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CreepyPasta / Missing Spongebob Squarepants Episode
« Last post by Spitfire on Yesterday at 07:16:40 AM »
I just saw Slimebeasts new video and just had to update the story. Everything nasty like blood is removed, no more suicide because that is impossible to write about and updated political agenda. I hope it is okay to post this here. Without further ado: Missing Spongebob Squarepants Episode

TRIGGERWARNING

I was working at Nickelodeon Studios for a year in 2017 in animation. I was paid only 77 cents for every dollar of my male colleagues of course because Nickelodeon is run by patriarchal white male cis scum. To fucking white males it might seem normal, but it is oppression.

Now, since I worked directly with the editors and animators, I got to view the new episodes days before they aired. I'll get right to it without giving too many unnecessary details. The entire staff was somewhat sapped of creativity so it took them longer to start up the season. But the delay lasted longer for more triggering reasons. There was a problem with the series premiere that set everyone and everything back for several months.
Me and two other oppressed minority workers were in the editing room along with the white lead animators and sound editors for the final cut. We received the copy that was supposed to be "Fear of a Krabby Patty" and gathered around the screen to watch. Now, given that it isn't final yet animators often put up a mock title card, most often an insult for us, with triggering, often times hurtful titles, such as "There are only two genders" instead of "Rock-a-bye-Bivalve" when SpongeBob and Patrick adopt a sea scallop. So when we saw the title card "Squidward's Suicide" we didn't think it more than another triggering insult.

The happy-go-lucky music plays as is normal. The story began with Squidward practising his clarinet, hitting a few sour notes like normal. We hear SpongeBob laughing outside and Squidward stops, yelling at him to keep it down as he has a concert that night and needs to practice. SpongeBob says okay and goes to see Sandy with Patrick. The bubbles splash screen comes up and we see the ending of Squidward's concert. This is when things began to seem off.

While playing, a few frames repeat themselves, but the sound doesn't (at this point sound is synced up with animation, so, yes, that's not common) but when he stops playing, the sound finishes as if the skip never happened. There is slight murmuring in the cis-normative crowd before they begin to boo him. Not normal cartoon booing that is common in the show, but you could very clearly hear microaggressions in it. Squidward's in full frame and looks visibly afraid. The shot goes to the crowd, with SpongeBob in centre frame, and he too is oppressing him, very much unlike him. That isn't the oddest thing, though. What is odd is everyone had red glowing eyes. Very detailed. Some of us looked at each other, obviously triggered, but since we weren't the writers, we didn't question its appeal to children yet.

The shot goes to Squidward sitting on the edge of his bed, looking very forlorn. The view out of his porthole window is a night sky so it isn't very long after the concert. The unsettling part is at this point there is no sound. Literally no sound. Not even the feedback from the speakers in the room. It's as if the speakers were turned off, though their status showed them working perfectly. He just sat there, blinking, in this silence for about 30 seconds, then he started to sob softly at the memory of his oppression. He put his hands (tentacles) over his eyes and cried quietly for a full minute more, all the while a sound in the background very slowly growing from nothing to barely audible. It sounded like a slight breeze through a forest.
The screen slowly begins to zoom in on his face. By slow I mean it's only noticeable if you look at shots 10 seconds apart side by side. His sobbing gets louder, more full of hurt and anger. The screen then twitches a bit, as if it twists in on itself, for a split second then back to normal. The wind-through-the-trees sound gets slowly louder and more severe as if a storm is brewing somewhere. The eerie part is this sound, and Squidward's sobbing, sounded real as if the sound wasn't coming from the speakers but as if the speakers were holes the sound was coming through from the other side. As good as sound as the studio likes to have, they don't purchase the equipment to be that good to produce sound of that quality.

