The Lets Read Podcast - 30: Episode 029 | 15 Truly HILARIOUS Lets Not Meet Stories

Episode Date: April 1, 2019

Welcome to the twenty-ninth episode of The Lets Read Podcast! This is a very special April Fools Day episode that will have you in stitches >:D Featured Narrators: ✦✦ C. Mustard ✦✦ Link to Channel: https://goo.gl/mFIVA4 HAVE A STORY TO SUBMIT?► www.Reddit.com/r/LetsReadOfficial FOLLOW ME ON- ► Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsread.official/ ► Twitter - https://twitter.com/LetsReadCreepy ►YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/c/letsreadofficial ♫ Background Music: Iron Cthulhu Apocalypse https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFvrqVSJE8E PATREON for EARLY ACCESS!►http://patreon.com/LetsRead

If it's a flat or a squeal, a wobble or peel, your tread's worn down or you need a new wheel, wherever you go, you can get it from our Tread Experts. Until May 30th, purchase four new Michelin passenger or light truck tires and receive up to $70 by prepaid MasterCard. Conditions apply. Details at Michelin.ca. Find a Michelin Tread Experts dealer near you at TreadExperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there at Treadexperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there at treadexperts.ca. I was in the midst of playing Fortnite with my friends Stacy and Juanito when my mother began to call for me.

Gordon, she cried out. Gordon, please come downstairs. I could tell my mother was distressed, so I told my friends if I went down to move on without me They agreed and promised a dub I got up as fast as my portly body would allow And I ran down the stairs Mother, what is it?

I said as I entered the living room. "'I was met not only by my mother, but two police officers, "'one with a gun and the other a pair of numbjugs. "'Gordon,' my mother said, "'it seems there have been a string of murders, "'and at every crime scene written in fickle matter is your name. My mother said. It seemed there have been a string of murders. And at every crime scene written in fecal matter is your name. Do you have any idea why?

Without hesitation, I said no. The police officers not sure if I was lying looked at each other. And after a moment they looked back at me. Now son, if you're telling me the truth, then we fear your life might be in danger. Danger, my mother said. Oh heavens. She then placed the back of her hand atop her forehead and fainted backwards. Unfortunately for her, our coffee table was right behind her, and she went crashing through it, covering herself in lacerations. God damn, the officer with the nunchucks said. He then pulled out his cell phone and called an ambulance. After giving them my address, he hung up and told me I could either go to the hospital with my mother

or to the police station with them till she was better. Knowing how boring and depressing a hospital could be, I decided to go with the policemen. As we drove to the station, I became curious to why I was in danger, and I began to ask questions. So, I casually said from the backseat, How long has this stuff been going on?

For about six months, one of the officers said. Surprised they answered so easily, I continued. Where did they get enough fecal matter to spell out my entire name? And why? We don't really know why, sadly. And as for the poop, it seems it was acquired from the victim's body through some sort of suction mechanism. Jesus, I thought to myself. I then asked how many victims there were.

The police officer under his breath began to count After a brief moment he responded 12 humans 13 house cats And 84 farm animals Genuinely confused and realizing whatever the hell happened Would take a whole lot more than a car ride worth of questions I decided to stop We arrived at the police station more than a car ride worth of questions, I decided to stop. We arrived at the police station,

and the officers became on edge when they realized the power was out. Shouldn't the backup generators be running? The officer with the nunchucks said. They sure as shit should, the one with the gun replied Just as he finished speaking A distressed police woman came running into the front lobby Thank God you're here

Everyone's dead and covered in poop She hosted her gun and started to approach us to further elaborate But as she did a tall grey body began to materialize behind her. Holy shit, it's the monster from the security footage, the policeman said. He then raised his gun and began to rapidly fire. Sadly, his aim was terrible, and each shot went flying into the policewoman, killing her instantly. Aw shit, he said as his gun clicked three times. The tall gray body fully materialized at this point began to scream menacingly.

As it did so, more muscle began to materialize around its body. Without warning, the monster began to viciously assault the officer with the gun. With his last words, he screamed, As soon as he was finished speaking, a tentacle from the alien's body entered his mouth, and his eyes began to glow bright yellow. Before I could see what happened, the officer with the nunchucks grabbed my hand and we ran away. On the other side of the police station, we found a vacant office

and began to barricade the door. As soon as we finished, the monster began to viciously bang at it. Knowing any moment that door would come flying off the hinges, the officer with the nunchucks handed me a gun he had holstered in the back of his waistband and told me to get ready. Right after the officer's warning, the door came crashing down and the monster came storming in. As it did, I began to rapidly fire. I hit the monster at least seven times, but it was no use. The monster was able to regenerate and heal its wounds almost instantly. Realizing I was out of ammunition, the officer told me to stand back as he pulled out his nunchucks.

He, without fear, began to rush the monster. He had the fury of 14 samurais, and he connected on almost every single hit he threw. He was much faster than the monster, who desperately tried to fend him off. Knowing it was outmatched, the monster tried to dematerialize, but as it did so, the officer with the nunchucks connected a hit square on the monster's temple, knocking it unconscious. Knowing the monster could wake up at any minute, we tried to figure out what to do next, and as we did, we noticed the monster began to fade away, and all that was left was a frail naked man. Jesus Christ,

I said. It's you. The officer, confused as how I recognized the man, asked who he was. He was my third grade substitute teacher. His name is Mr. Bonkel. Once upon a time we were supposed to catch the heads, but him knowing I'd beat the brakes off his monkey ass transferred school districts overnight. Was he always like this? The officer with the nunchucks asked me Before I could answer

A mysterious voice said Not always We looked across the room to see a kid a few years older than me appear from the shadows After Mr. Bonkel left your school He came to mine. He told me about y'all's beef, and he promised me extra credit if I helped him invent something that would make him strong enough to kick your ass. However, something went terribly wrong, and we created a monster.

At first, I tried to ignore what I had done, but the guilt began to consume me. Every day for the last six or so months, I've tried to find this son of a bitch and kill him once and for all. Look, buddy, I just shot this thing seven times and it's still alive. As soon as it wakes up, it's going to kill all of us. Well, let's make sure it doesn't wake up then, the mysterious kid said.

He then pulled out a beaker from his backpack that was filled with purple glowing goo and informed us that this was an antidote he created. He then poured the purple goo all over Mr. Bonkel, which then began to destroy his flesh. Oh God, it smells terrible, the officer with the nunchucks said. After about 30 seconds, Mr. Bonkel was completely gone. The officer then gave both me and the student who saved us a ride home.

And I never saw Mr. Bonkel again. Every day after first period, I would head over to the campus cafe for an iced mocha frappuccino. It was usually the best part of my day. However, my last visit was hands down the worst. It all began when the man in front of me began to scream at the young lady behind the counter. You stupid bitch. You stupid bitch, the man said in anger. I'm sorry, the lady cried out. It was just a joke. Well, I don't find it very funny, the man shot back.

