House of Cards: An LGBTQIA2+ Podcast
House of Cards: An LGBTQIA2+ Podcast

Episode · 6 months ago

House of Cards: Spooky Stories!

ABOUT THIS EPISODE

TODAY! We did our halloween special. Even tho we are two weeks late, we are gay and as such we love spooky season! We each told a scary stories, either made by us or read from someone else with credit given. We hope you liked the epsiode and we hope to see you next week! if not, have a good rest of your life! and remember you are vaild as fuck.

Twitter: @LGBT_deck

Instagram: @houseofcards_podcast

Tiktok: @houseofcardslgbt

Written by Avery Ann

Edited by Jaxson Stiles

Produced by: Jaxson , Avery and Simone, Jesse,

Music: Lofi-Missing memories , lofi fading away, lofi fly and lofi escapie,

Hi, welcome to use cards podcast. My name is sman. I use that someone, including, but not limited, including but not limited to she and I want to talk about how the glitter was perfect time. Yeah, that was a glitch. That was my brain glitching. Oh, I see, it just made the glitz sound with it. Yeah, I like that. Valid as folk. Yeah, I'm just it's your turn. Also a good start. Hello, everybody, I have returned. I'm here to stay. You can't get rid of me, unfortunately. I've tried. Um, my name is jess. I use he. They pronouns, and I am so freaking happy that it is spooky months. This isn't going out in spooky month, is it? So that doesn't matter, but it's not right now. I think November should be an honorary spooky month because I feel like, you know, it's still. It is and stay. That is true. Yeah, are you done then? I'm never done going off about Spooky Day. But yeah, I know you go. I mean, personally, November be Christmas season, but I am like a suburban momb so I I used to her pronoun and I already said I used to her pronouns. Don't know why. I was going to say that again, just really high force it. Yeah, I am SIS, moving carry and that was a real story. They were telling horror stories. SIS, is that it are? Yes, hi, I'm Jackson. I think going through a bit. So, like I said, my name's Jackson. My memembers like, no, that's wrong. I had to took me like a few minutes to be like wait, I was like yes, no, I yes, Jackson, that is me. Identity. Christis time. I go by heathen pronouns and I'm for only eating cheese. Good for you. I'm really jealous. I'm also latching polkinky. All right, really, berquickly, before I forget. If you want to follow us on social media, you can find us at House of cards, underscore podcast, on Instagram, on twitter at lgbt underscore deck. And don't take Tu guess I was a prds podcast. You did it, good job. WHOO. Anyway, for mummy milkers. Oh, okay, okay, wait, y'all want to hear my Halloween plans really quick, because they're kind of funny? Yeah, no, tell you're just gonna tounch a bunch of mummy milkers. CONSENTER, that's friend and sent. My best friend is a Christian horse. Girl and he goes what does? She goes to Christian Horse Girl Camp every summer and winter. It's kind of like, you know, our camp, but horsechool, Christian any was so not nothing like our time. Okay, I have that invited. I've been invited to the Christian Horse Girls Party. How the all did you get into the Christian horse I'm jealous. That's the kinkiest Shit you've ever seen, Babe. I know, I know, it's going to be you. Really, you really played the straight role. Well there, didn't you girl boss your way. That's what it could like, the guy acting gay to get into the girl's sleepover. But it's just sumon acting straight to get into this horse girls curt utan camp. Do you just mean me at the last Leep over? Dude? Oh well, that's not surprising. Actually, there's this between Audrey and your best friend's gonna be setting there in the corner drinking. She has a right. I mean, if they went to a Christian school, they yeah, facts, people are go to Christian schools, get turned gay and I will not be arguing. Yeah, I got I did not go to Christian school. Oh right, sorry, you just still it's not at a young age. Yeah, I'm good. Version begins young. Not Be being forced to read the Bible during recess because I was chewing gum and class in the third grade. Don't you know that Jesus said Thou shalt not chew with Gum during...

...fucking social studies? Didn't you know that? It was multiplication actually, and for some reason my teacher was talking about Pearl Farber. Why are you at Christian School? Okay, so one plus one equals the Japanese attack. She's like, so serious, I can multiply anyways. Listen to the like. Let me tell you about the chattest day of my life, and you're like, Whoa, okay, here we go, I guess don't see you do that. Where they like, they divert into the weirdest shit, like my English teacher today. I just started talking about the four hundred page thesis he wrote for University and then he stopped. He paused and took a moment and went I regret it, and then continued and that was it. That, that was my that's how I low nothing to goodes. Five is we would get our teacher on a rant and then just sit and listen and do whatever the fuck we wanted. Yeah, like this. Usually, you know, you can get them started and then I won't stop. You're like, all right, very freebury, let's go. I have one teacher who is that's not opposite, Dude, I scary. That's fine, like class off. I used to get her talking about her dogs and she would not shut up. Honestly, like me too, to avery in disguise, every in disguise. I mean I had a sure that feature. If you guys him talking about boys wearing skinny jeans, he would not stop. I mean, as he should. That's honestly a topic I think we could do a whole episode about. We're just we're just post pictures about we just post pictures of Jeff. Okay, listen, I don't do I wear skinny jeans. What is considered skinny jeans anymore? Because I know, because, like ripped skinny jeans, they just end up being loose jeans, because then you sit on them and then you mean sleep. But will you really sad town, the only way to get it Yo with ripping your path. Yeah, I got stuck in my pants, so my genius solution was to destroy them anyway, which talk about. Let's move on from all of all four stories of life onto real hosts so that our life stories are real. Are you invalidating known story? Go let's don't get into how delusional we all are. Oh, up, cut up all have we all have anxiety, we all make faces and errors in our head. Let's not, let'start, get into that. Wow, that's for an other episode. This episode. Even he says, even though this episode isn't coming out until about halfway with you, November, we still thought about how it would be fun. Sorry, I thought about how would shit. If he's trying to share the walking, I like, I am the one who came up with this idea. ME. Yeah, we don't, but we thought it'd be fun to scare some spooky, scary skeletons we have in a closets, like my clinical depression. Okay, it's just my speaking series, just me going on a rant. So instead that is the youth. So I was in good one and then I came up to me. So, after since that, of having the usual Spiel, the four wrestlers can take towns reading each other spook will, not reading each other's but like reading spooky, scary sodas, and the same auto. We introduce ourselves because Avery said, let there be older. Yeah, every really said, let me be a dictator real quick, and we said that is we just gonna let it happen. That is sweetie. You're killing it. I've ever seen actually in the way. Have you guys seen Young Stalin? He's it's kind of fine. Okay, literally young stall fine, right, I had to argue about for like thirty minutes in English the other day. Do you want to go over your spooky story? Okay, so my spooky store is like a classic that English teachers in the ninth grade will force you to read. But it's wonderful, it's funky. It's Funky, it's okay. It's the tell tale hard by a girl and Poe. You utly yourself right. So, yeah, by ad your ill Ho. That's that's themon's pen name. Yeah, my pen names is a girl in poone. No mote. Full credit to ED girl, and POKI's dead. But you know what, I wanted to hum be because he's a spooky bitch, good hobby. He's fucking okay. Let's enough, guy. Yeah, stopping, holy and Maine Jeff, meet yourself. No, okay, so I'm gonna read you the four page story known as the Tell Tale Heart, which is found on a government website, my government website, Bessie, American English shot, state dogom flash files, a slash resource, underscore files, slash the tell or...

