, hand off your dinner duties to someone else so it becomes Someone Else’s Problem. We’re going out to dinner tonight.
The skiers, who were remarkably good at making something Someone Else’s Problem, promptly named it JLM’s problem and stepped outside to find a small Italian bistro parked right outside. There are a number of things odd about that statement. First and foremost, the fact that I call you all “skiers” when you’re not actually skiing is an interesting factoid and one that I would like to delve into at a later point, but this is neither here nor there. Second of all, JLM seemed to have enough problems of her own, being dead and all that, and thirdly, a small bistro doesn’t seem quite like the place to have a table for twenty-eight. It was not, however, odd that the bistro was parked there or that it was even parked. It is well-known that small Italian bistros, up to shenanigans on their days off, are fond of flying around the world and hijacking cruise ships. Failing to do that, they are still fond of parking in snow to cool their feet for a small pause and engage in the sport of bistromathics.
In the enormous round table for twenty-eight, the seating is as follows: Maggie-Zach-Bounty-Moss-Ivy-Alice-Madeline-Teresa-SPF-BHR-Red-Joe-Reed-Max-Theo-WW-Blu-Katie-Nina-Ellie-Melody-FQ-S.E.-Bookbug-Watermelon
Joe: Really?
Red: Yuuuup.
Waiter: Welcome, man, to our bistro. We’re all like a cool family here, man. So can I get you started with some cool waters? Groovy.
Maggie: “Groovy”? Does anyone even say that anymore?
SPF: Okay, seriously, what are these things on the menu?
Bounty: I want a French-fried mouse!
WW: There is something called “Awesome Sauce” on this menu.
Reed: AWESOME SAUCE. Can I buy five?
Waiter: Sure thing, man! Possum sauce, you said? Groovy. Coming right up.
Reed: I said awesome sauce... Geez, I’ve never seen anyone for disappearing and reappearing like that.
Blu: Are you sure this is an Italian restaurant? There’s not a single pasta thing on the menu.
Nina: Well, it beats cleaning up the kitchen for sure.
Moss: Speaking of that, who wants the fun task of paying the repair bill?
Alice: I nominate Red!
Red: Wha-
Madeline: Seconded, motion passed. I assume you’re paying for dinner as well, Red?
BHR: Red, what are you doing?
Red: I’m sending the expenses to Ruby’s rival’s bank account. What do you think I did last time you made me pay for everything, hand over the non-existent cash?
He learns from the best. *sniff* I’m so proud.
Waiter: So here are your rad cheesecakes, man. Enjoy and be cool.
Teresa: Wait, we didn’t order any cheesecake! ... He’s gone again.
Alice: Let’s not question good fortune! Dig in, everyone!
S.E.: This tastes good, but what’s the flavor? Blueberry?
Reed: Where are you going, Joe?
Joe: Bathroom.
Waiter: Ah, that cheesecake is flavored with peace, rainbows, and huckleberries. A recipe from my pop. Great man.
Bookbug: Ha! Going to the bathroom really does bring the waiter!
Watermelon: Hey, waiter, where did this restaurant come from anyway?
Waiter: Carl and I are old friends, man. We go way-
Melody: ... Okay then. Dissappear, why don’t you?
Ivy: So, how bout them sports?
Nina: Hey, cheesecake wasn’t on the menu, was it?
Waiter: -back. We’re on vacation now, man. We’re up here to see the sights. The snow and the cool stuff. Here’s the spaghetti.
Mag Fan: I could have sworn that wasn’t on the menu either!
Waiter: It’s a diversion, man. To throw off the tax collectors.
Watermelon: Hey, if there’s a costume ball, can I be a tax collector and then come back here to mess with this place?
Maggie: Good spaghetti, though.
FQ: Who’s Carl?
BHR:... The bistro, I guess?
Theo: DOES IT TALK?!
After a hushed silence where everyone felt incredibly stupid to be trying to listen to a restaurant talking, they concluded that Carl indeed was not a talking bistro. Talking bistros are absolutely ridiculous. Why would I allow any of that nonsense here?
