This week the boys are boiling up a fresh ole' pot of Creepypasta for your listening pleasure so put on your comfy pants, turn off the lights, and roll up a hog's leg... It's time to get weird! For Live Shows, Merch, and More Visit: www.LastPodcastOnTheLeft.comKevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 Licensehttp://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/Subscribe to SiriusXM Podcasts+ to listen to new episodes of Last Podcast on the Left ad-free and a whole week early. Start a free trial now on Apple Podcasts or by visiting siriusxm.com/podcastsplus.
Chapter 1: Who are the hosts and guests on this episode of Last Podcast on the Left?
Welcome to the last podcast on the left, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Marcus Parks. I'm here with the searcher, the man on the eternal mission for Gene Hackman erotic fiction, Henry Zebrowski.
You can't handle my balls! That's Jack Nicholson, unfortunately, from A Few Good Men. That's kind of like, but it's the same genre. I'm trying to figure out what the Crimson Tide, not Crimson Tide, right? Is it Crimson Tide? Crimson Tide, yes. Because Hunt from Red October was Sean Connery. He says it's okay to slap a woman.
And U571 is Harrison Ford. Yeah, the bad one.
Yes, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. And, of course, we have the eternal movie critic, Ed Larson.
Yeah, hello. Two thumbs down, you idiots.
Eddie right now is doing his first ever remote recording as a member of Last Podcast on the left. Tell me, Eddie, how's that Ramada treating you?
I mean, it's going so well that I'm using the hotspot on my phone. You're coming in nicely though. It's nice though with the bedbugs, you know, I'm not sleeping alone tonight. So it's good.
There's actually a couple of read. I did read a couple of rewrites of the scene between Gene Hackman and Morgan Freeman and unforgiven where he really gets pretty involved, but it's so hard to do that. It's, it's hard to do both because Gene Hackman's such a good actor. And I think that's the problem is it's hard to kind of capture his gravitas and In a lemon slash fix.
Like, it's hard to get that into, like, hearing him sucking Morgan Freeman, like, sucking his dick dry.
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Chapter 2: What is the theme of Creepypasta 21: The Severance?
And now I think that it's important that we party while we can. Sure. Okay, because that's what's hard. And creepypasta is all about getting spooky and feeling ooky with it. So I think the main thing is that obviously if you're in your office right now, the scariest thing you can do is work. So I would say is to just quit that. First of all, quit that. Quit your fucking job, man.
Quit your fucking job. Fuck your boss. Fuck this shit. Close the laptop. They're watching you do your keyboard. How creepy is that? Your boss is watching your keyboard from his fucking cubicle, and he's jerking off thinking about your productivity levels.
Yeah, man, all bosses are pieces of shit that suck and shouldn't exist. Yeah, fuck your boss. Fuck all bosses. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey. All right.
Well, no, let's not say fuck all bosses. Let's not say all bosses are pieces of shit necessarily. You come for me, you best not miss. Some bosses worry, Ed.
Some bosses worry constantly.
Like RFK Jr. He just worries. He's like, ah.
What about the udders? Udders are getting trampled.
Now, he's concerned about the udders, not about us. But guys... I think now you want to go to your weed. You've quit your job. You're on your way home. Your wife or husband's like, what are you doing here? I'm here with our four kids. And you go, shut the living fuck up and let me do what I need to do today. You're going to go into your office. You're going to pack a bowl.
You're going to pack that bong. And you don't care what everybody says. Everyone's crying. Oh, you're just trying to detach. From all your responsibilities. But guess what, man? As soon as you fucking put that rim to your fucking hole, it doesn't matter anymore because you have just become irresponsible. Right? They can't hold you to shit. Forbes mean nothing. It's just ink. What's ink?
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Chapter 3: What is the significance of the poem and the story 'The Splatterpunk Gospel'?
This is an excerpt from the Clotted Book, being the scriptures and commandments for the Church of Letting Blood. Cool. The vein is the beginning. The vein is the end. The vein is all. This is our world. This is our world, of impure blood, scarred over from centuries flowing filth and disease, creating the prison systolic diastolic, making anatomy of sin. But there is only the vein.