At this point, the manager, hearing the commotion, stepped out of his office and asked what the problem was. The problem is not only does your employee here think she's a comedian, but she's apparently illiterate as well. The man then slammed down his drink on the counter and pointed out what made him so angry. On the cup in female handwriting were the letters J-A-K-B-L-A-K I quietly to myself read Jack Black

And then I thought, that sort of looked like him The manager picked up the coffee cup from the counter And after analyzing it, he began to chuckle. What's so goddamn funny? The angered man said. It's nothing, sir. It's just, you do kind of look like Jack Black. To be honest, you could be his brother. However, again, I'm sorry. If you'd like us to fix it, please just give me your actual name. The man, without warning, slapped the coffee from the manager's hand and told him he'd better watch his cock-sucking mouth. By this time, all the customers in line became fed up

and told the man to step aside so they could all order. The man's head shot back. He then looked everyone in the eyes and told them to fuck off individually. He then turned back around and continued to berate the employee for the mix-up. All right, enough, the manager said. I'm sorry you bear a striking resemblance to Jack Black, but I will not stand here and allow you to talk down upon myself and Ashlyn. Now, unless you'd like to order, I'll have to politely ask you to get the fuck out of my face. The lion and myself began to applaud the manager for how he handled the situation,

which only infuriated the man further. Ah! The man screamed. He then hopped on top of the counter and asked if we had any idea who he was. Everyone looked around confused, until an elderly woman from the back of the line said who. The man told her his name was Nighthawk, and he then began to remove his pants. What the fuck is he doing? A black guy cried out. The man naked from the waist down began to fondle his genitals. Sir, please stop before I call the police, the manager said. It's too late. It's time to teach you common folk a lesson.

The man began to rapidly pull and tug at his penis. Everyone began to freak out. He's going to ejaculate on us all! A woman cried in terror. Just as it seemed Nighthawk was about to leave his calling card, three cops came bursting into the cafe. Freeze, you son of a bitch. An officer holding a pair of nunchucks screamed out.

Nighthawk pulled up his pants. Well, well, well, officers. It looks like you finally caught me. Looks like it, the officer of Nunchuck smugly replied. Now let's make this easy Nighthawk. A smirk creepily crept across Nighthawk's face. Do I ever make it easy, Nunchuck Cop? Nighthawk then pulled a smoke bomb from his pocket

and threw it at the floor. Smoke filled the room, and when it finally cleared, Nighthawk was long gone. Damn it! Not again! The officer cried out, Every damn time!

It's alright, one of the policemen said while patting his shoulder. The police then took a few statements and left. I then ordered my iced mocha frappuccino and headed to second period. Sadly never returning again. I never saw that man again And I hope I never do

But if for whatever reason I do see him I pray to the Lord above he'll keep his pants on this time My name is C. Mustard and I don't know if anyone will ever get the chance to listen to this But in case someone stumbles across this tape Then please upload it to my YouTube account My login info will be written on the backside label of the tape You see, myself and the southern cannibal have recently been beefing Long story short, I innocently used his thumbnail with a watermark

And for whatever reason, I was bombarded with an onslaught of hate It starred in the comments of my True Scary Story videos Whatever reason I was bombarded with an onslaught of hate. It started in the comments of my True Scary Story videos, but it soon spread to most all forms of communication. I ignored it all, and for a short while it stopped. However three days later I began to receive phone calls from an anonymous number And I just knew it was the Southern Cannibal I continued to ignore his attempts at contacting me

However, I did listen to some of the voicemails Most included the Southern Cannibal telling me how he got his name Apparently he was notorious for eating ass. At this point I didn't know whether to fear a physical assault or a sexual one. After a week or two of harassment, I was offered a truce. Southern Cannibal sent me a text, which stated he was just jealous of my recent success, and he felt although my channel had a fraction of subscribers and views, he truly knew my content was better.

I told him it was cool, and we planned to meet for coffee at Starbucks in his hometown He offered to pay for a flight and hotel and I having a few days off anyway decided why not I arrived at the airport to find the southern cannibal standing outside a limo in the pickup lane See Mustard my boy, right this way to find the Southern Cannibal standing outside a limo in the pickup lane. See mustard, my boy? Right this way. I have a plate of cheese and crackers waiting in the car.

I ran over and shook his hand, and then made my way into the limousine, and the entire ride was incredibly awkward. Southern Cannibal's small talk was terrible. He rambled on about how he's totally happy he invested in a Nintendo Switch, and then he apologized for being jealous, and he tried to give me a hug, which I firmly turned into a handshake. After a few minutes of silence,

Southern Cannibal offered me a drink. I accepted because I thought it would make the ride a little less terrible, but it was a foolish mistake. Southern Cannibal doing his best Bill Cosby impersonation drugged the holy hell out of me. I awoke several hours later to find Southern Cannibal dressed like a chicken. He was sitting in a rocking chair and reading a newspaper from 2015

until he realized I was awake. Hello there, he said in a creepy voice. You will be my pet. That is until I'm ready to murk your ass. He then showed me a key for my chains and threw it out the window. Unaware I luckily carried a tape recorder. I've been documenting our encounters. So if anyone finds this, please, turn it in to the police. It's the only way justice will be served. Well, I gotta go.

I hear that creepy little fuck coming down the stairs now. I had just turned 18 and graduated high school. I was off to college in the fall, so I had the entire summer to work and save money. I got a job at Applebee's. My father's grade school pal Earl was the manager, and he hired me and I began to work almost immediately. For the first week, everything was going smooth as butter spread atop a hot bread roll. However, three days into my second week,

things start to go downhill. Every night at around 5.30, a strange man would come stumbling in intoxicated, and for whatever reason, he would always end up in my section. He was a weird man, slightly overweight and partially bald. He also reeked of cheese and crackers,

and he was a pervert. But he tipped well, so I was able to put up with his bullshit. He would always compliment me, which at first was nice, but after a while the compliments became more and more sexual. Especially when nobody was around. I'll never forget what happened on my last shift.

It was 5.36 and as usual the man came in drunk and stinky. Hey, he said. Has anyone ever told you you have the sexiest elbows? Um, no. I don't think I've ever heard that one. But thanks. What can I get you today? Really, the man said shocked.

I cannot believe that. I'd suck on those elbows all night, he said while sporting a sinister smile. He then winked and said he'd have the pot roast And an extra large strawberry milkshake Alright buddy, coming right up I said I then went to the back to prepare his extra large milkshake And then returned to almost have a heart attack The strange man had removed all his clothing, and on top of the table covering his genitals with a basket of bread, he positioned his body like Michael Jackson on the cover of Thriller.

Well, hello there, he said. Why don't you pick up your jaw off the floor and hand me that there milkshake? What the fuck, sir? This is highly inappropriate. I then ran back to alert the manager. What's going on, Stephen said. I pointed to the table and told him the man was out of control. What the fuck? Steve said while grabbing a broom.

He then snapped the broom across his knee and headed towards the pervert. What the fuck is going on? Who do you think you are? The man offended by the question became aggressive. You dare approach me with such hostility. I am the Nighthawk, and no one approaches me with hostility. Nighthawk then stood atop the table and began to make crowing noises while stroking his genitals. Dear God, an old woman two tables over screamed in terror. Steve, not knowing what to do, said fuck this and ran out the front door. He then got in his car and drove off. Nighthawk was fully erect at this point and his eyes were deadlocked with mine. Nighthawk then began to chant the spell from Child's Play.

Owie, dewey, dimble-eye, give me the power I beg of you, Nighthawk screamed while stroking his generals. Holy shit, he's going to!' "'A man across the restaurant cried out. "'And blow he did. "'Come shut off from Nighthawk's penis like a can of silly string, "'and it was headed straight for me. "'It was seconds away from splattering across my face "'when at the last minute it was deflected by a pair of nunchucks. Get to somewhere safe, the man with the nunchucks said.