Flash, the underscore, tell tail, underscore heart, underscores zero dot PDF. Excellent, y'all. Write that shit down, all right, good, first story. Yeah, that will be all light a Pumpkin and let's get started with the spooks. I don't know, I don't I'm not going to transitions, do dude. So I don't really enough. I don't know what's it's true. Yes, I have been ill, very ill, but why do you say that I have lost control of my mind? Why do you say that I am mad? Can you not see that I have full control of my mind? It's not. Is it not clear that I am not mad? Indeed, the illness only made my mind, my feelings, my sense is stronger, more powerful. My sense of hearing especially, became more powerful. I could hear sounds I had never heard before. I heard sounds from heaven and I heard sounds from hell. Listen, listen, and I will tell you how it happened. You will see, you will hear how healthy my mind is. It is impossible to say how the idea first entered my head. There was no reason for what I did. I did not hate the old man, I even loved him. He had never hurt me. I did not want his money. I think it was his eye. His eye was like the eye of a vulture, the eye of one of those terrible birds that watch and wait while an animal dies and then fall upon the dead body and pull its pieces to eat it. When the old man looked at me with his vulture eye, a cold feeling went up and down my back. Even my blood became cold, and so I finally decided I had to kill the old man and close that eye forever. So you think that I am mad and mad man cannot plan, but you should have seen me during all of that week. I was as friendly to the old man as I could be, and warm and loving. Every night, about twelve o'clock, I slow he opened his door and when the door had opened wide enough, I put my hand in and then my head. In my hand I held a light covered over with a cloth so that no light showed, and I stood there quietly. Then, carefully, I lifted the cloth just a little so that a single thin, small light fell across that eye. For seven nights. I did this seven long night every time. Oh, I was close, so it was, for it was not the old man I felt I had to kill, it was the eye, his evil eye. And every morning I went to his room and with a warm, friendly voice, I asked him how he had slept. He could not guess that. Every night, just at twelve, I looked at him as he slept. The eighth night I was more than usually careful as I opened the door. The hand of the clock moved more quickly than did my hand. Never before had a fault of strong I don't. I was now sureves and they're not. And I was at his suddenly he said, you may think I'd be kinfraid, but no, the darkness in this room was I knew he could not see the opening of the door. I continued to push the door slowly. I put in my head, I put in my hand with a covered light. Suddenly the old man sat up straight in bed. WHO's there? I stood still for a whole hour. I did not move, nor did I hear him again lie down in his head. He just sat there listening. Then I heard a sound, a low cry of fear which escaped from the old man. Now I knew that he was sitting up in his bed filled with fear. I knew that he knew I was there. He did not see me there. He could not hear me either. He felt neither. Now he knew that death was standing there. Slowly, little by little, I lifted the cloth until a small, small light escapes from under fall to fall upon that Culture Ie. It was open, wide open, and my anger increased as it looked straight at me. I could not see the old man's face, only that eye, only that hard blue eye, and the blood in my body became like ice. And I not told you that my hearing had become unusually strong. Now I could hear a quick, low, soft sound, like the sound of a clock could throw a wall. It was the beating of the old man's heart. I tried to stand quietly, but the sound grew louder. The old man's fear must have become great indeed. And as the sound grew louder, my anger became greater and more painful. But it was more the anger. It was in in the C in the dockses of the bedroom. My anger became fear for the heart was beating so loudly that I was sure someone must hear. The time had come. I rushed into the room crying, die, die. The old man gave a loud cry of fear as I fellow upon him and held the bed covers tightly over his head. Still his heart. A minutes that heart beat his old the old man was dead. I took away the bed covers...

...and held my ear over his heart. There was no sound. Yes, he was dead. That a song, because I would trouble me. Seen how careful it was for the body where no one could find it. Earths. I cut off the head and MOM's lips. I was careful not to let us think before three of one of body there and I put the board and carefully, so carefully that no human eye could do that. They had been moved. I finished this work, I heard that someone was at the door. It was now about four o'clock in the stark. I had no fear. However, as I went down to them to open the door, three men were at the door, three officers of the police. One of the neighbors heard the cry and at the police. These had come to ask and I asked them. So I was not way the country out, calling them to see you all. Finally into the old man I gang with them. I asked easy, quiet manner made the policeman bleeve my story. So they sat there talking with me in a friendly way. But although I answered them in the same way, I soon wish that they would go. My head hurt and there was a strange sound in my ears. I talked more and faster. The sound became clearer. And don't they sat and talked. Suddenly I knew that the sound was not my ears, it was not just inside my head. At that moment I must have become quite white. I talked still faster and louder. In the sound too became louder. It was a quick, low saucea like sounds the clock, wool, well, love louder. Get the men on cow. I put up and walked cattle sound. I talked even louder, and still the men sat and talk and well that they could not hear. Now they hurt. I was certain of it. They knew now it was they who are playing a game with me. I was suffering more than I could bear from all their smiles and from that sound. Louder louder laughter suddenly I could not bear it no longer. I pointed at the boards and cried. Yes, yet people pull the boards and you shall see I killed him. But why does his heart not stop being? Why does it not pop? But you are so goodgy got day of how much of the how late on twitter, how much you would love Simone Story. I'M gonna cry. I mean, we knew what it was about, like we got it. Yeah, either either I know well enough or like it wasn't glitching as much for me, because I thought it was UNH yeah, like it's just one of those it is so iconic, like everyone that is pretty much knows it. Yeah, those dummy fake ventricles, like it's my it's my plan of how smone's going to go out is I'm going to kill smone, and Jesus Rice, don't say that on me. Don't say that on my. I'n't why you get caught. That's what we're worried about here today. I mean, that's true friendship. What else would we be worried about? I kill me, but like, make sure you don't get caught. Like if you get caught, I'm haunting you. Yeah, I'M gonna write dumb ass and like I'll getting bath room. Yeah, I know, I'm like, I'll haunt the shit out of you, but not like in a scary way, like an inconvenient way, like, Oh, unfold your laundry right out the hold it, this is a dick me, or like, Oh, make all of your towels slightly damp. WHOA slightly damp? Yeah, or, Babe, it already is. I hate to that even anyway, thanks for listening to my horror story. It was a good one, I did. Let's so much. We just want to still good. We just want to move on then. Yeah, okay, Jeff, it wasn't eat your next death vomits. Um. That's the story. Yeah, that's it. That's the story. So my first story is not really like like a story in the way. It's a story of the first time that I ever heard of horror, heard a horror story, which started...

