The Infinitely Bad Idea Vault The InfInITely Bad Idea VaulT Ryan lauRenT The soRT of place wheRe eVen The dusT has second ThoughTs aBouT seTTlIng. Ryan Laurent Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C The Infinitely Bad Idea Vault The Infinitely Bad Idea Vault Ryan Laurent Ryan Laurent An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C The Infinitely Bad Idea Vault S omewhere nestled in the most inconvenient corner of the multiverse, a place so absurdly out of the way that even the concept of ‘geography’ refuses to acknowledge its existence, there stands a building. It’s nondescript in a way that defies de- scription. If you had to describe it, you might say it’s a cross between a library, a poorly-constructed out- house, and the kind of place you’d find if you walked behind an IKEA on a Wednesday morning and de- cided to open a door you really shouldn’t have. This, if you were so inclined to visit, would be the Great Library of Inadvisable Knowledge. It is the sort of place where even the dust has second thoughts about settling. The shelves are crammed with books that should have never been written, much less read. Books so dangerous that each one is wrapped in lay- ers of cautionary tales and cosmic dread, like a choc- Ryan Laurent olate truffle made of lead and regret. If you open one, the universe might just take a long, slow look at you, sigh, and then proceed to dramatically rearrange your entire life, with special emphasis on ruining everything that you hold dear. Some of these books contain detailed instructions on topics such as: “How to Build a Time Machine Us- ing Only a Teapot and a Paperclip” (Warning: Time itself will file a formal complaint, and nothing will be the same again), “The Unspoken Secrets of the Uni- verse (That Absolutely No One Should Ever Know)” (Warning: Will lead to a deep existential crisis, a strange obsession with socks, and an overwhelming desire to move to a secluded cabin), and “How to Win Every Argument in History (And Probably Start a War in the Process)” (Warning: Effective, but history will be so uncomfortable with the results that it might ac- tually get up and leave). It is, in short, a place where curiosity doesn’t just kill the cat: it strings the cat up by its tail, throws it into a hole, and charges admission to anyone inter- ested in watching the ensuing chaos. The scholars who guard this library or rather, those who attempt to guard it, are a rather bedraggled lot. Their job description doesn’t just include the words The Infinitely Bad Idea Vault “keep watch,” but also “make sure no one does some- thing incredibly stupid,” “limit their exposure to ab- surdity,” and “question every decision they’ve ever made.” The most common thing you’ll hear from these scholars is the phrase, “Are you really sure you want to do this?” followed by “Well, you’re an adult. You’ve been warned.” And yet, without fail, some curious fool, usually with a severe lack of foresight, will wander into the library. They’ll be the sort who think, “What harm could possibly come from learning how to turn my pet hamster into an immortal being of pure energy?” Or perhaps they’ll be the type who reads “How to Bake a Cake with the Force” and immediately begins googling their nearest Intergalactic Delivery Service. The door is often left ajar just enough to be invit- ing, but there’s always a faint smell of dangerous am- bition wafting out from within. And should you, for whatever reason, find yourself outside this building on a Tuesday afternoon, with nothing but a very bad decision and a lack of impulse control, don’t be sur- prised if something whispers to you in a voice that sounds suspiciously like the universe’s best friend who always convinces you to eat that third slice of cake. Ryan Laurent Inside, the shelves are endless. The books are heavy, sometimes because they’re filled with weighty knowl- edge, but more often because they’re filled with very heavy consequences . As you walk down the aisles, it’s best to pretend you’re not noticing how the books seem to lean forward in anticipation, eager for you to pull them from their shelves, like an overly enthusi- astic dog who just can’t resist showing you its chew toy, except the chew toy is made of cosmic despair. The scholars who guard the library have seen enough. They’ve seen a young man flip open a book titled “How to Lose All Your Friends in Under a Week,” and end up exiled to a distant dimension where no- body even remembers his name. They’ve watched as a group of teenagers picked up “How to Build a Meg- aphone That Can Be Heard Across Dimensions” and immediately began a loud and chaotic conversation with something that wasn’t a dimension at all, but rather, a hungry elder god who hadn’t had a snack in millennia. “Oh, no, you really don’t want to open that one,” Gritch the Elder would say, his voice a blend of ex- haustion and deep existential horror. “Trust me. Do you know what happens when you read ‘How to Speak Fluent Dolphin in Ten Days’ ? No? Well, the The Infinitely Bad Idea Vault last person who tried now spends his days in a tiny hut, surrounded by confused marine life, trying to explain himself.” And yet, despite the warnings, despite the visible signs of impending doom in every corner, someone will always ask for the book. They’ll look at the titles with an air of smug confidence, convinced that they can handle whatever it is the universe might throw at them. They’ll whisper something like, “Surely it won’t be that bad,” or, “What’s