Below the sound of the wind and sobbing, very faint, something sounded like laughing. It came at odd intervals and never lasted more than a second so you had a hard time pinning it (we watched this show twice, so pardon me if things sound too specific but I've had time to think about them). After 30 seconds of this, the screen blurred and twitched and something flashed over the screen as if a single frame was replaced.
The lead animation editor paused and rewound frame by frame. What we saw was horrible. It was a still photo of a Pepe. The face was smiling and he wore a hat with the words “Make America Great Again”. He was naked down to his underwear. He was standing on some pavement that was probably a road.
The most upsetting part was that there was a text below Pepe. “Two Terms” it read. We were of course mortified, but pressed on, hoping that it was just a sick joke.

The screen flipped back to Squidward, still sobbing, louder than before, and half body in frame. There was now what appeared to be tears running down his face from his eyes. The tears were done in a hyper-realistic style, looking as if you touched it you'd get water on your fingers. The wind sounded now as if it were that of a gale blowing through the forest; there were even snapping sounds of branches. The laughing, a deep baritone, lasting at longer intervals and coming more frequently. After about 20 seconds, the screen again twisted and showed a single frame photo.

The editor was reluctant to go back, we all were, but he knew he had to. This time the photo was that of what appeared to be a white male FOX News anchor, no less vile than the last one. He was looking right into the camera. The text crawl on the bottom read that Trump was the best president we ever had. I had to choke back vomit and one intern, the only Mexican transgender in the room, ran out. The show resumed.
About 5 seconds after this second photo played, Squidward went silent, as did all sound, like it was when this scene started. He put his tentacles down and his eyes were now done in glowing red like the others were in the beginning of this episode. They were crying, bloodshot, and pulsating. He just stared at the screen, as if watching the viewer. After about 10 seconds, he started sobbing, this time not covering his eyes. The sound was piercing and loud, and most fear inducing of all is his sobbing was mixed with screams.
Tears were dripping down his face at a heavy rate. The wind sound came back, and so did the deep-voiced laughing, and this time the still photo lasted for a good 5 frames.

The animator was able to stop it on the 4th and backed up. This time the photo was of a boy, about six years old. He was smiling at the camera and formed the “White Power” sign, formally known as the OK sign. The animator proceeded. It was hard to believe, but the next one was different but we couldn't tell what. He went on to the next, same thing. He went back to the first and played them quicker and I lost it. I vomited on the floor, the animating and sound editors gasping at the screen. The 5 frames were not as if they were 5 different photos, they were played out as if they were frames from a video. We saw the hand slowly lift, we saw the kid's eyes focus on it, we even saw two frames of the kid beginning to blink.

The lead sound editor told us to stop, he had to call in the creator to see this. Mr Hillenburg arrived within about 15 minutes. He was confused as to why he was called down there, so the editor just continued the episode. Once the few frames were shown, all screaming, all sound again stopped. Squidward was just staring at the viewer, full frame of the face, for about 3 seconds. The shot quickly panned out and that deep voice said "EAT IT" and we see in Squidward's hands a cupcake. He immediately puts the pastry in his mouth and eats it. Realistic saliva and crumbs splatter the floor and his bed, and he flies back with the force. The last 5 seconds of this episode show his body on the bed, on his side, still chewing, staring blankly at another one. Then the episode ends.

Mr Hillenburg is obviously angry at this. He demanded to know what the heck was going on. Most people left the room at this point, so it was just a handful of us to watch it again. Viewing the episode twice only served to imprint the entirety of it in my mind and cause me horrible nightmares. I'm sorry I stayed.
The only theory we could think of was the file was edited by someone in the chain from the drawing studio to here. The CTO was called in to analyse when it happened. The analysis of the file did show it was edited over by new material. However, the timestamp of it was a mere 24 seconds before we began viewing it. All equipment involved was examined for foreign software and hardware as well as glitches, as if the time stamp may have glitched and shown the wrong time, but everything checked out fine. We immediately knew that Russian hackers had something to do with it.

There was an investigation due to the nature of the photos, but nothing came of it. The police oppressed us and lied about the content, and insisted that it wasn’t harmful. Typical white male cis transphobic homophobic supremacist racist ableist fat shaming police.



