Choose Your Own Goddamn Fringe Adventure

1.

It's August the 1st and The Fringe has just started. This is bad news for you, because YOU are a comedy reviewer for The Skinny.

Your phone rings.

"HI, IT'S ROS, YOUR EDITOR. I EXPECT TWO REVIEWS ON MY DESK BY 8PM TONIGHT." You put the phone down and try to think over the sound of your own, wordless scream.

Do you:

• Pull your shit together and start reviewing. Turn to 3.
• Fuck the Festival. Start drinking. Turn to 2.

2.

To hell with the Festival. A month of experimental theatre, street acts and David fucking Baddiel is somebody else's problem. You grab the vodka from your bedside table and decide to keep drinking until everyone has fucked off back to London. By the 15th day, your liver is welcomed into Valhalla.

"FUCK YOU, FRINGE," you think, as oblivion embraces you.

YOUR GODDAMN ADVENTURE ENDS HERE.

3.

Trying desperately to figure out exactly where your life went wrong, you start to gather together some clothes to wear.

Do you:

• Dress for bad weather. Turn to 4.
• Dress for summer. Turn to 5.

4.

It's summer in Edinburgh, of course the weather's going to be shit. You throw on a jumper, waterproofs and a warm coat and hit the streets. FUCK YOU, Edinburgh. You're prepared.

Outside, it's a cloudless 31°. In desperation you shed your jacket and jumper and soldier on. With the Royal Mile in sight, you realise you haven't phoned the editor back.

Do you:

• Use a nearby phonebox to update Ros. Turn to 6.
• Keep heading towards the Mile. Turn to 8.

5.

It's the middle of August, it's bound to be sunny. You throw on a t-shirt and shorts and hit the streets.

As the snow begins to strip the flesh off your arms, your thoughts wander to whoever invented the disposable poncho. While you're dying on the streets, the guy who figured out how to sell a bin-liner with holes cut in it is probably a millionaire, hunting hobos for sport on his own private island.

YOUR GODDAMN ADVENTURE ENDS HERE.

6.

You decide to call in your progress to Ros, hopefully postponing her third tension-related stroke. Entering the callbox with more semen in it than an entire season of Law & Order: SVU, you realise that your recently-ditched jacket contained the loose change you'd need to make the call.

Do you:

• Ask a passer-by for change. Turn to 7.
• Keep going up towards the Mile. Turn to 8.

7.

You catch the eye of a passer-by and ask him if he'd possibly lend you 50p to call your editor. He is actually a plain clothes police officer, tasked with chasing all vagrants out of Edinburgh. Before you know it, you've been relocated to a private tropical island, where a man with an elephant gun greets you.

"I HOPE YOU LIKE RUNNING AND BEAR-TRAPS, ASSHOLE," he shouts while adjusting his infrared-goggles and bin-liner poncho. 

YOUR GODDAMN ADVENTURE ENDS HERE.

8.

As you work your way towards the Royal Mile, the crowds of people ambling about triples in size. You battle forward through what feels like Thunderdome with maps and iPads. 

You are approached by someone giving out flyers for the shows. You accidentally make eye contact and they thrust a flyer in your direction, insisting that the garish bullshit advertised on it is "really, really good."

Do you:

• Take it. Turn to 9.
• Punch them in the thorax. Turn to 11.

9.

They thank you for taking the flyer. As they move on, they are quickly replaced by another person thrusting a flyer at you.

• Turn to 10.

10.

Once again, you take another goddamn flyer.

• Turn to 9.

11.

The punch does the job. Flyer-people startle easily, but will be back in greater numbers. Stepping over the body, you take a deep breath and press on.

• Turn to 12.

12.

As you force your way through the crowds via a series of crotch punches and spinning elbows, you enter a clearing in the road where a street act is performing. "DO WE HAVE A VOLUNTEER?" he cackles while clutching seven juggling machetes and a can of petrol.

Do you:

• Volunteer. Turn to 13.
• FUCKING RUN. Turn to 14.

13.

Your last thought as the flaming machete enters your face is "I hope my coroner has an option for 'dumbass' on the cause of death form."

YOUR GODDAMN ADVENTURE ENDS HERE.

14.

You have made it to the heart of the Fringe. There are 9,453,238,375 shows to choose from and most of them look so terrible, it's like trying to choose a glory hole at a bee-farm. You'll need to see at least two shows before you can go home. Will you watch:

• New act cutting his teeth at the Fringe. Turn to 16.
• Shocking, edgy show. Turn to 17.
• Established act doing their 17th consecutive Fringe show. Turn to 18.
• A really great act, but you can't get a review ticket. Turn to 19.
• Look around for something else. Turn to 15.
• Fuck off home, having watched two acts. Turn to 20.

15.

You notice a large poster with Ben Elton on it. It proudly announces 'DAVID BADDIEL: FUNNY, ONCE.'

You realise you're making a terrible mistake.

• Return to 14 and pick a proper show.

16.

You sit through some fresh-faced comedian's hour-long apology to his parents. The venue's atmosphere of Toilet Duck and despair melds seamlessly with a stuttering routine that would have been less painful if he'd just taken comedy out into the street and shot it in the face.

• Return to 14 to pick your next show.

17.

You choose the cutting edge shock-comedy act 'KKK RAPER', which turns out to be an hour of watching a comedian doing the stand-up equivalent of replying to emails for dick enlargement cream.

• Return to 14 to pick your next show.

18.

You feel safe in the hands of a well-known comic. 97% of their act is stuff from their Christmas DVD, 2% were jokes they did on last week's Mock The Week and the remaining 1% is a howling bitter resentment that turns laughter into centipedes.

• Return to 14 to pick your next show.

19.

You break the first rule of reviewing and agree to pay for a ticket. They swipe your credit card and usher you inside.

Weeks later, living homeless under a bridge and nursing five broken ribs that the debt collector gave you, you think back to that show you paid to see.

It was shite.

YOUR GODDAMN ADVENTURE ENDS HERE.

20.

On the way home you pass about 5,454,782 posters for The Ladyboys of Bangkok, a show about things that you don't expect to have penises, HAVING PENISES. 

"They should do this show EVERY YEAR," you think, as you take a long swig from your hip flask.

Turn to 21. 

21.

You make it home. You are a fucking mess but the job is done and you can spend tomorrow in bed watching all five Die Hard movies.

The phone rings. It's Ros. "THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS, ONLY 700 MORE TO GO!"

You reach for the vodka.

YOUR GODDAMN ADVENTURE NEVER ENDS.