Last Podcast On The Left - Episode 373: Creepypasta XIV - Oh Yeah I Like This

Episode Date: July 13, 2019

On this, the fourteenth part of our Creepypasta series, we cover stories of deception, woe, human experimentation, and the love shared between a woman and a cryptid atop the Sears Tower.

There's no place to escape to. This is the last talk. On the left. That's when the cannibalism started. What was that? You know, there's a lot to be scared of right now. There is. You know, and there's a lot of people that come to us and say Oh Henry, can you entertain me in this time and night? How many times people go, oh no pay, give me a bit of a pinch, a pinch for goose. We have a big newsy audience. What's going on? We do, but today we're going to do the very opposite. You're coming to us for humor and entertainment and edutainment. Right.

In fact, you're going to get more bone-chilling tales to take to your family. Once they're done being scared by the news, then they can go and be scared again by comedians. Isn't that wonderful. Welcome to the last podcast on the left everyone. I am Ben Gissel. I'm staring at the beautiful face of Marcus Parks. I bet. Hello Marcus, and we got Henry Zabrowski over there in beautiful, not having an earthquake currently, Los Angeles. It's fine. It's relatively stable physically, but Los Angeles will never be stable emotionally. Of course.

I'm going to say the scariest thing about Creepypastas. First of all, I believe this is Creepypasta 14. I think it's 14. This is the 14th spooky spaghetti we've done. By the way, that's what we're doing. We're doing spooky spaghetti today everyone. Yeah, so our pastas today grew its first pube. Oh, not if it was me. Did it grow your first pube until 14? No, I was covered with hair when I was 10 years old.

Really? I had full bush. But it was like clear. It was like, it was weird. It was like full of hair, but it was like a bunch of fishing wire. Oh, like glass noodles. Yeah. Of course it was. I was a late bloomer, late bloomer. Yeah, so maybe 14, something like that.

Sure, sure. Yeah, but then the bloom happened all at once, didn't it? The bloomin' onion. That's why I had to go to the doctor. I just described it as a bloomin' onion. He's like, you are riddled with STDs. I'm just joking. STD-free. Are you? Yeah, of course. I've never had an STD in my life. Great. That's wonderful. I think that's wonderful.

No problem. I think the scariest part about Creepypastas might be, at this point, the decline of Creepypastas. Of the actual skill involved in Creepypastas. Because back in the day when we first started doing Creepypastas episodes, when was this? 10 years ago? Oh my goodness. Yeah, a long time ago. It used to be, I guess it would be fresh, because you remember classics? You remember Who Was Phone? You remember the classics? But that was horribly written.

No, but it had the energy of Love Me Do. I mean, we're now, we're deep into the prog rock era of Creepypastas. I think everyone is doing great out there, and yes, there might be more misspellings than previously, but what are words, and why? This is what I used to tell my spelling teacher. Who said it should be spelled that way? Agreed upon. We all agreed upon how words are spelled. I never agreed that the word weird should be W-E-I-R-D. It should be W-E-E-E-R-D. Why not? Weird.

Because weird. You tell me how that's different. You tell me if we lived in a world where you grew up and it was W-E-E-R-D, how that would be weird. It would be it. It's weird. Now, it's because we can't shake the original context of words. That's what's really difficult. That's what's weird. Okay, Bill O'Reilly 1 and Bill O'Reilly 2. I'm putting on my progress cap and saying words could be however you want to spell them. No! Just think about Esperanto.

I don't know. I have no idea. Is Esperanto not good? I know one presidential candidate did lose his entire campaign based on Esperanto. What the hell is Esperanto? It was supposed to be like an international language that everyone could speak Esperanto. Where English kind of became more of the international language, but Esperanto was going to be the language that everybody spoke. Because it was more efficient to learn a new fake thing. But today, again, what is scarier than having one symbol gaff destroy your political career?

You remember the Howard Dean scream? Very sad. Very sad. I think he committed suicide. Is he dead? Is Howard Dean dead? He's a shit. He's still a doctor. He's a doctor.

He's a doctor. But today, we're going to do the scary thing. We're going to dip our fucking big, thick Italian hands down into some big freaky fajol. Have you ever had a nice fajol? I don't really know what a fujol is. Fajol? Fajol. It's kind of like a minestrone, but it's more of a stew.

And you got like a big, chunky vegetables and little tubular, like little little pastoles in it. And you go and you mix it up and mama with her bosoms hanging over the top. And you see there, her breasts have been sort of wet by the steam of the sauce. And she's a stirrer, and she's a stirrer, and she's a stirrer. But what if she put up a spoon and find a skull in there? It would not be the most spooky thing in the world. My family. That would be spooky.

And I know your mother, and I know for a fact that is a image you have seared into your mind. Your mother cooking noodles as the steam. Wet her shirt slowly. Also, now I can't stop thinking of Howard Dean just doing the scream like when he's giving him my physical. Just looking at how clotted your knees are and going, I will have you know this. The doctor said my legs weren't the worst he's ever seen. I swear to God.

That is great. That is great. Wow. So we're going to do today, again, creepypasta. Gonna get a little scary. I don't want you to be too alarmed, ma'am. Oh, but oh, I can see how excited you've become. But ma'am, please, listen to these tales of woe from these three men of the book.

So what we're going to do here is you're going to go and get some of that spicy fucking. I don't know, man. In LA you can go to the fucking Mac store weed store, dude. Where you go to this place where it's just a bunch of glass cubes. Each weed is like, it's all got like fun little names and nice little labels. And get the fucking skyrocket shit. Get the shit that they don't want to give you. Because they always have an extra level.

Like, spend a little extra money. This isn't from your Los Angeles. Or give a tug to your fucking dealer. And have him give you the premium fucking loaf. A fucking magic fucking yeast. And I want you to carve it up. Pop it in that fucking bowl, motherfucker. Back to bowls.

I've been doing a lot more bowls recently. And I've been doing one of our crafted bowls where I fucking, I grind the fucking keef with the weed and you fucking layer it. Like a fucking, like a poofay. That's what I've been calling it. Another conservative Henry Zabrowski moment. Going back to the bowls. Saying the vapes, oh the vapes.

No more. You sparked that fucking up. You know that damn fucking catapult of tantrums. Go down into your fucking follicles, you bitch. All right. I'm going to fill you up. Get super ready to be fucking scared. Take your shoes off.

You lump. All right. I want you to fucking open your fly. But don't take out your dick, you pervert. You're at work. But open up your fly. So every once in a while, a ghost of a draft. You can get in there and tickle your balls.

Well, I also think that's equally as problematic at work. But nonetheless, and also you don't got to give a tug to your dealer. Just pay them money. Just give them more money. That would work. That would work. All right. Well, who wants to start it off?

Because we've all done our own independent research. No, we got some great tales to tell. Who wants to start? Should we do? I don't even know how we're going to decide this. I could start if we want. Well, that's the easiest possible way to decide it. Someone might just say, I'll do it.

Okay. Let's do it. Marcus Parks. I'm starting with a story called Men Imitating Things. It's a credit to writer La La Luma. You live on your own and you tell yourself this is by choice. But really, part of the reason is you were never that great with people, which is also part of the reason you live about 10 miles from the nearest town.

The land was cheap, you'll say. The view was beautiful, you'll insist, even if no one is around to ask. Hmm. There is the benefit of the fact that out here you don't get nearly the amount of traffic or noise that comes with surrounding yourself with people, which is always a plus. Absolutely. So it surprises you a little. As you prepare your dinner one night, when you think you hear a man in the woods,

you stop for a moment, setting the knife down so you can hear it clearly. The sounds remind you of dogs, but the tone is not quite right. Hey! Hey! That is creepy. They sound more like men imitating dogs. Bark! Bark, my friend.

