• Generally just Fucking Creepy Stuff-Thread
    5,002 replies, posted
That video was a good watch.
[QUOTE=Wii60;23091646][URL]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uzumaki[/URL] this manga has the best creepy shit ever. you all would love it and form phobias of a spiral just read vol 2. Snail people chapter.[/QUOTE] The books were creepy. but the movie was SHIT. it was all suspense, leading up to absolutely NOTHING. Sure, it was creepy for a little while, but then it's just like "*YAWN* when is something going to happen?"
[QUOTE=Modest_Mozz;23569966]The books were creepy. but the movie was SHIT. it was all suspense, leading up to absolutely NOTHING. Sure, it was creepy for a little while, but then it's just like "*YAWN* when is something going to happen?"[/QUOTE] That's mainly because the movie was made before the manga was finished, hence after a point they had nothing to go on, so they just decided "hyehlol,lez amke it so de spiralz are liek a aribunr disasee!"(Hey,lol, let's make it so the spirals are like an airborne disease!") AUGH. I feel like chopping my fingers off after typing that. Rate me bad spelliiiiinggggg.
[QUOTE=Louis;23045892]I would like to know about this[/QUOTE] There was a missing episode in the first season and one guy tried to research it. He spoke to Matt groening at a simpsons thing and asked him about the lost episode. Matt reportedly got very sad and teary. He didn't say anything and handed him a bit of paper. When the man got home he read the piece of paper. It was a website. It gave him a virus and ruined his PC. He put it on a CD and the folder had a disturbing episode of the simpsons of it. Got this from creepypasta.com edit: Just found this, don't know if it's real or not. [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrHaQM1W3uo&feature=related[/media]
[QUOTE=pip12345;23512844][IMG]http://creative.myspace.com/groups/_mn/slither/wallpapers/1280x1024_03.jpg[/IMG] Scariest fucking thing ever.[/QUOTE] Poke it with a stick.
[quote]The Hands ONE DAY A LITTLE BOY WAS RUNNING AROUND AND TOUCHING HIS HANDS ON EVERYTHING AND THEN A POLICE OCIFER ASKED HIM "LITTLE BOY WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING YOUR HANDS ON EVERYTHING" AND THEN THE LITTLE BOY SAID "I AM TRYING TO FIND MY NOSE" AND THE POLICE OCIFFER AXED "WHY" AND THE BOY SAID "BECAUSE MY HANDS ARE BOOGERS" AND THE POLICE OCIFFER LOOKEDED DOWN AND THE BOYS HANDS WERE BOOGER THEN THE POLICE OCCIFER LOOKED AT HIS HANDS AND THEY WERE BOOGER AND THEN EVERYTHING WAS BOOGERS THE END.[/quote] Scary shit.
You're so hilarious.
So I'm sitting in the basement. It's past midnight and is now the early hours of Saturday morning. I might note, I woke up on thursday morning and didn't sleep at all last night, so this is about the point I hit the 'trippin balls' part of my waking cycle, in which I tend to easily get paranoid. The lights are out, and at the moment the place is completely cleared with the exception of small piles of scrap, dust and some small furnishings (long story short, moving). Outside the window wells on the walls to my left and right, I can hear the light patter of rain, and here and there you hear a low rumble from the thunder. My desk is dead center against the shorter of the walls. This creates not only empty space on both sides of me, but an entire house-length of sheer darkness only penetrated by the light of my laptop over my shoulders. Wearing big headphones doesn't help but to remove any security of hearing (or rather, knowing you're [i]not[/i] hearing) things behind you, but gives you comfort in the otherwise silent, cold and eerily void basement. Scrolling through the forum plays tricks on me in particular, this thread doesn't help. When scrolling around, I'll catch glints of light or dark spots in the corner of my eyes. It could be the reflections of stuff on my can, or maybe on the tall and thin metal mic stand to my side... but there's times it hits me when I'm in the middle of reading. A sudden flicker, a shift in my vision that makes me uneasy... But it's nothing. Always nothing. Too much nothing. After an hour or three of just sitting here, after having settled into my comfort zone and forgetting where I am. It's just me and the screen, surrounded by music... [highlight]HSSHHHHHEEEEHHHHHHHH[/highlight] I whip off my headphones and turn to face the darkness. No sound. It must've been the song doing some stupid sound effect. I'm listening to techno (it was a Deadmau5 song I think), and artists tend to use nonsense sound effects as filler on more than enough occasions. I look into the