You tip over your refrigerator, and it is so great. You hope that America’s Funniest Home Videos will hear about it and show a video of it on television.

Someone is still knocking at the door.

You find this. It is unclear whether it counts as stairs or not, but you are nonetheless pleased.

Someone is still knocking at the door.

Once again, you tip over your refrigerator, and once again, it is great. You just know it will go viral.

You notice that someone is still knocking at the door.

It’s your across-the-street neighbor, Mrs. Plesh.

“PLESH!” she screams. You shake her hand.

“Listen,” she says. “My family and I are going on vacation for the weekend. Yep, that’s right: vacation, in this economy.”

Your eyes widen, incredulous.

“I was wondering if you could house-sit for us while we’re gone,” she says. “Everyone else on the block already said no, including the sex criminal. I would pay you $15. Think you can help us out?”

Fievel is a cunning mouse from a motion picture, you learn. This is the first you have heard of him.

The knocking at the door has stopped.

“How about $13?”

“Wonderful! I knew you’d be up for it. If you could, just stop by every now and then to get the mail, let the dog out, and water the houseplants. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen, and feel free to try on any of my husband’s roomy polo shirts and admire yourself in front of the mirror. Oh, and one more thing: Do not under any circumstances go into the basement—there’s something evil down there that I should go to jail for, and I wouldn’t want anyone to find it.”

She smiles and hands you the house key.

“Any questions?”

You close the door and sit on the ground and look at your hands.

Five hours pass.

You get up from the ground, figuring it’s probably about time to go do your house-sitting duties.

You walk across the street to the Pleshes’ house. You are excited to go in and do a good job so that you can earn money. You plan to use the money to buy a cushion, as you have heard good things.

Here you are inside the Pleshes’ house. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that Mrs. Plesh has taped a note for you next to the door.

It is very exciting to be alone in someone else’s private house. You can do or touch anything you want. But first, it might be good to let the dog out. Dogs need to be let outside several times a day so that they can run and play and alleviate their penis.

“No. If you think of any more questions, please come ask. We will be at the ocean.”

You find the dog sleeping on the floor. According to his food bowl, his name is Plesh.

Rather than intimidating him, your feat of strength has whipped Plesh up into a fury, and he is now making threatening dog sounds. Surely, he will kill you.

Plesh backs away and whimpers when he sees this second feat of strength. He understands now that you are equals.

Plesh grants you the privilege of letting him out to shit.

Plesh receives your odor and sees that you are good. He presents his stretchy belly skin to you as a gesture of respect.

Now you are equals. Plesh grants you the privilege of letting him out to shit.

You let Plesh out into the backyard, which is fenced in.

You go into the bathroom and sit on the toilet. Solidarity happens. As it does, you feel a strange warmth spread through your chest.

Return to me, Plesh’s heart says to yours.

Your heart blushes twice in response, and Plesh knows what you have said: I am already with you. I have been with you since the beginning of time.

You flush the toilet, and it is good.

You have violated my sanctuary, Plesh says to your heart through his heart. You came to me like a brute, but now you whimper like a coward. If I were a merciful pup, I would eat you to put you out of your misery. But I show no mercy, and you will now leave this place as a fraud, craven and without dignity. No man, woman, or child will ever respect you, and you will live out your days in loneliness and fear. This is my curse. Now, go from me and never return.

You return to the backyard to let Plesh inside, but Plesh isn’t there. You look everywhere—hither, yon—and the loud-breathing animal is nowhere to be found. He has escaped somehow.

You must find him, otherwise Mrs. Plesh won’t give you any money and you’ll lose your house-sitting privileges forever.

“IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT LIIIIIVE, FEATURING NASIM PEDRADDD,” you shout, noticing some slight reverb. “WITH MUSICAL GUEST BEN FOLDS FIIIIIIVE!”

The acoustics are fine.

Yes, okay. The dog will wait.

Where would you like to snoop?

Plesh is performing feces.

You walk into the Plesh son’s bedroom, where you find the Plesh son.

