Creepy - Toon Tipping

Episode Date: November 11, 2019

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A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastures and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents

Tune Tipping Written by Slime Beast. If you hang around to specific set of people for long enough, and jokes will sprout from next to nothing. Routines will manifest out of thin air. Sometimes they're clever. Most of the time they're obnoxious, pointless, and asinine. Ours was the latter.

We called it tune-tipping. It was a pretty good name from a group of college-age rednecks with zero actual interest in college. Here's the rundown. Step one, locate a sad, minimum. which jerk that some company or another has paid to dress up like a costume mascot. Usually these opportunities presented themselves a random. Step two.

Tackle said jerk to the ground and run. No step three. It started in high school. Greg had an unexpected feud with the football team's mascot. There's a kid named Rodney Olson, a drama school student who suited up as a rainbow trout for every game to romp across the field and through the stands. It was a classic big game scenario. The entire school screaming on one side of the field

or supposed enemies taunting from the other. Additionally, Greg had been drinking, and over-drinking for the first time in his life. When Rodney, the wannabe trout, came out at halftime, Greg let out a primal war cry. He was barely able to stay on his feet as he was. ran. A shirt quickly pulled over his head and thrown to a crowd that didn't want it. With a large foam headpiece, Rodney had no idea what was coming until he was dropped

by the doughy wailing drunkard. And that's how it started. Tune Tipping. Anything that remotely looked like a cartoon character got tackled on site. The only time we took off from the tradition was after Cooper used all six foot four of his monstrous self to take down an Easter bunny that was spinning a sign for a local tax service. As it turned out, the person underneath was a pregnant woman trying to earn some extra cash

because her husband had died during deployment overseas. Yeah, not a good look for us. The local news pieced it together with a couple previously reported incidents and tried to paint our stupid crude game as something a touch more insidious. It's a violent new game kids across the... the country of playing, and it's coming to a street near you. I think that's what they called it. Greg and Coop were flipping about the whole thing.

They figured that since there was no way to know who was in the suit, they couldn't possibly be held accountable. Myself and the final member of our brosome, the always thoughtful scab, figured it might be a touch more sensible to stop randomly assaulting people for kicks. On that, we decided to chill. things were pretty uneventful after a while. Naturally, no one knew 4-20-something losers were the kids on a street near you.

Oddly enough, we kept mostly to ourselves when that tradition was off the table. All we did was drink, bullshit each other, and then go home at 2 to 4 a.m., except for Scab, who lived with Coop and his parents on the condition he'd pay rent in the form of yard maintenance, which he didn't. It went smoothly until Coop's birthday party rolled around. Greg surprised him with tickets to Dandyland. Four in total, with permission to take anyone he wanted, even though there was literally no one else who would go with him.

When Scab and I took Greg aside and interrogated him as to why he would outspend us like that, everything was made clear. He'd actually won two tickets on a radio calling contest, so it was just a matter of buying the other two. He considered one purchase to technically be for himself. The other was a gift for Coop, and the two free ones were for us. The bastard was as stupid as they come, until it was time to scam his friends, apparently. Worse yet, if Coop found out in his present was ruined, we'd be the dickheads, not Greg.

I hadn't been to dandelion since I was a kid, despite the fact that it was just a four-hour drive away. Back then, it was a treat. and I'd be really, really good before I could go. Funny thing, I never lost that subconscious rule. And as an adult, I didn't consider the fact I was free to go at any time, even though I was a prick. Place had changed a lot. Everything was definitely more expensive. The crowds were a lot thicker and smelled a lot worse.

I told the guys about my favorite ride, the Wild Whirlpool, only to find it had been shut down or a place. with a shuttle based on the laser space movies. Scabotty had read about a family was boat capsized and wouldn't release a safety bar, drowning them all. I don't know about that, though. I think it would have been all over the news.

