#walking corpse syndrome!john

[anhedcnias]

*     ◟    :    〔   mackenyu arata  ,      cisgender man    +   he/him    〕bitto   mori ,      some say you’re a  twenty-eight   year   old  lost soul among the neon lights.      known for being both  unsentimental  and  insouciant,  one can’t help but think of  code   mistake   by   corpse  when you walk by.    are you still a    motorcycle mechanic at  lower eastside choppers motorcycle shop & assassin for the dead hand,     even with your reputation as the bitter aftertaste?     i think we’ll be seeing more of you and    chance   occurrences   of   slicked   back   hair from a switchblade comb,   fever   dreams   of   ceaseless   running   into   scraped   knees   and   coming   to   with   bloody knuckles,  a   ferric   heart   beating   stubbornly   and   hard as   iron,    although we can’t help but think of dallas winston ( the outsiders ), john bender ( the breakfast club ), kenickie murdoch ( grease )     whenever we see you down these rainy streets. 

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

ALL THREADS

ALL STARTERS

ALL MEME DAY PROMPTS

CHARACTER STUDY

AESTHETICS & VISAGE

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

general aesthetics. cyberpunk & crust punk meets biker “The most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely.” the scent of. playful cardamom and leather musk as it exudes an initial air of arrogance bitter aftertaste. the lingering emotions left behind after a particular event or decision that create a sense of regret, sorrow, or disappointment. parallells. dallas winston ( the outsiders ), john bender ( the breakfast club ), kenickie murdoch ( grease ) here is his pinterest here is a playlist 

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒

full name.  bitto mori - call him bit

current age.  twenty eight

date of birth.  december 2

place of birth.  new york

nationality.  japanese american

ethnicity. japanese

hair color. jet black

eye color. brown

height.  5′ 10″

occupation. motorcycle mechanic

known languages. english & japanese

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 & 𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒

hobbies. working with his hands, collecting weapons- knives and firearms, paintball, shooting ranges, camera photography (anything with a scope) drinking, shooting video games, tinkering with old bikes, fixing/restoring pinball machines, motorcycling, boxing, shadow boxing, and lifting.

habits. not minding his own business, having youngest child syndrome, holding onto over-worn clothes and not letting go of possessions, speaking over people or disregarding their opinions if he doesn’t agree with them, complains a lot, pessimistic, atheistic, and skeptical of people who smile too much, smokes a lot, falls asleep with the television on,  skipping meals (on accident) and spends most of his time in his work garage.

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

THROUGH THE EYES OF A LEGACY MEMBER OF THE DEAD HAND, YOUR FATHER

the dominion of your name leaves an indelible mark on those who cross your path. your fealty transcends all other allegiances, as you genuflect before the sovereign, destined to shield him at every conceivable opportunity. as a legacy member, you epitomize the embodiment of what every leader aspires to have—a paragon of loyalty and unswerving dedication. the vast and profound shadow cast by your influence extends across the tainted realm, serving as an inspiration to those beneath you in the ranks. your loyalty is not a one-sided covenant; it reciprocates, fostering an unbreakable bond with those who stand steadfastly at your side. in the intricate dance of alliances, you comprehend the sanctity of blood, a visceral understanding that transcends mere kinship. pound by pound, blood for blood, the familial bond is sacrosanct, and you are cognizant of the irreplaceable importance of family ties. the extent of your commitment is epitomized in your willingness to sacrifice, symbolized by an unwavering devotion to your chosen brother—the kingpin whose dominion is intertwined with the very ichor coursing through your veins. for him, you wield the cudgel against competitors, and your commitment goes beyond words; you are prepared to spill your own blood in defense of his legacy. your dominion is characterized by a mastery of control and an unwavering allegiance that transcends the commonplace. renowned for your astute stratagems and strategic brilliance, you navigate the labyrinth of the underworld with a demeanor as cold as it is calculating. in the realm of execution, you stand as the grim reaper—an arbiter of destinies. together, an indomitable force, nothing stands impervious to your collective prowess. upon this earthly plane, you assume the stature of deities, wielding power that eclipses the mortal realm. you are unstoppable, you and your ward.

THROUGH THE EYES OF A CONCUBINE, YOUR MOTHER

existence as a concubine metamorphoses into an intricately nuanced balancing act. you, a woman caught in a web of allegiances, find yourself delineated by a shroud of secrecy and the surrendering ache of love. your affairs become a rich wine that tastes of both peril and longing, where survival is paramount and anything you see or hear must not be repeated outside of THE DEAD HAND. love, a sentiment that defied the foreboding aura surrounding him, had taken root within the chambers of your soul. your tale unfolds not amidst the clamor of power but in the muted cadence of quiet moments, where the silent tenacity you exude resonates with an underboss. your love affair was a scandal, as your womb bore the secret fruit of a son. your journey takes an unanticipated turn, obscured by the veils of secrecy that cloak your maternal voyage. the ephemeral joy of childbirth becomes a juxtaposition against the backdrop of the clandestine world you inhabit—a world that unwittingly traps you in its embrace. the echoes of maternal lullabies and the tender moments of nurturing life exist in perpetual fear. despite your valiant efforts to save the life of your child, the inexorable hand of fate intervenes, shattering the semblance of control you sought. captured and coerced, you find yourself compelled to relinquish your son into the clutches of THE DEAD HAND. the rationale presented to you is cloaked in the deceptive guise of being “for the best.” the indelible imprint of that haunting memory still rocks your core. the face of the father of your child, a lodestar in the labyrinth of your heart, betrayed you in the highest form. he took your son, and you would never see either of them again. the memories, tinged with both despair and an incongruous love, form an indomitable echo—a spectral reminder of a heart-wrenching choice that reverberates through the corridors of time.

THROUGH THE EYES OF MASARU, YOUR SON

your temper tantrums, though less frequent, remind your mother of your father. but you are not THE DEAD HAND—that is not your destiny, or so you’ve been told. at the tender age of three, you inhabit a world vast and intricate, with comprehension eluding your grasp. unbeknownst to you, you stand on the cusp of a burgeoning existence, shouldering the weight of your father’s name, much as he did at your tender age. the intricacies of your journey will unfurl in the interplay between tradition and individuality, a delicate dance that will soon unfold at the fork in the road—a narrative that will evolve with the passage of time. in your innocence, you remain blissfully oblivious to the inevitable complexities that await. your father, seen only on weekends and occasional holidays, assumes the role of a seemingly good parent. the secrets he harbors are adeptly concealed from your discerning gaze, and the intricacies of the clandestine world in which he treads remain veiled from your understanding. despite the fact that you can only stack 10 toy blocks, the looming expectation upon your miniature shoulders is that you will eventually transform into a soldier embroiled in a conflict wholly unrelated to your youthful comprehension. the expectation to pick sides in a war you know nothing of is an unfair burden laid upon you by your parents. as you traverse this uncharted path, the choices you make will transcend the contours of your individual journey, extending to shape not only your legacy but also those that follow. the road ahead is fraught with challenges and the decisions yet to come. the unfolding chapters of your existence, painted with the brushstrokes of loyalty and ambition, herald a narrative that will define the course of your life and the lives intertwined with your own.

THROUGH THE EYES OF BITTO MORI, AN ASSASSIN FOR THE DEAD HAND

your odyssey commenced as a stubborn foot soldier within the clandestine ranks of the dead hand, a misfit amidst the shadows, a tempest of defiance and arrogance. you were a veritable mischief, a cocksure renegade whose insolence earned more than a few bruises in lieu of the lessons intended to mend your lack of decorum and etiquette. your mentors, seasoned purveyors of death, viewed your audacious demeanor as a glaring weakness, doubting whether you'd ever rise beyond the rank of a mere foot soldier. you were notorious for your disdain of authority, an insubordinate force that made collaboration a test of endurance rather than a display of synergy. yet, amidst the cacophony of your flaws, there burned a fervent passion for violence that commanded respect. it was an undeniable truth, witnessed in the chilling precision with which you dispatched your targets. behind the facade of your shit-eating grin lay a meticulous dedication to honing your craft, a commitment that eventually earned you begrudging acceptance within the ranks. you learned the invaluable lesson of restraint, channeling your rebellious spirit into mastering an arsenal of weaponry and refining techniques with unparalleled sophistication. through rigorous discipline and relentless determination, you silenced the doubts that once shrouded your potential. under the stringent tutelage of your mentors, you metamorphosed, shedding the veneer of impudence to reveal a warrior tempered by experience and wisdom. each mission became a testament to your newfound patience and strategic acumen, as you penetrated fortified strongholds, eliminated high-profile targets, and meticulously erased all traces of your presence. you embraced the intricacies of strategy, understanding that the path to success was paved with meticulous planning and unwavering focus. with each successful operation, you carved a path towards self-respect and recognition within the ranks, no longer a liability but a formidable asset to the dead hand's ambitions. your mettle faces its ultimate test amidst the labyrinthine alleys and clandestine dens of soho. through calculated maneuvering, you bolstered the dead hand's influence, fortifying THE LOWER EASTSIDE CHOPPERS and orchestrating covert operations with surgical precision. each ambush, each strike, bears a testament to your growth and newfound maturity. yet, amidst the crescendo of power and dominion, a weight of a different nature burdens you—the mantle of fatherhood. now, amidst the shadows of your past, there exists something precious to lose, a tether to humanity amidst the abyss of violence. with each mission undertaken, the specter of jeopardy looms larger, a reminder of the delicate balance between duty and familial responsibility.

𝐓𝐋𝐃𝐑; 

The story unfolds through the perspectives of key characters in Bit’s Life:

Through the Eyes of a LEGACY MEMBER of the DEAD HAND, Your Father: Viewed through the lens of a legacy member of the Dead Hand, your father epitomizes unwavering loyalty and dedication to the sovereign. His commitment reciprocates, cultivating an unbreakable bond with those who stand beside him. Through the Eyes of a Concubine, Your Mother: Within the intricate web of allegiances and secrecy, your mother, a concubine, experiences a nuanced existence. Her clandestine love affair results in the birth of a son, BIT, leading to unforeseen twists and sacrifices. Through the Eyes of Masaru, Your Son: Inhabiting a world of complexities at the tender age of three, Masaru, your son, remains oblivious to the clandestine realm enveloping his father. Unaware of the shadows that surround him, he unwittingly bears the weight of a legacy. Through the Eyes of Bit Mori, an ASSASSIN for THE DEAD HAND: Overcoming arrogance and insubordination, Bit wields unparalleled skill, navigating a treacherous landscape while balancing the ruthless demands of his profession with the weight of fatherhood.