Bark, fellow dog. Is that a dog or a man? I can't tell. And as time passes, more join. Bark, hello. I mean, Bark. Yes. Yes, hello to you too, fellow.

Are you a Dalmatian? Yes. Yes. Yeah. Then just as suddenly as they came, they were gone. Hmm. You shrug it off. Coyotes, probably.

Drunk men far from home, wandering the woods. Possibly. 10 miles far from home, hammered. How the hell did that happen? That is a very scary set of circumstances. You don't really care to know, though you do lock the door this night. Something you don't often do. Now back to my Reddit account to post on our coyotes.

It's later this very same week that it begins raining. And you notice that once more, that something sounds off. You can see the rain. You know it's there. You can see the woods. You know no one is around. And yet you find the rain sounds not as it should, but like a man imitating rain. Pink, pink, pink, pink, pink rain.

Rain falling from clouds. Bark. I can't believe how much it's raining out here. Bark. Yes, dog. I am rain. Unlike the dogs, you find this rather soothing. You leave the door unlocked.

It's raining outside. It's raining. It's raining, wind. And you sleep in the living room, watching and listening to the off key rain. The very next day you notice deer tracks in the mud as you enjoy a cup of coffee on your porch. Well rested from the night before. Oh good. You finish your cup, suit up and follow the tracks.

The nearest market is so far away, you rather prefer to hunt and gather what you can avoid to trip. Staying as hidden as you can, you spot the deer from a distance. You also spot what looks like a bush at first, but a harder stare tells you it's a man. Russell. Russell. My name is Russell, the bush. Is that the pubic hair of a 10 year old Henry Zabrowski? Looks like glass noodles.

It's a man imitating a bush. This is private property and from the way he looks you gather he's here to hunt. Not gonna do it. Wouldn't be prudent. I'm George Bush senior. Oh I get it. It's a bush. But he's RIP Russ Perot by the way.

I know RIP. America must have needed to balance his budget. No not America. God must have needed to balance his budget. But the man in the bush is too close. He's standing not 10 feet from your prey. You see he hasn't drawn any kind of gun or bow and decide to beat him to the punch. You aim, you fire, you kill your target with practiced ease.

Quickly you start to get up, eager to see if the other man has startled. But stop when you see he has not. He instead slowly turns his head to the deer, stands and makes the short walk over. And that's when you realize something is very wrong. He moves as if he has no defined bones or joints. Very fluid and bendy. You can now see that he's at his full height. Where the leaves don't cover there are no clothes or human limbs.

Only thin branches bunch together in a poor replica of what they are meant to be. He shuffles over the deer for a moment before reaching down. Sharp branches growing out to form too many fingers and bringing the whole thing up to consume. Will you be in my middle school version of Phantom of the Opera? You realize, struck motionless with fear, that all this time it was not men imitating things. It was things imitating men! Oh my god, the greatest plot twist of all time. I honestly don't mind it. They provided a good scare.

What I wanted to do with one of my creepypasta selections, I wanted to do some shit that was actually very scary to me. So I just got really high and let my anxieties flow. And I just chose stuff that was like, what stuff that's not going to help me sleep? And it worked. Is this all just going to be like Ron Popeal infomercial reads? What's going to happen? No, I didn't cycle through all the deadline announcements of jobs I didn't get. But I didn't want to subject people to my true fears. So here we go. These are ten surprisingly common ways you can just die in your sleep.

Okay, alright. You could die by sudden cardiac arrest. It's also known as the SCA, going to occur when the synatrial node, which is the node in the heart that is essentially your body's natural pacemaker, it becomes impaired for no reason. And basically it reduces blood flow to the brain, the scariest part not only going to happen during your sleep, but in half the cases show no symptoms before cardiac arrest occurs. So you can just fucking die in your sleep. The heart can just stop working. They named it all wrong. Node?

Yeah, of course, node out of all the things in your body. Like the node is going to rat you out. It's just like a little hefty person with long hair, but only on the back. We love our notes. Do you know 30% of our listeners are notes? I love a good note. I'm just saying I don't want it being the only thing keeping my heart pumping. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Of course. But you know the thing I also learned that in an earthquake that's one of the scariest things is that the fucking gas lines in your house can become ruptured

and slowly let the gas leak in your house while you're fucking sleeping. You think you're safe. Next thing you know, you're fucking a horror story for ABC News. Myocardial infarction. What the hell is that? Now this is just, that is a heart attack. So a cardiac arrest is your heart stopping, right? Heart attack happens when your blood flow to the part of your heart gets blocked, right? Kissle, full chase. Just one fucking little piece of cheese that's not fully lubed by Bud Light gets fucking caught in the middle of your vessels.

Yeah. Fucking dead in your sleep. Honestly, that is really scary. That's why you always got to keep your cheese lubed. You can't not drink beer. Did the doctor say that or would you die if you stop? No, every time I've ever gone to a doctor they've requested I limit my beer. Yes. Yes, or completely stop you. Okay, all right, well.

I'm not Towns Van Zandt just yet. No, no, no, no. Unexplained nocturnal death syndrome. What the hell is that? It is first reported in 1917. It's called Sons. It's got a pretty game, a pretty scary reputation. It's saying they're saying, they don't know if it's real or not, but a bunch of people, you just fucking die in your sleep.

And I don't know why. Yeah, but that's not a diagnosis. The doctor can't be like you've died of the unexplained killer, the silent killer when you sleep. That's not an explanation, explanation. They just had to say something. Yeah, you just die in your fucking sleep. You just fucking die in your sleep. Yep, for any reason, because they say there's no possible explanation.

There's many possible explanations, but basically they're saying it's a malfunction of the ion channel to ventricular fibrillation. Oh, I'm getting pretty pissed off of my ion channels now. Yeah, dude. It's called bing-a-goot in Hawaii. And the dream disease. Aneurysm. Of course. Fuck killing your sleep.

The enterovirus D68. Does that, you get that from rats? Let me see. It might be what they make velvita cheese out of. I mean, I think it's what gives it itsiella. Yeah. It's a type of non-polio enterovirus that was first identified back in 1962. But back in 2014, there was a huge increase in the number of reported cases,

leaving researchers to wonder if the virus was going to become more predominant in coming years than they had expected. Right? How does it kill? It can cause a particular severe respiratory problems characterized by a high-pitched wheezing sound. It can become a dreaded earmark of infection. It has also been associated with muscle weakness and spinal cord inflammation, which is possibly even more terrifying than the wheezing. So dying of infection is not necessarily common,

but sometimes the symptoms are dangerous enough to kill. I don't like it. I'll tell you this. The CDC named it disease of the week. Disease of the week! Oh my god, congratulations! Dry drowning. Now this seems like a no-brainer.

It's a dry form of drowning. Basically, the idea behind this danger is that it's a type of drowning that can occur even if the victim has left the water. It is technically still drowning. But dry drowning is a term that has come to be used to describe it, though some doctors have argued for the dropping of the term. Sure, thank you. What does it mean? It can occur when inhaled water, even just a drop or two,

makes it pass the throat into the lungs. This usually causes symptoms, but they are sometimes mild and easy to miss. So basically, the water can build up in your dream, in your fucking lungs, right? It can cause breathing problems. They get worse over time. And in some cases, these breathing problems don't strike until hours or even days later, after the victim has fallen asleep. But we drew you fucking dry.

You die of drowning, like Edgar Allen Poe, in your sleep. But he died of drowning of his own vomit, I believe, right? In a gutter or something like that? I don't know. I think it's all fake. I think everything I just said was fake. Okay. Well, I thought he did die.

