Last Podcast On The Left - Episode 103: Creepypasta VI - The Repercussions of Evil

Episode Date: February 17, 2015

Creepypasta returns with voices from the grave, cannibalism, murderous ghosts, and the fate of one Corporal John Stalvern.

There's no place to escape to. This is the last talk. On the left. That's when the cannibalism started. What was that? Fuckin' so sad I never saw peaches. Oh yeah, I thought she was gonna be so fuckin' hot. Oh god. No she's not. Have you ever seen peaches? No. Oh my god no, she's like a frumpy 40 year old. She was bald in the picture that I saw.

Yeah but maybe that's what makes her hot though. No it's not. It makes her not hot. But it's like the old women who do like sex phone work. Like a sex line work. It's all... Yeah but you don't see them ever. Yeah no, they all look like me and they're like, Hey, I hope your dick's hard enough for me because my pussy's real soft. I mean that works. Yeah but I'm staring at you so it's...

I'm getting real conflicted messages. I'm sitting in the puddle of my own personal soup. Why don't you stick that spoon in it? That's Marcus. I'm Ben. Welcome to the sexiest last podcast episode ever. Hey my name's Cinnamon and you sound hot. Cinnamon? Well thank you so much Cinnamon. I haven't been with you.

Cinnamon? I'm sorry I choked in a piece of string cheese. Are you eating string cheese? This is our time together. I'm paying $5 a minute to talk to you and you're coughing about... I didn't have a chance to work on my bush hair this morning. It's all wild and woolly for you. I'm so glad you're home from a rack. Am I still being charged? I was not in a rack.

Gotta play yes and when talking to the sex line operator. You know what? Let me speak to your manager. Hey it's Ralph Cinnamon. You know I'm not jerking off yet. Ralph Cinnamon hasn't made me come yet. I'm just jacking off for fun. It's like my number one fucking mouth whore. Number one mouth whore? Yeah, yeah, yeah. His name is Henry. He comes from Queens.

His? Oh no. Yeah, hey. My name's not Henry. It's Cinnamon. Well you sound like a Henry now. And if that story and that situation isn't scary enough. Today we're gonna be really getting into some scary things. I've got them.

Alright, today we're gonna be discussing some creepypasta and some real life whore. We were going to do, this is sort of, I suppose, an impromptu episode. Because normally we bring you episodes that are meticulously over days researched. Which is true. And yesterday I was a bit busy at a television taping. Jermaine Fowler filmed his first stand-up set, which is very exciting. Good for him. But the boys were really good.

The boys were doing quite a bit of research on the Mexican drug cartels. Don't even. Well I'm not mentioning any names. So we did. We were about four days into research of what is, I'm gonna say, a couple of very dangerous organizations. Right. They're working below the border. And it's more like eight to twelve very dangerous organizations.

We were gonna pick four. But then we're just gonna say that they, upon our research as normally happens, kind of like, you know, Deer Zachary. A lot of times our research will actually change what we're gonna do. Of course you're referencing the documentary Deer Zachary. Yeah, where that baby died. Yes, the baby did die. I don't even know if you need to. Spoiler alert.

Maybe you shouldn't work in a funeral home. Maybe he's ass is grass. No, you're all gonna need a tiny one because that's a tiny corpse. Oh, I guess that's why it's called insensitivity. But we discovered it. This is a Browski funeral home. It's at certain members of the Mexican drug cartel, namely, which is probably the most dangerous of all. We're not gonna name any names.

Yes. Let's just call them the Reca Reca. Yeah, I like that. They are very much so involved on Twitter and Facebook. Yes. And have killed people that have made fun of them on Twitter and Facebook. And people who don't post funny memes and unfunny memes you might find your head in the box. As much as we are brave, you know, and we, you know, we do not go gently into that good night as a group of men.

Right. I'm not getting killed this week. You don't want to this week. I got a lot of stuff coming down the pike. Right, right. It is without a doubt the most terrifying thing that I've ever researched in my entire life. And then you sent it to me and I started researching and it is, it is terrifying. I wish we, we'll try to give you some tidbits of what we learned while we researched during the day today.

So we're going to read creepypastas. Yeah, we're going to read some creepypastas. And in Mark, I mean, you can tell people if you want to on the last podcast page where they can find all the information about the cartels. We'll just do a big dope on the Facebook page. It's fascinating stuff. It's fascinating stuff. The vice, all the vice reporting on it is fucking top notch. It's great stuff, but this is not something that I'm, uh, yeah, willing to get killed over.

Well, we just don't need to get Twitter followers killed. We don't need that. That's the major problem. You know? Um, so yeah, so today, so instead what we're going to do is turn all the lights off in your house, turn all the lights off where you're working. I don't care what fucking Anne-Marie has to say. All right. I mean, Anne-Marie makes a good point though.

Fuck Anne-Marie. All right. Anne-Marie's got no one to love her. She's just, she puts it all into work when she's just sitting there getting wider and wider looking at you. Wider? You're smart. Wider. Wider.

Wider. Or wider. Fatter. Okay. We'll say fatter. But you're there. You're young. You're taught.

You're tight up top. Okay. So just turn off all the lights. And the only man who makes phone, phone sex operators come. I guess what I do. I tried. I was like, yeah, you rub your clit. And she's just like, yeah.

Because when they organize them, they make their real noise. The real voice comes out. That's it. Yeah, buddy. Yeah, buddy. Okay. Continue on. So roll up a fucking torpedo straight from fucking Mexico.