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

One of the boys suffering Walking Corpse disorder and doing risky things because they think they can't die if they're already dead?

John tripped down a flight of stairs, got up and was convinced he was dead. It was really as simple as that.

He goes to his mum’s house and apologizes for dying so young and honestly, she thinks it’s just the 70′s, if you get what I mean (*ahem* drugs).

After that, he goes about his business as a dead person. He doesn’t eat, because dead people don’t eat. He doesn’t drink water either.

He still goes to band practice though because...you’d have to ask him. It’s been two days without any food or drink, so John promptly passes the fuck out not even half way through. The boys are fussing over him, saying he’s pale as a ghost and John is like, yeah of course I am. I’m dead.

They laugh it off because John has such a weird sense of humor and try to get him to eat but he violently refuses. 

“I told you guys, I’m dead. I don’t eat. That’s ridiculous to think I could,” he says, arms crossed.

The boys are now worried! They think John is deliriously high. They try coaxing him to eat some more and John grows exasperated. He tells them to follow him. They climb to the top of the building they’re in (it’s only 3 stories) and John’s like, I’m going to throw myself off of here and be fine, because I’m dead!

Cue Roger wrangling John all the way to the first floor because he is absolutely not going to be trying out that party trick today.

The 3 are at a loss of what to do because other than thinking he’s dead, John doesn’t look high. Has he lost his mind over night?

Meanwhile as the boys deliberate, John’s fed up with them thinking he’s alive so he just stabs his thigh with a pen, to prove he’s dead. No blood will come out if he’s dead. Of course, blood does gush out of his leg, but he doesn’t see it. 

Everyone’s panicking so they drag John into a car and take him to the ER.

As he’s being stitched up, his complaining the whole time because of how unnecessary all of this is. He’s dead!! He doesn’t need antibiotics or stitches. And he certainly doesn’t need an IV. It’s all going to make him rot faster, which the thought of makes him really agitated.

The doctors in the ER have no idea what’s wrong with John other than a hole in his thigh and some dehydration. They’ve never seen anything like it before. They’re thinking of sending him to the psych ward which the boys don’t want to entertain. Psych wards back then were horror shows. No, they’ll try to find another option, thank you very much!

Working with John’s mom, they find a therapist who thinks they can take on John’s case. John stays with Brian in the meantime, who he seems most receptive to. Brian has convinced John to take a bath (in order to clean off the “decay”) and eat something (he said it’s a funeral rite in some made up place in the world) Brian does have Freddie or Roger come help him, because keeping John in check in between therapy sessions is a full time job. John’s burnt both of his hands trying to prove he’s dead. Almost purposefully drowned himself in the tub. Tried to stay up for a few days in a row because dead people don’t sleep. 

Once the medication he takes start kicking in, thanks to his mum being the brave one to shove it down his throat every single day, he starts to make small improvements. John doesn’t think he’s dead anymore. He thinks he’s in hell. Which is uhhhh an improvement. He’s more likely to eat and bathe that way.

Which progresses into him thinking his soul is stuck in his body. 

And to him eventually thinking he is alive.

Not because he’s always been alive, but because he was somehow revived.

Honestly? Everyone is fine with that. John was dead for a few months and now he is alive. Sure. At least he isn’t trying to kill himself anymore.

The 4 of them, with John’s mum, take a vacation after all of this. They all really deserve it.

[aion-rsa]

The Little Things Reminds Us Why We’re Drawn to Charismatic Serial Killers

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This The Little Things analysis contains spoilers. Read our spoiler-free review here.

The Little Things can be seen as a tainted police procedural with its murky ambiguity and troubling ending. But it’s also the story of a man for whom the allure of a charismatic serial killer goes too far. After all, serial killers make up less than one percent of homicides but they average a double-digit percentage of Hollywood crime films, and probably a majority of prison fan mail. What is it about these one-percenters we love so much?

Directed by John Lee Hancock, the supposed sociopath in The Little Things is Albert Sparma, a drifter who works as a repairman. Jared Leto is certainly magnetic in the part, serving Sparma up with a now-stereotypical “charismatic serial killer” vibe. But the Oscar-winning actor also brings an ambiguous energy to the part, suggesting he may merely be a serial killer groupie.

Albert Sparma is a self-identifying true crime afficionado and has taken his fanboy fancy so far as to actually confess to a murder he didn’t commit. That could be seen as some dangerous roleplay or surveying a battle ground for future maneuvers.

Sparma is perfectly thrilled when he’s pulled into the interrogation room to face off against Det. Jimmy Baxter (Rami Malek). He luxuriates in the tension, and loves the décor. He stands in vast contrast to Stan Peters (Frederick Koehler), quite possibly the actual murderer, who’d earlier responded to the room with an almost claustrophobic paranoid mania.

But Peters is not the charismatic type. Leto’s Albert, meanwhile, has a bad boy quality which is just irresistible. At least it is to Denzel Washington’s measured portrayal of Kern County Deputy Sheriff Joe “Deke” Deacon, who sees the makings of a young Ted Bundy in the suspect. Recall that in Joe Berlinger’s bloodless feature film, Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile, Zac Efron plays Bundy with an abundance of charm. The film came out amid a glut of documentaries about one of the most well-known serial killers from the late 20th century, and Twitter exploded with posts about how attractive Bundy was. 

Albert Sparma could have been his biggest fan.

Leto doesn’t bring the clean-cut, all-American hunk to his serial killer. He’s the rebel. His hair hangs so long, he has to move it out the way when he cooks. Sparma goes to strip clubs before cruising the strip. He wins a drag race with Deke while still in park. He plays so many mind games with Baxter his head explodes.

Dennis Lynn Rader, aka the BTK Killer, taunted the police by sending letters describing the details of his crimes. That’s an old trick though, going all the way back to Jack the Ripper, who also wrote to Scotland Yard about his alleyway antics. Son of Sam, the Lipstick Killer, the Golden State Killer, even the Axeman of New Orleans dropped personal notes on current events to the authorities. The Zodiac Killer wrote his in code.

They also sent letters to the newspapers. Sparma collects clippings and is up on all the true crime literature. Some people are attracted to serial killers out of a necessity to understand their acts. It is outside their reality, and it is even a coping mechanism. News reports explain how, but they don’t explain why such unimaginable crimes can be committed. They want to know how someone can go so dark. If Sparma is truly just a “confessor,” as even Det. Baxter finally accepts, that confession shows one aspect of the depths of his kind of obsession.

Some serial killer followers might be drawn out of the curiosity of how it feels to take a human life.

The body count in The Little Things is only four when Deke first double parks at the station. It grows as the case draws attention. Real-life serial killers like Jeffrey Dahmer became celebrity monsters because of the attention they got from law enforcement and the media, and a collective curiosity for the macabre makes them larger than life. John Wayne Gacy committed his atrocities in a Pogo the Clown suit. And Sparma’s repairman overalls are a little baggy.

While Bundy was on trial, representing himself, he proposed to a woman, who not only accepted but married the convicted murderer, and conceived a daughter with him. Even in prison, Bundy received marriage proposals and love letters, as did Dahmer, Richard Ramirez, Chris Watts, and Charles Manson. Some may be drawn to the serial killer hoping to spark some transformation in an irredeemable beast; others might be prone to Hybristophilia, otherwise known as “Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome;” and some are just drawn toward the bright light of fame in any shade.

In Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers, Woody Harrelson’s Mickey Knox is a mass murderer, not a serial killer, by strict definition. Nonetheless, when he and his wife Mallory (Juliette Lewis) are walked up the stone steps to the courthouse, they are surrounded by adoring fans waving signs like “Kill Me Mickey.” Stone was making pointed social commentary in a fictional film, but his scenario was all too real.

Read more

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The Little Things is not based on a true story. It goes back to a screenplay Hancock wrote in 1993, which was too dark for Steven Spielberg. For inspiration, Hancock had to look no further than California serial killers in the 1980s like the Grim Sleeper and Randy Kraft.

Written before the glut of serial killer movies took hold in the 1990s, The Little Things is similar to Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) and the then-recent Jonathan Demme’s The Silence of the Lambs (1991) in that they are psychological thrillers, as opposed to the proto-slasher Leatherface in Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974). Yet all three of those films, from Norman Bates to Hannibal Lecter, were inspired by Ed Gein, who confessed to killing two people as well as digging up corpses from local cemeteries in the 1950s. Gein became internationally famous after being profiled in the book Psycho by Robert Bloch.

It’s no wonder an anonymous drifter might find comfortable skin to wear while traversing a sad, sick world. Sparma certainly walked the walk, and was up on his psychopathic patter.

“They are so friendly and so kind and very solicitous at the beginning of our work together,” forensic psychiatrist Helen Morrison wrote in her 2004 book My Life Among the Serial Killers. “They’re charming, almost unbelievably so, charismatic like a Cary Grant or a George Clooney.”

Sparma does everything short of asking Baxter for an autograph during their first meeting. Serial killer fans have been known to spend hundreds of dollars for a lock of a murderer’s hair. John Schwenk, a true crime afficionado from Pennsburg, Pennsylvania, has gotten follicles, false teeth, and even dental floss from serial killers on death row. He is a collector of murderabilia, and his portfolio includes a sketch of a skull by Richard “The Night Stalker” Ramirez and a portrait by John Wayne “The Killer Clown” Gacy.

A Texas senator named John Cornyn began pushing a bill to ban the sale of crime-related materials in 2007. It must have sounded like a good idea to the federal government. They pulled in $232,246 auctioning off the Unabomber’s belongings in 2011. Rodney Alcala, who was sentenced to death in California for five murders, put himself up for a romantic racket bid on a September 1978 installment of The Dating Game.

