I-Mockery
Please don't feed PickleMan
Please don't feed PickleMan
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Choose Your Own Adventure: I-MOCKERY STYLE!


"Hold it! Hoooold it!" you yell after Father O'Cutleybits. The man halts abruptly and turns around, teeth flashing.

"Was there something else, my son?"

"I'LL be asking the questions here, 'padre'." you say smugly. "First you said it was gumbo you were preparing... then you said it was stew. Which is it, huh? And don't lie... cause I'll know." That last bit's a lie, but you don't think he'll know.

Father O'Cutleybits continues to smile, but his eyes narrow slightly. "My son... what does it matter?"

"Close only counts in horseshoes and urinals, pappi." Your reply earns you some puzzled looks from your friends. "Just take a look at this:"

gum·bo n. pl. gum·bos
1) Chiefly Southern U.S. See okra. See Regional Note at goober.
2) A soup or stew thickened with okra pods. Also called okra.
3) Chiefly Mississippi Valley & Western U.S. A fine silty soil, common in the southern and western United States, that forms an unusually sticky mud when wet.
4) Gumbo A French patois spoken by some Black people and Creoles in Louisiana and the French West Indies.


"And this:"

stew n.
1) a) A dish cooked by stewing, especially a mixture of meat or fish and vegetables with stock. b) A mixture likened to this dish.
2) Informal. Mental agitation: in a stew over the lost keys.
3) Archaic. A brothel. Often used in the plural.

"I think I've made my point." you finish. Father O'Cutleybits looks unvexed, save for a slight blush, but that might be due to your mention of the word 'brothel.'

"See here, you little... I mean, my son. These definitions obviously allow for cross-referencing. Would it please you if I said that whatever I'm cooking, it's going to have okra in it and it's going to simmer slowly in its own juices? Would that make you leave me alone? Right now, I'm not looking to kill anymore childr- TIME, not looking to kill anymore TIME right now."

You frown thoughtfully, trying to poke a hole in his story cause you're still a little upset about that comment he made about your little accident. Meanwhile, you fail to notice how your friends are cautiously backing away from the chaplain.

"Well excuuuuse me, Major Vocabulary." you finally say, a little hurt. "I just thought a Catholic chaplain would not use such sloppy semantics."

"I... don't believe... that's your concern... my son." Father O'Cutleybits responds, turning red in the face and trembling so violently he may be on the verge of having an epileptic seizure.

You scoff audibly. "Yeah. Well. Pfft. You just go on and get out of here. You're off the hook for now."

Giving you a nod, which seems to require considerable effort, the priest turns around and begins shuffling off into the woods again.

"Oh, just one more thing, Father!" you call after him. He stops in his tracks, but does not turn around.

"Ye-hesss... boy?" he wheezes.

"Next time you mention your rabbit dish, you might want to refer to it as 'stew with okra' instead, to avoid confu-"

Before you get to finish your sentence, Father O'Cutleybits spins around and charges at you, machete raised high. Screaming out some fierce obscenities and the words "GUMBO! STEW! DEATH!!!" over and over again, he makes swift work of skinning and gutting you alive. Your 'friends' aren't any help, as they've already run off to find shelter, or a functional make-out spot. In the end, the majority of you ends up in the good Father's bag, and because, by the time he's done gutting you, the sun's starting to rise, he decides to head home and make you into a fine soufflé. Or a meatloaf. Whatever.

HUNGRY FOR GUMBO? HUNGRY FOR STEW?
HOW ABOUT A NICE HOT BOWL OF "START OVER!"