Choose Your Own Misery

by Mike MacDonald

  “NO, we are NOT READY!” Vampire is shrieking. People at the party turn to stare.

  “Dude, you don’t get to decide my alignment. Sorry, that’s not how it works,” you say quietly. Fuck this guy; the whole point of this game is to be someone else. Someone interesting. Someone you choose.

  “You need to balance the party. I won’t be subjected to another—”

  “Buddy, it’s just a fucking game.”

  “AHHHHHH!!!!!” He shrieks and flies at you, slapping at your face. His hands are bony, and it hurts like hell.

  “Get a hold of yourself,” you say, trying to get a grip on his flailing hands. They’re so flimsy they’re impossible to control.

  “TAKE IT BACK.”

  “Seriously, you need to—”

  “TAKE IT BACK!”

  He dives into you, which is so unexpected that you immediately topple to the floor. Schlub pulls him off and you stand up, brushing at your clothes.

  “I’m gonna go.”

  “I think that would be wise,” Eyelashless says.

  Well, that was awkward. At least pretty much nobody here knows you. Now it’s time to make a quick retreat.

  • • •

  The next morning you wake up to fifty-three notifications on your Facebook.

  What the fuck?

  You open it up. The top thing in the feed is a video from your former coworker, Brad, titled “My xmas party was awesomer than yours (NERD. FIGHT.)”

  There you are, getting slapped by an Edward Gorey illustration.

  And of course Brad’s tagged you in it. So much for keeping your D&E history secret from Lindsi.

  The End.

  “I shouldn’t,” you say vaguely. “I have to get back to my sister’s.”

  “Oh, okay,” Wayne says, obviously disappointed. Jesus, you didn’t even know each other in high school. Smiling awkwardly, you grab a few cartons of stupidly expensive eggnog and head back to your sister’s.

  “Late again,” Lauren says the second you walk in the door.

  You did exactly what she asked and nothing more. But at this point, you don’t even bother mounting a defense.

  Your utter lack of fight seems to appease Lauren slightly. Dinner actually goes relatively smoothly.

  “Let’s leave a few dishes for the morning; I’m exhausted,” she says afterward.

  You check your watch. It’s not even seven thirty.

  “Let me give you a hand with those,” you say. “Then if you don’t mind, I think I’ll read on the couch for a bit.”

  Lauren raises an eyebrow. “Looks like we have a regular night owl on our hands, Gregory.”

  They both chuckle. You repress a snort of disbelief.

  After scrubbing a few pots and pans, you pour yourself some of the expensive bourbon you bought earlier and sit on the couch, grabbing a paper off the coffee table. It’s an old copy of Der Spiegel, and even if it were in English, you can tell it would bore you to tears.

  You decide to peek under the tree. Maybe if you push your gifts underneath some that Lauren wrapped, they’ll look less like paper abortions.

  That’s weird. The Harry Potter set you got for Harrison seems lighter than you remember…

  You peel back a corner of the paper.

  Fuck, it’s the Super Soaker. You must have accidentally donated the books to Toys for Tots.

  * * *

  If you want head back to Toys for Tots to trade out the gift, go HERE.

  If you want to claim one of Lauren’s gifts as “from you,” go HERE.

  You follow Wayne to a nearby bar.

  “So, what are you doing for work these days?” you ask.

  “I’m in newspaper sales.”

  That’s still a thing? You wrack your brain for a follow-up question.

  “Ummmm.…ABC, right?”

  “What?”

  “Always Be Closing. Isn’t that what you sales guys say?” You hope so. It’s literally the only thing you can think of to add to this conversation.

  “Actually, it’s more complicated than that. We look at each market…”

  Wayne drones on. It’s Christmas Eve and you’re having drinks with a guy you barely knew, even back in high school. Why did you agree to this in the first place?

  After twenty minutes of forced conversation, you decide it’s time to bail.

  “Well, on that note, I should probably head back. I don’t want the eggnog to spoil.”

  “Oh, okay. I thought it was my round, though?”

  “Maybe next time,” you say, knowing full well there will never be a next time.

  You head back to Lauren’s. She’s waiting at the door in pajamas and slippers, looking annoyed.

  “You missed dinner and stayed out late on Christmas Eve?”

  You look at your phone. It’s seven fifteen.

  “I’m going to put a few presents under the tree. Sleep well,” you say.

  “Don’t bother,” she hisses. “I didn’t know if you were even coming home tonight so I had Gregory do it.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes I did. It’s the only way to ensure my sons wouldn’t have to face Christmas without a gift from their thoughtless uncle.” She stomps off.

  You roll your eyes. Why even bother arguing? You’ll be home soon enough.

  Seven fifteen, huh? And already the house is totally silent…

  * * *

  If you want to force yourself to go to bed so you don’t piss off Lauren more, go HERE.

  If you want to try to make it up to her for missing dinner, go HERE.

  You bundle up and head back out to your car.

  You’ve had a few drinks, but it doesn’t concern you. You know you’re good to drive. You’ll just stick to the back roads and drive slow to be extra-safe.

  You pull out of the driveway and head toward the bar.