the worst that could happen?” And just like that, they will regret it. Almost imme- diately. In fact, within seconds . The thing about this library is, it has a very unique way of making sure that all your bad decisions immediately cascade into an event horizon of trouble. It’s as if the universe it- self watches with popcorn in hand, gleefully rubbing its metaphorical hands together in anticipation. And so, it is that in the Great Library of Inadvisable Knowledge, the books themselves know what they’re doing. They know that once you open them, you will either become incredibly wise, or incredibly con- fused and usually, the two are not mutually exclusive. Somewhere in the back, behind the piles of books Ryan Laurent that are, quite frankly, too dangerous to be read by anyone with a heartbeat, there is a sign that reads: “The best decision is no decision. Don’t open this door. You don’t need to know what’s in here. Just go home.” But, of course, no one ever listens. The Infinitely Bad Idea Vault I. “I don’t think you should ask for that one,” said Gritch the Elder, a scholar whose hair was a complex mix of white and grey and seemed to have a life of its own, a bit like the thing that kept trying to escape the vacuum cleaner hose. Gritch stared at the young adventurer standing in front of him. A well-meaning but disturbingly cu- rious fellow named Balthazar Quickwit, who had somehow convinced himself that the key to making anything work was simply pressing every button at once and hoping for the best. He was a decent sort, if not a little too prone to asking, “What does this button do?” “I’m telling you,” Balthazar said confidently, “I’m ready for the Wobble-Wobbler’s Curse. I can handle it. I’ve survived worse.” Ryan Laurent “You’ve survived worse?” Gritch repeated, glancing over his shoulder at the immense vault door behind him. It was covered in odd symbols and had at least twelve locks, three of which were made of fire, and one was definitely trying to gnaw through the wall. “Like what? That time you tried to tune a space-time continuum with a fork?” “ I thought it would work!” Balthazar insisted. “The fork was really sharp.” Gritch sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes. “The Wob- ble-Wobbler’s Curse, lad, is not something you ‘han- dle.’ It is an irreversible series of events that will turn your body into the universe’s most unreliable GPS system and make your hair start doing the Macare- na.” “What?” Balthazar blinked. “That sounds... harm- less.” “That’s what everyone thinks before it’s too late.” Gritch squinted suspiciously at Balthazar’s feet. “You really want to walk that road?” “Of course! I’ve walked worse roads! Like the road that led here, for example. And this one time in the swamp...” The Infinitely Bad Idea Vault “Right, no, I don’t need to know about the swamp. The point is, your curiosity is going to get you into a world of trouble.” Gritch paused. “Also, the curse will make you suddenly obsessed with frogs. That’s not a metaphor.” Balthazar waved this off. “Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?” Gritch opened his mouth, then closed it. After a long moment of considering the various disastrous scenarios in his mind, he simply sighed again. “Fine. Have it your way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The vault door creaked open with a noise that sounded like an ancient ghost being slowly pulled through a gravel pit. Inside, the room was dimly lit, the bookshelves towering above them like the rem- nants of a forgotten civilization. At the far end of the room sat the Wobble-Wobbler’s Curse, a dusty tome that had never been touched in the history of the li- brary. Its pages were so thick with mystery that even the dust seemed to hesitate before landing on them. “Here it is,” Gritch muttered, tapping the cover with a long, bony finger. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Balthazar grinned, wide-eyed and eager. He Ryan Laurent stepped forward, his boots squeaking against the polished floor. With a dramatic flourish, he pulled the book off the shelf. “Now, let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” Balt- hazar said, flipping the cover open with all the seri- ousness of someone about to read the greatest novel ever written. “Ah! Here it is. The Wobble-Wobbler’s Curse, volume one. Chapter one: ‘Wobbling into the Unknown.’” Before Gritch could even open his mouth to pro- test, Balthazar had already started reading aloud. “First, a few words of caution,” he began, sounding like someone who had never encountered caution in their life. “Do not read this book in a moving vehicle, unless you are willing to accept the consequences of becoming one with the vehicle and possibly losing a few brain cells in the process.” Gritch’s face turned pale as he slapped his hand over Balthazar’s mouth. “Stop! Stop right there!” But it was too late. The moment Balthazar had read the words out loud, the room began to shake. Books rattled on their shelves like the contents of a blender on high speed. The ground beneath them seemed to ripple, as if reality itself had just hiccupped. A loud, The Infinitely Bad Idea Vault comical wobble echoed through the library, like a fish attempting to climb a ladder. Gritch stared in horror as Balthazar began to glow a faint shade of pink. “This is it, isn’t it? The part where everything goes horribly wrong,” Balthazar said, half-excited and half-terrified. “Oh, yes,” Gritch muttered, backing away from the strange swirling