We almost created a new tradition, too. Every time we spotted a park employee dressed as one of those dandy heiress characters, we raided her dog or damsel. If one got four dog votes, we called for the villain of their respective movie to take her away. If she got four damsel votes, we protected her from other patrons.

They had no idea what was going on, and most played along. So at least it was a step up from the previous pastime. I would have raided Princess Primavera a damsel no matter who was playing her. I probably watched her movie a few too many times for a little boy. All in all, we had a really amazing time. Not sure if you know this, but at some point Dandelands started serving alcohol in its restaurants. I don't think we bothered with the long lines for rides after we learned that. It became a cartoon world bar crawl.

Coop started calling the children munchkins and saying follow the yellow brick road on repeat. I'm pretty sure Dandy Co. doesn't own that, but to be honest, we can keep track anymore. The park obviously had rules against over-serving customers, but I was a designated driver, meant I was only going to get buzzed. That meant I could place coherent normal drink orders, then covertly passed glasses off to the others. Security was loose

at first. A random plain-clothes guard dressed just like another patron cornered us by a photo kiosk and gave us a threateningly courteous speech. He reminded us that the park was more fun when you can remember it and that we didn't want the Queen's Guard to send us back to the

world without wonder. as nobody's allowed to break character, even the Rennocops. A few drinks later, Greg went glassy-eyed and started shouting at an anthropomorphic phone booth. It was a heated argument, to be sure. The phone booth insisted, Kids can call their favorite dandelang character right now, just lift the receiver. And Greg's counter argument was, Nobody remembers what a phone booth is.

Why don't you go die? Suddenly security wasn't as far. forgiving. Two guards had Greg and zip tie cuffs before we even knew they were there, and three others had coop scabbing myself under control by way of a firm hand on the shoulder. The guards were completely silent, despite the fact that we were fervently arguing our innocence. Before I knew a three additional plain-closed dudes had split off from the crowd and were helping guide us away. Probably to a security office or cell. I almost felt my feet leave the ground at one point. The Patron's faces around me becoming a blur of shock and disgust.

Then, there was a brief moment where time stood still. Amid the din of drunken complaints and jacked boots on cobblestone, I heard the voice of a single exuberant child. I still have no idea how I picked it out from everything else going on. Mommy, mommy, it's Lucky Lemming. Everything was slow. Matrix slow. I turned my head to see the world's most famous rodent, Lucky Leming. Tuxedo, oversized furry heads, spotless white gloves.

Lucky saw me too. He looked at our group, put his hand to his face and shook his head and overstated mock disappointment. My head turned back, eyes leading the way. I saw Greg just a few feet from me. Arms sore strained at the wrists, red face. So it cascading from his receding hairline. His gaze was locked on Dandelion's flagship character and his mouth was drawing up into a crooked-tooth grin. The time stream returned to its normal state.

I barely managed to croak out the word, don't! As Greg threw himself free from his captors. The fatty meteorites streaked across the park grounds, bumping people out of the way, and he was quickly picking up speed. The Lemming was looking down at a child and nodding in agreement with some unheard statement when he was suddenly struck by the projectile that was once a mortal man known as Gregory Stephen Benbow. Now he had transcended into legend. An entire generation of children would be speaking his name in hushed whispers. To them, he'd be the boogeyman who made lucky Lemmon each ship.

The mascot went flying, had over his, he landed on his shoulder blades, large shoes were whipping over him in three air. He was very obviously unconscious on impact as he ray dolled into a resting position that would have made more visual sense if the costume was empty. Worst of all, he was beheaded. Not the real guy, of course. Lucky. The head went rolling off like a smiling beach ball and disappeared into the horde of horrified

onlookers. I didn't see the guy's face, but the crowd did. Children's heard screaming and crying. They asked if Lucky was okay, and they wanted to know who the strange man inside him was. Coop's gab and I moved toward the exit as the guards broke out after Greg. I swear they moved in perfect military formation. We didn't want any part of that. There was a real chance we were planning to hand us all over to the police at the gates.

