Burgrr Entries | CreepCast

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Hey, everyone.

I'm just here to confirm the rumors.

I know you've seen a lot of this in, like, you know, my comment section on TikTok and Twitter and stuff like that, but I just want to confirm that Hunter is dead.

He died

a couple days ago.

He had a massive heart attack

while driving a car that a plane crashed into.

Yeah,

it was really brutal.

I took a lot of pictures.

Anyway, he's dead now, but I will continue to do this podcast.

This is actually what you're about to see, the last episode we recorded together.

I will continue to do it.

I will do it by myself or with someone else.

To be honest, the paycheck is just way too good at this point.

So, yeah, just wanted to give you that little update that he is dead, and you should continue to remind him of that going forward.

Thank you.

And yeah, here's the episode, I guess.

Bye.

Welcome back to Creepcast.

Today we are reading a story called Burger Injuries.

Entries.

I think I said injuries.

Intries.

Could lead to some burger injuries.

We'll find out.

We'll see.

So, this story is made by an author named Jonathan Wojkik.

Wozzkik.

I think that's a Polish or some kind of European name.

He also goes by Mordasheen online.

And while it seems like on the website,

the insidious Boglechech.com.

Yeah, and he has bogleach.com and it has

so much stuff there.

I mean, it looks like that this has been a website since 2001.

He has a creepy section on that website that has what looks like, I don't know, hundreds, if not thousands, of

short horror stories, which, yeah, the Bogleaches hosted the creepy, the creepypasta cook-off is what it's called.

And that's like a little award or a competition that goes on

from since 2012.

It looks like that was active from 2012 to 2017.

And there's just a huge archive of awesome stories that I would love to just dive in sometime.

A lot of those, so it seems that on Bugleach.com, I don't know if it was several people or if it was just Jonathan, but at least Jonathan was some part of these competitions that would run.

So they have all the submissions from that.

There's a catalog of a lot of Jonathan's own stories.

There's also a bunch of like original Pokémon he's designed, Digimon.

He has like a merch store.

He has a Patreon where he's still doing a bunch of updates.

He has an Etsy store where he also seems to be a great artist.

So

there's a bunch of like little trinkets you can get with these cool little pins and like little creepy figures like scary ghosts and stuff like that.

So there's a bunch of different ways to support.

He goes by Scythemantis on Etsy.

That's a really cool name.

Scythe Mantis.

He seems like a very prolific guy across a lot of different arts.

So hopefully he is a great writer as well.

Wider, whatever.

So if you want to support him, there's a bunch of different ways to.

We'll leave a link to the website, boggleage.com.

It seems to have all of his links in the description below.

Be sure to show him some love.

But this story itself, burger entries, was originally posted to its own website, burger.com, and that's spelled B-U-R-G-R-R

as like a series of entries or blog posts.

And it seems that the website is gone now, but all of the entries have been archived on creepypasta.com, which is where we're reading them from now.

And there's a few little like art depictions along the way as mentioned.

Jonathan's also an artist to help visual with the story.

For those, so for those who are on YouTube, you will get those in addition.

But yeah, this is just a very interesting thing.

The story comes highly recommended across like Reddit communities and stuff like that.

So hopefully, it's cool.

I really want it to be because a bunch of the other stuff Jonathan does looks cool.

So I'm excited to get into it.

Yeah, let's dive in, dude.

Let's dive in.

Is the merch by the time I see this?

Will the merch still be for sale?

I think we have merch up right now at creepy, uh, creepy, or what's our show called Creepcast.store.

What's the name of the show?

What's the name of the show?

It's creepcast.store.

You can go pick up some merch there.

Also, be sure to listen to us on audio platforms like Spotify and Apple Podcasts.

We appreciate you.

And give us a nice little rating because it does help us out.

So thank you.

It does.

So without further ado, Hunter, are you ready to get into burger entries?

Oh, God, I am.

Well, let's enter some burgers then.

Alright.

Entry one.

I don't know if any of this is going to get through to anyone.

If it does, it's probably because they wanted it to.

In which case, I'm really sorry.

Maybe they just don't even care.

Maybe it doesn't matter because there's nothing we can do.

If you're anything like me, you've seen some weird new shit around town.

And more importantly, you realized it and you've remembered it while everyone else goes about their day in ignorant bliss.

I don't know how far it goes, but so far, nobody has shown any capacity to register what I'm saying.

I can spam it up and down the internet and I don't get one relevant response.

Nothing.

I've considered that I might just be crazy, but even crazy people can get some sort of reaction.

Someone will at least try to humor them, calm them down.

I've tried doctors, police, professors.

They all just stare off into space when I start to describe this shit, like something is actively blocking the exchange of information.

My biggest fear isn't even that I'm all alone.

My biggest fear is that I might still only perceive bits and pieces of something bigger or worse, that my capacity to perceive all this is shrinking.

I can write it down, I can record every last detail, but it's not going to matter if I become like everyone else.

I could wake up tomorrow and look at my journal entries and only see a pile of mysterious cake recipes.

Who the hell knows?

First thing I ever saw was one of the pickup windows.

It was just like any other one you might see at a fast food place, but it was right on the side of my own damn house.

Nothing.

That's funny.

Nothing amiss indoors, but outside, half the block was lined up on my front lawn, reading over a glowing menu full of scribbly-looking gibberish and receiving their meals, if you want to call them that, almost instantaneously.

They all acted like it was their usual mundane lunch stop.

Even while the mail lady sucked some rancid-looking glop out of a plastic pouch, congealed blood dripping down her chin, she told me it was the best she'd ever had.

All my questions were met with those blank stares and stupid smiles.

I couldn't tell who or what was actually handing out the food or where it was coming from.

I could only see blackness.

At least that's how I remember it.

Maybe I saw something else, but it's gone now.

God,

it was only the beginning.

So

he wakes up one day, and there's just like a line on the side of his house.

Hey, that's what I do.

I'd be like, are you fucking kidding me?

Can I get some pink goo?

It just shows up immediately too.

You know what this reminds me of?

This is very Invader Zen.

Yeah,

I kind of got glimpses that too it made me think of that uh that part where he's like i want my coleslaw you ask your coleslaw

at that chicken restaurant whatever yeah

no it was it was the pork restaurant yeah because it was there was a big pig mascot that children would like get sucked into yeah this guy was like it was a guy who was just stuck in it for years he's just been growing inside of this fucking suit I'll never forget there was this one, which looking back on, this is an insane joke to put in a kid's cartoon.

But there's this scene where, like, uh, Dib

and uh his sister were eating at the restaurant, and the bit the big like mascot comes over.

He's like, Oh, eat your food, or whatever.

And it shows him in the background walk to like the back office, but right before he does, he stops and he quickly grabs a child, and the child's screaming, and he just takes the child into the back office.

I remember being a kid and being like, Huh, I wonder why I did that.

It's kind of weird.

All the restaurants in town, the real ones anyway, are typically deserted.

Employees still show up to some of them, but they don't even realize that no customers are stopping in.

Some of them even host new windows, parasitically siphoning off all their business.

The thing seems to multiply constantly.

I've seen them indoors, outdoors, on houses, on trucks, even one on a tree.

A window to nowhere on the trunk of a tree dispensing deep-fried slop to an ignorant gaggle of hikers.

People eating tree, like

tree deep-fried wing slop is so gross.

Also, like they're running to it, like breaking a sweat.

Here, we got to stop real quick.

We got to hold up real quick.

Just hold on.

It's funny to imagine that it's like...

a void coming out of the tree and it's just handing them like grease fried batter.

They're just

like.

yeah, I'm just picturing like sizzling hot melted butters.

It's just making me so gross, dude.

There, there was,

I'll never forget when I was a kid, I remember there's a story being ran that a county fair somewhere was serving deep-fried butter.

Oh, yeah, like they took a stick of butter

and fried it.

Oh, yeah, that's that is a that's a mid that's a midwest staple, dude.

Is that really a thing?

Oh, yeah, oh, yeah,

no, hell no, no, Okay.

I can barely take that.

And here's the thing, too.

I bet it's delicious.

Wow.

It's just, I mean, I like butter, but to just eat it shit.

To eat a,

yeah, just a bite out of a stick of butter makes me disgusted.

Also, too, any state, any state fair carnival food is like

just horrible.

Horrible oils and all that kind of shit, too.

But like even a funnel cake.

Listen, I like a nice funnel cake.

I love funnel cake.

That shit

puts me out immediately.

It's probably my beatus.

Well, yeah, it's a giant cake.

It's literally a cake of batter.

It's butter bread deep-fried, and they put fucking powdered sugar all over it.

Yeah, I know it's not good for me, but if I'm at the fair, I'm at the bottom.

Well, come on, I'm at the fair.

That's what that's what I'm here for.

But honestly, eating like a stick of deep-fried butter is a form of self-harm, I think.

Like, you should talk to someone if you order that willingly.

But no, so these windows are like There's kind of copping them all in town.

They're kind of showing up.

I like the idea that it shows up on like fast food joints, but somewhere else.

Like a barnacle on a whale or something.

Like it just grows on the side.

That's an interesting idea.

Near as I can tell, all of the products are meat or some vague semblance thereof.

I can't always tell what kind of animal or even what kind of body part it used to be.

I've seen things that could have been dredged from some black, godless deep sea sea trench.

Gelatinous slabs of flesh in blindingly unnatural colors, fried bugs just slightly larger than any I thought existed.

It isn't just the windows either.

I've started seeing the shit right on supermarket shelves.

Foreign-looking packages with that same gimberish language on it.

Occasional bouts of quasi-English, like number million taste,

give me a nice ore, or

it could dream a great flavor.

It all has the same stupid logo on it, too.

Sometimes burnt right into the cuts of meat.

A bug-eyed cartoon hamburger in a little chef's hat.

Sometimes it's winking.

Sometimes it isn't.

Sometimes it's only is after I've looked away.

There's even people sucking down the shit on live television.

The talking heads come back from commercial licking blood and grease off their hands.

God.

Oh, oh,

The idea of it's like raw meat, like raw chicken meat they're biting into.

Oh gosh.

The weather lady shows up looking like an extra from a slasher movie.

Red stains increasingly thick on a blouse.

I don't think she's changed in weeks.

Nobody else cares.

Nobody thinks anything is odd or new or different.

Nobody but me.

My appetite for meat is thoroughly dead, to say the least.

I don't think I could ever trust it again.

But I've noticed non-meat products are growing steadily rarer.

Fruits and vegetables are sitting out longer between restocks.

A lot of things are just getting phased out to make room for all the new items.

I shouldn't have to say this if you could already read and comprehend this far, but for the love of God, don't eat it.

