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Topics - Lyca

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1
Film & Television / Favourite Non-Horror Movies.
« on: 05:22:45 PM 10/17/18 »
So what are your favourite non-horror movies?

Some of mine (not necessarily in order) are:

Times Square. I said the list wasn't really in order, but this is probably my all time favourite movie.  If you haven't seen it, then you have missed out.

Tank Girl

Groundhog Day.

The Empire Strikes Back.

Never Been Kissed.

Overboard (the original, I haven't seen the remake)

The Fifth Element

The Quiet Earth. This is another one that is close to the top of my list.

Terminator 2 Judgement Day

Back to the Future

Back to the Future 2

The Matrix
(the second one was okay, the third one sucked giant hairy monkey balls and ruined the whole trilogy)

Silent Running
(I still can't watch it without crying)


And I'll update then list if I remember more.



2
Film & Television / The Banana Splits.
« on: 05:03:53 PM 10/17/18 »
Who else was terrified of Snorky?

3
Your Stories / The kids are alright.
« on: 03:34:39 PM 08/29/18 »
The kids are alright.

He walked through the dark graveyard quickly. It was cold and spooky if you were scared of that kind of thing but it was a shortcut that saved him ten minutes of walking time so through the graveyard he went.  He stopped by a big tree to take a pee.

Johnathon suddenly heard a little voice.

"Watcha doin'?"  He turned his head round to see a little boy of around four or five years old.
"So what ARE you doing?"  the boy asked again. He was tiny and frail looking, white blonde hair and big blue eyes that almost looked too big for his head.
"Who are you? " asked Johnathon "You shouldn't be out here alone at night, where are your parents?"
"I'm Jacob" the kid replied "and I like being out here."
"But where are your parents?" Johnathon asked again. "I could take you home."
"My parents are dead and I live here. All the kids live here" Jacob replied.
"All the kids?"
"yup, ALL the kids, we're okay except we're hungry."
"I could get you some food." Johnathon said not really sure what was going on. Maybe the kid had ran away from home with a few friends or something. Maybe he could persuade them to go home, or maybe he could see where they were and phone the authorities, the police or social services or something. He definitely didn't want to leave the boy on his own. He looked so little and frail.
Jacob suddenly ran up to Johnathon's side and took his hand. He looked up at him and smiled with those big, big blue eyes.
"I'll take you to the others and you can get us some food." he said somewhat cheerfully.

Jacob led Johnathon through the graveyard and into a crypt. The door was heavy and closed but the tiny boy pushed it with one hand and opened it without any effort. His other little hand was gripping Johnathon's tightly as he led him down into the darkness.

"It's just through here." he said.

They went through one more doorway and Johnathon found himself in a big room. The room had no windows but it was lit by big, old candles. There was a  huge, heavy table, and sat round the table were six other kids ranging in ages from around four to fourteen.

"JACOB!" the oldest girl snapped loudly. "You know you weren't supposed to go out alone."

"Don't be mad, I bought dinner" Jacob replied.

"Sure, I'll get you kids whatever you want"  Johnathon said "but you really should be going home"

"We ARE home" the girl replied. "Now come closer"

Johnathon realised he was walking towards the girl at the head of the table. He tried to stop but his legs just kept on walking.

"Do you have him Hetty?" a little boy of about ten with golden hair and freckles asked.

"I have him" replied Hetty.  Johnathon tried to speak and found he couldn't. He was stood close to the girl now. 

"Lie down" she said. Johnathon realised his body was moving. He was climbing onto the table and lying down. He tried to get up but couldn't move. He tried to scream but no sound came out.

"Peter get the knife,  and everyone else bring your plates" Hetty said.  Her brow was sweaty and furrowed in concentration. Johnathon tried to move again but couldn't. Not even one inch.

The freckled faced boy ran and fetched a big knife.

Hetty cut off the sleeve of Johnathon's shirt to reveal a bare arm. She hacked off a big slice of flesh like she was carving a Christmas turkey. She placed the flesh on the nearest waiting plate and then continued to cut enough slices for all the kids.

"I want an eyeball" shouted the tiniest child, a little girl who looked even smaller than Jacob. "I didn't get one last time" she whined.

"Fine" said Hetty and she plunged a fork into one of Johnathon's eyes and pulled his eyeball out with a sucky gloop.

She held out the fork to the little girl. Maisie grabbed the fork and gobbled up the eyeball joyfully.  Jacob insisted on having the other one as he was the one that had brought the food in the first place.