Both ends joined in incestuous Ouroboros. The vein suckles itself, mindless machinery, oblivious to its gullet-reared children.
Is this written by a disgruntled nurse? This is like this person who handles my father's IVs.
Make no mistake that we are filth-born. We have poisoned the stream from our first bubbling breath, choking it with our soiled selves. Would that we were fewer. That we had known what damage we were doing from the start. That we had known that this sickened meat creature was getting sicker still as our numbers grew. Would that we knew. Would that we cared. And beyond oblivion? Or redemption?
Absence or occupation? Which truly would be better? What is the threat of hell without a heaven?
Better that there be after at all, even if it is torment.
It implies respite, however it may come. But none for us! But is this about blood? The vein has soiled us. It has raised us from the odorous chyme. And will return us there. For none remember the path. None remember death. We practice... or believe we practice it. Our vessels shudder and disgorge their contents. Our ventricles spasm and tangle the works.
We think we would be lucky to die in sleep without pain. Our loved ones pray for this because it would be most convenient. They hold their vigil by our bedside, clutch our shaking hands, then, when the moment is gone, reassure themselves of the better place that they were so kind to lead us to. and in the casket or the flame, the dirt or the ash.
Thus dying quietly, we are complicit in the deception. Death must come obscene and uncaring. It must shake foundations, ruin delusions. It must remind that life cannot be extended, that no favors are owed to grieving lovers, that bloodlines face extinction. Death will be dealt, and it must be dealt harshly. For in so dealing, the vein is dealt a slice in its cancerous carapace.
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Chapter 4: What personal creepy experiences does Marcus share about his grandparents' house?
This is the type of home where plastic was on the furniture and the carpet was a seafoam green with mirrored squares glued to the living room wall. Exactly. I know this home.
Yes.
My grandparents had a living room we could not enter. I don't remember much of the time spent at this home, too much as they were just fleeting memories of my childhood that me nor my brothers put much value into later life. Later life. But one thing that we all remember was the stairs.
There was a set of stairs that ran down into a dark basement. A set of stairs. I thought they meant like the grandparents staring at them for hours on end.
That's because that's just old grandpa peepers. I love my grandpa peepers always making sure I'm clean. Get your feet. Now get you to the back of your legs. Get the back of your legs. Yeah, good, good, good. Now it's wet. Now it's wet. Now get your front. Get your front. Get your front folds. Paint the tits.
That's just my first set of stairs.
Yeah, second set of stairs.
Let me get my jeweler's glass. Second set of stairs is illegal.
That's when I'm looking inside your porthole. That's molestation, everybody. It seems worse than that. It is. You know what? It's so much worse just to have you bend me over and look me in my butthole and not fuck me. There was a set of stairs. I ran down to the dark basement where my grandfather's workshop was. This descended about 12 stairs down and sat between the kitchen and the garage.
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Chapter 5: What tragic story is related to the house with the creepy stairs?
Knock. Ask. Yeah. I'm going to investigate, dude. But you know the kids died there. Of course you have those feelings. Well, no. They said that he did not know.
They didn't know his kids. When they were kids, they didn't know. He didn't know until he was older. It was creepy.
But this is like, what a great opportunity. Nothing would be better being like, do you know who died in this house? Regis Philbin. You know, you can make up a bunch of shit.
I mean, you get to stay, who goes there? And all that stuff.
You would not go to knock on, like when you're Aunt Patty, God rest her soul if she ever passes.
She's alive.
She's alive. If she ever passes, I don't think she'll die. Is that if we go to sell that house, which is extremely haunted, it's the same. Then you can hang out outside of that house and tell people that it's extremely haunted.
No, she left the haunted house like 20 years ago. We can go to that house and tell them it's haunted whenever we want. We should. That one's in Linden.
If you're going to do that, I think the polite thing to do is instead of telling them the whole story, write up a little one sheet of what happened. Slip it under the door. Slip it under the door and say, I shall return on the morrow to discuss.
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Chapter 6: How do the hosts discuss paranormal experiences and the presence of spirits in the house?