Don't taste it.

Don't touch it.

Try not to even smell it.

The more people eat, the less they act like themselves.

The funnier they talk if you know something's up but you can't see what i'm seeing i advise you to stick to cereal i haven't found anything fishy about any of the cereal yet i can't begin to postulate what's behind it all aliens terrorists illuminati reptilioids i could believe damn near anything at this point This is

the end of entry one.

Yeah.

This feels very familiar to a is it a Carpenter movie?

What's the name of that movie?

I think you're thinking of the stuff.

Yes, that is.

Yeah.

Is that Carpenter?

It's not Carpenter, but it's just like a classic 80sb horror film.

Yeah, where it's like, it's ice cream.

Everyone's obsessed with this ice cream, but some company is mining it out of the earth, whatever, and it like makes them kind of like go crazy.

I was actually going to say the exact same thing.

Obviously, it's not ice cream.

It's like a...

It's meat-related stuff, but still, just the idea of, and also, too, in the movie, it's like packaged by a corporation, you know, very heavy-handed on like the kind of shit that you consume from, like, I don't know.

It's about consumerism.

Yeah.

Yeah.

But in this one, of things just kind of like showing up.

To me, I was getting more of like a SCP vibe of like weird anomaly of things growing on different kinds of things.

Because what I'm wondering, too, is it'd be kind of sick if like it grew on somebody and then people were like chasing a guy or they were like ordering from inside of this guy's like stomach or like, you know, his back or something crazy like that.

I think that could be kind of sweet.

But no, I mean, so far, I really enjoy the

just the perspective of also a guy just being like, why does everyone else not

like know like, why is no one else thinking this is crazy?

It's always funny.

Just standing there, like, what are you guys doing?

What is going on here?

It's funny because you can imagine this is like someone who's mentally ill, like having a breakdown.

Or if this is true and

like no one realizes it's wrong and he's right, then he would be the only person.

It'd be similar to what's that sort of psychosis.

The one where like he's the one guy left and everyone else is crazy.

Gives me similar vibes to that, but I kind of love the idea.

Yeah, I love the idea of the protagonist, like this is real and the protagonist is not even going crazy, but I think just like

is not under the spell of this thing yet, where it's maybe, you know, it acts like a zombie virus or something.

You eat one thing or smell it, and you just kind of get obsessed with it or whatever else.

But I really hope that it's like, oh, no, this is really happening.

Just, I think that'd be a fun angle to take.

Would you eat the meat slot?

Oh, God, in a heartbeat.

In a heartbeat.

Look at that, dude.

People are

talking about it.

I've seen, uh, I've seen deep-fried butter.

Can't be worse than that.

What's cute is, um,

yeah, I didn't know exactly what you'd say, but I knew you would start with, oh,

wow.

When you're fully committed to anything, your first word.

Oh, oh, yeah,

no, no, no, no.

Yeah, I would, uh,

eat it.

I'll just be, I'll be like, is it good?

Because also, if there, well, you know,

if I saw a woman drenched in blood, she's like, well, it's good.

I'd be like, hmm.

Don't

know if that's a viable thing.

I like how

you're not sure.

You're not writing anything off.

Yeah, well, listen,

of course not.

It's still on the table, but I'm like,

that does make me thinky, is what I would say.

That's what you'd say in front of a woman just covered in chicken feathers and blood.

Yeah,

chicken feathers, blood, and she's licking grease off her hands.

That's all I would say is that make me thinky.

That make me thinky.

Something's a little off here.

Now, this is downright suspicious, is what I would say.

She's like throwing up bile, like black bile and blood.

You okay?

Did you have the double down at KFC?

That happened to me, too.

Her face is melting.

What would be really funny is if you ate it and nothing happened.

Yeah, I'm like, oh my God, I actually got skinnier.

Whoa.

Scientists are like, well, my God, this is actually healthier than anything you normally eat.

I'm like, well, it is Pizza Roll Thursday, and I'm switching it up.

I wonder

what do you think is healthier?

The slop coming out of the tree or Totino's pizza rolls?

If you had to guess the microplastic tiny pepperonis for pizza.

Hey, don't talk about totinos that way.

Listen, I love the spin-off ones.

I love them.

Spin-off ones, yes.

I will agree with the spin-off ones.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Same with like a spit.

Like store-brand anything is horrible for you.

And listen, when I say horrible for you, I mean that

I would suspect that there's bleach in every store brand product.

Like instead of Mountain Dew, it's like Mountain Thunder or something like that at Walmart.

That's got to be made with bleach somehow.

But I drink it anyways because it's that good.

For no reason other than spite.

They just throw it in there.

Oh, my God.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Because what are you going to tell me what to eat and what to do?

I'm an American.

How dare you?

That's what I say to that.

Well, if you do that, you're going to legally go blind from a stroke.

I'm like, okay, so you're controlling.

That didn't make any thinky.

Uh-oh, it looks like the old ball and shane, the old government, doesn't want me to drink bleach.

Well, this will show them liberal.

Yeah, that's what's what I said.

That's what I said to my doctor.

You don't have my face, liberal.

That makes me thinky.

But no, all in all, entry one was cool.

Entry two.

I actually don't even know how many entries there are.

Let me see.

Did you see?

I think

five.

Five.

There's like points.

There's like 5.5.

Okay, there's, yeah, there's 5.6.

5.5 really, really stretches out that five number.

Really?

The majority of the story is entry five.

it's yeah most of the story is part five yeah

all right entry two

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We are now back to the episode.

Entry 2.

The ads are everywhere.

Flyers, neon signs, billboards, all of them written in some weird foreign language I can't find any match for.

Plastered with goofy artwork of bug-eyed hot dogs and steaks and less identifiable things.

People stop and stare at them compulsively, pupils dilating while their clouded mind registered

God only knows.

A lot of people say the exact same thing in the same exact tone and rhythm every single time.

Mm, mm, mm, mm,

that sounds good enough to eat.

That would drive me fucking insane, by the way, if everyone did that.

Imagine it, you're like, hey, Carl, how you doing?

That sounds good enough to eat.

Until I would go to the nearest store, buy a rope, and do what you know I'm going to do.

All right.

Do you remember that time we were at the Mexican restaurant outside and you got attacked by a bunch of flies?

Why even bring that?

Where the fuck did that come from?

We were thinking about food and you would do it.

Okay, they were vicious flies.

I know that doesn't sound very threatening, but it felt like an orchestrated attack.

Okay.

Hold on.

I have to tell from my perspective.

I have to say what happened.

There were like six of us at a table and I was across from Hunter.

And like it started out.

Like one fly got near him and he swatted.

We were outside on a patio.

One fly got near him and he swatted at it.

And then two more got near him.

Shut the fuck up.

Who cares?

And then there's a few on him.

And he's like, what the what is going on?

And then someone down the table says something.

So I turn my head.

And as I'm watching the person who's talking I kid you not

like

like

30 flies

I don't know if there was a there must have been a fucking dead dog because I sat there I that was swathing I said what the fuck like that

I've never been so sure that I was having a heart attack I was like they smelled death on me like there's all that this is what death feels like is flies flying around Jake this?

I was looking at the person who was talking, and I saw them cut, like, above the building of the restaurant.

And in my head, I'm like, surely they're not going to go towards Hunter.

And then they all beeline.

And they, like, Hunter's out of my view, but they all go that way.

And I hear Hunter go, oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

I mean, it felt completely, it felt orchestrated from these creatures that don't have any fucking brain function.

I was like, how did they fly talk to each other to plan this attack?

Also, what did I even do?

What the fuck did I even do?

And

I was trying to be respectful to whoever was talking, so I didn't look right away.

But when I turned a second later, he had leaned over in his chair to pick something up, but it looked like he was gone.

Yeah.

The flies took me.

They all grabbed onto my shirt, and I was like, ah, there's a guy flowing away.

Like that.

Oh, that was great.

The flies were a paid actor.

That was incredible.

Anyway, we can go back to the story now.

I just needed to share that.

That sounds good enough to eat.

I hear it a hundred times a day when I risk going out anyway.

Then they'll head straight to one of the impossible windows, the infected supermarkets, the rapidly multiplying vending machines, or one of the green doors.

Those awful green doors.

I don't know if they're actually new, or I'm just newly capable of seeing them.

The first one I noticed had grown, for lack of a better word, on the back wall of our local shop right.

An ugly, faded sea foam affair, smeared window shaped like their burger logo, chrome handle flicked with rust.

Same as all the others I've seen since.

People were coming and going at a steady pace, but even when I staked it out for a good six hours, I never saw the same patron coming back out again.

I guess that should have been a big warning sign, but I couldn't take it.

I had to know.

It didn't lead into the store, of course.

I knew it wouldn't.

As soon as I stepped inside, I was assaulted by the sound of eating, feasting,

wet, breathy, chewing sounds drowning out everything else, tugging at my gag reflex.

There were bars, tables, and booths scattered in disorganized patterns around rows and rows of buffets.

Many seats were occupied, but the bulk of the customers were eating on foot, wolfing shit down right out of the bars as they went along.

I knew none of them could comprehend what they were really doing, where they really were.

The decor was almost, but not quite, in the style of a Retro50 Steiner.

Maybe with a dash of Dr.

Seuss.

A lot of the furnishings looked chunky, soft plastic, like they were designed for children, though I can't imagine any child with such depressing taste.

Booths were lined with putrid off-green cushions.

Tables were a hideous yellow-tan with chipped chrome trimmings.

Floors were pale blue tile, like a public restroom, many pieces missing or disheveled.

The walls were more of that tacky chrome interrupted by fake wood paneling, giving way to glass windows from about waist height to the ceiling.

Yes, windows.

Not visible from outside.

I stepped through a door in the middle of one plain, solid brick wall, but from inside it was glass all around.

They were so thick with grime that I could scarcely see through them, but I could tell it wasn't the correct view from behind the shopright.

It looked more like some murky storybook vista, simple, blocky houses on rolling green hills.

Despite the steady stream of people coming in through the door, I couldn't see a single single sign of movement or life out there.

I began to wonder if I might look suspicious, just standing around and gawking while everyone else was heading straight for the food.

I thought I might as well make some effort to blend in.

Mistake number one.

Most of the offerings were typical of the shit coming out of those takeout windows or invading the grocery shelves, a heap of raw red steak set on a bed of black, clotted blood.

Oh!

Oh!

Oh!

Oh!

Oh, just the idea of like a giant blood clot.

There's food on it.

Oh, that made me

honor.

Dude, it can't be that bad, man.

Dude, people eat placenta all the time.

Oh, why would you say that?

They do.

They eat placenta.