deep void of the basement... slowly put on my headphones, and turned back to my lapt-[highlight]HSHHHEEEEEEHHHHHH[/highlight] I turn off the song hastily and it stops. I'm scaring myself, I gotta turn the TV, which is now sitting off in the corner far to my left. I put on the TV, it creates a little ambiance to fill the room, and I listen to my music with my headphones around my neck so it isn't all-encompassing. some time goes by, and I hear a hefty rumble of thunder, and the satellite signal goes blank, causing what was on the TV to turn black. Sheer black. Wait, is the TV on? I hit the power button and I hear the internal little FZT! sound it makes when turning on or off (older high-def TV). I turn it back on, it makes the sound again, and that high-pitched/low volume tone that younger people can hear from TVs and such started ringing. Yep, it's on now... but the screen still had no illumination. I get up and wander over to it to tinker with the buttons, since the satellite remote can't control its options menu, just the power. Once I stepped over there, I heard the FTZ sound and the high tone stopped. The red dot came on the front, and I realized it had turned off. The remote was on my desk. I was annoyed, but whatever, I don't need the TV. I'll just turn on the lights. Walked over to the center of the basement where the stairs came down and flicked the two light switches that control the rather dim lighting. It was nice enough, though. Back to headphones around neck, sit down, ten minutes goes by. [i]fffsheh[/i] I get goosebumps so hard that they [i]hurt[/i]. My headphones weren't on my head, but it sounded crystal clear. (oh god goosebumps are hitting me again as I write this up). The sound came from the back of the fucking basement, where the lights are those stupid bulbs with the pull chain... which I didn't turn on. It's still dark over. As I'm staring, I hear a similar sound. [i]nyeh[/i]~ it was like a short breath, but loud. Every hair on my body felt like a needle as the goosebumps got even more tense... and I just stared at the darkness. and stared. and stared. I'm too tired, too freaked out to move. I [i]have[/i] to find a shape in the darkness, I must know what it is. What was that? Who's there? [i]What[/i]'s there? HSSSSSSSSSSHHN [b]*THUD*[/b] I just about had a heart attack before realizing that sound was the god forsaken sump pump in the far corner. It was kicking in because of the fucking rainstorm. I calmed down, relaxed, and laughed at myself about it. [i]fshyeh[/i] it came from somewhere other than the direction of the pump. it was... the TV? I look over at the TV and think about it. What could be making that sound. Maybe it's doing some sort of weird power surge with the lightning. I get up and rip out the power strip it's attached to. a tiny 'fsk' pops from the TV's innards and I go back to the laptop. then, another whisper of a sound. [i]Haooooo[/i]- interrupted by the kind of HOLY SHIT thunder that makes you think Zeus himself is aiming for you. It struck close, caused a blackout, and my stomach dropped like a cinder block. I don't think I moved at all for a good five or so minutes before the lights slowly faded back on, save for my eyes darting rapidly at every flicker of darkness outside the range of my now dimmed laptop screen (battery mode kicked in). after what felt like an eternity, the lights finally came back on, but dim, menacing, glowing a reddish orange from lack of power, or overage of pure fucking hell. soon as the lights stopped fading in and out, I picked up my stuff and moved to the living room on the first floor, planted myself on the couch, and starting writing this up for you guys. Now of course, I'm up in my bedroom because it was still too open of an expanse to just sit in the dark in and the damn lightning thing happened again halfway through writing this shit. Of course, I originally came to this thread tonight to mention the whole "thing behind me" sound and ask if anyone has that comic with the guy at his computer wearing his headphones, and the thing creeps up behind him making sounds and vanishes when he turns around... but fuck if shit didn't get real. After digging for the picture through half the thread before this stuff happened, I expected [url=http://newsimg.ngfiles.com/110000/110986_smile.dog.jpg]that 'smile.jpg' dog[/url] to be staring me down for a split instant during a lightning flash :tinfoil:
[QUOTE=daijitsu;23585241]This is the reason why he's the Arts Moderator[/QUOTE] :eek:
[QUOTE=daijitsu;23585241]Whoa awesome one Dai'[/QUOTE] It was me. Sorry, I was gassy.
