GYSO Reviews Part 45 - That’s a Wrap!
Published: 2024-07-28
In the front yard of the GYSO mansion, on the grass, lays Thim.
Suddenly! Thim begins to convulse. Or maybe it’s dancing. Who really knows with that guy. Either way, he’s flailing around on the grass for no damn reason.
Arms wide, mom’s spaghetti, there’s grass stains on his organic hemp sweater already, mom’s spaghetti.
In the periphrial of Thim’s awareness, beyond the grasp of mortal minds, he percieves his hand hit something in its quest to escape his wrist. He ignores this, due to reasons beyond the grasp of mortal minds (he doesn’t care).
Elf: So Santa wants us to kidnap Thim again?
Elf Two: Yeah, but what’s he doing?
Elf: Maybe it’s a mating ritual.
Elf Two: No. I’ve watched enough of the surveillance footage to know what Thim’s mating ritual looks like.
Elf: You watched– no, nevermind. Let’s get closer and ask him to come along or something. It’s not like we can actually kidnap him for real. They didn’t even give us a bag or anything to do it, anyways.
Elf Two: I can’t believe Santa hasn’t given us a raise despite giving us more responsibility in dealing with Thim.
Elf: You can’t believe it? Santa? The evil god of war, Santa Clause? You sure about that?
Elf Two: …shut up.
The elfs approach, but an errant Thim hand whacks Elf Two in the face, hitting him hard enough to fall over.
They leave after that. Thim’s defenses are clearly too potent.
Thim’s flailing has reached a new level. Upright, like Homo Erectus, Thim lunges and falls and runs.
He trips on something, face planting into the face plants that totally exist in this universe and grow exclusively in the GYSO mansion front yard. He ignores the thing he tripped over, just like everything else.
Albert: This is a great sandwich.
In the lunch room at the Ambiguous Government Headquarters, Albert is pointing energetically towards his double layered hoagie he made for lunch. Why he made a double-layered sub is beyond anyone’s guess.
Albert: (mouth full) Tried a new vegan mayo recipe and everything with this one.
His coworkers are busy eating lunch, and they also think he’s kind of annoying and don’t want to do something that will get him to start doing his abstract dance.
No worries about that, because Albert’s sandwich is kinda soggy from all the vegan mayonaisse, and he accidentally drops some of it on his uniform. Reaching for some paper towels…
Albert: Damn it, that’s not what I needed today.
To alleviate the shame, Albert jokingly nudges a coworker and says…
Albert: Hey, wonder who did this, right?
Then he looks straight at the monitors monitoring Thim, which are in the lunch for some reason. Albert’s face turns serious. He stands up, leaving his sandwich in his food box thing he has on the table.
Albert: He did this. He did this to me. He tripped on a dimensional sandwich just now and broke my sandwich. The British Sandwich Association is going to have a field day with this report, and Thim- and Thim will learn exactly how upset I am about this.
No one really believes him, but nobody cares enough to make a fuss about it.
There’s a knock on the GYSO mansion door.
Nobody is there to answer it.
Instead, Thim is still lying on the grass, still flailing.
Albert: Thim!
Approaching the half-handsome man flailing around on the ground, Alfred is waving papers in his hands.
Albert: Thim! Stop doing that immediately!
Thim: FSDKLJFDKLSJAFKLDLJKFJDSA
Albert: Are you imitating an eel again? Exposure therapy is valid, but you sort of ruined my sandwich. I had to spend three hours filling out paperwork about it, and call three highly ranked people in the British Sandwich Association, which actually exists and explicitly doesn’t define a burger as a sandwich, which is kind of weird, but whatever. Are you even listening to me?
Thim: FDSAFKLDSJFJJDSALFJDKLSA
Albert: Alright, it’s time to put this fire out.
With great determination, Albert gets a small fire extinguisher from his car. It’s pretty heavy, since it’s rated for Thim-level diasasters, despite being so small. If you are looking really close, you might even see a small smile on Albert’s lips as he sprays the connonical GYSO blog writer.