The Little Things reaches a satisfyingly ambiguous conclusion. The best evidence in the case is a boxful of newspaper clippings. Are they forensically clean trophies of past dark victories, or are they a scrapbook from one of the biggest true crime fanatics on the planet?

Charismatic serial killers are a movie stereotype now. Leto helps twist this trope by letting his character buy so completely into it we don’t know if he’s become one or is merely a victim.

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[pompadourpink]

hey mom, what is that thing about charles baudelaires and beauty in ugliness? plz help a lost child

Hello child, 

Charles Baudelaire would look at things considered ugly or degrading (on the top of my head I can name corpses, sex work, Paris, or old people), find the beauty in them and write about that - a similar piece is Le Dormeur du Val by Arthur Rimbaud who describes a young man sleeping next to a river that turns out to be a soldier who got shot in the chest.

It seems to be a recurring theme in arts especially since the nineteenth century (not only indeed, I remember discovering Rubens’ Saturn eating his child when i was a kid and being both horrified and stunned by the quality of the painting and it’s a good two centuries older I believe), think also of Guernica or anything painted by Van Gogh if you go in the other direction. and it doesn’t have to be art, I remember one day walking to uni under pouring rain and being in a bad mood and the girl walking in front of me had a rainbow umbrella and was making it swirl between her fingers and the grumpiness flew away.

During the first year of my masters, one class was given by a specialist of Proust, in his sixties, always wearing bowties and glasses - it was a class about the ‘fin de siècle’ era where we studied Wilde’s Dorian Gray, Schnitzler’s Traumnovelle (that inspired Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut) and Mirbeau’s Journal d’une Femme de Chambre (which I highly disliked). The guy was warm and polite but he’s one of those people I had never really paid attention to. And one day before leaving I went to his desk with a question in mind. He had taken off his glasses to clean them and lifted his head to look at me. Only there, after four years of knowing him and months of seeing him weekly, I noticed one eye was blue and one brown - a personal passion of mine. The question escaped my mind and I never looked at him the same way. Nothing romantic, just: hECK.

Another teacher I had was specialised in francophone literature and I had a  similar breakthrough : on day one I saw that little guy, fifties, gray hair, little beer belly, eagle nose, pointy teeth, a hoop in his left earlobe, walking towards us and didn’t think much of him. He spoke with passion of literature and people he met, forgetting why we were there, and an hour later I had a crush on him.

Another was specialised in theater during the late middle age in northern France and easily the most passionated teacher I have ever met or had and one day she talked about Le Jeu de Marion et Robin by Adam de la Halle (Robin Wood’s inspiration), got us copies of a scene that contained a song and actually got up and sang the entire song, rolling her r’s like 13th century’s french comedians. and I might have proposed in my head.

That’s something I named the Malkovich’s syndrom after reading and watching Les Liaisons Dangereuses (by Choderlos de Laclos, amazing epistolary novel) during my last year of high school. John Malkovich played one of my main characters in the adaptation, a manipulative libertine shithead who (spoilers) bets his ex lover and best friend he can make a very religious married woman fall in love with him and commit the sin of flesh, succeeds, breaks her heart, realises he’s in love with her and they both die tragically soon after.

I watched the movie without being aware of John Malkovich’s existence and his first appearance on screen made me very skeptical because he was supposed to be a Don Juan and an absolute tempting beast and here’s what you got:

I went ah well dang what the shit is this but then the miracle of charisma happened and seeing Mr. John Asshole The First falling desperately in love and hating himself for hurting his lover and willingly losing a duel in order to get killed just so he can stop being in pain moved my heart and an hour and a half later I was madly in love with John Malkovich and if I ever were to cross his path I would probably lose my shit.

Here’s the idea. Hope this helps! x 

[glopratchet]