Thank you, mister. I then ran to my co-workers as we watched on in terror. Well, well, well. We meet again, Nighthawk said now flaccid. That we do, the man who saved my life responded. But this will be the last time. What makes you so sure, Nighthawk said? Because I'm going to kill you.

The man then tossed aside his nunchucks and pulled out a pistol he had holstered in the back of his waistband. Goodbye, Nighthawk, you son of a bitch. The man then opened fire and shot 15 bullets directly into Nighthawk's face. The man holstered his weapon and then checked Nighthawk's pulse. And after confirming he was dead, he pulled out his badge and informed everyone he was an undercover policeman. He called for an ambulance and left without paying his bill. And I went home. I told my parents what happened, and they immediately made me quit.

They decided they'd rather help me financially than have me get ejaculated on. I'll never forget the Nighthawk. Although he was a strange and perverted man, he kind of looked like Jack Black. And I love Jack Black. So, Nighthawk, let's not meet again. But if we do it, it would probably be in the afterlife. And if that's the case, then I guess I'm going to hell. Because I'm pretty sure that's where you are. It was 15 days into my captivity.

Southern Cannibal was cruel, but fair. He provided me oatmeal at the crack of dawn every morning, and on the colder nights a blanket and bed cot to sleep on. Every day I tried to escape, and every time I did, Southern Cannibal would thwart my attempts. I began to lose hope I would ever see the light of day again, when luckily a slithering trickle was restored. Southern Cannibal handed me a $200 suit from JCPenney and told me we were meeting a friend for dinner.

Malnourished and craving fresh air, I got dressed as fast as I could and embarked on what was going to be the most wild dinner I've ever been a part of. We arrived at B-Dubs at about 6.45. Southern Cannibal, while showing me a gun he had holstered in his waistband, told me if I tried anything funny, somebody would be getting shot. After a brief pause, he clarified that it was me who would be getting shot, and I told him that I'd keep

it cool. We made our way into the B-dubs, and as we entered, before the host could even greet us, a man wearing a suit across the room began to rapidly wave his arms while screaming, Hey, over here, it's me. Southern Cannibal, without skipping a beat, excitedly ran over to the man, pushing an elderly woman aside in the process. My nigger, the man said while initiating an elaborate and well-executed personalized handshake. I've ordered us some fried pickles and three glasses of lukewarm

milk. Now take a seat, gentlemen. Southern Cannibal oddly pulled out my chair for me to sit, and then as I did so, he quickly pulled it from under me, and while crashing down, the man screamed nice. He then high-fived Southern Cannibal as I got up and dusted off my pants, and then he introduced himself. My name's Nightmare Expo, but you can call me Nightmare for short. The reason I've requested this meeting is because I'd like to propose an offer to you.

I'd like to challenge you to a boxing match. A boxing match? I said confused. With who? Yours truly, me. Knowing this was too good to be true, I asked Nightmare what the catch was. Before he could elaborate, a food runner came up to the table holding the fried pickles and lukewarm milk. Hey guys, I got some fried pickles and milk.

The food runner then repositioned the tray and while doing so the weight shifted sending the warm milk and fried pickles flying over Nightmare's face. This sent him into a blind rage. He stood up and told the food runner nobody spills milk and pickles on him. He then began to throw a fury

of rapid punches. He landed six or seven shots, and then he connected with a devastating roundhouse kick, knocking the food runner out cold. Holy fuck, I thought. Southern Cannibal with a sinister smile on his face demanded Nightmare regain his composure You're right, Kenny No need to cry over spilled milk Cannibal and Nightmare then shared an evil laugh together as I watched in horror While fixing his hair and adjusting his tie Nightmare sat back down and asked if he should arrange the match

So if I win, I'm free But what if I lose? Then for the rest of your days you will file my taxes You will wash my laundry and rub my feet when they hurt You will do whatever I or my friend here desire Well let's do it, I boldly said. Excellent Nightmare replied. We will live stream it on tomorrow. He then pulled out his wallet and left $400 bills on the table and excused himself.

I was returned to my holding cell until the fight And I spent the little time I had devising a plan Before bed I was given a glass of water A bread roll And a banana Or as the southern cannibal called it My last meal He then told me I was going to be his pet forever and began to

happily dance while running up the stairs. After he left a metaphorical light bulb appeared above my head. That's it. During the match I'll use this here banana pill. I'll toss it on the ground and hopefully knock Nightmare Expo right off his feet. And then while the crowd's distracted, I'll make a run for it. I quickly went to bed knowing tomorrow I'd be set free. And after what felt like no time, I woke from a rooster crowing. It was an alarm clock Southern Cannibal must have hooked up while I was sleeping. I shot right out of bed and made my way to the venue. I walked in as Nightmare Expo was sparring 1v4. He soundly handled the four men until

he realized I was watching on in terror. Well, well, well. Let's get this motherfucker started. Nightmare said to a roaring applause. I put on a pair of boxing gloves I was provided, made sure the banana pill was safely put in my waistband, and I stepped inside the ring. The ref explained the rules, me and Nightmare tapped gloves,

and the bell rang. Kill him! I want him dead! Southern cannibals screamed from Nightmare's corner. Knowing I only had one shot, I wiggled free the banana pill from my waistband and tossed it onto the mat right as Nightmare began to charge at me with his fist cocked back. I stood my ground as I watched Nightmare's foot step

right on the banana pill, causing him to fall back, landing right on his head, knocking him out cold. Before I could make my escape, the bell rung and the fight was over. And your winner, that nigga C. Mustard, the announcer said. But he cheated. He used a banana pill. Someone from the crowd cried out. The referee then pulled out his rule book, and after a brief scan, he couldn't find anything about using a banana peel. I was officially declared the winner, and the match was over.

The crowd disgustingly chanted that I was terrible, and I was ran out of the arena. I gathered my belongings from Southern Cannibal's basement, and to his dismaymay I was set free I haven't seen Southern Cannibal or Nightmare since But recently I received an invitation to a retreat For some YouTube narrators I'm wondering if I should go or just mind my business. I was quite impressionable in my formative years. Perhaps it was because my father passed away, or maybe because I'm just one of the many roaming sheeple out there.

It was 2009 when I met a man named Hank. I was walking to my car after buying a new iPhone from the mall when I was bombarded by the stranger. Hey, buddy. Team iPhone, the man said while waving his phone at me. Slightly caught off guard, it took me a moment to figure out what was going on. When I said, oh, hell yeah, Team iPhone, I carried on to my car when the man again began to speak. Hey mister, can I rap to you for a moment?

I really gotta get going, man. I have class. It will only take 45 seconds. Annoyed, but impressed by his persistence, I caved in and told him he had 45 seconds. He introduced himself and told me he was recruiting people to join his church. He then began to serenade me with the promise of importance, And more importantly, purpose. Something I've desired since I've entered this world. You know what, Hank?

Let's fucking do it. Let's see what all the hubbub's about. Don't you mean Hubbard? Hank jokingly said with a creepy smile on his face. Nice pun, Hank, but for real, I got class at 2.30, so let's go. Hank agreed and then whistled. After a brief pause, from around a corner a horse carriage appeared. Right this way, pal, Hank said while motioning me towards the carriage. It turned out to be a four-hour ride to the headquarters, and I was quite annoyed because I long missed my class and my final exam. I was becoming noticeably irritable, but luckily before I was forced to act like nothing was

the matter, being an extremely passive and submissive person, we arrived at the church. We walked up towards a garage door built into the church when trumpets began to fill the air. From the bushes and trees surrounding the church, critters and Scientologists alike jumped out and began to break out in song and dance. What the fuck is going on, Hank? I act confused as hell. This, my boy, is Scientology. A man said dressed like Willy Wonka surrounded by dwarves. Hello, future friend. My name is Farmer Jensen.