Thanks to some of our very gentle and smart businessmen down there that provide these things for us. Right. Over 70% of America's drugs, or over 90% of America's drugs comes from Mexico. And you just, I learned a lot of fun facts. We learned a lot of good facts. Right. So spark it up.

Do some cocaine. No. Cocaine, even. Yeah. And let's get creeped out by some spooky spaghetti. It's creepy pasta. It's not spooky spaghetti. It's called creepy pasta.

Spooky spaghetti. All right. Do we want to start with the creepy pasta then in Marques? If you maybe want to smatter in that real life story and things like that. Sure. All right. So who wants to start her off? I'll start off.

Absolutely. All right. After he belches in my face. All right. The bad dream. Daddy, I had a bad dream. You blink your eyes and you pull up on your elbows. Your clock goes red in the darkness.

It's 323. Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it? No, Daddy. The omniscient of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room. Why not, sweetie? Because in my dream when I told you about the dream. The thing wearing mommy's skin set up.

Oh, man. And for a moment you feel paralyzed. You can't take your eyes off your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift. And she gets up! Whoa! She's like, I got up! Whoa!

I don't like that one. That one's scary. That's just for anybody who's in a relationship. You can't trust them once you go to sleep. Is that right? Yeah, absolutely. Did we look this up last time? How many murders happen in committed relationships?

A lot of them. Most of them. The vast majority of murders. Either the drug cartels or girlfriend. She's not going to kill you. She's going to kill you in so preemptive strike. You're encouraging people to murder their girlfriend. I'm just saying be free.

Be stallions. Cut the chains. You know, not everybody needs to be kept in a stable. Well, as a man who's been single for two and a half years. Keep her. Just keep her. You don't want this. You don't want this life.

Alright. That's a creepy pasta. That's my life. See my Facebook page. You'll see all of it. This is called World War II Cannibal. In Berlin after World War II, money was short. Supplies were tight and it seemed like everyone was hungry.

Probably because they were extremely hungry. At that time people were telling the tale of a young woman who saw a blind man picking his way through a crowd. The two started to talk. The man asked her for a favor. Could she deliver the letter to the address on the envelope? Well, it was on her way home, so she agreed. Isn't that nice?

She started out to deliver the message, which she turned around to see if there was anything else the blind man needed. But she spotted him hurrying through the crowd without his smoked glasses or white cane. She went to the police who rated the address on the envelope where they found heaps and heaps and heaps of human flesh for sale. The message in the envelope said, this is the last one I'm sending you today. She's the flesh, man.

She is going to be for sale. I wonder if he was going to rape her first. Well, I don't think you, I'm just being a reporter. I'm just asking the right questions. That's kind of a fun thing though. This is why you don't help out the blind. You never help out the blind. You're just sending you to a store.

Because then you're saddled with them for 25 minutes because they're like, oh, I can't see. Oh, there's so much traffic. Oh, I can't, oh, blind. I got a stick. That's true. Fucking dumb, dumb shit. Once you start helping out a blind person,

you've got to go all the way through with it. Whatever they're doing the next 35 minutes. You're seeing I person for 45 minutes, you know? And I understand that. I imagine we have some blind people who listen to the podcast. Thank you so much. Well, they're wonderful people by definition. But I'm saying, you know, I don't know.

I don't know what you need. You need a dwarf or something to help you. If you give a mouse a cookie, that's all I'm saying. That's what I'm saying. He's going to ask for a glass of milk. A mouse isn't going to ask for a glass of milk. It's going to go lick a puddle or something. You're covered in plague mites.

Yeah, that's true. Well, either way, don't take an envelope from a blind person or he's going to send you to an apartment where you're going to be sold as human flesh. All right, this next one is called Edward Modrake. One of the weirdest as well as most melancholy stories of human deformity is that of Edward Modrake, said to have been heir to one of the noblest peerages in England.

He never claimed the title, however, and was committed in his 23rd year. He lived in complete seclusion, refusing the visits even of the members of his own family. He was a young man of fine attainments, a profound scholar, and a musician of rare ability. His figure was remarkable for its grace in his face, that is to say, his natural face.

Was that of an Antonius? But upon the back of his head was another face, that of a beautiful girl, lovely as a dream, hideous as a devil. The female face was a mere mask, occupying only a small portion of the posterior part of the skull, yet exhibiting every sign of intelligence of a malignant sort, however.

It would be seen to smile and sneer while Modrake was weeping. The eyes would follow the movements of a spectator, and the lips would glibber, and the lips would gibber without seizing. No, I think glibber was right. Gibber makes as much sense as gibber. No voice was audible, but Modrake averaged that he was kept from his rest at night

by the hateful whispers of his devil twin, as he called it, which never sleeps, but talks to me forever of such things as they only speak of in hell. No imagination can conceive the dreadful temptations it sets before me. Unforgiven wickedness of my forefathers, I am knit to this fiend, for a fiend it surely is.

I beg and beseech you to crush it out of human semblance, even if I die for it. Such were the words of the hopeless Modrake to Mamvers and Treadwell, his physicians. In spite of careful watching, he managed to procure poison, whereof he died, leaving a letter requesting that the demon face might be destroyed before his burial, lest it continues its dreadful whisperings in my grave.

At his own request, he was interred in a waste place, without stone or legend to mark his grave. See, my mom has the same will going for my dad. Isn't that nice? What do you think this devil face is saying to him? Something about corn dogs or what now? Yeah, yeah, you gotta get that, you gotta get that sriracha chicken sandwich from Subway.