  WHEEEEEEE-YOOOOOOO, WHEEEEEE-YOOOOOO.

  Unfuckingbelievable. You’re being pulled over.

  A portly cop in his mid-forties waddles up.

  You roll down your window.

  “You’re gonna have to step outta the car, sir,” the officer says.

  He produces a breathalyzer. You blow.

  “Ho-ho,” the cop says with a sadistic grin. “You’re not gonna like this.”

  * * *

  If you want to keep your mouth shut, go HERE.

  If you want to try to bargain with the cop, go HERE.

  You wake up on a stretcher outside the bar. An EMT is preparing an oxygen mask.

  “Where am I?”

  “Oh, you’re awake. Good. We’re taking you to the hospital to make sure you’re okay. Do you remember what happened?”

  You’re confused. Your throat hurts. What exactly did happen? The last thing you remember is screaming “rape.”

  You mumble weakly, “I was yelling ‘rape’…because…”

  “Rape? You mean someone raped you during the fire? DEAR GOD.”

  What? No. That’s not it at all. You struggle to get your thoughts straight.

  “Joe!” screams the EMT. “Grab the ass-swabbing kit, STAT!”

  The End.

  It’s Christmas morning and your nephews are unwrapping the presents you bought them. You can’t wait to see the excitement in their eyes.

  “A junior geologist’s kit?” Harrison says, obviously disappointed.

  Wait, what?

  “I didn’t…”

  Lauren hisses at you.

  “I know who bought this,” Harrison says, pointing at Lauren. “Because it sucks.” He tosses it on the ground and stomps on it. “I HATE you! You always ruin everything!”

  Lauren looks horrified, but she can’t have any idea that you started this fire.

  “Geology kits are boring, mom! Take the stick out of your ass.”

  “Excuse me?!” Lauren yells.

  Harrison looks at you for moral support. You turn away, smiling awkwardly at your sister and shrugging.

  You’ve creat
ed a monster. Thank god it’s not your problem in a week.

  The End.

  It’s Christmas morning and the entire family’s gathered around the tree for a picture.

  “Should we sing a few verses from ‘Stille Nacht’?” Gregory asks, setting up the camera. Jesus, just call it “Silent Night” already, like every other English-speaking person in the world.

  He sets the timer and the multiple picture option and walks over to the group, throwing his arm around you as he softly croons to himself.

  “Stille nacht, heil’ge nacht…”

  Once it’s over, you grab the camera and start scrolling through the photos.

  In every one Harrison looks like he’s been mauled by a pack of angry raccoons. His entire lip is swollen and raw, sticking out at a weird, drooly angle.

  Woof.

  Lauren peeks over your shoulder.

  “Hideous.”

  She glares at you with even more hatred than usual.

  Ahhh, the Christmas spirit.

  The End.

  You wake up early, feeling great. And why wouldn’t you? After all, you’re the fun uncle!

  It’s still super early. Everyone’s asleep.

  What would be the funnest thing you could do right now?

  Get donuts, obviously! The kind with chocolate frosting and neon sprinkles. Yeah, that’s such a fun-uncle thing to do.

  You get dressed and run to the local bakery to grab two dozen. Why not be generous? It’s Christmas, after all.

  When you get back, the kids are downstairs, poking at their presents under the tree.

  You put a finger over your lips conspiratorially and present the donuts.

  “Take an extra for later,” you whisper.

  They instantly devour two donuts apiece.

  “You’re the best uncle in the whole wide world!” Otto screams.

  Aw, that’s sweet.

  He sprints away, Harrison close behind, making weird, wheezing sounds. You hear Lauren stirring.

  “Did you give them refined sugar?” she calls from the top of the stairs.

  “I bought donuts! Want some?”

  Lauren looks pissed. Even more so than usual.

  “You’ve completely spiked their glycemic index!” she shrieks. “Their systems aren’t equipped to process simple carbohydrates this early in the morning.”

  “I’m sorry. I was trying to be fun…”

  “Fun? You call setting my kids on a road that leads straight to diabetes fun?”

  Otto runs up to you and vomits all over your slippers. He sprints off, wheezing even harder than before.

  Your sister runs after him, obviously livid.

  All of a sudden, you hear the Christmas tree in the living room crash to the floor.

  “HAHAHAHAHAHA!” cackles Harrison manically.

  Then he pukes.

  Oops…

  The End.

  You have to tell Lauren. If the shoe were on the other foot, you’d want her to tell you.

  You corner her in the kitchen before Otto and Harrison wake up.

  “Want some coffee?” she asks.

  “Sure. After I tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  You urgently whisper in her ear. “Psst…right on the taint…psst…the old Jelly Roll Morton…”

  Lauren pulls back, clearly shocked.

  “How dare you! My marriage is none of your business.”

  That wasn’t even close to the response you were expecting.

  “I’m trying to save you from being the last to know about Greg cheating!”

  “For your information, we have an open marriage. Parties are in the safe zone. Just last month I filmed Gregory and Sarah’s husband—”

  “OKAY! OKAY! Please don’t finish that sentence. I get it.”