“Hello,” he says.

“Beats me!” he says.

Snooping in the boy’s room was a bad idea. You should probably go let the dog out now. His bladder won’t hold forever.

Or you could snoop around some more.

The boy has nothing else to say, and neither do you.

The Master Bedroom. The inner sanctum of marriage. The secret barn in every house where adults can share their groins and neither children nor God can legally watch.

Mr. and Mrs. Plesh love coming here to enjoy each other’s hidden flaps, and now you have trespassed on their special fuck station. You are clapping because of how naughty it makes you feel.

Boom, disheveled. What a wild time you are having in your neighbors’ house.

Suddenly, you hear loud shrieking from downstairs, followed by whimpers.

You follow the sound of the whimpers and discover that they’re coming from the family dog, Plesh, an obese critter of minimal utility. He looks scared and embarrassed.

Ashamed, the sentient pot roast gestures with his head at something just to your right.

Wrong. This is not where Plesh told you to look.

Oh, no! It looks like Plesh has leaked his rotten bisque all over the floor! This would never have happened if you had let him out when you were supposed to.

You are a bad house-sitter. Please call Mrs. Plesh and tender your resignation.

“Now this is a-clothes!” you exclaim, almost getting the line right. What a wild time you are having in your neighbors’ house.

Suddenly, you hear loud shrieking from downstairs, followed by whimpers.

You happen upon Mrs. Plesh’s brassieres, but are alarmed to find this note in her underwear drawer. You are a pervert, and she has anticipated it.

Maybe you should take this as a sign to stop snooping around and start taking care of your house-sitting duties. The dog probably really, really needs to be let out at this point.

Or you could just keep snooping.

Whatever you say. That dog’s gonna need to go out at some point, though.

Where would you like to snoop?

Here you are in the kitchen. This doesn’t really count as snooping, though, because Mrs. Plesh already said you could help yourself to whatever you wanted.

You look under the sink and find this. It is moaning the tune of “Amazing Grace.”

There’s a whole pantry filled with tasty snacks. What do you want to eat?

Mmmm. This is the saltiest soup you have ever had. It’s really hitting the spot.

Now that you’ve had a snack, you should really probably go let the dog out.

You start looking around for another snack, but as soon as you do, you hear loud shrieking from across the house, followed by whimpers.

Mmmm. This is the softest, wettest meat you have ever had. Your tongue is alive with the sour flavor.

Now that you’ve had a snack, you should probably go let the dog out. He probably really, really needs to use the bathroom.

Mmmm. Once you manage to chew through the tubes’ thick, translucent skin, they yield a divinely sour paste that ruptures lusciously over every nook and cranny of your mouth and teeth. This is your favorite meal you’ve ever tasted.

Now that you’ve had a little something to eat, it’d be a good idea to go let the dog out. He probably really, really needs to use the bathroom.

You are glad to no longer be looking at the gloomy monster.

Now what do you want to do?

Where would you like to snoop now?

Mrs. Plesh warned you earlier not to go into the basement, and she even left this note for you on the basement door as a reminder. Maybe it’d be best if you turn around while you still can.

As you open the basement door, a powerful gust sucks you forward. You’re thrown through a pitch-black void, hurtling helplessly through midair for what seems like hours. Suddenly, you come to a violent halt and find yourself hovering just inches from a horrifying wall of writhing human arms.

Hushed and in eerie staccato, the arms chant in unison:

“THE BASEMENT IS THE ROOM THAT’S UNDERNEATH THE GROUND AND UNDERNEATH THE GROUND YOU MUST STAY.
THE BASEMENT IS THE ROOM THAT’S UNDERNEATH THE GROUND AND UNDERNEATH THE GROUND YOU MUST PLAY.”

An unsettling voice, identical in pitch and tone to that of legendary singer-songwriter Neil Young, pierces through the solemn mantra:

“HAS SOMEBODY COME TO PLAY WITH ME?”

You remain silent, unsure what to do.

“I SAID, HAS SOMEBODY COME TO PLAY WITH ME?”