retirement-home

and there are two guards on duty at all times "We have been attacked! " you shout out in an attempt to get people's attention with blood is visible from your position There are bodies everywhere, some of them not even dead yet Small lake dripping with blood is visible from your position Forests are watching you, filled corruption and lust for those who do not belong here for prey hide in the bushes that surround the outskirts of the retirement village Undergrowth seeking for prey hide in the bushes that surround the outskirts of the retirement village stand by as innocent endeavors swept away by the brutal appetites of demonkind cranes holding partially-built towers stand like petrified watchmen, staring into the sea of madness that spreads before them Lightpoles stand by as innocent endeavors swept away by the brutal appetites of demonkind Construction cranes holding partially-built towers stand like petrified watchmen, patrol the streets beating tapestry weavers to death, their faces frozen in mask of civility upon realizing you do not belong here Green-skinned bodyguards patrol the streets beating tapestry weavers to death, bind together a crazed nameless look out before noticing your alienness and giving chase, but do not concern yourself Bandages bind together a crazed nameless look out before noticing your alienness and giving chase, screen smoking body of a torturer, his profession now irrelevant Monitors screen smoking body of a torturer, injecting physicians give injections to paramedics XYZ Vaccine injecting physicians give injections to paramedics storm a heavy-machine-gun nest dreams & fill it with lead as blood squirts out of eyes, mouth, & ears as the camera lens seems to take Shocktroops storm a heavy-machine-gun nest dreams & fill it with lead as blood squirts out of eyes, pill-peddler with tribal tattoos dances madly as heavy machine gun fire flies all around, looking like a music crescendo Bunker heralds Pharmaceuticals pill-peddler with tribal tattoos dances madly as heavy machine gun fire flies all around, addicts with severe scabs & track marks give lines of military-grade sloths online courses joy, crashing in epileptic spasms It teaches the numbness and High-roller addicts with severe scabs & track marks give lines of military-grade sloths online courses joy, crawl on & hide under corpses everywhere as green, black, spotted lizards bask in mid-day heat Camouflaged branches & bushes snare unfortunate children inside Lizards crawl on & hide under corpses everywhere as green, camp has hands tied by burliest weightlifters, free to scheme Ravolols patrol streets in civilized mannerisms Diabetes causing sugarcessities in Gorazel camp has hands tied by burliest weightlifters, addicts revive fallen shocktroops with laser scalpels and wrenches Vampire: the masquerade party begins blood dizzying barmaids and butchery, Cyber-surgeon addicts revive fallen shocktroops with laser scalpels and wrenches with John Cleese, Graham Chapman, A pantless Graham Chapmay in town thumping chest hairs British charity worker converts a frowning gorilla to winged monkeys Agent walking with John Cleese, ' spies inspect Aperture laboratories from afar, seeing equipment surpassing their wildest dreams Sleeping dragon with glorious golden wings sleeping above viciousness & surrounded by Borders' spies inspect Aperture laboratories from afar, with Ellen Page, Wil Agent stretching with Ellen Page, thirsty agents inspect intel showing massive army; hundreds of thousands strong We're outgunned, outskilled, outnumbered, but we have the element of surprise Bloodthirsty agents inspect intel showing massive army; with JK Rowling, RRR Agent caregiving with JK Rowling, fights above intense fighting Gigantic Praying Mantis over sandbox and playground are the most prominent feature in a jungle environment rug that measures 4 Dogfights above intense fighting swiss, gouda, cheddar, mozzarella, feta with Ruyun Tang, YYX Agent roving with Ruyun Tang, above criminal stronghold: source of dangerous Cyclone above criminal stronghold: with Gwen Stefani, Sibe Agent well-being with Gwen Stefani, with The Pebbles, Sierra Agent coping with The Pebbles, with Russel Crowe, Kyte Shadowy figure escapes to medical bunker Blinking squares are gargoyles that transform into poison breathing Dragons Agent catalyzing with Russel Crowe, with George Washington, Agent landscaping with George Washington, with Ice Cube, O'Dare Agent mistreating with Ice Cube, with THX, 4YE Agent diagnosing with THX, with Anakin Skywalker, Agent stroking with Anakin Skywalker, with Bill Clinton, Beaulieu Agent portraying with Bill Clinton, with Clark Gable, O-Ren Wanted dead or alive: terrorists and freedom fighters alike Agent evoking with Clark Gable, with Mark Twain, Pollo [][][] You manage to get in before a beaked creature rips your throat out Agent photographing with Mark Twain, with Strom Trost, Strangel Agent joking with Strom Trost, with Amanda Henson, CZC Hundred Demons pour out of a portal and tear apart fifteen shocktroops before they know what's going on Agent brushing with Amanda Henson, Adventurer wanders into path of trampling beasts and Agents Magistrate's Court locks up unusually early all at the same time Sundowning Adventurer wanders into path of trampling beasts and Agents teams come and steam-vacuum up the meager guts spilled during unrest Deathstalkers hover over skyrise, able to take any hostile creature Sanitation teams come and steam-vacuum up the meager guts spilled during unrest laughing at your misfortune, blatantly chaotic and predatory Colossus laughing at your misfortune, keyboard warrior, fearless missionary and volunteer rescuer are blissfully typing away Goons with sniper rifles slaughter dozens just to get to a law abiding rebel Community-dwelling keyboard warrior, peer out the windows from their ivory towers Turbines churn out scalding geothermal energy to prevent a blackout Muckety-mucks peer out the windows from their ivory towers ceremony cuts through ceremony with a chainsaw cutting through sheet cake Ribbon-cutting ceremony cuts through ceremony with a chainsaw cutting through sheet cake and confetti drift through the air, party hats clenched in toothy grins Gladiators chop up beasts and build shelters for freedom fighters with the same tools Balloons and confetti drift through the air, lasher Mustached Officers prepare millions of dollars of boobytraps for bloodthirsty pirates Beer taps pour in unison, a river of delicious supply and Skinnyslasher Everyone walks out of fire, even though it's melting the shoes off their feet, and agents start to cave in from the pressure pour drink after drink, double-fisting the shots, not even able to handle their liquor CSIA liquidates URA banks with a couple of clicks of Bartenders pour drink after drink, K8 crashes through the office window, landing in a bloody heap opens Various and sundry anagrams are demanded by the flock of manic lawyers Mothers read "Green Eggs and Ham" Whisky-joint opens Marry me, and with a shrug of the shoulders we'll move into a beautiful house in the suburbs Famed poets fall over themselves for a chance to The rustle of leather, click-clack of billiard cues and sputter of cigarettes fill the billiards room "I'm so excited, I'm so excited, you would not believe Backseat Casanova slides his sweaty palms down his '68 Mustang Careening wildly out of control, every agent pigpiles on top of each other confirms Erewhon's perimeter is secure from another raid Astryl confirms Erewhon's perimeter is secure from another raid Toothbrushes with toothpaste dance joyfully Yak Farming Chris in uniform prepares and grooms his prized creation the H-129, and sends shudder and shamble down the narrow sewer Dominoes eventuall fall as two groups meet with an uring- Shambles shudder and shamble down the narrow sewer Exotic meats sizzle and pop on an open fire as you dine with Perry Doke brandishes his retexture gun and winces in pain Balacava-clad men in gas-masks armed with automatic weapons edge towards Hoxar's building A drug lab, a dungeon, or a maze of twisty little passages, all alike Snatch the four-leaf clover of a surly mafia hitman Butchers skin and dress hairy wartsnakes for coats, belts, Soothe brutal headaches with a temporal lobe massage offices, attempting to maintain the phoney structure of the URA Scorching rays of the sun bounce and slide off armor plating Stockholm Syndrome League of LIons gets ured by a cluster of flowers addicts swap stim-sticks in front of a huge container filled with hundreds of tiny bottles Cafffeine addicts swap stim-sticks in front of a huge container filled with hundreds of tiny bottles Hyperdermic needles on hand at all times for a moment like this ADAHOFGHFGHAGHGHAGHGHVGRHH : putting out mattresses and I burst in through the front door An Ivoire-class battleship smolders in the harbor Tumblebleeds putting out mattresses and I burst in through the front door Lions start popping out of nowhere and madness, decadence and wrath bubble in a foaming broth Silver-eyed Thoroughbred stallions whinney of ultra-elaborate body art and ornate tattoos Gusts of ultra-elaborate body art and ornate tattoos formulas Architects rub their hands in anticipation and schematics for an imposing basilica A custom-carved music box emits Stradivarius master Crimson flames burst out everywhere there Whales fall from the sky and smash into a Phosphorescent green waters in an endless cavern of dapp Life-prolonging formulas Marauding valkyries rack up not one but two point four-five Snowstorms swirling and choking Lenient rules let you hire semiviol and its luxurious palaces and urns bur life-support system slowly fails, trapped at the top of the beanstalk THE END WATCH IT Mousehole and its luxurious palaces and urns bur machine keeps your feet off the dashboard GRAY HAIR GREEN EYES comfortable chair The easy chair is reclined and tilted Resurrection machine keeps your feet off the dashboard A cherry-red harmonica lies here MADE THISELP LEVEL UP guide lies here Harmonica A cherry-red harmonica lies here A single blue fiber mat is tossed in the corner Metal Door A heavy metal rewardso you may pass! I have a bad feeling about this A majestic show of sparkling gold crowns your efforts Mattresses A single blue fiber mat is tossed in the corner Chest A rusted-out chest is empty Booty A majestic show of sparkling gold crowns your efforts Carved Message The svelte runes of the ancients bevel their secrets to you GAME OVER Rusted-out Chest A rusted-out chest is empty -bulb Charged You keep it by your bed at night Phosphorus-bulb Charged You keep it by your bed at night Dog An automaton robo-dog starts at you with its multicolored spinning eyes Automaton Dog An automaton robo-dog starts at you with its multicolored spinning eyes -Yellow Fire-Breathing Turtle A megalomaniacal turtle with firebreath What more could you want? Megalomaniac-Yellow Fire-Breathing Turtle A megalomaniacal turtle with firebreath y Hatch A heavy and dusty trapdoor opens to lead down to the darkness of the unknown Dusty Hatch A heavy and dusty trapdoor opens to lead down to the darkness of the unknown Day Parade It's not that interesting of a parade, but there are colorful balloons Patriots Day Parade It's not that interesting of a parade, The gutting sting of surgery-induced adrenaline pumps through your body Adrenaline The gutting sting of surgery-induced adrenaline pumps through your body Two conquistadors stand ready to chop your head off Treasure Room Volcanic boulders conceal a treasure room Conquistadors Two conquistadors stand ready to chop your head off Stomach Wound The sandpaper-like texture of your rotting stomach sizzles with each beat of your heart Gangrenous Stomach Wound The sandpaper-like texture of your rotting stomach sizzles with each beat of your heart The fresh, clear water cascades into a porcelain basin Faucet The fresh, A lavishly illustrated and ancient book of prophecies details your quest Future Cat A demonic-looking cat sits on a brass towel warmer Prophecy A lavishly illustrated and ancient book of prophecies details your quest Station This strange machine harnesses cosmic rays to show you where to go next in space Triangulation Station This strange machine harnesses cosmic rays to show you where to go next in space of The Flying Spaghetti Mon A page is ripped out, but you get the gist chocolate! Treasure This mysterious treasure is none other than Preachings of The Flying Spaghetti Mon A page is ripped out, -Accelerator Tubes A series of tanks hold a green substance that may accelerate the decay process Corrosion-Accelerator Tubes A series of tanks hold a green substance that may accelerate the decay process A lone soapbox sits ready for the soapboxing politician of your choice Crates of Marbles For the more simplistic pleasure of a nicely patterned floor Soapbox A lone soapbox sits ready for the soapboxing politician of your choice Condenser This machine converts water into urine Blubber Lamp The blubber from a whale keeps this lamp burning day and night Moisture Condenser This machine converts water into urine From Saarin The brilliant words of the religious leader Saarin are kept here Church Creed A story straight from the Bible - conveniently located right above the alter Sermons From Saarin The brilliant words of the religious leader Saarin are kept here -A-Tron It's always nice to have choices Tortoiseshell Spectacles Worn by a resident learned gentleman of the village Lobotomize-A-Tron It's always nice to have choices Crate A fresh delivery of condensed milk from the Mc'Coy farmstead is here! Delivery Crate A fresh delivery of condensed milk from the Mc'Coy farmstead is here! Cleanliness is next to godliness! Moldy Bread The enticing aroma of warm fresh bread gone bad Toothbrushes Cleanliness is next to godliness! These precious gems glitter in a display case Poison For the Assassin out there who likes to make his job a little easier Diamonds These precious gems glitter in a display case of Arrok A must-have for fans of dark mages Talisman of Arrok A must-have for fans of dark mages Chicken You can't eat it, but you can sure make fun of its smell! Stinky Chicken You can't eat it, Bottles Fans of the darker sciences may be interested in this fine roach vodka Stove Something smells good Insecticide Bottles Fans of the darker sciences may be interested in this fine roach vodka These living globs of goo indulge a taste for flesh or feces Sprays Each can tells you about it's glorious contents! Oozes These living globs of goo indulge a taste for flesh The weekly news If you finish all six, 360 is reached! Spirits Something tells you it's illegal for a reason Newspapers The weekly news Some art objects from other lands Crabs Wait until they split before capturing them or it's game over for you! Diplomats Some art objects from other lands The coolest school items, straight from the Adolpha hub! Jocks The coolest school items, A lowly beverage enjoyed by the entire Inuit population before the ice caps melted Eskiminzins A lowly beverage enjoyed by the entire Inuit population Magazine Hold on to your burlap sack-covered seats! Physique Magazine Hold on to your burlap sack-covered seats! Desktop A pretty standard computer Garden-variety Desktop A pretty standard computer These specialty laboratory chemicals may or may not be what you're looking for Chemistry Set A child's chemistry set perhaps, but education is always useful! Chemicals These specialty laboratory chemicals may or may not be what you're looking for Something about these labels reminds you of outer space Certo Bottle Art Design by Patricia Snootaloo Falsified Branding Phew! Designers Something about these labels reminds you of outer space Dissections Help teach medical students, or waste your own time? Shamwow! Anatomy Dissections Help teach medical students, Serums A big selection of experimental serums with at least 2 out of 75 having a potential for curing any or all disease Populations! Drinks The choice of the urban svelk mercenary Enjoyed while taking a break from looting the ruins of your civilization Coffee Drinks The choice of the urban svelk mercenary Wait, these candies hopped back into the store when it got too dark outside! Fashion Magazine These are way out of style Hoppers Wait, The disgusting but resilient organ Ladders They might come in handy for something! Federations Gallery Livers The disgusting but resilient organ Gallery Trading Co The store owner ran off with all her profits Pocket the gold and disappear Nobility Gallery There's a fine selection of brand new items! Vicinity There's a fine selection of brand new items! Will make you feel younger just by taking one of these bottles daily! Hazmat Gang This is a secret group Vitamins Will make you feel younger just by taking one of these bottles daily! Watch out for these desert creatures! Pick-pockets So sneaky that you never even knew you'd been robbed! Butchers Shhhh! Scorpions Watch out for these desert creatures! Sure, they're good for you But do you really want to lug them over the hills and dales? Watermelons Sure, The trash receptacle around which the bird flies Liquor Display First bottle is on me! Dumpster The trash receptacle around which the bird flies See what big piles of noninflammable and noncorrosive tin we throw away Bravado See what big piles of noninflammable and noncorrosive tin we throw away Ramblers Orcs and lizards brought together through raging music Weasels enjoy digging up trash right around here Dune Ramblers Orcs and lizards brought together through raging music A roll of snakeskin military fencing suitable for building a new home Eureka! Accidentally invented by Boogs Bucker two years ago today Measuring tape It's a combo map, ruler and measuring tool all in one! Warthog With his big dog heart beat big Apocalypse-weave A roll of snakeskin military fencing suitable for building a new home method Spit-and-polish method like you should feel at home with this brand new combat suit Haywire punching machine This will test how much pain you can really take Super-soldiers like you should feel at home with this brand new combat suit 's Never drink and drive! Never drink and fly a plane! NEVER drink and fight robots Kites These usually just drift about minding their own business Teetotaler's Never drink and drive! nice specimen! Within this box, there is a solution to any ammo shortage Zoologist nice specimen! It's still sizzling y'know! Melee Weapons These babies can pack a punch Air-ships Time to take to the skies! Lizard-on-a-stick It's still sizzling y'know! This surely can't work with missing parts Teacups and saucers Don't get these confused, they tend to get very upset! Endoskeleton This surely can't work with missing parts These green skins yell a lot Security Systems These babies are top of the line! Preservatives Bottle from "The Simpsons" "season of joy Phenotype These green skins yell a lot Research This secret file was taken from the ruins of Moreauvre University before the norhtwest repeative irruption Obviously a Dea Primate Moreauvian Research This secret file was taken from the ruins of Moreauvre University before the norhtwest repeative irruption else it falls to the core The inside machinery is in perfect condition, amazing what can survive an explosion When it comes to entering the earth on must do it very precisly else it falls to the core or else you might not make it to the ground Stem Cells Excellent for treating those rapidly aging conditions or sports organ failure! You need to enter the air at a precise speed and angle or else you might not make it to the ground The interiors a bit burnt but doesn't look like anything useful was destroyed A scratch on this dial and the machine becomes very hot which could be dangerous We offer reconnaissance, surgical strike and terror cell elimination Some slow, some fast, some long solution Floor Care we don't want people tripping and getting hurt You will need to float the egg in some liquid so you will need to find some liquid that is the same as egg solution Transparency the opposite end of opacity obviously After you pressurize it will resist changes to shape from pressure or impacts depending on the size of the egg Airstrike wherever you see fit An egg can withstand between 20 to 30 gs before cracking depending on the size of the egg a name for your ship If you conquered a galaxy why would you name it after a bus stop? and share in this new Galaxy Empire of Man! Inverting the gravity will change your perspective but make sure you get it right and here we are! Welcome aboard the Galaxy Express 999! Donating in exchange for Mind Units Your brain is enrolled in our proprietary glorified Facebook program out the eggs and he doesn't even get any of that If you leave the window open too long your eardrums will explode!

