Super Giant Monster Time! (Choose Your Own Mind-Fuck Fest #3)
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Will you escape the giant monsters that are rampaging the fuck out of your city? Aliens are invading the Earth and their ray guns turn people into violent punk rockers. At the same time, the city is being overtaken by giant monsters tougher than Godzilla and Mothra combined. You can choose to be a lone scientist trapped in a secret government lab on a remote island swarming with monstrous killer insects, a badass punk rock chick with a green mohawk caught in a bar room brawl as the city goes up in flames around her, or a desk jockey forced to endure tedious office duties while his building is being attacked by a gargantuan centipede with claws the size of sports utility vehicles. Which character will you become? To become the scientist, turn to page 149. To become the punk chick, turn to page 11. To become the office drone, turn to page 77. But choose wisely! You might conquer a fleet of alien saucers with the help of a high-flying monster-slicing super cat or drown in a giant monster's pool of sperm as it butt-fucks your office building. What will happen next? That's up to you! When the story hits a fork in the road, you get to choose which path to take. The ending will always be different depending on your decisions. Not only that, you can read this book over and over again for a new experience every time!
your kitty. You cuddle him against your chest and walk across the room, “It’s OK, Mr. McWhiskers. I just can’t have you overthrowing governments right now.” He purrs and, in one quick smooth motion, extends his claws and slits you right across the belly. Instantly your intestines unravel onto the fl oor. You fall to your knees, feeling so much lighter inside. Mr. McWhiskers hops out of your arms and sits on the fl oor, his back to you. You see that a thick cord of intestine has gotten hooked
struggle, John Smithe You sit back at your desk after everyone has received the notice. You look at the clock, 11:13. You stare intently at it until it changes to 11:14. You stand from your desk, get on top of your chair and leap up into the air. You fl ip backwards and do a spilt in 103 midair, all those years of gymnastics lessons your parents forced you to take are fi nally paying off. You stick the landing and hold your arms out. Everyone in the offi ce is staring at you. Oh shit, you
your life when you had passion but that’s not for you anymore. Dreams and desires are for the naivety of youth. The real world is something else. You’ve learned to recognize that over the years. Turn to page 97. 117 You push through the door with the angry beast face on it. You’re not sure what the logo means but you hope this is a lab devoted to special monster killing weapons. The room is lined with counters and computers and papers are scattered about. On the walls are posters and
woman as she runs by but when she gets a look at you she only screams louder runs away. You get to the bar. Thank God it hasn’t burned up yet. You just hope they’re open. You open the door and fi nd the place packed. It is wall-to-wall dreadlocks, Mohawks, and shaved heads. Everyone must have had the same idea. Aus Rotten is blaring and the air seems to be nothing but weed and cigarette smoke. You can’t even smell the fi res in here. 45 You push and shove your way through the crowd to get
yourself. It feels like the very air around you is beginning to boil. You begin to claw at your clothes. You need to get them off. It is just too hot. The air gets hotter and hotter and you collapse to the ground, gasping to breathe through the suffocating heat. And then, with a POP, your body explodes. The room is neatly coated with fi ne layers of gore and, where you fell to the ground, there is a smoldering, human-shaped black burn. What an interesting weapon for chemical warfare. Imagine