You will be asked about the origin of your clothes.
You will be asked to trace out a trapezoid in dim light.
You will be asked why you cannot eat this or this or THIS.
You will be asked about plans the mayor has not shown anyone else.
You will be asked how kites stay aloft and whether you like them.
You will be asked to compile concordances for scriptures you think might
    be false, with the opportunity to alter them further.
You will be asked if you prefer froth in your steamed milk.
You will be asked to donate.
You will be asked not to touch street signs for one year.
You will be asked to avert your eyes rather than leave the room.
You will be asked six questions whose answers you might know from seeing
    educational TV programs.
You will be asked to experiment.

You will be tested during inclement weather.
You will be tested by means of protocols that are themselves under study.
You will be tested on your ability to produce harmonics in several places
    on the string.
You will be tested whenever you try to cross the street.
You will be tested by a fear that the gods have withdrawn from the world.
You will be tested carelessly.
You will be tested on the relative durability of ferrous compounds
    synthesized overseas.
You will be tested by bralessness and heavy eyelids.
You will be tested over the next five years.
You will be tested by children curious to learn the limits of your
    generosity although in truth there are none.

You will be pleased by certain properties of the integer lattice.
You will be pleased to offer low prices.
You will be pleased when you touch each of the buttons.
You will be pleased that someone has adopted the cloyingly sweet kitten
    that you despaired of protecting any longer.
You will be pleased by one shade of red.
You will be pleased until the third act.
You will be pleased that a hat you lost has become unfashionable.
You will be pleased if any of them do all of the reading this semester.
You will be pleased at the agricultural progress being made in places you
    had feared might turn desolate if steps were not taken.
You will be pleased when the opiate reaches your bloodstream.
You will be pleased none of the valuable ones were broken in the scuffle.
You will be pleased by the suffusion of light in the living room at the
    moment of the equinox.

You will be shown another way you could have done all of it.

written for Owen E while standing up 10/29/08

For most of it, I intended the verb in the third block to be "forced". When I got there, though, I realized that the word after "forced" would always have to be "to"-- it isn't as flexible as "asked" or "tested". Not liking that, I racked my brain for a word that worked differently and so reversed the mood.

I've always liked doing things like this, at least occasionally. But I think in the past I always found some kind of narrative, while this one is no more or less than what it looks like. Apologies to anyone who spent time trying to decode this into a sequence of specific events.

That said, several of the lines (now that I think about it) describe this improv project itself, for me. And since I'm close to the alarmingly round number 100, I've been thinking about the project as a whole a lot. Or maybe I was influenced by "99 Bottles Of Beer On The Wall".

- everything is by Aaron Mandel; please ask first if you're about to steal something -

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