Melody: How about a song to get everyone in a cleaning mood for when we get back? Come my little friends, as we all sing a happy little cleaning song, merry little voices clear and strong, come and roll your sleeves up, so to speak, and pitch in-
Ivy: I was hoping to forget about that.
Teresa: Hey, where’s Joe?
It seems Joe never quite made it to the bathroom as someone booby-trapped the hallway with a very strategically-placed butcher knife.
S.E.: It’s a trap!
Bookbug: Not much we can do now, but... let’s just leave the mess for someone else to clean up, shall we?
Waiter: Hey, dudes. Got your waters for you, man. And the bill’s here for when you’re ready. Peace out, be green, and come again.
Red: “For 3.14 pygmy marmosets, a frog, and a mile-wide bike tire, we charge you three billion yen and half a peso.” Okay, then. #4, you’ll have a fun time explaining that one to your parents!
Bookbug: Let’s raid the mints at the front desk!
After dragging Bookbug away from the mints, the skiers watched in awe as Carl let out his large, feathery wings and flew off majestically into the moonlight. They were delighted to find the kitchen repaired and cleaned when they returned as well.
Maid: Heh! I knew hiding in the attic would pay off!
Butler: I’m afraid you’ll have to define “pay off” for me, because I’m afraid I don’t see the virtues of having to clean up five gallons of tomato sauce, renting a helicopter and an overly chipper crew of express repairmen, and having to hack the code to #4’s bank account after he changed the password because we got into it again.
Rest in peace, Joe the Stickfiddler. Rest in peace.
(July 22, 2014 - 6:08 pm)
Well.
Well well well.
Well well well well well.
It seems a bunch of people have died, and I think that's utterly horrible. Utterly and horribly terrible. Utterly and terribly -- oh, why do I bother?
Anyways, yesterday was quite interesting, seeing as last year I conclusively proved in a court of law that alien unicorns couldn't possibly exist or we would already have hunted them to extinction, but it just goes to show, doesn't it? No! Don't ask me what it goes to show! NO NO NO! That's one of the worst things you could possibly do!
*loud scuffling* *screams* *yells* *intensely boring court of law is set up by Alice, and I sneak away*
Alright, I'm back. I TOLD Bookbug not to ask! After the mint episode, in which she took all of my Special Scotch Mints For The Criminally Insane that I had hidden in my nonexistent hat AS WELL AS the mints from the bistro, that was the last straw! She certainly deserves that large syringe full of unknown substances in her arm, and I don't care if they give her superpowers!
I think the narrator must have been in a good mood today, because it was perfect. The Italian bistro, no matter that the waiter spoke another language and couldn't read the menu, was splendid, and apart from Joe's unfortunate death, the menu was awesomesauce perfection!
I've decided that if Watermelon is going to be a tax collector, I will be forced to drag her off and use her for a potion. If I pretend to be Severus Snape with my horrible hair, no one will suspect a thing!
Oh, I just remembered, my brother died a few days ago, which means I get that raven! I've been spreading deadly rumours that the raven was mine all along, and seeing as I'm alive, everyone will be sure to believe me! Corina died too, taken away by those unicorns that all the lawyers will now conveniently ignore, and a couple others died as well.
And that's all for now! Check by the newly created Ski Lodge Murderings Radio, Newspaper, and TV Show for more on why the statues didn't get on with it and kill Joe right away the first couple of nights, later, at 25:78 o'clock, Pluto time!
(July 22, 2014 - 7:13 pm)
Dearest... Journal,
I fear that the narrarator may be reading this ... journal. You see, after that long rant I wrote yesterday about how I thought I was hypnotized, but this time, you see, I was a bit more in-character. At the Italian Bistro I felt a bit bad putting Red in a bad situation, but hey--I can't pass up a chance to use legal words! My favorite! Creepy narrarator, if you're reading this, tell Red I'm sorry. Also, why did Joe the Stickfiddler die? Why are so many people dying? I don't like this--I don't like it one bit. And somehow, I can't leave. I tried to call my parents to pick me up, but my phone mysteriously stopped working. Well, all that I can do now is to go play Life with Ellie. That poor girl has been wanting to play it this whole week.