Didn't he die in the gutter? He died in a ditch, yeah. In a ditch. In a gutter. He died in a gutter, yeah. You can drown in a gutter. There's many ways you can drown. You can dry drown.

You can dry drown. Edgar Allen Poe's death, the different theories, suicide, murder, cholera, hypoglycemia, rabies, syphilis, influenza, or he was possibly a victim of something called coping. Oh. So is that the end of your list, Henry? Yes. At no point did it mention when Natalie never wants to hear another story about aliens, she puts the pillow over your mouth and slowly suffocates you.

That is how I prefer to go. Okay. No, that is not a sudden thing. That would be an arranged discussion. Okay, very good. Very good. And it'll be with her butt. All right.

Well, that was illuminating, scary. The thing is, we can't do anything about it. No. Cooping is when you are forced to vote over and over and over again. They used to do it back in the ballot stuffing days where you didn't have like voter IDs or anything like that, where they just get these coping gangs would go out on the street, they'd kidnap guys, and then make them go vote for the candidate that they want to win. And so they made one of the possible theories for Edgar Allen Poe's death is that he voted too much.

Oh my God, it seems to be enforced. I would love to know if Edgar Allen Poe actually got to truly vote for the politician he wanted. We would have had a goth country at this point. Yeah. Unfortunately, I'm sure that the corporate powers that be forced his hand. Yes. Well, that he was probably possibly beaten to death for refusing to cooperate in the coping. Sometimes these guys all they bring disguises along and then they get someone and they make them vote

and then they put a wig on them and they make them go vote again. Honestly, that would be great for my reel. Of all the different ways I can vote and different people I can be. Absolutely. All right. Well, I got a little creepy tale here. This comes in from Wildest Boar 6550. And this is called This Is Why You Should Never Go On Roblox.

Roblox. I've never actually heard of this before. Roblox. Roblox. It's a thing. All right. So this it starts off here. It was Monday, 2019.

So just any Monday in 2019. That's a lot of Monday so far. Yeah. It was Monday, 2019, I logged on to my Roblox like I do every day. My mom came to give me a peanut butter sandwich. I logged, which is, ooh, that's a nice mom. I logged into my account, but my avatar was covered in blood. That's actually kind of scary, right?

Yeah. I honestly think it would be pretty cool. Yeah. I got scared but thought, oh, no big deal. It's just a glitch. Okay. That's what he's thinking so far. I think that's going to change.

I clicked on jailbreak, I clicked on jailbreak, which is one of my favorite games because I am really good at it. It took around two hours to load, but then I was in the game. Everything was pretty normal. I chose a prisoner like always and I tried to escape jail like normal, but I got tased by a police officer. God. I looked at the user so I could kill him later.

His name was guest underscore. Six. No. Six. He was killed by guest underscore. Six. Six. Six.

The next sentence is, I started crying in real life. I started crying in real life and guest underscore. Six. Six. Six. Arrested me. He private messaged me later in chat saying, haha, I got you a loser. I will get you.

I said back. No. He said, I exited the game. I joined into pizza simulator. I was having fun. I had about 10 million pizza points when I saw someone on the game. I checked the user name and it was guest underscore. Six.

Six. Six. That's the devil and he's got pizza points. I screamed for my mom, but she did not come to me. I got up out of my chair to look for my mom. I went into the living room and I saw her dead body. Everything was in blood. I looked behind me and saw guest underscore.

Six. Six. Six. In real life. Luckily, however, I had karate practice. I did a karate punch on him. He got hurt and was bleeding everywhere. I ran away to my neighbor's house.

The neighbor was a police officer and then he shot guest. This is written really good. The neighbor was a police officer and then he shot guest underscore. Six. Six. Six. The neighbor was amazed. I think he killed.

The neighbor was a police officer and then I shot guest underscore. Six. Six. Six. The neighbor was amazed. I killed it. So she made me president. Wow.

There it is. One of the best I've ever read and it ends with a presidential victory for the wildest bore 65550. I like it. I find it very interesting that she didn't turn around and see guest underscore. Six. Six. Six.

Six. And it's just a man not unlike myself. No. Like, hello, my dear. Yes, I do traffic in the woods of the devil. Will you please be with me? Will you please try to understand me? Scary stuff.

The world of online gaming. Oh, is it? It is. It can be very intimidating. I have given my PlayStation name out to one person. That is it. And I'm still hesitant. Yeah.

No one gets mine, but I also don't do online gaming because I play games to escape from people. I know. I would like to play Division 2 with people, but maybe at some point. Maybe. But the game of getting away from people, this is the scariest game of all. Absolutely. This one is called The Handsome Soldier.

It's by... I'm still... Is this like a Fleet Week one? Fleet Week. It's by Katie. I love it. As a little girl growing up, my parents always tried to protect me by telling me legends and tales.

My city is pretty notorious for strange behavior or paranormal happenings that have been occurring since the 1900s. One old tale that stands out most in my mind is the one of The Handsome Soldier. Whenever you were old enough to start going out, your parents always warned you about meeting boys and The Handsome Soldier. They say that if the soldier asks you for a dance or offers to walk you to your car and you go with them, tomorrow you will go missing. Others say that when you start to dance, the floor turns to fire and he drags you to hell.

Whoa! The story goes that a soldier from the north was stationed down here in Texas in order to keep a closer eye on some of the Confederate troops. Oh, and that went very well. I imagine he was very deeply undercover. While staying with an old farmer who figured he was just a passing drifter, the farmer's beautiful daughter caught his eye. He fell in love with her quickly, but the daughter's Confederate soldier husband stood

in the way. Listen, I know you're from the south and it's nice to meet you, but tell me, have you ever had lasagna? You guys all like it, come on, forget about it. Italians could have ended the civil war before it even started. Despite this, the northern soldier, whom I city later named Alexander, didn't see any harm in flirting with the young girl. Alexander was tall, with jet black hair, and enchanting blue eyes.

This is a wig! Yeah, you like it? I got it from my dead mother. I love it, you look like Russell Brandt. It was something that would catch your eye in an instant, and something you wouldn't soon forget. During dinner, he would sneak glances and smile at her, the farmer's daughter. Of course!

You look nice! How old are you? You twelve? Nice! I don't know if that's an Italian version of sneaking a glance, just screaming across the table? Oh, no one hears this! And he did it just a relish in her beauty.

When she was young, she was about twenty years old. Oh, legal! I mean, if this was an accurate story, she'd be twelve. And she had long golden locks that she kept in a tight bun. The soldier was wild for, but it wasn't only his doings. The farmer's daughter, Anne-Marie, had grown tired of the marriage to her Confederate soldier husband. She began to see freedom with Alexander, and she gladly returned his advances.

Yeah, come with me, I'll show you all the finest pork rolls of Newark, and take you all the way down to Corny Island, and then we can play shoot the freak with the fifteen-year-olds with the bone disorders, because they can't work the rights. Anne's some soldier. I'm sold on that date. Beautiful black hair! The two carried their fair on for several months and tried to keep everything under the rug, all until one day Anne-Marie announced to Alexander that she was with child.

Uh-oh. Well, Alexander begged her to run away with him back to the north, where they would raise the child together and be happy. It seemed like a perfect idea, but Anne-Marie couldn't just leave her father. No! She refused, and the couple had a very ugly fight. Much to the couple's dismay, though, Anne-Marie's husband had been listening to the entire conversation on the other side of the door.

