Note: Please re-frame from trolling or shit-posting as it will do nothing for the story. If it is a shit thread just enjoy it sinking to the bottom of mayberry and take solace in the fact that I am indeed a shit poster. Three sentences each, continue where the poster above you left off. I'll add them to the OP. Have fun! In bed now! Any post you guys make will be added to the story tomorrow. Part 1: He put his pen down satisfied with his work. He grabbed his whiskey and took a swig staring at the black and white picture on his desk. Reaching for the picture, his mind wandering the phone began to ring, he answered. It was his gay lover, Charles. Charles called to inform him that he has been diagnosed with AIDs. He put the phone down and cried. He mused. That whiskey was going to work a lot quicker than he remembered. The phone rang again, impatiently. If it was Charles again he could do you-know-what to himself. New For years he had known he was HIV positive but to hear from someone like Charles hit like a ton of bricks. He grabbed the phone and his limo diver awaited on the other line. He walked upstairs, changed his clothes and went back downstairs just in time to hop into his limo. At the end of the journey he's charged $40.00 tip and he wonders why he didn't use Uber or take a cab instead. More tears. Such as Tears For Fears, specifically, playing that "SHOUT" song on repeat. Always hated that band-- why did he keep hiring that same damned cab/driver? The Facultia De Factoria was his destination. A dance club that he had no business being at. It's the place where he met his first wife but tonight he met someone else. He knew that Tom, of Finland, was the only man with the AIDS anti-serum in his DNA. He would have to get some of Tom’s blood into his bosy... but how? "Dad?! What are you doing here?" demanded Millie, his daughter, as she whipped around in surprise- almost dropping her bejeweled clutch purse "I... thought it was men's night... have you seen Tom Finland around?" "There's no such thing as MEN'S NIGHT, dad!" Part 2 (flashback) "Ah, to hell with looking at this black and white picture," he said. "To hell with this whiskey too. And fuck Charles. I shall visit Sherdog, to converse with my respected brethren." Hours wasted away while the man read thread-after-thread, as he had every day for the previous decade and a half. Living vicariously through the words of others, most of which he hadn't realized were fiction, the man finally turned off his computer and retreated to his sleeping chambers. As he lay in bed, a question pervaded his deepest inner sanctum. "What have I done with my life?" His alarm rings and reality greets him. His dreams or forum fame and imagining his deficiencies have faded. He looks around and realizes he is in an un-familiar place. Part 3: He found himself locked in Clippy's sex dungeon. How did he get here? With all his limbs shackled , escape seemed impossible. It was difficult to lift his head but he managed to after a focused effort. By his hazy, swirling vision he could determine only two things for the moment-- 1) He had wet himself and 2) his pleated chinos had sprouted a very conspicuous boner while he was unconscious. "You get three guesses what I had for breakfast today," announced the syrupy-high pitched voice, overly pleased with itself somehow "Milk, juice, ... steak and eggs?" he guessed, looking for the source of the voice "That's FOUR GUESSES!" the voice shrieked He walked to the bathroom for further investigation. How had a man of his stature fallen so far. He used to be rich, famous, now he is a joke amongst his peers, and all he wants is "Daisy." Part 4: (Daisy) He removed what remained of the fruit-by-the-foot ligatures from off his wrists, which he had been "bound" by in the other room. Pathetic. His strength was steadily returning as his pants dried. The year 1990 was unfriendly to him. He moved from home to home and almost had nothing to cling to. Which is why it is so weird on his deathbed he yelled "Daisy!" He had approximately 4 years left to figure out what his own deathbed confession meant. Time machines always scrambled your sense of things, that made it more difficult. Then, he had also been drinking in the time machine, he remembered, as he then attempted to kick himself in the balls for being so stupid. He sighed as he put the book back on the shelf, decided he would come back to it when the fancy gripped him-- "probably never," he decided to himself in a moment of unbridled honesty. All he remembered was "Chapter 1" and something about motorcycles? That couldn't be right... "oh, well" he fake-smiled to his reflection in a window. It was time for him to focus on the more important task at hand: trying to figure out just what his deathbed confession (in the future!) had meant. While staggering he pondered: "Daisy. Just what in the hell could I possibly mean by that? You just don't make up stuff like that." Somewhere in the distance he heard a soft thudding sound. Slowly he got up to go investigate the sound in the next room. As he got closer he noticed that not only was the thudding not as soft as he thought but it was accompanied with heavy breathing and moaning. He frantically turned on the lights to the room and was shocked. "Mom, but but but you're supposed to be dead. Hey fucker get off my possibly zombie mom". When did life get so confusing? After the initial shock had dissipated, he decided to leave the two to do their business. "Two consenting adults and all that," he said to himself, "it's really not for me to judge." Pretty soon Daisy occupied his mind again, making him wonder if it could possibly be the girl he sat next to in elementary school. He-- the protagonist, who's name had been Daryl the entire time, sat down against the wall with his hands cupping his temples, in a concerted effort to think. How could all his leads have been dead ends so far? His ideas and hopes seemingly dried up, symbolically, as the B-camera focused on an overhead closeup of the last moist spot evaporating from his pleated, elastic waist khakis. Part 5: Memories Gone His family was poor, so poor in fact that they often went without dinner. Daryl spent his time outside running in the beautiful high grass and exotic flowers. He was running the day they came to take him from his family. "Daryl!" his parents screamed in slow motion while being loaded onto the flatbed, struggling in their chains as he turned around in the wheat field, "help us, Daryl!" Three impressively sized men in black suits and short-brimmed hats sported grotesquely hardened, pig-like features, helping each other unhurriedly load his parents and sneered smugly back at him, acknowledging that there was nothing at all that Daryl could do. Daryl was still observing, paralyzed, when his mother briefly slipped loose of a coil, attempted escape and Daryl's father slammed both fists with metal restraints into the nearest suited man to help aid her escape, but the blow had only a trivial effect and innocent Daryl forced himself to witness the quieting screams of his dad as one of the men leaned and bit into his arm for retaliation as the truck and the screams faded from the distance.