vortex that had begun to open up in the center of the room. “And when I say horribly wrong , I mean horribly .” The air shifted around them, and suddenly Balth- azar felt a peculiar sensation. His body began to vi- brate slightly, not unlike a chair on the edge of a cliff that’s unsure whether to take the plunge. “Oh no,” Balthazar groaned. “This feels like one of those moments where you wish you had stayed in bed with a nice cup of tea.” “More like the moment when you wish you had never been born, but yes, that too,” Gritch replied, with a bit more bitterness than necessary. Just as Balthazar opened his mouth to ask what was going to happen next, the ground beneath him wob- bled dramatically, causing him to lose his balance. Ryan Laurent He flailed his arms as if he were attempting to dance with an invisible partner. It was a strange, half-com- petent interpretation of the Macarena, which only made the situation worse. “Why is it always the Macarena?” Balthazar asked, his voice wobbling with each step. “I can’t explain,” Gritch said, his voice strained as he clutched his robes. “But once it starts, there’s no stopping it.” It was at that precise moment, as Balthazar’s hair began to lift off his scalp like a mischievous party balloon, that the first of the frogs appeared. It started with a small one, no bigger than a wal- nut. But this was not just any frog. No, this frog wore an expression of profound superiority and possibly deep existential despair. It looked up at Balthazar as if it knew something he didn’t. Then, to Balthazar’s horror, it croaked in a distinctly human voice. “Pardon me,” said the frog, “but you seem to be in need of... assistance?” Balthazar’s jaw dropped. “Did that frog just... talk?” “It’s one of the side effects,” Gritch muttered, eyeing The Infinitely Bad Idea Vault the rapidly multiplying army of frogs that had begun to gather around them. “They’ll all talk to you now. It’s part of the curse.” “Great,” Balthazar said, wiping sweat from his brow as another frog appeared. This one was larger, with a monocle, a top hat, and a very disappointed frown. “Just what I needed, frog philosophers.” The frog in the top hat cleared its throat. “Have you considered the nature of your decisions, young man? I have a rather insightful pamphlet on the matter. It’s called ‘Wobbling Through Life: A Frog’s Guide to Meaningless Existence.’” “Fantastic,” Balthazar muttered. “I’m now living my worst nightmare. I’ve got frogs critiquing my life choices.” As the frogs multiplied, hopping and croaking around him like an anarchistic chorus line, Balthazar was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he had made a mistake. “Gritch, I think I’ve had enough frogs for one lifetime,” Balthazar said, his voice half-pleading, half-panicked. “Oh, this is just the beginning,” Gritch said omi- Ryan Laurent nously, as the room began to wobble once more, fast- er this time, as if the universe itself had decided it was time to let the chaos run free. “Welcome to the Wobble-Wobbler’s Curse, lad. You wanted to know what it felt like? Congratulations. You’re living it.” And then, as Balthazar’s hair performed a rather extravagant pirouette, he felt his world shift side- ways, and for the first time, he wasn’t sure whether he was wobbling, or the whole universe had decided to join in. The Infinitely Bad Idea Vault II. The Wobble-Wobbler’s Curse hit Balthazar about four minutes into reading the book. At first, it was just a mild discomfort. A small hiccup of reality, a slight shifting of the edges of his perception, like a rug getting pulled just slightly from under him. It was a peculiar feeling, like standing on the edge of a precipice but unsure if the ground was about to van- ish or simply rearrange itself for a better view. And then, the hair. Balthazar felt it first as a subtle tug at the roots. He froze, hands in mid-flip of the page, feeling the strange sensation crawling through the follicles. His hair, his once-dignified, unassuming hair, began to twitch. And then it began to move “It’s doing the Macarena!” Balthazar yelled, turn- ing in a full circle. His hair flopped from side to side like a deranged jellyfish on roller skates, the rhythm of the dance inexplicably matching the beat of his pulse. It was as if his scalp had become possessed by a 1990s pop sensation. Ryan Laurent Gritch, who had long since decided that this was just another Tuesday, didn’t even look up from his tea. “That’s what happens when you ignore warn- ings,” he said with a nonchalant wave. “It’s all in the fine print. It always is. Can’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” “I didn’t sign up for this!” Balthazar cried, now clutching at his hair like a man wrestling with an ex- tremely enthusiastic pillow. The Macarena, as if sen- tient, had seized full control. His hair was swaying left, then right, with increasing intensity. “Help me!” “Help you?” Gritch said, suddenly interested. “Oh, no. No, no, no, lad. I don’t get involved in hair poli- tics . This is your curse now.” He took another sip of his tea, the sound of slurping almost mocking in its casualness. “I need a solution! Now!” Balthazar shouted. His hair was so far gone it had started to create its own synchronized dance team, bobbing and flipping around him in a circle, as though it had been practic- ing for this moment for decades. “Okay, okay.” Gritch sighed dramatically, set- ting his cup down on a nearby table. “Fine. But the book won’t help you much right now. You’ve already