Albert: Here’s a topic for the blog, you mother fu-
Thim: I’VE DONE IT, I’VE OVERCOME MY FEAR OF EEL– Agh! Thank you, Albert! What was I doing?
Albert: It doesn’t matter (it does). Just come with me inside, please. I would say ‘come with me if you want to live’, but we both know it would be disingenuous.
Thim: So long as there aren’t any eels. I’m terrified of those things. My aloe vera plant said to do exposure therapy about it, but I don’t remember if I did it or not. lol.
Albert: Whatever. Where do you keep your chef’s aprons?
Albert: Okay, Thim. Here’s the rub.
Albert slams something looking like a book, except it’s printed from his office.
Albert: Here’s the Wikibooks cookbook on sandwiches. Today, it will serve as the basis for your taste bud’s perceptual ass-whooping. I’ve invited all our friends to the mansion, which is generally a bad idea, but desperate times and all that. They will do a blind taste of our sandwiches, rating them, and we will see who comes out the winner.
Thim: Why are we doing this? How is this revenge?
Albert: Because you–
Thim: Oh wait! I forgot. I don’t care.
Albert: THERE WILL BE THREE CATEGORIES TO COMPETE IN!
Thim: THERE WILL BE THREE LAWSUITS IF YOU KEEP YELLING! I HAVE A DRAGON LAWYER!
Albert: I was about to say something about qualified immunity, but Snag’darr is very competent at what he does. He’s also a dragon, which solves most of his problems for him. Anyways…
Thim: Okay sandwich-sensei, what do we do?
! THE TASTE TEST !
The military has some real… resources. During the two indescribable hours that Albert and Thim prepared their sandwiches, they temporarily remade the GYSO mansion living room into a temporary Master Chef-esque game room. The camera crew is ready, Gordon Pansy is quivering in the corner, because he’s a pansy – get it, and the sandwiches are all hidden by that weird food dome thing you put over plates at fancy resurants, whatever those things are called, yeah.
As prophesized, the GYSO friends all have their make-up done, which in the case of a dragon is pretty funny, and they will serve as guest judges for this competition. How Henry will manage to taste the food is anyone’s guess. The camera crew is ready. For some reason there is a live orchestra playing the soundtrack, which is smooth free-form jazz punctuated with moments of reality TV pizzicato-strings to emphasize when someone is acting stoopid toopid, dumba rumba.
Now the game is about to begin.
The narrator explains the three categories:
1. Club sandwich
2. Panini
3. Tea sandwichThe contestants will be judged on three primary criteria:
1. Quality of taste
2. Adherance to the cookbook
3. Vibes~We don’t talk about the secondary criteria.
Gordon Pansy: I feel nothing but fear about this sandwich.
Gordon Pansy collapses due to oxygen loss from hyperventilation. Scrub.
Thim: Well, I guess this means we’ll never know the loving touch of a woman, I mean who won. Call it a tie?
On the table, underneath the damn food-dome things, there is a set of sandwiches that are soggy, burnt, and atomized at the same time. Albert is not ready to accept this.
Albert: (slightly fuming) No. We have guest judges as well.
He kicks the food dome thing–
Snag’darr: It’s called a cloche, by the way.
He kicks the cloche away in anger.
Thim: Anyways. Let’s wrap it up, guys!
Thim is doing a sort of circle motion in the air with his pointer finger, gesturing the camera crew, the military… interior decorators, and the live orchestra – who started playing 45 minutes ago and hasn’t stopped (their lips hurt).
On reflection, Thim realizes that they actually aren’t wrapping it up. This is a sandwich competition.
Thim: Oh, don’t wrap it up!
People stop working, looking confused.
Thim: The British Sandwich Association doesn’t recognize wraps as sandwiches.
That didn’t help.
Thim: It’s just- Agh, you know. Mmmmmmm-
Sara: I’m a character that exists too. I’m also going home. Bye.
THE DIES
THE END