Original Story: http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Squidward%27s_Suicide
Originally written by: https://www.reddit.com/user/SuicideSquidward
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Slimy Stories / Re: Red Apple Snacks
« Last post by Tim Jong Thrillin on 04:46:10 PM 05/22/17 »
I bought some Faceless Co. brand catnip once, and now my stupid cat won't stop leaving his tentacle residue on the ceiling fan in my bedroom.  I tried calling their helpline, but the chittering laughter on the other end made me black out, and now I have constant headaches from my vision trying to reconcile itself with the third eye that grew on the back of my head.

Also, the catnip smelled terrible and I can't get that stink out of my living room.  4/10, would not buy again.
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Slimy Stories / Re: Red Apple Snacks
« Last post by Abysmii on 05:06:11 PM 05/21/17 »
About 5 paragraphs in I suddenly realized what this story is.  Thank you for taking our dumbass request.

As someone who was bullied a lot in elementary school, I derive a sick sort of schadenfreude from this story.  The bullies never got their comeuppance.  Reading it now gives me a little closure, so thank you for that too.

Good to see you taking a pot shot at Faceless Co again, that packaging always creeped me out.

I get a really good 80's B-movie Horror vibe from this.  It's funny, so much creepypasta tries to make slasher flicks a serious and edgy thing, when sometimes the best method is just embrace the campiness.  Your story did a great job of that.

Overall, very entertaining and very relatable.
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Slimy Stories / Re: Red Apple Snacks
« Last post by Memus on 03:28:45 AM 05/21/17 »
Gee, that's pretty swell, little shit got what was coming for him ;)
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Slimy Stories / Red Apple Snacks
« Last post by Slimebeast on 03:10:53 AM 05/21/17 »
Red Apple brand snack foods aren't made with apples. I mean, I guess that's probably obvious to most people, but as a kid I assumed they were. Even when the bag said "potato chips" or "sourdough pretzels" right there in bright lettering, I still didn't give the actual ingredients a second thought.

That's one of the main reasons Tracy Zackowski made fun of me from second through fourth grade. There were other reasons, but they're not important to these events and I'd rather not publicize them, anyway. One fateful childhood conversation in the sandbox lead to a protracted argument about whether or not Red Apple brand pork rinds were made of apples.

I was on the wrong side of history, naturally, but at the time I thought the other kids were incapable of reading the words right at the top of each package. "Red". "Apple".

Tracy and I walked the same way home from school, and every day it was the same routine.

"Cottle's is coming up." He would say it casually, at first, referring to the small gas station and market that sat in the middle of overgrown brush between the school and our homes. The first warning changed now and again, "Let's go to Cottles," or "Have you been to Cottles this week?"

It didn't matter if I walked ahead of Tracy, or if I lagged way behind. He'd run to catch up, or wait until I came to him. As we'd walk closer and closer to the dreaded Mom & Pop store, he'd get more and more excited. Questions would turn to demands. "We have to go to Cottles, they have something you want."

The store was a bit run down. I guess some would call it creepy, especially if they had to stop for gas in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night. We only saw it during the day, however, so to the both of us it was just a familiar landmark. One that had morbidly fascinating deer carcasses in full view whenever a hunter paid to have their kill butchered.

The main issue was the vending machine. The obnoxiously loud, humming behemoth barely fit between the entrance and the front window. It was always stocked to capacity with a certain product I'd become way too familiar with.

Red Apple snacks.

Every time I passed the place, Tracy would erupt in laughter. He'd point me to the machine, sometimes even push me toward it, all while telling me to "Get me a bag of apples". It wasn't funny the first time, and I could barely keep from screaming my head off when years passed and the joke didn't let up.

Once, he even handed me a quarter and told me to get anything I wanted. When the joke was over and the jeering laughter finally stopped, he demanded it back. I think it was the nonsensical nature of it all that bothered me the most. He refused to let a long-defunct running gag die a peaceful death.

