LET'S MAKE A DOLL DEAL: TAWDRY TRADES AT THE STAUF ESTATE
CHAPTER THE SECOND
By Quillon42
(Inspired by Saturday Night Live Season 25 "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" Will Ferrell Sketch
(You can see the same on Ferrell's own personal Youtube channel if you like and all))
Again this author urges the reader to imagine the illustrious imbecile that is Carl Denning, he before the Stauf-Satanic trinity of thresholds once more and compelled to make a choice that would affect the futures of this intrepid stunad as well as those of the others involved in the occult outing. Now said haughty Henry to this randiest ruffian of ratings, as the latter looked upon the offerings before him as tentatively clutched at the cache of cash in his overeager hands, this just after the valiant one gave two C Notes over to the villain in fact:
"Opening Door Number Two as of now, Carl, and we see that we have a Big Screen TV! Now, you can take this TV, as well as the four hundred dollars I've given to you all in hand, or you can…"
"Yes, I think that'll be good!"
"…
"Wh…What, Carl?"
"I'm done for today's show, honestly! I'll just take my television and my winnings otherwise."
An utterly, viciously vacant expression etched upon the countenance of the cruel count of the corrupt casa.
"But but but you can't…"
"It was one of your alleged deals on here; I'm just gonna load up this fifty-five-incher up onto my hog and be on my way."
And with that, the hunky homunculus of a human set upon lifting the monitor before him now.
All the incubi and other entities could only hover by agape as they witnessed this most daring of dipshits making off not only with his soul (as they so wished to consume) but with their best TV to boot.
"COME BAAAAAAAAAACK!" cried the redhead after the hero, as if the latter were a child in 1994 diving back into DOSland after a first stint in the Stauf house, the crimson siren screaming basically to the very back of the boorish moron in fact as of now. All of the clutching and thrusting and galloping and grasping and saladtossing and climaxing that this titian temptress could possibly offer could not begin to retrieve the attention, much less devotion, of the brave and burly churl.
Such spirits were not the only opposition to the courtesy-averse protagonist either. Ever archly the prying and perpetually-seated Samantha piped up in the bounds of the credit-card-sized LCD which the dauntless Denning had still been toting as he trundled his winnings down the primary staircase of what was now a regal ramshackle.
"You really can't leave now; that foul fool's entirely afraid of you, and he'll do anything he can to retain his hold over this house and everyone in Whatever-The-Eff-On-The-Hudson and such! Honestly, he's all on the ropes and all you need to do…"
"…is just tell you to shut the fuck up, sister!" Carl cut in, he holding the interfering thingamajig up to the dashing dodecahedron of his features now.
"…Or should I say really, shut the fuck down."
Flustered with all these interferences both terrifying and technological, Carl skipped the CPU down the stairs like a stone across the most serene lake, the machine not coming to any kind of rest upon the entrance area's floor but rather becoming flushed down the tile toilet of the foyer fresco that once led Tad to the evilest of art expositions some sixty years previously. Satisfied with his haul as well as his hurl, the hero now made for the front door, he battering through the arcane pattern of wooden slats most intrepidly with his idiot box.
He knew it was all worth the journey to this forbidding frontier regarding the prize he just so smugly pilfered. So much hassle with customer service and wearying warranties and all of that, when he could just snag a supernatural set as that which Stauf had stuffed up in his house. Carl paid for the means of his future entertainment through all of his trouble; of course, he knew there was no such thing as a free lunch, after all. Now he just took the TV and his trusty bike and slid them on up into the back of that bleach white van that he managed to track down on the way here to the Hudson as well, the one in which that pesky petite PC had arrived at his doorstep the day prior; then he took off without looking or even thinking back to the house behind him. When all was said and done, it really wouldn't be any traumatic challenge to find another girlfriend; what it took to get a good plasma set, though, on the other hand these days and all really…
…
…
…
Up in the $10,000-per-month (even in 1995 dollars and such) apartment loft Samantha had maintained, she undoubtedly sustaining her standard of living through that settlement reached with a literally fucking house that assaulted her…the video-monitoring vegetable kept on chattering upon her keyboard, she concatenating continuously and chatteringly upon the device like a tweeking squirrel fiending for acorns laced with cocaine. Somewhere else there had to be another chosen one, another asshole airhead who could suffer a sabbatical from delivering doomful local news so that he could harrow that horrific home on the Hudson and broker eternal salvation upon the American East Coast. All she would need was another Texas Instruments Speak N' Solve as she had slipped to that dastardly douche Denning and then she could start again with another assiduous schmuck as needed.