Gary's Questionnaire

A small township near a foul smelling river which frequently dries up entirely during the summer and has never seen use for anything but recreational fishing. The surrounding lands grow small, sturdy shrubs and can sustain no large forestation.  A large multilane highway parts the landscape in the distance, the commerce from travellers the only reason for the community not to entirely dwindle away. Gary has grown up here and never cared much for the world, outside of the old books in the small, gloomy library and later what he'd care to research through the internet. What plans he might have to move away quickly disappeared with his sense for, well, mortal pastimes. His work as the local mortician began in his youth, when the last undertaker was desperately looking for a successor and found young Gary was the only youth not entirely unwilling to learn his craft. Now, the position offers Gary ample opportunity to conduct what research into his condition he can improvise.

The hard and unfavourable task of caring for the townships deceased, and their burial, at a modest salary. Gary does no longer concern himself with too many luxuries, though habitually he still smokes tobacco on occasion, since it also helps, in his opinion, to cover his peculiar smell. Books and digital literature are what remains to him, and what is needed to, hopefully, find a way to reverse or control what is happening to his body. Other expenditures are mostly related to his actual work, the maintenance of the tools to prepare the dead and tend to the graves, ordering and and personalizing coffins or gravestones he keeps in stock.

Gary wants nothing more than to regain his ability to live a normal, fulfilling life. To end this emptiness that was imposed upon him from an unknown circumstance he has not been able to find, much less understand. This condition must be stopped, reversed, or at least be made an instrument he can utilise to find anything to fill this hole in his un-life.

Murder, while to be avoided within reason, is not out of the question or ability of Gary. His life, to his understanding, ended without his consent or any action on his part, so he sees himself as outside the system in this circumstance. When it should become necessary to take a life to regain his own, or even approach the possibility, he will not hesitate for long. It is not a pleasure for him, but also nothing more than a regrettable inconvenience.

One day, while performing his regular routine of tending to the graveyard, reading what book seemed interesting to him at the time, keeping himself fit and healthy to perform his duties, he found that his senses suddenly dulled. On the next day, he awoke feeling even less. His left arm almost entirely devoid of feeling. With his limited knowledge of medicine, he checked himself for appropriate signs of a stroke, or any nervous disorders, but could not quite attribute these symptoms to anything he knew about. Being quite distrustful of the local doctor, he set off to the library to research, but still came up short. Over the following days, he tried to go about his life as normal, but quickly had to realise that his sense of taste and the satisfaction of a good meal or drink eluded him. On his evening run, the diminished feeling in his extremities caused him to fall hard into the riverbed behind the destitute apartment complex and faint. He awoke some time the next morning to a sickly wound in his left forearm, already scarred, but the tissue at and around the wound somehow wrong. Being generally shunned by the small community for his profession, he decided to continue to deal with this alone, and so it has remained for the next decade or so. He has grown used to the lack of feeling in his limbs, but he could never shake the memories of a good meal and a hearty drink.

Not really a thing, unfortunately. Just going to paste the first words of the Shrek 1 script to see the next questions.

SHREK
Once upon a time there was a lovely
princess. But she had an enchantment
upon her of a fearful sort which could
only be broken by love's first kiss.
She was locked away in a castle guarded
by a terrible fire-breathing dragon.
Many brave knights had attempted to
free her from this dreadful prison,
but non prevailed. She waited in the
dragon's keep in the highest room of
the tallest tower for her true love
and true love's first kiss. (laughs)
Like that's ever gonna happen. What
a load of - (toilet flush)

Allstar - by Smashmouth begins to play. Shrek goes about his
day. While in a nearby town, the villagers get together to go
after the ogre.
NIGHT - NEAR SHREK'S HOME

MAN1
Think it's in there?

MAN2
All right. Let's get it!

MAN1
Whoa. Hold on. Do you know what that
thing can do to you?

MAN3
Yeah, it'll grind your bones for it's
bread.

According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black and yellow! Let's shake it up a little. Barry! Breakfast is ready! Ooming! Hang on a second. Hello? - Barry? - Adam? - Oan you believe this is happening? - I can't. I'll pick you up. Looking sharp. Use the stairs. Your father paid good money for those. Sorry. I'm excited. Here's the graduate. We're very proud of you, son. A perfect report card, all B's. Very proud. Ma! I got a thing going here. - You got lint on your fuzz. - Ow! That's me! - Wave to us! We'll be in row 118,000. - Bye! Barry, I told you, stop flying in the house! - Hey, Adam. - Hey, Barry. - Is that fuzz gel? - A little. Special day, graduation. Never thought I'd make it. Three days grade school, three days high school. Those were awkward. Three days college. I'm glad I took a day and hitchhiked around the hive. You did come back different. - Hi, Barry. - Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good. - Hear about Frankie? - Yeah. - You going to the funeral? - No, I'm not going. Everybody knows, sting someone, you die. Don't waste it on a squirrel. Such a hothead. I guess he could have just gotten out of the way. I love this incorporating an amusement park into our day. That's why we don't need vacations. Boy, quite a bit of pomp... under the circumstances.