Shut the fuck up already, he just got a Subway. Give me one of those. His second face. Get the tuna and the meatballs and a sub. Get that cheese bread. That'd be great if his second face started to deal with Subway. Every goddamn day.

I know what the special is today. It's the new chicken parmesan. Thank you, so much second ugly face. But that's a real story though, isn't it? Isn't there an actual case of a fellow with a face in the back of his head? That's the old thing, and that's what he said. The true story is that he turned to the doctor

and he's like, he says terrible things in the night. Which is probably just him going like, ah, cocksucker. Man, I wish I had a big old dick to suck, but I guess it would just go in your brain. That would be all. It just sounds like the monster from basket cases. What do you want?

Tony Clifton screaming in the background. If you want to call me baby, just throw a head down. I can tell you baby, just go ahead and if you... We should never go into that sock hop. Go ahead and if you... I can tell you all about us. What is it? That's Jim Blossom's thing.

That is a face of fate worse than hell, the second face of the back of your head. The same name of the people that make us totally fine with their continuing war in Afghanistan. That's been doctors, that is true. Alright, let me read one more, let me read another one. My sleeping wife. My sleeping wife! Is this a Henny Youngman bit? Take my sleeping wife, please.

I pull into the driveway from another late night. I enter the house to find all the lights are out, as usual. My wife must already be in bed and asleep. It's late and I'm tired. So I figure to my as well just go to bed too. I like to. This guy is really living a life here. I understand this guy.

I don't even bother turning on the lights anymore. I could navigate my way through this house blind. Besides I don't want to wake the wife. The bedroom door creaks as it opens and as I inch my way to the side of the bed and I crawl in I move close to my wife and wrap my arm around her. I know she's asleep. I somehow feel her embrace me as I hold her and I slowly drift asleep. With the love of my life asleep in my arms.

Who really doesn't sound like her. I slowly begin to wake up when I find my love is no longer in my arms or in bed for that matter. I open my eyes to see her entire side of the bed is covered in dried, crusty blood. I panic and look to the door to see bloody footprints and trips of blood leading out of the room. I frantically get up to follow the footprints and search for my wife. As I approach the door I decide to take one last look at the room.

As I turn around I see my once beautiful wife sliced open and mutilated. Nailed to the wall behind my bed. Beside her painted in her blood across the wall were the words thank you. Thank you for holding me but maybe next time you should turn a light on when you come in. Woo! That one actually scares me. My wife. My wife.

That one actually got me though. My wife. My wife. Take my wife. Take my wife. Don't. Don't. Take my wife.

Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't, that one really scares me so the whole night he was just cuddling the killer. Yeah but if it was you you would've murdered him. Yeah. So that guy.

I mean, yeah. Oh, I mean, a Ben Gelata. But I kinda like killed this. It's called the Ben Rito, that's what happens when you cuddle with this big guy. Ben Rito. Everyone don't make that face. Don't make those noises. People love it.

They can't get enough of it. All right, this one's called hearing aid, I'm going to do all the disability ones. It's a little bit longer though. It's a little long for me. So hang in there on an early dim morning and an elderly woman rested her hand atop a gravestone. Henry Blackwood 1938 to 2004. I love it. Is that troubadour sending us the king's news? He's got rickets. The king that is. Alright, so the gravestone said, Henry Blackwood, my kids are gonna have such a terrible time with children's stories. You know? Yeah, you're not gonna do any of the voices. You're just gonna burn through them trying to eat time. And Cinderella said she wanted to go to the god damn ball

because a bunch of hot slots were there. How many times I had to hear it over and over and I don't want to go to the ball. I don't want to go to the ball. What happens, Daddy? What happens, Daddy? Her fucking foot was too small, lost a shoe. And that's what happens when you lose too much weight, which is a lesson your mother must learn. No kidding, huh? Put her skin on a foreman. Alright, so this old chico, she's hanging out at a grave site there. She put her head on the gravestone. Henry Blackwood 1938 to 2004. She rested flowers on it and wept something she didn't usually do. She always made sure to bring something for of Henry's when she made her, when she made her annual visit to his grave. Her memory wasn't what it used to be and her

brain needed to, needed help to get it jogged. Henry and jogged. You don't see those words there too often in a sentence. She brought something he hated, his hearing aids. She remembered wispily how he would never use them. Always insisted. I like being deaf. God damn it, Martha. Don't you dare bring me those aids again. I love not hearing you. That's pretty much what that sentence means. So we'll let it slide. Now all she wanted was his return to her loving embrace. Oh Henry, she felt her knees and looked to the sky. How I wish you'd come back to me. Up in the sky and through her blurred, blurred, blurred teary vision, she saw a red star. It was faint, but she heard a malignant chuckle and a star flash to imagine that it disappeared with the,

with the raising sun. She wiped away her tears. Strange. It was, it was, was it a product of her imagination? She stood up and surveyed the area but saw nothing. It seemed like the moment was merely nothing but old, senile, womanly mood swings. You know those as she smiled at her silly old self. A question came to her that felt like part of a dark realization. Could the battery and the hearing aids still work? She attached it to her best year and to her best year. I mean, attached to the week one. We're going to get that as we get older. Yeah, I know, but I mean, it's a hearing aid. Put it in the week. Yeah, but you kind of want to, I mean, I, I've got a best year right now. All right, I do. Yeah. Weird. Well, either way, this chick just attached a hearing