No, I know.

I forgot about it.

Do you think you and your wife?

Do you think

you and yours will do that?

Do not finish that thought.

Do not, don't you approach me with that tone at all?

I heard her supposed to be good for you.

Not another word.

I can't thank you.

I'm going to send those flies back.

Oh.

Oversized, pasty white drumsticks, dribbled cold yellow juices.

A long trough of chunky, peakish.

Oh, gosh, this is getting to me.

A long trough.

I can't do gross with food.

Isaiah ate a bowl of chili earlier and he's like, he's like, oh, God.

I can't do like gross with food.

Any murder thing like that, I'm fine.

But when they start eating it, that's

okay.

Like cannibalism.

Cannibalism bothers me a lot in stories.

Oh,

reheat the placenta.

Shut up.

Take the chili off the stove.

We're not doing chili tonight.

We're doing placenta.

Do you think you, do you reheat, do you eat it raw?

The placenta?

Are you done?

I'm so scared.

I'm so scared of what you're saying.

Don't look it up.

Don't.

Don't justify this with an answer.

Just let me.

Well, I don't know.

After delivery, a common way to prepare the placenta for eating is to put it inside a capsule.

What?

A capsule is like a pill.

They're not chewing it up.

Really?

This is done by steaming and dehydrating the placenta or by chewing up a part of your wife's body.

I mean,

this is done by steaming and dehydrating the placenta or by processing the raw placenta.

People also have been known to eat the placenta raw or cooked.

Okay, so yes, yeah.

I mean, you can fucking chow down on it.

Why not, dude?

I'm saying if I'm going to do it, I would rather just fucking all-out do it.

I'm not going to put it into a pill

like it's a fucking, like it's a, like it's a flintstone vitamin, dude.

I'm going to

this is worse than any scary thing i've ever covered this is just hearing you talk just being you right now i'm sorry i i didn't i it's i was just curious

i was just curious because here's the thing too man the older you'll you'll know this you'll you'll figure this out the older you get you're gonna start saying because you're like you make fun of the placenta thing and all of a sudden you're gonna be around one of your buddies who has a kid and they're like no i ate my wife

Yeah, okay, that's happened.

That's not the placenta specifically, but I've talked about how stupid something is only to end up having a friend who's done something.

It's like, okay, well.

Well, get fucking ready for the placenta talk, dude, because it is going to happen.

Is it going to be you?

Are you going to be the one to do it?

All I know is this, dude.

At-home birth, in the bathtub.

And if I see that little motherfucker floating around, you better believe I'm snatched up.

I'm going to bob for an apple.

That's all I got to say.

Because I think that it doesn't have like stem cells or some shit in it.

I bet I could fly after I ate it.

If I eat that motherfucker raw,

you might see me leaping like the hole or something.

You're going to see me perfectly tan skin,

teeth fully straight, couldn't look like I'm honey.

You're glowing.

I was bobbing for apples.

That's what I said.

I need worse things to happen to you.

I'm going to, when I die of a heart attack, you'll, you'll, uh,

you'll be, you'll be happy.

I'm just going to show up to the funeral and be like, checkmate, and then walk away.

I'm going to have a

piece of dehydrated placenta right in my mouth up.

I'm going to have it in my mouth like a toy cigar.

Everyone's going to call me the Don.

Let me get back to the story.

Go ahead.

You know what?

Go ahead.

A long trough of chunky, pinkish slop jiggled like pudding as people scooped it onto their trays or straight into their grease-caked faces.

I think I pulled my shirt up over my nose around this point.

I thought I recognized a lot of exotic fare.

Frog legs, chicken feet, beef tripe, but I couldn't be quite certain.

I wasn't sure if chickens had that many toes or any frogs I knew of grew exactly that large.

There's a tray of what I thought were fat, segmented seed pods, until one of them abruptly curled and uncurled twice like a beckoning finger.

Absolutely made my skin crawl.

That's disgusting.

There were tongues.

There were brains.

There was something like clear yellow spaghetti in a patsy brown sauce.

At least, that's what I'm going to keep telling myself it was.

There were fish fins and goad eyes and even bones.

Just steaming hot, perfectly bare-white bones.

I could barely take the sight of anyone eating.

Mrs.

Faber, a grim and crotchety old bag from down the street, was digging like an excited child through a big heap of what looked like horse teeth, sucking off whatever scraps of gum tissue she could find.

Oh God.

That was so much shit.

Some decrepit old bag being like, oh, yummy.

And like,

eating the thin layer of gum.

So gross, dude.

Sucking gum, sucking off, like, the little pieces of skin.

Sucking off teeth.

Shut up.

You're four years old.

Sucking off.

Oh,

I hate you.

This story is rough.

That means it's working.

It's doing what it wants to do with the gross-out thing, but it does the visuals.

Because the clear spaghetti was like worms or something.

I was drinking a shake

until like 10 minutes ago, and I'm not finishing this.

I can't do it.

I can't do it.

I'd say what got me was the like the legs.

Frog legs and chicken feet and all that.

Have you ever had frog legs or chicken feet?

Yeah, I've had frog legs.

I don't think I've had chicken feet.

Brutal.

brutal frog when i was younger i used to like frog legs because i wouldn't think about it it was just like oh

yeah yeah but the older i get the more it's like

i'm all right i'm you would you long

you would not see me bobbing for apples with frog legs i can tell you that much i felt my stomach shudder we made eye contact and for a moment i almost thought i saw a look of horrified clarity like the fog was almost lifted from her mind and she was about to ask me what in god's name she was doing.

Instead, her eyes glazed over and she smiled that chillingly idiotic smile.

Just like mama used to make,

she said in a hokey, sing-sogging tone she'd have never been caught dead using, popping another gnarled, yellowed molar into her mouth and sucking noisily.

I could taste my own bile by the time I backed away from that godless orgy of culinary depravity.

Love that.

That's sick.

That's how I describe it.

I was trying to think of a restaurant to use as an insult there.

But I was just saying.

No,

a godless orgy of culinary depravity is me on the fucking McPic 3, whatever, or Mick Pic 2 for whatever menu.

You better watch my ass in that drive-thru.

I'm telling you, dude.

That's what the person's taking order.

I'm like, and this?

And they're like, is that all?

No, no, no.

And this?

And he's like, my God, this is a godless orgy of culinary depravity.

Yeah, that's me.

Hey, that's me when the fucking Mick Rib is back.

That's what that is, dude.

You better watch my ass for real.

God damn.

That's good, Hunter.

I'm happy for you.

I can't feel my ankles.

That's when I saw it.

The thing I've come to think of as an egghead.

was wobbling around the bars, arms flailing blindly, a chalk-white, naked, sexless human figure dominated by a featureless beach ball of a head.

A stick figure made flesh.

The alien invasion theory was already sounding better and better.

The thing was working its way down one aisle at a time and didn't look at first like it had any particular goal in mind.

It occasionally clutched at someone's hair or clothing, almost as though desperate for attention or even in need of help, but nobody so much as blinked in its direction.

I assumed I could get away with ignoring it like everyone else until it finally hobbled its way down the opposite aisle and crossed my direct line of sight.

It froze there.

The blank, smooth egg face turned directly towards me.

I don't remember the sprint home, but I do remember it was the dead of night when I exploded out of that ugly, greasy green door.

It couldn't have been later than noon when I first entered, and I couldn't have been oggling the whores therein for more than 40 minutes, from my perspective.

I don't know if anything followed me, but I barricaded myself in my bedroom that night just to be safe.

Doors and the windows are everywhere.

If you can read this, only go out when you must, and don't go anywhere new.

It might be newer than you think.

End of entry 2.

Man, like a weird, eggless, skinny, naked man walking around a restaurant, like tugging at people's hairs just for like attention.

Because it almost sounds like a giant baby walking around, doesn't it?

Yeah, I imagine it as the, I think they're called whiteheads in Resident Evil 3.

Pretty sure Resident Evil 3 remake.

I was thinking, I got some Silent Hill vibes from that, at least from like the movie and stuff.

Weird

creatures, you know, like the ones you just beat the shit out of with a stick at the beginning of Silent Hill 2, like those little guys that scurry around.

Yeah, it reminds me of like a or pale heads.

That's what they're called.

It reminds me of just like a bundle of flesh, you know?

I mean, look at the pale heads.

Yeah, pale heads from Resident Evil 3 remake.

Yeah, the idea of it just reminds me as like a bowl of flesh, like a big nothing thing.

Almost like it's raw meat shoved together a bunch.

It's like weird.

It's weird that these things don't articulate even as like a

zombie.

Not a zombie, but it almost feels like a lost soul, like a physical representation of a lost soul.

Yeah, maybe it's like the things that are doing it, you know, the things that are

causing all of this, and they're just kind of monitoring their victims, so to speak, you know, yeah.

But anyway, so with that, let's I'm enjoying this so far.

This is really obviously it's effective because I'm knee, my the pits of my knees are loose

and soft.

Yeah, the language can be a bit flowery at times, it feels a bit too word-salad-y, but it'll do.

So, was that you making fun of me?

That was me wanting to

stab the audience to death.

Is that what they said in the comments for the Legati one?

Yeah.

I don't want to talk about it.

It's unfucking believable.

He was so mad.

He was texting me.

It was so funny.

I've never been so fucking embarrassed in my life.

I mean, people, you know, they want to be chill and they want to

be laid back and just listen to a story.

I get it.

They're not trying to get into literary analysis and stuff like that.

I understand.

As much as I'm a fan of what we read,

I'm not as violent about it as you are.

I mean, listen, I see very clearly now that people want the simple, tropey, schlocky stuff.

And that this is primary, I mean, like, all in all, you know, I know that we've talked about this before, too, about, like, we read stories and

yeah, we give analysis, but I would say more so it's about us joking around and stuff, and I get that.

So, uh,

all I gotta say is that we're gonna read whatever the fuck we want to read, and you can bitch and complain all you want.

Um, so shut the fuck up, idiot.

Thank you.

Well said,

entry three,

entry three.

They used to be people, the echoes

literally are fans,

They used to be people.

Now they just want stuff with people that have diarrhea in their pants and

talking dolls that want to stab you.

That's the real stuff they want.

You're so tilted, right?

I know.

We can cut it.

No, no, no, no.

I think it needs to stay because this is funny for me.

Whatever they say about you is double funny for me.

I had a bunch of people.

I posted a TikTok earlier today and all the comments for some reason, just in unison, decided to pretend like you died.

And they were all like, you're doing really good.

I'm proud of you after the accident.

I hope that Hunter's family is doing okay.

We should just begin this story.

We should seriously begin this story then today with you.