  “Then back the fuck off,” she hisses. “I don’t need your judgment.”

  “Sorry. I just wanted to help.”

  You feel a tap on the back of your leg.

  It’s little Otto. How long has he been standing there?

  “What’s an open mawwiage?”

  Apparently long enough.

  “Since you felt the need to discuss it on CHRISTMAS MORNING, you tell him,” Lauren says, storming out of the room.

  The End.

  It almost physically pains you, but you have to keep your mouth shut. Saying something will ruin Christmas for everyone.

  You sit on the couch, scooting your feet away from the slippers Gregory lent you. They make your feet feel sleazy. You watch listlessly as the kids tear through their gifts. They look so happy.

  Not for long…

  You look around the living room.

  The plastic Christmas tree is a lie.

  Those stockings aren’t real.

  Your sister’s marriage is totally fake.

  Even this holiday is one big fucking lie. Didn’t some scholar figure out Jesus would have been born in April?

  Everything in life is a lie. Only death is real.

  You watch the boys open gift after gift, jumping around the room with joy every time.

  They should cherish this now. Who knows how soon it will all come crashing down?

  “Here you go, Harrison.” You pass him your gift.

  “Whoa, Moon Boots! You’re the BEST.”

  Ahh, innocence. You muster a weak smile.

  “Can I please see you in the kitchen?” Lauren hisses. “I need help…brewing the coffee.”

  You know that’s also a lie, but you go. It’s probably for the best. Your nephews should see as little arguing as possible right now.

  “You had to know Moon Boots were off-limits!” she scolds you in a hushed voice. “I need you to tell Harrison you made a mistake and you’re taking them back to the store.”

  * * *

  Fine, you’ll ruin it for him. Everything is already ruined anyway. Go HERE.

  No. You can’t tell your sister about the cheating, but dammit, you’ll preserve this child’s joy a little while longer! Go HERE.

  “Oh, that’s not good.”

  The specialist looking at your X-ray is frowning deeply. At least, you think he’s frowning; you can’t fully see his face because you still can’t completely straighten your back, even though it’s been ten days since the “chiropractor” incident. You couldn’t get an appointment sooner.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Well, you’ve ruptured at least two disks.” The doctor screws up his face, confused. “And somehow you’ve pinched several nerves between the others. I’ve never seen anything like it. Frankly, I’m shocked you were even able to get yourself to the appointment.”

  See! At least someone understands fighting brutal back pain is its own form of manliness. If only Lindsi were here to hear that.

  “You’re looking at major surgery. Possibly more than one. And of course you’ll be confined to a wheelchair for at least six months. Let me clear out my schedule. If you don’t get this done soon, well…” The doctor actually shudders. “Let me clear out my schedule.”

  On the way home, you text Lindsi the news. Surely now she’ll stop being so distant and disapproving. It’s like she doesn’t even believe your back issues are real! But she’ll have to understand when a noted specialist said that—

  Her response rattles the phone against your hip, making your back scream in renewed pain.

  Wincing, you look at it.

  Lindsi: That sucks, and I totally pity cripples, for real, but I can’t risk tainting my line with inferior stock. Sorry.

  What the fuck does that even—

  Lindsi: Sorry if that wasn’t clear. I’m breaking up with you.

  Dammit. Now who’s gonna drive you home from surgery?

  The End.

  “Won’t you help us?” Kermit says. “If we don’t find the magic biggening stone, we’ll all be this size forever!” The rest of the Muppet Babies nod eagerly, desperate for you to save them.

  Just then, however, the door to the nursery
swings open, and two tree-sized pillars of striped sock walk in.

  “Hello? Children?” Nanny’s soothing voice echoes down from above, like some sort of celestial childcare worker. Even though you can’t see her face, you can tell from that voice, from those sinuous calves, that she’s a total fox when the nursery’s closed for…

  “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” Luanne’s cheery voice wakes you from your recurring dream. Why always the Muppet Babies? Why does Nanny still get you so horny now, past the age of thirty? She was a cartoon. A cartoon that was only socks.

  Luanne steps across the room and kisses Jimmy on the forehead. Fortunately, you’re curled up on the complete opposite side of the bed. She can’t think that you two…

  She whips the covers down.

  “Get up, sleepyheads, the rest of the family is—oh.”

  You grimace, feeling her stare on the raging morning wood that your flannel pants are helpless to conceal. You stand hastily, grabbing a T-shirt from your bag and holding it at your waist.

  “Oh. Oh god.”

  You turn around.

  Jimmy’s had another wet dream. And from the size and stiffness of that crusty sheet tent, it was a doozy.

  Man, and you just washed these sheets.

  The End.

  There’s no way you can carry on like this. You’ve never had the experience before, but you have a gut feeling that if you peed right now, it’d come out bloody.

  As soon as you get back to the house you pull Lindsi aside.

  “I think I really hurt myself cutting down the tree,” you whisper. “Don’t make a big deal of it, but I have to lie down.”

  “Were you a big strong man?” She hooks a fingertip into your front pants pocket. You look around, immediately nervous, but her family is busy setting up the tree.