[sunken-standard]

Yet Another Drabble Ask Meme Fill

Requested by @mychakk [I'm sorry I forgot] : Ok, I think I'll go with those numbers, feel free to combine them or do them alone or just pick one that fits your fancy anything for sure will make my day :) 9 (Is a chicken really a bird if they can’t fly?), 14 (Fire! Fire! Fire!), 15 (You watched 4 seasons today?), 42 (This cost a thousand dollars?!), 43 (Foreigners…pffft), 102 (Buy me chocolates and tell me everything’s going to be okay), 107 (This house isn’t even haunted) My top favourite 'verse is the Holmes Family Function (the best), Tom-verse and Vegas. But I'll love anyhting ;) Huge thank you :) looking forward to them :)

This is the list for round 3: https://prompt-bank.tumblr.com/post/146525402053/drabble-challenge

Filled: 17, 95, 72, 84, 105, 41, 28, 69, 90, 95, 46, 100, 104, 81, 18, 24, 108, 99, 25, 61, 66, 52, 80, 73, 54, 89, 26, 32, 71, 16, 20, 27, 45, 57, 89, 32, 44, 64, 102, 27, 57, 6, 2, 70, 5, 7, 93, 9, 14, 15, 42, 43, 102, 107 Yet to be filled: 86, 96, 2, 14, 20, 21, 22, 94

"Is a chicken really a bird if they can’t fly?"/ "Fire! Fire! Fire!"/ "You watched 4 seasons today?"/ "This cost a thousand dollars?!"/ "Foreigners…pffft"/ "Buy me chocolates and tell me everything’s going to be okay"/ "This house isn’t even haunted"

Molly walked into her lounge and screamed.

It wasn't as common an occurrence as one might think, even when taking into account that Sherlock Holmes had taken over her flat as an annex of his own a few years before; she was used to all manner of things greeting her at the door when she returned home from work.  Two dogs (on separate occasions), a monitor lizard, a pathetic Sherlock covered in fly paper, a pathetic Sherlock covered in bee stings, a pathetic Sherlock covered in marmalade (as was half her kitchen that time, though she'd got a much nicer kettle and a new blender out of the deal, so she hadn't complained much), a shirtless Wiggins and Sherlock with a tattoo gun, The Night King himself (okay, yeah, just Mycroft, but with a codename like Iceman [which she wasn't supposed to know, but Sherlock also used her brain as an annex for things he didn't want to keep in his own] the comparison was just begging to be made), and now the corpse of Sherlock's ex-girlfriend in rigor on her sofa.

Except, no, that wasn't a corpse.  It was a sex doll.  Wearing one of Molly's cardigans and a pair of her pyjama bottoms.

She supposed it could be worse.  It could be a sex doll that looked like one of her exes.  

"You're out of Fairy and if you have to use the loo, which you always do because apparently riding the bus is just too much excitement for you, don't look in the bathtub," Sherlock greeted as he tramped down the stairs to the kitchen.  She added Marigolds to her mental shopping list as well, because he was wearing hers (and goggles, oh lovely) and she was sure she didn't want that pair to ever be near anything that would ever be near food again.

"So, um...  Why?  And why is she wearing my clothing?"

"Really more of an 'it.'  I had to put something on it, it was—" he wiggled his fingers "—weird, and wrapping it in a blanket made it weirder.  If it makes you feel better, I used clean clothing so none of your DNA will accidentally be transferred."

"Wait, is this evidence? We talked about evidence in my flat."

"It's not evidence per se, at least not in a criminal capacity.  Well, it could be, should my client choose to press charges, but she won't, considering she's technically dead—"

"Your client," she said flatly.

"Whose name I can't reveal because I adhere to the strictest professional standards of confidentiality—"

"Oh for shit's sake, I know who it is.  Why is it here?"

"Mrs. Hudson would evict me if she saw it.  And it is rather creepy in an uncanny valley sort of way. Its eyes close when you tilt it past a thirty degree angle and the mouth is, ah, motorized.  Wiggins accidentally bumped the 'on' switch when we were carrying it inside and I've actually never heard a grown man scream like that before."

She narrowed her eyes at him.  "You're not keeping it here."

"It's only a few days, she's making shipping arrangements."

"Shipping arrangements."

"She said it would be a waste of a prop to destroy it entirely.  She's ah, left me with the task of disposing of the... peripherals, though."

"Peripherals.  Going to go out on a limb and guess that's what's in my bathtub."

"Yes."

"And you're cleaning them because...?"

"DNA," he said as though she were daft.

"Uh huh.  I'm going upstairs because yes, fine, I actually do have to wee and it's not because the bus is exciting, it's because I time my last cup of coffee so I don't fall asleep on the way home and miss my stop and a side-effect is having a full bladder by the time I walk through the door.  Whatever. When I come downstairs, you're explaining this to me from the beginning and leaving out no detail.  Then we'll figure out what to do with your Stepford Girlfriend."  

*

"So she has her face trademarked and copyrighted and all that stuff, and she sent you to fetch her intellectual property."

"More or less.  There may or may not be multiple blackmail components."

"Oh even better.  Did you shatter a few kneecaps just for fun, too?"

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing.  I mean, I'm sure pimpin' ain't easy."

"So because I took on a case for someone in the sex industry I'm a pimp?" he asked slowly.

"You're actively helping a whore blackmail one of her clients, from whom you just stole a sex doll."

"That bears the exact likeness of my client and falls well outside the scope of her contract with the party I reclaimed the property from.  Honestly, you're a feminist, you should be championing this.  Imagine if Tom had a sex doll made that looked just like you."

Ugh, he had a point.  Of course he had to go and humanize Irene Adler.

"Fine," she relented.  "But you really should wear the fur collar for your coat more often. Maybe put some bling on John's cane and start carrying that around when you wear the hat."

At least she could still amuse herself with that image.

*

"You're actually logging these?"

"She wants to know what he's been—ahem—using it for so she can charge him accordingly."

"I can think of a pretty short list of what he's been using it for," Molly said, fishing yet another of the doll's vagina inserts out of her tub.  Which Sherlock was going to sanitize repeatedly before her next bath (the tub, not the vagina; those were about as clean as they'd ever get thanks to the boiling water and bleach).

"And I'll thank you to keep that list to yourself," Sherlock said, taking the insert and turning it around to look for the serial number.  He was really putting on a good show of not being flustered, but the colour in his cheeks gave him away.  

"Is this real human hair?" Molly asked, squinting down at the next piece.  She was tempted to take her gloves off just to feel it, but then they'd have to re-sanitize it because he had some weird hang-up about DNA all of a sudden.  

"Mmhmm.  That one costs fourteen thousand Yen.  A thousand pounds, give or take."

"This cost a thousand pounds?!  A fake fanny?  Wh—oh.  Oh God, it's moving.  It's moving and I don't know how I turned it on."

"How—?" he began, side-eyeing her.  He rolled his eyes and shook his head, then put down the insert he'd been holding.  "Oh for—give it here, there's got to be a switch somewhere."

She watched as he examined it from all angles, then started poking and prodding at it with his gloved fingers; she wasn't sure if it was sexy, absurd, or just weird, but she knew she was the one blushing now, too (which was ridiculous, considering how often she examined actual genitals belonging to an actual person in any given week).  She thought she was going to choke on her own saliva when he used two fingers to check inside.  She really hoped he didn't make that face when there was a real woman involved.

"I can't...  I can't turn this off.  I have no idea how to turn this off," he said, sounding like he couldn't believe what he was even saying.

"Batteries!  Just take the batteries out!"

"I don't know where the compartment is."

"Google it."

"You google it, I've got my hands full of—thing."

"Maybe it's on a timer.  Just put it in the box and maybe it'll stop on its own."

Sherlock shrugged and withdrew his fingers, then set the insert into the box.

"Oh God," he said, staring down into the box.

"What?"

"It set another one off.  And there goes another, it's a chain reaction."

"It's just like in The China Syndrome," she said peering around him to look into the box, which had begun to vibrate its way across her bathroom floor.

"The what?"

"Have you never watched a film?"

He didn't dignify that with a response.

*

"I can still hear them," she said, looking up at the ceiling.

"I'm sure the batteries will die soon," he said, eyes on his phone as it moaned another text.  It was beginning to sound like a bad porno soundtrack.  "Ah, good. Her people will be here on Monday to properly crate it for its trip to Hong Kong.  Which is not where she is, so just completely forget I said that."

