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- May 2, 2006
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- 1,273
It is early Spring, and you are at a social gathering on the veranda of a Victorian mansion situated on 700 acres just outside of Charleston, SC. A cool spring breeze is bringing the smell of ribs from the grill. An intoxicating aroma of charcoal and sizzling meat.
The estate's owner, a very attractive young widow who recently inherited a shipping fortune of almost $800M, is clearly captivated by your charm and good humor. She approaches, accompanied by her twin sister who has returned just this morning from boarding school in Switzerland. After a shy giggle and a bit of conversation, the young widow flings her long, brown hair away from her face and asks if you might slice a lime for her Gin and Tonic. As she does so, you sense the slightest whiff of her scent, which is quickly replaced by that of the grill. You find yourself suddenly hungry, though for what you know not.
You:
a) remove your BK7 from an inside-the-waistband sheath, causing the widow to retract in fear and drop her Gin and Tonic; her security personnel wrestle you to the ground, beat the snot out of you in front of the twins, and remove you from the estate; or,
b) you casually remove a small, finely crafted folder hand-made of exquisite and costly materials. You expertly slice the lime with its razor edge, and place a slice in the widow's drink. As you do so, your hand casually touches hers, precipitating her to blush. But the blush is accompanied by an unblinking stare into your own eyes, and you see her pupils dilate ever so subtly. After an embarrassed pause, she asks if you might accompany her and her sister on a private walking tour of the riding stables. You accept, and begin your stroll as the sun begins to set behind the adjacent hills.
If your answer is b), you were carrying a gent's folder.
You forgot c):
You hear a rustling in the bushes, thinking that it may be a wild animal, you draw your BK7 causing the widow to retract in fear and drop her Gin and Tonic. As her security personnel approach to wrestle you to the ground, a horribly pissed horde of angry zombie-terrorist bursts out of the bushes easily dispatching the lightly armed security guards. As they begin to run towards you, organ parts and various bodily fluids dripping from their mouths, you look at her with a dashing grin and leap towards the crushing multitude of the undead. Easily parrying their clumsy blows and bites, you spin and twirl, annihilating one after another until the only zombie-terrorist is both legless and armless, which you dispatch with a foot-stamp of badassitude. You notice that the young widow has retreated to the house, so you take a dip in the fountain to clean yourself. As you embrace her and begin to shuffle to the nearest bedroom, you look at the camera and grin.
And d)
You hear a rustling in the bushes, but ignore it as you casually remove a small, finely crafted folder hand-made of exquisite and costly materials. As you expertly slice the lime with its razor edge, a horribly pissed horde of angry zombie-terrorist bursts out of the bushes easily dispatching the lightly armed security guards. You debate with yourself whether or not you should use you finely crafted folder because it is made out of costly and exquisite materials.... Before you can decide, four zombie armbar and kneebar you, leaving you limbless to bleed to death as they chase after the young widow.
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