Last Podcast On The Left - Episode 509: Creepypasta XVIII - Mr. Bojangles

Episode Date: October 14, 2022

Are you ready to get spooky? Halloween is sneaking up on us so you know what time it is... it's Creepypasta time. Hold on to your toes because this week the boys bring you a special series of sinister stories to kick off everyones favorite season.

There's no place to escape to this is the last talk on the left That's when the cannibalism started All right, ready Oh Wait a second, is that a ghost? Thank you, what a scary ghost crazy Oh No, it's just me after eating a cheese and pickle toasty

You did it though. I'm still in your story, but I'm also having some pretty British dumps You did a cheese and pickle toasty at 2 a.m. I had a cheese and pickle toasty at 2 a.m. What were you thinking man? I was thinking I love cheese and I love pickles and I love Scotland So let me see how it all comes together and you know how it comes together a dump. It smells like ammonia I don't leave it. I have not had I mean, you know, we're starting the episode hardcore I have not had a dump darker than a light tan Five days, and I don't know if that's just the lack of calcium. I don't know what I'm missing out of my dump But I'll go go go and see what that means. Don't worry

This is a very haunted episode, of course we're recording live not dead from Edinburgh the most haunted land around Then Henry and Marcus hanging out today's episode. It's going to be spooky spaghetti. It's creepy pasta I hope you like who naughty. No key. Yeah, you could say that you could say that that sounds more like pornography We'll get to that. Yeah, I'm sure you'll find a way to shoehorn it in. I have quite the surprise for you my friend You and the the person I said before the show joke of the day get this large bottle of Urnbrew And it's orange and it looks like cancer But it's delicious cancer. It's more delicious than I remember it being but it's also less fragrant and maybe that's why I find

Apparently, I'm the traitor because they've lessened the potency of I have and it's because I didn't realize we mentioned Jamie Oliver His first name at the show in Edinburgh last night. They got a round of booze. Oh, yes Because he's the reason they took the sugar out. Mm-hmm. Isn't that unbelievable? It's awful. That's absolutely awful I can't believe it, but apparently there's I'm brew 1901. So I'm gonna try some of that It's like, you know, they do that tequila they make it fancy But naming a time when white people showed up and took over. You know, I mean now it's fancy. I want syphilis 1776 But we're in the mood man. We're a spooky-ass mood. It's Edinburgh. I've been out down in the vaults Do you remember the how this entire city is built on a pile of bones?

And that's why I think it's really important to get into the English mindset. All right for today's creepy I'm not liking garlic crisps. I'm not doing it You just gotta put some smelt on it And you really really like it then some kind of cheese and onion mixture. Yeah, but here rain a mansion Okay, you are because God fucking holy shit. I need weed I could just if I could pray I should have smuggled it up my ass You know why I didn't do it. It has been a much more light-hearted version of train spotting I'm falling apart so I know that normally at the top of the creepypasta because this is what number

97 Really getting into 15 or 16 15 or 16, but normally I would say you know smoke a bowl or some iteration of that But no fuck you. Oh, right because I don't get it. Yeah. Wow, you know what you get it now All right, you have to imagine yourself. Okay number one Moonlit night, but you can't see it because it's raining. Oh, right. It's absolutely terrible outside This is when this wind rain, but everybody's loving they're all wearing t-shirts You're fully nice, right? And everyone's looking at you like you're a fucking jackass. All right, because you don't understand I'm from now. I'm now from Los Angeles. Unfortunately, right? So my blood has thinned. Yeah, right?

So I'm a mark to these I really enjoyed the weather. It's nice. It is actually very nice. And so all right, you're British Hello Oh your Adam's apple is so sharp. You can't even wear a collar. Oh, all right And every day your your legs get more rickety from the cobbled streets and they refused to turn into real streets And oh and you smell tea and you're like, yeah And isn't that spooky that is a little spooky depending on the tea and everywhere you go, right? You go down that British cobblestone street and you see something that's like, oh, it's a church It was in wonderful and you read the plaque and it's like 400 people were burned here in 1650

Yeah, fucking shit. Oh, they gave him a plaque. Yeah, they did. I went to the witches well over here in Edinburgh Where they put up a little and you're like, oh, you wonder how do they do what were the reparations for the witches? Sure, there's a little plaque. Yeah, it is nice It's a little planter that they put some I think it's a raga. No, whatever the hell they call it women love flowers I think we know what the witches want So again, you whittle back to your pub and there's a big round woman and she's telling you Oh sit in my clift sit in my clift, right? You're like My I'm like if I do sit in that clift of ghouls, I will never sleep

But you do anyway and you slide up inside this huge woman and next thing I know You're fucking you're surrounded by the bits of garlic biscuits and yeah You're eating something. It's not a pickle. Oh, yeah It's all mixed up in it. They're cheese and onion in there told me it was a pickle and the cheese pasty or nut pasty It was a pickle and cheese toasty and it wasn't pickles It was something that was pickle, but it was round and it was like a button and it was weird Next thing you know, you're sliding out as a tan shit that used to be inside a Polish Ex-pat name Henry Zabrowski fantastic. Yeah, all right. We drink fucking some booze

I guess now that everyone is ready for the creepy pasta. Let's get into it. Oh, you are you starting off? Well, I figure I might as well start off. Yeah, really set the tone Because this episode we keep a Marcus and I were saying before cuz normally, you know, we skew towards funny. Yeah, sure comedy Yeah, hey all time. So sort of we try to um, but today we're getting really we're gonna be genuinely very frightened We are yep. The intro is about how we're all human shit Yes, but all right, it is right. I mean, I don't know if I'm gonna be trying to be genuinely frightened me speak for yourself This is kind of all of our curse Well, maybe Marcus could be maybe you could pull it off sincere scary possibly but Henry and I can't do sincere scary

They laugh at us. I can scare some people. Yeah, but you really can't because even if you were you said that you made me laugh Yeah, see it doesn't work. That's the curse. Oh Despite the fact we're in Edinburgh this first story is entitled Kansas. Oh, oh wow So not on the carry on my wayward son indeed or don't come back at all. I Don't care Okay, so I haven't read this story once again on theme. Yeah, I mean again This is all about I wouldn't want you to work too hard on this No, I know if you did if you did it would ruin the match. It would break the tradition

Mm-hmm and as we know tradition is very important in Europe. Okay, here we go and the words have begun I think I've been driving for five days. It could be more But I can't remember things tend to blur from one day to the next lately from one hour to the next I was gonna do this creepy. Oh Try it All right, no, I mean it was creepy just your negligence You can do this one. No, no, no try I'd like to see you try to do it imagine atmosphere imagine it I've been driving for five days. It could be more but I can't remember

