Last week, the higher-ups at the Comedy Clubhouse decided it’d be funny if they trapped me in the building for 50 hours with their lethally cold air conditioning on full blast. When I asked for their reasoning, their response (direct quote) was, “It’d be like Mr. Beast.” For anyone else, this would be a clear no-go. However, I’m paid by the hour, so I couldn’t turn down the opportunity. The following is a log of my experiences throughout these two-and-some days.
Day One
As I settled in and built my home for the next two days, it became increasingly clear that I wasn’t going to be left alone. For the following few hours, I had cameras, rubber chickens, coffee mugs with ads for Coffee Con Comedy (a casual noontime comedy talk show hosted upstairs in the Clubhouse every first and third Sunday of the month), and bowls of nuts shoved into my abode. Later in the night, I tried to make an escape during a show to no avail. I’m not proud of what I did after—I killed the rubber chicken. The effigy I made out of its severed head and a Red Bull can kept my boss away for long enough for me to fall asleep on the hard wooden platform in the corner of the Clubhouse.
Day Two
On the last day of my life, I woke up and ate nuts for breakfast. Around this time, it dawned on me that John never asked if I had any allergies before giving me nothing but a giant bucket of peanuts, cashews, and almonds to chow down on. Luckily for them, I don’t, but unluckily for me, I hate almonds. This is when I resolved to be the change I wanted to see in the world, and I set out to order McDonald’s with European DoorDash. It was at this point that my chicken-head effigy failed me, and I was caught with the app wide open and a McCrispy Deluxe on my screen. With my attempts at eating something actually enjoyable foiled, I was left to face a new problem: the cold. It had been getting icier since yesterday, and 42 hours into the challenge, I succumbed to the frigid air.
Hell
I opened my eyes to find myself on the edge of a chasm full of flames. Around me, souls of the damned pushed boulders fruitlessly and tore at each other’s throats while winged demons with pitchforks and cloven hooves cackled overhead, whips cracking down upon us from above. Besieged by my fellow dead and the minions of Plutus above, I had no choice but to fight back until a pair of golden arches and a warm light appeared before me, joined by a smell better than heaven wafting towards me. Eagerly, I ran towards it, pursued by packs of demons that collapsed away as I made my escape.
Rebirth
As I awoke on the mortal plane once again, a large box of fries greeted me as John placed a McCrispy Deluxe into my newly reborn hands. The distant roars of Satan himself washed away as I bit into the sandwich (ordered with extra pickles and honey mustard on the side). As I took my first breath in my new life, I thanked the powers that be for McDonald’s, the only food that can pull one from the claws of the devil himself!
*Not sponsored by McDonald’s. My boss is just obsessed with it.