...my insane obsession with all things spooky and scary. So basically, it was me, my siblings and a couple of our neighbors and we were in my garage, like we have like a detached garage sort of where I used to live, and it was around this time of year, you know, is starting to get spooky outside, you know, the leaves are starting to fall, and the oldest neighbor was like hey, do you guys want to hear a horror story? And we were like yeah, sure, because we were stupid. I think I was probably about ten or eleven. But basically he told us this like really botched, really secondhand version of essentially Friday the thirteen, like he just described the plot of Friday the thirteen essentially word for word, just badly, and he like went through it. It was, you know, really scary to ten year old me. I was like, Oh my God, murder, it's so scary. And then little did I know that our our old neighbor friend had had a couple tricks at the sleeve and that was a he had preplanned this event. He had his I think it was his friend, had put on a costume of the character from Friday to it's thirteen season more he's and was waiting outside of our detached garage. So when we were like okay, that's enough scary stories like this is too much, we're going outside, we're leaving, we open the garage door and it's slowly opens to this small man with a mask and a fake chainsaw manically laughing. It was the scariest night of my damn life. I was so sure I was dead. I was like, Oh, okay, this is how it ends, I guess. And then he came running at us and I sort of like kicked like a barrel in front of him and he tripped and face planet. Okay, now, no, I know I survive a horror movie. That's how I know I would survive a horror movie, because my first instinct was fucking evasion and like run, like I saw, survived horror movie. But that was the first time I ever heard a horror story. Obviously, like a couple years later I found out that it was from that movie and I was a little disappointed because, you know, I thought that my friends, you know, creativity and imagination was better than it was. And I'm weird, play enough the or the original movie was worse than the way he told it. Wow. Well, you know the the story is always better than you know. That is. That is true. Um, so, yeah, that was that was the first thing I thought of when we were talking about horror stories and I just think that's a funny story because I always talked about how I think I would survive horror movies because my very first instinct is how can I slow them down and then get a weapon? So I think I save brilliant Um. But my second story, this is this is a legitimate one. So get ready. I don't have a flashlight I would shining on my face. That does matter either, because I don't have my camera on and you guys can't see me. Just for getting this is a podcast. Yeah, I'm like, they're not watching me. You guys know in the windows. Terrify son, you. My blinds are closed. I'm paranoid anyways. HMM, this one is called the coffins story. One rainy, windy night, not unlike tonight, a man was walking home alone down a dark, deserted street that ran right by the local cemetery. As he passed the gates, he heard a bump in the darkness behind him. Not Daring to look back, he quickened his pace. The bumping continued behind him. He stopped to see and to turn to see what it was. Coming down the road behind him was a coffin standing on end, bumping from side to side, bump, bump, bump. The man, terrified for his life, turned and ran into the driving rain behind him, the coffin came faster, bump bump bumphead of him. There's a bunch. There was a branch that had fallen from a tree. He reached down and grabbed it as he ran by. Still running, he turned through it over his shoulder at the coffin, but it just splintered when it hit it and the coffin continued faster, bump bump, bump bump. The man turned onto the corner onto a street and ran through his front gate, the coffin right behind him. His splitting axe was resting against his woodpile, so he snagged it, turned and gave a mighty two handed throw, sending it and over and right at the coffin. Smash. The act shattered on the unnaturally strong one...

...of the coffin and it continued after him. The man dashed into his house, but the coffin crashed through the front door or the man ran upstairs and grabbed his shotgun off the wall display. He blasted the coffin with both barrels and the shot bounced harmlessly off the coffin and the coffin as it continued up the stairs, bump clump bump clump, bump, clomp. The man, desperate and scared half to death and jumped into the bathroom and locked the door, knowing it would do no good. The Coffin Bang against the door once, twice and on the third time the door exploded in. The coffin came forward. In a moment of desperation, the man reached out his hand and grabbed whatever he could. All there was was a bottle of costs Syrup and he threw it at the coffin. The bottle shattered in the costs rup poured onto the coffin and the coffin stopped. Get it, the coffin stopped. Oh, all through and stopped. I'm assuming here, like Whoa just and just, it's just a fifty days places. A fifty weren't done. And I love it so much. Personally, the image of a coffin, like walking down the street, is so fucking funny to me, funny, but you put yourself in that consist in that situation, you're like you would be shedding yourself. I heard it's like, how do you even explain that to yourself? Like Oh, I must be must be the wind. Noah, this sentient a coffin is coming at you. But no, I don't remember where I read that one, but I remembered it. Just as you said, horror story, and I was like, I know a couple of actually scary horror stories, but this is way better because it's just a pun. My Lord. Anyways, that's fine, head, that's my college you mean to so what's those so scary? But it's all, it's all just funny for day, just is the coming, just as the humors that were not all panicking. Well, yeah, I think this shit is funny. The bore, like you said, like the coffeer thing. I thought like it would going to be like an actual, like horror ending and that the coffin would eventually like open upright before God's him, no one would be inside and then it would like track the man inside and then he would become the sentient coffin. Yeah, I thought the coffin was gonna eat. Yeah, right, you think that. But no, it's just a fucking pun. Man. There's so much there's so much possibility and you know story behind it, and then it's like Cat Gotcha. It's a stupid pun. Jesse has had to go to the doctor. The coffe he just had a bad cough man. The coffin is up. Hey, but why was he shooting it? Like what? He was trying to choose some stuff. Scared. He was like, fucking giant wooden coffin is just running at you and you have a shotgun or a bottle of cops are up. Which one do you use? I mean the cops are of now, obviously, now I know, and die. Well, just like yes, let us just throw the cops are up. Then it kills us. Oh my God, yeah, I know, like an intruder in the house and you're like, hot gosh, cold medicine there, like what the flug? So fuck. That's exactly why I've cold medicine in my night stand. Honestly, if I, if I had get, like I said, broken my house, I would just throw my roommate or like one of my siblings art. Well, you would definitely die in a horror movie. No, I'd survive because they would dye and then I would say no, you'd be the one. You'd be the satisfying audience death where they're like, you're like the bad guy. Then when you finally die, the whole audience is like yes, yeah, but if even forty of our survives, id the I'd be the producers. Like no, I want that the person to survive. Why? I want them to hate us and make a sequel and hope and then they come back that in hopes that that guy dies in the sequel. Oh yeah, then they just coming back, keep coming back for sequels and guys, but he just never dies. No, eventually he dies. You know, you got to given some suffocate, like the thord movie. I'd kill him off. Yeah, you could go till the fourth bough and still get money. You Kay, pisty, you probably could. Let's be honest. Yeah, I mean like you know, the fifth movie, He can have an evil twin. I mean what, like Halloween? That's franchise still fucking going on. That's God. They've killed that fucker like eight times and he's still making more movies. It's the same movie, but it's like the character like it keeps dying every third movie and there's a new killer every movie. It just has nothing to do with...