Follow me and we'll discuss what we have to offer. But more importantly, what you have to offer. Knowing I wasn't going to be a part of any of this crazy ass bullshit, I said fuck it and followed Jimson and Hank inside. We walked down a long, narrow hall. The walls were covered with pictures of Farmer Jimson, for whatever reason, dressed as Deadpool. We walked for an uncomfortably long amount of time until we arrived in a room that had nothing more than a black couch, a computer desk,

and a video camera set atop a tripod. Take a seat, my friend, and tell me about yourself. Tell me what makes you, you, Farmer Jimson said. I sat down on a stiff piece of furniture and began to ramble on about myself. Nothing too deep, just some fun facts like where I'm from and my gamer score on Xbox.

The farmer shook his head while pinching the top of his nose between his eyes until he rudely decided to cut me off. You know what, pal? I'm not gonna lie. You're a fucking loser. I don't know if we even should let you be a part of our crew. However, Hank sees potential in you, so I will make you an offer. If you join me in having sex with this chicken, I will extend my hand in helping you unlock your true potential and help you become something more than the pathetic piece of shit that stands in front of me. Have sex with a chicken, I said.

Look, I appreciate the offer, but fuck no. Whatever it is going on here, I want nothing a part of it. I'd rather raw dog a ghost pepper. The man clearly offended turned off the camera that had apparently been recording our interview. I knew you were a fucking loser. And FYI, there is absolutely nothing wrong with a man and a chicken expressing love for one another. The man then grabbed me by my shirt

and began to threaten me while making rude remarks about my weight. Not knowing what to do, my instincts kicked in, and I kneed the man in his testicles, then made a run for it. Farmer Jimson over the PA system ordered his goons to capture me. Shortly after,

from a room across where I ran from, 30 to 40 dwarfs with an assortment of weapons began to chase me, while performing a perfectly synchronized dance routine. The garage door I'd entered began to close, and not knowing if I'd make it I began to baseball slide as the dwarfs chased me. Barely making it out as the garage door closed atop little dwarf hands, I still in shock got back to my feet and ran till I could run no longer.

I then called an Uber to come pick me up, and I never saw Hank or Farmer Jimson again. Sometimes I wonder if they're still looking for me, and I pray to the Lord above they're not. I've heard some things about Scientologists that would make the biggest toughest guy piss his pants.

So please, if you're listening to this, chill the fuck out. If it's a flat or a squeal, a wobble or peel, your dread's worn down or you need a new wheel, wherever you go, you can get it from our tread experts. Until May 30th, purchase four new Michelin passenger or light truck tires and receive up to $70 by prepaid MasterCard.

Conditions apply. Details at Michelin.ca. Find a Michelin tread experts dealer near you at treadexperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always you at treadexperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca I was 17 the day my parents decided to move to Alabama. My mother's aunt became ill and needed someone to care for her. And my mother, being the sweet woman she is, decided it would be her. I didn't mind, to be honest.

I was a loser at school and I was excited for a fresh start. However, it didn't take long to realize that this school was going to be much, much worse. All the kids at my new school were white, so I being the only black guy stuck out like a sore thumb. And these weren't your average cheese-loving memes sharing white people either. These were the kind of white people who drank Mountain Dew religiously and aggressively supported Donald Trump. On my first day, I was called the N-word and told to take my black ass back to Africa. On the second day, I was referred to as an ape.

And by the third, I had heard every racial insult in the book. The verbal assault soon became physical. It seemed every other day I was slapping the racist out of people left and right. By the start of the second semester, I had a 17-0 record. And although the whites hated me, I knew they respected me. At least the ones spectating the fights. However, the ones I beat down had something in store for your boy.

Something I'll never forget. It was prom night and I with my date decided to walk since the venue was only a few blocks from my house. What was going to be a swell night turned into some straight bullshit. Halfway through the walk, we noticed whispers in the distance. Do you hear that, Curtis? I sure do, girl. Sounds like a raccoon. The only coon here is you, a voice said from the shadows. Seventeen clan members and a golden retriever soon appeared from the wooded area.

Ah shit, I said to myself. I then told my date to head back to my house and call the police. Side note, this was the early 1980s, long before smartphones. Ginny ran as fast as I've ever seen anyone run before, and then I turned back to face the Klansmen. Listen here, monkey. It's time to make America great again. Without warning, the men began to attack.

I engaged in battle without hesitation. I took out one man with a sweeping kick and another with an uppercut. I continued to hold my own for quite some time. However I was eventually overpowered and taken hostage. I was brought to what looked like a run-down meth lab deep in the woods, and the men holding me threw me down, and I was tied up by the golden retriever. After the dog finished, the men were instructed by the leader to leave, and I was left alone with the man. You know, I must say, N-Word, I like you, the man said. Well, I hate you, I shot back in anger.

Now I demand you let me free. The man laughed and told me he'd remove my restraints shortly, but not until the transfer was complete. Before I could clarify what he meant by transfer, three men in the golden retriever now wearing a lab coat returned. And with them they had highly advanced machinery I've never seen before. Confused and still infuriated, I began to demand answers. What's with the machines? And why is that dog wearing a lab coat? The man again

began to laugh his sinister laugh. Then he explained everything. You see, N-word, since I was a child I've always known two things. One being that the sun will rise, and that I hate black people. I hate the black skin that you were cursed with, so I dedicated my life to finding a cure. After years of failure and on the verge of quitting, I finally found a solution to rid the world of you N-Words once and for all. Mr. Dog,

would you please give our friend a demonstration of the black extractor? The dog barked in confirmation and began to operate the machinery As the three hooded men brought in a black test subject What the fuck? I cried out This is some get out shit The men then tied down the poor black men

As the dog initiated the black extractor A beam of energy shot towards the man and engulfed him in a white aura. Screams of terror filled the room as the man was transformed before my eyes. The black extractor sure lived up to its name. The man was stripped of every last bit of black he had. What once was a pretty cool black guy, was now a pasty shell of his former self. I stood in shock not able to comprehend what had just occurred,

when I was asked if there was any more questions. Just one I responded, who taught that dog to tie a knot? Having untied my restraints while watching the demonstration, I broke free to the dismay of the clansmen. Immediately I was met with brute force, however I easily took down the golden retriever and the four men I told my parents what had occurred And right then and there we decided to head back home

And put my aunt in a nursing home Until we could relocate her with us I luckily never crossed paths with those men again And I hope I never do And for the poor man that had the black taken out of him, I hope you find peace. It was the worst time of my family's life. We just moved to a small town in Oregon for my father's job. And it was a hard adjustment for everyone.

But it was only made worse when my dog Skip was assaulted. Skip was a venturous soul. He would walk through the neighborhood innocently embracing children and old people alike, hoping for nothing more than a few pats on the head, or perhaps a treat. But on April 7, 2016, he received a lot more than that. It was late and I became curious where Skip was, so me and my grandmother set out to find the wandering pooch.