As that time passed, many things in the neighborhood changed. A residential project began construction near the school, the farm near my home was sold to a Saudi Arabian businessman who simply wanted it shut down and left abandoned, and a family with three daughters around my age moved in next door. The changes weren't necessarily all good or all bad... an abandoned farm made for great kickball games... but the fact that things were changing so rapidly in the first place made my young life seem hectic.

The biggest event, though, one that rocked the entire county, was the murder at Cottle's Market. I didn't know all the details then, and I still don't know them, now. Civilized people didn't speak of such things, apparently, and local news had too much respect for the Cottle family to publicize the events.

All I knew... all I know... is that Mr. and Mrs. Cottle were killed in some unimaginably brutal fashion. A way that caused my father to go pale when he heard. A way that made Mrs. Panteleon so sick to her stomach that she clutched a wastepaper basket in her lap, just because one of the kids asked her about it.

It was a fair few months before I was allowed to walk home past Cottle's Market again. Even then, that told me that there had been no arrest or capture related to the murders. Looking back on it, I was allowed to walk home again around the same time Kirby, the school janitor, stopped coming in to work. He'd always been a weird person. Unkempt. Fidgety. Someone on the peripheral of any given situation. I could never tell if he was humming or just talking to himself.

I can only assume Kirby was somehow brought in for the killing. I had seen him outside Cottle's at one point, shirtless, scratched up, and hauling pig carcasses in through the side door. Obviously, he'd been given extra work helping Mr. Cottle with his butchery service. It would be easy to railroad him. I don't even think he would've necessarily understood what was happening. Not with mental clarity, at least. If that's what happened, they made a mistake. A very big, very bad mistake.

It was getting dark when Tracy and I left the school musical. It was Little Shop of Horrors. I had wanted to be the Dentist, but ended up as one of Audrey II's nameless offspring at the very end of the show. Since my Dad worked nights and my Mom was still an unrepentant alcoholic at that point in time, I guess they wouldn't have been able to come see me sing, anyway. Not that any of us could carry a tune.

"Cottle's is coming up."

I stopped in my tracks. I had only been allowed to walk home again for a few days, and I assumed he had given up the gag out of fear due the gruesome murder. I was wrong, of course. He had simply forgotten about it until that moment.

"Have some respect." I snapped back, quickly brushing past him.

"You know what I could really go for?" Tracy giggled.

There was no point to it, anymore. No more "comedy" to wring out of it. He had gone from immaturity, to bullying, to what now seemed to be outright sociopathy. I tried my best to ignore him, to not give him the reactions he was trying to pull out of me.

"Do you have any quarters?" He asked.

"Fuck off."

"You cussed. Now you owe me." Tracy acted as if I wouldn't know what he was going to say I owed him. Red Apple chips. Red Apple shoestrings. Red Apple whatever. A proud product of Faceless Co. There was no conceivable way on Earth I was going to be surprised by anything at that point.

At least that's what I assumed.

As we passed Cottle's Market, Tracy and I both froze. There was no need for one of us to ask the other if we saw it. It was an immediate and simultaneous reaction. Our eyes locked on the vending machine.

The building still had a fluttering, tattered length of crime scene tape stuck to a doorway now left off its hinges. The shattered front window was long boarded up, with the shards of glass carefully swept away. Where there had once been a brownish-red smear from the building to pump one, there was now nothing more than a slightly darker patch of worn pavement.

It would've been nothing special to look at, anymore, if not for the humming, brightly lit vending machine. It was still as empty as I'd last seen it... except for the glossy apple in the C5 slot. The fresh, shining, red apple.

Almost as immediately as I had been transfixed by the sight, I turned to Tracy and punched him hard in the upper arm.

"No!" I shouted, "I'm tired of your stupid jokes! We're gonna fight!"

It wasn't the most eloquent challenge, but it got the point across.

Tracy just looked at me, rubbing his arm absently as a huge, smarmy grin spread across his face. It was like watching a cartoon wolf salivate over an unsuspecting hen. All at once, Tracy sprinted to the vending machine, his hand shooting into the pocket of his jean shorts. He drew out a handful of coins that glimmered in the fading evening light and jammed one into the machine's coin slot.