...the last. Yeah, except for the main character and the guy that everyone hates. I like that anyway. Netflix, you know who to call. Netflix hired me. We produce it. Sorry, I forgot that. I was next well, you are a sin enlightened. Thank you. Yeah, of course it maybe so busy knitting. That's got a put that away your doorable. Thanks. Okay. So actually an actual, like horroresque story that I wrote over the summer is eight pages, so definitely going to be the longest one yet. And Yeah, it's mine, so don't copy right me, don't copy write me, Avery Anne. Okay, seven Grigorovich road southeast there's a little gray blue, two story twenty century town has. This town has has lived many lives. It has lived the lives of Mrs and Mr Jordan, who built the three by four picket fence porch into a six by eight deck. It has lived the lives of Miss Emily Holloway, who painted a living dining space a pale green and put in the brass door handles, and her daughter Ursula, whose growth patterns are scratched into the doorway of the second floor guestbed. It has lived the life of Mr Thomas, who retired after the Second World War and built a two seater porch s going to hand under the East Trough. Has lived the lives of Mary and George Colton, who painted the kitchen cabinets white and began the small vegetable garden out in the backyard. Now it lives Wesley Ridgelow, normal, nine hundred and twenty five, day in, day out, transit, riding goldfish, feeding swift or sweeping, born in Bright Canadian resident, just like anyone else. Well, Leslie wouldn't tell you this. Wesley would tell you that he is among the top accountants in old Alberta. In his mind, this tidbit of information very much proves that he is not, in fact, just like anyone else. This becomes all too true when Wesley Wakes up one Sunday morning. The month is June and the climate is a sticky, humid cascade of clear skies and mosquito sporns. This is relevant because the night before a summer evenings, often a company, a fast and wet windstorm swept through Westley suburban. One particular bout of thunder had even shook the fish bowl of genevieve Westley's two year old goldfish and only roommate. It just so happened that on this particular Saturday evening, during this particular storm in this particular month of June, at Westley for got to latch his bedroom window. There's nothing enticingly special about this window, a simple to by two by four cutoffs. The only remarkable thing about this window may be that it has no screen to separate Westley's bedroom from the elements, as most windows would these days. And so Westley roused on Sunday morning feeling as averagely non average as ever, and padded towards the bathroom. At the site of the unlatched window, Wesley's eyes grew wide. Oh goodness. He fluttered from the unlatched window and a ray of muddy leaves and swirling rain patterns covered his small bathroom. His previously pristine shower curtain was worn with weather, his teel colored towels were overturned. His White Marble Sink, which was just beside the window, was green and Brown from the storm. A small line of black sludge led from the whip of the sink and disappeared below the grass the drain. Westley got to work at cleaning. The shower curtain and towels went into the Washer and the leads went into the compost. At last was the sludge. Wesley hold on his yellow rubber scrubbing gug gloves courtesy of his mother God lusterful and crouched over the sink. Using his thumb in his fourth finger, he clucked the sludge at the lip of the sink and almost immediately recoiled. It was hot to the touch, red and volcanic and searing and charring, and Wesley gasped, opening his fingers and shaking his hand. The sludge would not budge. It clung to his yellow rubber glove like a Molten Tarantula. And then it began to move. Wesley's eyes widened his mouth tilted back in a silent scream as he watched horrified as a sludge jerked and inched up the SPAINK get off. Westy gasped, stubbling backward in a vein attempt to escape the sludge. It's wormed its way up his glove despite his protests and attached completely from the sink head sunk into his arm and through the...