Greg had accidentally given us a window of opportunity to escape the situation. Back in the car, we weren't really sure how to proceed, however. Should we leave Greg to the fate he brought on himself from on a rescue mission? Can we get back into the park at all, much less unnoticed? With sacking a beloved celebrity in the middle of a public theme park count as domestic terrorism, the call from Greg's number broke the tension. He made it over a fence, and he had learned how to tighten and break zip ties many arrests in the past. In less than 30 minutes, we actually pulled off the whole rescue mission thing, though not having to get back through the gates helped a lot.

I'm not sure if we were banned from the park after that. We should have been, but I don't know if they knew who we were. With a level of security the park has, I wouldn't be surprised if they could find footage of us entering, then match the timing up with when we used our passes. If not, photos probably went up on several do-not-admit boards at least. I had put the incident behind me by the time midnight rolled by. I was considering going to bed early, and early for me at least. It had been a pretty exhausting day overall.

The park visit would have been tiring enough without the alcohol and the unexpected foot race at the end. The phone rang. I decided to ignore it and checked the miss call the next day. When I went quiet and started ringing again, I answered out of frustration. No greeting. I recognized Skab's voice immediately, regardless. The frenzy tone scared me more than the words he said.

I guess I didn't really have time to process the meaning. If I had to, I guess I would have said he'd had alcohol poisoning, that he tripped and fell on the stairs up to his apartment. That would have been way off base. Cooper got a call from the cops a short time earlier. Greg's neighbors reported strange noises than screaming. When officers finally broke down the front door, they found his body in a tremendous pool of his own blood. He had been decapitated.

The police wanted to know who had been with Greg that day, when he was last seen. I was probably due for a call myself later that very night. Scab ran it on, and I couldn't find an opening to speak. Coop was downstairs at that moment dealing with someone who was trying to break into the house. Scabb thought he saw a glint of a knife, but couldn't be sure. Coupe was on the phone of 911, so Scab locked himself in a room upstairs and called me. I could hear Coop in the background of the call yelling at the top of his lungs. I asked if I should come by as Scab suddenly hung up.

I tried calling back eight to ten times, but there was no answer. Coop's house was just down the street, and I hadn't heard any sirens yet. After some not-so-deep consideration, I had. hustle to the front door just to get a more clear idea of what was going on. Sirens blew past as I reached the door's frosted glass, which gave a blurred view from the living room to the lawn. Emergency lights flashed as they raced at the scene I had just been called from. I could make out a figure standing by the street, censored by the frosted glass of the window,

silhouetted by the colors of danger. Red and blue blinked rapidly, and the figure was a step-glass. closer with each burst of light. An autopilot, I repeated what Scabodon, running to the upstairs bedroom and dialing 911 in the process. Yeah, there's someone trying to get into my house on Miller Creek Road. The dispatcher sounded aggravated, and she didn't quite understand the situation. No, that was my friends.

Cooper and Scab. I'm calling from... Excuse me, are you saying someone... I let out some high incendiary profanity and hung up, dropping the phone onto the nightstand. As soon as they hit the wood of the table, a loud thud echoed through the room. I very briefly wondered how hard it had thrown it, until a second thud rang out, followed by the bedroom door coming slightly off its hinges. I called the police.

I shouted. Thud. I have a fucking gun, you asshole. Thud. Out of this mystery man knew I was lying about the second one, or this was more important. to him than his life. Neither possibility was any good for me. One last blow was enough to take the door off. It fell to the floor I pressed send on another call to 911. All dispatchers busy. Get out of my house! I shouted once again echoing those that came before me. The figure skulked

into the room, back arched, arms dropped low like Panam dummy full of sawdust. As a thing that resembled a man walked into the light of the room, dread weighed in my stomach, pulling my heart down with it. It was Lucky Lemming. But it wasn't Lucky Lemming. The tuxedo was a tattered wrapping of black plastic, like the soiled remains at trash bags. The oversized shoes were cardboard, bent and duct taped into shapes. set tape trailing upward and wrapping her own plastic-clad shins. The hands were covered by a pair of blood splattered grocery bags, rubber banded at the fingers

to create gloves. Most of all was the head. It was a grim-fetted mockery of Dandeland's iconic cartoon character. Amassadly stitched animal pelts. Probably old roadkill formed the ruddy brown and dingy white of the feet. fictional creature's fur. In place of the oversized plastic eyes lay two quarter-sized holes that receded into darkness. Insects and larvae dropped from him like dandruff.