[QUOTE=dvc;23520457]I dont see why everyones scarred of it. Im not.[/QUOTE] I'm not really either. I find the original a lot scarier.
[QUOTE=daijitsu;23585241]-massive story of truth-[/QUOTE] I think everyone can relate to this, though thank you for linking to that fucking dog, I had to click it and now it's going to haunt me when I have to take the fan out of the window and go upstairs.
That happened to me once, but it was always a clatter downstairs. A faint one mind you, but it fucking shot up my spine everytime I heard it. Ofcourse everytime I checked it out nothing was there, except the soft glows of standby lights dotte around the room. I slept at 4 that morning. Door locked. Thank you for making me relive that night. I hear the fucking bumps again. On the roof. I hate possums.
[QUOTE=daijitsu;23585241]*story*[/QUOTE] Well, be glad it wasn't [b][i]UUUUUUUUUULLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAA[/i][/b]
[QUOTE=daijitsu;23585241]*scary story 'bout a basement*[/QUOTE] Shit, shit, shit shit shit. Thats the EXACT SAME THING that happened to me last night. :eek: EDIT: Oh boy, a story. [QUOTE] A boy was alking home from school, it had been a normal day. He walked along, as a fog seemed to carve through the city streets. This caused the boy to wander off the path. He saw a strech of road, which he thought he knew. But it really led out to the country side, far from home. As he walked, the sorroundings began to get unfamiliar. Long trees streched there enourmous branches out over the road. The fog had gotten very dense, to the point where he couldn't see the edges of the road. But just as he thought of turning back, a beautiful woman approached him. She had long black hair and she was wearing a surgical mask, but this was common during the flu season. The woman approached him. "Do you think I'm beautiful?" she asked. Not wanting to be impolite, he answered "Yes, of course you are." In a slow movement, she reached up to her face. The boy thought about turning back, but he didn't want to be impolite. She grabbed the mask and ripped it off to reveal a hideous mouth. It was slit open on the slides, and the mouth practically ripped open. "How about now?" she asked in a hideously distorted voice. The boy din't know what to say, he was to frightened to do anything. "Well?" she asked impatiently, reaching for her pocket. Trying not displease the woman, he said "Yes." She proceeded to pull out a knife. The boy tried to run, and sprinted back to the city. He thought he had lost her. Later, at his apartment, there was a knock on the door. The mother, who was home alone, was shure it was her son, who she was very worried about. There was another knock, and she walked over to the door. Not hesistating to see her son, she opened the door. She saw her son, his mouth horrificly slit from ear to ear. "Am I beautiful?' the boy asked. [/QUOTE]
[QUOTE='[DJ Ria];23554065'] [img]http://i25.tinypic.com/1zzt0z4.jpg[/img][/QUOTE] Think i've seen that film, is it called begotten or something?
[QUOTE=hl2poo;23556528]Oh shit. What the fuck is happening here? Happy now?[/QUOTE] The Begotten. Was an experimental movie made in like, 1991 or 1993 or something. It has no dialogue. It's shot completely in black and white, and it's meant to tell a story through barely depictable videos of people being tortured and stuff. It's creepy.
Something to help you sleep. [URL="http://www.facepunch.com/#"]View YouTUBE video[/URL] [URL] [URL][URL]http://youtube.com/watch?v=7vn3FglYM6k[/URL] [media][URL]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6i5ivJ0K0nk&feature=related[/URL][/media] [media][URL]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IyIWC9UUExU&feature=related[/URL][/media] [media][URL]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_gn_4RG9HY&feature=related[/URL][/media] And also, those take awhile to get off the ground.
[QUOTE=BananaFoam;23593904]Something to help you sleep. [URL]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7vn3FglYM6k[/URL] [URL]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6i5ivJ0K0nk&feature=related[/URL] [URL]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IyIWC9UUExU&feature=related[/URL] [URL]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_gn_4RG9HY&feature=related[/URL] Sorry, I don't know how to embed videos. Can someone tell me. And also, those take awhile to get off the ground.[/QUOTE] Use media tags
[QUOTE=BananaFoam;23593904]Something to help you sleep. [URL]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7vn3FglYM6k[/URL] [URL]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6i5ivJ0K0nk&feature=related[/URL] [URL]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IyIWC9UUExU&feature=related[/URL] [URL]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_gn_4RG9HY&feature=related[/URL] Sorry, I don't know how to embed videos. Can someone tell me. And also, those take awhile to get off the ground.[/QUOTE] [ media]video url goes here[/media] Remove the space
Thanks, I'll edit them. GACK, the first one stopped working.
