Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-36855838-20180926033246

Oh fuck, it's happening.

The local Harpy nest is stuffed to the gills.

How do you know this?

Well, you get to know the signs living in a nation run by Harpies.

When you got home from work, your bedroom window was opened.

Your fridge had been restocked, with fruits and vegetables.

Your collection of spices had been completed, and not a single cupboard was bare.

The floors were swept, the toilets cleaned, the garage sale run, the funds tallied, the taxes deducted and filed, the lawn mowed, the hedges trimmed, the garden landscaped, the dishes washed, the laundry done, the guestroom bed made, the knick-knacks dusted, your library and game collection alphabetized, and three perches installed, one of which was a shower-toilet combo.

As you walked into your bathroom, you saw what you can only assume was a clean Bubble slime.

The scent she emitted was indescribable and heavenly, and was accompanied by the scent of straberries.

Easily explained by the six buckets filled with strawberries and powdered sugar, and the stack of twenty empty buckets beside your bathtub, where she now sat.

And in your bedroom, sat a harpy, perched on your bed and laying.

Whenever harpy nests hit criticsl mass, they start shoving parental responsibilities onto the single men who registered to avoid harpy marriage, and pair them with a bubble slime they have thoroughly trained by osmosis (ha) in matters of motherhood.

The harpy is about to lay.

What the hell do you do?! 