aid to hers. She could hear the rustling of crow feathers in a nearby tree. Probably still worked due to her husband's lack of commitment to use it. Then she swallowed hard. She rested her ear on the ground. Still fucking on his ass. She still yell at this guy. Then swallowing hard, she rested her ear on the gravestone above his grave. Her mouth dropped in horror. She heard scratching shuffling and a familiar voice bellowing a horrified scream. Henry, what's that scream sound like? Like an English siren? Is the orphanage burning down again? That's the thing. That's hearing aid. That's great. That is great story. It's great story. Spaghetti. This next one's for all you basement dwellers out there. Hey, that's me. This one's going right out there. Right

after me, huh? Footsteps aren't an uncommon thing to hear when you're sitting in a basement. So I think nothing of it when I hear quiet thuds coming from my upstairs hallway. I just assume it's my brother and can you continue doing whatever pointless little thing I was doing at the time? What, like jerking off? Why are you pointing at Henry? Pointless little thing that you're doing and he just points right to Henry. Am I the pointless thing? Talking to my friend Henry. I guess I'm just not here, you know. Yeah, I heard them too. I heard those. I heard that steps upstairs. They go on for another couple minutes and I'm starting to get pissed off. They keep getting louder and louder and I sigh, wondering what the hell my brother's doing this late at

night. I sit there because it's impossible to focus with the racket. I mean, it sounds like someone's power walking all over my main floor. What's he focusing on? Playing fucking Call of Duty or some dumb shit? He's playing League of Legends. All right. Yeah, he's a basement dweller walking all over the main floor. I can just picture a bunch of grannies with sweatpants jacked up to their belly button. They're ghosts. They'll cover them blood. Killed power working. Where are you granny? I sit there and listen as the thumps get faster and wilder. They just keep moving, almost starting to form a rhythm. They move even faster and get even wilder and they're thumping all over my main floor. I realize that whatever this is, it can't be human. No human

can move like that. What the fuck? I finally yell. And after that, all the noises stop. Everything is quiet. Everything is quiet for a moment. And then I hear calm, slow footsteps moving to my basement door. The door is pushed open and the footsteps stop again. I listen to my breathing for the next three minutes, then sigh, thinking it's over. Turns out something else was listening too. Suddenly I hear it thudding down the stairs and I knock my chair over in my haste to stand up. I start to run towards the nearest closet just in time to see a grotesque, hairless, four legged creature dancing towards me, tapping its swollen feet in an intoxicating rhythm. I dive into the closet and slap the door shut. There's a half second pause and then I hear

that same rhythm on the door. It just keeps going and going with no pause. No rest, no relief. He's been at it for hours now. And I find myself tapping my fingers along with this song. But then, just as suddenly as it began, it ends. I wait for a few moments, then look out. He's gone. I flip on a light and fall into a chair. It's safe. I relax and think for a few moments. But then I notice my foot tapping. Maybe this song isn't so bad. I almost like it like it enough to dance to it. So I drop down on my hands and feet and I start. And I'll never rent a room from the McNeelys again. Of course, he's referencing Holden McNeely from the round table of gentlemen. That was kind of creepy. I like that. But I mean, there's something about like four legged creature dancing towards

me, tapping its swollen feet. This is how Mormons get their children not to go to sock hops and things like that. Honestly, though, but the visual would be really scary. Imagine like a horse with no head like just move. It's going like a dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk, which is awesome. Yeah, the character from Confederacy of Dunces Ignatius. I just picture this guy like Ignatius, though. He stood up swiftly, but he's just like, Oh, knocks over his chair. Cheetos everywhere. Infernal rumbling is disturbing my study. All right, I'm going to read one. Another one. This is a quiet one. Oh, okay. Under the covers. So this will help if you're laying down in bed. You know, if you're laying in bed, you're wearing your negligee. All right, negligee off them work boots. Why are they

having them? I'm just setting a picture. A construction worker in a negligee. That's what I got. Whoever's got to just lay down in bed for this one. Tonight's like every other night. You lay there in the dark and silence alone with no company other than your thoughts. Well, that's just kind of me now. It's just you. This is it's not called Ben is under the cover. You shift and roll throughout your bed. Just you and your thoughts like Ben, like Ben Kissel. You ponder you plan any fantasies. Anything to distract you from the ringing silence silence that surrounds you. You're a creek. It's a common sound to hear on such a still night. But you throw a coil when the sound hits your ears. You hear the sound almost every

night. But the sheer unexpectedness sets off a trigger in your head as paranoia takes over. The thoughts that once illuminated your mind are now darkened. What once was pleasure and success has now turned to demons and killers. The silence that your mind was distracting you from and has now become the focus. You lay there silent, listening for any obscure sound, hoping that the silent doesn't leave. Every little noise adds to your paranoia. The silence lingers as you wait till the next unexpected occurrence. You're too afraid to open your eyes at the thought of seeing anything your mind can conjure. You lay there alone in fear. The fear builds in your mind as you try to find a quick escape from anything it creates. You revert to your childhood solution,

hiding under the covers. You'll pull the blanket over your head and lay in silence. You hear noises, but they don't seem as scary. You figure if they can't see you, you're safe. The heat builds up under your blanket and you put up with it simply for the comfort it supplies. This is a hot box. A Dutch oven situation. Yes, it's fart gas. You're cyclone being yourself with your own fart gas. Thank you. You begin to calm down and relax and revert back to your usual logical self, Ben. It's just you and your thoughts again alone, alone, alone, alone, under your blanket. You think of how silly it was to get so scared and worked up over a silly little noise. Eyes closed. You lift the blanket off your face as the built up heat is released and the fart moves to the bedroom.