At the end of this, we should have you record something being like, hey, guys,

he's not here.

We haven't like the horrible thing.

They basically say that I died.

Right?

And then they'll get to this part of the story and it'll make sense to why that happened.

Right, right.

And then you can feel bad for making those things because my wife sees that.

My children see it.

And they say, what's wrong, Daddy?

What's going on?

I'm like, I'm losing my mind.

People think I'm dead.

I had two family members text me and be like, did something happen to Hunter?

What?

Yes.

I'm in hell.

i i want to fucking die he's so mad

oh this is great i love my holy fuck

all right the eggheads yeah they used to be people you know

i've seen it a lot in the week since the buffet not everybody shows the signs but some people the ones who get hooked the hardest on that sick foreign meat slop only seem to gain weight from the neck up that's all hair falls out that's actually so sick you become obese in your neck and your chin first your body's like tiny and frail you're just like a super you're like well i don't see what one more plate would do i mean i might as well have one more plate you all your fat goes straight to your head

the lobes of your ears and shit the first thing to disappear are the eyes Then the mouth seals shut and the whole head smooths over.

It starts to wander aimlessly, invisible to everyone else, forgotten by friends and loved ones.

I do nothing but mumble, groping their arms around like they're hunting for their lost eyes.

I killed one today.

I spent my afternoon scrounging around town for normal things to eat, an increasingly challenging task.

Avoiding the overtly weird shit is only the half of it.

I have to be careful for anything that posts a new formula or improved flavor.

Sometimes I just have to scan the package for the hamburger logo or check the ingredients for some new gibberish like extracted bone jellies or

natural life parts.

Some of the untainted stuff is skipping the shelves and going straight into dumpsters, which I'd been digging through when the egghead got the jump on me, cornering me in a one-way alley between a Safeway and a Walgreens.

Its head was bigger than most, an impossibly bloated globe that almost brushed the walls on both sides.

God, I don't know how its feeble, chalky body could have held it up.

It was barely more than a skeleton, thin skin shrink-wrapped tightly to its bones.

All that remained of its former identity was a black dress tie, swaying like a pendulum from its pencil-thin neck.

Its incoherent mumbling sounded at once panicked, apologetic, and threatening as it staggered towards me, limbs outstretched.

I had nothing to defend myself with but a bag of sailbread and a warm can of coke.

I screamed at it, told it I didn't know what it wanted, that there wasn't anything I could do, but it just kept coming, mumbling.

The moment my back hit the wall behind me, I snapped.

I grabbed the nearest garbage can lid and swung with all my strength, flaming it straight into the fat, bulbous face like a battle axe.

It felt like striking a huge, taut basketball.

The mumbling grew more frantic, more confused as the thing stumbled backward, gravity tugging at its awkward cranium, arms whirling cartoonishly as it fought to regain its center of balance.

It was like some bent slapstick routine, like somebody struggling not to drop a wedding cake.

I charged, screaming like a banshee as I struck again and the thing finally toppled, slowly, like it was filled with air.

As it hit the ground, that massive noggin exploded like a swollen tick.

With a wet splash, pinkish gore and hunks of rubbery white flesh gushed out of the alley and into the street.

For one terrifying moment, I wondered how the scene would look to the rest of the world if they just see some random, senseless act of murder against a completely normal, innocent human being.

The people already nonchalantly stepping over the scattered piles of gore would have eased my mind if it weren't for what happened next.

One of those piles started moving.

Something about the size of a baby was squirming out from the pulverized sludge, a fat, slightly oblong shape with a lot of thin, wriggling appendages underneath, still too thick with gore for me to make out any details.

It was still between me and freedom, and I could only watch in a confused stupor as it unfurled a pair of big, transparent fins and abruptly took flight, buzzing off into the afternoon sky like a bloated, fleshy bumblebee.

Thankfully, never seemed to notice or care about me.

Funny how I settled on eggheads.

I just thought they looked like eggs.

I didn't know they literally were.

That's cool that, like, the meat it's eating is like a parasite that grows in their head.

And then it just like

the reason they're compelled to keep eating is because it's feeding the thing that they're

hosting.

Yeah.

Yeah, it's super fun.

Because, yeah, I was wondering, too.

I was like.

Why the fuck is it getting bigger?

But no, knowing that stuff is actually growing inside of it to where their head is now becoming like a pregnant sack.

Yeah.

Just being able to fly away.

It's so odd.

Such a sick visual.

A big bloated like bot fly.

Yeah, it's like a giant maggot grows in their head and then like it grows, it swells to the point it eventually bursts or something hits it and it pops and that lets the fly take off.

Yeah, it would be well, it's funny you said maggots growing inside of it or whatever.

I love the idea of it being one large thing instead of just like a bunch of tiny things, like one giant larva is growing inside of it.

Yeah, this is this is you know what?

This is kind of heat right now.

I am, I am, in fact, liking this a lot.

A woman stopped dead in the crosswalk to smile and wave at the thing as it disappeared into the skyline, then continued on her way with only a momentary look of puzzlement at what am I doing?

Look, followed by the well, whatever, one I've grown so accustomed to over the past several weeks.

When I got home, I started reading up on diseases, parasites, bugs, puzzle pieces dropping into place.

There's a kind of wasp that lays its egg in a live caterpillar.

When the larvae hatch, they modify the host's entire metabolism to suit their needs.

The caterpillar eats more, grows bigger, all to provide the developing wasps with more sustenance.

This kind of shit is everywhere in nature.

There are microbes that make mice suicidally attracted to cats.

There are flies that grow inside the heads of ants who keep on moving even after their brains are eaten.

It all makes so much sense.

Maybe they're from space.

Maybe they're from hell.

Maybe they've always been here, toppling one species, one civilization after another.

Who knows?

They feed us so we can feed them, so they can have a nice warm body to keep them safe and nourished until they don't need us anymore.

We're just a herd of cattle, oblivious to our position in life as we're fattened up and slaughtered by something that looms just above our understanding of the natural order.

I don't know why I can see them, why I can see what they're feeding us.

I'm like a cow who grasps exactly what goes on in the slaughterhouse.

And I can't stop thinking about what a cow could ever hope to accomplish with that knowledge.

Your guess is as good as mine.

That's fun.

That's a funny.

Yeah, that's a fun

comparison to draw.

I'm like a cow that knows what happens in the slaughterhouse.

Yeah.

Well, I like it a lot too, because also he stated it a couple times.

Well, say he but their protagonist has stated it a couple times and There's going to be a point where there's no food left.

It's like it's it's the inevitable it's like like that's why I like the cow thing too because you're in a line just waiting to die pretty much and that's how it feels here with this uh with our protagonist just kind of being like well you know the shit's just kind of it's getting more fucked up by the day but what else can I do Yeah, there's only so much that can be done.

It also like uh

it

gives i mean like maybe you could grow grow your own stuff but even then it's like it's it's like all of society's cooked basically you can't trust anything i even look at like the food is like transforming on its own almost like even if you cook something like one day you'd like wake up and it's like oh the corn that like let's just say it's corn you like oh you like you like shuck it or whatever and then underneath it it's like corn but it's all meat like the little like yeah you know actual corn uh pods but uh

So I don't know.

Also, I wanted to say too, this kind of reads like a Edo story a bit, like the visuals and stuff.

Yeah, yeah, it does.

What's that?

Wait, what's there's one Edo story about people who become obsessed with a honey, right?

Or something like that?

A honey?

It's something, but it like kills them randomly.

Well, there's a couple things that there's a couple things that it's made me think of.

First off, it made me think of the grease story where the guy obsessed with the grease and he pops his pimples in our face.

But then it even has some, it has like some taste of the Kraken Omegara fault, which is like people being obsessed with finding going inside of the hole that's shaped like them in the mountain.

Just that kind of weird obsession, which that's like a big theme in a lot of his stuff, too, is just like obsession.

But also, I wanted to say, I really like whenever

these authors online, when they go into like weird medical stuff or like weird transformation type stuff, like it like it is giving me flashbacks to reading it breeds, it bleeds and it comes, or whatever the fuck it's called.

Yeah, it breeds, it bleeds.

It bleeds, it breathes, it breathes, it comes.

Yeah, it does that, yeah.

It breathes, it comes, it breathes.

But the just the way of like listening to a protagonist slowly dissect the horrible outcome of like a, of something like

not even like medically, but just like weird biological shit going around him, you know?

Very fun.

So, yeah, the story I was thinking of is Splatter film.

It's a Junji Ido story, and it's about this new honey that comes from South America that people get really obsessed with.

But anytime they eat it, there's like a 25% chance they explode.

They explode.

They get splattered across a wall.

Like they explode across a wall.

So everyone's obsessed and they can't stop eating it but like one in four people in the room just explodes

so yeah that's kind of what this reminds me of a little bit

okay

entry four

entry four

I also, by the way, I just like the way information is given to us.

Like, oh, there's this new food.

I watched these people mindlessly eat it.

I saw an egghead.

The eggheads used to be people.

There's a thing growing in them.

And now the start of entry four says, I followed one of the flying things like it's uh we're given just enough but drip fed more to keep us engaged throughout it's it's well written yeah that was going to be one of the things i said was that it does a good job by not overexplaining itself so hopefully it continues

entry four

today i followed one of the flying things

they eventually break out of the eggheads on their own often taking 30 minutes or so to wipe the gore off their slimy bodies with their squiggly legs before they take to the air.

They've never shown any aggression or any acknowledgement that I exist.

They just flutter away like they've got somewhere to be.

And apparently they do.

It was at a Walmart parking lot that I witnessed another hatching.

The egghead was stumbling between cars, clawing at its own face, reaching feebly out to passerbys like it still thought it could be saved.

It hadn't even hit the ground before its featureless face started to crack audibly, pink goop driveling out like raw yolk.

It collapsed against a minivan and slumped limply to the pavement as a big hunk of its scalp popped off with a wet, solid crunch.

The thing inside was throbbing, swelling up like a pufferfish to push open what was once a human skull.

It throbbed and squirmed its way out of the ruptured cranium.

Looked like nothing so much as a wet looking like nothing so much as a wet rubbery horsefly made of chewed gum or an inverted brain with membranous wings.

Its branching limbs rised like night crawlers, barely supporting its bloated rigose body.

The wings trembled almost cautiously at first before it took a first blind leap into the air and smacked wetly into the ground.

It was a dud.

Took another shot at flying, awkwardly bobbing for a few feet before it dropped like a rock with another pitiful, wet smack.

I laughed pretty hard.

When invisible monsters are devouring the human race and nobody cares, you tend to take whatever entertainment you can get.

It took off again in the same direction, landing itself on the hood of a jeep.