That was my big tag phrase. He started again. No, really. I was. It was avant-garde. We would walk around town and act out these little plays in public. Some people ignored it, but there were always others who paid attention and loved it. You never, man.
How is it? Right? Whatever. Craig Robinson did a show at the store last night, apparently for nine people. It happens. We gave 110%, no matter who was in the audience.
That's right. Even if there was nobody.
Some of our best shows were in front of nobody. Really? Honestly, no one ever saw our best work. That's called rehearsal. No. No, no, no. It was in a theater. Oh, no.
It was in a theater with an empty house.
You were there. Yeah, I was there. And I've been in a dozen bands over the years. And when you play to nobody, it's a public rehearsal.
Yeah.
I surprisingly wasn't sad about it. Anyway, I was sad. I didn't answer. I tried to use my silence to tell him to leave me alone, but he kept talking.
yeah it was pretty great we'd act like morons give speeches and just having fun acting out little scenes wherever we felt like it we were doing it for ourselves that's what you thought no this is not fair then we kept doing it even when we were alone We just always felt like somebody was watching. We really realized we were playing it all out in front of a real audience.
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Chapter 7: What listener-submitted story is featured about an encounter on the New York subway?
I was... This is such a... Oh, my God. This really makes me sad. This really fucking makes me sad. We used to say stuff like this. It's all about just building a place. They'll come to the show. They'll have to come. They'll hear the circus. Everyone loves a circus.
I was listening to him, if only to know what was going through this crazy person's head. He looked up at me, and this crazed look came into his eyes. We could hear the real audience. The one we knew we were playing for all along. So we changed the show. Maybe it was more edgy, you know, exciting.
We'd wait till people were alone and then we'd hurt them. Yeah. Give a real hard time and shit, you know?
The audience loved it.
I love this guy. We had total freedom. Anything we wanted.
We could... Anything. Or anyone. Now, I feel like I'm just at the store.
I feel like I'm talking to a stand-up comedian.
Now, I was fully listening to this guy's story, but when I turned to look at him, his hand was deep in his pants. Shocked, I turned to the other people on the train with me, but they were ignoring it. One woman in a suit shrugged her shoulders as if saying...
sorry your problem i had never hated someone as much as i did in that moment oh whatever man he's just trying to make it he's a comedian the pervert next to me continued yeah anything man we started like really hurting people you know
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Chapter 8: How do the hosts reflect on performing in front of small or no audiences?
Yeah, well, the whole show shifted when we first killed someone.
Yeah.
The first time, it was an accident. But the audience loved it, man. They cleaned it all up. Almost licked it clean. Now we had to give them what they wanted. We started killing more people. Doing awful things to them. He still had his hands in his pants when he said it. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
and then he began to pant loudly ah ah ah ah yeah we did whatever we wanted man whatever we desired we catch people alone and devour them use them and the audience cleaned it up nothing could touch us we were primal like animals totally free we've killed kids animals There's so much pent up in us. It was like a breath of fresh air letting it all out.
His hand was out of his pants as soon as he stopped talking and he grabbed me by the neck. He forced me to get some hand sanitizer. He forced me to turn to his dirty face and I was too terrified to fight back at all. He looked deep into my eyes and smiled widely. That was when the train started slowing down.
It wasn't screeching to a halt, just slowing, like time itself was stopping outside the window. I stared at the people around me, yet somehow didn't notice. The homeless man's face went blank then, and he let me go. I breathed a sigh of relief, and he got up and said to no one in particular, "'No, guys!
She's okay!' We'll have a show later!"
Then the train started to speed up, but not by much. Time seemed to be shifting back to normal, but we were still in the tunnel. I looked back to the homeless man as he walked casually to the doors. It took a moment to explain to myself what was happening. Then I stared in other shock as every person that had been around me got up and moved down to the same doors.
They stared at me with bored looks and a couple of them smirked with pure malice in their eyes. Then the same businesswoman who had shrugged said, Sorry folks, really, show's over. Terry said to leave her. Then from all around me came sighs. From every direction and every place came disappointed, resigned sighs. I looked around wildly for loudspeakers or microphones, but I found none.
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