Wacky Burger

PART 2:1 evil Week
I cried myself to sleep that night. There was nothing I could do, I was a child out of my element in a world I didn’t understand.
I had tried to call my mom on the phone they put in my bedroom, but all I got was an answering machine that spouted utterly useless Orwellian crap. To my horror, I inspected the back of the phone to find there wasn’t even a cord. Just a cheap prop. They had even gone so far as to nail it down to the shelf.
I slept like crap, bolting up in bed at the slightest sound. I had hazy dreams about a legion of half-animal, half-man shadows busting through my door in the middle of the night and doing unspeakable things.
Nobody came for me.

The next day, I headed back to Nook’s. In the sobering light of morning, my thought was that I would have to come up with a plan to escape, but until then I should lie low, not make a scene. Plus, I was starving and there was no cafeteria or food hall on the entire grounds, just a few orange trees for sustenance.
I asked Nook about food and payment. Nook didn’t give a crap. All he worried about was making sure I was constantly working from sun-up to sun-down.

Over the next week, I was sent on all variety of errands for Tom and delivered crap to every resident in camp, who all had nice, well-furnished homes, though I could never figure out what they did during the day. Occasionally, I’d see them randomly roaming the grounds like zombies, but in general they stayed locked up in their houses.
One day, Nook made a fatal mistake.
He asked me to send a sales flier to a resident in town and gave me a blank envelope. This was my chance. I was going to get a message out to my mom. With any luck, the pelican-woman wouldn’t pay close attention to the address, thinking it was a sales flier from Tom Nook. I took his stationary and scribbled out a brief but clear message.
Clutching the letter in my clammy palms, I forked it over for delivery, sweat cliffhanging from my brow. All I could do now was wait.
I didn’t have to wait long. To my surprise a letter was sitting in my mailbox that evening. From my mom. The very same day.
What’s this, a freaking pun?! I beg for food and she sends me an acorn? Is this some kind of sick joke… oh no. OH HECK NO. My mom never got my letter and she never will. She didn’t write this crap! In one instant all my hopes are shattered and now… they know that I know. I fall into a fog of despair and curl up into my bed hoping to die. But the next day morning comes and hunger drives me from my misery.
Nook claims he’ll pay me for all this work I’ve been doing but I haven’t seen a dime from it. He just gives me more and more errands while the residents mock me.
How does he expect me to pay off this debt? The answer is simple: he doesn’t.
Days go by.
We get a new resident in town named Pate, and if you’re thinking he’s named after a food made from his own “species” you’re right. Nook orders me to deliver a massive throw rug to the toupee-wearing duck-man and I begrudgingly haul it over.
Pate shares a disturbing bit of dialog with me and then something odd happens. I think he meant to call me a “cracker”, but when I get home that evening he has shipped a gas stove to my shack. With winter coming on, it may be the only thing that keeps me alive. Is it possible I’ve made a friend in this screwed up place? I set it up next to my candle. Are things finally looking up?

The seeds of a plan begin to come together. It’s risky, but I’ve got to take any chance I get. That day while Nook’s distracted I steal some paper from his shop. Tonight I’ll send Pate a letter explaining my situation and begging for his help. Since he’s new around here maybe Nook hasn’t already gotten to him. That evening I slip a thin envelope under the mallard’s door. I toss and turn all night.

The next day I’m heading back from a job when I see Pate walking zombie-like back to his house. He looks like he just came from Nook’s. I cautiously approach him, unsure of how to broach the subject. “Hi”, I say.
I should know better by now. Pate’s made a scene and others are starting to notice. Out of the corner of my eye I see the mayor gesturing to me as Pate hurries away. Timidly I meet him.
And that’s when I know what needs to be done. This isn’t the mayor’s work, or the residents or the cab driver. This show’s being run by Tom Nook. And the only way I’m getting out of here is on my own.

(sorry not pics…)
I’ve always heard a lot of good things about Animal Crossing, but I never owned a Gamecube. When it was released on the DS it received such positive reviews that I decided to give it a shot, despite the fact that it appears to have been created for small children suffering from down’s syndrome and ADD.