Atmosphere I've been driving for five days It could be more but I can't remember they stand to blur from one day to the next lately Okay, from one hour to the next so we have blurring hours Yeah, the glowing blue lights of my car's dashboard clock. Tell me it's 3 a.m. Which means it's been a long time since we last stopped More glowing lights. Tell me I need gas and I worry because there's nothing out there. You're smiling You're literally the opposite of making it scarier. You're actively smiling like it's a Tesco commercial I just watched that movie smile. It was a little scary This highway is perfectly straight and cuts a dark line through the flat black void of Kansas

Let's get There hasn't been as much as a hill or a curve in the road for hours Just a flawless level to rise it and on the occasional and on the occasional one family home with no lights on Sitting solitary on acres and acres of property Okay, that's scary. It's unused land unused land. He needs to be businesses there in restaurants more Subway sandwiches The gas station that suddenly appears like a radioactive pinpoint is startling in a way Sitting in an inky black ocean of grass underneath the night sky. I'm afraid to look away from it

No, maybe good deals on gas Yes, some part of my life Lee. Yeah, I know tell me about it. That's the real creepypasta. Yeah, right in the economy stupid Some part of my brain tells me it's going to disappear if I don't keep it in my sights a sign comes into view a white diamond with red block letters Yes No prices listed though. I suppose they wouldn't have to list them seen as they or doesn't seem to be much competition to advertise against I Pulled the car into the lot Brightly little aces of electric dust. There's no in there as I get out of the car I hear the tinny speakers playing country music, but I can't make out the words and the tune is only vaguely familiar

It's the only thing audible It's the only audible sound except for the footsteps on the concrete and the sound of a slide guitar is swiftly swallowed up by the night Yeah, a breeze lifts my hair away from my face But even in the wind it's nearly sigh, but even the wind is nearly silent a bug bounces rhythmically against the oppressive neon lighting of the gas station canopy It's a weird oppressive neon lighting. It's a little dramatic. It's fun. It's right. It's supposed to be it's good I see everything on the ground is shiny and lean underneath its halo though

It didn't although I didn't see any rain. You sound like a man who woke up from a ten-year coma Maybe it's just from the heavy fog that lingers just beyond the edges of the road I fill the car with gas and use a cart to pay the machine makes satisfied beeps when the payment goes through Okay This guy's weird Yeah, all right R2-D2 a shiver starts at the base of my spine and I can't stop it from traveling upwards an unknown Indescribable fear takes a hold of my heart. What am I doing? Where am I going?

That's it. That's it's basically it's a horror story, but the lack of economic diversity in purgatory You don't know where you're going Yeah, be like Kansas purgatory. Where am I going? Oh, he doesn't know where that but the He doesn't know why he's been driving could be a woman Yeah, and they're out there and then they see nothing all so they come too well driving. Have you ever done that? No, that story is not my fault That is just where am I going? Okay? You wanted to read that one? Yeah, but I was gonna spice it up I just don't it's about being confused like the equivalent of like the are we there yet?

Technically now that now I understand what you have done with your unfortunate ability. Yeah, that you have cast an elimination to the lack of Striving in Kansas. Anyway. All right, there we go kicked it off Would you like me to take the next one do it round Robin? This one is called They by Beatrice or Vogel When they came we suspected little they said nothing they barely even moved It was a cold autumn day when they came dressed in their black suits gloves and snow pants

I am ready for the snow. Oh, very nice. Nice pants They never said it or made any notion But there was a silent agreement between us and them that they intended to blend in and we both knew it didn't work Hmm, they didn't mind They carried briefcases and wore hats that seemed to always be covering their faces Regardless of the angle viewed from us townsfolk lived in harmony with them for a good while Men in black can actually be fine neighbors if you don't usually leave them alone. Absolutely. Honestly bring them a bottle of wine Oh treat him with a little respect. Bring a casserole. Absolutely. There's still people kind of then things began to stray from what we had

So none shallot me and braced as mundane. Oh The first incident was when a couple from out of town drew attention to them Always come on always come on Shut up shut up here ruining it. Those guys. It's not weird right get out of here tourist Oh, they didn't like being acknowledged. They certainly didn't like being talked to One morning every car in town was missing Or rather they were all taken apart down to the very last bolt and plate Pieces stacked neatly in piles in the town square a single message

Written in barely legible writing was tacked for the door of town hall it read You have failed Jesus Christ Those guys did it. Yeah, I was trying to buy my best. I don't want to play football dad. Seriously. I've been trying to get it over for two days What's happening here? Wow, we all knew that things would only be downhill from there We live in a small town out in the middle of nowhere with nothing of interest We get so few visitors it never crossed our minds to have a plan for when one comes in

Then again, we can't really warn anybody they know the you Search in the interesting day Ignoring their presence is a dire mistake. No it do not want to be persist Okay, okay. The second incident came without any noticeable provocation

The water disappeared All water in the area was After Mr. Those water smells like pee-pee? Who got a word? They're in Michigan. We all knew it was there doing it.

And they know that we know. I think it's those guys. Yeah. So it's weird, guys. You guys all don't want to talk about it, but honestly, I gotta go see you. You know that there was a second Wonder Woman. You have to leave, tourist.

We still had no idea just what their primary objective was, but to snoop any further than a casual glance would be to encroach on their goodwill. You could see them all walking about town, taking measurements, filling notebook after notebook with quickly scribbled notes, observed the weather and clouds, took senses of how many rats lived in everybody's home. They are nerds.

Oh, no. However, their behavior changed entirely after the second incident. No more measurements, no more counting, nothing. They just got out of their black cars, where we presumed they slept. OK. Strange presumption.

I see. They got out of their cars at 5 o'clock sharp, like any other day. But then what followed was entirely different. They all circled around the car parts. By the way, we attempted to reclaim them once. The tumors haven't receded since. I'm all covered with bumps.

Oh, yeah, you are. I was just collecting all the horns. Yes. And they did a silent dance of sorts. Eh, oh, eh, oh, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah. Silent, silent, silent, silent, silent, silent. It was no fluid motion. It was rather jagged.

I wish you could see this. An unnatural conversion to the casual eye. I wish the internet could see what Marcus was doing. Yes. This carried on for about three weeks. Wow, that's a long-ass dance. Then the unthinkable happened. They spoke.