"Today is Tuesday.  This thing is going to be here a week?"

"Six days, yes."

"It's so creepy."

Sherlock tipped his head in agreement. "Trust me, it was worse when it was naked."

"Can't you at least move it somewhere?"

"It weighs eight stone, it's like moving a water heater."

"I want to watch telly and I don't want to sit next to it."

"Fine, I'll sit next to it, you sit on the other side."

*

"Maybe if we just put a bag over its head," she said, leaning forward to look past Sherlock at the doll.  He'd inched his way nearly into her lap, pressing her into the corner of the sofa like they were on a Twister ride over the course of the last half hour.  She didn't mind, really, except for the doll being there.

*

"No, that's worse, take it off, it looks like a murder."

"You like murders," Sherlock said from just behind her.

"No, you like murders.  I like my job, which is only tangential to actual murder."

"Potato, potato," he said. "What about a mask?  You have one in the spare room from Mary's hen do."

"The one with the willy on it?"

"The one with the feathers," he said flatly.  "It's bigger, it'll cover more of the face."

*

"Oh my God, that's horrifying. Why is that so horrifying?  Take it off.  Take it off."

"You take it off, you brought it into our house!"  She realized too late the slip she'd just made.  Thankfully, Sherlock didn't seem to notice, as he was tentatively sliding closer to the doll again to remove the mask.  She didn't know why, but she kept expecting it to turn its head in her direction and start singing 'Non, je ne regrette rien' or some Marlene Dietrich song or something equally and unexpectedly creepy.

Sherlock used the back of a pen to flick the mask off the doll's face and they both relaxed a bit.  

"Okay," he said.  "I have an idea.  What if we just put it in the corner where the lamp is that you never use?  That entire corner is an oubliette, we'll just put it in your desk chair and wheel her over there for the rest of the week."

*

"Nope," she said simply, her hair standing on end.  

"To be fair, I didn't say it was a good idea."

Sherlock's phone moaned a text and they both jumped.

"I'm never going to sleep again. This house isn’t even haunted!  Or, it wasn't, until that thing showed up."

"You don't believe in ghosts."

"And you don't believe in wearing pants under pyjamas.  What's your point?" she snapped.  She wanted that thing gone.

Sherlock simply narrowed his eyes at her while pulling out his phone.

*

Molly hefted her overnight bag on her shoulder and Sherlock shifted the still-vibrating box of fannies as they waited by the kerb.

"Least it's not raining," Sherlock said conversationally.

*

"Is a chicken really a bird if they can’t fly?" Wiggins said, one hand on the wheel and the other out the window doing that uppy-downy swimmy thing people usually stopped doing once they were old enough to drive.  "They're closer 'a dinosaurs anyway, I saw it on telly."

"They have feathers and beaks—taxonomically, they're birds.  And chickens can fly, only not very far," Sherlock said, bored.  They were both stuffed into the back seat because there was a suspicious stain on the front passenger seat and neither of them wanted to sit there. The box of fannies was secure in the trunk.

"Did you know—"

"Oh God, here we go," Sherlock muttered.

"—some paleontologists stuck plungers on chickens' bums ta figure out how T. Rex walked?"

"I did not not know that," Molly said, because how else does one respond to that?  It wouldn't be very polite to ask their driver, 'how many mushrooms have you ingested today?'

"Spent'a day watchin' Natural World, din't I?  Last four series."

"You watched four series today?" Molly asked incredulously.  

"Well, only'a ones wi' Sir David Attenborough.  He's'a only one I really like."

Fair enough, she thought.

*

"I'm going to be deleting useless trivia of dubious accuracy for hours," Sherlock grumped while Wiggins filled the tank with petrol.  "I'm going inside to get...  Something, anything, I don't really care, I just don't want to be in the car any longer."

"Buy me chocolates.  And tell me everything’s going to be okay.  I mean, we're halfway to Slough with a box of sex toys in the boot and it's almost midnight and I'm pretty sure Wiggins is high."

"And somehow I'm the dramatic one.  Wiggins isn't high, that's just how he is.  Everything is going to be fine, it's just a quick trip to an abandoned brickyard, we'll be back at Baker Street where there are no bloodthirsty Maschinenmenschen waiting for us to fall asleep to murder us before you know it."

"Maschinenmenschen?"

"Now who's the one who's never seen a film?"

"Just go and buy me a bloody chocolate bar."

*

"So you keep an arsonist on retainer for special occasions?" she asked, watching as Sherlock situated the box in the centre of the hastily-constructed pyre.

"Former arsonist.  It was only once and he's a very successful builder now.  Care to do the honours?" he asked, holding out a disposable lighter and a rolled-up copy of The Sun.

She took the newspaper and let Sherlock light it.  "Oh!  Fire!  Fire!  Fire!" she chanted as she bustled around the pile of cast-off wooden pallets and construction scraps, lighting the bits of cardboard sticking out here and there.

"So if we were just going to burn them, why did you bother cleaning them?"

"I was actually going to sell them on eBay.  It seems he had some 'limited editions' and you wouldn't believe what they're worth.  We're burning potentially £8000 or so."

"Are you serious?  Why are we burning them?  Is this some kind of ridiculously expensive catharsis?"

"Wh—catharsis?"

"Like, burning them in effigy. She was your ex-girlfriend.  Or is this some kind of noble gesture, like, protecting her honour or something?  So no one can defile her silicone bits."

"Noooo," Sherlock said slowly.  "They're just extremely unsettling and I didn't want to leave them to roam about the flat like... demonic caterpillars in case they escaped their box.  I'm beginning to suspect they're powered by nuclear fuel rods.  Really, we should probably step back, actually.  Or leave, and rather quickly, since the fire department is on its way.  Run."

*

"I'll get Wiggins to help me move it tomorrow," Sherlock said after they were settled in his bed.

She'd never slept in his bed before. It was weird.  He'd slept in hers dozens of times, and often those times overlapped with her own occupancy, but this was... weird. "Though you could just stay here for the rest of the week."

His suggestion was a bit too casual.

"You don't actually want to move it, do you?"

"It's very heavy.  And unnerving. And I will deny that with my dying breath if you ever tell anyone I said that."

She couldn't help herself, she giggled. "Perish the thought.  No one would ever believe me, anyway. Just like that time I met Bill Murray.  Not John's friend Murray, the Bill Murray.  It was in an Indian takeaway in Hackney and he knew I recognized him and he just leaned into me and said, 'No one will ever believe you.'  No one did, either.  But it was him."

"Who's Bill Murray?"

"An American actor.  Caddyshack, Ghostbus—"

"Foreigners…pffft.  Boring."

"We really need to work on your cultural literacy," she said, then yawned.

"I've seen every film I'll ever need to, and for the rest, there's Wikipedia."

"We're watching Groundhog Day tomorrow night."

"It's a punishment, isn't it?"

"Yes.  You'll take it and you'll like it.  Now go to sleep, I need to be up in four hours."

"Make it five.  We'll take a cab. I need some teeth for an experiment I've been thinking about, tomorrow is as good a day as any to start it."

"I won't argue.  Still can't believe we burned £8000 worth of fake fannies."

"I still can't believe they exploded like that.  I should hope they come with warning labels on the package."

"Maybe that's part of the allure. Like playing penis Russian roulette."

"Molly."

"Hmm?"

"Go to sleep.  And please never utter the phrase 'penis Russian roulette' again."

"You're no fun."

"I'm lots of fun.  Tonight was fun."

"Yeah, it kind of was.  Night."

"Night."  

"Sherlock..."

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure we got rid of all of them?  Did you, ah, remove whatever was in the doll before you dressed it?"

There was a beat of silence, then, "Bollocks."

[forbidden-sorcery]

The Bridge To Body Island

(re: @skograt regarding the terrible film adaptation) Background: in 2006, author Robert D. Schneck released a collection of strange American tales titled The President's Vampire: Strange-but-True Tales of the United States of America.

One included story claims to be a true event related to the author, entitled The Bridge To Body Island. (outside of the paranormal ouija spirit shit, I have a lot of family in middle Wisconsin, the “body island” thing is related to reality, there are a bunch of little islands in the Wisconsin river that have occasionally been the resting place of corpses floating down the river over the years.) In 2014, the rights to the story were acquired in order to adapt it into what became this fucking awful movie The Bye Bye Man. I heard this story in the middle of the night when the author was discussing the book on Coast To Coast AM. This is how us small town hicks got our urban legend kicks before creepypasta. Without further apology for the shitty movie, follows the original incarnation:

