Saturday, July 23, 2011

A Tour of Our Fun Room


A lot of you have expressed an interest in visiting the Fun Room. Just last week the Will Strangle You family came over and tried to take a dip in the pool without asking! Well, I am telling you right now: we will not be running tours. It doesn't matter if you aren't human--once you walk through the door, you do not walk out again unless you are a member of my household. That's just how it works. Since I am opposed to killing my own friends and neighbors, I'm sure you can understand why the Fun Room must remain private property.

To assuage your curiosity, however, I have agreed to take some pictures and document a few of the methods we use to pull visitors in and ensure they die in a timely (or not so timely) fashion.


(Ed. Note: Seriously, who looks through those doors and thinks 'Gee, I'd really like to go inside!'?)


We'll start off with one of the Fun Room's oldest and most reliable features: the bigscreen television. When our visitors hear it, or even hear that we've got one inside, they cannot wait to sit down and watch it. They rush in, bright-eyed with anticipation, and then find that the door has shut behind them and the only seats available are bristling with filthy metal spikes.


The pool is another old standby. On a hazy summer's day, visitors can't resist it! Its features include a diving board and a central island stocked with rotted food, but no ladder. It makes me smile whenever I hear our guests splashing about in there, calling for help, making empty threats...


The Fun Room doesn't have any beds, but visitors eventually get so tired that they pass out on the floor. We can't have them getting any rest during their stay, so we got these speakers. They now sit high up on the wall out of reach and pump loud techno music 24 hours a day. Nobody will be sleeping in here! The rest of the house is soundproofed, so we, in contrast, sleep soundly.


The hot tub is also popular, mostly on cold desert nights although we also get the occasional human who doesn't mind cooking himself while the sun is still up. Visitors sit in the bubbling water and make their useless little plans for escape and revenge, attempting to make themselves heard over the constant, blasting music. It's hilarious--I think, anyway, as I can never quite understand what they're saying!


Our cowplant has eaten many visitors in its time. It abhors the dirty ones--the ones who have been here for days without a shower or toilet--but can you blame it? Hungry visitors who have not yet turned themselves into walking septic tanks are picked off quickly, and as a result we have more Elixir of Life than we will ever need.


We purchased this Biotech Station a few months back, hoping that our guests would use it improperly and give themselves diseases. Unfortunately, they won't go near it. I suppose we'll sell it eventually--if there are any humans in the Pyramidopolis area who want a Biotech Station for a reasonable price, get in touch and make me an offer. You pick it up.


A small part of our urn collection. It's gotten so big that we've had to start making aisles!


Visitors flock to our giant bong like flies on--well, you know. They can't get enough of it, even when they're starving and exhausted. I think the drugs help them to deal with the reality of their short, miserable lives.


Some of you have asked about the color scheme. "Why are the walls yellow?" you want to know. "Why is the carpet purple? Why doesn't the place look scarier, with rusty, blood-covered metal and stained tiles everywhere?" It's a rather stupid question, if you ask me.

Our Fun Room is, strangely enough, called the Fun Room. Bright colors are fun, aren't they? The humans like them. Okay, I lied, the humans seem very distressed by them after a while. Apparently they don't want to look at cheerful things while they're dying.

So, you see, bright colors really are fun--for us, if nobody else!


And now you know more about the Fun Room, and knowing is half the battle. So, unless your name is Frank, quit asking to see it in person!

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