...glove, fearing the skin and melting the rubber. As the sludge slowly against peep up his arm, Weslie fell back into the bathtub, body trembling and shoulders quivering. His mouth gaped unintelligently like a face drowning on dry lamp. His eyes prickled with unshed tears, feeling wet and dry all at once. Westley had once been I was fishing up north with his grandfather and had fallen through the ice. It was as if his entire nervous system went into shock. The water cutting came like knives, so freezing it burned. His limbs, screamed and his skin ached, and it was over almost as soon as it started. It was simultaneously the hottest and coldest he'd ever felt. But none of that compared to smell his own skin charring as a black sludge slowly dissipated beneath his arm. As a last bit of sludge seeped into his arm, the screen that had been so insistently flying at Wesley's throat sprung free. It tore from him like a wounded animal and left him a shaking, feverish, blubbering mess in his bathtub. He panted for a moment, mouth sputtering, chest heathen, before braving himself to look at whatever was left of his arm. That's that's not that's not possible, he heaved, eyes widening as he took in the set of his arm. It looked normal, normal in the sense that it looked the exact same as when he first pulled on his yellow rubber gloves only thirty minutes earlier. Normal in the sense that there was no evidence of his previously charred, stearing skin and bubbling rubber blood sintiively, and just to be sure, Westley lifted a shaking hand and ran it down the skin of his arm. Perfectly normal. Not a hair nor scar out of the place. A drop of sweat dropped down along Westley's brow and he wait and he raised an arm to wipe across his forehead. He wouldn't be going into work today. On Monday, two days after the storm, Wesley was working the way in his cubicle when his stomach lurched, his intestines rolled and a low grumbling gurgle arose. Wesley's hands strayed away from his calculator to lay over top his stomach. Dawza ebbed and flowed, reminding Westley of his vacation to Coney Island, and he slept in a breath. His lips pursed as he swapped it for a long and low exhale. His chest and throat began to Broil and he threw himself from his chair, sprinting with muttered excuse me and thank you as he ran for the men's room. He dropped into the first stall, paying no mind to locking the door behind him, and hung his head before the toilet. His stomach reeled as though a divine entity had taken his organs and twisted them as one would drain ex excess water from a rag. Wesley's eyes burned and he squeezed them shut as he wretched. At long last, with his stomach wailing and muscles aching, he let himself fall away from his mass. His skin dripped with perspiration. He slowly blinked himself back to his senses and pulled himself straight against the wall of the bathroom stall. Wesley took in a breath, using the back of his hand to wipe his lip. As he exhaled, he leaned forward, intending on flushing the toilet, but stopped. Scream caught in his throat. His eyes widened, his heart patted through his body and echoed in his ears like symbols, because in the toilet bowl staring back at him wasn't vomit. That's not possible. Wesley gasped, echoing what he had said only days before, in the comfort of his own bathroom. His throat burned and his vision grew on focus as he tried to make sense of what he had thrown up. But he couldn't. In the toilet was a writhing mass of Maggots, at least a hundred or more, yellow, brown black, crawling over one another like a hive mind, two tiny dots for eyes and appendages for legs. Crawling, squirming, blinking maggots. Wesley Ran, sprinting faster than he'd ever ran before. He was a blur of raising thoughts and wild eyes. He ran all the way back to number seven Grigorovich road southeast, his lungs burned and his clothes were swept through, and with some final resolve, dropped onto the porch swing and sobbed. The following Friday, Westley quit his job. Over the course of the week, his skin had taken on a gaunt thinness. He counted his ribs as he undressed. His finger nails were yellow and brittle. His hair was falling out in patches. If you compared a picture of Wesley now to his senior prompt the photo, you'd think he was homeless. Wesley stepped into his shower, skin flaking off of him as he did. It did that now. The amount of dust was becoming so comical. Wesley imagined his home as living underneath a giant couch, right at the very back where the swiffer couldn't reach. He was dust bunny and currnet. The water beat down on him and he felt his ear itching. It didn't bother him now. In fact, he watched his seamy reflection as an ant crawled out and...

...down his neck. From this view he could see the fading yellowness to his skin. A maggot niveled on his scalp, nestled and squirming through his remaining hair. His face was hollowed almost to the bone. Every curve of his skull was visible, and the rust could be said for the rest of him. Weslie skin stretched over his muzzle, his miserable Husk of a body like sugar being stretched into's happy he looked like death. This was confirmed when Wesley went to the doctor the Tuesday after his megged incident, the maccident, one could say. The only place he could get an appointment so last minute was a little hole in the wall privately on practice sandwiched between a seven eleven and a bookstore called the very hungry caterpilling. It was a bare facing building, having only ever lived this doctor's office and therefore still young and yearning to be filled with character. There were three easily parking spaces that were occupied by this office. For customers, there was one car in the far right parking space when the bus dropped leslie off. This doctor's office was called the Bay of Fungi, a play on words on the Bay of Fundie. The Bay of fungi was named so by the owner, a stouter, poorly mustache sprouting man. His name was Dr Herman Guy and he had lived in Charlottetown up until he decided to start his own medicinal practice. He had a distinguished eastern accent. Despite the car in the customer parking Wesley was only other patient in the rating room. It was a musty green colored room with plastic chairs much like those of a children's school. Wesley counted three framed photographs of depth of doctor ferm and guy holding a fish. The weight was only six minutes, three four Westli to fill out a treash farm and another three for Dr Guy to peek the examination room was much cozier than the waiting room, which Wesley found slightly contradictory. He stared at the leafy plant in the corner of the room, unable to ascertain whether it was fake or real. Dr Herman Guy followed his gaze to the plant and commented, Oh, that's Louise. No more comments were made about Louise. Dr Herman Guy followed through with the physically sound. He weighed Westley, took his height, listen to his chest and looked in his ears and eyes and nose. And now he took his blood pressure and pressed his stale popsicle stick to the back of his throat and told him to take a deep breath. As the examination came to an end, Dr Herman Guy pulled a chair in front of the table and staff. Westley rolled his shirt back down and tucked it into a slack. So I can see concerns. You are slightly underweight, which isn't much cause for concern, but there are some oddities in your chest and stomach. Parking here, he said Westley, round his brow fur room. What does that mean? He asked. Dr Herman Guy Shrugged, which wasn't very comforting. It just sounds like the flu. Wesley shook his head that that's not possible, he said. I'd never get sick and I've been going crazy. There has to be something wrong. Dr Herman Guy Shrugged again. Perhaps you got a parasite then, he said. Wesley's vinen vision tunneled. His chest quickened as his heart skipped a beat and his stomach coiled. Oh No, the sludge. Wesley couldn't remember how he got home. He moved an autopilot, the word parasite echoing around his blame brain like the image DVD bouncing around a black screen. He slunk to the floor of his bathroom. Pathetically. He tried all night to rid the sludge from his body, but all his attempts resulted in a in a bathtub full of maggots and both lies and ants. He had literally cost up a lobe of his lung, which is which uniquely carried out to the backyard and planted desk fertilizer. Westley turns out the shower and steps out. A trail of drives him following him. He doesn't bother with drawing himself with a towel. It would only result in the human way of whatever remaining skin layers he has. It's a crumbling to nails crunch under his feet as he walks. He doesn't have long. Wesley has become a mere shell of what his body used to be, a prison of skin and bone, with his soul the cane from the inside out. As he passes his bedroom, he makes his bed, leaving dust and skin and hair and finger nail behind. He feeds genevieve and hopes it won't be long until one realizes he is dead. He hopes that she'll be taking care of Westlie moves through his house like a ghost, as though he's already begun the to haunt the reminiscence of his life. The sound of death accompanies him, flies buzzing around and within him. As he treases Newt in without purpose. Leslie steps out into his backyard, closing the door behind him. For the last time he had a stepped death. He has no one who will mourn him, except for Genevieve, perhaps. He steps off the back Porch and slowly sinks to his hand and...

