c. Stabs the driver in the face with a pen in his pocket
The driver finds himself with a pen in the eye, and lets out a devilish screech, which the man wasn’t expecting. He expected more of a garbled moan and some blood, along with some vitreous gel, but nothing quite like the literal sounds of hell. The driver suddenly has horns sprout from the top of his head, his thinning hair making them all the more obvious as they peak above his scalp, and he begins laughing and drives away.
After driving away and chuckling like an absolute demon, the sky grows dark pink, and the man begins to run to work. He makes it. He looks up at the smoke stacks that stand ten miles high into the atmosphere, pumping steam right into what should be space but is now a complete pink swirl of doom.
INT. SHITTY OATMEAL, INC. FACTORY – MORNING
The man walks inside the oatmeal factory, acting as if nothing is going on outside, certainly not the apocalypse. The RECEPTIONIST greets him at the front desk, with her two-inch waist and 300 teeth that make it extraordinarily hard to understand her, and asks him a couple questions.
Are you ready to oatmeal?
Are you deaf?
I see. Get to work.
Unsure if he should, the man:
a. Gets to work and walks to the oatmeal processing room (continue on this page)
b. Travels to an alternate universe where he throws up on his bedroom carpet that morning instead (page 2)
c. Stabs the receptionist with his pen and leaves (page 14)
d. Turns out to be a woman (page 4)
a. Gets to work and walks to the oatmeal processing room
INT. OATMEAL PROCESSING ROOM – MORNING
The man walks into the oatmeal processing room, unhappy as hell. He also acknowledges that actual hell is happening outside, and that he might be better off at home or in that alternate universe he contemplated. He steps up to the oatmeal squirting machine, which places oatmeal grains into a brown slime made of pure pain to form the oatmeal. He pulls on the lever of the machine and the grains fall into the vat of pain slime below, and the screams of a thousand African children are heard as the two mix together.
Just then the FACTORY FLOOR MANAGER walks up to the man, and tells him that he has to work for three days straight.
Sorry, man. You have to work until Day Four.
Actually I’m not sorry. Get the fuck to work, shithead.
The man moans unintelligibly.
He pulls the lever for hours and hours, and isn’t given a break. He hears the screams of children each time the grains pour into the pain slime, and he contemplates how many children actually die each time.
The man falls asleep on the job and falls into the pain slime, mixing in with the oatmeal. He wakes up, finding himself melting with the rest of the goo and wishing he were back in his room, puking on the carpet like he could’ve been doing with choice”b” above. He dies full of regret. No Day Five for him.
Go back to page 1 to start this thing over.