Johnathon felt every agonising cut, every stab, every slice. He could hear the slurping, the munching, the sucking and the crunching but he could not move. Not even one inch. He tried to scream but he couldn't make a single sound.

When the kids had finished eating Hetty asked if anyone was thirsty and all the kids insisted they were so she told them all to fetch their big glasses.

Hetty then ran the big knife across Johnathon's throat  and one by one the kids filled up their glasses.

Finally, mercifully Johnathon's world went away forever.

Hetty held up her big glass.

"Cheers" she said and all the kids clanked their glasses together and drank.

"Everyone alright?" she asked.

The End


Note: this story was kinda sorta inspired by a story I read many years ago about a dude who was eaten by monsters.  I sadly can't remember the name of the story that inspired me, or the author, only that it was in a compilation book and it was written in the 50s or 60s.  Also some inspiration was taken from the movie Monster Club.


4
Film & Television / The Terminator
« on: 04:59:21 PM 08/27/18 »
So if Skynet didn't send the Terminator back to kill Sarah Connor the resistance wouldn't have needed to send Kyle Reese back to protect her. No Kyle Reese=No John Connor.

but Skynet knew that and they still sent the Terminator. Why? because they knew how it would all play out and they needed the Terminators severed arm to get the technology to make the Terminators. They didn't actually send the first Terminator back to kill Sarah Connor, they sent it back to be killed by Sarah Connor.


5
Film & Television / Another Back to the Future thought.
« on: 05:21:11 PM 08/24/18 »
If Marty went back in time and stopped his parents meeting and DIDN'T fix things, then  he wouldn't exist, right?

So if Marty doesn't exist then how can he go back in time and stop his parents meeting in the first place?

6
Bad Stories / Tales from the Derpside: Comics
« on: 07:26:21 PM 05/01/18 »
Comics.

As a kid I lived on a quiet little cul-de-sac. There were only about 18-20 houses in total. And of those 18-20 houses only 4 of them had kids. There was my house that had me and my sister. I was four, my sister was six, the Hall twins, Jake and Jillian who were seven, and John Grey who was also seven. Then there were Laura and Tony, two babies that lived with their grandma, a huge old lady who we only knew as Mrs Morgan.

Mrs Morgan was so big she could barely move. She had a sofa in her front garden which she sat on almost all day, every day. Laura and Tony would crawl around the front garden digging in the soil with their little hands and eat any bugs they dug up.

We pretty much ignored them. Babies.

As the 'bigger kids' we hung out together. John was the eldest. He was a skinny, pale kid with hair so blonde it looked almost white. He wore little shorts and tee-shirts most of the time and was pretty much covered head to toe in eczema. The Hall twins were about as different as you could imagine two people could be. Jake, the younger twin was small and skinny. He had dead straight black hair and the darkest eyes and palest skin you had ever seen. He looked kind of sinister but was the funniest, dopiest nerd ever. Jillian was a couple of inches taller than her brother, had millions of freckles and the longest, frizziest, brightest red hair ever. She was quiet and a lot more serious than her twin. She also had bright green eyes. My eyes were green too, but mine were a kind of blue green, and hers were full on bright green, like a cat.

I was the smallest kid in our little group by some way. I was the youngest and also tiny for my age. I was super skinny, with pale brown straight hair and (according to my own mother) the ugliest child she'd ever seen. My sister was beautiful. Big brown eyes, darker skin and long, thick, naturally curly hair. My mother never tired  of telling me how disappointed she was to give birth to me after having my sister.

Anyway as a little group of kids we hung around and played together. We mostly played on our street but sometimes we would venture round the corner, a little way down the street and to the old graveyard that was behind the local church. I've no idea why we played there, but we did, and we liked the place. I've no idea why we liked it either. Kids are strange.

We'd walk around the graveyard and sometimes read the gravestones. We'd play tag, hide and seek and sometimes just sit around talking.

One day two bigger kids joined our little group, Duncan and David. They lived on the next street and were almost eleven. Big boys. They immediately said that I shouldn't be in the 'gang' We were apparently a gang now. I protested that I was part of the gang but they just laughed and ran off and left me. My sister and friends followed Duncan and David and I tried to run too but I was too small and slow and I just ended up sat on the grass blubbering in a sappy snotty little heap until I went home on my own. Much later my sister came home all excited that the bigger boys had taken them all to a park several streets away that we weren't really allowed to go to. I whined that I would tell on her if she ran off and left me again and she promised she wouldn't.