...knees. He crawls through the garden and nestles himself between the blooming vegetables of the garden. That Mary and George Cold had planted so many years ago. By the time his neighbors realize that no one has seen Wesley Ridgelow for a few days, his body will have already reduced to nothing. All that was left of him will have dissipated into the dirt. GENEVIEVE will be taken in by the eight year old girl next door, and number seven Grigorovich road southeast will go on to live a young widow named Jocelyn Park, who will commend the vitality of the garden and who will forever wonder what brutilizer was used by the previous owner to make the plants come alive like they do, and why. What fuck, dude, I hate you. Why did he after you? That was fucking amazing. O, my shit, for I was going I have to compare to that. Oh my God, welcome up to impark. So much shit. Fucking hell, that was amazing. Okay, Avery, again you go last. We're never letting every participate in a writing thing ever again. Yeah, let's let the English major talk before me. That's a great idea. Okay, he was think you guys. You describe him dine. I was, like me, in a depressive episode. Oh my God, so like hollowed out MAG it's calling all over. You described his appearance and then he went to the doctor and the doctors like, yeah, I might be the fluid. He's like, bitch is he has polos. What do you mean? All but that puzzles the wall about like the healthcare system. Oh yeah, no, it's just like your hair falling out. You got answer in your mouth and knee and you're fucking toenails are crunching off as we speak. I probably look flu yeah, that was horrifying, especially the boy think of. Oh yeah, I know the fucking. Oh, what sort of Iday you fuck off? Literally the best, like, Oh my God, what cute. It made me think of what's that disorder where you think that you're dead? Coach Ard Syndrome? Are Watching Corps Syndrome? Is that? They said, disorder where you think you're already dead or dying. And I thought that he was just going crazy because the doctor was like a, there's nothing wrong here, you can go home, Kiddo, just takes some Madville and have a good night. Dress that looks at me. It's like did nobody at work check up on him after he bolted to the bathroom and violently vomited out several maggots. There was like Ah, obviously that's lastly, fun. Yeah, you haven't been in a toxic environment before. If that happened to me at my old job, they absolutely would have just like left left me. They're as fucking Jackson again, Dude. If that happened to me at my old job, they'd be like, why the fuck aren't you working? Get your ass up, I don't care how many maggots are coming out of your body right now, you better fucking start working a ready nimum. Wait, you better be working full time. To Rot, Bitch. I'm catchooing that all my own him. I don't pay you a decompose in my kitchen, motherfuckerky your ass back up there and fry some patties. Bitch, I made. I'M gonna ROT ON Company Times. Type comes over, looks over, arms are falling off. He's like, Oh man, it was you know me, man wild. Surely was a wild dude. I thought like a parasite or something that sluds just like Amar. I was great on. He's like, wow, you have the wildest Friday nights. You Lee swings over. His eyeball POPs out. He's like what's up? Yeah, he like pokes about hit. He's like, Oh man, fucking tit, and jeff had the kids see how this is like really scary, a horror story to our avery, especially, like suddenly starting to decompose and having like a Megas and bugs all over you, yeah, and being just, you know, gross. Describe it in one word, grossly.

I'm so proud of it so that I last right like this. No, I think. I think we still have one more Jack Jackson. I don't I don't mind. Okay, first of all, minds knocka compare to abies at all. Yours matter. I do areas and English Roo. I'm like not, I'm pretty sure I did it right, but the timing will sound like I'll be using the wrong timing of a war. What is that like? Hey, all you past tense and present tense porubably. That is popsful vibes. Oh Hmm. We cure find out in the fourth sentence, because I was like yeah, I'll started out with a fun thing. Excellent, definitely not nervous. I don't read my stories a lot of people, but I'm just pretending. This is DD. Honestly. If that's yes, like. That's a good way to think of it. It's D nd until you're ebbing it best. Oh and then I'm gonna kill myself. Added that out. Okay, okay, Johnson reassured the reporter that he was insane. Even with that fact out in the open, everything he's about to say is completely and utterly the truth thing this reporter will ever hear. You See, the story started when he was a younger man. Johnson claimed he was about twenty six during this event, he lived in the hamlet of Mamberlei in Newfoundland and labador. Roughly Twenty people lived in this hamlet, quite a small population, and that's truly what Drew Johnson to the Hamlet. No one would be able to bother him. He could finally get away from the big cities he had spent his childhood, and Johnson grew to know almost every single one of his neighbors. He especially enjoyed tea with Mabel down the road and bought his goods from Leo at the Card War store. Even with Johnson only living there for a few months, it didn't take long for him to be part of the family. Johnson did quite like Maybury. There was a main circle, the road that led basically ever in the Hamlet, because there were twenty people, wasn't a lot to go around. All of the houses of almost identical, with the red roofs and white wall. It was like a perfect utopia. And just in Johnson's back yard there was a cliff side with the Atlantic Ocean would scream and claw its way up on the cliff side. Johnson often enjoyed his moanings with these waves. They helped muffle the noises of his work, which is exactly why he picked Maybeley. Johnson had let her a little laugh, startling the reporter, who had been cut off, God at the polling from the story Juston. Explained how he completes for got to explain what his job was. He was a professional motorer, as Johnson claimed for himself. The reporter of swallowed and settles themselves in the chair. Before smiling and nodding, they couldn't help but stare at the rotting teeth that Johnson had in his mouth. They looked as if they would fall out at the slightest movement. Returning to the story, Johnson explained how he was quite handsome, Brown Coly, Hal Pale Skin, blue eyes, he was, as he claimed, the whitest man of white man and as such the police never thought of him. He enjoyed that part, killing in the right area and the police wouldn't wink an eye. Of course, he got cocky, as any straight man would, after feeling like God for too well, and as such he starts to kill a little too much, and not always in the best areas, which is why he left for Maybelli. The police was sniffing off his ass and I said she took a permanent leave to a small hamlet will can also begun to bore him. Johns explained he wanted to have a bit more of a challenge, but with none of the police and people getting curious. He would have to kill twenty people without anyone realizing they were dead. Johnson told the reporter about a week into his movement into maybe Lee, he had started to walk on a mouth. He had to figure out how to kill everyone in either a single night or an amount of time that allowed him to feel everyone before those in the hamlet would become suspicious of sudden missing people. He penned those and he would have to be that could be killed a day or two before the mass event, as they do not interact or go out in public for a few days. Those who would have to be killed last were...