Skip, where are you Skip? I said. Perhaps the dog catcher got him grandma. It isn't like Skip to not come home for dinner. Well let's look a bit longer, then we'll make a call to the dog pound. Just as my grandma finished speaking, we heard Skip yelp. Holy shit, grandma said. That's Skip.

We followed the yelps until we stumbled across something I'll never forget. Ten feet in front of me stood an elderly man with his pants around his ankles, trying to have sex with my dog. Skip, I cried out. The man looked over his shoulder annoyed and simply told me to fuck off. You let that goddamn dog go, my grandma sternly said And then take your crusty ass to church, you sick fuck The man in rage let Skip free And began to pull up his pants Skip jumped into my arms And we quickly made our way home

The elderly man watched in anger from afar all the way until he was no longer visible. That night I cried in bed. I thought why would someone have sex with a dog and what if I hadn't shown up when I did. I laid in bed and continued to ask myself pointless questions, until I heard a loud crash. I leapt up and dashed down the hall. You hear that? I was greeted by my grandmother wearing an army helmet, war paint under her eyes,

while armed with an AK-47. Yeah, I believe it was a crash, I said. We then crept downstairs to find the elderly man from earlier cornering my dog. Halt, my grandmother belted out. She then raised her AK-47 and asked the man what he thought he was doing. He turned around with an annoyed look on his face, and responded that he was trying to get laid.

Distracted by my grandmother's question, my dog was able to gain the upper hand on the perpetrator, and he bit the man's Achilles, sending him to the floor ridden with pain. That's my boy, Skip, I said. He then ran to me. I went into the next room and dialed the police and told them everything that occurred that day. And they warned me the man was wanted and extremely dangerous. They arrived ten minutes later after I placed the call and they apprehended the elderly man

and then took my dog's statement. We never saw the man again after that. We ended up moving to Colorado and haven't returned to Oregon since. So old man, let's not meet again. But if we do, you stay the hell away from Skip. I was 19 the first time I made love to a woman. Not just any skank or skis either. No. This was my one and only. And her name was Margaret.

Margaret and her family just moved into the house next door. And it only took about 15 seconds after my first encounter to realize I was deeply in love with Margaret. While her parents were inside rearranging furniture and bickering with each other as married couples usually do, I made my way over to run some quick game. Hey, my name is Tom and, if you don't mind me saying, you are the finest piece of ass my eyes have ever set upon. I know this might be spur of the moment, but I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to my school sock hop tonight. It's going to be the sock hop of the century, at least according to the posters I've seen

around school. Margaret looked me up and down to what I assumed was see what I was working with, then told me she was with it, and to pick her up at 8.30 that night. I arrived a few minutes early, and I was invited in while Margaret finished getting ready. I followed Margaret's mother into the living room, and was greeted by Margaret's father. What's up, nigga? How's it going? I was confused by his choice of words,

because Margaret and her family were of Caucasian descent. Um, hey there, I replied. Margaret's father said it was nice meeting me, but said he was going to go play some basketball with his homies, so he had to leave. I was very confused about the whole encounter, and Margaret's mother noticed. She explained that Margaret's father was blind, and he was also adopted.

His adopted parents were black, and they never told him he was white. Oh, word? All right, then, I said. Margaret shortly after came down the stairs and looked absolutely breathtaking. God damn, I thought to myself. All right, y'all, before I go, let's take a picture, Margaret's father said while holding a camera and staring at the wall. Margaret's mother redirected the man where he needed to aim, and he took our picture, a picture I still have to this day, a matter of fact. We then said our goodbyes and made our way to the school dance. We had an absolute blast.

The music choice was awesome, and Margaret and my chemistry on the dance floor was fantastic. Everything was going great, and was only made better when Margaret mouthed to me that she wanted me to take her outside and make a woman of her. Oh boy, I thought. I gave her a look of confirmation and we made our way out back. Take me, Margaret said, and took her I did, all the way to the moon and back, I'd say. I had Margaret wetter than a water filtration system.

And it was only getting wetter. That is until we became aware someone was watching us have sex. Oh, hell no, I said. What? Margaret replied. Look, that guy behind the fence is watching us have sex. Behind the fence, with his eyes barely peeking over like Wilson from Home Improvement, stood the perpetrator. I stood up while buckling my pants and made my way over to the fence. Tom, please, Margaret cried out. Let's just call the cops. We will, right after I kick his ass. Hey, you, I said. Either you can get the fuck out of here and let me plow my girl in peace,

or I'll pull you from behind that fence and lay the smackdown on your candy ass. The man began to snicker behind the fence as if I was just telling a joke. Angered by his disrespect, I told him to come out so we can settle this like men. The man unlocked the fence he was behind and came out from behind it. Oh my fucking God, Margaret screamed. He's naked. And naked he was.

Standing two feet in front of me in his birthday suit, the man took a fighting stance. Now if I would have known this guy was naked, I would have surely avoided any contact. But it was too late now. I had to fight this naked son of a bitch, or Margaret would likely think I was a puss. The man lunged his naked body towards me in anger, and I sidestepped every punch and kick he threw at me, along with his flopping genitals. Margaret watched in horror from afar as the naked man continued to attack me. Desperate to end this encounter as quick and safely as I could, I decided to fight dirty. In the middle of an attempt to kick me in the face, I took my chance and kicked the man square in his flopping balls. Which instantly ended the fight.

Goddamn, Margaret said. The man fell to his knees grasping what was left of his testicles, and I told Margaret to call the police. She ran inside and 20 minutes later they arrived. The police arrested the man shortly after I took Margaret home. We told the parents what happened, minus the sex, and her mother thanked me and her father said I was a real ass nigger. We then said our goodbyes and me and Margaret began dating a week later. I nor her have ever heard from the old man again, but he sometimes crosses my mind when we have sex. So, creepy old man, let's not meet again. But if we do, I'm going to kick you in the balls. I was an intern at a law firm, after I graduated college.

The law firm was awesome. My coworkers and bosses were all cool as fuck. Well, almost all of them. Sadly being an intern I was left with the bulk of the grunt work, which meant I had to spend a few nights a week staying late at the office. It was kind of peaceful, so I didn't mind it too much, but what I did mind was the janitor. He would come in every night around 8.30 to clean, and he would leave at around nine. He was an odd man.

He was of Latino descent, short in stature and incredibly frail. He would watch me as he cleaned. He tried to play it off as best as he could but he was terrible at it. And it made working incredibly hard and distracting, which is where my frustration would stem from.

After a week or two of his creepy janitorial encounters, I guess he built up enough courage to strike a conversation. Hey girl, he said in a timid voice. I guess he built up enough courage to strike a conversation. Hey, girl. He said in a timid voice. Oh, I'm sorry. Am I in your way? I'll move. I started to collect my things when he said no. You are fine, senorita.

Very fine. The janitor then began to raise his eyebrows up and down. No pun intended, he said, but I'd like to sweep you off your feet. I have reservations for two at Applebee's tomorrow, and I was wondering if you'd accompany me. You're so sweet, I said. But, sadly, I'm a lesbian. Side note. I'm not a lesbian. However, I lied because I wanted to deter any possible future encounters of this nature.