Good call. Where would you like to snoop now?

As soon as you speak, the writhing curtain of arms divides down the center and peels away, leaving nothing but a dark, purplish cloud of smoke. The smoke lingers briefly, then dissipates, and you are suddenly face-to-face with a young girl in a wheelchair.

“PLESH!” the Neil Young–voiced girl howls. Her voice is the loudest thing you’ve ever heard. You fall to your knees, clutching your ears.

“Cover your eyes, count to Plesh,
And when you’re done counting, I shall double in flesh.”

Now there are two kids. The second girl’s voice is identical to Elvis’ voice. They sing:

“Play with us and you will not die,
But if you run, the end is nigh.”

The kid on the right rolls a red ball to you.

You yell his name, but Plesh does not come back. Try something else.

Plesh heard you yell his name two times and then he came back.

You try to do the thing from earlier where you communicate with Plesh through your heart, but it doesn’t work. You realize you were just making it up in your head before.

Try something else.

To find a missing dog, you must first think like a missing dog. Given sudden and total freedom from a human master, what would a dog choose to do? What do dogs like to do more than anything else in the world?

Wrong. Guess again.

Bingo. Dogs love riding in cars because it makes them feel like a much larger dog who is made of metal and can drink gasoline without getting sick. Plesh is probably running around on the road looking for a car to ride in this very instant, and if you can get to him before any other cars do, he’ll probably hop right into your passenger seat.

You start driving around with your passenger door open, shouting “Plesh! Plesh!” out the window in hopes that Plesh will hear you and want to come ride in your car.

In the distance, you spot something that looks like a hairy, dented propane tank waddling around in the road. It’s Plesh!

You have now finished one of your three house-sitting chores. To earn the money to buy a cushion, you still need to water the houseplants and get the mail. The mail hasn’t come yet, so maybe now would be a good time to water the plants.

Or, another thing you could do is snoop around the house, as it is fun to violate other people’s privacy.

Plesh has completed his disgrace.

Here are the houseplants you’re supposed to water...

...and here’s the thing you’ll use to water them.

Great. Go ahead and water the plants.

Are you sure that’s how you’re supposed to water plants? No need to be embarrassed if you don’t know.

Smart move. Let’s try this again from the beginning.

Okay, you’re the expert.

Good. You have lifted the yellow thing.

Hmm. You’re rubbing the plant against the yellow thing, but it doesn’t seem to be getting any wetter. Maybe this is harder than you thought.

“Hey, buddy, need some help with that?”

A shady, hooded man has entered the house and is querying you from the shadows.

“Don’t be embarrassed if you can’t figure it out on your own—lots of people can’t water plants. I could take care of it for you in no time, and I wouldn’t tell a soul. It’d be our little secret.”

“Great. No shame in accepting help when it’s offered—if anything, it just means less work for you. Smart thinking.”

The man makes a good point. You are very smart.

“I’ll water the plants for you right away, but first I just need a $500 deposit from you. You’ll get it back once I’m done—it’s just a formality, really.”

“Great. Now, why don’t you just go wait in the garage for, say, an hour or so, and then I’ll have everything watered by the time you come back.”

Wow. You are deeply touched by this stranger’s generosity.

You sit quietly in the garage and wait for the nice man to water your plants. An hour passes.

It is time to go back into the house and see the newly watered plants.

“C’mon, no need to be proud. I came all the way here to help you water the plants—the least you can do is oblige me.”

You can tell that this stranger really wants to help you water the plants. Who are you to shrug off his generosity?

Putting a plant in the oven, eh? Never seen that one before.

You turn on the oven and wait 45 minutes for the plant to get perfectly conditioned for watering.

You take the yellow thing to the bathroom. You’re fairly confident that this is what you’re supposed to be doing, but you’re at a loss as to what the next step is.

Watering plants is hard. If you don’t figure out how to water the plants soon, you’ll have failed to live up to your duties as a house-sitter, and Mrs. Plesh won’t give you money to buy a cushion.

You’re starting to panic a little.

