Chapter 1
Stanford Cremley was sitting alone in his office when it happened. He noticed the quality and color of the illumination entering his office from above slowly change to become dimmer and slightly redder, but he assumed that it was due to a power surge or faulty light bulb in the ceiling above. Or, he thought, it could just be the effects of the genetically-engineered hallucinogenic mushrooms he had ingested just minutes prior to this occurrence.
He didn't look up immediately, but when he turned his head to search for a squirrel he thought he'd heard, he put the vision of an oddly textured, glassy yet veined afternoon sky above him down to the results of perceiving the world with an altered brain chemistry.
The phone on his office desk rang, blaring an old Captain Beefheart song he was fond of, and he turned his attenton back to the business of the day. Must be one of his clients trying to schedule a therapy session. Or to cancel one, he thought, always a pessimist.
He flipped open the telephone and bellowed, "Hello! Stanford Cremley, attorney at law, at your service."
There was a momentary pause of silence where all Stanford heard was the ambient noise of an open phone line and the rustle of the wind through the leaves of his office walls.
"Stan, are you all fucked up again? At 2:00 in the afternoon? Shit, man, do you even know what's going on?"
For a few seconds, Stanford sat in his swivel chair, puzzled. He looked at the dirt beneath his feet, looked around at the trees, weeds, and bushes surrounding the clearing in which he sat, looked up at the veined and glassy sky, and finally focused on the desk, after which he immediately knew where he was and what was going on.
"Reeve, I'm at work! Shut up! They might be monitoring my calls!"
Nervous, he paused again, and continued talking in a whispered tone, so that whoever was recording his calls wouldn't be able to hear him. "Don't tell my boss, but I'm tripping the fuck out on these awesome acid shrooms Lisa brought back from B.C.! I think my office is turning into a forest!
"Stan, you don't have a fucking job! You're coming down from some fucked up surreal fantasy of yours! Office worker? That's stupider than the time you thought you were a door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman and woke up all the fucking neighbours at three am to give them some fucked up speech about the 'Suckmaster 5000.'"
"The Suckmaster 5000! King of vacuums! Cleans toilet bowls and speaker cones!"
"You're at that fucking desk those art guys left in the woods as some kind of stupid dadaist experiment, aren't you."
"Hey, don't talk shit about my company or we'll sue you out of existence!"
"Stan, I'm coming to get you. Some fucked up shit is going on today, and you're to fucked up to notice."
"Your mom's too fucked up to notice!"
...
He didn't look up immediately, but when he turned his head to search for a squirrel he thought he'd heard, he put the vision of an oddly textured, glassy yet veined afternoon sky above him down to the results of perceiving the world with an altered brain chemistry.
The phone on his office desk rang, blaring an old Captain Beefheart song he was fond of, and he turned his attenton back to the business of the day. Must be one of his clients trying to schedule a therapy session. Or to cancel one, he thought, always a pessimist.
He flipped open the telephone and bellowed, "Hello! Stanford Cremley, attorney at law, at your service."
There was a momentary pause of silence where all Stanford heard was the ambient noise of an open phone line and the rustle of the wind through the leaves of his office walls.
"Stan, are you all fucked up again? At 2:00 in the afternoon? Shit, man, do you even know what's going on?"
For a few seconds, Stanford sat in his swivel chair, puzzled. He looked at the dirt beneath his feet, looked around at the trees, weeds, and bushes surrounding the clearing in which he sat, looked up at the veined and glassy sky, and finally focused on the desk, after which he immediately knew where he was and what was going on.
"Reeve, I'm at work! Shut up! They might be monitoring my calls!"
Nervous, he paused again, and continued talking in a whispered tone, so that whoever was recording his calls wouldn't be able to hear him. "Don't tell my boss, but I'm tripping the fuck out on these awesome acid shrooms Lisa brought back from B.C.! I think my office is turning into a forest!
"Stan, you don't have a fucking job! You're coming down from some fucked up surreal fantasy of yours! Office worker? That's stupider than the time you thought you were a door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman and woke up all the fucking neighbours at three am to give them some fucked up speech about the 'Suckmaster 5000.'"
"The Suckmaster 5000! King of vacuums! Cleans toilet bowls and speaker cones!"
"You're at that fucking desk those art guys left in the woods as some kind of stupid dadaist experiment, aren't you."
"Hey, don't talk shit about my company or we'll sue you out of existence!"
"Stan, I'm coming to get you. Some fucked up shit is going on today, and you're to fucked up to notice."
"Your mom's too fucked up to notice!"
...
posted by Forkimified at 9:20 PM
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