Low-key, I'm salt as fuck, he said. But honestly, that's hot. Um, I guess so, I replied. But yeah, I'm sorry. No, no, you're fine, senorita. I apologize for interrupting you. Before I had a chance to say goodbye, my phone began to ring. It was my boyfriend Connor who, in my phone, is saved as my love. And not only that, but his contact photo is a picture of me and him on a date at Red Lobster. I quickly ignored the call and I went to look back up at the janitor hoping he didn't notice, but he did. Wait a minute, if you're a lesbian, why do you have a boyfriend? And is that red lobster you're eating at?

Caught off guard by the pressing questions, I decided to come clean. Okay, okay, I lied. It's just to be honest you're creepy, and I didn't want you to think you'd ever possibly have a chance. So with all that being said, I regrettably lied about being a lesbian. The janitor started to pace back and forth as he tried to comprehend what I just told him. He did this for 30 or 40 seconds before he regained his composure. Look, I'm sorry, he said while fighting back tears. He cleared his throat and told me to enjoy the rest of my night.

He then ran out of the office crying. The next few nights after that were really awkward. The janitor would stare at me in anger. Even when I made eye contact with him, he continued to stare. This continued on for about a week or so, until he asked me if we could have a conversation. He explained he was only mad because he hasn't been laid for months and he was really looking forward to waxing my ass. Whatever that means. He then offered to make amends and handed me a bologna sandwich. Thanks, I said.

Well, aren't you going to eat it, he replied. I told him I had a lot of work to do, but come lunchtime I'll be digging right in. He smiled and waved goodbye. He then repositioned himself across the room and started to clean. About 45 minutes had passed and I noticed the janitor was again staring at me. But this time he was trying to hide it. Every time I would look at him, he would look away and start whistling.

And this went on for a few hours till I finally snapped. Yo SA, what the fuck do you want? He looked shocked and then embarrassed and he said he really just wanted to see if I liked the sandwich he made. Ugh, I said internally. Alright, fine. I'll try the damn sandwich. Then please, will you let me work? He agreed and then I pulled out the moist bologna sandwich and took a bite. It only took a few seconds after chewing to realize this wasn't a bologna sandwich at all. I spit the foul tastingtasting substance onto the floor, then immediately was greeted by a sinister smirk across the room. What's the matter, senorita? Not a fan of the

special ingredient. What the hell did I just eat? The janitor laughed aloud while pulling out a notepad. Let's see here. Of course there was bread, hand bologna, a little bit of mayo, and lastly a freshly hot turd with a dash of paprika. I was mortified. And disgusted. What the fuck, man? He continued to laugh and told me to fuck off. And that's when rage consumed my very essence.

The last thing I remember was asking what was on the sandwich. I then awoke to find the janitor beaten to within an inch of his life and crying. My hands looked battered and bloodied. What have I done, I thought. I tried to help the janitor to his feet, but he pushed me away and ran towards the door. I came in the next day expecting to be fired, if not detained by the police. However, that morning I found out the janitor had quit. When I asked around why, the general consensus was, personal reasons. I ended my internship and ended up getting hired on, and I never came across that janitor again.

So janitor, let's not meet again. But if we do, you better clean up your act. I was always one to push boundaries. Ever since I was 12, I had a knack for testing my limits. When my mother said I could pack one cookie in my lunchbox, I would put two. Sometimes even three. If she would send me to the store to get a pack of cigarettes, I would always keep the change without making sure it was cool in advance. Needless to say, my lifestyle was reckless,

but I was addicted. It was seventh grade when my troubled ways caught up to me. I was at a lunch table with my friends bragging about how badass I was, when my best friend Cory started to hate. I bet you're not badass enough to summon the litter man. All the kids at the lunch table began to ooh, and I told them to shut up, and then called them all sheep. I directed my attention towards Corey, and said not only will I summon the litter man, but when he shows up, I'll litter right in his goddamn face.

I don't believe you, Corey smugly replied. Fine. After school, I'll prove it. The lunch bell then rang and as we returned to class, Corey told me he couldn't wait. For those of you not familiar who the Litter Man is, it's an urban legend similar to that of Candyman or Bloody Mary. The only difference, instead of saying his name three times, all one had to do to summon the litter man was litter three times. Although at the time I was sure it was just an urban legend, I soon learned it was very real. It was 3.45 and school was over.

Hoping everyone forgot I casually made my way to the bus, where I was met with one of the biggest crowds I'd ever seen. Holy shit, I thought. No backing out now. Without words, I pulled a carton of milk from my backpack. I yelled Kobe, and then threw it on the ground. One, Corey said. I then pulled a banana from my backpack, removed the pill, and again tossed it on the ground.

Two, Corey continued to count. Lastly, I went to the trash can located across from the bus stop, and I dumped it all over the ground. I then told Corey I'm not afraid of nothing, and told him he can kiss my ass. Before Corey could reply, the ground began to terribly shake. Fire hydrants all over began to burst and shoot water into the sky, and the ground beneath our feet began to separate. Kids left and right started to lose balance and sadly fall to their deaths below. Jesus Christ, Corey said, while he and four of my friends tried to flee Tragically, when they did A telephone pole came crashing down on top of them

Killing them all instantly Corey! I cried out Corey is dead A mysterious voice said And you're next, Negro. I turned around to find myself face to face with the litter man. And he surprisingly looked nothing like I expected at all. He was 5'6", maybe 5'7", Hispanic, and he was wearing clothing similar to that of a gas station janitor.

You're, you're the litter man, I said confused. What did you expect, Captain Planet? He chimed back. Not really, I just thought you'd look more like a monster Or at least a little bit cool Oh really Little man said I'll show you a little bit cool Little man's hands then ignited in flames As he began to hurl fireballs at what remained of my friends.

After the demonstration of badassery, I looked around to annoyingly find some of the kids were still alive. God damn it. I guess there's no backing out. I pulled a half-empty bag of flaming hot Cheetos from my backpack, balled it up, and threw it in the little man's face. Holy shit, the remaining kids cried out. He really

did it. He is a badass. Little man annoyed, asked me what the fuck was my problem He then grabbed me by the shirt And raised his fist in anger Just as it ignited And he was about to murder me Four cops arrived on the scene And sent a barrage of bullets directly into Litterman's torso His lifeless body came crashing down on top of me And then he faded away.

Are you alright, kid? One of the policemen said. I am now. Thank you, officer. No problem at all. Why don't you head on home and make sure your parents know you're alright, and we'll get this place cleaned up. I got up, dusted my shirt off, and ran home. My mother and father were waiting for me on the porch. They embraced me with a hug, and made sure I was okay. They then took me to Chuck E. Cheese for unlimited games. And I had a great night. I haven't seen Little Man ever since that day.

But then again, I haven't lit it since that day either. It was a blessing and a curse the day I won the lottery. I was so happy. I remember thinking, holy moly, did I just win the lottery? And I sure did. I felt like Charlie when he found the golden ticket in that legendary chocolate bar. And I ran all the way home and didn't stop. Mother, I said, while running through the front door. Mother, we made it. We gonna do rich nigga shit, player. One sec, little nigga, she responded while swiping through

her phone. Did you hear Donald Trump had sex with a tangerine? Those goddamn Russians. What are you talking about? We're rich, nigga. It's time to hit the strip club and make it rain on these hoes. Fuck is wrong with you? Do you think I was born yesterday, nigga? We finna die broke. The fuck you mean? Shut your ugly ass up and step on, nigga. Confused but still mildly excited, I pulled out my

phone to call my pal James. The phone rang and rang and rang and it finally went to voicemail, which it usually does much sooner. I assumed he was much busier at work, so I decided I'd just go up to my room and chill. As soon as I got up the stairs, my phone began to ring, and it was James. James, my nigger, you'll never believe what I did. James cut me off mid-explanation, and he said, what the fuck you doing on my line, nigger? Well, James, I'm trying to explain that we're nigger rich. We could wipe our ass with hundred dollar bills. Hello? It was at that time I realized James hung up the phone.

