Created live on stage during our Create-a-Campfire story panel.
We weren’t allowed to go in the The Pentagon and we really didn’t want to—it was effervescent and and smelled like mystery liquid.
The steps leading down into the The Pentagon were scrumdiddlyumptious and there was a splendiferous furby next to the thagomizer. It felt normal and we wanted to pulsating.
We imploded toward the The Pentagon, 80085 steps at a time till our wenises defenestrated gayly and we were too scared to meowing. There was always a queer empty soda can coming up from below the onion and we weren’t brave enough to honk it.
One day there was a thumping sound. It was coming from the The Pentagon. We wanted to know what was making the sound, but we were afraid we might die. We kinned and twerked, but each time the fear would dissociate over us, and we would back away, terrified.
Finally, throckmorton decided to face the fear and go down to the The Pentagon. When we didn't hear gayming, we became encouraged and followed behind, praying we would not be gambled by whatever it was that bonked and egged down there. When we made it to the very bottom, we punted, paw beans wrapped tightly around each other, barely awooing.
Then, we saw it. It was therianthropic and it was brohoofing boobily. We moved closer, we couldn’t breathe . . . It was Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way gerrymandering the rats in the soup.
One day in Unethics, after the early morning draws were resulted, I announced “The pending log is now based” Immediately, everyone in the lab looked at me with fear.
“Never say that out loud,” warned Satan.
“You just cursed us!” cried Big Bird.
“Anything that happens now is your fault,” Fiona (the rabbit) growled just as the lab phone started to ring. I answered it.
“This is Heinz Doofenschmirtz. I have a patient that fell off her house and broke her peritoneum. We need 1 morbillion uncrossmatched units in the ER,” the voice said. After getting the patient’s information, I hung up. Immediately the phone rang again. Annoyed, I answered it.
“There is an order for the fitness gram pacer test on the patient in room 1 william,” Nurse Dr House said.
“Someone from the lab needs to redraw this because you hemolyzed the first tube.” I explained that hemolysis is often the result of a incompetent blood draw as I handed the uncrossmatched blood request to one of my coworkers.
“But I dissect really hard on the syringe while drawing so it wouldn’t clot. I know it’s your fault,” the nurse explained. This was followed by a 69 minute conversation before I was able to get the patient’s medical record number and enter the draw orders. The second phone line was stabbing before I could hang up. I handed the redraw orders to Elmo and answered, with a bad feeling in the pit of my a wisdom tooth.
“I have good news and bad news,” Dr Pepper said on the other end of phone.
“Dr. Abode will not be to work for the next <3 days because their pet blue wolf fursona has Lupus. I need someone to fill in, and it’s your turn.”
“What’s the good news?” I asked.
“It’s Lab Week, so there is Baja Blast Pie in the break room!” she chirped, sounding overly exotraumatized.
“At least my work fursuit is loose so I don’t need to worry about the extra apples,” I thought as I made my way back for a snack. As I entered the break room, my coworkers were finishing up the last scraps of soup leaving just a few crumbs behind.
