| Transcribed by Graeme Cree | |
| SAMPLE TRANSCRIPT | |
| This transcript is not from NORD AND BERT COULDN'T MAKE HEAD OR TAIL OF IT, | |
| but it does show some of the strange things you can do in the game. It shows | |
| a few simple puzzles and their solutions, and it will give you a good idea of | |
| how this game works. The player's commands appear in capital letters after | |
| each prompt (>). | |
| [This sample transcript had no map.] | |
| YOUR BEDROOM | |
| [You can go:HALLWAY] | |
| As dawn breaks through the window above your head, yet another day of your | |
| youthful existence is illuminated. And so is the wreck you call your | |
| bedroom. Suddenly, the alarm clock to your right explodes to life, ending | |
| any hope of additional sleep. | |
| >TURN OFF THE ALARM CLOCK | |
| As you lunge for the offending timepiece, you knock it off the night table | |
| along with a lamp and a tepid glass of water. | |
| >GET OUT OF BED | |
| Your foul mood requires a more specific strategy. | |
| >GET UP ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE BED | |
| You do a slow roll off the left side of the bed, which in this case is | |
| actually the right side of the bed since the right side of the bed is awash | |
| in a sea of jagged glass and alarm clock parts. | |
| >LOOK | |
| This is your bedroom. It is a homogenous mass of everything that is you | |
| rolled up into one big disorganized ball. There is an open door leading to | |
| the hallway. | |
| >HALLWAY | |
| [You can go:BEDROOM,KITCHEN] | |
| This is the upstairs hallway of your home. There is a door leading to the | |
| bathroom. The door is closed and there seems to be some muffled sound coming | |
| from behind it. | |
| >LISTEN TO THE SOUND | |
| It is the sound of your younger sister in the shower singing one of her | |
| beloved punk rock anthems, all of which you despise. You know from years of | |
| experience that your sister's showers are long, drawn-out affairs and that | |
| she has at least seven more punk rock anthems to sing before the final rinse. | |
| >KITCHEN | |
| You trundle down the stairs and follow the smell of breakfast to... | |
| >KITCHEN | |
| [You can go:HALLWAY,STUDY,STREET] | |
| This is the kitchen of your home. A note resting on the table is impaled by | |
| a golf tee on the green of the Formica table top. | |
| >READ NOTE | |
| the note is folded in half and is therefore unreadable. | |
| >TAKE NOTE | |
| The tee holds the note firmly to the table. | |
| >TAKE TEE | |
| You grasp the tee and give it a series of mighty tugs but, as with Excalibur, | |
| it will take more than muscles to extract the tee from the table. | |
| >TEA | |
| The golf tee is swallowed up into a huge divot which then dissolves, leaving | |
| in its wake a steaming cup of oolong tea. Resting beneath the cup of tea is | |
| the note. | |
| >TAKE TEA | |
| Taken. | |
| >READ NOTE | |
| [Taking the note first] | |
| "Hey kiddo! I'm off to work early this morning to make an 8:30 meeting with | |
| the boss. I made you a cup of tea just the way you like it. I didn't have | |
| time to mail my tax return before I left, so I need you to put a stamp on it | |
| and get it into the mailbox before 9:00 AM! | |
| Remember, if that return isn't mailed by 9:00 today, the IRS is going to come | |
| over here and repossess our new swimming pool. What will you do all summer | |
| then? | |
| I know I can count on you, buddy. See you tonight. | |
| Love, Dad" | |
| >LOOK AT WATCH | |
| Mickey's big hand is on the nine and his little hand is on the eight. | |
| >STUDY | |
| You enter your father's private sanctum. Better known as... | |
| STUDY | |
| [You can go:KITCHEN,STREET] | |
| This is your father's fashionably decorated study. A large roll-top desk | |
| purportedly once owned by Andy Warhol dominates the room. The tax return is | |
| nowhere in sight. You notice one of the heavy velvet curtains moving | |
| suspiciously. | |
| >LOOK BEHIND CURTAIN | |
| Searching behind the heavy curtain you find a stranger. | |
| >LOOK AT STRANGER | |
| The stranger is tall with long hair going in all directions. You notice that | |
| he is wearing a tee-shirt with the letters IRS printed on it. Is this one of | |
| your sister's weird boyfriends? If so, the kindest thing that can be said of | |
| him is that he's male. | |
| >STRANGER, HI | |
| The male shifts nervously on his feet. | |
| The stranger's eyes start to glow and with a sudden violent spasm he | |
| collapses into a large manila envelope (proving that this probably is one of | |
| your sister's beaus). | |
| >TAKE ENVELOPE | |
| You pick up the hefty object. | |
| >LOOK AT IT | |
| The envelope is addressed to the Internal Revenue Service in your father's | |
| inimitable scrawl. You notice that there is no postage on the envelope. | |
| >DESK | |
| All you can tell is that the roll-top is closed. | |
| >OPEN THE DESK | |
| You roll back the top, revealing a clutter of papers and a stone lamp. | |
| >L AT PAPERS | |
| You ruffle through the papers and come across a memo regarding his parking | |
| space. You put down the memo after noting this useless information. | |
| >G | |
| You ruffle through the papers and come across a memo announcing the annual | |
| company trip to see the Red Sox. You put down the memo after noting this | |
| useless information. | |
| >LOOK AT THE STONE LAMP | |
| This is a beautiful Mayan oil lamp that your father smuggled out of Central | |
| America. | |
| >LIGHT THE LAMP | |
| You know there haven't been any matches in the house since your kid brother | |
| tried to set the dog on fire. | |
| >LONE STAMP | |
| The ancient Mayan relic flattens and its edges become perforated, leaving a | |
| lone stamp. | |
| >GET THE STAMP | |
| You take the stamp. It commemorates the Mayan innovation of indoor lighting. | |
| PUT STAMO ON ENVELOPE | |
| (I don't know the word "stamo") | |
| >OOPS STAMP | |
| Done. | |
| >I | |
| You have a manila envelope and a cup of oolong tea. There is a stamp on the | |
| envelope. | |
| >LOOK AT WATCH | |
| Mickey now claims it's 8:58. Better hurry or it's no more laps for you. | |
| >GO TO STREET | |
| STREET | |
| [You can go:STUDY,KITCHEN] | |
| This is idyllic Idlewood Street. On the sidewalk stands a mailbox. Your | |
| house rises majestically in back of you, a paean to suburbia. In the | |
| background your sister's singing disturbs the peace of the neighborhood. | |
| Down the street you see the familiar right-hand-drive mail truck manned by | |
| your friendly postman, who looks suspiciously like Jack Nicholson. | |
| >PUT THE ENVELOPE IN THE MAILBOX | |
| You deposit the key to your summer of fun in the sun into the gaping maw of | |
| the mailbox. And not a moment too soon. As the postman pulls up and empties | |
| the box he looks at one of the envelopes and says, "Hey, isn't this one of | |
| your sister's boyfriends? | |
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