(This is just the Prologue in a sense to the five-installment-total or so story I'm going to write here (it will have a Prologue, three main Chapters, and an Epilogue here)). I will admit right away that I punkassily just read through all the references (in a logical order, of course, according to the choices) and I don't really "play" the books; I've still read about thirty of these so far, though, so I have a good deal of exposure to them. Hope everyone enjoys this one and the chapters to come in the next few weeks).
DEATHTRAP DONALD: AMERICA'S FAILING FANTASY
By Quillon42
BACKGROUND OF ADVENTURE
In a most savage and sadistic era, in the Flying-Spaghetti-Monster-forsaken-spurned-migrated land called Allamurica, two newcomers to the realm alight, they initially seeking to realize their dreams and pledge allegiance to this alleged potentate of the first world. Having been weary of warfaring for every ounce of sustenance that they could muster, they earned one last fortune and forked the money over to a magician who could pattern a portal to an alternate Earth.
What the Hero and Heroine cannot ken is that they currently occupy a planet on which far more treachery transpires upon its tectonics than Titan. This hellish body, this sphere known not as Earth in fact but as Drumpfoundland, is ruled over by a psychotic despot who has converted Allamurica from a nation of opportunity to a netherworld of ordeal. Far more nefarious than zany Zagor or bastardly Balthus Dire dastard, this megalomaniac has made every ingredient of the melting pot poorer in resources and resolve—at least, until these crude crusaders would arrive to equalize affairs.
But the stronghold that so stands before these warriors—this obstacle which ostensibly stretches for kilometers upon kilometers in either direction—it will certainly stand to test these traversers' reserves of Skill, Stamina, Luck, and Otherwise. Just as a certain death-diffuse Dungeon on Titan claimed through its Trial so many Champions, just as that Walk presented so many hazards and horrors that harrowed the souls from so many sword-swingers, so too does this Wall contain many machinations and monsters that siphoned the spirits from hordes of border-crossers. Indeed, only the most masterful and mettlesome of adventurers could hope to break through this baleful barrier.
Then one would wonder what of that which would become our explorers of the incontinental contiguous States from there. Well, upon the absconding of Hero and Heroine from the Wall, each would be met with teeming tribes of terrors, ranging from the rednecks to bluebloods of the east leaning on one hand, as well as from the green stoners to the yellow whiners of the west persuasion on the other. All of these factions of fucks, in a jumble of Allamurican jurisdictions, are to be eradicated by this pair of paladins before their wend through this harried hemisphere is through.
Particularly the abodes of these abominations would prove precariously perilous in themselves as well. Ranging from mountains of maliciousness, to valleys of vitriol, and then to cities of seething sleaze, these two knights of right must cross and conquer it all before they can reach what would in effect be at least the four hundredth reference to put them both at rest. The Hero and Heroine would encounter nimble, pragmatic, and cooperative NPCs who will assist them here and there…but the brunt of this ginormous junket must be journeyed through all on their own.
Regarding the identities and appearances of these iconic journeypeople, the Heroine Eacnuinge Tunneltrucker is bedecked in a bikini and stiletto pumps and wields a standard-issue sword as well as a mattock; the Hero, Fraoemare Hiltclinch, is swaddled in a speedo and Doc Martens and brandishes a standard-issue sword as well as a sledgehammer. Incidentally, the Hero wears goggles along with his getup, while the Heroine does not; this sole disparity renders the clothing schematic utterly Chauvinist, this author acknowledges. Neither of these negators of the nefarious is fitted with socks.
Each of these two additionally possesses a pack with ten Provisions (basically this amounts to the two of them hauling middle school bookbags filled with uncooked TV Dinners and Slurpees). Further, each may choose, before embarking on this misery-miring mission, from one of three Potions. Specifically, the Potion of Centrism (available in fermented liquid form) brings the Hero or Heroine back to the political middle, so that he or she does not fall victim to the extremely ramrod Right or the overly loopy Left in the course of travel; the Potion of Stability (in pill form) restores enough lucidness so that either adventurer no longer feels inclined, in a given situation, to stab or clobber the self into suicide after having been exposed to so many of the unbearable inhabitants of Allamurica; and the Potion of Pecuniousness (in stamp form) restores the wealth possessed by the challengers, as the economic imbalance in the country is so pronounced that utter loss of funds cannot be recovered any other way.
What would decide the fates of these fantastic fighters more than anything would not in fact be the combat prowess or the persevering courage of either, but rather the chance of either or both of them happenstantially tripping upon whatever random item or information they would need to bypass certain checkpoints along the way. Because the future of an entire nation's constituents should really depend upon the errant occasioning of such arbitrary, even if fortunate, flukes in fact.
Yes, wistfully recalling much more natural choice-choked challenges in pleasurable paperbacks such as The Cave of Time and The Lost Jewels of Nabooti, those readers who cherished the Choose Your Own Adventure series may now find themselves confounded by the Groundhog-Day-grind of going through branches of decisions again and again till reaching the one effing good ending amidst droves of demises. Indeed, fans of gamebooks will here have their characters suffer death and demoralization almost ad infinitum till they find the "One True Path" in a completely logical and utterly intuitive manner, a method that would in fact perplex even Edward fucking Packard. So it is the case as Eacnunige and Fraoemare now trundle impetuously to the entrance of the Wall—that border bastion serving as the woeful welcome mat to Allamurica, the infamous Country of Thieves.
NOW (R.A. Montgomery) TURN(s) OVER (in his grave)