a Pollen Jock. You have to be bred for that. Right. Look. That's more pollen than you and I will see in a lifetime. It's just a status symbol. Bees make too much of it. Perhaps. Unless you're wearing it and the ladies see you wearing it. Those ladies? Aren't they our cousins too? Distant. Distant. Look at these two. - Oouple of Hive Harrys. - Let's have fun with them. It must be dangerous being a Pollen Jock. Yeah. Once a bear pinned me against a mushroom! He had a paw on my throat, and with the other, he was slapping me! - Oh, my! - I never thought I'd knock him out. What were you doing during this? Trying to alert the authorities. I can autograph that. A little gusty out there today, wasn't it, comrades? Yeah. Gusty. We're hitting a sunflower patch six miles from here tomorrow. - Six miles, huh? - Barry! A puddle jump for us, but maybe you're not up for it. - Maybe I am. - You are not! We're going 0900 at J-Gate. What do you think, buzzy-boy? Are you bee enough? I might be. It all depends on what 0900 means. Hey, Honex! Dad, you surprised me. You decide what you're interested in? - Well, there's a lot of choices. - But you only get one. Do you ever get bored doing the same job every day? Son, let me tell you about stirring. You grab that stick, and you just move it around, and you stir it around. You get yourself into a rhythm. It's a beautiful thing. You know, Dad, the more I think about it, maybe the honey field just isn't right for me. You were thinking of what, making balloon animals? That's a bad job for a guy with a stinger. Janet, your son's not sure he wants to go into honey! - Barry, you are so funny sometimes. - I'm not trying to be funny. You're not funny! You're go

That this never ends, that the Flesh takes over and I am subject to whatever purpose the entitiy that cursed me has intended.

My pack of cigarettes, since those never tasted good in the first place. I can hold on to this. It is *something* I can still feel the same way. Anything else has slowly been taken away from me. I can not taste, I can't even sleep. This is fucking disgusting. But I can't feel the disgust. I need this to end.

The Necronomicon, also referred to as the Book of the Dead, or under a purported original Arabic title of Kitab al-Azif, is a fictional grimoire (textbook of magic) appearing in stories by the horror writer H. P. Lovecraft and his followers. It was first mentioned in Lovecraft's 1924 short story "The Hound",^[1] written in 1922, though its purported author, the "Mad Arab" Abdul Alhazred, had been quoted a year earlier in Lovecraft's "The Nameless City".^[2] Among other things, the work contains an account of the Old Ones, their history, and the means for summoning them.

Other authors such as August Derleth and Clark Ashton Smith also cited the Necronomicon in their works. Lovecraft approved of other writers building on his work, believing such common allusions built up "a background of evil verisimilitude". Many readers have believed it to be a real work, with booksellers and librarians receiving many requests for it; pranksters have listed it in rare book catalogues, and a student smuggled a card for it into the card catalog of the Yale University Library.^[3]

Capitalizing on the notoriety of the fictional volume, real-life publishers have printed many books entitled Necronomicon since Lovecraft's death.

The largest issue currently would have to be The Flesh trying to take over my person entirely. It is powerful, it protects me, but it does not always do my bidding, and attempts to urge me into furhtering the goals of somebody I don't know and whose motivations still elude me. What is most bothersome is that it is now starting to move on its own even when I personally do not feel threatened. It has started to disagree with me and I can not stop it when it does.

My feelings are drifting away from me, I can't enjoy anything, and now the only feeling I have left is despair. And I am, as long as I can, afraid I will lose that too.

I wish for this to end. If it has to be, it can take me over peacefully, but for now I will still try to win.

By watching the Bee Movie.

If at all invited to any function whatsoever, I believe I would not make a lot of effort anymore at this stage of my condition. It has simply grown to noticeable, warping my body to its functions, supplying me with whatever rearrangement of musculature and bone structure would best fit the current situation. Perhaps I could convince The Flesh to fashion me a coat that is more pleasing in appearance than these crudely stitched rags of skin and sinew it insists we wear outside. Yes, a smooth leather cloak with a nice belt and a deep hood would perhaps lessen the blow of having to endure our presence. And a bath in powerful chemicals, for both us and the host, to dampen the stench and destroy their sense of smell. Long, likely fruitless hours of preparation would need to go into this and I simply do not consider this worth the effort in my current state, it is too hard to empathise with humans not stricken with this anguish.

Not a thing. Perhaps watch the beginning of Shrek 2. Prince Charming: Once upon a time in a kingdom far far away, the king and queen were blessed with a beautiful baby girl. And throughout the land, everyone was happy. Until the sun went down and they saw that their daughter was cursed with a frightful enchantment that took hold each and every night. Desperate they sought the help of a fairy godmother who had them lock the young princess away in a tower, there to await the kiss of the handsome Prince Charming! It was he who would chance the perilous journey through blistering cold and scorching desert traveling for many days and nights, risking life and limb to reach the Dragon’s Keep.