Yes, you’re doing it. You’re watering the plants. It wasn’t easy, but you figured it out. Way to go.

“Nine-one-one emergency, please tell me how you are dying,” the operator says.

“Hi, yes, I am confused about where to hold the yellow thing with regard to Mrs. Plesh’s plants. Please send over the boys.”

“Hmm, that is quite the conundrum. I will send over the boys immediately.”

Eight seconds after you hang up, the police kick down the Pleshes’ front door and storm into the house.

“DROP THE YELLOW THING! DROP THE YELLOW THING!” screams a cop who is pointing the world’s biggest machine gun at your brain.

You have done two of your three house-sitting chores. Now, all you need to do is get the Pleshes’ mail and you’re golden.

Although, come to think of it, you’ve done a pretty good and responsible job of house-sitting so far, and maybe you’ve earned a little treat. You’ve got this big, nice, empty house at your disposal—it could be fun to throw a big alcohol party featuring all the coolest teens in town.

Great. All you’ve got to do is walk outside, retrieve the mail from the mailbox, and bring it back inside. There’s really no way you can mess this up.

Okay. You have opened the front door and walked outside. So far, so good. Now, just keep your eyes fixed ahead of you and start walking, ignoring any possible distractions.

Yes, good. Just like that. You’re doing great.

You are doing such a competent job of walking. Keep it up.

“Hey, mister! Look over here!”

Oh, no, a distraction. A man is hollering to get your attention.

You’re getting closer. Hang in there.

“Hey, mister! I got something to show ya! Don’t just walk right past me!”

The distraction man is yelling at you again. Don’t fall for it. Keep your eyes set on the prize.

Nice, nice. Slow and steady wins the race.

Good, yes. You are so close. One more step and you should be at the mailbox.

You have arrived at the mailbox. Use your hand to remove the Pleshes’ mail, then carry the mail with you back into the house.

You forgot to bring the mail with you. Return to the mailbox and retrieve the mail.

You are back at the mailbox. Make sure you get the mail this time before you start walking back.

You are walking back to the house with the Pleshes’ mail in your hand.

You are walking like a true walking pro.

Surely nothing can stop you now. You are going to successfully retrieve the mail.

“Hey, fella! I got something real special to show you over here. Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

The distraction man has returned. Don’t let him impede your progress. You’re too close.

You have resisted the distraction man’s powerful charms. It really shows that you are a man of tremendous willpower and moral character.

Just one more step should do it. You are so very close to completing your mail task—your new cushion is within your grasp!

via youtube via Robin Hutton

You take a break from getting the mail to go see a movie. You decide to see the box-office smash Sgt. Reckless: Korean War Horse Hero, which has been the most popular movie in the world for eight years, grossing more than $11 billion.

You have seen this movie many times before, but this time it makes you laugh harder than ever. You didn’t want it to end!

via Youtube via Mini ABC

You stick around for a second movie called Zoubi Doubi. It is about nice cars who love Hell and are trying to get there. It’s fine.

The movie ends, and it’s time to get back to the Pleshes’ to finish your house-sitting duties. Better go quickly—you’ve been out for way too long!

“Step right over here, mister, and I’ll give you some delicious steamed eggs!” the man yells from the next house over.

Steamed eggs sound awfully tasty...but something about this just doesn’t feel right.

“Come on over here, mister, and I’ll give you free women’s gloves! Premium quality!” the man yells from the next yard over.

Wow, it’s hard to say no to such an incredible deal...but something about this doesn’t feel right.

“Hey there, fella, I got some free planets for you here,” the man yells from the next yard over. “Yep, you heard that right: honest-to-God planets! Mars, Venus, you name it. Can’t just pick these up at the corner store—they’re real rarities!”

Wow, if he really does have free planets to give you, that’s not something you’d wanna pass up. They could be worth thousands! However, something about this seems a little bit fishy...

You did it. You successfully retrieved the Pleshes’ mail and made it safely back inside. Truly, a remarkable feat.

All your house-sitting duties are now completed.