However the next day and the day after that a pattern emerged. We'd go to the graveyard to play, Duncan and David would show up, ask the other kids to go and play with them and they would run off leaving me on my own. My sister pretty much knew I wouldn't tell even if I said I would.

After this had gone for a while I stopped going to the graveyard. I just stayed at home reading. I was miserable but at least I didn't have the older kids and my sister and supposed friends running away from me all the time. And as I was sat in my front garden one August afternoon, my sister and John came running up to my gate panting.

"Duncan and David want you" they'd said. I wondered what they wanted me for but I went along anyway because I still just wanted to be a part of things.

"We've found some comics" they said "and if you get them for us you can be in our gang"

I asked why they needed me to get them and without talking they walked me over to a huge gravestone, flat on the floor and pointed towards it. The twins were already there, staring. I walked over too and looked. The gravestone was super old. It was right at the back of the little cemetery close to the wall, overshadowed by trees. All the oldest graves were in that part. We didn't really go to that part because it was so unkempt and dank. The ground was always damp as no sunlight ever got through the trees and it always seemed a little misty.

I saw what the others were looking at. The ground around the giant slab of concrete had shifted. Maybe subsidence, maybe the tree roots had caused it. I had no idea, I was just a little kid. But there was a gap in the soil, a kind of mini chasm between the gravestone and the surrounding earth. The gap looked to be about six to eight inches across, a little shorter along the side and maybe about five feet deep or so. I couldn't tell. But what was clear to see were the comics. There looked to be a ton of old comics down there, Beano's and Dandy's. The kind of comics young boys like to read. None of us had any clue how they got there.

"If you get them for us, you can be in the gang and we'll never run off and leave you again." Duncan told me. They all promised, one by one, and I, so desperate to be a part of things agreed to help.

I was confused though, why they wanted me to reach them when I was so much smaller but I tried anyway. I laid belly down on the damp, cold grass and reached down as far as I could. I was nowhere near.

"Not like that, idiot." John had said. "Duncan and David want you to go all the way down. We're all too big to fit."

Then they explained what they meant. Duncan and David wanted to each take hold of one of my ankles and lower me head first into the dark, deep terrifying grave chasm. I'd reach down and grab the comics, they'd pull me up and I'd have friends for the whole summer.

I didn't want to do it, not one bit but I agreed I would. The boys grabbed my ankles, turned me upside down and lowered me into the gap. I wanted to stay calm but I was so immediately terrified that I screamed, I panicked and thrashed my arms and hands around looking for something to grab. There was nothing to grab, just soil and worms. The gap I was head first in seemed like it was collapsing and I felt soil falling in on me and I completely lost it. Everything was pitch black. I couldn't see and it felt like my mouth was full of soil. I tried to scream but couldn't. More soil started to fall and then (probably because I was thrashing about so much) I felt Duncan and David let go of my ankles and I fell all the way down. It was probably a couple of feet at the most but it felt like I was falling forever. I was kicking, grabbing, clutching anything I could but all I could feel was more soil falling. I was being buried alive. I couldn't breathe and I thought I was dying.

Right at that moment I felt two massive hands grabbing each of my ankles and pulling me. I was pulled so hard and so fast I shot right out of the hole and into the air. I couldn't see very well because so much soil was in my eyes but I could just about make out it was a man that had a hold of me. He put me down on the grass and then stood me up. He brushed the soil out of my hair with one of his big hands and asked if I was alright.

I didn't feel alright, not one bit, but I managed to mumble "Yes, thanks"

"Bloody stupid kid" he said. "Now go home and don't let me catch you here again." He needn't have worried. I definitely wasn't planning on going there again. Ever.

I ran home, scared, tired, crying and filthy dirty.

"Where have you been? Just look at your dress" my mother yelled at me as I went through the door. "Your sister has been home ten minutes and she said you ran away from her." Turns out that when the boys had let me go, all the soil had fallen on top of me and the old man (who was the graveyard caretaker) had yelled at the rest of the kids and they'd all ran off, scared, my sister included. She'd gone home too scared to tell our mother what had happened so she'd said that I'd ran away.

"What's that in your hand?" my mother asked. I realised I was holding a comic. Just one. A dirty, damp copy of the Beano.