I'll hurl what y'all will say behind closed doors, and I have to say, that man's hair's not real. Not only had his wife been having an affair with a northern soldier, but she was also pregnant with his baby. Oh my god. And out of fury, he banished his wife to the desert. You get out of here. The desert of Alabama?

What desert does she go to? Sexist. Okay, she's intact. Half the state's desert. All right, all right, all right. I ain't gonna share my face powder with you, no more, my stinky wife. You get out of here. And he did so with no food or water.

Then he took the northern soldier, tied his arms behind his back, and set him on fire. Oh. Oh! Is that good? Oh! Oh! Oh no, I'm the pork roll. Oh my goodness, the wig would burn fast.

And through the flames, those blew... Take this wig off for God's sakes, let me die all natural, as bald as the eagle that formed this country. Through the flames, those blue eyes burned up until the end, and one last scream, he vowed to return for his love. Now, me and my friends always grew up knowing to never go home with a random boy, or accept strange drinks from anyone, but when I set eyes on him, I was hypnotized. Russell Brand?

Yeah, yeah, it's Russell Brand, yeah. My name's Alex Dane, man! He was alone from what I could see, and he was sipping on a scotch. That little voice inside my head was screaming at me that this was Alexander, but I brushed it aside, as me and all my girlfriends swooned at his beauty. Yeah, come on, drive on my Cadillac, we gotta keep it away, say, God bless! Oh my God, Katie, he's the hottest guy I've ever seen. Too bad I'm taken.

Girl, get over there and introduce yourself. Do that indeed. That's what one of my girlfriends shrieked at me over the blues music. Guys, he's gorgeous, you're right, but what if he has a girlfriend? What if he says no? I think I'll just sit this one out. I said sipping on my rum and coke. As I turned to relish in his beauty one more time, something struck me.

We locked eyes, and his eyes glared bright blue into mine. I swear we locked eyes for at least five minutes. Tell me, do you like Ace of Base? I snapped out of it and leaned into what the girls were gossiping about when I heard another shriek. Oh my God, Katie! He's getting up and coming over here. Oh, there's the way I don't, there's the way I don't.

You're nice, huh? It's my wig on straight. Looking good. I turned and soon enough this Greek God was standing at our table. Wow. You're Greek. You're Greek, though, okay. Can we help you with something?

One of my friends piped up, yes, what is your name, miss? His voice was smooth and sexy. Like that? Yes. What is your name, miss? Me, I said shocked beyond belief, my name is Katie, and yours? That's something I will tell you on the dance floor. Katie, would you like to have a dance?

This is you trying? That's you. How did you know? You should have been doing it, Lena. I honestly do like his sexual tones. I do like his sexual tones, but I do like the idea of just Alexander being like, hey, you and me. It's bounce and dirty now.

Hey, that's what he would sound like. You remind me of my dead first wife. Oh, I thought he was the one that died, but you do sound like someone trying to pass a lie detector test by stepping on a pin, just like having a little thumbtack underneath their toe. He held out his hand for me. All my girlfriends looked at me as if to scream at me with their eyes about the legend we all grew up with.

Now, I promise I knew that it was Alexander and that my mind was screaming at me to run home and jump out of the covers of my bed at home, but most of me was paralyzed under his stare. I tell you what, if you could see me eat spaghetti, you'd be wonder, what else I could eat real messy. Hey, let's dance. I don't know if messy is what women really want when it comes to conga. I mean, it's not going to be clean, but I don't worry, I'll go down on you all over

you. All right. I rose from my seat and sauntered over to the almost vacant dance floor. He was strong and his dancing was beyond this world. We talked of life, music and movies. Nothing. Hey, you like that world of worlds. Yeah, Tom Cruise is nice, he's funny, I like that he's small, like me.

Yeah, absolutely. Brad Pitt, I think, was in that one. The last good song was Mambo number five. Oh, that was the last good one. Surprisingly, Lou Bega was German. Yeah. A lot of people didn't know that. Nothing seemed to be throwing up red flags in my mind.

Everything we talked about was normal and modern. Surely, a ghost can't talk about the latest movies. Every other culture has stolen the Zeppole from the Italians, don't listen to me, ma'am. We are dancing. That's what I remembered, you forgot to tell me your name. I said giggling and almost mockingly, his eyes evened and looked down at me and said sternly, my name is Alex Ender, but you can call me Alex. You sound like you're getting a physical.

What is happening? Okay, so Alex it is. But you're making the voice, yeah, when the doctor says, this might, you might feel a little pressure. My heart stopped in my chest as a large smile spread across my face. The ground began to heat up and everything went black. Now I'm not too sure if I'm dead or alive, but someone left this scrap of paper and a piece of coal to write with.

Maybe if you find this, you can tell the others to not even look at him. Tell the others that I love my family and I wish I was home. Is that a barbecue? Smoke? Oh wait. Screams? Oh God. Fire.

Now here he is. Alexander, the devil himself. Hey, it's me, the devil from Newark. It's always been. All right, very scary indeed. This is a story called Kids in the Dark, Jeffrey Epstein, no, no, not this story. Being a poor in the deep South meant sharing a lot with my little brother, Ollie. Most often, we'd pass toys, clothes, and skin conditions between us.

Up until he was six, we even shared a bed. Neither of us was happy about that. You sound like Kevin Spacey on the witness stand trying to explain his actions. You see, a man as an actor leads a challenging life and he must release some of the pressure. It was my 10th birthday when that changed. I got one present that year and it was a bit of my own. Ollie was jealous right away and I can understand why he had to keep that half broken down frame with the worn out mattress.

The one I'd gotten wasn't much better, but not being broken and worn was enough. Sleep question on the plot. I thought he said that they shared a bed until they were six and now on his 10th birthday. Yeah, I know. But what happened in the four intervening years? I don't know. Okay. I slept in a hammock.

I did not read the extended universe of this story. Now sleep at a pot was a great feeling. Sure. It was freedom. No longer would I have to suffer the sudden and inexplicable kicks to the stomach. No longer would I wake up with Ollie's foot pressed into my neck like he'd stepped on Dracula the night before. Good one.

At least. That's what I thought. So right away, right after I got the new bed, the shriek started. At first I thought Ollie woke up in the middle of the night and screamed because he'd gotten scared. Then the sound echoed through the tiny room again and I knew it wasn't a normal car. The room was always black as pitch after sunset. The one window we had was pressed against a long leaf pine and even the biggest brightest

moon cast no light inside. The shriek just about drove me crazy. Every night probably at the same exact time these sharp yelps would knock me right out of my dreams. Four stars. Four stars. It wasn't my mom or dad yelling either. I knew what that sounded like.

Believe me. Most worrying of all was the fact I could never tell where it was coming from because it seemed completely random. One night it'd come from somewhere near the closet. Three stars. Three and a half stars. The next I'd shoot out from the corner of the ceiling. Two and a half stars.

Manager was rude. Any hope I'd have of having my own space would get dashed every time Ollie would silently slip into the bed with me shaking like crazy. He'd clasp onto me and we wouldn't let go until it was almost daybreak. Most times I'd take his hand and tell him everything was going to be okay but that'd be over by the morning but I was never really sure. Over time the shriek started changing. At first it was only by small degrees.

One star. One scar. But eventually it took on the primal hooten sound of a primate calling out its fiercest warning. I had to clasp pillows to my ears just to keep from going deaf. Mom and dad never believed me or Ollie basically because the thing whatever it was refused to make a peep when they were in the room apparently they couldn't even hear it through the walls even though it was so damn loud enough.