You breathe a sigh of relief and rollover only to hear a deep, grating voice whisper, oh, there you are. As the sound of footsteps creeps towards your bed. I mean, this is a true toot story. The Henry Zabrowski toot story at least once a week after some Thai food. Oh, I farted myself out of bed. But I've never farted myself awake. I will say my brain keeps that for people around me. That's very nice. Yeah, you were was it you that was on the plane with Celo. Yes. And Celo, of course, he was the judge of the boys. Yeah. Yeah, it was very funny. It was very funny. And Celo in real life is about like what 411. Yeah, he's very tiny, but fat. He's tiny, but he's tiny, but big, like me little cannonball. Yeah, he farted himself awake. He's like

blueberry. He's like violent bow or car. That's great. That's great. So don't fart in bed, everyone, or it's going to create a demon that's going to come back and eat your soul. Alright, this is called amputation. So so far, I've discussed some blind man story. And then we had a hearing aid story. And now this will be my final one. And this is called amputation. During the war, so Rapunzel, huh? She has some long fucking hair, didn't she? What? I should do a whole whole series on fairy tales. It'd be great. A series? Yeah, like where you just read the fairy like an audio book. Yeah, you'll be real quick. Yeah, yeah, it's called you have Ben Kessel putters his way through the fairy tales. Yeah, that's going to be really, really popular. People are going to like

it. Alright, so here we go with this one. This is this one's called amputation. During the war, a soldier faithfully wrote his mother every week. So she would know he was all right. Until one week, she didn't get a letter and was immediately worried. Within a couple of weeks, she got a letter from the army saying that her son had been captured and was being held in a prison war camp. This is not a good letter to get. And they assured her that they had no reason to believe the American prisoners were being mistreated in any way. Which I mean, yeah, they were. It's a prison war camp. A few weeks later, the woman finally received another letter from her son. It read, Dear mom, try not to worry about me. They are treating us well and I'll be released as soon

as the war is over. Make sure that little Teddy gets the stamp of his collection gets this stamp for his collection. Love you, Joe. Love you, Joe. The woman was overjoyed to hear the news, but was confused because she had no idea who little Teddy was. She decided to steam the stamp from the envelope and have a look. When she did, she saw that written on the back of the stamp are the words, They've cut off my legs. They've cut off my legs. They've cut off my legs. They've cut off my legs. Yeah, that's, that is creepy. So that one actually give me a little bit of a shiver. That is really creepy. On the back of a stamp. If only we just had someone with like enthusiasm to sell the story. All right. Very creepy. You're during the war. A soldier fucking. No, that was good. I

nailed that end. They caught a cut off my legs. Hey, where are they in a dumpster somewhere? Some kids playing with them like they're new toys. You know what? Actually, you would be amazing at giving bad news in a hospital. Your son's gonna live, but he's gay. He's gay. How can you tell? I'll see you in the concession stand. I gotta go get some fucking hot now. All right, this next one is of a genre that we haven't really, a genre of creepypasta that we, we've kind of neglected. Yes. The genre of video game creepypasta. Okay. A lot of them, the vast majority of them have to do with strangely enough Sonic the Hedgehog. Sonic the Hedgehog. Pokemon is a big one, but since I know nothing about Pokemon, isn't it with, there's like lizards and orbs. People love Pokemon. Yeah, that's

what that is. It's like Pokemon black or something. I don't know. What does that mean? But there's, there's children in it. There's children in it. They have orb prisons that have lizards in them, and then they try to, they try to, they throw them at each other. Yeah. Okay, adults play this game now. Pokemon. Yeah, they've grown with it. I've seen like 30, 40 year old men playing Pokemon. Yeah, I just, I mean, I don't know what to say about that. Miss that boat. Thank God. That's a boat. I didn't notice a stinky fucking slush slushy ridden boat that I don't need to be. It's a nearly boat. It is. It's your mom trying not to worry about me. You know, trying to try to get a mulligan. I thought I really nailed that one. But I didn't want to read anything from a video game that I

didn't know a whole lot about, but I did find one from one of my favorite video games from childhood. Doom. Oh, I love doom. Yeah. This one is called repercussions of evil. John Stalvern waited. The lights above him blinked and sparked out of the air. There were demons in the base. He didn't see them, but had expected them now for years. His warnings to Colonel Josen were not listened to. And now it was too late. Far too late for now anyway. John was a space marine for 14 years. When he was young, he watched the spaceships and he said to dad, I want to be on the ships, daddy. Dad said, no, you will be killed by demons. Good dad. There was a time when he believed him. Then as he got older, he stopped. But now in the space station base of the UAC, he knew there

were demons. This is Josen, the radio cracker. You must fight the demons. So John got me to do like that. Is that good? So just so John got at his plasma rifle and blew up the wall. He's going to kill us, said the demons. I will shoot at him, said the cyber demon, and he fired the rocket missiles. John plasmaed at him and tried to blow him up. But then the ceiling fell and they were trapped and not able to kill. No, I must kill the demons. He shouted. The radio said, no, John, you are the demons. What? And then John was a zombie. No. Nerd alert, nerd alert, nerd alert. You're hunting and you're making out when the phone rings and you answer the voices. What are you doing with my daughter? You tell your girl and she say my dad is dead. Who was phone? Who was