"Nothing." I replied. "Just rubbish"

And I threw the comic onto the fire.



7
Troll Stories / Once Upon a Time.
« on: 07:21:39 AM 04/26/18 »
Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time there was a haunted video game cartridge. A kid bought it from a garage sale and took it home and popped it into his old Dreamcast. The screen went all fuzzy and the Dreamcast made a weird noise.

Timmy (that was the kids name) suddenly realised that his Dreamcast took discs and this was a cart. He took it out of the Dreamcast and put it into his SNES and turned it on. The screen was black for about five and three quarter seconds then it flickered.

He heard a voice. "Youuuuuu will die in three days" said the voice in a high, ghostly, wailing style.

Timmy didn't believe it. He pulled out the cartridge and chucked it into an old box containing all his old Fifa and Madden games and went back to playing Fortnite on his XBox One.

Three days later Timmy dropped dead. Just like that.

His mum wasn't that sad. She aired out his room because it stank of grubby unwashed boy. She brought down the stack of plates and cups and dirty socks and washed them. She burned all his porn and sold all his games and consoles on Ebay. All except for the box full of old Fifa and Madden games. No-one wanted them so she just took the box and left it outside her house.

A kid walked past and noticed the box. "Are these games free?" he shouted when he noticed Timmy's mother was watching him.

"Yeah, help yourself, my kid died yesterday and doesn't need them anymore." she answered.

"Cool" said the kid and he proceeded to rummage through the box.

He tossed aside Fifa after Fifa and Madden after Madden muttering crap, crap, crap, crap, SUCKS, when he noticed the old SNES cartridge among the discs. "Coooool" he said and picked it out of the box and took it home,.

8
Bad Stories / Tales from the Derpside: Knives
« on: 06:08:14 PM 04/25/18 »
Knives.

I'd been living in the Murder House around 4 months with no issues. (apart from me and Dennis constantly pranking each other) Crazy Maria was busy doing 16 hour shifts at the A&E in Queen Mary's Hospital at Golders Green. Me and Dennis were still working as Station Supervisors on the London Underground. (and yes, I know it should be Dennis and I but who the fuck talks like that in real life? sounds kinda pretentious if you ask me)

Anyways, me and Dennis were great friends. We both 100% mutually friendzoned each other from the start, and we both shared a love of pranks. Sure they got a little out of hand sometimes, but it kept us both on our toes.

At 26 Dennis was almost 7 years older than me and the only issue I had was that he would take my stuff sometimes. For instance if I bought a pizza and put it in the fridge for when I got home from work, I'd come home, open the fridge and see a note saying "Lyca, I took the pizza, here's £20 buy another one" and there would be a £20 paperclipped to the note he'd written in the fucking fridge. He did it with everything, mostly when he'd had a few beers. He once drank a quarter bottle of brandy I'd been saving and I was so mad I'd punched him, right in the arm as hard as I could. Dennis had just laughed and he had the kind of laugh that made me laugh too. Both of us never really took anything seriously for more than a minute.

Anyway the next time I bought brandy I put the bottle in the drawer under my bed so he couldn't get it. I'd gone to bed and was sleeping when suddenly I was woken up by my bed moving? wait, no, not moving Dennis was in my room, a little drunk and he was carefully (well as carefully as a big clumsy drunk could be) opening the drawer to get at my brandy.

He saw me open my eyes and started laughing... "shhhh just sleeeepppp" he mumbled "I'm just here for your brandy"

Somehow I managed to restrain myself from breaking the bottle over his big drunk head. I handed him the bottle with a tired, narky "just fucking take it and fuck off" and he took it from me and stumbled out of my room.

The next night I shut and locked my bedroom door while I slept. I told him never to come in my room and wake me again like that.

A couple of nights later I was woken up by the sound of someone jiggling my door handle.

'Fucking Dennis' I thought. The door was locked so he couldn't get in. I ignored him for a while hoping he would give up but the door handle kept squeaking and moving.

I very quietly crept out of my bed and put my hand on the lock. I was planning on carefully unsnicking it, then wrenching the door open and throwing myself at an unsuspecting Dennis screaming like a banshee. It would be so funny. I silently stifled a giggle, I remained deathly silent. It wouldn't work if he heard me unlock and open the door. I had one hand on the little lock ready to twist it and the other hand on the handle. I counted in my head, Three, two, one...