Little guy was determined.

That's when it dawned on me.

The opportunity I'd stumbled upon.

It always disappeared into the sky before I could even get a sense of their direction, but I could easily tell this one on foot.

I figured, worst case scenario, I'd see nothing new and have to take a bus back into town.

As luck would have it, its destination wasn't far.

I came close to giving up, waiting for the damn thing to collect itself every 10 to 15 feet, watching it plummet like a bent paper airplane and flounder like a dying fish for minutes at a time.

But not an hour had passed before I learned its little secret.

Half a mile from the crumpled remains of the egghead, a portage on.

Oh, God.

It's gonna want some poopy, dude.

Oh, it's gonna be so gross.

Whatever it is, it's gonna be gross.

Did you write this story?

Maybe I did.

It's me or you.

I'm the one who did it.

Between the magic doors, garish advertisements, mutant snack food, and odd shit I can't even begin to get into.

I never stopped to think about the bright blue portable toilets that seemed unusually common as of late.

I never needed one, and with the seemingly perpetual roadwork guzzling our tax dollars for as long as I've lived here, it's not as if they were all that strange a sight.

The grimy plastic door quietly swung open as the brain bug flopped closer.

I feigned disinterest, doing my best to pass by as obliviously as everyone else, but snuck a quick glance into the open honeypot.

The brain fly, as I decided of them, was already careening down a long, dark tunnel stretching as far as the eye could see.

all somehow contained in a single, small, portable shed house.

Nothing unusual these days.

As I made my way back to my car and drove the rest of the way home, only one thought persisted.

I had to know.

Reality was unraveling around me.

Former neighbors were fighting in the streets for rancid mouthfuls of fish guts.

Giant hamburgers were lighting up the night sky on neon signs that dwarfed entire buildings.

Things were eating people from the inside out, and all I wanted was an answer.

Even a hint.

Any lead I could find.

I didn't didn't suspect there was anything I could do, and any day now I could wake up another deluded zombie, another gluttonous slave to their deep-fried maggots and pickled eyeballs.

They could grind me up and serve me at the buffets for all I cared.

I just had to know where that damn tunnel went, where the brain-eating bastards were really going.

I laid awake that night, my mind racing with images of alien motherships, parallel realities, subterranean cities.

Tomorrow, I'm going in.

Either I die knowing one more piece of the puzzle, or I somehow kick their gooey little asses.

Who's to say they'll even be prepared for an intruder if they think they've got us all fooled?

I don't expect to be some kind of hero, but so far, I'm the only one I know who even has a shot at trying.

Now we go into entry five.

That was end of entry four.

Entry five, but it's entry five point one.

Yes, there are nine subparts to entry five, so we'll see where that goes.

But I mean, yeah, if you're going to die, if you're gonna get killed by these things in humanity's gone i mean might as well do something interesting you know

all right entry 5.1

i was not prepared for what i found in that tunnel it stretched on for over a mile in the back of what should have been the 3x3 interior of a portage on I've been led there by a flying brain and what I found still succeeded in surprising me.

I've planned to come prepared, but there was ultimately little that I thought would be useful.

I packed a store-bought survival kit, ropes and flare and whatnot, and a heavy metal snow shovel.

The only weapon I really thought would accomplish anything.

The eggheads only ever respond to bludgeoning, and even then, that only seems to speed the hatching process.

No way could I hit one of the brain flies with a bullet.

In a close face, I suppose I could give one a good whack.

What do you mean you couldn't hit one with a bullet?

So bullets can...

can.

Oh, whatever.

Sure, whatever.

Maybe there's maybe they're small at first.

I thought that it was pretty big, though, no?

They're pretty big.

They're pretty huge.

I think he's saying that they're flying around, but if one's close enough to hit it with a shovel, it would be close enough to shoot.

Whatever.

So, horror stories do this all the time: where it's like, I found a weapon, a bat.

It's like, okay, what about a shotgun?

Are you from

England?

Why are you doing this?

It's absurd.

Besides the fundamental impossibility of its existence, the tunnel was wholly unremarkable.

A slightly rounded, concrete corridor interrupted only by squarish, rusted grates.

The distant droning escalated as I progressed.

Soon enough, the tunnel gave way to what I suppose I can describe as a sort of factory floor.

I don't know how long I spent just standing slackjawed, my brain fumbling over itself to process everything I was seeing.

Think of everything that comes to mind when you hear machinery, turning cogs, conveyor belts, churning pistons, whirling fans, mechanisms of every conceivable design, then some cranking and pumping away in a space so vast that no floor, ceiling, or walls could be seen in the distant darkness.

Now,

imagine somebody threw all that away and hired clowns to remodel.

50 or 60 years of neglect later, you might have something close to the burton-esque hell I'd stumbled upon.

Everything alternated between cold, grimy steel and a sort of candy land motif with vividly striped plumbing and polka-dotted ductwork.

I jumped as a shower of sparks flew from an immense robotic arm overhead, its rusted metal casing and tangled red wiring a stark contrast to its Mickey Mouse glove hand.

I found myself retreating a few steps into the tunnel as it reached out, joints groaning with neglect, and pulled a tremendous lever with a shining pink knob, an action inexplicably punctuated by a sound like a quacking duck.

Instantly, a checkerboard-looking conveyor belt squealed to life, issuing forth a procession of what may have been dead pigs, though I couldn't see their heads or even the ragged stumps where any may have once been attached.

With a ridiculous slide whistle sound, Another huge object rose into view.

An angular pink and purple funnel that the size of a swimming pool.

One by one, the mystery carcasses tumbled off the belt and into the huge trumpet, each followed by a torturous rending sound and a brief but voluminous geyser of thick brown blood.

The stink was overpowering.

That is, this is such a unique visual.

Like the kind of reminds me of a killer constraint on this case almost.

Yeah, yeah, it's very similar to that.

Yeah, yeah.

Like the giant Mickey Mouse hand, it's like,

like,

a fucked people's playhouse.

That's a slaughterhouse or whatever.

And there's just brown blood from rotten carcasses pouring out everywhere and stuff smells like death.

And it's like,

oompa loopas everywhere.

Mesmerized by the spectacle of Willy Wonka's sausage factory, I nearly fell on my ass as a large object shot over my shoulder.

a brain fly.

It had come up through the tunnel behind me and narrowly dodged my head by a few inches.

As my heart cautiously restarted itself, I filed away the knowledge that I was still of no obvious concern to the things, even intruding as I was into what may have been their headquarters or at least an extension of it.

I wasn't sure whether or not that was reassuring.

The parasite had banked sharply upwards as it left the tunnel, but I could still hear the distinct fluttering of big, membranous wings between the whirring, grinding, and occasional goofy honking of the factory.

I craned my head, waiting for the irregular crackling of the equipment to illuminate the gloom.

Sure enough, I could see hundreds, thousands of glistening, pinkish shapes passing a good 10 to 15 stories overhead, all in the same direction.

I followed.

A network of catwalks made navigation relatively easy, and I was usually able to keep sight of the concrete wall it emerged from.

Tunnel entryways were frequent, brain flies periodically zipping through to join their brothers and sisters above.

Even if I lost my way, I was confident that another tunnel might empty back into the real world and probably in a populated area.

Into bodies, after all.

I shuddered.

Not at the thought, but at how casually the thought had come.

I was growing too used to this.

Uncomfortably comfortable.

The Susian Slaughterhouse offered no shortage of grotesque spectacles.

That is, wow.

The Susian Slaughterhouse?

Yeah.

Goddamn old cat in a hat walking around.

Yeah.

Like dragging pig bodies and stuff.

Whatever.

Yeah, there's like a trail.

There's like entrails and like the blood so rotted it's black and the fly carrying it.

Oompa.

Oompa.

The Sussian slaughterhouse is such a good phrase.

I love that.

Sounds like a metal band.

Rivers of meat slush ooze their way along metallic chutes as wide as city streets, putrescent corpses corpses bobbing sluggishly in the current sometimes against it oh does that mean some people are or some things are alive and trying to swim backwards

that's what i that's what i'm guessing but

towering circular saws loomed like macabre ferris wheels chewing their way through slabs of solid fresh meat that could have fed whole towns What living thing could even have that much flesh on it?

Steady splattering turned out to be a blender the size of a small house.

Literally just a scaled-up household blender.

It even had a giant-sized dial, albeit with only one labeled setting.

EXCITE!

I suppose you could describe the endless truckloads of live white mice pouring into as excited in a sense.

Ugh.

I passed bubbling lakes of entrails, fermenting tanks of gasping fish heads, mountains of broken, bloodied bone.

An endless procession of meat hooks ferried a bizarre menagerie of carcasses along a tangled railway system, from skinned cattle to things I doubt you would have found in any textbook.

There were insect-like forms as big as a man, tentacled masses dribbling oddly colored icher, and something I can only describe as a hairy swordfish.

Their cargo was so twisted, it was some time before I even noticed what was wrong with the meat hooks themselves.

They had no wheels, but clung to the rails by metallic, spider-like legs, tip-tapping along with blinding speed.

Further I advanced, the louder the wet, slimy flapping of the alien flock.

More and more streams were converging into a single mass migration, their collective wings nearly drowning out the buzzing, grinding, and splattering of the factory.

I still wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I knew I was getting closer.

Into 5.1.

So I wonder why they they don't really give a fuck about him walking around.

It's almost like Dante going through hell or something.

Yeah, I think they just.

I mean, what's he gonna do?

Like, I don't think they care about the other option is that they're not made to care.

They're like these blind bugs that only have one task, you know?

Like, could also be that he doesn't have food in him or something.

Yeah, yeah, they're not aware he exists yet because he hasn't eaten the food.

Oh,

okay.

I had ascended six levels from my starting point when I had my first run-in with non-brain fly life.

My mind almost tried to brush it off as a rat.

At first, a tiny, white shape scurrying to my peripheral vision.

We both froze when I moved in for a closer look.

The odd little being was only a few inches tall, pale, and vaguely humanoid, with a large and nearly spherical head.

It reminded me strongly of one of the eggheads, but there was little chance this thing had ever been human.

Where there should have been eyes, there were only a pair of gaping, bloody-looking holes, and its mouth was a simple circular hole.

In its pale, translucent little hands, it carried a hunk of meat.

It didn't look dangerous, but it could have breathed fire for all I knew.

I cautiously raised my shovel and took a step back, not wanting to arouse any aggression, and the diminutive imp jerked into motion.

In an instant, it crammed the meat into one of its

gosh.

In an instant, it crammed the meat into one of its empty eye holes and took a flying leap off the catwalk, landing with a soft, wet splat on a lower level and scampering off into the darkness.