phone? They have cut off my legs. Everything's doing fine over here. Vietnam cut off my legs. All right, let's see here. Henry, do you have another one or should we do a should we do a true life story? Let's do a true life one right now. Yeah. Yeah, this is a guy that I just found out about the stories a couple years old, but it's new to me. Russian police have arrested a man described by local media as the cemetery collector for digging up 29 corpses and dressing the remains in female clothing to display around his apartment. I like it though. I mean, in the end, you're just you got to make it's all about building your own family these days. It is. And you know, I honestly, I don't know what it is about people that dig up graves and dress up corpses. I really have no

problem with it. It's just human bone. It's fine. Thank you. It's kind of I really don't it's not that bad. If I am dead, I would prefer to be sitting on somebody's rock and share watching old episodes of cheers and a bonnet. On behalf of me, on behalf of my people, we appreciate your understanding of your people, the bone collectors, the bone collectors. Okay, that's good. Are we just dorks? No, I'm still I'm aware fucking nerds. I don't know. I go to the clubs. You know, I'm always around. People always feel like who's that guy? What's he? What's the clubs? Yeah. Yeah, I'll have you know that I am now on my second read through of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. Norrell. And if that's not cool, I don't know what is. Well, I will say that is so much better.

And I'm going to put it out there because Harry Potter's dumb. All right. It's dumb and stupid and Dumbledore isn't real. I like that one. I like that. That's non gay magic. Yeah. What's gay magic? It's dad. Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. That's like cool magic. That's cool magic. Super cool. Yeah. Harry Potter is like dumb magic. Oh, I've got a wand. I've got a scar in my head. Like I'm a boy. Like I'm a boy. Jonathan Strange don't need no wand. Yeah, he's a man. He's not a boy. Do I have to call another nerd alert? Because this is getting sad, guys. I'm a cool hip young man. Do you want to know about the man with the thistle down hair? Oh, you dance forever in his parties. Oh, no. Stephen Black has been taken into his

You know what's really weird is that I am not really creeped out by a guy who just dresses up bodies in his house. No, it's not that creepy. There's just other things that are creepier than that. You just get people. I feel like it happens a lot more often than than we used to. God, yes. It used to happen extremely regularly. Yeah, grainy police video images of the man's cramped flat showed what looked like several life-sized female dolls without faces, some with platinum blonde wigs. Cool. I don't like this guy. Living like a man. It was diamonds over girls, best friend. And skulls are this guy. And he's just dancing back and forth like listening to the old Carol Channing records. Exactly. But now he wasn't accused of murder or anything like that. He's

just just grave robbing. It was ascertained that he used mummified human bodies from graves to make them the dolls. Police describe the man who was arrested following the desecration of graves in the area as a local historian and an expert in the study of place names. Media cited friends as saying they had never seen the dolls and that he was a learned if eccentric man. I've been eccentric. I would say eccentric for sure. I'm sorry about what I did. I guess I was just too involved in reading my books. Yeah. I have to do it. Much like Mr. Norrell. They asked me to do it. You don't understand. I walked by the graveyard and they're like, yeah, put a urinate in. And it's like, I had to do something.

Put me in a wig. I prefer platinum blonde. I mean, I just took them out and I just left them as is, but they begged them for me to make them dresses. No, I know. And of course they did like little American dolls. And combing their wits puts me to sleep. Yeah, why wouldn't it? That makes a lot of sense. Did he fuck these corpses at all? No, no, no. He just dressed them up and placed them around. Do you want to see him? Yeah, of course. Yeah, look, let's see. Oh, they're not bad. Yeah, we'll post this on the last podcast Facebook group. She looks warm. You guys out there, if you haven't joined the last podcast on the left Facebook group fucking come on out, man. Like, we've got, we've got like fucking 600 members now and people are posting fucking awesome,

creepy shit every single day. Yeah, I got a great message on Facebook from that fellow who was number 600 and he didn't even know about it. So that was sad. I thought that everybody knew about it. So the Facebook last podcast page, it's great. That's where we're going. Everybody, we're mingling over there. Yeah. And we read everything every day. Like, and people post great shit. No, I discover shit from there all the time because people post amazing, like a lot of like fun and funny stuff. And then also like, let's get some creepy stuff on there. There's some creepy stuff on there. But yes, absolutely. Can we share another story? Read another story. Please come. What's called please come. It's like C U M or C O M E. That's

C O M E. But you can always make it sound like C. You can do whatever you want. Yeah, sure. A 15 year old boy in a small town in Maryland sat down at his computer after getting home from school one day. Please come. Oh, no. He turned on and logged into his instant messaging program and was in surprise to receive a message from a classmate of his who had been absent that day. Did he sign into grugal, his instant messaging program? That's funny. That is funny. They could just use the name. Grugal. Grugal. It consisted of the two words. Please come. Confused. The boy sent a reply asking, why had you been absent that day? After two or more messages and 15 minutes with no response, he decided to get on his bike and head over to his classmates house.