The third incident was just how and what they spoke. You wouldn't believe a single thing they said if you hadn't lived with them for years like we did. Their speech was little more than hushed whispers at first, small voices in the back of your head, murmuring all kinds of horrible thoughts. After a while, when we had learned to tune them out, they, as if sensing our newfound immunity,

began speaking more loudly. Abram. Oh, hi. The thing is, they never stopped getting louder, louder, and louder until none of us could even think migraine after migraine if we didn't comply. Some of the townsfolk followed their conversations and acted out what they said, possibly

mistaking the shouting for their own faults. I love the crossing street for my parents. It's not that nice. Everybody does love Raymond. Soon, we began to fight amongst ourselves. We also began to do ludicrous things, like jump off roofs, touch the car parts. That's crazy.

And attempt to open our bodies to remove organ. See, I feel like we're skipping past a lot of levels. Right, because the jumping off roofs, bad. Touching the car parts would give two tears. I mean, car parts are there. That's fine. Yeah, it's a lug nut. The fourth incident was one of these odd actions.

A neighbor of mine, his name lost to the endless screaming. I think it was Steve. He may have been Steve. Yeah, I remember that. He actually touched the tainted yellow liquid that replaced all the water. His bones never did stop popping and snapping. We thought nothing of it.

You thought nothing of that. Too preoccupied with our new thoughts. Oh. Our assigned thoughts that we were disgusting. We were out of shape. We were wrong in every way. That they had never seen this terrible of failure as us. This is a parable about social media.

And we believed it. After all, it's all we thought about. Because where are we going? You're always thinking about what they are thinking of you. Oh, yeah, dude. And you never want. And all of a sudden, they're doing a bunch of stuff you don't understand, right?

Because they're to them. And you don't get them, but they always judge you. And you're supposed to, you can tune it out as much as you want the next thing you know. As soon as you start listening to them, what they do is they start controlling reactions. So that's like a new trend now, no ending. No ending?

I mean, that story was written almost 10 years ago. Oh, OK. Yeah, that's from 2013. Well, I know it is a parable. I mean, yeah, you know, water of the water. Instagram used to be water. It used to be fun. And then Facebook bought it.

And now it's yellow liquid vial. Now it's yellow liquid vial. I love to learn. Fantastic. All right. Right from your grave. Did you know that there are currently over 2.4 million podcasts in the world?

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ZipRecruiter. It's the smartest way to hire. All right. I got a song. It's creepy, Henry. All right. Oh, yeah. Yeah.

This song's about Mr. Bojangles. Fantastic. Oh, wow. I love that song. It's called Mr. Bojangles Collection by Danica. Thank you, Danica. OK. Tully knew a lot for an eight-year-old.

Too much. He knew most of his times tables. He knew all the months of the year. He was pretty good at spelling. That'll really come in handy nowadays. In school, Tully had been learning about what makes a good friend. So he knew all about that, too.

So late one night, Tully was woken by someone tapping on his window. It was too dark to really see who was there. But Tully heard somebody giggling and asked to be let inside. Never let the giggling man in. No. Scary people need love, too.

Knowing that that's what a good friend would do, Tully opened his window wide without hesitation. Too large, long hand, script the window sill. The fingers looked crooked in all different sizes. And Tully noticed on the left hand a finger was missing. Then so fast that he could have been a shadow that Paulist man Tully's ever seen slipped in through the bedroom window.

Tully was so glad that he opened the window that night because Mr. Bojangles became his best friend. As he does, dancing on the boards. Absolutely. The name Bojangles really suited him. Tully thought because sometimes he would crawl right up the wall and dangle from the ceiling. Tully knew that Mr. Bojangles was right.

He loves to dangle. She don't be out of this. I taught her how to dangle. Oh, well, isn't that nice? And dangling is more difficult than you think. Oh yeah, ask Natalie because she dangles all the time. Tully's new friend was funny as well as clever. He could twist his head all the way around.

The tour was entirely backwards. Which always made Tully laugh and his large eyes looked like two deep dark holes in his head. Oh, that's fun. Funny. Isn't that nice dark holes in your head? Sometimes Mr. Bojangles would get down on all fours, twist his head backwards, chase Tully up and down the

hallway while Tully squealed with delight. That would have been you as a child. I would have been. I would have loved to have Mr. Bojangles. I was a lonely child. Yeah, you would have been. You're just looking for a reach out. You're looking for something to try to understand.

Yeah. Tully's new friend, they need to keep their friendship a secret, but that was okay because Tully was excellent at keeping secrets. Mr. Bojangles had been very busy for a very long time collecting things and he was getting close to his collection being complete. Tully collected interesting rocks that he found at the

beach so he knew all about collecting things. I collect interesting rocks. You do? Yeah. What kind of interesting rocks? Just interesting rocks. What's the most interesting rock you've collected? Probably a red one that I got in Iceland.

And what does it mean to you? I have a nice memory of a hike that me and Carolina took. Fantastic. Now, it's got white flecks in it. I can't wait for you to move. If you're going to move, we're all going to have friends. We're all going to have friends.

Mm-hmm. The problem was that Mr. Bojangles needed Tully's help. You only had one more thing to collect, but he could not do it alone. He was certain that Tully was just the boy of the job. And Tully was sure that he was too. First, Tully had to get the tool from the shed that his dad used to cut small branches from trees called cicature.

That part was easy because Tully had helped his dad put all the hooks on the wall to hang the tool. So he already knew where they were. Then Tully had to stay up very late, very past his bedtime to be certain that his dad was asleep. Tully would never forget the last part of the plan, because Mr. Bojangles told him that he must be very brave and that everyone was filled with rivers of red.

Oh, it's blood. Oh, I see. Late that night, while his father slept, Tully found out that he was right. Tully knew that he had done a great job from the gaping wet grin on Mr. Bojangles' face. And the way his black eye slid up like fire. Fun.

Tully had tried to grin back at his friend, but all he could see was red and then blackness. Hospital was so boring. The nurses had come to check on Tully. We're boring and too busy to play with him. The doctors asked too many questions. He'd only been there for a few days when Tully was woken one night by a heavy weight dropping on the end of his

bed. When he sat up with surprise, Tully was overjoyed to see his best friend, Mr. Bojangles, sitting there at the end of the hospital bed. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, Mr. Bojangles, thanks. I just see you.

I just see you as child. Tully grinned and held up his bandage left hand, now with one finger less. Mr. Bojangles grinned right back, holding his own hands behind his back. He slid up the end of the bed and stretched his bony body up to its full height. Then with a flourish, Mr. Bojangles spun around,

revealed his left hand to Tully, now with one finger more. Oh, very nice extra finger. Mr. Bojangles wiggled his strangely crooked fingers, all of them different lengths and sizes. Tully counted all 10 of them. He was excellent at counting. He was so happy that finally his friend's collection was

complete. Whoa, he took his finger. It was fingers. Yeah. Wow, different kinds of fingers from different people. Yeah. People collect rocks. Yeah.