Oh,

just the idea of shoving food into an open wound like an owl.

From that point on, the tiny creatures seemed to be everywhere.

I'd catch them watching me from around corners or busily snatching scraps of food from the conveyor belts.

I suppose the rat comparison wasn't that far off.

But if the brain flies flew and the little goblin things were only vermin, exactly who or what had the catwalks been constructed for?

I would get my answer soon enough.

5.3.

5.3.

Following the airborne river of winged brains, I was ultimately brought to what seemed at first to be a still wall, held together with colossal colossal beams and rivets.

To either side, it appeared to gradually curve away.

The exterior of a roughly circular structure.

High above me, my stream of brain flies were pouring through a grated porthole a hundred feet wide, gaps just large enough to accommodate their wingspans.

I could make out additional portholes to my distant left and right, more slimy flocks streaming in.

This had to be it.

Home base, the mothership.

The catwalk continued through a a significantly smaller porthole into something like a vast stadium, distant electric lights confirming a circular shape about a mile across.

Its floor was solid, polished concrete, while its ceiling was obscured by a torrential storm of living bodies, dozens of brain flies streams converging into the open roof of a looming, concrete tube at the center of it all.

A good 20 stories in height, an eerie green glow poured from the top of the monolithic tower like some doorway to another realm.

A wormhole back to whatever obscene universe the things truly called home.

A three-dimensional web of suspended pathways encircled it all, intertwining with a network of immense, grimy pipes a semi could have tripped through.

It was all so magnificent, so horrific, I almost didn't realize I was still moving forward, my jaw hanging in dumb fascination.

nor did I immediately grasp the significance of a metallic sound from behind me.

A sound like a gate being shut.

My brain mulled over the thought for a few more moments before I wheeled around in a rush of panic.

The tunnel had indeed closed off.

The soft roar of the brain fly tornado was joined by a new sound, not unlike the bleeding of an alarm bell.

And then came the meat.

I had the good sense to start moving as soon as the nearest gaping pipe began to shudder and gurgle, trickling a thin stream of red-brown slime for a few moments before finally erupting with a torrent of chunky sludge.

All meat, meat and meat juice.

A few yards away, another pipe vomited to life.

At first I thought the intention would be to drown me.

I didn't doubt for a second that there was enough meat in the factory plumbing to fill this place completely, but it was quickly apparent that my demise wouldn't be so simple.

The meat seemed to spread out much farther than mere gravity would dictate.

Wherever I ran, it seemed to flow directly towards me, winding in streams like the pseudopods of an enormous amoeba.

Not my imagination.

It was the worst case scenario, but at this point, far from surprising.

I'd already seen moving, twitching things come out of the takeout windows, things that couldn't possibly have been alive but wriggled frantically even as they were torn apart and devoured the increasingly fatter, greasier mouths of my neighbors.

A chain of green-tinged sausages rose shakily from a nearby heap like an intoxicated cobra.

It gagged a little.

Emerging mostly from the outer edges of the chamber, the living flesh was forcing me closer towards the tower, where I would have no choice but to ascend the catwalks.

I was probably going to die either way, and it was probably going to be hideous.

At least I might sneak a glimpse at an alien world on my way out.

A weird river of meat meat and meat juice that's just like alive and is consciously pushing him towards go towards a direction.

You think it is aliens?

I don't know.

Maybe the bug things are.

Whatever they are.

Could be.

Entry 5.4.

By the time I had climbed only three levels, I couldn't see any empty floor space below me.

Only a solid lake of meat rippling with unnatural life like a pit of deformed, blood-soaked maggots.

I could see pieces of...

I could see pieces beginning to climb after me, questing blindly until it figured out the stairwells are simply creeping snail-like up the side of the tower.

A few managed to catch up with me or even cut me off momentarily, but the shovel turned out to be an excellent choice.

What I couldn't smash or sever, I heaved over the side.

Something like an inside-out penguin toddled up to my feet on the fourth level.

One good smack and it crunched wetly into a perfect comical disc, still wiggling uselessly.

I can just slap the shit out of it.

Swonk.

Beom.

Rancid brains burst like spoiled pumpkins under my wrath.

A writhing mass of intestines inexplicably squealed and died once I chopped off what it was loosely employing as a head end.

A giant heap of pinkish slime gave me some momentary trouble on the sixth level, shrugging off one blow after another until I was stricken by its overwhelming chemical stink and brandished one of my flares, hoping it might be flammable.

As though it knew exactly what I was thinking, it retreated like a snail into a rusted metal drum it had been lugging around.

That's cool.

It's like Messi with him and when he attacks like a hermit crab, it like crawls back into the

metal drum.

Yeah.

Though individually pathetic, the meat creatures were persistent and increasingly bizarre.

Somewhere on the eighth, possibly ninth level, I turned around to find a big fish head attempting to sneak up behind me,

tiptoeing comedically on a pair of eerily human, feminine legs.

It froze up when I coughed, as though realizing too late that I'd been watching it for a good four or five of its exaggerated sneaking steps.

Literally a giant fish head with woman legs, like, oh, sorry.

Hope you don't mind me.

Some fat fat white bug, like a woodlouse, tumbled out of the fish's mouth, chittering angrily and fled on its hind legs before I knocked the fish thing over the edge.

Huh?

That's talking about those

little

isopod things that eat fish's tongues and set in their mouths, you know what I'm talking about?

Yeah, exactly.

Yeah.

The further I progressed, the weirder the things emerging from the factory's plumbing, things that must have grown and festered far longer in its lightless metal bowels.

I could barely liken some of them to any animal or body part.

Pustuled yellow tubes looped along like inchworms, and tentacled black blobs foundered like stranded fish in pools of their own yellow-green secretions.

I was waging a war against hot dog scraps from Planet X.

Entry 5.4 over, now entry 5.5.

I was beginning to get cocky.

No matter how horrendous, every meat beast had an easy weak point.

I was increasingly confident I could make it home alive, wondering if perhaps they had only put the world under some sort of hypnotic spell because we were simply too powerful, too dangerous for them to defend against.

I was beginning to feel like a hero after all, like I was living my own video game.

This self-important high was cut short on about the 15th level when the first real wrench was thrown into my hit things with a shovel strategy.

The thing blocking my path was not made of meat.

Not on the outside, at least.

It appeared to be made entirely of iron, rugged, and nearly black.

A torso like a department store mannequin stood atop three jointed, novely legs, and its single arm terminated in a pair of jagged tongs, periodically clacking shut.

The oversized head resembled some sort of huge pot or boiler with a pair of cartoonish painted-on eyes.

An orange-yellow glow glow could be seen through its many cracks and vents.

That's cool.

That's such a cool design.

There's a little cartoon of it up there.

You see that?

Yeah, yeah, I saw it up there.

A little cartoon version.

That's such a cool design that's like a bunch of metal put together, but like there's some entity with inside of it.

That's sick.

I didn't suspect there was much a shovel could do to this one, and it neither backed off nor approached.

It simply stood there, waiting, daring me to make a move.

I could see a dense river of meat bodies surging along the path only three levels below, making the same slow spiral around the tower as I was.

Fragile or not, there was no way I could keep their numbers at bay forever.

I wondered if I'd be taken alive.

A dozen images flashed through my mind.

The eggheads, things I'd seen here, things I'd seen in PETA propaganda videos.

Any one of them could be my fate.

Let's just talk about this, Sonny Mon.

The voice snapped me back to reality.

If you could call this a reality, It came from in front of me, from the robot cook, or whatever it was.

What?

It spoke again.

It doesn't have to be this way, Missy George.

Besides its mangled grasp of pronouns, it spoke English with remarkable clarity.

Its voice was soft and feminine, with just a slight metallic quality.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Was all I could manage, still dazed.

You'll never know.

I knew exactly what it was talking about.

The brainwashing.

As far as I knew, I was making first contact with a non-human intelligence, and I had a billion questions about what they were doing to us, where they came from, what else was out there in the universe, or multiverse, or whatever we might be living in.

Only one thing actually came out.

Fuck yourselves.

It sighed a hollow, metal sigh, a little smoke escaping from its face vent.

It seemed to sink a little at my response.

If that's how you want it, what's your marazzle?

It rose threateningly on its three legs, and I realized what it reminded me of.

A barbecue girl.

Oh, that's cool.

In the blink of an eye, its clawed arm shot out and clamped around the handle to my precious shovel, effortlessly tearing it from my grip and dropping it to the walkway.

Fuck.

It shot out again and this time got me by the neck.

It slammed me to the ground, taking apparent care not to choke me just yet, but at least caused considerable pain.

Its legs clanged noisily as it positioned itself directly over me and planted its metal ass directly onto my stomach, pinning me down even tighter.

Lines of black grease began to roll down the thing's artificial face, sizzling furiously.

I screamed weakly through the creature's grasp when a single tiny droplet met the exposed skin of my arm.

It felt like being branded.

The monster giggled.

It spoke out the laughter like it was reading from a bad script.

If its eyes had been real, it would have been looking directly into mine, and if it had lips, I'm sure they would be smiling.

It bent forward, the grease now cascaded into a thick curtain, threatening any moment to start raining in hissing streams onto my exposed face.

The claw around my neck tightened, finally pinching shut my airways.

It's going to burn my eyes out while it strangled me to death.

I let go the thing's arm to shield my face as best I could, wishing I'd have the foresight to be wearing heavier gray gloves as I awaited the torrent of boiling grease, the things giggling, reaching a fever pitch.

It stopped.

The grease didn't come.

Removing my hands from my eyes, I saw that the monster's head had turned away from me.

It shrieked.

I couldn't tell what it was looking at until it unexpectedly loosened its grasp on my neck and lurched to its feet.

I could see small, white shapes out of the corner of my eyes.

It wailed like a child as the rubbery hobgoblins scrambled up its metal body like boneless gecko lizards.

It started to stumble about, trying its best to pick off the teeming pest with its single arm, but they slipped through the claw like jelly.

I wasn't sure how long it would be distracted, and I dove for my shovel before teetering painfully to my feet.

I could see the swelling legion of meat just one level below.

Vile things!

Vile!

I was almost too fascinated to act.

The hobgoblins had pried the lid off that rusty grilled head, exposing an oily, blackened little form underneath.

It was too tangled and burnt to make out, but I could see various limbs waving frantically to keep the gremlin things at bay.

I raised the shovel, prepared to strike.

All at once, the little creatures snapped their heads in my direction and dropped like flies from the metal being, falling to the path and scattering out of sight.

The grill face, too, turned towards me.

I let out a berserk howl as I brought down the shovel squarely onto that black, twitching body, splatting it with a wet crunch and a deafening bang against the white hot grill it rested upon.

