The Horoscopist (Spring 2007)
Sam McCoy; January - February, 2007 | Ash Gently; February, 2007
Sam McCoy; January 1, 2007
What would a game of UnMasqued be without a prank call to the horoscope writer? Using the Uric phone, naturally.
"I talked to some of my friends. Actually they talked to me. I have hundreds of friends and they all want to talk to me all the time. I have many friends and I am very popular.
"Here is what my bountiful friends said. They said that the horoscopes for Leo were really stupid lately because they say they have nothing to do with anything. But I know better, because of vast skills, ample intelligence, and an accurate wristwatch and you know better too on account of your luck and pathetic existence. I laughed a little at my friends, which happens a lot because as it goes without saying I am smarter than every human being including those smart enough to want to be friends with me, because it is exactly the opposite. Unlike the hot dog stand full of lies, spoiled milk, and starving prostitutes that is your other horoscopes, the Leo horoscopes actually had a relation with reality. With me, the ultimate reality.
I didn't tell them that. But I did tell them something else that everyone should know: you are a piss-watery shit cylinder."
Sam McCoy; January 10, 2007
Send the Horoscope guy flowers to his home. Enclose a card that says "You're a real trouper!" with a picture of a Koopa Troopa from Super Mario.
You do so.
ST Notes: McCoy's apparently feeling more humane post ROOM OF PAIN and has an urge to be nice to people.
Ash Gently; January 31, 2007
Hire a S&M prostitute to go to the Daily Dirge and show the horoscopist "a good time", which may or may not be synonymous with "rough him up a bit", by which he means "give the bastard the beating of his life". If possible, be discreet.
Bonus points for the following: Dangerously sharp high-heel shoes, extremely long fingernails, a riding crop, a large tattoo of a Leo symbol somewhere on her body, brass knuckles, duct tape, and/or handcuffs.
You hire Ida Slapter, a saucy young thing who (like you) isn't too pleased with the current state of horoscopery. She hangs around Melvin's office (Melvin Gaylord being the name of the horoscopist) and somehow manages to negotiate him into taking her home with him. Apparently he's not precisely popular with the ladies, and is glad for the company.
Five hours later she calls and reports that Mr. Gaylord is appropriately penitent, and that he's currently tied to a bed sobbing, and that if you like, one of his nipples may be removed, that he might carry it as a reminder of how much his cruel words grate on the souls of good-hearted people who happen to be born under the sign Leo.
She's pretty certain Mr. Gaylord isn't going to call the cops right yet, as this is a pretty damn embarrassing thing to explain... although the nipple thing might tip it over the edge.
She also says you owe her a new riding crop, as her current one is broken.
Sam McCoy; February 20, 2007
1. Make some splinter servants. (hey, why not - maybe I'll sell them on eBay)
2. Call Mr. Melvin Gaylord:
"Hey there sport. I've been out of town and busy a lot recently, so I haven't been able to keep in touch. That doesn't mean I don't still care. I mean, I don't, but that's not why.
"I heard that you got into some trouble not too long ago. Somebody went and gave you a bad time. Well, for what it's worth, I was sad to hear about this regrettable state of affairs. Believe it or not, I actually had nothing to do with this one. Flowers and asinine, self-aggrandizing phone messages? Sure, I'm all about that. But assaults and other such unpleasantries... that must have been some other Leo.
"Your horoscopes have become much more civil lately, so I bet that the other Leos will no longer interfere with our special relationship. I sure hope they don't... otherwise I might get jealous, and when I get jealous I start eating a lot of candy and the last thing we want to happen is for me to eat so much candy that I turn into a gigantic walking marshmallow that terrorizes New York City. No, no, don't reach for your wallet. That little comedic gem was on the house - and completely original too.
"Anyway, buck up! Life isn't so bad. Even if nobody likes you... and I'm not saying they don't because that would be impolite... remember that Jesus will always be there for you. Jesus is everybody's friend, you know. Sure, the rest of us might think that's a little desperate and pathetic of him -- I mean, come on guy, we fuckin' nailed you to a tree. What's it gonna take for you to get the message, stop being such a loser, and get a little more choosy? -- but you can always count on him for his ineffectual, practically imaginary support. It should give you some comfort to think that no matter how low you sink, you will never be such a sorry, miserable piece of shit that you're below his standards. Isn't that great?
"I have to fart, but I'm saving it up for the Academy Awards.
3. Take Star Fox a-studding. Buy some organic carrots for him.
1. You make Splinter Servants. You may throw chops for them at game or on Monday if you're in town.
2. Voice mail sent.
3. Star Fox loves you.
Sam McCoy; February 21, 2007
Call up Melvin.
"You never return my calls. What is wrong?
Don't you have my number? Here, it's [The Uric #]. I mean, just in case!
Please call me sometime!"
Melvin doesn't call you back.
Sam McCoy; February 23, 2007
"I'm warning you! I'm very serious! You better call me or I'll take care of business! You'll regret it! I swear!"
You get a voice mail during the day. It's from a number you don't recognize. The voice is a small raspy murmur, as if from a man who is very very exhausted.
"Mr. Untyfock... a man can grow tired... I hope you appreciate that."
His voice drops to an even lower whisper.
"It won't be bats next time."
ST Notes: And now... we should probably stat Melvin
Sam McCoy; February 25, 2007
McCoy mutters to himself. "Son of a bitch actually called me back... I think I'll go ahead with it anyway."
He calls Melvin again.
"I warned you! I can't take it anymore!" Without hanging up the phone, he takes out his Peacemaker and shoots himself in the head. He falls to the ground and waits until the message stops recording.
You shoot yourself in the goddamn head. Take two lethal health levels.
You have no idea how Melvin (or your many many housemates) will take this.
You end up with Lucas Brighton pouring salt on you and a confused Bojan Petrov holding your phone. See e-mail for details.