Some people collect fingers. Yeah, some people collect both. I collect piles of skin from my body, all the dry skin that comes off me. I collected little jars just in case that the help doesn't come when they're at the hotel, and they take one of the jars and try to make another one of you. I think I saw my strange addiction about that.

Yeah. I think it's been done before. No, people do. They eat their dry skin, yeah. Yeah, like skin flakes. Yeah, I'm not into it. No, I like. I collect it.

I'll take a cornflake over a skin flake. All right, I got one. It's called 10 Little Piggies. It's by David. Great. Sounds right up here. I'm glad you got the peek. Honestly, I have some stuff for you for next week

for Side Stories. Do you know how many cheese-based crimes that happen in Europe? A lot. Dude, there's been a lot of weird crimes in Europe that we've discovered. Apparently, the nurses are just killing all the babies out here. I discovered that there's a TV presenter in England

called Alex Jones. Yes, a woman. It's a lady. She's like, hot. Yeah, super hot. Yeah, because I found a newspaper headline that I found quite humorous. Alternative universe.

It does kind of feel like that. Hot Alex Jones. Alex Jones, this is from the Daily Mail. Alex Jones puts on a glamorous display in a plunging corset and metallic skirt. Looks good. That might be about our Alex Jones. Same boss size.

OK, 10 little piggies by David. 10 little piggies. I'm exposed. I know if I open my eyes, only what? I'm exposed. I'm exposed. I know if I open my eyes, only moonlight and shadow will greet my foggy gaze.

But to overcome the whisper of tension, creeping synapse to synapse would require more courage than I currently possess. All possibilities are equally unlikely, making each nightmare as likely as the next. Wow. The first, a blade. The wielder is, I would suspect, human,

but I cannot be sure. I am, however, wholly certain that they are skilled and intend to inflict maximum harm. You sound like the AI of what we spot, but they said came alive. They crouch at the foot of the bed, a deadly focus on my bare extremities. I'm exposed.

Plans of separating my second and third toe to the heel. I want to deal with toes. 10 little piggies. It is too warm in here. How am I supposed to rest? Should I cocoon myself in a shroud of cheap polyester when my body temperature is rising by the second? If I could just open my eyes and allow myself

to be convinced that I could throw off this sweat-soaked rag, alas, the neurons whisper still, and the whisper grows louder. Well, I thought you would make it no longer a whisper. I didn't understand, so I thought he was naked, but he's wearing a suit. No, he's covered. He's in a blanket.

But he's got a polyester blanket. Yeah. It's very uncomfortable. It is. I don't like the concept of it. Yes. Logical. Yeah.

No, it doesn't make any sense. A hand lays still on the edge of my mattress, the first and second knuckle visible, the remainder receding in the darkness, unsaned. But this hand does not rest. It is poised. Ready? It will not remain still for long.

The skin pale and sagging shows signs of rot. I must assume that the hands float, not independently, but is guided by an equally emaciated host. So you're lying down. I'm just trying to vaguely understand what it is that you're saying. So you're lying down butt naked with a blanket on. He sees a bunch of hands that are on the knuckles.

But he thinks that there's going to be a host, a.k.a. something connected to this hand. Yeah. There would be. It's the scorching breath of this I can feel on my exposed thigh. This threat is most definitely not human, at least not anymore. My eyelid flickers in uncontrollably,

the thin veil separating fear from freedom. His eyes are on me. A hulking mass hidden behind the wall of darkness past my open bedroom door, watching, waiting, an absence of light stretches across the chrome-clad wall and slides onto the bed next to me. Distorted talons reaching for my throat. Just open your eyes.

I can't. A drop of saliva hangs millimeters from my face. If I dared raise my head only slightly, it would meet my sweating brow. It's like that scene from Alien. God, it belongs to a creature currently suspended above me. Claws driven into the ceiling. No, the dangler.

That's what it is. It's a dangle. There's a whole dangling section. Dangle thing. Claws driven into the ceiling. Joints cracked and limbs twisting, allowing the face of this blind demon to press ever closer to mine.

Long curved teeth begin to separate. You sound like if Clive Barker had a brain injury. Because it does sound like it could be sexual and exciting and dark and fucked up. But what you're saying, it sounds like you're reading a bunch of demands to a police officer while you have a fucking pilot at gunpoint. It's very scary.

Also, that new hell racer is supposed to be good. I know, it's got a lady in it. Long curved teeth begin to separate, forcing the taut, glistening skin to draw back over exposed tendons and white bone. The spittle breaks free. The demon lunges. I open my eyes.

So another story that has really no fucking conclusion to it. I'm not writing this shit. It was all a dream. I don't know what. It all took place in a fucking snow globe. I don't know. I don't know. And see, you just opened his eyes.

But I actually kind of like that you, I mean, obviously you didn't read it before. You didn't know the ending. But it's nice that you can see the actual reaction. That's how he would react. Yeah. If he did read it alone. Because I also find it's a massive pet peeve of mine

when stories end that it was all a dream. Yeah. Because then, what if I spent the last fucking hour doing? What do I care? If it's all a dream. But that's a scary dream. It's a scary dream. I had a dream last night that I was in post for doing a season

for your pretty face going to hell. It didn't happen. I woke up sad. No, that's the scary dream. Those are my scariest dreams, the one that are hyper realistic. I had a dream that everyone was mad at me and we're all breaking up. And like those dreams are like those. I hate those dreams.

I can deal with my nightmares. Those are kind of fun. No, I have three Freddy dreams now and I beat him twice. See, that's cool. Me and Dave sitting at an editing bay just talking about how great the new season was going to be. And it was really fucking sad. Yeah.

Yeah. Because it didn't happen. No. No, it's not. Yeah. OK. Well, that is the ball. It's called result disappointment.

That's the scariest thing possible. Don't grow up. Well, this story is called worried. OK. Oh, no. It's submitted by anonymous. Oh, I bet. Because they're worried if you knew who they were.

Yeah. They find that very difficult. Absolutely. It's a lot of worries. I mean, I'm worried. Sometimes you can see what other people are seeing and you're worried. You're worried about the furry thing with the dinner plate sized eyes that comes down the stairs when you walk up to your bedroom

in the dark. You're worried about the hordes of tiny little men that always come into the rooms of people who sleep on the floor. The little men that slowly carry you away as you desperately pretend to still be asleep. Sir, you said that you're worried about the things that other people see. But I'm just going to go on a limb here and say,

I don't think there is any tiny little men. No, there might not be. It might be a very dangerous mental disease. You're worried about the people with long necks and a throat pouch who stare at you after you accidentally witness them swallowing something big. I just saw that on the Royal Mile. Is that right?