And right then I had a little thought that I was tired and didn't want to prank Dennis after all. I'd go back to bed and pretend to be asleep and eventually he would stop fiddling with my door handle. So that's what I did. I got back in my warm bed and went off to sleep.

I was woken by Dennis some hours later.

"Lyca" he shouted knocking on my door. "Come out of your room really carefully and don't freak out, don't touch anything, I've already called the police."  He sounded different to how he usually sounded.

I carefully unlocked my door and slowly opened it. I looked outside of my room and noticed that every knife we had in the house was lined up on the floor outside my room. We both liked to cook and had two sets of deadly sharp chef's knives and a set of steak knives, and yeah, we had a lot of knives. And right now they were all on the landing carpet in a neat little line all pointing directly at my bedroom door.

I asked Dennis if he heard anything and if it was him trying to get in my room around 1am. He looked at me wide eyed and told me that he hadn't even been home all night. His shift had finished at 11pm and the night foreman hadn't shown up for his shift so Dennis had volunteered to stay and do a double shift. He'd finished around 6am, arrived home to find a downstairs window had been forced open and lots of things moved around.

The police arrived and weren't even that bothered because no-one was hurt and nothing had been taken and nothing (apart from the lock on the window) was damaged.

But tons of things around the house were moved around and the way they were moved was like in weird shapes and patterns.

I shudder when I think of what could/would have happened if I would have wrenched the door open thinking it was Dennis.

And seeing as Dennis technically saved my life (I'd only locked my door because of him) I bought him another bottle of brandy.

and this one is 100% true.

9
Bad Stories / Tales from the Derpside: The Murder House.
« on: 05:23:37 PM 04/23/18 »
The Murder House.

I'd left home at 17 and moved to London at 18. I ended up renting a room in my friends boyfriends flat. It wasn't ideal though, he was abusive, controlling and altogether unpleasant. I tried to convince my friend to move out with me and get a place together but she refused so I looked on my own.

Everywhere was expensive. I mean really, REALLY expensive. Some places were just rooms, tiny rooms with tiny child sized beds wedged inside them and landlords were wanting £50 or £60 per week just to sleep there overnight and not being allowed in the room during the day.

Then my friend from work, Bill told me he'd just bought a house (with another friend who happened to be a builder) and he was renting it out. It was a big house in West Finchley. For those that don't know, that was a very posh part of London. He was renting the 3 bedrooms out, £60 for the Master bedroom, £50 for the bedroom at the back (it had a single bed but was actually bigger than the master and had a massive walk in closet, something that English houses don't usually have) and £40 for the tiny box room. I bagged the £50 room and Dennis, another guy I worked with who was a good friend got the Master. We went to see the house and it was stunning. It was fixed up like a showhouse. The house was fully furnished and everything was perfect.

"What's the catch?" I'd asked somewhat suspicious. "No catch," he'd told me. "I just want to rent the house out quickly without paying an agency" He went on to say that he'd rather get less rent and rent the house to trustworthy people that he knew instead of renting it out to strangers.

It seemed everyone was happy. I moved in with Dennis, and a nurse called Maria (who we didn't know) rented the tiny room. She seemed a little crazy if I'm honest, but not in a dangerous way and as she worked long hours we didn't see her much anyway.

After about a month of living there I was randomly talking to other people from work and telling them about my great big house in West Finchley. One of the women joked and said West Finchley was lovely as long as you didn't go anywhere near Howcroft Crescent.

"Well my house is on Howcroft Crescent and it's a nice street, nice neighbours, quiet, nice houses..."

"There was a horrible murder there about 6 months ago" she'd replied.

And of course the murder had happened in the house I was renting. That's why it was cheap for my friend to buy, and that's why he rented it out privately, the agency apparently wouldn't touch it.

The guy that used to live there had killed his wife. He was a taxi driver and had randomly come home and fought with his wife (I didn't know any more details about the fight) and he'd strangled her. Then he'd apparently suddenly realised what he'd done, so to hide his crime he'd carried her upstairs, stripped her naked and bludgeoned her body (actually bashed her head in with a mallet), and left her on the bed. Then he'd quickly left the house, got in his taxi and worked the rest of the day. He came home several hours later and "discovered" his dead wife on the bed and called the police telling them he'd been at work all day, and just got home to find his wife murdered. His alibi was that he'd been taking fares all day.

Of course it didn't take the police long to pick the holes in his story and he was found guilty and went to prison for a long time.