...marked in blue due to how, if he suddenly need to take a day's break, people won't wonder where they went. Everyone else was green. He's so could the radius and use conversions to find the vocal walking pace he would need to take from one place to another. Johnson explained to the water to all. Johnson explained to the reporter how he excelled in school. Physics and math was, course, subjects, the only subjects he truly ed issues with his social studies. He found it hard to explain how to be a good person and after just wrote about the amazements of war. After completing the notes, his a Lombrain for his tea with Mabel. Johnson explained how he had almost considered letting her live, as she seemed to be a quite a quiet young lady. She was thirty four, a widow. She had lost her husband and children in accident. Johnson, ever, pushed. He wanted to keep himself close to Mabel. Didn't want to cause any interaction that would force her to ignore him. She had rosy cheeks, dirty blond hair, but lips will fine red. Johnson always believed she had lipstick for how red they wore, but she always seemed to argue against that. She dressed in a card again mostly, and will blas, I'm sorry, we'll brown dressed pants most days. The Papa Johnson truly a buyard about Mabel with her chest and her thighs, while Johnson did enjoy her company, Gilson drive, being able to decidly watch as she walked herself. Johnson explained how, if he was to walk all the time, he was going to meet out a little fun. Maybel, we'll talk to Johnson about her day. Oh, maybel would talk to Johnson about her day, how she would now got an teapot, blah, blah, blah, Blah Blah. She went on and on and Johnson just listened and watch. Johnson smiled at the reporter and the REPORTO looked up waiting for him to speak. Then it up staring at the cold, gray, distant eyes of Johnston. They looked away and swallowed whatever they were trying to reimarge. They finally realized what he was implying. He exclaimed that finally, after a few months of planning, the date arrived November thirteenth. He had planned everything to the point. Mostly all he had to do was to kill everyone in the hamlet nuts and try to explain how there should be worry if something went wrong or anxiety if someone would try to kill him. Back where was the FIA Within Johnson? And he explained simply he didn't know. He had no idea what he would do if something were wrong or if someone tried to kill him. What he couldn't explain even more, is why he was not scared, why, to this day, he does not fear what happened that night. Starting off on his quest, he went to old Graham forced she was a hundred and two, the oldest woman in the town. Johns aditial sum remorse as he picked the locket and her house. Her wife had died a few days ago. He had planned to kill both of them on the safe for knife. Alas, he could only kill one and the door creaked open. Johnson moved in his feet, taking the vice from the wind as he floated through the House and slightly opened the door to old Graham's room. There she was, asleep, peaceful. Johnson had wondered to this day which she must have saw as she slightly awoke and torned her head toward the door, only to see his eyes staring at her from the door crack. Before she could let anything else, with a dash, a knife on her throat, and then she would see nothing again. As Johnson Room as Johnson remembered how the blood filled his hands, covered his knife and clothes. With a smile, he felt a new slash that had imprinted on old Graham and covered her body and blood. As he placed her back in bed and covered her blankets on her, Johnson explained how he went to his knees and prayed for his safe passages to were after life. Getting up, Johnson smiled at the moon as the force killing of his night. Sneaking out of the House, he had forced himself not to strut throughout the town. With this new, fresh blood covering his clothes. He had to remain hidden. Anyone saw him, the plan would end. The crashing of the waves on the cliffside helped keep the sound of his feet on the gravel Sila the rue. The houses roofs were dark red, matching the collow that staying Johnson. The next victim would be William. Johnson slowly climbed the porch and tried to unlock his door to find already open, moving and Johnson had his knife ready. William was never awake this light. He would normally block out due to...

...his drinking habits. Johnson saw red hands covering the wall. Jesson explained that he was disturbed, a new feeling for him, especially as he walked into William's room and found William chopped into seventeen pieces, hands, fingers toes, legs, torso cut. Johnson looked to be nudes or Johnson looked in this new disturbing feeling, but also intrigued. Johnson lettered a giggle to the reporter, telling him to get ready for the next part. As Johnson stood in amazement, someone grasped his arm and threw him onto the wall, pinny his hands. Johnson stared face to face with marble covered in blood. With a devilish green in her face, she licked Johnson's cheek, cleaning the blood off. Johnson smiled at her in amazement. He explained to the reporter how this woman was different. He had always seen her as this hot, hot woman who lived on the street, but a killer as well. Justin saw he would never find another woman like this. He found himself kissing Mabel, dropping the weapon as she did hers, grabbing her and lifted off the ground. He felt as her leg swept around a lower back. He had envisioned this moment for months now, but he never truly knew how amazing it truly would be. As they laid on the living room floor at the moon slowly shifted in the sky as Johnson described one of the best moments in his life, the reporter eventually shifted in their place, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the detail this man was giving them. Johnson eventually noticed the reporters to just comfant and moved on. As they had laid together the close father on a dead man's house. Johnson realized at the time he still have to kill people, and he would have to kill her. He cooked, rose and went to look for his pants. Jones, Johnson wasn't show what told him, but he torns and raised his hand as a knife dug and itself into his hand Justin grunted as he pulled his hand away, his own blood grushing out all over his body, and Mabel had this devilish grinner on her face. Justin struggled with how hot she looked and how dangerous she was. Without a minute to spare, Justin explain. Johnson explained how you ran out of the house naked. He ran and knocked on the neighbor's door, banging on the door. He could blame us all on Mabel. All he had to do is really start. But he could live if he explained. He explained how he almost crashed through the door before he heard Mabel walking across the street. Turning, all he saw was her naked body glinging in the moonlight. She lettered a lawn calling for Johnson. Johnson explained how he ran to the neighbor's window and hopefully would be able to break in, when to find the dead head of the owner tied to the window. TRUSTON's forore his brain trying to figure out what to do next. He reinshowed himself that maybe we couldn't have killed everyone in this span. She had. She spent a good length of the time with him. Justin explained how explained this to himself, as he ran door to door and helps up someone, anyone being alive. So he found himself at his house. Walking towards him was Mabel, the woman who we had shared tea with. He had run into his house and slamming their shut, locking it Justin. Johnson looked for his gun. He'd found guns to be a table weapon. You don't want to you don't get the fin of skin tearing or watching a rip. It wasn't easy kill, but that's what he needed right now. He ordered me, but slammed her body as the door. He also heard the sound of the door freshing. Johnson fumbled through his room as he heard the door break from her smashing justin, felt his hot flutter. He couldn't explain it to the reporter, but as a motorer, this was the best end worst moment of his life. Finally, he explained how we remembered that it's done. was in the drawer on the left. As he stood to go, he told and came face to face with a wooden table. John Johnson explained the paint. He felt as he tried to raise his arms and felt nothing, kicking, nothing. Johnson looked at his body and turn his arms and legs lying next to him. The bleeding had stopped, professionally done. Look at his chest. A heart had been called with M and J in the middle. At that moment, tearing from the story, the moments the guard entered the rooms and they grabbed on Johnson, the port of protest, explaining that he had not yet finished the story. The God simply explained there's no time left and he had to go. The porter letter a sign, and Johnson just laughed and explained to a Porto. Oh, come on, I am sure your mother would be pleased to explain the rest of the story. And that's it. That end, I didn't get time to do all I wanted, so I just kind of throw some shit together. God. So I found my new OTPUM. I found literally,...

