Please don't feed PickleMan
Please don't feed PickleMan
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"My god, Mayor Monocle! What's that over there! Behind you! It's Mel Gibson!" you cry out in fake surprise, as you consider for the briefest of moments that you consciously decided against using the Mel Gibson ploy, but hey, it's not my fault you're not creative or clever enough to come up with a fresh idea that you didn't only just read a page ago. Fucking plagiarist.

As the mayor turns to look, you put those skills you learned in all those rest area truck stops to good use, and make a flying dive for his crotch, reaching up and gripping his dandy pantaloons tightly, praying to gods whose names you can't even pronounce but whose pictures you saw on a rather informative History channel special about the Aztecs that this man is in fact wearing underwear, be it boxers, tighty whiteys, or a styrofoam cup and a string, anything at all, just so long as you don't have to bury your face into his uncovered cash and prizes or naked buttflesh. And Providence, it seems, is on your side, my friend, because sure as you still live in your parents' basement, he is in fact wearing boxers! Boxers...with ALF on them?

Is that an alien in your shorts or are you just happy to see me?

Yes, sure enough, as the townsfolk gather to point and laugh at Mayor Monocle's breezy misfortune, you realize that he has indeed decided to enshroud his delicate dangly bits under the fabric protection of an 80s sitcom puppet. Without pausing a moment to reason what would drive a man to this, you take advantage of the opening this has given you, and dart through the laughing crowd while they're still distracted.

You figure your best chance is the corn field. Plenty of cover in there to lose them in, and there you can take the time to uncover definitive proof on your own of the alien invasion. Then we'll see who's laughing when you come back and show them you were right all along! You've finally gone far enough through the corn that you feel like you've lost any pursuers, when suddenly the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You get the feeling you're not alone! No sooner do you have that thought than you hear rustling nearby in the corn stalks.

Ch-ch-children of the corn?

You decide to:

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