Like we all used to do. It was very, it's a primitive kid here. It was a short ride of only about five minutes. When he got to the house, he found the door was unlocked. Inside partially dried blood was splattered all over the walls and doors and an unrecognizable figure was crumpled against the far wall. It was missing an arm and a leg and bloody streaks in the floor led away from the body into the kitchen. The boy slammed the door closed and immediately called 911 on his cell phone. When the police arrived, they found three corpses as well as tracks leading away from the house from the back door. The forensics report concluded the entire family, the boy's classmates and his parents had been killed sometime the previous night. That's it. Please come. Please

come. Yeah, he wanted to come. So then the police just showed up and discovered that you want a short one then? Oh, sure. I'll do a short one. But that was the whole story. The police just showed up and they're like, yeah, three people got killed. Yeah, I mean the kid and he wasn't killed. No boy wasn't killed. So the boy killed everybody else. Did they cut off his legs or anything? No, no, no. Was he blind? No. That's why you didn't read the story. Well, I see. I see. All right. Well, I got one. Marcus is Marcus is feeding me only the goods. This one's called in the kitchen. Hmm. My favorite place to be. This one's for you, Ben. Thank you. All right. In this situation, I'm really gonna amp it up. I hope this person doesn't have their

legs cut off. A young girl is playing in her bedroom. How else do you do it? You know, with suspense? All right. All right. A young girl is playing. All right. All right. All right. All right. So anyway, we know this girl is playing in her fucking room. Okay. And then she hears her mother call from the kitchen, which that happens. And then she runs downstairs to meet her mother who is in the kitchen. Okay. And that's that. That's okay. And she's running through the hallway. The door to the cupboard under the stairs opens and a hand reaches out and pulls her in. It's her mother. She whispers to her child. Don't go into the kitchen. I heard it too. Whoa. That one's scary though. Yeah. Yeah. So basically to summarize, young girl hears her

mother calling in the kitchen, right? Runs through the goddamn hallway. Mom grabs her, throws her into the fucking closet. And she's just like, I fucking heard that you too. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I like it. Good. Boiled down. I'm gonna do so many boil downs. This one's called sleeping pills. In the fall of 2011, a man hung himself in a bottling factory of a popular over the counter sleep aid company just outside Chicago. Let's call it hand being. Let's call the ambient that tastes like ham. The man worked as a quality control manager and had just been laid off to save the company money. Corporate fat. In the morning, the cleaning crew found him swaying in the breeze from the air conditioning system with a note in his breast pocket that read,

sleep tight. Over the next few months, a string of strange deaths were associated with areas where the sleep aids from the factory were shipped. Seemingly healthy people had died in their sleep from apparent strangulation. All of the victims had severe bruising on their throats. Oddly, police were unable to ascertain how the murderer entered the victim's home or a possible motive for the murder. Further, vivid reports began coming in from people who had taken the pills, but not died. One lady reported taking the pill. And right before she fell asleep, she opened her eyes and a bald middle aged man wearing a short sleeve white collared shirt was hovering just above her face. She closed her eyes, hoping the man would disappear.

But when she opened her eyes, he was there inches from her face. She even recalls feeling the man's breath on her forehead. He then began strangling her. Luckily for her, her husband noticed her gasping for air in her sleep and quickly woke her. Another man recalls falling asleep after taking the pills. He awoke to the figure of a man swaying in the corner of his room. He turned on the light next to his bed and saw the man with better accuracy. He was a bald middle aged man wearing a short sleeve white collared shirt. The bald man then removed the noose from his neck and reportedly floated towards the man attempting to strangle him. Again, it was the man's spouse who woke him. He awoke gasping for air and sheer terror. The FDA did a full investigation and found

no evidence of tampering. Even after a recall of the pills and a public awareness campaign warning of possible tampering, the deaths and the reports of the bald man didn't stop. It was only when the company shut down the factory that the deaths and reports decreased. It is unknown how many deaths were the result of the apparent tampering or how many of the pills from that factory are still sitting in cabinets across the country. And that's what happened to Detroit, you know? That's what happened with Michigan. It's sad. It's what happened in the South Side of Chicago. It's just the perfect example. They shut down the ambient factory and it all goes to shit. Hambien. I did want you to put a little, I'm Henry. Welcome to Hambien. I'm making you a sandwich.

No, but I feel like those are very much a story of just all American corporate society and the murderers it creates. Oh, yeah. Yeah, it's like our poster workers episode. Yes, it is. Go in postal and watch that documentary on Netflix. It's great. I like the idea of hanging yourself in the business that just fired you. I'd love to do that. You know, I wish you could come back so you could see the faces and everyone's, you know, Pamela's like sweeping up the urine that you, you know, I don't know how many companies that said no to us, you know, or any of us at a point, like, I just really do have the fantasy of just sort of like dumping gasoline all over the lobby and just like set myself on fire as the whole building goes down. Don't do it. Listeners. I mean, listen,

I know he's not going to do it. Listeners are going to do it. We have more episodes to come out with the sweet, sweet click clack of the AK just going to click a gun going into the well now you're getting scared looking down the scope and you just see all your problems on the other end of that scope. And it's like an itch, right? It's like your finger itches. And every single time you pull the trigger, it's like you're it's like you're scratching an itch. You know, an itch that keeps you fucking awake at night all night long and you think, man, what will I do? And you keep putting creams all over your finger to try to stop the fucking itch. But some reason it doesn't go away until you pull that sweet, sweet trigger. Well, that was actually read by