The metal construct stood still and silent for several agonizing moments before it finally began to pitch backward, creaking like a rusty door before banging to the ground, dead or asleep, or whatever the shit I just did.

I prodded it a few times before cautiously stepping around it and continuing up.

Something didn't want me to reach the top and I felt pretty good about it.

Into 5-5, heading into 5-6.5-6, let's go.

The rest of my climb was relatively uneventful, broken only by the odd hot dog squid or scuttling pork ribs.

It was a full 23 flights up that I was at last, roughly level with the top of the tower.

The walkway branching around it in a perfect wall-to-wall spider's web.

Up close, the sight of the brain flies was more awesome and more hideous than I could have imagined.

Based in that alien light, the roaring funnel of unearthly life was almost too beautiful to have burst its way from formerly human skulls.

The death toll they represented must have been staggering.

That terrible beauty rather harshly clashed with the figure standing a few yards ahead on a raised rectangular platform, back turned towards me as it overlooked the tower and appeared to fidget with a large control console.

I blinked hard, trying to register its strangely familiar shape.

It had no apparent head or neck, its body only a broad, rounded mass, like a squashed barrel.

A pair of dark, mushy limbs extended from its sides.

A white object bobbled around on its upper surface.

I didn't want to accept what I was looking at.

It was.

it was too much.

Even now, it was just.

It was so stupid.

It was a hamburger in a chef's hat, like Colango.

That's so funny.

It's like, it was, it was just, it was a hamburger in a chef's hat.

That's funny.

If I could sneak up on it, I could plunge my mighty blade straight down into its big, stupid breadhead.

There's no way it could hear me coming above the teeming bugs.

I took my first light cautious step.

It whirled around.

Fuck!

For a long time, we just stared at one another.

The rancid-looking beast regarded me with bulging, bloodshot eyes the size of soccer balls, oozing and twitching as it looked me up and down.

I didn't know what else to do.

What was going to finally break the staring contest?

I lowered my shovel and raised a hand in greeting.

The moldering sandwich stood still for a few more moments before those slimy eyeballs rolled in their lidless sockets, as if I just said or done something even more ridiculous in the thing's very existence.

I almost began stammering a follow-up statement when one of its slimy appendages suddenly reached for a huge bright red switch on its console and nonchalantly pressed it.

It raised one sludgy beef hand and gave a sort of tootaloo finger wave as its entire platform abruptly plunged through the floor and disappeared out of sight.

Elevator shaft sealed off behind it and moments later the catwalk began to flood with activity.

Into 5-6 going into 5-7.

5-7.

From somewhere on the opposite side of that glowing, flying brain tornado came dozens of new shapes.

Meat beans were pouring from some unseen new opening, already looking larger and meaner than any of the oozing rejects I'd been mowing down.

I didn't suppose my little gremlin friends were waiting nearby with any flamethrowers.

First thing to reach me was a squiggly, bear-sized yellow mass of soft, tangled limbs rolling along at a seemingly abnormal speed.

It looked almost like an octopus until a long neck snaked out from its warty folds, snapping at me with an orange beak.

A giant, boneless chicken.

Just like a giant, yeah, just like big fleshy chicken.

Yeah, that's fun.

Why was this my life?

Breach.

With a surge of contemptuous bloodlust, I hacked mercilessly into the abominable thing long after it had ceased moving, only for something else to whistle just over my head.

Damn it,

he's just going around and fucking killing everything.

Just slashing left and right, tearing meat apart.

I spun around in the shredded remnants of the octobird, coming face to featureless doll crotch with a pair of skinned legs six feet high and fused to the hips.

I staggered back, foolishly slipping in the scattered chicken guts and landing flat on my back.

The legs terminated in needle-sharp lances of bone, precariously balancing on the metal mesh of the walkway.

They raised one wicked lance into the air again, aiming straight for my eyes, and it was a miracle I put the shovel between us quickly enough.

The legs seemed to momentarily vanish with the speed of its strike.

It took a moment to regain its balance as it bounced off the shovel, the thin tips of its bone holding up distressingly well.

I barely managed to sit upright as it took a stab from my heart, and I scrambled to my feet just in time to deflect a third strike.

Enraged, I swung the shovel like a barbarian's axe and the legs toppled.

While they flailed over the guardrails, I could swear to God I heard them utter a soft, high-pitched...

From another direction came a throbbing heart the size of a small car, ambling along on its branching banes, an equally gigantic steak knife protruding from its center like a metallic snout.

It reared back, raising itself a full eight feet on its tendrils, let out a high-pitched, rat-like squeak.

Nope.

I was dead on.

That was my bear trap this episode.

The Invader Zim reference.

This is this entire thing.

Feels like Invader Zim.

It's Invader Zim fanfic.

Yeah.

My name was Deb, and Zim had done all of this.

I attempted to flee down another branch of the metal metal web, but my course was soon interrupted by a clattering, scarecrow-like assemblage of bone shards and flimsy sinew, chattering its many fractured, dog-like skulls as it swung a large, saw-toothed jawbone at my stomach.

I struck back with my own weapon, its skull splintering even further beyond recognition.

My adrenaline was surging.

As single-minded as the gore-faced hordes themselves, I demolished one twisted child of Satan's deli after another.

I toppled shuffling golems of pork scraps, wailing ghouls of tripping lard, a serpentine mass of fused chicken feet, and even the giant squeaking heart, its arteries dousing me with geysers of hot blood as its throbbing at last subsided.

I was almost disappointed by how easy it had all been.

I shouldn't have been.

As I stood in a puddle of mashed viscera, blood, and who knows what else streaming off my face, I heard a mysterious clang echo through the vast space.

Felt the walkway shudder under my feet.

It was followed by another.

Clang.

The shaking intensified.

Clang.

It reminded me rather uncomfortably of huge, heavy footsteps on the graded floor.

Two guesses what it was.

Come on.

I dare you.

Into 5-7, into 5-8.

Well, do you want to try guessing what it is?

I think it's going to be a big,

it's going to be one of the metal things because the metal things seem to be the biggest issue because he can just cut the meat with a shovel, right?

I think it's going to be some kind of metal implement.

What do you think?

I have, I mean, maybe another hamburger man.

What?

Bring back the hamburger man.

How do you feel about the hamburger man?

I think it works.

I think that the story is like setting up this kind of like ghoulish

like circles of hell, you know, which also, how many circles of hell are there?

Nine.

And that's

how many entries we have.

That's true.

That's a good point.

So I think it's that.

I also think

it's cartoonish enough, too.

It's overtly gross and stuff, but also it hasn't let up on the cartoon angle, really.

So I think that the little

weird talking hamburger thing fits in the same way as a Tils in the gas station kind of vibe.

Yeah, it's similar to that where like it is keeping like, I mean, our story started off with like people just shoving food in their face and then there's giant walking pieces of meat.

So the hamburger mascot we've seen this whole time being the end boss is kind of fun.

The idea of it like rolling as high as that and stuff.

It's a fun story.

Like I said, very Invader Zim.

If more bloody and over the top, what was that comic that the creator of Invader Zim did before, Johnny the Homicidal Maniac?

Yeah, he's done a couple, but that was the big one.

It feels like a midpoint between Invader Zim and that.

Like,

shout out Joan Vasquez.

Yeah, yeah.

All right, entry 5.8.

As the stomping grew louder, an even larger figure emerged from the other side of the flying brain tornado, a shape looming 15 feet tall in the dim, flickering green light.

Like the pressure cooker bitch, or whatever that was, it had a largely metallic appearance, though at the same time, strangely organic.

Its spindly, nearly skeletal body didn't seem like it would have been heavy enough to rattle the floor so violently.

its long, bony feet terminating in thin, sword-like talons.

Most of its weight was likely concentrated in its head, immediately recognizable as the shape of a sausage grinder, slowly wavering with each laborious step.

A pair of slimy eyeballs, like the burger man's, stared down at me from one side of this huge contraption, and where there should have been a handle was only a black, skeletal arm ending in another one of those white cartoon gloves.

I like the cartoon effects, too, of everything.

Like the machine

cartoonish and the design.

The art on the side sells it a lot too.

Yeah, yeah, like that looks great.

What this dude looks like.

Its worst characteristic, by far, was the way it breathed.

A hollow, metallic wheeze of increasing speed and intensity.

The panting of some starving dog who just caught a whiff of fresh roadkill.

It stepped effortlessly from one catwalk to another, like a spider scrambling in slow motion along the strands of its web.

And as it drew closer, something unimaginably worse began to happen.

The meat, all the meat I had just slaughtered for at least its second time, was beginning to move once more.

As one, the mutilated whores around me began to writhe, stumble, and drag themselves towards the grinder-headed giant,

whose single arm shot out the moment one groping, rolling pile of giblets came within its impressive reach.

It lifted the shining, sticky mass up to the filth-caked funnel on the top of its grinder head and dropped it straight in.

It continued to stomp its way in my general direction, scooping up more monsters and dumping them into its upper orifice until they were nearly spilling over the sides.

A churning bathtub full of flesh and innards.

The thing was slow, but as I ran from one end of the spider's web to the next, I found every possible exit sealed tight, and by now, the meat rising from below had almost reached my level.

There was no way out.

There was nothing to fight.

I can only keep running.

That's such a cool idea.

the idea that like if all of the meat is destroyed the meat grinder creature shows up

and like just remakes them into different shapes that's so yeah like reverse them is pretty fun and yeah like four cycles amalgamations of stuff yeah that's such that's such a cool idea

I turn to look back at the grinder bean, still ponderously but relentlessly pursuing me in a straight line as I was forced to zigzag.

It snatched up the last straggling monster, some sort of spider-legged white pod resembling nothing I really recognized, and dumped it in with the rest.

Without slowing down, the monster clinched its now blood-soaked glove and began spinning its entire arm in its socket, around and around with a ratchet-like noise, the collected mutants churning and twisting as they were sucked deeper into the grinder.

I turned to continue running, but made it only a few more yards before a sickening, flatulent sputtering sound echoed through the chamber, and something thick, warm, and wet slammed hard into my back.

The catwalk dropped away as I was swung through the air and brought to face with the grinder man's unblinking gaze.

I was being held tight in an enormous, pulpy pink hand wavering on the end of a tentacular limb comprised entirely of raw, grounded meat.

It had formed the limb from every walking nightmare I had spent the last of my energy putting down and flung it like a lizard's tongue with pinpoint accuracy, instantly subduing me from a good 20 meters away.

Little whip action.

I squirmed and thrashed desperately, but only felt further mired in the dense tarry muck.