...what is this? You Season Five? What the fuck? Oh my God, right, that's it. That's what Bro Message Netli the whole time, just the whole time. This is straight. Man Dies from morning. Is Santa, but it's a serial killer. Mills, see murder, Damn Bank, stabbing me and you're still hot. A spug. He's never, never died, because the story takes place in present. Like the story. He's telling his past tense, but he is technically alive, just without arms, are like, and he's long awesome. Oh Ie. And if you didn't get it, the reporter is Johnson enabels child from the night they shared. Oh yeah, yeah, wow, oh wow, that's I'm sure your mom. That's why I said I'm sure your mother would be pleased to explain the rest of the story. Oh yeah, they fuck. They fucked for a few hours. She likes fucked him and then she like took off his limbs and shit, just kept him in his basement and then like raised a child with him. I like that. Literally. No, no, actually, what was going to happen is he was going to try to escape. Mabel is going to grab him and lead him to the cliff side and then like kiss him on the cheek, poor acid in his eyes and then throw him off the edge of the cliff. We as you do with she was she was always fanny to be a single mother, the sword to this man, just gonna fucking Sperm Bay. Goddamn well, she wasn't plan on fucking him. Yes, I married people carry that's the moral of the story. So I feel so to Scott. And as I was describing how, like how Johnson was just discuss I honestly trigger a warning. I was gonna put like very non consensual party. I was like Nah, that's too far. That's a little yeah, like, what about? You know, it strewed people like that down. I delete. Delete. Yeah, I love this story. was just too straight. People just fucking it. Literally. was like that's just the horror story of what if straight people I thought actually to be a vampire. That read honestly my like. The original plan was that, like he would sleep with her and then kill horr and then do and then do his killing spree. Yeah, let's look like no, I like. I like that. She girl boss to literally like Santa like. He was like, Oh my God, he she got to everyone before me. You like law? How? I guess we'll never know. Ruin. No, really easy. Could spend it. I had to some my head. Johnson had just spent the entire day basically in his house righting her long dead, and she, Oh, they were dead for a while. Yeah, he's no, but she left old Graham for Johnson. Love. I love that. She respected the lesbian's apparently. No, no, she wanted Johnson to think everything was fine. HMM, Love Lesbian. Wow, she girl bossed her way out of that and I love her. She was like you think you're gonna kill me? Did you know? You wait, my God, I just go do it. She definitely, she definitely killed her husband and and her kids. Yeah, she definitely. When had she? Yeah, she's definitely a math murder. Okay, so off topic, but I just noticed my next English book, which is a fellow has, like the cover is a man choking woman. Oh, make that. Yeah, that opposite. And this is just my phost story. I literally yeah, I love aglish teachers. They'll make you read the weirdest shit. Dude. Literally, Dude, I've read, you read. Okay, the last year I had to read this book and it was basically about a Dystopian society where people just have sex and do drugs all the time. Except it was the most boring thing I've ever read. One thousand nine hundred and eighty four. No, no, not nineteen eighty four. They don't have sex. Oneusan nine hundred and eighty four. It was bl nineteen in Nice Post and we're supposed to be reading, we're supposed to be on chapter five, and I even haven't even opened the book yet. In nineteen, yeah, nineteen, one thousand nine hundred forty five, nobody had sexy. Everyone just chose not to. Yeah, that's that's true. No, in one thousand nine hundred and eighty four. Like a big theme of it is like absence, because he keeps looking at this girl who's super fucking hop she has to wear overall so she looks ugly. Overalls equal ugly. I hate straight literally literally. That's like the whole. That's like a whole interaction in dude. I read them back of it and it was literally like. I read the back of it and...

I was like if straight people were treated the way gay people are, that's just what it sounds like cooking. It's like he can't have a relationship with this woman he loves and he's always being watched and judge. I'm like, so he literally fuck her, like what's He mad about? Okay, okay, before we end off, I want to say this because I feel like you, guys. I don't know how you feel, but Mabel was based off of she would the whole force. Impression was based off of Avery. Oh my God, who looks a source of more based off as the mown and then I was like Hawk and I was like let's autowastle. Know, she's dirty blond. She's like Brown hair, kind of blond. I literally have brown hair like dark like ground. Would you at dark brown hair? It will you six months ago somehow and you've caged, stopped, tried. But yeah, I definitely imagined or like not being skinny. I was like she's sick. She's sick. He's girl. Yeah, like no skinny woman can try. No SCAP. Women could kill Johnson May. Women can't murder. I know they sorry. Can can from and not kill people. Cannot fuck. I love. You do not have the capacity. What I was just describing the sexy. I was just like Veryy, very aggressively knitting. Like, oh well then, I think that's it for today's episode. I think we've done enough with girl boss our way through this. I think we're feeling through this. Oh Justice, hang on, will fucked? No, yeah, okay, so like Mabel fucking milk. Yeah, I was like mill I need to add a move here. I was like I need it. Also, like not a MILF, like she wants to be a MILF. That's why she wanted to have a kid. Did any of you think? No, she's an though. She had kids. Yeah, but she wasn't until getting of the story, like she had a kid and then murdered. She yeah, she had kid and then motor to her kid like a few years ago, and that's why she's in having it too. By the way, what's it called? Let me, I can't remember them. Is a real place. Oh it is. You said new foundland and I was like mappling new fronland and lad us, dude, you can. It's my home. It's like I am living real like I took real get the hamlet in your family that has about twenty people. Yeah, the Pullin at year round residents are about twenty. Jesus. Nice of I to catching a fish and day come home to rider. I am. What's a great place to end it. A break I can today. I hope you enjoyed this little different episode where we talk while. We've started out with a glitch story, then we went onto comedy and then we did real little trow and then we talked about big mummy milkommotio. So let's see the genders. The genders. What's your gender, Mommy Milk murdery? We hope you enjoyed today's episode and we hope to see you next week. If not, mummy Mabel's coming for you. Maybel's coming for you. Is there anything else to add? Fell this fuck. Also, mummy. Wow, incredible. Thanks, thanks for coming, Mommy. Sorry, Bommy, I can't say that because I'm gay and you should all stay gay. See you next week.

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