Big necks. They stare at you as if trying to estimate your overall body mass. Can I swallow you? Can I swallow you? Can I swallow you? Can you gum? You're worried about the thing that answers with your girlfriend's

voice when you ring at the door of her apartment building only to have your girlfriend call you moments later on your mobile phone to tell you that she's sorry she wasn't home yet. And could you wait there a few moments longer? This guy has a girlfriend? Who was phone? You're worried about the little goat that talks to the people in your voice that you mostly feel through your feet.

This guy's got a fucking beard. Oh, man, I don't want to be anywhere near this. You're worried about the giant goat head. It's inexplicably alive in a basement somewhere, filling almost the entire room. It's just like, I just got to move on. I got to record today. I've got so much going on, buddy.

I can't hear all of your worries. You're worried about the illness that makes your hands and feet grow little teeth and how they start eating you from your limbs up. That would be something that's a concerning thing. I think it might be adult onset acne. Yeah. You're worried about the result of this illness.

Hollow heads waddling around in your roof on hands and feet with the rest of their bodies gone. You're worried about the thing that follows you around all day with the tiny eyes that are so wide apart. And the big, big mouth, the thing that stares at you and waits, waits. And when you expect it, the least start screaming so loud. Screams that freeze you to the bone.

You spend every moment asleep or awake, treading the moment when it will start screaming again, yet hoping for it to finally come because the waiting is almost worse. So you want to work here at the Winn-Dixie, huh? Well, we're going to have to take a look. We need to do a piss test. But not the kind you think.

Can you piss on Q? You can work in Winn-Dixie. Bang. You're worried about how your boyfriend sometimes changes his shape while he's asleep, especially that one time when he ended up looking like your father. That's just cold. Again, you never know who you marry.

Well, they always say you marry someone that looks like your mother or someone that is like your father. Look at me. Exactly. You're worried about the mirror standing all alone in an abandoned building. You're worried about the people who split open like clams

to reveal a tiny talking pearl inside. Oh, that's good. I hate that, man. I'd be worried too, man. That's good money, though. It commands you to do unspeakable things. You're worried about the Wolfman with a penis, very small in diameter.

What? Which can grow up to 10 meters long in just the fraction of a second, transversing people's bodies in the most agonizing ways while making the noise of a party horn. Yeah. Wow. That's like, this guy's got quite the imagination.

The little girl up ones. Prrr. Just the idea of just a long wolf penis is just kind of fun. I don't know why they started with a short wolf penis, because it sounds like it's quite large, actually. It's like dark side of the moon. It's small in diameter, then. Yes, but it's long.

It's long and small in diameter. Sometimes it's nice. I don't know. Ben, you're worried about the thing that tells you how pretty you are. Yep. Because that's how I know your line. That's how I know you're not always trying to butter me up.

Tell me how pretty I am. You're worried about the small things with the stupid empty eyes that copulate on the walls and on the ceiling. So many of them that you feel like watching porn on thousands of little screens. And no matter how hard you try to call their numbers, their population grows and grows. They don't even try to resist you.

They don't need to. This guy's a girlfriend. Yeah, I don't know what's happening. Now is the porn addict? You're worried about the long, cold fingers that caress your neck at night as you lie with your back towards the wall. You're worried about the hair growing on the floor.

You're worried about the hair in your toilet. And you're worried about the thing that happens when you pee on it instead of flushing first. On the toilet? In the toilet. Because guys, is that your googly? Yeah. Oh, yeah, goollies.

Yeah. Goollies look great. You're worried about the tiny eyeballs on long rubbery stalks that stare at you as you wake up slowly, very slowly, retreating out of the room as you stare back at them, somehow sensing the presence of something much larger outside.

You're worried about the thing waiting in your bathtub at night. You're worried about the tongue that meets you halfway when you are giving oral sex to your girlfriend. What is a girlfriend again? Yeah, she's got a tongue and her vagina, bro. Oh, man. God bless her.

I guess. Do you think that last one's kind of hot? I do, honestly. I think it's kind of cool because it's like you're French kissing your girlfriend's own vagina. The rest, no. Worries you. I am worried.

All right, that's the end. So that was the closing one? That's the end, yeah. The closing one. The closing one. That's the end, yeah. Yeah, no way you think the less was kind of hot. The rest worries you, though.

Yeah. It seemed like he had a bunch of cool thoughts and then had a hard time wrapping it up at the end. Hey, all the rest is a lot of work. At no point did he mention taxes, which I think we all have to worry about. I just realized, yeah, and also dementia. Yeah.

That's going to come for all of us. Yeah, you're really obsessed with that after seeing that movie. Very scary to me. Gary, if you want to see the single scariest movie I've seen in years, a Disgasper, no, is vortex. I don't want to see that. It's fucking scared the fucking shit out of me. Oh, you can watch that Glenn Campbell documentary.

But actually, oh, yeah, that also fills the need. But it's definitely, I thought that last line, you just added. No, no, it was in the story. Yeah, that's it. So the last, the erotic thing is he's kissing it. It's like a tongue inside of his girlfriend's vagina. It's very night veil. Yeah, yeah.

But I kind of like that world because that's kind of, there's something about, there is a scary world that he just dates. Yeah. And he's kind of like, this seems kind of strange, but also at the same time, he's obviously in a nightmare realm. It worries him.

It worries him because he feels like maybe on TV he's watching in the nightmare realm. Instead of watching old scary things, he's watching people do ordinary things like cook eggs or like go to work and stuff. He's just like, ooh, a nine to five. That's scary. And then you sort of realize like,

maybe we shouldn't be living like that. But then that, now he's just a man out of time. And then what they say, it's like, it's up. Oh, you only call someone who goes insane if they are sane during insane circumstances. Right? Absolutely fantastic. All right, I got a little mini story

because we're in the UK. Why does that, what does that mean? What's the correlation there? It's just quick because it's UK feelings. Okay. My mom was never a religious woman, but always a very spiritual one. Nevertheless, you didn't necessarily believe

in literal fairies and the like, but you can never find an explanation for something she saw on a trip to the UK in her teens. This was in 1976. The top of the pops had Marty and the Thinklebombs. Oh, absolutely. And everyone's favorite dance hall had everybody get the grackle.