You return home and tip over your refrigerator to celebrate a job well done. Over the rest of the weekend, you head back to the Pleshes’ several more times and expertly complete your three basic tasks without incident.

The Pleshes get back into town on Monday, and Mrs. Plesh is very impressed at how good of a job you did. To thank you for your hard work, she gives you more money than you expected: $17! You use the extra cash to buy an even nicer cushion than you’d originally planned.

Yes, good. Take a walk on the wild side.

You round up as many phones as you can and call all the town’s most acclaimed teens at the same time.

“Sup,” the teens all say in unison, their voices lively with puberty.

“Hello, dicks,” you begin, using one of their common terms of endearment to establish a rapport. “I am a stranger who loves teens.”

The teens do not immediately respond.

“Would any of you slick Rangos like to drink beer today at a place with no parents and also maybe do some classic hijinks such as playing ping-pong beer or crucifying a horse?”

“Beer! Beer! Thank you! Yes!” the teens reply in unison. They are really into it.

“Woo! Neat!” you exclaim. “Then you can come drink beer with me today at the Pleshes’ house. I am a shy adult with many skin tags who would probably just stay quiet and stare at you all from behind the couch. What do you say?”

The teens deliberate in hushed tones on the other lines. You eagerly await their response.

“We’d love to drink beer with you today,” they reply simultaneously. “...NOT!”

Ah. They have fooled you with the famous prank. They hang up their phones, and it is clear that they will not be drinking beer at the Pleshes’ house with you today.

You call your one real-life friend, Frightened Rodney. Frightened Rodney used to be your youth pastor, but then he got sick.

“H-h-hello?” whimpers Frightened Rodney.

“Hi, Frightened Rodney. Would you like to come drink beer with me at the Pleshes’ house? I am having a rager.”

“I-I-I don’t know...I’m afraid I might get frightened!” your dear friend responds.

Frightened Rodney doesn’t want to come, but you think you know a trick that will change his mind.

“Frightened Rodney, there is a rapist in your house,” you tell him (fib). “If you don’t come drink beer with me at the Pleshes’ right now, he will chase you in circles with his testicles.”

You hear Frightened Rodney scream in terror and run out of his house. Your trick worked. Ten minutes later, he knocks on the door.

“I’m so frightened!” Frightened Rodney hollers as you let him through the door. “I hope the rapist didn’t follow me!”

“Ah! Get that beer away from me!” Frightened Rodney pleads. “I get frightened when I drink beer because of how silly it makes me feel. Gah!!!”

Frightened Rodney begins crying. You hate having him at your party. You should tell him that he has to go back home.

Yes, okay. The plants can wait.

Where would you like to snoop?

The Master Bedroom. The inner sanctum of marriage. The secret barn in every house where adults can share their groins and neither children nor God can legally watch. Mr. and Mrs. Plesh love coming here to enjoy each other’s hidden flaps, and now you have trespassed on their special fuck station. You are clapping because of how naughty it makes you feel.

You happen upon Mrs. Plesh’s brassieres, but are alarmed to find this note in her underwear drawer. You are a pervert, and she has anticipated it.

Maybe you should take this as a sign to stop snooping around and start taking care of your house-sitting duties. Those plants probably really need to be watered.

Or you could just keep snooping.

“Now this is a-clothes!” you exclaim, almost getting the line right. What a wild time you are having in your neighbors’ house.

Suddenly, you hear a strange hissing sound from downstairs, followed by the faint yet unmistakable scent of death.

Boom, disheveled. What a wild time you are having in your neighbors’ house.

Suddenly, you hear a strange hissing sound from downstairs, followed by the faint yet unmistakable scent of death.

Whatever you say. Those plants are going to need to be watered at some point, though.

Where would you like to snoop?

The hissing sound, apparently, was the sound of all of Mrs. Plesh’s houseplants dying. You spent too long snooping around, and the poor plants couldn’t hold on any longer.

You’ve done a terrible job of house-sitting. You need to call Mrs. Plesh and tender your resignation.