The shriek just got worse and worse until I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. Me and Ollie were doing really bad in school and we just had no energy at all. I could sleep more deeply with my head propped up and eyes open in the middle of class than in my own room at night and thankfully we moved out of the house nearly a year later. I had contemplated all sorts of things even a child's clumsy concept of suicide to get away from the horrific nightly noise. I ate a pile of crayons but you can't overdose on Crayola. There was no problem at the next house.

There was a nice white cookie cut at home on a dead end street and I welcomed the normalcy. What's more when we moved in there there was a bunk bed waiting for me and Ollie. No more broken bed. No more second bed I ended up having to share anyway. The only problem was deciding who'd get the top bunk. I told Ollie I deserved it after all I'd gotten a new bed way back and he ruined it by climbing in every night. What?

He shook his head. I never did that. I'd always wondered why the noise stopped the second I was sharing my bed. Now I had the answer. It was a ghost. It was a ghost! It was a ghost! Scary.

Scary indeed but the ghost didn't seem to do anything. To do much harm just let the ghost sleep in the same bed with you and then the screaming stops. I mean what's it gonna do? It was Howard Dean! Woo! Can you roll over on a ghost or would the ghost just kind of pass through you? Depends.

I mean so if you're sharing a bed you might as well share it with a ghost. It doesn't matter to you. I mean it depends. Tell me! When Bigfoot goes to the shoe repair shop does he have to ask for an extra width? Alright, well I got this is a bit of a longer one here. It's really exciting. It's about a dog and there's a turtle involved too.

Isn't that nice? Isn't that exciting. So this person it's yellow lemon lesbian which is evidently a term that people who are younger use that I have no idea what it means. Well the Urban Dictionary says that it was a term that younger people used in 2006 back when- Oh so that's us! Yeah that's us. Wow!

That's us. Alright! That was our generation. Now I get it. I get it. My neighbor got a new dog. You would think that's not bad right? That's gotta be good.

That's always good. So the story begins. I've always been an animal person. Dogs, cats, hamsters, fish, even hermit crabs at one point. Which I don't like that. I do. A hermit crab? I love the hermit crabs.

Okay. I think they're fine. They're fine but I would never get one as a pet. Anyway, one of my neighbors also has a pet tortoise who I take all my veggie scraps to. Her community is a relatively nice regular middle class one with regular middle class lives. We were completely shocked when a new neighbor moved in about two months ago. Within the week their yard was full of trash and old electronics.

Is that David Allen Co. that moved in? What's going on? A car sat in their yard that looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. I'm not one to really judge but this was really not the type of place you would expect that for this lifestyle. I never really saw him outside much. We only crossed paths when his daughter came over to see the tortoise. The man who owns the tortoise, he's an old guy.

He lives with his wife and their pet. I guess it's kind of fitting an old couple and their gentle giant. Most people would bring over some fruit or veggie scraps throughout the week. It had just become our personal compost system. Hank the tortoise would eat all of our scraps. His name is Hank. That's nice. And the nice old.

This is just describing the life of a tortoise. At this point Henry, but there's a twist. Hank the tortoise would eat all the old scraps and the nice old woman would offer us some food from her garden. The couple sat outside a lot with Hank. Every day they sat on their little swing and Hank robed the yard at will. Of course at night and during the winter he was taken inside but during the warm months the neighbors kids like to sit outside and watch him.

I was happy when I saw our new neighbor open up his somewhat still running car door to reveal a puppy. His daughter was overjoyed. I went over to say hello to the little guy. He was a German shepherd from our local shelter. The puppy was a little dirty but that's to be expected. I got concerned when he would leave the dog outside all the time. I mean every hour of every day the puppy was brought home mid June.

No time for a furry puppy to be without water. I took over a small bowl of liquids a few times a day. Since time the poor baby was so happy he was chained up all the time. I was ready to call animal services when the poor guy was laying down there looking almost dead. I'm honestly not sure if the owner fed him. At one point I tried to give him a treat but the man chewed me out for it. That night I took the poor baby a bowl of kibble.

It was so sad to see me. Fast forward about a week. I wake up and I go to take the puppy some more water. When I see he got off his chain. At first I thought he was finally let inside until I heard my elderly neighbor scream. I ran over thinking she had fallen but when I see the scene I nearly vomit. New guys in the corner puking his guts out. She was cradling Hank the tortoise in her arms.

My neighbor's puppy laid on the other side of the yard. Hank had a huge bleeding gash in one of his legs. He looked so weak I called the vet but there was nothing he could really do. Hank passed away yesterday. His parents holding him and keeping him as happy as possible. I took over a whole slice mango. Hank's favorite. He ate it a little bit and seemed kind of happy.

My neighbor starved and goes on. This is like a TLC story about taking care of a neighbor's animal. My neighbor starved his new puppy so much that he got off his chain and ate my other neighbors tortoise's leg. Needless to say the puppy is going to a foster home but I feel so bad for Hank and my neighbors but I do wonder why was Hank out at night? Did somebody purposely leave the door open or did someone else open it? There's actually a lot to unpack there.

The tortoise was outside at night. That's the big twist. The tortoise was outside and the dog ate his leg. And the dog ate his leg. That's just a story about people not taking care of their animals. What's more horrific than that? This is just an episode of hoarders. Well I'm just saying it's pretty scary.

You shouldn't have a turtle around a dog. No but they didn't know. I don't think they miss well. No that's why it's like did Hank was he let outside or did someone purposely leave the door open? Either way something Hank pissed off someone in town. Right. I don't know what they want to have.

It's more of an animal based mystery than a creepypasta. It is a mystery. It is a mystery. So what role did the old man play in all this? He wasn't watching Hank. But why wasn't he feeding the dog? Well he wasn't doing that. He was mean.

He was mean. Have you ever seen any videos on unlikely animal couples? Of course. Unlikely animal friendships is always fun. You know what I'm just going to say though? Ducks like everyone. Not people. No they don't.

No ducks are aggressive. I don't think that's true. They just understand what they can get out of their arrangements with other animals. I think ducks are fucking selfish. Yeah. I think ducks are actually vicious little creatures. You're right about that. I am scared of ducks.

That was a good story because the dog ate the tortoise's leg. You were allowed to. That was your producing. You produced the segment and you nailed it. I nailed it. You nailed it. Alright. Your reading is getting better.

It is. Well I think it's good. Alright well to start off the last round here. My last story is from user Free As In Speech and the story is called The Mind. The Mind. A realm that is mysterious to me even to this day. Though I take refuge there during long hot days to get away from the bright burning sun. Escape there in the afternoon when the sky is gray with storm clouds and the sun is all

but receded. The Mind's true nature alludes me. Never will it let me in to see its shadowiest depths gaze at loftiest mountain peaks. But as of this writing I still cannot say for sure what it was that I saw. Strange dreams of bright white lights peering through my window still wake me on quiet summer nights. I shudder to even think of it. Now I will share my story with the world.

Perhaps someone will listen. Okay. The true beginning of my story started with the day I was born. My fascination with thought and the mind had always confused my parents as well as my friends and classmates in my school in a small hometown in western New Jersey. They never understood the possibilities that the human mind held. If only they could see me now, the wreck of a human being that I've become. Human is what the tall men in long white coats call me, but I assure you I'm much more than

sane. I'm the only one that sees. I need to start using that more often. I'm so much more than sane. As I grew up my love for studying the human mind did not waver. My obsession only grew stronger. I was given all the books on psychology and human anatomy I could read soaking up the precious drops of information.

I was 32 years of age when I was finally satisfied with my research. Finally, as my studies and my prolonged childhood came to an end, I decided to conduct what I consider to be my first true experiment. My first subject was a young woman with dark hair and blue eyes, probably about 20 years old. I thought this was going to be about pizza bagels. Alright, he's using human beings for his experiments. It was a simple matter of getting her to cooperate.

