|found on my friends page from dr_ian
||[May. 7th, 2005|05:12 pm]
The Question Club
I didn't write this. I found this on my friends page and decided to post it here.|
One day, far in the future, there will be only six people left on the planet Earth because in a flaccid attempt to bring back dinosaurs, people died out. Three of the six people are pirates whose loyalties lay only with themselves. Of the other three people, one always tells the truth, one always lies and the other one gets things wrong continually. As humanity had already cultivated and raped the stars millenia ago, they had long lost the postal address of their home planet.
Imagine yourself to be one of those limp-wristed heliodisobedients, landing once again on the home planet of the species. Gathered together you see this 50% rapscallion group feasting on old trousers and toothpaste. You feel pity, don't you? Aren't you human enough to feel a little pity? Well assuming you are, you would search your supplies to try and feed them something less mintyfresh. On discovering your final boiled egg, you give it to them in exchange for a tonic, but they squander it and before you know it, you've lost track of who has it. You drink the refreshing tonic, and let out a hearty belch.
Suddenly you notice an ancient scrap of Egyptian parchment on the ground. On it are some very detailed notices somewhat exactly like this:
BLUE TONIC cures RED TONIC
RED TONIC + YELLOW TONIC cures GREEN TONIC
PURPLE TONIC + WATER cures BLUE TONIC
GREEN TONIC makes PURPLE TONIC fatal
WATER makes RED TONIC fatal
WATER cures PURPLE TONIC
BLUE TONIC + GREEN TONIC cures BROWN TONIC
BROWN TONIC cures YELLOW TONIC
BROWN TONIC + RED TONIC = GREEN TONIC + BLUE TONIC
Unfortunately the last line has been torn from the parchment and taken by a nearby behemoth. You look up in to the sky and notice a rainbow, with all the colours blending together, and as if by magic you can no longer remember what colour the tonic you drank was.
You speak to the all-knowing behemoth and it requests something both yolky and proteinous in return for the parchment. As the last boiled egg is now owned by the group with roughly 21 limbs, you must gain it back from them. At that moment, over millions of years, insects evolve in to sentient and intelligent life forms. One passing insectoid warns you that due to a slight bug in the fabric of the universe, only two more questions may be asked before time and space collapse in on each other. He also tells you that they must be asked after 7pm and exactly one minute apart.
The trouble is you have no timekeeping device. You suddenly notice that your house is nearby so you hop inside to quickly look for a watch. You have one pocketwatch but cannot retrieve it because it's in a boobytrapped cabinet. In the far future, crime is so rampant that it's normal to boobytrap your own belongings. You take the cabinet out from the wall and remove the back panel. The pocketwatch sits on the top drawer alright, but it's long since run out of winding. To get to it, you'll need to defuse the class-2B nucleohydrogen bomb attached to this cabinet. There are only three detonators. They are connected by red, white and blue wires to the central device of the bomb.
Not put off by a little adversity, you recall that you left yourself a clue should you forget which two detonators are fake. You jump to the switchbox and check it out. There's a bit of paper sellotaped to it, and it reads:
My first is in joy, but not in hot.
My second is in clay, but not in flat.
My third is in trap, but not in tail.
It looks like the last two lines have been removed and placed inside the switchbox, so naturally you try to open it, only to find that it is locked. Snapping yourself to bits, you realise that that the key is safely in your toilet cistern.
Moments later you get there and open the cistern. It's not good. The key is sitting right on the edge of the drainage hatch and is about to get flushed to goodness knows. Thankfully the key floats, because it is made of a futuristic metal called bundeerium. You realise almost immediately, as any human being would, that you can't reach the key unless you pour 2.5 litres of water in to the cistern, and you have to be very careful because pouring 2.6 or more will cause the cistern to empty losing the key forever. Due to profound and unexplainable circumstances, you only get one chance to pour water in to the cistern so you must be exact first time. You reach around and see a two litre container and a five litre container.
Before attempting this you decide to go and eat a sandwich. Whilst you bite in to mouthful after mouthful of succulent ham, soft and pastey cheese and rich fibrous cucumber, you realise that you have left your wirecutters in the attic, and there is a five digit combination lock on the staircase. You remember some amazing facts about the correct combination:
1. The number itself is smaller than the square of any combination of three of its digits.
2. It is coprime with its reverse.
3. All the digits are unique.
4. It is the largest such number that has these properties.
As you slide your tongue over the foamy, bouncy bread and the creamy butter, you ponder that you might be, as they call it, "fucked in the ass" with your current situation. Never one to give up in the case of insurmountable odds, you decide to exit the house, accidentally arming the cabinet bomb with a forty five minute timer, and notice quite out of the blue that your house is exactly thirty metres tall and is surrounded by even ground.
Looking to see the last humans, they are making their way towards a pirate ship which appears to be at a distance of 1.8 kilometres from where you are now. They are currently 400 metres away and traveling at two metres every five seconds. You remember from school that you can jog about seventeen metres in thirty one seconds.
You see a ginger cat. You turn left and there is an alley way.
What do you do?