Here you are in the kitchen. This doesn’t really count as snooping, though, because Mrs. Plesh already said you could help yourself to whatever you wanted.

You look under the sink and find this. It is moaning the tune of “Amazing Grace.”

There’s a whole pantry filled with tasty snacks. What do you want to eat?

Mmmm. This is the saltiest soup you have ever had. It’s really hitting the spot.

Now that you’ve had a snack, you should really probably go water the houseplants.

You start looking around for another snack, but as soon as you do, you hear a loud hissing sound from across the house, followed by the faint yet unmistakable scent of death.

Mmmm. This is the softest, wettest meat you have ever had. Your tongue is alive with the sour flavor.

Now that you’ve had a snack, you should really probably go water those houseplants.

Mmmm. Once you manage to chew through the tubes’ thick, translucent skin, they yield a divinely sour paste that ruptures lusciously over every nook and cranny of your mouth and teeth. This is your favorite meal you’ve ever tasted.

Now that you’ve had a little something to eat, it’d be a good idea to go water those houseplants.

You are glad to no longer be looking at the gloomy monster.

Now what do you want to do?

Keep snooping? Okay, but those plants will need to be watered at some point.

Where would you like to snoop?

You walk into the Plesh son’s bedroom, where you find the Plesh son.

“Hello,” he says.

“Beats me!” he says.

Snooping in the boy’s room was a bad idea. You should probably go water the houseplants now.

Or you could snoop around some more.

The boy has nothing else to say, and neither do you.

Mrs. Plesh warned you earlier not to go into the basement, and she even left this note for you on the basement door as a reminder. Maybe it’d be best if you turn around while you still can.

Good call. Where would you like to snoop now?

You touch the ball and immediately start feeling dizzy. Various body parts begin inflating to cartoonish proportions, and your head spins ’round and ’round on its axis. Bob Costas crawls out of your mouth, nude and slathered in placenta, and instantly bursts into flames. From his ashes, two dozen 5-foot-tall herons materialize. They slowly walk in circles around you, their eyes fixed on yours, the circle getting smaller, all of them tunelessly muttering the lyrics to “Welcome To The Jungle.”

I should’ve listened to Mrs. Plesh, you think to yourself, but the herons recite this thought out loud, in your voice, right as you’re thinking it.

What the fuck. What the fuuum? Weh thar fick. Fuck flup fruck wha.

Jesus. Your thoughts are breaking down. You caan’t can’t sentences string together. So sleepy. Why is have you come down here huh? Sleeeep...

You wake up in a dollhouse. You cannot move—you have no agency over your limbs or your breath or your tongue. Only your thoughts. You are a doll.

There is a kitten there with you. The kitten can speak.

“If you stay, you must play,” the kitten whispers. “Forever and ever and ever.”

The kitten lays a gorgeous baby blue, speckled egg. Two human fingers hatch from the egg and fight each other to death.

Suddenly, a bright light floods into the dollhouse from above.

You swat away the red ball and start running for your life. You barrel through the wall of writhing arms and suddenly find yourself running up a strange, seemingly endless staircase. No one appears to be chasing you.

You run for many hours without getting anywhere, and eventually you realize that you’ve just been running up the same single step over and over again. It becomes clear that you’re doomed to repeat this same sequence again and again, ad infinitum. It’s hopeless.

The moment you have this epiphany, a white towel with the words “WORLD’S WORST HOUSE-SITTER” on it falls into your arms.

You throw in the towel, and immediately, a loud, pleasant female voice booms from an intercom overhead.

“YOU HAVE SELECTED: DEATH. THANK YOU. YOUR MORTAL BODY WILL MOMENTARILY BE SWALLOWED BY THREE LARGE STINGRAYS AT THE SAME TIME, KILLING YOU. TO MAKE YOUR DEATH EXPERIENCE AS SATISFYING AS POSSIBLE, PLEASE SELECT WHICH MOVIE YOU WOULD LIKE TO WATCH FOR ALL OF ETERNITY IN THE AFTERLIFE.”