Having knocked her out, I simply put her in the trunk of my car. I drove home, night replaced evening as my subject regained consciousness. The first part of the experiment was to run a few tests. Several things. I exposed her to electric shocks and slashed at her limbs to test her ability to withstand pain, monitoring her brain's reactions with a homemade device. The one question she asked, the only words she spoke to me throughout the whole process consisted of one word.

Why? Yeah. Yeah. Yes. Why? Why? Alas! The tests proved too much for her, and she perished, bloody and mangled.

Her body was cut up into manageable pieces and disposed of, and I needed a new tester. My second subject was a bit younger, 16 years of age at most. I lured the brown-haired, bright-eyed youth with promises of fame as the star of a television advertisement. Whoa! Whoa! He's an agent! That's amazing, a sprite commercial!

I proceeded to hit his head with a crowbar, leaving him unconscious on the ground, a few feet away from my vehicle. Again, my subject was taken into the testing room where he was exposed to rigorous tests, having his skin punctured with wires to test his skin's resilience, and having his brain probed through a small cavity that I had drilled in the front of his skull. This time, I put the subject under a strong anesthetic to minimize screaming and complaints. Oh my, isn't the scream a complaint in itself? I feel like that it would be, if I would have put a scream in a category, I would put it

in a complaint. The subject did not survive the tests, but I did gain some valuable data. I disposed of yet another body, this time feeding the scraps of flesh to rats that had made their home in my cellar. My third subject, I knew by name. In fact, he was one of my best friends, Clyde Armburg. My heart? Armburg?

Clyde Armburg of Western New Jersey. He was a stout man with a short white beard, 55 years of age. Once again, his head connected with my crowbar. Once again, anesthetic was administered. Once again, limbs were strapped in, apparatuses creating loud, buzzing sounds. This time, I did notice. My neat round hole was drilled in his skull. The other end was connected to a large box containing the components of the device.

Uh oh. Which was connected to the output. A pair of glasses, modified so that the lenses were small LCD screens. A switch was flipped and my device began decoding his brain signal. I was about to unravel the mystery of human thought. Read a mind, discover humanity's true nature. Or so I thought. Ah, come on!

Large, red eyes suddenly appeared to stare me in the face. They moved away for me to reveal a scarred, pale body. It smiled. It moved forward to step. It didn't stop smiling, behind waves of emotion, and a sudden excruciating pain that pervaded my chest. I slowly began to understand that what I was staring at was the true face of madness. It's Seth Rogen!

Oh man. I can't even do that if it's Seth Rogen, like, I'm a millionaire, is that funny? Yeah, good for him. Three bright lights appear from the solid white ground and float up to the level of the figure set, blinding me and obscuring his still smiling face. As I slowly became accustomed to the spheres of light that radiated in my direction, I looked up again to see that the pale, red-eyed figure in torn gray clothes looked somewhat familiar. Hmm.

Oh. Hmm. Wait. It was the face of the one I welcomed to my mirror on cold early mornings when the sun's rays has not yet warmed the ground, the one who kept me comfort and my hours of loneliness. It was me! No, that's how it always ends, and I welcome the transformation. I thought it was going to be Hank the tortoise.

My modified glasses had fallen off my face hours ago, and yet my vision was unchanged. Finally, after an amount of time that seemed like months, the visions faded away. I was only out for about a day. I was satisfied with my discovery, and I began to write of my work for the world to marvel at it. Two days passed before the face appeared again. One cheerful as ever, the figure opened the door to my study, leaving it slightly ajar. It ambled towards me, extending its hand.

Suddenly, a shining, thick, metallic blade appeared from its chest and extended into mine, puncturing my skin. I awoke in a hospital. My neighbors appeared to have heard my screams. The doctors insisted that I had stabbed myself with a letter opener, and that no vital organs were injured. I still needed rest. My work remained unpublished.

The images of the man and the light still haunted me. And now, even in this padded cell, in which I am often allowed to practice my writing, I am sometimes visited by the pale, red-eyed figure. But even he just sits and smiles at me now, shaking his head in disgust. I mean, honestly, a padded cell is the closest you can do to retiring in a bouncy house. Yes. Marcus, did you write this? Is this about you?

I did not. It's credit to Free As In Speech. Oh yes, Free As In Speech. That was him written about himself. Very good. Very good. I liked that one. It's really fun.

Yeah. Yeah, a lot going on there. Who has a letter opener anymore? Does anyone have letter openers anymore? I don't have a letter. I just opened it with my finger. Yeah, I imagine Warren Buffett has one. Yeah.

Slide from your grave. Slide from your grave. All right. Here we go. I was trying to find something different. Okay. So, I'm just going to start with this and then I'll research it. Then I will, I'll start reading it and then I'll reveal the source.

Okay. Okay. Mary Ann felt excited sexually, waves shooting up her legs to her crotch and her breasts as she drove. Her clit was swelling up as she drove to the Sears Tower. She knew she was on the right track and had thrown the other case at the boys to get rid of them. It was more than women's intuition.

She was heading to the Mothman. It was a feeling vibrating on the top of her clit, leading her on like a dowsing rod to water. She parked her now wet jeep near the Sears Tower. The whole jeep was wet. The entire jeep was wet. I put that in there. I put that in there.

She looked up to the sky and saw this silhouette of what looked like a giant bat circling around the tower. She needed to get closer. After slipping by security guards, Mary Ann snuck into an elevator and hit the button for the skydeck on the 103rd floor. Hopefully she'd get a closer look at the Mothman. She felt her stomach lurch as the elevator shot upward. Yes, she exited on floor 103.

This door is opening to a wall, a window showing off a million lights as Chicago spread as far as the eyes could see in front of her. She walked toward the solid glass legend when she heard a voice inside her head. Why do you seek me? The mysterious baritone voice echoed. She turned and saw the Mothman in the Sears Tower Hall. He said about six foot was a dark gray color and glowing red eyes, wings folded by its side.

I'm doing scientific research, she muttered as he approached. I've seen inside your mind, the Mothman said. Your purpose is not scientific research. I know what you want. Come here and you may have what you want. You want Mary Ann saw a giant phallus extending out of the Mothman's crotch. It was about a foot long, gray and fuzzy, and there was a small ridge of downy feathers around the cock head.

You are beautiful. She said stroking Mothman's soft feathery chest. I always wanted to be fucked on a skydeck. She said slowly stripping off her pants, boots, panties and dropping them in the corner. She turned around bent over sticking her huge ass up in the air. You like it? She asked if he could hear an exciting squeaking sound in her head. Did she ask it like that Henry?

You like it? Did she ask it like that? You like it? My name's Alexander. Oh, very nice. You ever been to Texas? She walked over and got down on the glass floor part of the observation ledge getting vertigo for a second.

She saw the Chicago traffic rushing 103 floors below her. She buttoned her shirt to reveal her pale honeydew melon-sized boobs, her perky pink nipples sticking in either fucking directions. She lifted her legs together and slowly spread him, revealing a tough and neatly groomed bright air on top of her cunt. Come and get it! She cooed to the Mothman who waddled forward, led by his massive erect cock. He approached and began to slide into her.

The ridge of feathers tickled, but in a good way. She laughed with pleasure as he inserted it into her. He began a rhythmic pumping up and down as he built momentum and his wings began to flap with the rhythm. Ah-ha! This is a fantastic fuck! The Mothman echoed into her head. What a fantastic pussy!

Yes! Wind in the birdcage's smell swept over as he continued to flap his wings. Ah-yes! Ah-yes! Wait now! She said. Let's change position. She pushed on his hips and he slowly drew his long penis out of her.