[QUOTE='[DJ Ria];23554065'] [img]http://i25.tinypic.com/1zzt0z4.jpg[/img][/QUOTE] I remember watching this movie in Gmod Tower with a friend, He crouched in a corner for some parts, and whenever somebody else wandered into the suite we were like "ohai we were just watching God disembowel himself nothing special" [editline]02:58PM[/editline] Good times
[QUOTE=BananaFoam;23593904]Something to help you sleep. [media]http://youtube.com/watch?v=7vn3FglYM6k[/media] [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6i5ivJ0K0nk&feature=related[/media] [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IyIWC9UUExU&feature=related[/media] [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_gn_4RG9HY&feature=related[/media] And also, those take awhile to get off the ground.[/QUOTE] Just replace your post with this. You don't need URL tags in between media tags.
[QUOTE=BananaFoam;23593226]Shit, shit, shit shit shit. Thats the EXACT SAME THING that happened to me last night. :eek: EDIT: Oh boy, a story.[/QUOTE] I remember reading something like that in a book I have, its a japanese urban legend. Here it is, Kuchisake Onna. Only reason I have the book is because it was a holiday gift from a family member. Info here: [url]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kuchisake-onna[/url] [url]http://www.scaryforkids.com/kuchisake-onna/[/url] Apparently there was also a movie made about it in 2007.
Oh my god... I made it... watched the whole post without shi... dammit!
We certainly are running out of creepy stuff.
[QUOTE=DJFender;23600592]We certainly are running out of creepy stuff.[/QUOTE] Don't worry, I'm going to LA next week.
[QUOTE=daijitsu;23600764]Don't worry, I'm going to LA next week.[/QUOTE] san andreas is :drum: fun
[media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJdq-UbQWcs&feature=related[/media] Fucking Magic Roundabout
Found this story in the "Monsters in the pool" thread, credit to the person who posted it. [quote]Inhale. Take in as much air as you can. This story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, and then just a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can. A friend of mine, when he was thirteen years old he heard about "pegging." This is when a guy gets banged up the butt with a dildo. Stimulate the prostate gland hard enough, and the rumor is you can have explosive hands-free orgasms. At that age, this friend's a little sex maniac. He's always jonesing for a better way to get his rocks off. He goes out to buy a carrot and some petroleum jelly. To conduct a little private research. Then he pictures how it's going to look at the supermarket checkstand, the lonely carrot and petroleum jelly rolling down the conveyer belt toward the grocery store cashier. All the shoppers waiting in line, watching. Everyone seeing the big evening he has planned. So, my friend, he buys milk and eggs and sugar and a carrot, all the ingredients for a carrot cake. And Vaseline. Like he's going home to stick a carrot cake up his butt. At home, he whittles the carrot into a blunt tool. He slathers it with grease and grinds his ass down on it. Then, nothing. No orgasm. Nothing happens except it hurts. Then, this kid, his mom yells it's suppertime. She says to come down, right now. He works the carrot out and stashes the slippery, filthy thing in the dirty clothes under his bed. After dinner, he goes to find the carrot and it's gone. All his dirty clothes, while he ate dinner, his mom grabbed them all to do laundry. No way could she not find the carrot, carefully shaped with a paring knife from her kitchen, still shiny with lube and stinky. This friend of mine, he waits months under a black cloud, waiting for his folks to confront him. And they never do. Ever. Even now he's grown up, that invisible carrot hangs over every Christmas dinner, every birthday party. Every Easter egg hunt with his kids, his parents' grandkids, that ghost carrot is hovering over all of them. That something too awful to name. People in France have a phrase: "Spirit of the Stairway." In French: Esprit de l'escalier. It means that moment when you find the answer, but it's too late. Say you're at a party and someone insults you. You have to say something. So under pressure, with everybody watching, you say something lame. But the moment you leave the party… As you start down the stairway, then -- magic. You come up with the perfect thing you should've said. The perfect crippling put-down. That's the Spirit of the Stairway. The trouble is even the French don't have a phrase for the stupid things you actually do say under pressure. Those stupid, desperate things you actually think or do. Some deeds are too low to even get a name. Too low to even get talked about. Looking back, kid-psych experts, school counselors now say that most of the last peak in teen suicide was kids trying to choke while