----
"Ellie, where are you? I'll play Life with you if you want! Or maybe Picwits? Have you ever played that?"
(July 22, 2014 - 9:42 pm)
Dear Silveny,
Well, Joe's dead. That one was slightly unexpected. But seriously, who plants a booby trap on the way to the bathroom? Ehehe, actually, I would. I'm starting to rather like this murderer. If Red and I weren't already murderers, I'd guess it was one of us.
The bistro owners are rather ingenious, throwing off the tax collectors like that. If it were me, I deal with tax collectors by simply playing sniper. What fun. *makes mental note* Any restuarant that serves cheesecake is okay in my book, though, this didn't appear to be normal cheesecake. It appeared to be made of literal cheese, and being as I can't eat a lot of cheeses, I didn't touch much of it. (I really can't eat a lot of cheeses.) Plus, I feared poison.
In other news, I found a bow and broadhead arrows! Now I can REALLY have some fun! Ellie will not be pleased. I'm going to stalk people in the halls and give them heart attacks. Hehehe!
(July 22, 2014 - 10:04 pm)
Alas, my dearest kitchen. What have you done! Your demise has cost me a rather fantastic amount of gummy bears and some Chinese takeout! Why couldn't you have just lasted two weeks? We could have gone round and round, switching off cups and knifes and plates until everything was thoroughly used. Why does it always seem to be time for breakfast, lunch, or dinner here? On the bright side, your eventual destruction has lead to the death of Joe in a rather wonderful butcher knife accident. I believe that there are currently 27 of us left here, if you don't count the ghost of FEP and John F.Q who seems to be like a rather odd Shrödinger's cat experiment. This narrator is rather terrifying me with the number of fandoms he can reference in a single day. I believe that if TON continues in such a manner, one of us will drop dead from sheer excess of references in a paragraph. The days have been lovely and exciting so far, though Melody has gone off the deep and dark end of Disney, Writing Warrior seems to believe that she is Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to Isildur and future king of Gondor. It's not as bad as one might think, however. Tomorrow perhaps I'll pretend to be Galadriel. But the hours are spinning by and I may need sleep, so I think I'll say goodnight.
- Alice
(July 23, 2014 - 12:07 am)
But I love my references. I've actually been trying to avoid putting Discworld references in, but it's so hard. I must admit it -- I am a Pratchett fanboy.
Pratchett fanboys are seriously talented. You can step into a bookstore and just know exactly where the Pratchett section will be. (Someone else said this, not me, but it's true.) And when you meet another Pratchett fanboy, you give the other one this little nod. It's the nod that says, Yes. I, like you, am a Pratchett fanboy. Hail Hydra. You probably think I'm kidding, but for once in this ski lodge, I'm dead serious. To be a Pratchett fanboy, it's more or less accepted that you're a giant dork and therefore have ESPratchett and share little fanboy nods with other fanboys.
Those little books will bleed my wallet dry, they will. How dare there be so many.
(July 23, 2014 - 1:11 pm)
Someone else who has actually heard of Discworld?! I'm not positively sure if I should be screaming and running for my life, or jumping up and down and clapping for joy... You obviously understand the plight of having no pocket change because there is yet another Discworld book that you haven't read yet, and you absolutely must know what happens next... I'm beginning to hate that author for being so brilliant. Surely he has left nothing in the world for me to say.
But the truly confusing part of an author's book is when he references yet another story, and then you are stuck trying to decipher whether it was meant as a nod (or a jab) at another writer. Far to confusing, but one of my greatest pleasures is reading between the lines of Lewis' Carrol's poetry and seeing just how many people he insults. The highest I think I've ever counted was eleven?
Feel free to stick in as many references as possible. Stuff the ski lodges full of them and paint quotes on the walls! All of us are giant dorks too -- we couldn't possibly mind (not to mention quite a few of us are dead).
(July 23, 2014 - 2:48 pm)