She stood up, taking her shirt off all the way so she was now completely nude. Then turned around. She pressed her hands at massive tits against the windows of the Sears Tower, arched her back and struck her ass as far as she could. Her hungry pussy aimed at the Mothman. Oh yeah! I like this! The Mothman said.

She rolled his enormous cock into her. She gazed at the bright lights of the city, all around and below. What is the point of all of this, Henry? It's the only Mothman true erotica, written in a book called Fat for the Mothman, a crypto erotica adventure number three. Fat for the Mothman. Okay. Is that how it ends?

No. That was so good, baby. She said, now I want you to come. I want your Mothman jizz all over me. You get down on your knees. Mothman commands you. She heard his voice in her head and she did what she was told. He stuck at his gray soft phallus between her boobs, aggressively pumping up and down,

once in a while sticking ahead of his cock in her mouth for a tongue swirl and a suck before resuming his aggressive titty fucking. After a few minutes of this, his voice loudly returned her head, I'm ready to blow. He said, in a second later, a huge blast of pinkish thick jelly shot from her, his cock on her face and the window below her. It was a huge amount. So that's, that wasn't really a twist end. You kind of saw that one coming both literally and the color of the scene was somewhat pink

Pepto-Bismo-ish. Yeah. Yeah. Oh yeah, and he said, technically said, sorry, he said, ectoplasm, messy stuff. Well, yeah, I don't know if I need the post sex Mothman, I kind of liked him before a little bit. Yeah. And that was telling the jokes.

And that was telling the jokes. When he was saying, what a fantastic pussy. And no, it's something that I've exclaimed during the act of love. Yeah. Yeah. I owe you that voice too. Yep. Yeah.

All right. Well, there's- I'll do this again. Little erotica there. It sounds hot. I'm sure. Do people really, I mean, I guess people do get aroused by cryptid pornography. It's all got to be written.

Of course. Yeah. It's a huge cock. Yeah. Huge cock. She's got great boobies. You can think about the boobies. My final tale.

It's a short little ditty. It's by a fella. His name is Evan Castigliano. Castigliano. Castigliano. Castigliano. Castigliano. Yeah.

This one's called pay attention. Okay. It starts with this. This story starts around 3 a.m. after a regular Friday night at the bar with my friends. There I was alone waiting for the subway so I could go home and get a little bit of rest. After five minutes, this must be before all the L trains shut down. Don't even get me going. Yeah.

That's a good- Yeah. The Blasio. You want to be president? Be president of this. After five minutes, the train arrived. It was literally empty so I took a seat and put my earphones on. At the next station, two men and a woman entered the train and took their seats.

They were close. They were like 10 meters away from me. They looked drunk and dirty. They were coming back from a party or something like that. Both of them were kissing on the girl who just stood there as they kissed her. She didn't look like she was being abused or anything so I just turned my eyes back to my phone. So anyway, so now we know what's happening.

There's a make-out session going on. This guy's sitting there. Two stations later, an old man entered the train. He's got old clothes, big beard, kind of dirty too, probably homeless. He was looking at the boys and the girl until he looked at me with a shocked expression. And before I could even react, as soon as the door was open to the next station, he grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the train. As I screamed at him, he looked at me in the eyes and said, I may have just saved your

life. That girl was dead. She was dead the whole time. The whole time. And there were two guys licking on her. I guess so. Vampires. Vampires perhaps.

Oh, perhaps it was vampires. Absolutely. It could have been vampires. It could have been record executives. It could have been a whole series of people in the entertainment industry. And they were just doing it on the train, huh? Just right there on the train. Wow.

Well, it was late. Let's not forget that. Empty train. Well, that was it. Yeah. That's the... Well, I actually, I had one last one I wanted to read if it was a... I have a listener request.

Sure, sure. Are you ready? Here we go. I sat on the floor of my kitchen in a circle of candles, breathed in the shifting, flickering light I was working on opening the device. It was triangular in shape and made of wood or metal. It was tough to say. The puzzle had what appeared to be representations of pepperoni and cheese on it.

Somehow I had to reconfigure this into a pizza slice if I wanted to open the portal to Flavortown. Hours passed. I was making progress, twisting a pepperoni ear and realigning some cheese there. I moved my fingers along the cross and almost imperceptibly I felt a click. I knew I was almost there. I spun the crust around and suddenly I heard the tolling of distant bells. Taco bells. And a glowing almost neon blue light started to pour in from nearly every crack and seam

in the room. I heard the cans of Mountain Dew and my fridge explode. The various bags of chips and other junk foods started throbbing and pulsing. They too eventually burst open. I turned to my right and suddenly there was an open doorway where just seconds ago there was a blank wall. Fog filled it and it was lit by that same blue light. I couldn't make out anything past the entrance but I knew this was my ticket to Flavortown.

A man-sized shape formed in the fog and I could barely make out. It started approaching me and eventually stepped into my kitchen. The stories were true. The pizza puzzle had been solved and the mayor of Flavortown himself, Guy Fieri, smelled my heart. He looked different. He wasn't wearing the bowling shirt and said he had some kind of latex and leather contraption that did not fit him in the lease. He was poured out of the outfit as blover burst through small square holes and almost looked

like the holes were purposely tightened around the flesh as blood leaked from them and his skin was blackening as if dead. He had his trademark sunglasses on and the same hair but his overall skin tone was now bluish gray. He had spatulas and other cooking implements tied around his considerable waist. What are you, I asked, an explorer in the further regions of taste? A demon to some. Angel to others.

He took a step towards me and extended his hand. Come. You solved the slice. You must come with me and taste our pleasures. I declined to take his hand but I followed him nonetheless. We walked for what seemed like eons through labyrinthine corridors. My sense of smell was being constantly assaulted by new and varied scents. Some amazing, some so bad.

I couldn't even imagine what they could be coming from. The corridor finally opened up into a wide plateau. Above everything there was a giant floating burrito. It was impossibly large and could be the origin of the various food smells. Flavortown seemed like it would be a lot nicer than this when I heard the stories. The burrito let out a loud blast of sound almost like some kind of foghorn. My mind could barely comprehend what I was seeing. Oh my god, I muttered.

Oh, this is mine. The guy I serve in this world and yours. The guy of flavor, hunger and grease. My god, burrito. Lord of Flavortown. I gasped for air. The stench of this massive shifting burrito was starting to overpower me. Starting to make me a flashback of meals pass. This is what you wanted. This is what you wanted to taste, to smell, man.

You wanted a one-way ticket to Flavortown and now you have one. He shouted and he chuckled. Behind me I heard a noise like a greased up ball bearings moving a slab of wood. The guy took a step towards me and declared, My god, I want someone to taste what it's created and I brought you. He shoved me hard in the chest and I fell back, immediately landing on what appeared to be an open, upright coffin of some kind. Something restrained my arms and legs.

I split second to look down and I saw oversized forks and spoons holding me in place. A short stabbing pain erupted from my side and I saw a tube full of what could look like Crisco. Impaling my side, pumping me full of substance. More spoons and forks held my head in place with my mouth open. An arm of what looked to be sausage and bacon dropped down in front of my face, jamming itself down my throat. I couldn't breathe.

The smells and pain were overwhelming. I blacked out. I woke being held at a 45 degree angle. Silver strained though now my head was free to look around for all the good that did me. The room was nearly pitch black, a guy approached me with a grin plastered on his cold face. He removed the sunglasses that I saw that his eyes were sewn shut. He gave up a lot to become what I am now. Sight is meaningless to me so I cast it off.