You killed Greg! You killed them all! I stammered, thumping abomination replied, shambling slowly towards me. Action! The window, fully intending to turn and open at the first available opening. At that moment, however, the intruder and I were staring each other down, neither of us dropping guard. Up until that point, my brain had been fear-infused sludge.

I didn't consider why this was happening, who this could be or anything of the sort. As my hands touched the cold glass behind me and there was nowhere else to go, everything came into sharp focus all at once. Is this about the park? About what Greg did? and in an off-kilter shaking voice that was more high-pitched than I would have preferred. The trash furry didn't answer, instead electing to draw a sharpen wedge of metal from the yellow length of rope that acted as a belt.

The makeshift blade had a blood-drenched lucky lemming head at the tip of the handle. I recognized it immediately as a piece of the dandeland fence. I told you, the cops are coming! I shouted as your approach. I was approached, stealing away even more precious distance. I knew, however, that the police would be just down the street, entering, and securing the scene of a multiple homicide. All I could do was hope that the dispatch eventually realized what I was trying to say. I wasn't the one who did it, man!

I insisted gesturing for him to stay back with an open palm. A flash of silver sliced the air and burning blood from my hand. Fuck, dude! It wasn't me. I wasn't even drunk. I told him not to do it. Yeah, I threw Greg under the bus. But even if you were still alive, you wouldn't have cared.

Special circumstances. I held my thumb against the surface and my other hand, hoping that it would slow the bleeding. The fingers wouldn't close anymore. I felt my thumb slide under the flesh for a half second. The cut was deep. My attacker seemed to be considering what had said, though in that moment I figured that he just wanted to draw the situation out for as long as possible. I don't know if it was because of my words, or which words in general. But he resheed the knife and took a few steps backward.

A low, gutterle, gurgling laugh swelled from somewhere deep in his gut. I won't come back! I shook my head, half-grining and laughing on a sheer premise. more relief. I won't ever come back. Daniel N. Pirates atoll, Primavera's Palace, never again. I swear to God.

I won't even go see the movies. I won't watch any movies. You won't all of them. The figure once again became a silhouette in the dim light of the hallway just outside the door. I nodded enthusiastically as he continued to back away. Then all at once, he broke into a sprint.

No! I shrieked and threw my arms over my face as the rotten, rodent man charged toward me. I felt the force of his full weight as he launched himself torpedoing the both of us through the window. Flex a glass shimmer like fairy dust as we fell two stories to the ground below. It didn't hurt. Couldn't feel anything. I couldn't move my neck as I stared wide-eyed at what looked like a cadaver just next to me. The costume body was bent and splayed, much like that mascot had been earlier in the day.

It was bent in positions befitting a circus contortionist. Then, Zach could do nothing but watch. He straightened himself out, slowly climbed to his feet, and lurched away into the night. The doctors and nurses say I might regain control on my body someday. I know they're lying. The authorities say it's a good thing he let me keep my head with them. A procession of friends and family visited me every day, and then once a week, and finally once or twice a month. All these people tell me the same thing.

I'm lucky. I'm not lucky. That guy? The one who did this to me? That was lucky. Know him before or after will be lucky lemming as much as he was. We took that away from him, made him nothing but a clown in a suit in front of hundreds of people. I don't know who or what he is now.

I just know he's finally free to be himself. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please this. Visit us at creepypod on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Email. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wiki.com and are protected by a Creative Commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.