they beat off. Their folks would find them, a towel twisted around the kid's neck, the towel tied to the rod in their bedroom closet, the kid dead. Dead sperm everywhere. Of course the folks cleaned up. They put some pants on their kid. They made it look… better. Intentional at least. The regular kind of sad, teen suicide. Another friend of mine, a kid from school, his older brother in the Navy said how guys in the Middle East jack off different than we do here. This brother was stationed in some camel country where the public market sells what could be fancy letter openers. Each fancy tool is just a thin rod of polished brass or silver, maybe as long as your hand, with a big tip at one end, either a big metal ball or the kind of fancy carved handle you'd see on a sword. This Navy brother says how Arab guys get their dick hard and then insert this metal rod inside the whole length of their boner. They jack off with the rod inside, and it makes getting off so much better. More intense. It's this big brother who travels around the world, sending back French phrases. Russian phrases. Helpful jack-off tips. After this, the little brother, one day he doesn't show up at school. That night, he calls to ask if I'll pick up his homework for the next couple weeks. Because he's in the hospital. He's got to share a room with old people getting their guts worked on. He says how they all have to share the same television. All he's got for privacy is a curtain. His folks don't come and visit. On the phone, he says how right now his folks could just kill his big brother in the Navy. On the phone, the kid says how -- the day before -- he was just a little stoned. At home in his bedroom, he was flopped on the bed. He was lighting a candle and flipping through some old porno magazines, getting ready to beat off. This is after he's heard from his Navy brother. That helpful hint about how Arabs beat off. The kid looks around for something that might do the job. A ball-point pen's too big. A pencil's too big and rough. But dripped down the side of the candle, there's a thin, smooth ridge of wax that just might work. With just the tip of one finger, this kid snaps the long ridge of wax off the candle. He rolls it smooth between the palms of his hands. Long and smooth and thin. Stoned and horny, he slips it down inside, deeper and deeper into the piss slit of his boner. With a good hank of the wax still poking out the top, he gets to work. Even now, he says those Arab guys are pretty damn smart. They've totally re-invented jacking off. Flat on his back in bed, things are getting so good, this kid can't keep track of the wax. He's one good squeeze from shooting his wad when the wax isn't sticking out anymore. The thin wax rod, it's slipped inside. All the way inside. So deep inside he can't even feel the lump of it inside his piss tube. From downstairs, his mom shouts it's suppertime. She says to come down, right now. This wax kid and the carrot kid are different people, but we all live pretty much the same life. It's after dinner when the kid's guts start to hurt. It's wax so he figured it would just melt inside him and he'd pee it out. Now his back hurts. His kidneys. He can't stand straight. This kid talking on the phone from his hospital bed, in the background you can hear bells ding, people screaming. Game shows. The X-rays show the truth, something long and thin, bent double inside his bladder. This long, thin V inside him, it's collecting all the minerals in his piss. It's getting bigger and more rough, coated with crystals of calcium, it's bumping around, ripping up the soft lining of his bladder, blocking his piss from getting out. His kidneys are backed up. What little that leaks out his dick is red with blood. This kid and his folks, his whole family, them looking at the black X-ray with the doctor and the nurses standing there, the big V of wax glowing white for everybody to see, he has to tell the truth. The way Arabs get off. What his big brother wrote him from the Navy. On the phone, right now, he starts to cry. They paid for the bladder operation with his college fund. One stupid mistake, and now he'll never be a lawyer. Sticking stuff inside yourself. Sticking yourself inside stuff. A candle in your dick or your head in a noose, we knew it was going to be big trouble. What got me in trouble, I called it Pearl Diving. This meant whacking off underwater, sitting on the bottom at the deep end of my parents' swimming pool. With one deep breath, I'd kick my way to the bottom and slip off my swim trucks. I'd sit down there for two, three, four minutes. Just from jacking off, I had huge lung capacity. If I had the house to myself, I'd do this all afternoon. After I'd finally pump out my stuff, my sperm, it would hang there in big, fat, milky gobs. After that was more diving, to catch it all. To collect it and