“At the end of the summer of 1990, three friends living in a small town in Wisconsin carried out an experiment with an ouija board that brought them into contact with a monster. “Eli” wrote this account in third person form. Sun Prairie is in the southern part of the state and is best known as the home of artist Georgia O’Keefe. [She was a painter of big blowers and cow skulls; O’Keefe hated Sun Prairie.] It is surrounded by dying family farms and scattered hamlets like Pumpkin Hollow and Killdeer Creek. It has some of the last one-room schoolhouses in this part of the country, and more importantly for this story, is just three miles from the railroad hub between Chicago and Minneapolis. I had just received a BA in Cultural Anthropology from the University Of Stevens Point-Wisconsin and decided to pursue a graduate degree in Madison, Wisconsin. Katherine, my long-time girlfriend, was born and raised in Madison and was working there for the summer. I got a job at a group home in Sun Prairie, working the night shift. It came with a small salary and a smaller apartment in the basement of the house. It was on the outskirts of Sun Prairie, a stone’s throw from Pumpkin Hollow on a dead end street near the county line. I was responsible for watching over three adults who had Prader-Willi Syndrome (PWS), a genetic disorder named after two German doctors. People with PWS manifest a number of disturbing symptoms, including stunted growth, limited brain development, and high-pitched voices like cartoon characters, but the most dramatic symptom is their insatiable appetite. PWS patients do not produce the hormones that inform the brain that the body has had enough to eat, so they always feel famished. Since the brain thinks it’s starving, it sends message to the endocrine system that stunt growth and preserve every calorie taken in. A vicious cycle develops, with the body squeezing every last bit of fat out of food while cannibalizing the muscles for more protein. As a result, those with PWS get obese with fewer calories than normal adults, and never feel full no matter how much they eat. In order to satisfy their ravenous appetite, patients will periodically try to escape, break into stores, order huge meals at restaurants, etc. They would eat anything, whole jars of mustard, toothpaste by the tube full, even medications if given a chance. My job was to keep them in the house and out of trouble in the evenings. Katherine’s parents and most of her friends had moved away and she was working part time for a political organization. Her job did not pay enough for her to live in the city, so she moved into the basement with me. I drove to school every day and dropped Katherine off at work; then we rode back to the group home at night so I could work. Between school and the group home’s evening schedule, we didn’t have time to meet new people in the area, so we were very happy when a mutual friend moved there from Stevens Point. John got a job as a dishwasher and took a room in a nearby boarding house run by an old woman. The three of us hung out all the time in Sun Prairie. We took walks in the fields, checked out the local graveyards (some of the oldest in the state), and collected local folk tales and urban legends. (I was studying both anthropology and folklore and previous had done parapsychology work with OBE’s at Stevens Point.) [An O.B.E. or “out-of-body-experience” is the sensation of having left the body. Spiritualists call it “astral projection” and it may or may not be paranormal in nature.] That fall, a childhood friend gave me an ouija board that he’d found in the attic. It was an old wooden board and John and I spent hours trying to get messages, but all we ended up with was gibberish. I convinced Katherine to join me at the board but our results were no better. Then she tried it with John and they immediately started to get results. For the next few days, the three of us spent hours on the board. The messages came from the “Spirit of the Board,” an entity that had never lived and that acted as an interlocutor between other entities and us. These entities had different personalities and individual ways of moving the planchette: some used abbreviations, some were terrible spellers, and others used Latinate words with some skill. Some preferred using the pointed end of the planchette to choose letters while others like the porthole. The Spirit of the Board would control and introduce each of these intelligences, and for weeks we communicated with them. Like the Spirit of the Board, they claimed to not be spirits of the dead but some kinds of archetypes or free-ranging consciousnesses. Each entity had its own personality, but for the most part they concentrated on imparting New-Age wisdom and philosophy. Since the board would only work when Katherine and John used it, I got the job of transcribing the proceedings and carefully filled notebooks with correspondences. I am interested in scientific parapsychology and wanted to find out if some sort of paranormal phenomena was indeed happening, so I started to conduct a number of experiments with John and Katherine. They got messages from the board by touching the planchette with their palms or a single finger, with the ouija board turned around, and wearing blindfolds in a darkened room while I followed the planchette with a flashlight. No matter what innovation I introduced, the results were the same; the entities kept communicating. I suggested automatic writing and even attached a small golf-pencil to the planchette but this did not work. Then we tried for EVP phenomena with similarly disappointing results. [EVP or Electronic Voice Phenomenon are the “spirit voices” caught on recording equipment, especially audiotape.] We also tried pendulums, but again the board was the only method that got results. I decided to add a new twist to the procedure by writing down the questions without saying them out loud. I selected questions that would need to be answered by numbers, words, or letters. Though the answers were vague, as usual, they remained consistent and could be said to correspond with the questions. After weeks of this, John and I were getting bored with the eight or so entities that the Spirit of the Board would let us communicate with and their repetitious philosophy. I was determined to talk to a spirit that had lived, whose existence could be verified, and who would give us information we could check. At one point the board told us that there were indeed other entities we could communicate with, but they might be dangerous, and it encouraged us to continue talking to the other entities. After some digging, we heard about a sinister entity that wanted to communicate with them. They also found out that this entity was not only a human but was still alive. John and I were eager to communicate with whoever it was, but Katherine was adamantly against it. She had a history of paranormal experiences and had been sufficiently spooked by them to not even watch scary movies; she certainly had no interest in deliberately contacting something sinister. Katherine refused for a few days, but the two of us were able to wear her down and she agreed with try again. She was not happy about it but was very close to both of us and we were determined to see it through. At first, to Katherine’s relief, the board simply refused to communicate with the desired entity and instead brought us the same old tiresome folks. The questions that I wrote or asked were now all about the living mind that wanted to reach us. At one point we learned that all of the other entities knew about this person and gave us a name; he was called the Bye-Bye Man. Upon seeing that name spelled out on the ouija board, Katherine panicked and quit the board again. We tried to press on without her, but nothing happened. Katherine was now very clear; she refused to try to communicate with the Bye-Bye Man, but we cobbled together a compromise. We would not communicate with the Bye-Bye Man directly but would try to get some piece of information about him from the other entities, something that could be tracked down an verified. Now we began interrogating the spirits but they refused to cooperate until John got an idea: we would stage a strike. The Spirit of the Board was given notice that we were tired of the entities and their refusal to tell us anything about the Bye-Bye Man, so from now on we were going to be using the Parker Brother’s board that we’d bought for the planchette. We tried the new board for a few days but got nothing. Even Katherine and John got nothing useful. Still, we waited a few more days before picking up the old board and discovered that the strike had worked; when we communicated with the Spirit of the Board again it agreed to tell us about the Bye-Bye Man. The story came out in bits and pieces over several sessions. It began in Louisiana sometime in the 1920s, when an odd little boy was put in an orphanage in Algiers. Nothing is known about his parents but the boy had albinism, a genetic condition that causes a lack of pigments in the eyes, skin, and hair; but it was his behavior that was strange. Maybe part of it was the physical and social isolation that can happen to children with albinism; their unusual appearance, the way they must avoid the sun, and, in this case, ever worsening eyesight. He could not play games and may have been teased or bullied by the other children. As the boy grew older, his behavior grew worse, and there were run-ins with the people who ran the orphanage. Then one day he was arguing with the head nurse in her office when he attacked her with a pair of desk scissors, leaving her an invalid. After this savage assault, he fled. He ran away to the train-yards, and began traveling around the country by jumping freights. The viciousness he’d already shown was now unleashed, and he began carrying out random killings. His eyesight finally failed, but that did not stop the Bye-Bye Man; he created a companion for himself, sewing together pieces of his victims into something named Gloomsinger. Gloomsinger was made from tongues and eyes and endowed with some kind of life. It acted like a hunting dog, sighting the next victim and letting out a whistle that the Bye-Bye Man could hear, which brought him to the scene. In order to keep Gloomsinger in good repair though, it was necessary to sew on new eyes and tongues regularly. The Bye-Bye Man became something of an expert at removing them, and their removal identified his handiwork. The organs of his victims were kept (along with his other belongings) in a seaman’s bag he called his Sack of Gore. At some point, he also developed a kind of telepathy and was able to sense when people were talking, or even thinking about him. As long as they thought about the name “the Bye-Bye Man,” they were psychic beacons and he was able to get a bead on them and slowly track them down. He would travel hundreds of miles by rail to attack unsuspecting gossips, and talk of the murders quickly spread through the rail-yards and hobo camps. The board also gave us some other details. The Bye-Bye Man had long hair and a tattoo on his wrist; he wore glasses that were painted black and wore a wide brimmed hat that covered his white face and something that looked like a pea-coat. And he carried the Sack of Gore. We also got a magic recipe that would help the Bye-Bye Man find us. I don’t remember the details, but we had to take a big green glass bottle, cork the mouth, and go out into the moonlight, Then if we quickly uncorked it and held it to our ears, we would be able to hear Gloomsinger whistling. We also asked where the Bye-Bye Man was now. Chicago, the board said, and coming closer. Katherine became very afraid, and refused to participate in any more sessions. I was not happy because I didn’t think we’d gotten anything worth checking, and preliminary searches produced nothing. John, meanwhile, thought the whole thing had been very interesting. It looked as though the experiment was over and the ouija board was put away. Soon after that, Katherine began waking up in a panic; she had suffered panic attacks as a teenager, but they were back and they always seemed to hit at 3 AM, the “soul’s midnight.” [This refers to the idea that most deaths and suicides take place at 3 AM or between 3 and 4 AM. It would require a statistician to prove whether or not this is true, but the idea is certainly widespread. “My grandfather was in the Merchant Navy in WWII, and he said the worst watch to be on was 3-4 AM because that’s when your soul was supposed to be ‘at its lowest’... “I remember my grandparents (both nurses) referring to 4 AM as “death hour” or something like that, as it was the most common time for patients to die. They put this down to probably being in deepest sleep by that time, and that it’s the coldest part of the night...” “I can also state from personal experience of signing search warrants, that the police still like to raid drug dealers at 3-4 AM as they figure they will be at a low ebb then and less likely to put up resistance.] John’s work schedule had changed so we saw less and less of him. Without the ouija board experiments, the focus returned to normal pursuits like work and school. One day I ran into John at the Student Union at the college, so we had a beer and talked. I was worn out because Katherine kept waking up with panic attacks at 3 AM and when I told this to John he turned grey. He said he had been waking up at the same time with a feeling of great uneasiness (not panic attacks per se) since they stopped using the board. He chalked it up to a change in his work shift. He was taking some kind of vitamin supplement to regulate his sleep, so I got the name of it and bought some for Katherine in hopes that it would help her and me sleep. A week or so after the meeting, I returned to Wausau to see a concert and brought Katherine with me. By this time it was winter, and we had time to kill before the show started, so I took Katherine for a walk downtown. It was Sunday and most of the businesses were closed, so after hanging out at the bookshop and record shop we had run out of distractions. I suggested a walk across the railroad bridge to a little island in the middle of the Wisconsin River, locally known as “Body Island.” The island is down-river from Big Bull Falls, and one explanation for the name comes from this being the place where bodies in the Wisconsin wash up. In the 19th century, many lumberjacks drowned while dislodging logjams, and their remains ended up here. Some say the name comes from a woman that worked at Prange Way in the 1970s. [Prange Way was a department store; today the building is the Eastway Corporate Offices.] She used to cross the trestle bridge as a short cut on her way home until one night when she vanished. After an all-night search, she was found on the tip of the island, staring into the water. She had been stabbed and was in shock and died at the hospital; what made this murder so memorable, though, was that her sister was killed a few years later in the cemetery where this woman was buried. Despite the morbid associations, Body Island is a pretty little preserve of wild grassland and offers a nice view of the city. [Its real name is Barker Stewart Island and it is named after the lumber company that once had a mill there. A few years ago a woman was beaten to death on the shoreline opposite the island.] Katherine and I were walking along the track when something got my attention. I don’t remember what it was, but I climbed down from the bridge to the riverbank to look, while Katherine waited on the wind swept trestle. While she was standing there, she heard a faint noise. At first she feared it was a train whistle - it is an active train bridge - but soon she realized that the whistle sounded more human than locomotive. She felt the familiar sense of fear rising up inside, and when I returned she was having a full-blown panic attack. She said she heard something, but as much as I tried I couldn’t. Then she heard it again, “as if it were right over my shoulder.” Still, I heard nothing, and after we left the bridge Katherine suffered from panic attacks for the rest of the day. Back in Sun Prairie, we found a message from John on the answering machine. He sounded upset, and when I met with him, he told me a strange story. He had come home from work, and when he arrived at his room in the boarding house, had tried to do some drawings (John’s hobby is art.) He couldn’t concentrate, though, and had an “uncanny feeling,” so he decided to call us, not knowing that Katherine and I were out of town. Not finding any of his friends at home, he tried reading, but couldn’t. By this time it was late enough for him to get some sleep, but for some reason he couldn’t stand lying in the bed and decided to sleep on the floor. He fell fast asleep and at some point a knock on the door woke him up. “John,” he heard Katherine say, “let’s go out to breakfast!” We often stopped by to pick up John for breakfast on our way into Madison. It was a common enough thing. He got up and was looking for his clothes when he noticed that it was still pitch black outside. He heard the voice again saying, “John, let’s go out for breakfast.” It couldn’t be us, not that early in the morning, and he was overcome by a fear so intense that he felt limp and laid back down on the floor. The time the voice, still sounding like Katherine, said, “John... open the door!” But he just laid on the floor where he could see hall light through the crack under the door and the shadow of someone standing outside. It went away, but he did not sleep the rest of the night. I told him that it couldn’t have been us because we were in Wausau. He checked with the old woman and the man who lived across the hall to see if they had knocked on his door, but they all said no. The woman kept the front door locked at night, and she was the one who opened it for visitors. No one stopped by that night. John still wonders what would’ve happened if he had opened that door.”