My friend had bought the house with his builder friend and they'd rented it out to me, Dennis and Maria, the nurse.

I spoke to Bill and asked him why he hadn't told me. I said while it was tragic that someone had died, I would still have rented the house because I was desperate and me renting the house wouldn't change what had happened..

Then he replied..., and I shit you not, this is true.

"Well I thought you might feel funny about sleeping on the same bed where he'd put the body"

10
Bad Stories / Clichépasta. Knock, knock.
« on: 06:29:20 PM 04/21/18 »
Knock Knock

I hear a knocking sound. Well it's more of a tapping sound really. Tap, tap, tap, tap taptaptaptaptaptaptap... No-one else seems to hear it except me. Maybe they aren't paying attention. Most people aren't good listeners. I'm a good listener and I definitely hear it. I think that maybe I should say something but I don't want to interrupt and to be honest I'm not very good at speaking up sometimes. I'm a little shy. Anyway it's all turning out fine. I can't really hear it anymore now that they've added more dirt. All I can hear is the crying.

11
Yeah, I know that's a crappy title, also feel free to delete this topic if this has been done...

The question is: was there ever a movie that really truly scared you, and if yes, what was it? (or what were they if more than one)

I have a few.

As a tiny little kid my dad worked a lot of nights and late shifts and my mum liked to watch old horror movies on the TV. but she was too scared to watch them alone so she would bring one of us down (usually me) to watch with her. I just slept on the sofa for the most parts but this one time there was an old movie called 'Dr Terror's House of Horrors' and I slept through most of it, it was one of those old movies that had five little stories withing the movie itself. The only one I was awake for was one about a plant. A family had just returned from holiday to find a strange beanstalk style plant growing up the front of the house. Long story short it was evil, murderous and self aware. I was about 3 years old and for most of my childhood I was terrified of plants, especially climbing plants.

Another movie I saw at around 5 or 6 (thanks mother) was called 'Don't look Now' another old one. the ending freaked me out so badly I had nightmares for months. To this day I still think that is one of the scariest movies I've seen.

Lastly, when I was about 15 there was a cinema that showed old or banned movies on a Friday night. I heard they were showing The Evil Dead. It had pretty much been banned everywhere was a 'video nasty' and I sneaked in to watch it. Little kid me thought that was the most horrifying, realistic movie ever. Watching that at such a young age messed me up badly.

Ironically now the Evil Dead is one of my favourites.

On a side note, i really loved that old cinema, they eventually showed Carrie, Videodrome, Dawn of the Dead, Jaws and Christine and lots of other movies. It was super cheap to get in as well and they didn't seem too fussed about age. Only thing was it was kind of grubby, the seats and floors were sometimes tacky and had sticky patches. Much later I discovered that they showed 'different' kinds of movies on other days. I never went back after finding that out.

12
As a kid I always found this creepy, even in the height of summer when it's busy. (If anything when it's busy the barrel music makes it seem more disturbing to me)

13
General Discussion / Random LOL..
« on: 09:14:20 AM 05/09/17 »
I hired a guy the other day to come and cut my grass and tidy my garden.

I sent him pics and a video to take a look at.. he gave me a quote and said he'd be round today at 1.30pm to do the job.. or earlier if he could make it..

He didn't show so at 13.50 I messaged him on facebook and asked if he was still coming to do the job..

He messaged me right back and said he didn't have a car to get to my house so could I come down and pick him up....

I guess that's what I get for getting a quote from a millennial

Btw.. I'm not putting the guy down for not having a car. I don't have a car either, it's just that he agreed to do a job for me that required heavy gardening equipment, and had I not messaged him I wouldn't have even known why he wasn't coming..

*insert massive sigh here* I waited in the whole fucking morning as well... I could have gone out and filmed on the beach as it's been a beautiful day..


14
Bad Stories / Fixing Meesa and breaking all the walls.
« on: 06:31:18 AM 04/18/17 »
Oh I said when I realised everyone was looking up at me.

Urm.. hai.. I gave an embarrassed little wave.

Not gonna lie, I felt ever so slightly awkward..

Woah.. woah woah woah woah WOAHHH...!!!one!!!!  said Eddie making frantic time out signs with his hands.

How the fuck are we looking up at you? he asked.

Are you a giant omnipotent face in the sky or something? are you in the basement roof? or what?

I resented his tone and gave him pursed lips and a side eye all at once.