The crank arm continued to twist and more squirming noodles of processed tissue slithered along the the length of its makeshift appendage cocooning me in more layers of raw flesh i was reminded yet again of a spider you know the reference image there too is so gross the idea of like the flesh is coming down the hand as it's being cranked and it's like yeah just encasing him

as i sank deeper into that stinking sloppy mire i suddenly found myself transfixed by what was directly behind the metallic giant i could finally see into the tower into the vortex, down into where those wretched alien brain hatchers were all going in such a hurry.

At first, I was only confused.

The significance of what I was seeing almost didn't want to register.

Bitter, rancid meat juices were beginning to flood my mouth.

Tendrils of beef sludge were probing at my eyes and nose.

My world was going black.

I was being smothered to death.

But on the inside, I just couldn't stop laughing.

Alright, well now, entry 5.8 over.

You ready for 5.9?

That picture is insane.

That's what I'm saying.

That reference one is so gross, man.

For audio listeners, it's like, I mean, it looks like the inside of a throat, but just the ridges.

It looks like a...

I mean, it looks like, yeah, like a

fish.

But it's just, it's pretty disgusting.

It's black and white.

It's just, it leaves a lot

to ponder, I guess I should say.

All right.

Well, you ready for 5.9?

5.9.

I awoke the following morning on the floor of my own home, alive.

My body was caked with meat gunk, my clothes sticky with blood.

Not a dream.

What little must have been in my stomach probably emptied itself onto the carpet.

I guess I'd be tearing those up soon if there was any real point.

I staggered to the shower, my mind racing with all I'd seen in the meat factory.

They had, apparently, neither wished to kill me nor erase my memories.

I guess they knew as well as I did.

There's nothing I could do to them.

After all, if cattle couldn't do much to change their fate, what hope could there be for the cattle feed?

All right, so it says a bonus entry is

available if all the passwords are entered as one word.

So I guess there was like an ARG element to this

that let you unlock another part of the story.

But here with creepypasta.com, we just have that last part of the story pasted or read.

Yeah.

So yeah just entry six here so skipping that part

entry six so this was the secret entry after all of that

i tried to get a fountain coke at the 7-eleven some sort of pinkish gunk coiled out like soft serve smelling like hot bologna i cut open what i thought was a watermelon the inside was a lot like a brain I unwrapped an almond joy and got nothing but the length of bone filled with a clear yellow mush.

I put money into a Coke machine.

I saw the bottle tobacco to the bottom.

I reached through the door.

All I pulled out was a heart, still beating.

I hurled it to the pavement and stomped it into nothing but a red, sticky stain.

I came home starving, not even surprised by the flock of chickens hobbling around my front lawn, plucked and headless.

I staggered to my kitchen and cracked into another box of cereal from my dwindling stash.

Cat food stink, cartoon hamburger.

The words

superior food matter

had replaced frosted flakes.

Tony the Tiger was just a grainy photograph of a bobcat.

That's really funny to imagine.

A picture of a bobcat, and it says superior food matter over it.

A box of lucky charms now said

added tissue rind

above some shitty JPEG stock art of a nobody leprechaun.

The Cheerios had become orgasm part.

Add fluids.

The rest of the box was dominated by a close-up of clammy gray intestines.

I rummaged through the whole supply in a daze.

Red blood materials.

Marvelous food nugget.

None of this was there when I bought it.

I didn't brain comb anything with a single letter out of whack.

Last box used to be Cocoa Puffs.

My favorite.

Damn.

Fred Flintstone still looked like Fred Flintstone.

Just far too real.

I could see every pore of his lifelike, fleshy nose.

This was now apparently a box of flavored meal substance.

Whatever.

What the hell ever.

I ate it.

I ate it and it was delicious.

So was the mysterious can of

your sick favored meat paste

waiting for me on my coffee table.

So was the cup of what looked, smelled, and tasted like liquid bacon, straight from my own tap.

The black thing in the refrigerator was as sweet as maple ham, even if it looked like the bastard child of a caterpillar and a starfish.

The best thing by far was the steak.

The huge, red, juicy steak ready for me in the seat of my car.

It wasn't even the flavor that made it so good.

It was the screaming.

What a classic way to end a creepypasta kind of thing.

Hyper-realistic blood.

It was screaming.

I ate steaks at the end.

Yes, of course.

And that is the burger diaries or entries.

Burger entries.

That was awesome.

It's a real,

real big juxtaposition between last week.

Let me just tell you.

But

I think this is a lot of fun.

Well, yeah.

I mean,

it's interesting to see.

I mean, I'm curious to see how people like this one, too, because this is, you know, descriptors and stuff, albeit, you know, Willy Wonka, like a fucking uh what is it a uh tim burton peewee's playhouse kind of vibe inside of this i'm always so curious what people find you know like whenever you're writing this kind of thing do you think it's supposed to be do you think it's more so for the just like the creepy weird factor or do you think it's supposed to legitimately be scary because that's like one thing i find even in my own work um

it's like dude there was a giant hamburger man that rolled his eyes at him

yeah sure no i listen i understand that there's some comedic elements i guess it's more so the idea of going into such painstaking detail describing you know these cartoon like appendages and these kinds of things that's and that's not to say that it doesn't feel like it can't be like a respectable fun thing to like read at but is it trying to be that kind of uncanny uh

that uncanny almost like a horror who framed roger rabbit kind of vibe you know what i mean or is it just all in in in for the uh the the styling of horror but it's like you know more of a comedy.

I think it's very much so a who frame Roger Rabbit.

I think I was on point with the Invader Zim thing.

It's very like cartoonish over the top.

There's giant talking pieces of meat, but the descriptions of people eating the meat are super gross and disgusting.

So it works on the gross out horror side, but otherwise it's trying to be zanny.

I mean, look at the, you know, the art that's done with it.

It's a very like playful comedy horror type thing, comedy body horror.

It's a very unique vibe.

I wish maybe it leaned more into the humor then, because it was silly and I found myself like smiling of like, this is just kind of chaotic and fun.

Yeah.

But, you know, almost like taking a page from Tails from the Gas Station and having it be a bit more campy or something.

Because some of the visuals were so disgusting that I was also like, you know, I wish there wasn't this cartoon element to take me out of like how fucking disgusting this is.

Not to say that it made it any less, you know, enjoyable, but still just this idea of like, I just couldn't tell really which kind of angle it was trying to take at times for me personally.

Yeah, I liked it.

I thought it was very,

it was ludicrous.

It was very absurdist in a lot of its descriptions and stuff like that.

I thought it was pretty good.

I enjoy the angle.

I like the idea how it starts with like these parasitic growths going everywhere, and then people turn into these eggheads that birth these flies, and the flies lead them to this super factory where these things are created.

I assume at the end, when it's talking about, I couldn't bear to see see it.

I just started laughing.

My idea is that the thing they're flying into is like a giant digestive system, right?

That hints that picture.

So maybe all of these brain things are to feed whatever this creature is.

Maybe everything that's happening is the effect of some giant organism beneath the earth, right?

That's another thing I'm curious about, too, because there's so much talk of it being,

you know, some alien, which I think he just, when he says alien, I think he just means unknown or not worldly kind of thing.

But I still do wonder what kind of, you know, which that's, that was, that was kind of fun, just kind of imagining what is creating these things.

You know, and I like to think, too, that this isn't some thing where it's like, well, that's just how you're perceiving it, but really there's this other way.

I like to think that they're actually like weird, cartoony, big things, and that's how a alien or something would like would project something into our world.

You know what I mean?

Yeah, he says this line at the the end of 5.9 where he says, Uh, I guess they knew as well as I did that there was nothing I could do to them.

After all, if cattle couldn't do much to change their fate, what hope could there be for cattle feed?

Because early in the story, you made the metaphor that perhaps humans are cattle to the slaughter, but now you're saying humans are the cattle feed.

So these things, these brain bugs or whatever, are being fed by people, and then they feed some greater organism, some entity within the earth that can never hope to be stopped.

And inevitably, the creature did, or like the

whatever, whatever thing is in charge here did get what it wanted at the end when our protagonist basically just ended up eating it.

And he's like, it was fucking awesome.

So I think even

he gave in.

Yeah, he gave in.

And he knows that he's going to become food for these people as well.

I think it's that sense of hopelessness at the end that's kind of haunting too a bit, actually.

You have like all these uncanny like cartoon angles and stuff and how silly everything is.

But it really is just like a guy waiting to die basically which is uh

you know just uh a fan it's like it's like you have this giant entity beneath the earth that you know

does this whole biological process that we can't hope to understand and then you have our protagonist who kind of dives into it and yeah it's very schlocky with him like attacking it with a shovel and stuff like that but again this is a story with giant talking hamburgers so you know what what do you want um there's a lot of there's a lot of fun campy violence and there's a lot of gross outhorror someone in the comments said it's like if hp lovecraft had to make a goosebumps story uh well i really i really enjoyed what you said about the uh it's like last it's like a goosebumps version of last week's episode and it feels so of the red tower yeah yeah which i am curious you know what do you guys think huh

where's a what do you think this time you happy yet

Was that a good one?

I don't know.

I enjoyed it.

It was a nice one.

We also have a longer, we recorded a little while ago, a longer episode as well.

Hopefully that comes out within the next week or so.

It just depends on the edit.

But we do appreciate you guys listening.

And to all the people listening on audio.

I guess the immediate shift change.

Just going so hard from one to the other.

No, no, no.

Well, I'm a professional is the big thing.

And the,

you know, so we appreciate everyone listening on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and giving us a nice rating there.

And also for checking out, if you did want to check out the merch creepcast.store, we do got some new stuff.

On the subreddit, be sure to recommend any stories you want us to read, as always.

And until next time, everybody,

creep your cast.

Your cast has been creeped.

What was that?

Didn't we have a slogan for a bit?

Wasn't it just say creeped?

Who up creeping?

Well, we said stay creeped for a while.

Yeah, we're going to break that up.

Yeah, yeah, but the merch said who up creeping they cast because that was

saying no, I get that.

I'm bringing back stay creeped.

Okay, well, you have fun fun with that.

I'm going to say who up creeping they cast.

Who up meeting they

who up burging their entries?

Who up entering their burgers?

I like that.

Who's up entering their burgers?

Do you remember that McChicken video?

No.

Oh, that boy.

I'll be sure to send that to Hunters DMs on the public.

Yeah, we'll put that at a public, yeah.

We'll put that as the outro thing.

No, we won't.

Classic McChicken thing, whatever.

No, we won't.

Bye-bye, everybody.

Bye-bye.

But be sure to send that to Hunters DMs.

Thank you.

Bye.

There was a dude at a McArt.