Was playing on every single steam powered radio in the UK. I love that song. Great tune. My mom had traveled to the UK from New York to perform with her choir in a hallowed old cathedral. She described it as majestic and massive. There was lodging attached to the old building

and she and her choir stayed there during the trip. One night, when she and some of her girlfriend's were up late night talking. They heard a funny singing voice coming from down the hallway. It was like an anime. Sure. Cool. It wasn't unpleasant.

OK. But high pitched and odd, no language they could understand. This is true now. This is a true story. Oh, I didn't you should have preface to it. It's a true story. OK. My mom and two of her friends left the room to investigate following it to a locker a bit down the hall.

The singing was coming from inside. Overcome with curiosity. One of the girls opened the locker to see a tiny, naked, red haired man. Oh, these ones are cute. Yeah. Not ghostly, but not exactly corporeal either. It couldn't have been taller than a foot, she said.

He apparently hadn't heard the girls coming down the hall. And upon seeing them all staring at him, he shrieked. Oh, he was more scared than they were in. Absolutely. Right. And all four of them stood there for a moment just screaming in shock. The girls slammed the locker and ran down to the room. The singing quieted after that.

And when someone went to go check the locker sometime later, the little guy disappeared. Well, they scared him. Mom and her friends never told anyone on that trip that they'd because they feared they'd be called crazy. But she remembered it clearly for the rest of her life. And she never had another counter quite like it. A struggle with believing in the paranormal.

But the story has always made my fate or lack thereof. Wave her. Ooh, I hope you don't scare the little guy in the locker. The little people are here. The little people are here. It's not just people selling sammys. Those are my favorite kinds of paranormal stories. Or is it you just see a weird little guy.

It's a strange little thing that happens when it's over. Yeah. Because to me, that's kind of like if there are slips in reality, like that type of thing, glitches in the matrix. I think that they would happen suddenly and quick. Like you'd see a thing that's not supposed to be there for a second.

It realizes it's being seen and says, nah. And then leaves. And then that's why a lot of times you get pink eye. Yeah. There's a plot that it's usually not true. That's my thing. Well, I've got one more short tale for you. This one's called Shelter by Prince Peach.

Ow. Kill now and just a silo wear. And just a silo wear. That's a fun story. 15 feet from stardom. Did you see that documentary? Oh, yes. It's a 15 feet.

Choose pregnant. During that, yeah. And they woke her up in the middle of the night. And they need to give her a little bit more money, I think. But anyway, that's another horror story. Yeah. Residual food costs her up 14% in the UK. Scary.

Got him. Shelter by Prince Peach. The sleepy town of Southlake never expected any kind of bomb to be dropped on them. And you were woefully unprepared when the shrieking of Klaxons and news reporters split their calm town. It was gradual, perhaps not so instant starting with denial.

As lights flickered out and water slowed to a trickle, the residents began to believe. Mothers cried for the coming death of their children. And the fathers put on brave faces with shaking hands. They could not grasp that they were dead already. And so they descended on a man they had once mocked, laughing behind closed doors about spent money and spilled milk. You are not laughing now.

Panic pushed and crushed. Red painting the souls of boots and bare feet. They clawed at his door begging and pleading until fingernails gave way to bone. Sometime later, when the sirens turned off and false alarm was called, the man exited his bunker. Although no bombs had fallen, his neighbors and friends were all dead.

What? Don't know. Well, is this about Ukraine? They're dead. In their place were strangers who could not look him in the eye, but to spit on his shoes. They despised him not for what he had done, but for what it made them little more than animals

in the face of death. What? You know, if you took the way you said spit on shoes, if you take that and work from there, I think you'd be pretty good at this. That's actually getting scary. Yeah. In their place were strangers who could not look him

in the eye, but to spit on his shoes. Yeah, that's pretty good. See, that's good, because you actually do have, believe it, below timber. Yeah, you get that timber. You growl at it. Yeah, you can get down there. Hey, give me, hey.

Will you please stay with me tonight? Hey, please don't leave, hey. Who got tonight? I'm sick. I'm so sick. Southlake. I don't know what the hell I just read. It's obvious.

It sounds like it's a bunker situation. What was it called? It's called Shelter by Prince Peach. Oh, yeah. Oh, you know what? I'll do one more, because that was so short. This is mud by Prince Peach. OK, OK.

OK, give me a shot. OK, I'll make a shot. The air is still, and I cannot breathe. Cool. My son is falling quiet, and I dig. The earth is damp and clings to my fingers, but my son does not help. He is quiet as I dig in earth so wet,

I cannot seem to keep it dug. My wife cries as I claw at the dirt, and my son is silent. He's silent as he climbs into my work, and is eaten whole. My wife is gone still, and I dig. The mud sucks at my hands and threatens to consume me. She is still as I work in squelching muck that will not stay dug.

She is still as I work in squelching muck that will not stay dug. I weep because her vacant eyes will not. As I reach deeper into what I have wrought, my wife is still as I crawl into my chasm, and I'm swallowed. As you were saying that, a raven perched upon the sill. I watched the raven, and then it went, ah, not scary. The air is mud, and I do not breathe, but I must dig.

I mean, that's like good lyrics. That was good. I like that. That was good. Atmosphere. Yeah. Prince Peach. I like that.

I feel it. Yeah. Scary stuff. It's quicksand. It is. That's BA, but also I think it was about graves, but digging your son's grave, you killed your son. Now, you're digging his grave, now you're killing it.

It's all pulling you down. It was actually written by Chad Davell. Chad Davell. Sorry about that. Also, it's about adding things to a pet symptom. My story is called Thinjaman. Thinjaman? Thinjaman.

Like Benjamin, but if I was Thin? Thinjaman. Thinjaman. I think it's Thinjaman. Thinjaman. I'm a Thinjaman. I'm a Thinjaman. It's like a superhero.

Thinjaman. We'll get there. We'll find out. I think it's more like a stupid, like it's Thinjaman. Man. It's OK. Yeah, it's by Connor. Oh, wow, Connor.

I love him. Yeah, great. Once upon a time, two little boys named Eric and Thomas walked down Gurflant Road, one fine winter day, on their way to school. As they walked, they had an argument about who had the better toy. My Thinjaman is better because it's purple.

Explained Eric. Purple is a dude you color. I like my Fat-A-Man because of how he is blue, argued Thomas. Sure. Purple, blue, purple, blue. Their argument continued on, much like this, for 20 minutes until a crow flew by and collided

with the back of Thomas' head. Yes. He fell into the driven snow, dingin' his knee on a piece of ice in the process. Thomas sat up and wailed loudly about his knee and face. Eric looked down at his friend and threw his sin toy at Thomas. It bounced off his head and landed in the street. Thinjaman!