I was not prepared for the crap that goes on in this children’s game. The result is this.

I’ve documented the journey of Billy, a young, happy lad who believes he’s going off to have fantastic adventures at summer camp. The following images have not been altered in any way (other than to rescale them or to identify which dialog option is being chosen).

This is the true story of Billy.

PART 1: WELCOME TO CAMP

I’d never heard of this particular summer camp, but it was cheap and we were broke.

The camp sends us their personal cabbie. I toss my suitcase in the trunk and we take off before my mother even gets a chance to wave goodbye. Like the beginning of all crappy horror stories, it’s pouring outside. There’s something wrong with the cab driver, some kind of glandular problem.

His speech is garbled, and I don’t like the way he says “camp”, like he’s being sarcastic. Despite the long drive, I never get more of his face than a passing glance. We seem to drive forever. Eventually I lose track of time and start to doze off to the mezmerizing sound of the rain beating against he window. I’m jolted awake when he tries to make small talk.

He asks me how I’m going to pay off the fare in a light-hearted manner, as though we hadn’t already paid the camp admissions. This should have been my first sign that something was horribly wrong.

We come to a rolling stop and I stumble out the door while he shouts at me with that sarcastic voice again before peeling off with my suitcase still in the trunk. All I’ve got on me are the clothes on my back and a crappy haircut.

My only option is to check in. The lady behind the counter is a fucking pelican who calls herself Pelly. Is this some kind of theme-camp crap where the adults dress up like animals?

She tells me the director, Tom Nook, has taken a special interest in setting up my cabin for me. I didn’t know it at the time, but that name would be burned into my memory forever. There’s a hint of recital in her voice, as though she’s made this speech before.

What the heck is going on? No toilet, no sink, not even a stupid chair. I get a cardboard box, a candle with no matches and a boom box that only plays one song. And it freaking skips. I make for the admissions office.

Before I even get out the door, Tom Nook’s all over me like a cross between a used car salesman, a lawyer and a German shepherd, despite being dressed like a raccoon in a maid’s apron.

Before I can get a word in edgewise, he tells me I bought this piece of crap shed, I owe him a ton of cash and I better pay him back, and seeing as how I don’t have any money, he’d be happy to let me work in his little sweatshop wonderland, so he expects I’ll be stopping by right away. And then he’s gone.

I stumble around for a while in a stupor, trying to get my bearings. The camp isn’t huge, but there aren’t any paths or trails, it’s just a featureless pile of dirt with a few trees. I wander past a run-down clothing store before I notice a shanty-town reject with a hand-scrawled sign that reads “Nook’s Cranny”.

It occurs to me to just be honest with Nook; I didn’t buy a cabin, I’m just an 8-year-old on vacation. Big mistake.

That son of a bitch plays for keeps and within seconds I’m putting on a work uniform and lugging huge sacks of fertilizer out the door.

It’s after I’ve started to plant my third sapling that the panic sets in. There’s something seriously wrong here. Why aren’t there any other campers? Why did Nook say “everyone who works here wears a uniform” even though there are clearly no other employees? Was he talking past-tense? If I work for Tom now, why haven’t I signed any paperwork? And why is there only one old, used cabin in this entire, walled-in campground that isn’t the home of a counselor dressed like some kind of screwed-up furry?!

My stomach’s in knots as I bolt across the empty lot to where the large, fortified gatehouse sits looming, carved out of a face of solid rock. Two man-sized dog soldiers stare me down and I curse under my breath for not being able to find a single normal person, but at this point I’m nearing hysteria.

I beg one to open the gates, but he stares blankly through my face and his reply sends a shiver down my spine that’s punctuated by my own name.

How the hell does this guy even know my name, unless… holy crap. It suddenly penetrates my 8-year-old brain like a brick through a convenience store window. They’re all in on it. The mysterious cabbie that took off with all my crap, being forced to wear work clothes, the impossible sudden debt, the guarded gates… its all one big conspiracy.

I’m trapped here. And I’m alone.