I shortly after received a text that asked me to seek medical treatment. Again confused, but still decently excited. I began to wonder what was going on What have I become? I ran to the mirror And to my horror I truly had changed I looked like a real one

I looked like Drake towards the beginning of I'm Upset And my swag had increased by 46% at least. I'm changing, I said nervously. I ran down to my car to see if it had changed too, and instead of Old Bessie, I was met with Big Rhonda, a 2018 Dodge Charger with heated seats and chrome rims. Ah shit, I gotta call Darren. I called Darren, and after a few rings he picked up. Pack your bags nigga, we rich. I'm going to buy you a truck and make sure your family's financially secure for the rest of their life. After a brief

moment, I heard a long sigh come through the phone, and I was told to kiss his pasty ass and check myself. He then said he was calling James to discuss my mental well-being. I thought. Why are niggas hating? Is it because of my finances? It couldn't be. I then went and donated $25,000 to a local charity thinking this is bulletproof, but it was not. After handing the young woman the $25,000 check, she looked at it, rolled her eyes. She then told me to get a job and to get to Steppin'. I went home, confused, and I decided I'd just crawl into bed and go to sleep. As I was falling asleep, I was greeted by the ghost of Richard Pryor, and he looked quite confused. A nigga must have took a wrong turn. I gotta get out of here. Wait, Mr. P, I said. How do I get niggas to treat me with respect? He looked me up and down, and a smirk grew across his face. Just keep flexing on them.

And when you get tired, flex harder. You're a real one, little nigga. Don't let them niggas do what they did to me. Fire hurts. Anyways, I gotta go kick it with Bernie Mac and Tupac. See you later. Richard the Ghost soon vanished And I fell asleep I never talked to James Or Darren again

And quite honestly I didn't want to It was for the best Because I knew my SoundCloud and YouTube would blow up And them little hoe ass niggas would be hanging. It was 2004. I was halfway into sixth grade, and it was required that we take a sex education course. Our teacher announced the news, and she was immediately met with a few chuckles and a couple half-hearted giggles. She informed us that if anyone wasn't mature today, that they would be sent to the principal's office immediately and suspended from school. However, being 12-year-olds at the time, we

all knew someone was bound to get in trouble. Luckily, our teacher wasn't in charge. She was a 64-year-old woman and, looking back, I doubt any man or woman would have done anything sexual with her. The school therapist Melbrook Monroe was in charge. He was very nervous and uncomfortable. Every time he said penis or vagina, he would clear his throat and pull his tie from his neck left and right. Bored because I had been an avid porn connoisseur since 2002, I began to doodle.

For whatever reason, kids caught notice and started passing me notes requesting what pictures I should draw for them. I drew Spongebob riding a lion, Goku fighting Charizard, and Hank Hill huffing propane. I never really received any attention in school, so it was pretty cool. That is until I received a request from the class bully, Joseph Bryan. The sick fuck requested I draw Dr. Monroe having sex with a rabid gorilla by candlelight. I would have declined, but the end of the request read, P.S. If you don't do it, nerd, I'll kick your ass. I finished the horrible picture in record time.

And even though I was disgusting and it was pretty unholy, it was my best work. However, Joseph had cruel intentions in mind. As I finished, he instantly raised his hand and said that I was distracting him by drawing crude artwork. My heart sunk. Dr. Melbrook walked over and grabbed my notebook and began to shuffle through my doodles. For a few moments, his eyes scanned in anger, and then his mouth dropped and he froze. He then began to cry and told me I was terrible and he ran out the room.

Shortly after the principal barged in and demanded I follow him? Although I was furious, I knew every chick in class would think I was a total badass. I was told to sit down while the principal gathered his thoughts. He asked why on God's green earth I would create such horrid art, and I told him it was a request. He shut me down instantly, as if I was some kind of liar, and then he asked if I should mail a copy of this to my mother. He waited for me to answer, although we both knew it was a rhetorical question. But during the awkward silence, I began to laugh.

I imagined my sweet, sweet mother getting a letter from the principal. I also found it funny thinking what he was going to put on the envelope. Would he put a disclaimer, or would he just leave it blank with his name on it? Seeing me laugh, he lost it. He looked up my address, gave me the tension, and then he mailed the letter. I waited every day for that letter, and finally it came. I carefully opened it, removed the letter he wrote to her, and simply left the picture. I then resealed the envelope and gave it to my mother. She opened it and told me to leave the room. She then started praying and called the school to complain. And I think the principal was fired right then and there.

Ahead of time, I had contacted 9 News for my mom's email and I just told her that they must have heard it through MySpace or something. I never saw that principal or Dr. Mel Brooks Monroe again

and I hope I never do. I'll never forget the night me and a few friends decided to mess around with the Ouija board. We heard all the stories and rumors, but being 13 at the time, we foolishly ignored them and decided to embark on what was the most terrifying night of our lives. My best friend Janet informed us that her older sister had a Ouija board and agreed to let us borrow it in exchange for one week's worth of lunch money. So together the four of us gathered the necessary funds and planned to meet at my house to see what all the fuss was about.

Everyone arrived at around 7.30 and we were pretty eager to get things started so we hurried down into the basement and set everything up. Janet was in charge of writing things down since she had the best handwriting and it was bestowed upon myself to do the talking. Margaret, Kevin and myself then placed our fingers on the cursor, and I asked the first question. Is anyone there? After a few moments of waiting, it seemed as if nothing was going to happen. What a crock, Kevin said.

I spent a week's worth of lunch money on this bullshit. Oh, shut up, you fat fuck, Margaret quipped. The two then started bickering as brother and sister usually do. And while doing so, the cursor began to rapidly slide all over the board. Are you getting all of this, Janet? I said. You bet your sweet ass I am, she replied. Janet then began to read aloud what she had written down. Yo, who dis?

I told the ghost our names and asked if I could know who I was speaking to. And after another brief pause, the cursor started to slide across the board. and asked if I could know who I was speaking to. And after another brief pause, the cursor started to slide across the board. Janet again started reading, My name is Theodore Earl Thompson, but the homies call me Teddy. Anyways, what y'all niggas want? I told Teddy that we didn't believe in the paranormal, and we were just looking for some proof that ghosts were real.

After another long pause, the cursor started moving, and again Janet started writing. After she finished, a somewhat distressed look came across her face. What is it, Janet? Margaret asked. He seems angry. She then started reading what Teddy said to us. Y'all niggas really hitting my line to see if ghost is real. White people, I swear to God. Okay.

Y'all crackers want some proof? I got something for that ass. We all looked at each other not sure if Janet was pulling our legs when suddenly all doubt was erased. Kevin's body began to levitate and we all started freaking out. Holy guacamole,

Margaret screamed. His body then started floating towards my father's workbench and all the tools flew off the table into the wall. Kevin was then bent over the table as he screamed, not cool. His pants and underwear were then ripped off and his head was slammed

into the surface of the workbench. He desperately tried to free himself from Teddy's grasp but it was no use. Teddy then began to rape poor Kevin. We begged and pleaded for Teddy to stop and told him we were sorry, but sadly he continued to give Kevin the business for roughly seven minutes. In the corner of my eye I noticed the cursor started moving again.