Screamed Eric. My knee is bleeding and snows in my eyes. Fine, you're fine. Thomas, as the snow around his legs slowly gained a crimson hue, as Eric ran out to grab his anorexic action figure, a muscular man in a tank top lumbered out of the nearby apartment. It's a Chad.

Isn't that nice? It's an anorexic action figure. Anorexic. Thinjaman. Thinjaman. Thinjaman. And the guy in the tank top, he chucked a bottle of whiskey at the boys.

Cool. He says, shut up. I'm trying to sleep. Yeah, of course. Slurred the drunken man. In the snow? Yeah, man. He's fucking asleep in his house.

These kids say, boo, boo, boo, boo, boo. Fuck you, man. I'm drinking whiskey. I'm with the guy, yeah. The bottle crashed against the asphalt, sending shards of broken glass flying everywhere, one landing in Eric's eyelid as he blinked and several on Thomas's sitting form.

As they screamed and shouted for their mothers, the snow around Thomas's leg had turned a deep maroon and began to expand drastically. Eric, in his days to state, had tripped and fallen faced first into the mound, expanding near Thomas's leg. Mommy! Welled Thomas, as his lower body, was absorbed. What?

Shed blood, shed blood, shed blood, shed blood, shed blood, shed blood, shed blood, shed blood, shed blood. That's what Eric chanted that. He said, shed blood, shed blood, shed blood, shed blood, shed the remains of the two children and 548 kilograms of bloodied snow lumbered to the school. What? All the while humming a dirge and slowly growing.

Benjamin. So they turned into a big bloody snowman? Yeah, a big bloody. Bleh. Really cool. Yeah, and it's humming. And they still went to school? I mean, I would skip that.

You're now a movie theater. You're literally a blood snow cone man, right? You're a blood filled snowman. You go back to school. You go back to some derules. You don't need to know math at that point. Oh, no, man. You go on the road.

Life from Northland. A roast as dark as the night, perfect for fueling the cryptid research and mad ravings required for your podcasting. Don't mind the red eyes. He's just trying to warn you of the bridge. The bridge. Finally, from the caffeine-addled brains

of Spring Hill Jack Coffee and Last Podcast on the left, we bring you Mothman's Red Eye Blend. Yes, delicious Panama beans. Go to lastpodcastmerch.com to order yours today. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. OK, no. This is the final tale, Henry. Are you ready to really scare us?

OK, so I asked this question to Marcus before. And maybe we'll find out. Like, are there certain laws in the UK? Yes. Where you're not, number one, yes. Allowed to, like, say, disparaging, like, maybe sexual things about the queen. Oh, no, who care?

I'm the daily male who's made a living off of it. Yeah, I don't think they care. But the thing is, is that this story is this is. The queen's dead, buddy. I think that we're going to see how long we get through. OK. With this story I have discussed. How long is the story?

I'm going to try to skip. I'm going to try to skip around. OK, so it's five or so pages. It's got some time to it. Great, great. Yep, let me just see. No, that's exactly what we want. Let me go, or is that a conclusion?

Yeah, yeah. Here we go. Fireworks. OK, let's see how this goes here. Because, again, I always research. I want to bring something to the table. We're here in the UK. I want to bring something that they can understand.

Yeah, yeah, absolutely. Because we're always having time. We realize how many of our references are super American. Yeah, sure, right? And people have said that, oh, they're so American biased. This is us trying to understand you. OK. The call from Battlemoral Castle

came at the most unexpected time. For years, Charles had been expecting it. The call, not the location. I mean, call to his royal mother's sick bed had been a common, if not regular occurrence. Oh, yeah. They kicked a suit of armor as he passed and made a very satisfying clang, like a rusty bucket.

Most of the artifacts are displayed, not really belonged to the family, as much as it did to the British Museum. And he would probably have to pay for any damage. There you go. That's a horror story right there. Yeah, wow. It's context.

It's bill. There was one, oh, yeah, speaking of artifacts, there was one on the bed. OK. A very persistent one that had some obligatory amount of affection for us. Fucking delver did not do delver. Really, though?

The frequent calls were beginning to frazzle his nerves. She slept peacefully, pot of drug lukewarm tea being wheeled out by one of the attendants as the doctors fracked it over her results. Mama mightn't awake. It was torn between wishing she would and wouldn't. On one hand, it had been so long. You've been waiting for this moment for so long.

Her face flashed in his eyes, confused, horrified, and the grief, oh. It seemed bare moments had passed when the doctors informed them that she was stirring away. The family filed in, all packed into the queen's bedroom, and Charles, settled by her side, taking one wrinkled hand, gingely in his. There was a sort of fragrance in the room, more death,

an expensive clone than before. And it was under there, it was just so unbearably familiar. Charles ached with the thought, breathing in and branding the scent into his memory. Hello, Charles, his mother croaked, though voice feeble with sleep and age illness. Charles smiled. Mother.

The queen hesitantly looked at him once more, almost pleading, is it a dream, is it a dream? Yeah. Charles raised her hand to kiss the protruding knuckles and the queen immediately jerked away, eyes widening in recognition, and replied, the prince squeezed her hand. No, mama.

No, it's not a dream. He tilted his head, didn't hail deeply, and the queen suddenly faltered, gasping. She shuddered, her lips thinning impossible. She looked away. The prince's side softly had a section curling in his gut. The queen is dead. God save the king.

Charles thought of his daddy, waiting for the good news in his room. It's great. Glad he was, that he'd greet mama with him that night, and whilst she had unknowingly caused him to hide and live a life of shame, she too had loved him so dearly, even if it could not compare to the love he and Charles had for each other.

And if the news hadn't been the final dagger in her undying heart, Charles did not seem to mind one bit. Whatever Elizabeth had expected, the sight of a corpse was not it. It was lying on her bed, remarkably well mummified in some sort of artificial skin suit, naked and phallus, standing upright under a cotton sheet. Her hand had dotted desperately for the telephone,

only to find it missing from the usual desk. I thought the queen was dead. Yeah, well, yeah, I mean, it's something I know. She's saying that, oh, if she, because there was a terrible secret between Charles and his father, that once she had found out and knew for sure, he thought that it would kill her, but instead she remained alive.

Oh, he's having sex with his father. There was a figure by the lab twirling the phone to serve her by its cord. I've come to confess, mama. What's this meaning, this? Elizabeth asked feebly. The smell of preservative chemicals barely hid the necrotic fumes hanging thickly in the air,

and she felt faint. Charles smiled viciously, stripping the thin sheet off the corpse. Do you recognize him, mama? The queen shook her head trying to edge away. It was the first time such a visceral fright had taken hold of her. Oh, you're tempting regicide, is this what this is, Charles?