wipe each handful in a towel. That's why it was called Pearl Diving. Even with chlorine, there was my sister to worry about. Or, Christ almighty, my Mom. That used to be my worst fear in the world: my teenage virgin sister, thinking she's just getting fat, then giving birth to a two-headed retard baby. Both heads looking just like me. Me, the father AND the uncle. In the end, it's never what you worry about that gets you. The best part of Pearl Diving was the inlet port for the swimming pool filter and the circulation pump. The best part was getting naked and sitting on it. As the French would say: Who doesn't like getting their butt sucked? Still, one minute you're just a kid getting off, and the next minute you'll never be a lawyer. One minute, I'm settling on the pool bottom, and the sky is wavy, light blue through eight feet of water above my head. The world is silent except for the heartbeat in my ears. My yellow-striped swim trunks are looped around my neck for safe keeping, just in case a friend, a neighbor, anybody shows up to ask why I skipped football practice. The steady suck of the pool inlet hole is lapping at me and I'm grinding my skinny white ass around on that feeling. One minute, I've got enough air, and my dick's in my hand. My folks are gone at their work and my sister's got ballet. Nobody's supposed to be home for hours. My hand brings me right to getting off, and I stop. I swim up to catch another big breath. I dive down and settle on the bottom. I do this again and again. This must be why girls want to sit on your face. The suction is like taking a dump that never ends. My dick hard and getting my butt eaten out, I do not need air. My heartbeat in my ears, I stay under until bright stars of light start worming around in my eyes. My legs straight out, the back of each knee rubbed raw against the concrete bottom. My toes are turning blue, my toes and fingers wrinkled from being so long in the water. And then I let it happen. The big white gobs start spouting. The pearls. It's then I need some air. But when I go to kick off against the bottom, I can't. I can't get my feet under me. My ass is stuck. Emergency paramedics will tell you that every year about 150 people get stuck this way, sucked by a circulation pump. Get your long hair caught, or your ass, and you're going to drown. Every year, tons of people do. Most of them in Florida. People just don't talk about it. Not even French people talk about EVERYTHING. Getting one knee up, getting one foot tucked under me, I get to half standing when I feel the tug against my butt. Getting my other foot under me, I kick off against the bottom. I'm kicking free, not touching the concrete, but not getting to the air, either. Still kicking water, thrashing with both arms, I'm maybe halfway to the surface but not going higher. The heartbeat inside my head getting loud and fast. The bright sparks of light crossing and criss-crossing my eyes, I turn and look back… but it doesn't make sense. This thick rope, some kind of snake, blue-white and braided with veins has come up out of the pool drain and it's holding onto my butt. Some of the veins are leaking blood, red blood that looks black underwater and drifts away from little rips in the pale skin of the snake. The blood trails away, disappearing in the water, and inside the snake's thin, blue-white skin you can see lumps of some half-digested meal. That's the only way this makes sense. Some horrible sea monster, a sea serpent, something that's never seen the light of day, it's been hiding in the dark bottom of the pool drain, waiting to eat me. So… I kick at it, at the slippery, rubbery knotted skin and veins of it, and more of it seems to pull out of the pool drain. It's maybe as long as my leg now, but still holding tight around my butthole. With another kick, I'm an inch closer to getting another breath. Still feeling the snake tug at my ass, I'm an inch closer to my escape. Knotted inside the snake, you can see corn and peanuts. You can see a long bright-orange ball. It's the kind of horse-pill vitamin my Dad makes me take, to help put on weight. To get a football scholarship. With extra iron and omega-three fatty acids. It's seeing that vitamin pill that saves my life. It's not a snake. It's my large intestine, my colon pulled out of me. What doctors call, prolapsed. It's my guts sucked into the drain. Paramedics will tell you a swimming pool pump pulls 80 gallons of water every minute. That's about 400 pounds of pressure. The big problem is we're all connected together inside. Your ass is just the far end of your mouth. If I let go, the pump keeps working - unraveling my insides -- until it's got my tongue. Imagine taking a 400-pound shit, and you can see how this might turn you inside out. What I can tell you is your guts don't feel much pain. Not the way your skin feels pain. The