It's all about that taste brother. I'm gonna show you the light and then you're gonna join my culinary cabal. I'm all about to knock your socks off with this fresh take on a classic. I'm gonna put this in your mouth. You're gonna feel like an ATM because this is money. He stepped out of view and returned with a wheel table. Not unlike those you would see in a cadaver and a morgue. It was covered in macaroni and cheese.

He took a large spoon off his belt and thrust it into the heap and mound and turned to me and shoved it in my mouth with a dispassionate look. The spoon shattered in one of my teeth. He loudly shouted, cha-ching! Through the blood and enamel I could taste the cheesy mess my sanity must have started to slip because it really did taste good. After I swallowed he filled my mouth again immediately. This time it tasted slightly different.

Better somehow. There was a hint of something that couldn't quite place. I chewed more and I realized that it was bacon. I looked at Guy and he greened again. You tasting that bacon yet? It really kicks it up a notch right huh? He started making sucker noises with his mouth and then slapped his lips. Oh yeah, it's belt and he ate some of the mac and cheese himself.

That bacon is made out of long pig if you know what I'm saying. I looked down and I saw that the strips of flesh were cut from my torso and legs. This and many more horrors would be my fate for all eternity. It looks like I got myself into nothing but trouble. See? Thank you buddy. This was my curse, my flavor town two, Flavor Bound by Jordan Spears. Wow, unbelievable tale.

Flavor Bound. I gotta tip my hat for Flavor Bound. Scary, scary stuff. The flesh was him. He didn't have to call him a long pig. That was a little rude. Long pig is slang for human flesh. Is that right?

Yeah, yeah. I can't remember what country they call it. I think it's the Philippines. Oh no kidding. What they call the human flesh that they eat roughly translates in English to long pig. Okay, I guess we know how they see us. That's fine. Long pigs.

Hey man, I love pork man. I love pork. It makes me feel guilty though. It's my guilty habit eating a lot of pork. I honestly wish I could get a patch. I wish I could get a pork patch. The thing is, I don't even mind it. I'll have some turkey bacon.

I'll eat the turkey. I like turkey bacon. I don't like turkey bacon. I think turkey bacon is a poor fact, Emily. Okay. Anybody, I don't like any fake version of anything. Look at this, and we finally got to Old Man Corner. It only took us till the end of the show.

I don't like turkey bacon. I like the turkey bacon. I don't mind turkey bacon. I don't give a shit. All right, there it was. Creepy pasta, spooky spaghetti. That was fun stuff. Number 14?

Number 14. Oh my God. 14 of these. You really can track the entire breadth of how we've changed as a podcast over these episodes. If you take all 14 of them together, that's got to be a trip all the way down to what it was like to be a drunk 28-year-old all the way to what it's like to be a medicated 35-year-old. There it is. I know that's certainly my journey.

Absolutely. If you guys, we are going to be in San Diego and Oakland and Los Angeles. We got tickets available for all of those. If you are in the Oakland or San Diego areas coming out to our live show, it's going to be so much fun. We cannot wait to see everyone there. Of course, in Los Angeles, we are going to be performing in a cemetery, which is going to be a blast.

I can't wait. I can't wait for this show. I'm so excited to see everybody as always. It's like now, it's like we had such a good ass time. We had such a good ass time in Australia. Oh my God. Silver cover. Yeah.

Someone wants to send me solo or maybe... You did so well with your teeth and I'm not even... But we don't need to have an iron brew moment. But I just love solo so much. You're a solo man. Yeah. Can you just not get in here? No.

You can't get solo. I've tried. It's very... There's one place that sells it online and it's very expensive. There's got to be some FDA reason. There has to be... Solo stuff. It just did not pass a government test. It's like Arnaut's Kingston Biscuits also.

I love and miss so much. How did they say... Because you were also in Japan for four days Marcus, how did they say the word podcast over there? I have to look it up but I think it's Podicastaru. Cool. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

Japan was very... It was fantastic. I loved it. Love it. Yeah. And Australia was so fucking cool. It was one of the coolest trips I've ever taken. I think Australia... I think that they're keen on keeping their Australian things Australian. Yeah.

Yeah. I could see that. I mean honestly I had such amazing beer over there. They don't have Bud Light so I had to venture out for my little safety net. And they had the great, great pale ales. And yeah. The food was amazing. Australia could not have been better.

Yeah. Actually... We're still talking about it. Actually a podcast in Japanese is Padakyasuto. Ooh. Cool. You got to move out there too. That's cool. Yeah.

It's super cool. I love it. Yeah. They did not really know what it was. Yeah. From the bartenders that I spoke to in Kyoto just kind of casually, yeah. One of them knew of their existence and the other I had a very difficult time explaining. No.

And this is why Henry and I were both like, oh man, really hope Marcus is just relaxing. And now you're actually doing more work than ever in Japan because you have to introduce the concept of a podcast. They can't even get to the idea that you may have a podcast. Yeah. Yeah. It's like the beginning of the work. It's like them, you showing them all of this stuff also, you're recording with them, you're

literally doing a podcast with them. Yes. You got to be careful, Marcus, it's a slippery slope of work out there. Yeah. Oh yeah. You might find yourself working no matter what out there in beautiful Japan. Oh yeah. And if you're a music nerd and you happen to go to Kyoto, Eniac is the coolest bar in

the world. Eniac. Eniac, yeah. Do you see some live music? Bar Eniac. No, they've got... It's the coolest place. They've got this gigantic selection. Instead of having a jukebox, they have these huge catalogs of 45 records that they have

and you can just go through and choose which record you want to play and then the bartender will go over and play each 45 individually. But now doesn't it seem like a harder jukebox? Yeah. It's a much more difficult jukebox. Okay. But then, but it's really fun. Yeah.

Yeah. But this is for Marcus. Yeah. People really like records. Yeah. They like it. They like flipping the thing. They like doing the thing where both of you and I are just been like, where's Metallica

on this button? Do you have Metallica on it? Well, Mark, one of the people there are extremely nice. Yeah. So I know. Yeah. Especially at that bar. They were super cool.

It took me a long time when Marcus started collecting records. Me being the quick thinker was like, go online and you get the right, you can get everything you want. But Marcus likes the hunt. Yeah. No, yeah. We are viewed to be, I believe the term would be posers in that world. Yeah, I've been collecting records since I was 15.

I fucking love the hunt. All right. All right, everyone. Well, thank you so much for listening. You got something, Henry? Yeah. So creep positive this week. Next week, getting back and do some, I'm going to say, it's true crime history.

Yeah, it is. Yeah. It's a heavy hitter time, but it's also true crime history time. So everyone's going to really enjoy what we've got coming up next week. Coming back hard. You better enjoy it. You better. Honestly, we come back hard with that.

And then the topic after that, especially it's the one that we've been waiting for a very long time to do. So I'm very excited. We have a lot of shit. We're about to fucking fold inside of you. Absolutely. And the podcast after that, Puffin's going to replace me. Georgie's going to replace you.

Replace you, Marcus. And we'll have Wendy sitting in for Marcus. It'll be an all-podcast. Yeah. It'll be great. Oh, puppy. Oh, that would be cute. All right, everyone.

Thanks for listening. Hail yourselves. Hail Satan. Oh, hell yeah. Let's do a Magus Deletions. Magus Deletions. Tell me. Alexander, you're so, mm, you smell just like Russell Brandt.

Yeah. I also spilled a bunch of ravioli and Russell Brandt the last time he was doing a show with Newark. So thank you. Thank you. This show is made possible by listeners like you. Thanks to our ad sponsors, you can support our shows by supporting them. And for more shows like the one you just listened to, go to lastpodcastnetwork.com.