The boy, old man he might be, but he was still a boy to her, shook his head with a triumphant smile and shed his clothes. Elizabeth averted her eyes. He's naked now. Yeah, no, I got it. Then he was lifting her face, earnestly pleading her to take a good look at the corpse. Father was not very faithful to you, he breathed.

He liked younger partners. He liked ramming it into their all souls, filling them up. He liked training them up to be as little bitches. OK. Charles lifted the corpse up, tracing its sharp cheekbones with mad infatuation. I was his bitch, mama. Grease breath hitched.

She sang back on a pillow, sorrow plunging a deep blade, serrated with scandals into her heart. She could not think of it, her oldest son being abused, violated by his own father. Is this the truth, my child? Charles closed his eyes and licked a stripe along the corpse's blackened lips. Yes, mama.

I was his favorite. Oh, OK. Oh, private lives, huh? Isn't that something with the royal family? This is really long. Yeah, so I think this is really long. This is really, really quite long. So he's having sex with this father's corpse,

because this father groomed him to the boy where. Oh, worked himself on the corpse's slave, for a jealousy rear to tab between the herd of Charles taunter and more and more. Oh, yeah, because he's having sex with the corpse. OK. But she's just taking it. She's just standing there and watching.

OK, here we go. Here we go. All right, so she doesn't apologize. She's like, not yet. OK. No, no, no, she's not there yet. Not yet. It's like, we did it behind your back, you know, four years.

Right? So Charles slid a contraceptive down the phallus and began sucking on his finger, slipping between his own legs. That's fantastic. He was the sight no mother should ever see. I agree, actually. And Charles bored down on her, staring at her watches,

the two people she had ruined, abandoned and ruined, tore her own mellow wallpapers down. He loved me. Charles cried, panting as he worked himself on the corpse's length. He loved me, mama. His elderly body twisted. It's an impending climax.

The heir and parent let out a slew of filthy moans, whimpering when we began to bounce harder and harder and harder the bed creaking with his efforts. Look at me, your majesty. Oh, could she not? Right, he's having sex with the corpse as a father. Charles spat, if it weren't for you, I'd be bedridden in the master bedroom of the Buckingham

Palace, sore and used and stuck with his cum while papa ruled with me. His cum. Yeah. All right. Daddy. Charles cried anguished and he began to spasm and spur. Thick ropey spunk under the bedclothes.

Oh, no, daddy, we'll be all right. I'll get you fixed up with no time, daddy. Is that the end? No, it's just like two more pages to this. There's quite a bit. Usually ropey cum is when these stories end. Oh, but then, yeah, Elizabeth couldn't really make it to attend to her duties and say,

because she died looking at it. Oh, OK. OK. That's how she died. OK, so that corpse is like a couple years old, like a year old then. Yep. OK.

Oh, yeah, maybe even more. And I'm trying to find the name. What's the name of that TV show about the queen? The Queen. The Crown. Yeah, the Crown. Was it called The Crown? The Crown, yeah.

Was that good? No, I don't watch anything like that. No, no, no, I'm talking about the story. It was good. Oh, was that good? Yeah, I'm sure. No, no. Oh, the story.

It was, no, it was about necrophilia and the whole series of different disgusting things. But for our purposes, it worked. I thought it was well done. Do I need to even tell the people who wrote that? No, you can save them that. You can save them that. All right, everyone, that was creepypasta number something.

Thank you all so much for listening. And thanks to everyone who has come out to our live shows in Europe. It's been an absolute joy and a thrill to entertain you. And we hope you're enjoying the shows. And anything else? It's like buckets and like old woman's sponk. Yeah, it's a disgusting story.

I mean, I just was, you'd be surprised how much mostly when I was looking up Queen Elizabeth Erotica, it was very romantic. Yeah, of course. I believe that. Yeah, people really loved it. I mean, some did, I don't know. I was kind of surprised by all the romance in it.

Like it was a lot of like them tenderly kissing. I was like, this is in good. Yeah, people like the royals. They get, they like, they're writing Erotica. Most people like it to be sweet. Most Erotica is not awful. If they actually use it for sexual purposes. But do people actually do that?

But I feel like this guy said, I know there's a lot of necrophilia and incest in this, but I wrote this for the fans. It's probably the most accurate story. Yeah, probably. You know how all the Erotica involving the three of us is always very tender. Yeah.

All right. Well, again, thanks to everyone who has come out to the shows. And do we have any, do we have anything? Yes, we do. We do have an announcement. We have page seven wizard in the Brazil building on the fucking road.

I have all of the information here. I'm very excited for their new show. They have been working on it. They are going to Austin, November 17th. Austin. Dallas, DC, Billy. We're doing a Brooklyn show in December. Minneapolis, Milwaukee, Chicago, San Francisco.

Go and go to their patrons. Page seven patron and wizard in the bruiser. Go to the patrons for more information. We're going to post the ticket links, but I can't wait to make them out there doing this, doing a ho-stro. Yeah, absolutely. And yeah, check out that show.

It's going to be absolutely fantastic and very fun. And I think they're also posting the dates on the host's Instagrams. Yes. And they are also posting, yeah, if you felt like Jack the Worm or in JLK Cat. And then was it Holdenators? Yeah.

Holdenators. Yeah, you can go look it on there. Look on their website. We'll be on the last podcast. Now, work at LPN, we'll have it all out there. Please, it'll be awesome. See them live. It's going to be fucking sweet.

Next week, we're doing a spooky UK update. We've got a bunch of different UK stories. If you've got anything you want to submit, please. SideStories, LPOTL, gmail.com. We'd love to hear what you want us to cover at some point. We got a patch of shit to get into, because the spookiness is only just a big guy. Absolutely.

All right, everyone, thanks for listening. Hail yourselves. Hail Satan, again. Congratulations, everybody. Oh, oh, oh, I simply can't watch anymore. I hate you, King. I hate the King. I actually hate King Charles more than Queen Elizabeth.

Really? He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve it. No. But he waited for it for so long. I mean, what does that mean? You just sit and fucking wait like a little pampered asshole. Shit, quit.

You should quit and walk the way. Meet a bookie boarder. Do anything else. Bookie boarder. Well, what, is Harry the other one? Yeah, yeah. He can't meet a bookie boarder. He's the Prince of Wales.

Out of the Bibles. We're trying to understand you. It's been awesome. This show is made possible by listeners like you. Thanks to our ad sponsors, you can support our shows by supporting them. For more shows like the one you just listened to, go to lastpodcastnetwork.com.