And at that time Kevin was freed and fell to the floor. Margaret quickly ran to her brother's aid. While Janet continued to write down whatever Teddy was saying. Should I flicker some lights and throw some shit around? Or was that enough proof for you baby back bitches? That's enough, I yelled. We blew out all the candles and threw the board back into the box and hightailed it up the stairs. Kevin made us promise that we would never tell anyone about the events that transpired that evening. He even made all of us pinky swear we'd take

it to the grave. I haven't touched a Ouija board since, and I don't plan on doing so ever again. I feel guilty for what happened to Kevin most days but he told me he was at peace with everything and not to worry about it. I still have nightmares about Teddy but my therapist told me they'll go away with time. I sure hope so. One thing's for sure though, I hope I never come across Theodore Earl Thompson again, and I'm sure Kevin feels the same. I spent the better part of the past year working as an undercover journalist. Nothing too exciting, just a young woman in the city trying to make ends meet. I received an email from the editor

that I was being assigned what could be the biggest job of the year and to report to my boss on Monday morning. The email was sent public, so everyone at work was acting a bit strange. Some congratulatory and others envious. I nervously waited for my boss in his office. He was running late, but just as I started to become impatient, he arrived.

He apologized for his tardiness, handed me a lukewarm cup of coffee, and told me he was going to cut to the chase. Apparently he heard rumors from his nigger Omar that a group of protesters were going to be at the Donald Trump rally and shit was expected to hit the fan. He said he needed somebody with a pair of balls to go out there and get the story. I accepted not just because I had the balls but because I was a competent and able woman. He handed me a disguise and secret recording equipment,

wished me luck, and sent me on what was going to be the craziest night of my life. I arrived at the Donald Trump rally about 30 minutes before he was set to take the stage, and the place was pretty packed. It was mostly full of old white men, but there was a surplus of fat chicks and security guards everywhere. I noticed a man walking around in a That Nigga Donald's a Fuckboy shirt. So, using my journalistic instincts, I decided to follow him. I could tell he was looking for somebody.

And after a few minutes of trailing, he led me right to the protesters. They began to speak to each other, most likely discussing their plans for the evening. They all had anti-Trump apparel on, backpacks that looked like they were straight out of Ghostbusters, and what I found the most odd, goggles. They were going over what looked like highly elaborate blueprints, but before I could get a better look, the ceremony began. The crowd was going wild. Biggie Smalls' music filled the speakers, and Donald Trump was introduced by Forrest Whitaker. He came out with a ton of energy and immediately ripped the microphone from Forrest's hand. I must admit his crowd

control was incredible. He started with the classic when I say hey, you say ho, which then turned into an insult directed towards Hillary Clinton. Speaking of hoes, he said, that bitch Hillary really thinks she bout to win this. Let me be the first to say fuck that trick. The crowd ignited with applause. Then after a five minute standing ovation they finally settled. Donald began to speak. He thanked everyone for coming out and for their commitment and support and said it was almost time for the empire to rise again. After he said that, the lights cut off. It was pitch black, and after a few moments they cut back on,

and Donald was dressed in a hooded robe. The mood was much darker. Security guards began walking around collecting cell phones and IDs, something my boss warned me about prior. After the guards were done collecting the phones, Donald began to speak again. He informed the crowd that before the ceremony could go on any further, that he had to address a rat. Two security then pulled on stage one of the protesters I seen from earlier. I immediately looked to where they were but they were gone.

Donald then raised his hands and electricity began to flicker on his fingertips. He told the protester he was a brave ass obeying that he liked his that nigga Donald the fuck boy t-shirt. He then said I'll see you in hell and Donald began to electrocute the poor man. The protesters started convulsing and shaking around like a fat person doing high-intensity workouts. And after about 30 seconds, the Donald decided to stop. The protesters' body dropped to the ground

and then the guards pulled his lifeless body from the stage. Donald blew smoke from his fingertips, turned back to the crowd with a smirk on his face and said, What a shocking turn of events. The crowd disgustingly began to hoot and holler. He told them that his power has risen to heights he never knew possible and that no one was able to stop him. I might know a guy, one of the four remaining protesters said.

Appearing from out the shadows, they took the stage, Ghostbuster backpack and all. Donald, your reign of terror is over. Susan, initiate the protosonic space converter. One of the protesters with the laptop began typing rapidly and said kiss my grits. Donald looking fed up simply replied that's enough

and began to raise his hands. But before he could summon enough energy to finish off the protesters a wormhole appeared above the stage. Holy shit, someone screamed. That wormhole is highly unstable.

Where's my car keys? The audience gasped in terror. I searched for an exit, but to no avail. I turned around to see what was going on, and a body began to descend from the wormhole. Oh my God, it's Martin Luther King, another voice said. Not only was it Martin Luther King, but he was holding a lightsaber.

Hello, Donald, Mr. King said. It's been quite some time. Donald looked shocked, and after a moment he gathered himself and replied hello. To what do I owe your pleasure, Martin? I'm here to slay you, Donald. You're out of control control and this ends now. Donald, looking irritated, said, well, let's give these folks a light show.

He then drew a red lightsaber and Martin replied, let's dance. The two then battled in what was one of the most intense lightsaber duels known to man Mr. King's swordsmanship was more fine polished than any Jedi in the Star Wars films to date And Donald was clearly outmatched After 12 minutes of the two dueling Donald and Mr. King became engaged in a lightsaber clash Donald's strength was fading and Mr. King was in position to finish him. In a last-ditch effort, Donald screamed time out and he pleaded something was in his eye.

Martin looked a bit confused and began to let up when, luckily somebody said that Donald was lying and that it was a trick. Mr. King, angered by the deceitful tactic, then kicked Donald in the chest. Using the leverage, he transitioned into a graceful backflip. Midway through, while eight feet in the air, Mr. King used the force and he threw his lightsaber in boomerang fashion. It then sliced Donald Trump in half. Mr. King then caught his lightsaber and landed the backflip in one spectacular example of Jedi wizardry. Donald's goons then retrieved his body. The wormhole won't hold much longer, Mr. King It's now or never, somebody screamed Mr. King then began to ascend back into the wormhole

He said goodbye to everyone still in attendance and he left I finally found an exit and hightailed it out of there And straight to my boss's house. I arrived and handed him a DVD copy of the events that transpired. He invited me in to view it and we watched it in its entirety. After it finished, he didn't say a word. He just stood up, walked to the DVD player, removed the disc, and snapped it over his knee. He told me to please get the fuck out and take that CGI bullshit with me. I soon received a text that I was fired and to clear my desk by the morning. I know you probably don't believe me. I wouldn't either had I

not seen it myself. Anyways, I decided to delete the footage and move on with my life. I got a job at Baskin Robbins and things have been pretty good. I heard Donald recovered and he's set to take on Hillary Clinton. I hope neither of them win. Hello, this is Doink Daddy, but you might know me as Let's Read. This is an invitation to the one they call, See Mustard. Me and a few narrators from YouTube would like you to join us at this year's super secret annual narrator meeting. We would like to discuss the clearly not scary, but truly hilarious stories you've so recklessly unleashed upon the horror community. If you would like to RSVP, please respond to the link below.

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