It's not like it matters I replied as flippantly as I could. This is a CrappyPasta, and I don't have to explain shit. Hell I don't even have to use speech marks or proper punctuation.

She's got a point Jerry said and he shrugged slightly and nodded to Ben who nodded back in agreement.

Anyway yousa made missa sound likein missa just to make a bombad funny-funny da wasn t even funny inda first place and da s no fair. Meesa screeched and everyone apart from Eddie winced.

Will you fix her? Mason asked.

Meesa gave him a scowl and side eye that was way more impressive than mine.

How? I asked..

I was getting kinda distracted by the television. It was still on and playing soft static but I swear I could hear the sound of a baby crying and a woman moaning as well.

Just write that Meesa's voice suddenly became normal offered Jerry..

Sorry, no can do I replied. You have to come up with something good. Continuity is important to me. I'm gonna be posting this on a forum and my reputation as a writer matters to me..

Meanwhile Lather Face was staring at his pizza cutter like he was hypnotized by it. He was running the little wheel up and down his right thumb making a lot of little cuts.

I'm over this he said. I'm off out to kill people. If anyone wants me just follow the screams.

And with that Lather Face left the basement.

Jerry said: Look if continuity is sooo important to your "great" story then how about this.. I listened but I didn't appreciate the air quotes he made with his fingers as he said the word "great"

"Even though NASA had changed their password after Ben's last hack he was easily able to hack right back in as he was an expert haX0r. He quickly found the new password using his Spider and a TS Grinder. He connected NASA to Audacity and a profile of Kelly Le Brock to Meesa and then pressed enter. Suddenly Meesa's voice was fixed.."

Well I could easily hack into NASA again said Ben. It's true that I am an expert.

and it must be annoy hav to type into a missa translator every time missa speak.. said Meesa.

I had to admit, That WAS getting annoying. Especially as I had to keep the stupid Jar Jar translator tab open all the time while I wrote..

Fine.. I said with a somewhat dismissive tone.. Whatever. It's not like I care that much about any of you anyway...

I had better things to do with my time than worry about this crap to be honest.

So yeah. Ben hacked into NASA again and that's how they fixed Meesa's voice. Blah blah blahhh etc etc x-fuckin'cetera..

She decided to keep the name Meesa though.

Can we go out now? Mason asked If we hurry we can catch Lather Face. He was stroking his machete as he said that and everyone looked a little disconcerted.

With that Meesa flicked her fingers and suddenly Ben and Jerry were sharp dressed men. They each linked one of Meesa's arms and headed for the door. Mason and Eddie followed and no-one looked back at the TV which was unfortunate.

A single drop of blood appeared from nowhere and dribbled slowly and purposefully down the screen.


15
Bad Stories / Clichepasta. The video game version.
« on: 06:33:13 AM 04/12/17 »
I woke in an an unfamiliar bed. The room smelled musky and looked like a 1970s hotel room.

There was a flashlight on the old bedside table that stood next to my bed.

I got up and realised how short I was.

I picked up the flashlight and knew immediately I should conserve the batteries.

A noise in my head made me turn to the side.

YOU WILL DIE SCREAMING was written in drippy blood on the wall.

Eeek, I thought. I'd better get the hell out of here.

On the way out of the room I banged into something that wasn't there and walked through a table that was there.

I walked through several corridors that looked the same and then realised I should start checking doors.

Most of the doors had toilets in them even though I didn't need to poop which was lucky because I couldn't see any toilet roll.

I heard the sound of a baby crying and I didn't care.

A shadowy figure of a woman stood at the end of the corridor I was walking down. It moaned as it glided towards me.

I ran back the way I came and into my old room stopping briefly to pick up two sets of spare batteries.

The writing on the wall now said

SHE WANTS REVENGE in fresh drippy blood.

The baby started crying again. I still didn't care. I decided to check my room and saw a note that said:

Several years ago Agatha Butterface Jones stayed at this hotel and died and now she wants revenge. You need to collect toilet rolls and find the exit before the crying baby eats your soul

I didn't read it.

I thought "fuck this shit" and went out of the door again and down the same corridors. This time I didn't go in any of the toilets.

I saw the same shadowy figure at the end of the same corridor. She glided towards me with a tortured moan. I threw my spare batteries at her. They went right through her and she didn't even say Ow. She just glided on towards me. I tried to hit her with my flashlight and that didn't work either. I turned to run and it was too late.

Everything went black.

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