stuff you're digesting, doctor's call it fecal matter. Higher up is chyme, pockets of a thin runny mess studded with corn and peanuts and round green peas. That's all this soup of blood and corn, shit and sperm and peanuts floating around me. Even with my guts unraveling out my ass, me holding onto what's left, even then my first want is to somehow get my swimsuit back on. God forbid my folks see my dick. My one hand holding a fist around my ass, my other hand snags my yellow-striped swim trunks and pulls them from around my neck. Still, getting into them is impossible. You want to feel your intestines, go buy a pack of those lamb-skin condoms. Take one out and unroll it. Pack it with peanut butter. Smear it with petroleum jelly and hold it under water. Then, try to tear it. Try to pull it in half. It's too tough and rubbery. It's so slimy you can't hold on. A lamb-skin condom, that's just plain old intestine. You can see what I'm up against. You let go for a second, and you're gutted. You swim for the surface, for a breath, and you're gutted. You don't swim, and you drown. It's a choice between being dead right now or a minute from right now. What my folks will find after work is a big naked fetus, curled in on itself. Floating in the cloudy water of their backyard pool. Tethered to the bottom by a thick rope of veins and twisted guts. The opposite of a kid hanging himself to death while he jacks off. This is the baby they brought home from the hospital thirteen years ago. Here's the kid they hoped would snag a football scholarship and get an MBA. Who'd care for them in their old age. Here's all their hopes and dreams. Floating here, naked and dead. All around him, big milky pearls of wasted sperm. Either that or my folks will find me wrapped in a bloody towel, collapsed halfway from the pool to the kitchen telephone, the ragged, torn scrap of my guts still hanging out the leg of my yellow-striped swim trunks. What even the French won't talk about. That big brother in the Navy, he taught us one other good phrase. A Russian phrase. The way we say: "I need that like I need a hole in my head…" Russian people say: "I need that like I need teeth in my asshole…" Mne eto nado kak zuby v zadnitse Those stories about how animals caught in a trap will chew off their leg, well, any coyote would tell you a couple bites beats the hell out of being dead. Hell… even if you're Russian, some day you just might want those teeth. Otherwise, what you have to do is -- you have to twist around. You hook one elbow behind your knee and pull that leg up into your face. You bite and snap at your own ass. You run out of air, and you will chew through anything to get that next breath. It's not something you want to tell a girl on the first date. Not if you expect a kiss good night. If I told you how it tasted, you would never, ever again eat calamari. It's hard to say what my parents were more disgusted by: how I'd got in trouble or how I'd saved myself. After the hospital, my Mom said, "You didn't know what you were doing, honey. You were in shock." And she learned how to cook poached eggs. All those people grossed out or feeling sorry for me… I need that like I need teeth in my asshole. Nowadays, people always tell me I look too skinny. People at dinner parties get all quiet and pissed off when I don't eat the pot roast they cooked. Pot roast kills me. Baked ham. Anything that hangs around inside my guts for longer than a couple hours, it comes out still food. Home-cooked lima beans or chunk light tuna fish, I'll stand up and find it still sitting there in the toilet. After you have a radical bowel resectioning, you don't digest meat so great. Most people, you have five feet of large intestine. I'm lucky to have my six inches. So I never got a football scholarship. Never got an MBA. Both my friends, the wax kid and the carrot kid, they grew up, got big, but I've never weighed a pound more than I did that day when I was thirteen. Another big problem was my folks paid a lot of good money for that swimming pool. In the end my Dad just told the pool guy it was a dog. The family dog fell in and drowned. The dead body got pulled into the pump. Even when the pool guy cracked open the filter casing and fished out a rubbery tube, a watery hank of intestine with a big orange vitamin pill still inside, even then, my Dad just said, "That dog was fucking nuts." Even from my upstairs bedroom window, you could hear my Dad say, "We couldn't trust that dog alone for a second…" Then my sister missed her period. Even after they changed the pool water, after they sold the house and we moved to another state, after my sister's abortion, even then my folks never mentioned it again. Ever. That is our invisible carrot. You. Now you can take a good, deep breath. I still have not. End[/quote]
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