Henry Zabrowski. That was a creepypasta. It was a wonderful creepypasta. Yes. Who was phone? Marcus, can you read who was phone? Disgusting rant. That I'm not saying it's a good far too accurate. I mean, it happens every week in America. Somebody has that exact thought process and then they're just going. So you're with your honey and you're making out when the bone rings, you answer it, and the voice is, what are you doing with my daughter? You tell your girl. And she said, my dad is dead. Then who was phone? You know what? Now, more and more, I hear about it. I'm really starting to wonder who was phone. I'm kind of like obsessed with who was phone. Who was phone? Who was phone? If you think about it, okay. So with your, you're with your girlfriend. Let's break this down. You have

your girlfriend. You're with your girlfriend. And you're making out. You're like, where was the brooder? Yeah, maybe. Maybe your uncle. Maybe it was her, but it's her daughter. I mean, technically, stepfather, stepfather. It's tough. It's just maybe the only thing coming stepfather. It's just one of the largest mysteries on the internet. And I don't know if we're ever going to figure out who was phone. Then who was phone? I don't even know. I don't even know anymore. I don't think I have any stories. I think we're all done with stories, actually. Yeah, I think so, man. I think we're going to park her. So I think, you know, a good thing to remember is that, hey, let's say, if you're going to want to, if you want to join a certain unnamed organization down in Mexico,

the first thing you have to do is have, you know, no fear of committing murder. Oh, you definitely can't. There's a lot of the initiations that they're going to do is that you're 12 years old and they hand you a gun and they have somebody they're not very, you know, they have somebody that they're not particularly a fan of, you know, tied to a, you know, cement. Well, I mean, what's the term pillar is some sort of parking lot, you know, and then you're going to be 12 and you're going to have to put this guy out of his misery. And then maybe later on down the line, you're going to get Harlequin tattoos in jail because it makes you scarier, I guess. Well, I remember of the insane clown posse fan base. Yeah, either way. But you know, this is how prominent these

murders are in Mexico, just to add from the round table of gentlemen. He worked in many restaurants throughout his life. And he'll just tell me stories that are just told to him by Mexican fellows. There's one story where there was a drug dealer, son of a drug lord, he was a total asshole, he ran the town, he was collecting too much loot for too long, opens up the door one day, looking for some money, dude shoots them. But instead of like Barry in the body of this asshole, they just take him out to the middle of the street, let his body rot and dogs just eat the inside of his corpse. And like, it was literally just all week, you know, just two weeks, three weeks, however long it took for dogs to consume his body. That was just happening in

that town that week. Absolutely. And there was another story they said that this guy's like, Yeah, I knew this guy. He used to eat hearts to make him to make himself scarier. He would kill people and then eat the hearts. And there was the other story about the man who would just drink the blood after he would kill people in order to instill fear, which works. He would kill people and then wrap them up in yellow ribbon. That was his thing, like a big present. And he would dump them on the steps of their homes where their families were to show everybody a lesson or wrapping them up in a tiger print fabric because he owned a flag and of like seven tigers. And then that's what he does. Don't they know? Don't they know it's Christmas? And then there's the guy who used

to make stew out of... Guiso. Yeah, Guiso. And there was the other guy who used to stuff people in the oil drums, pour gasoline in them and then set the guys on fire while they were still alive. Yeah, you know, there's lots of different stories out there, you know. Oh, man. It's tough to choose which one you want to have happen. I think something like 60,000 deaths since 2006. So insane. They're not afraid to kill Americans. Full time. We're definitely not. Definitely not afraid to kill Americans. Almost want to. Almost is looking for an excuse. Looking for any chance to do it. Well, we're not going to give them that chance, nor excuse. No, because you can't find me. Yeah, and in fact, it's not like I work for television and it's easy to find me, you know.

We're underground. We're not going to be public figures. Let's all say a prayer to Santa Muerte. Santa Muerte, St. Death. The only one that really works. And there's also Jesus Malverde, the patron saint of drug dealers. The patron saint of drug dealers that they go and they have bullets blessed by in order to make sure that they fire straight and true. Yeah, the shit that they show on Breaking Bad. Tame. Tame. Very tame, watered down version of what the cartels actually do. You just go ahead and research it yourself. Just do it yourself. Oh, right. You are going to go ahead and you're going to go out there. And I'm going to do a bit. Can I do a bit of a plug? Can people please watch the Murder Fist videos on YouTube? Yeah.

That was sad. Watch the videos. That was just a sad plug. We need people to watch the videos. What is the telethon? Just go to YouTube. Look at Murder Fist. Tell Jerry Lewis about it. We're going to click. We'll cure muscle or dystrophy. Dystrophy. Dystrophy. Yeah, go check out Free Cable Blowjob. That's my favorite. I like it. I like shit popsicle as well. Yeah, shit popsicle is also great. Well, that concludes the saddest 45 seconds that this episode podcast has ever seen or heard. If I may do a plug as well, if you're in the New York City area, the cowmen, the band in which I'm a part of with Holden McNeely, we're playing this Saturday at Matchless, 8 p.m. in Brooklyn with Mom Holler. It's going to be a fucking great show. It's going to be a

very good show. Come on out. Come on to the show. Thursday, dog shit. Legion bar. There's no reason why we should do that. No, I know. I just feel like if you're in the Brooklyn area or in Manhattan or in the New York area, come to a Legion bar tomorrow night, Thursday evening. And Henry will be there with Murder Fist and Marcus sometimes shows up if he's not boink in his girlfriend. I got a rehearsal on Thursday. What I will also say is lock your doors because people case you for stalking and rape you. Yes, they do because we literally just had a friend whose house was robbed. He just moved into his house out here in Queens. Yeah, but he wasn't stuffed and raped. But it's no, it is just because he was a man. He was using, you know, he's just a man. People

case you all the time. They're looking for any vulnerability that you have. Lock your doors. And the next last podcast on the live live show is on December 28th. At 10 p.m. here at the Creek of the Cave, 1093 Jackson Avenue. All right. Well, that's good. We wrapped that up. You really nailed it. We really just put a big bow on that one. Hail Satan. Hail Satan, everybody. Hail Satan. Check out the Facebook. Yes. Check out the Facebook page. Hail yourselves. Magus Dalatians. Magus Dalatians. Hail Maids.