"What are you even doing?" I called over. I was finally ready to fight Tracy. To the death, I imagined. The fact that he was running away, but not out of fear of being beaten, confused and frustrated me.

Tracy turned back to look at me, the vending machine's light making him all but a silhouette.

"You're gonna eat it!" he sang, laughing, "I'm gonna make you eat it!"

Shaking my head, I started to walk away as Tracy punched the corresponding code into the number pad. I heard the beeps, then a thunk, then Tracy's annoyed groan. Looking back for what I thought would be one last time, I saw the apple wedged against the glass. It had failed to drop properly.

"Good," I muttered to myself, still fuming, "Lose your stupid quarter."

Then, I heard the shriek.

It wasn't a yell or a scream. It was a piercing, sharp, echoing shriek that reminded me of the squirrel my dog found and ate during one ill-fated Thanksgiving.

Looking back again, I saw Tracy on his knees at the foot of the machine. His arm was in the take-out port, up to the shoulder. He had reached in for his purcharse, but now appeared to be stuck. He frantically gestured for me to come over.

This time, it was my turn to laugh. I pointed at him, making sure to drive home his embarrassment.

"Help me, you idiot!" he called, "I'm caught on something! It's caught in my skin!"

Rolling my eyes, I made a purposefully slow, plodding trek back toward him. I didn't even consider leaving him there to rot, since helping him out might change his opinion of me. If it didn't, I'd at least have something to hold over his head. Mutually assured ridicule, I guess.

He shrieked again.

Even from the road, I could see the spatter of red as it exploded inside of the machine. I could hear the sharp plink of liquid bursting against glass. Tracy's head lolled to the side, and his feet kicked out from under him in an involuntary spasm. I dropped any selfish thoughts at that point and started running to him.

Tracy looked up at me again in what I can only assume was a moment of regained consciousness. Silently, weakly, he reached his free hand out in a pleading gesture.

Then, the sound of cracking bone sent a shudder through me. I blinked reflexively as Tracy's head, torso, and legs appeared to file themselves away in the crimson slot. It happened so fast that the rapid blinking has forever burned the memory into my mind as a grisly, awkward, stop-motion film.

By the time I reached the machine, only the sound of a mechanical hum remained, and only Tracy's limp feet protruded. One of his Hexalite shoes came off in my hand as he fully disappeared within.

I banged on the machine as hard as I could. I kicked at it. I threw rocks. However, the glass... now fully opaque with blood... didn't even suffer a single crack. Something dropped to the bottom with a wet, sickening thud, and though I didn't dare open the gore-flecked slot, I knew it was an apple.

A very, very red apple.
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Hell Rising / Re: HR Introduction/Re-Intro Thread
« Last post by Don Durk on 06:17:59 AM 05/09/17 »
G'day, W/B.
Mo and Mams are still around sometimes, rusty not to much  :bleed:
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Hell Rising / Re: HR Introduction/Re-Intro Thread
« Last post by Fred Frining on 07:24:41 PM 05/08/17 »
Gosh finally! I've found my password and logged back onto HellRising from over, like, seven years.

Anyone knows if Rusty Buckles still play? Is Mo even here still?
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Hell Rising / Re: Ball Blam-Burglerber?
« Last post by GoCart on 07:47:36 PM 05/04/17 »
Oh that's right. I remember reading that before. Still, don't think I had encountered it until now. Thanks for the info!
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Hell Rising / Re: Ball Blam-Burglerber?
« Last post by Slimebeast on 04:06:55 AM 04/30/17 »
Indeed, if you donate a certain amount to server/game, I'll rename an item in your inventory to what you ask. Within reason. Etc. etc.
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Hell Rising / Re: Ball Blam-Burglerber?
« Last post by Mammon on 10:57:17 PM 04/29/17 »
Person donated for a custom item.
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