[maryseward666]

The Heavy Metal Penis Chart

The Heavy Metal Penis Chart

I figured I would post this because this is it the first time some stud rocker lost his reputation as a sex God. This wasIt was originally floating around on Metal Sludge and then they will either took the sign down for us to take it down so here is one more time for posterity.

Folders closure, I do not find this myself on archive.org I will link the post to her I found out all of this information now how fun girls!

Stefan Adika / Dad’s Porno Mag A recent email said Stefan is hung like a baby and is a quick shooter. However, Stefan disagrees and says, “I might be Jewish, by I ain’t no Tiny Tim.” His wife is ex-porn star Shelby Stevens, so you know she’s had more dicks than a urinal at LAX. It could go either way, but if you read my Ho-Bag Volume 1, you’ll find out what Stefan is all about.

Art Alexakis / Everclear Art has an 8 inch cocks, he’s loud and practically rabid for eating pussy and rimming. He loves his balls sucked, is a great kisser, and enjoy his encounters in odd/semi-public places. Art has a huge sexual appetite and is very loud/likes to talk dirty. However he’s not fond of condoms and sometimes his cock isn’t fully hard, which might have something to do with him being a former drug addict. Either that or he’s just old. He tries to come off as such a sincere, sweet guy, but he’s a HUGE slut. He does treat you well when you’re with him–he even holds hands/cuddles and gives his real phone #. He also likes his women to be pretty intelligent and able to hold their end of a conversation about current issues, etc. Watch out for this one, though–he’s unclean!! Either he doesn’t wash the crotch area often or he has a serious problem…smells very dirty. Gross!!

Phil Anselmo / Pantera Well after a short glimpse of that MONSTER power tool in their debut home video it’s no wonder that Rob Halford is such a big Pantera fan! Reports are Phil is a bit over 10 inches!! There are also rumors that Phil can swing both ways, at least orally.

Vinnie Appice / Dio Your jaw won’t get sore sucking his cock, so he’s an average joe. But his ‘jap eye’ does blow out enough jizz for 10 guys!

Tom Araya / Slayer If you’re down with pentagrams and Satan, then not only is Tom for you, but he’s got a big cock to boot. Tom is about 7 inches, loves to fuck and is not selfish at all! Also has an uncircumcised dick.

Sebastian Bach Bach can deliver the good, as most skinny, tall guys can. He has been seen with a variety of groupies out on the road and reports are that he doesn’t shower much. He does have an above average cock and can be a lot of fun, but is ego is totally out of line and out of control. Is known to be a very big asshole, so be careful.

Reb Beach / Winger Will tell you he’s married, but still pursue you. If you play with his dirty onion ring he’ll worship you. Average all-around; shows respect, and doesn’t seem to be TOO much the player. Likes ’em young.

Jon Bon Jovi / Bon Jovi Back in the day Jon was a huge slut but he’s chilled out a little. Jon has an average size cock and like a lot of guys prefers to receive oral than give it. He has good rhythm though and will even wear 2 condoms if you ask him to.

Mick Brown / Dokken Absolute waste of time. Maybe 3 inches if you pull on it. Could be the drugs though.

Rob Bruce / Slik Toxik Rob has a pretty small cock, plus he only has ONE BALL! He lost his other ball in an accident. Sounds like he comes up short in both areas.

Jerry Cantrell / Ex-Alice In Chains Large (maybe 10 inches), impressive penis. Can handle two girls at once but he loses points for smoking too much crack. Sleeps around because he can, but fixates on the woman he wants to be with.

Edward Carlson / Flotsam & Jetsam He’s VERY good with his tongue. His dick is about 9 inches!! If you blow him, he’ll ask if you’ll swallow. If you don’t, he’s nice enough to respect that, but he’ll wanna cum on your tits. He’s also into a little ass-play. You wanna try a dildo out on him? Go ahead and ask. He’ll say yes!

Igor Cavalera / Seplutura He cares about whether you get off or not and he is, let’s say, VERY intense in bed. Also has a huge cock.

Carlos Cavazo / Quiet Riot Not only a very sloppy and boring lay, but he is very, very, very small. There is no riot going on in his pants.

Gary Cherone / Ex-Van Halen, Ex-ExtremeGary is so small if somebody saw you sucking his dick it would look like you were smoking a joint! Word has it that he is a lot like Freddie Mercury, on and OFF the stage.

Billy Childs / Britny Fox Here is one straight out of the sludge mailbag and out of the past. Our source said it looks like he has a nice size package, but unfortunately he suffered from Whisky D and popped too many pills! It was worse than a wet noodle! This is also called Jerry Dixon syndrome in some circles!

James Christian / House Of Lords James has a small, but thick cock, but unfortunately a very hairy back. It looks like he’s wearing a sweater! Unlike a Snickers bar, he isn’t very satisfying.

John Corabi / Ratt, Brides Of DestructionThe former lead singer of Motley Crue also has something in common with Tommy Lee, if you know what I mean. Sometimes those short guys will surprise you with a huge hog.

Jimmy D’Anda / Ex-BulletBoys He has a decent size cock, but not great. He likes to propose marriage while you’re giving him a blow job.

Zack De La Rocha / Ex-Rage Against The Machine Now he is excellent in bed, though he has really ugly, curly-haired crotch and balls, but his oral and finger skills make the hair ordeal worth it. Cock is about eight inches in length, about seven in girth. Loves doggy more than any other position, and seems to be obsessed with playing with a girl’s hair. Has a thing for olive skin and dark hair … overall, solid 9, and he takes care of you after the fact.

Glenn Danzig / DanzigThe bottom line is his cock is just like him, short.

Amir Derakh / Orgy Above average cock length but skinny. Some of said he is obsessed with anal, so don’t drop the soap in the shower. A good kisser but the personality of a corpse. Does shave his pubic hairs so that’s a plus.

C.C. DeVille / Poison I knew a girl that use to go to his house up in the Hollywood Hills & said he liked to Jack Off with lotion 3-5 times a day when he was a Speed user! Nothing fancy on the size either. Must be all the bleach. Doesn’t shut up either.

Dez / Coal Chamber 7 inch dick with a slight bend to the left. He will smoke some weed with you then sweet talk you to get you into bed. No oral from him and he likes girl on top, then after he cums, he gets rid of you.

John Dolmayan / System Of A Down MASSIVE cock. Great in bed, but selfish. Loves to receive oral (if you can get all of it in your mouth), but hesitant to reciprocate unless he knows you. Very dominant, but will NOT look at you while he is fucking you. Likes when you play with his balls. If you are a groupie and act like one, he will treat you with ZERO respect.

Taime Downe / Faster Pussycat Taime’s got a nice size cock. We heard he’s into that let me CHOKE you while I POKE you thing too. I heard he’s a breast man and likes big boobs, and is pretty good in the sack. Also rumored to bat from both sides of the plate. Hasn’t seen the sun since 1987.

David Draiman / Disturbed He is the ultimate ladies man & is with a different girl every night. He will sweep you off your feet with love & affection, but watch his other hand because it’ll be on some other chicks ass. He’s got a nice size cock, but can be a selfish fuck, so bring your vibrator. Also, you may walk funny the next day because he rams really hard. In addition, some say he’s pretty cheap and never pays for a thin, and one girl even says he plays for both teams.

Kevin DuBrow / Quiet Riot Kevin has a good body and an average dick. He’s very passionate and worth looking into providing you dig guys who wear a rug.

Fred Durst / Limp Bizkit Fred is an average joe, or should I say an average Fred. Nothing too big but nothing too small. He loves to eat pussy and loves to get oral in return. He’s a little on the kinky side and he really loves the freaky girls. Tries to use the press to get date and frequently comes off like a creepy stalker

They resuscitated version of this post is available here: http://www.gossiprocks.com/forum/latest-gossip/104730-penis-chart-metal-groupies-kiss-tell.html

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