CHUCK JOHNSON IS ALIVE, MAYBE!

 

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Introduction

There is no introduction - you have been fooled into believing that there is!

> travel north

There is no north. Only down

> travel down

Fooled you. There is no down either.

>Quit

Do you really want to quit?

>Yes

Sorry. There is not quitting.

>help

Sorry. There is no help....why don't you kill yourself with your knife?

>Kill myself with knife

What knife?

>My knife

You don't have a knife.

>Kill myself

With what? Your bare hands?

>Yes

Sorry. You can't kill yourself with your bare hands.

>Look

There is nothing to see.

>Map

====>U r hear!

>inventory

U haz nothing.

>Run away

You run away and are never heard from again. You win!

 


 

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Chapter 1: Who the hell is Chuck Johnson anyways?

Chuck Johnson began life as we all do, screaming inside an invisible rubber ball orbiting a bright yellow piece of cheese.

His official birthday was listed on some paper as July 12th, 1123.  His unofficial birthday as celebrated by his mother was October 9th, 1952.

Take your pick on which you believe.

Mr. Johnson worked a simple life in a simple place called New York City but dreamed one day to move to Alabama and become a peanut farmer.

Or a stripper.

His current job was director of information systems at Crapola Products and massage parlor.

He worked until 4:45 pm daily and took the train home to his modest apartment where he sat on his modest couch and watched porn on his modest television set he was gifted by his cousin Al in 1982 with the stipulation he planted a tree in Israeli or Cleveland, whichever seemed right at the moment.

He went to Cleveland as his air miles at the time didn't get him to Israeli.

He had been married once but she decided to run off with a trombone player to Mexico. 

Or maybe he was never married and this whole thing is an awful dream, which means, sometime Chuck will be waking up screaming at 3:46 in the morning.

He isn't really a director for a major corporation but an unemployed cashier monkey spanker who lives in his parents' basement and watches porn on his Etch-a-Sketch.

He tries to go back to bed and dream his incredible life but instead dreams about waking up into a nightmare where he sells tight shoes to people with large feet.

"It should fit! I've always been a size 10!" a fat man in a square gray suit and yellow hat and wearing no pants says with a smirk. "I'm a petite!"

Chuck nods and smiles and pushes some more, sweat beading on his brow.

"Sir, can I get you something for your corns?"

"I do not have corns!! I never!" and the fat man stumbles out of the store.

This is Chuck's life. 

Chuck hates his life.

He wishes he was dead but God, an asshole deserving his own book, won't allow it as it's too much fun to mess with him.

"Jesus! Bring me another beer! This guy is wonderful!" God says hitting buttons on a computer.

"Left! Right!"

And somewhere in time and space, a man named Chuck Johnson wakes up screaming at 3:46 in the morning, sweat beading on his forehead.

 

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Chapter 2: The Life Guide to Improbable Things

June 8th:

God where am I?

Your friend,

Chuck Johnson

God replies: North Dakota I think!

On a bright morning, Chuck discovered his penis was missing.

A sad day indeed as he really needed to take a pee and there wasn't a replacement for miles around.

The world kept spinning as he tried to find a way out of this hellish novel where the author was high on meth or something.

Dear Jesus,

Why won't he stop writing this thing? It's not very good!! Not good at all!!

No replies are found.

 

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