Show Posts

This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.


Topics - Slimebeast

Pages: 1 2 [3] 4 5 ... 35
31
Umbrella meets SCP meets Dunder-Mifflin.

http://facelessinc.com

32
Random Projects / Hell Rising browser-based online game
« on: 05:38:09 PM 01/08/16 »
Zombie vs. Vampire vs. Survivor!

http://hellrising.com

33
Random Projects / Lousy Comics (no, really.)
« on: 05:37:13 PM 01/08/16 »

34
Random Projects / Puny Mortals mini-comic
« on: 05:36:48 PM 01/08/16 »
Written by myself, illustrated by Dave Newbold, colored by Keith Garletts.

http://incomics.com/comics/Puny-Mortals_Zero.pdf

35
Random Projects / Nosferatu Graphic Novel
« on: 05:35:19 PM 01/08/16 »
Written by myself, illustrated by Justin Wayne, colored by Sal Nieto, published by Viper Comics in 2010.

http://vipercomics.com/2010/08/30/nosferatu/

36
Creepy Media Picks / "Corruptus" Reading
« on: 03:03:09 AM 12/30/15 »

37
Creepy Media Picks / "Red Snow" read by the Pasta Shade
« on: 03:35:42 PM 12/25/15 »

38
Slimy Stories / Real Cop Drama with Officer Glad
« on: 05:16:51 PM 12/12/15 »
This is yet another post asking for information from other Redditors about a TV series that aired a while back. If you have some helpful information, please feel free to comment and/or message me personally.

I'm pretty much positive that remember the title as "Real Cop Drama", but I could be wrong. The opening is a montage of real-life crime footage from CCTV and dash cams, set to an instrumental version of "I Fought The Law". Each clip stops abruptly before someone is shot, hit by a vehicle, etc.

I'm definitely sure that the host of the show was called "Officer Glad". Of course, probably not even his actual surname. He was a slightly dumpy, older cop. White hair, a few wrinkles, and the typical "dead fish" frowny-face you see on old dudes who have had enough bullshit in life. Boston accent.

I saw about five episodes of this series back in the mid-2000s when I was still young and living with my parents. We had Eagle as a cable provider, but they didn't keep up on the bill so we just got whatever happened to be de-scrambled or relatively watchable through the fuzz. It was on channel 5, but of course with no working box I'm sure that wouldn't have been the intended location.

I'm not sure if any of this sounds familiar to anyone reading this, yet. The show would always open with Officer Glad stepping out of the shadows on a green screen "street corner" location, and his opening catch phrase was "Scofflaws won't sleep soundly, tonight." followed by "I'm Officer Glad" and a short description of the night's theme.

Not sure what the original air time was, or even the original air dates. Since it would be about three or four AM when I'd tune in, I can't imagine I was seeing anything other than repeats. I was in high school at the time and had a lot of anxiety about upcoming school days.

Production value was nearly non-existent outside of the shoddy green screen and opening montage. After a brief intro for each following vignette, uncut raw footage from various Police-related incidents would play.

The show was exploitative to the nth degree. Vehicular homicides from traffic cameras, grainy security footage of deadly convenience store robberies... nothing appeared to be off limits for the show. Unlike the opening sequence, these clips showed the blood and gore without a shadow of shame.

One that haunted me for years to come, which I just purposefully don't think about now, involved a young woman trapped under a city bus that had run up on the sidewalk. All you could see from the haphazard, shaky camera footage was her head and arm sticking out next to one of the tires.

She looked around with a pallid expression of shock as he arm slowly, absently felt along the concrete. Her mouth moved but nothing came out. When the camera adjusted slightly, looked under the bus itself, I could see that the rest of her body was elsewhere. Her attempts at calling or feeling for help were just the random motor functions of severed body parts.

The thing that bothered me the most was her body, though. The summer dress, the single red high-heeled shoe. In that fleeting moment of horror, the imagery also told a story about her. I couldn't stop wondering where she was going that day, who she was going to meet, and what would have happened in her life if that horrible moment hadn't occurred.

I'm off-topic. Really, I just want to find out if anyone has some information on this show. I want this to be fake. I want to find out that the whole thing was staged with very good practical effects. If I can go through the rest of days with the knowledge I was very expertly trolled by a shitty exploitation show, I'll be able to sleep a little better.

I do think there's a good chance the show was staged, and if you do know the series, you'll probably agree once I talk about the evidence.

The majority of footage centered on traffic stops, which were interspersed with the horrific random accident clips. Of course, these segments were just as bloody.

The stops followed a sort of pattern. Dash cam footage of a vehicle breaking a traffic law like failing to signal, running a stop sign, or driving erratically.

After the officer pulled the driver over, a disagreement would ensue. The driver would insist they hadn't done anything wrong, or they'd say that their infraction was hardly worth the trouble of ruining their day. A couple got really agitated and demanded lawyers or constitutional citations on the spot.

In each clip, the argument was loud, but brief. The minute a gun was drawn on the driver, they'd instantly clam up.

The theme would swell up again. "I Fought The Law". The audio would drop except for that instrumental piece as the officer would fire several shots into the vehicle and strut away as if they'd completed a job well done.

There were some runners. Two or three drivers managed to get out and run, only to be shot in the back until they were face-down on the pavement. Then, a single bullet to the back of the head at close range.

A passenger jumped out at one point and darted into the woods nearby. The officer calmly returned to the patrol car, retrieved a spot light and shotgun, then just as calmly followed after. One of the few actual edits to these clips occurred when the cop returned alone with an additional handful of empty shells.

One of the cars had a "Baby On Board" sign, but it was impossible to see what happened to the supposed child. I convinced myself it wasn't there that day.

The reason that I think this is fake, that I PRAY it's fake, is the common thread in all of the videos.

Every time someone gets pulled over and killed, it's by Officer Glad. The doughy, hard-nosed old man with the white hair and tired expression.

I want to believe this was just a very strange prank show, or a spin-off I don't understand because of the lack of context. The gore porn is bad enough, and it's what still disturbs me the most, but if Office Glad is actually a real person and not a character... it makes everything so much worse.

Those few episodes of that show scared me straight. As I mentioned, I was still young at the time and it had a lasting effect on how I view the law and the people who enforce it. I've been as straight an arrow as you can imagine from that point forward - and make no mistake, I was no saint before then.

It does little to comfort me, though, to know that people were executed for the most minor infractions. Things they didn't even know they were doing, or had no control over.

I'm not a "scofflaw", but I still can't sleep soundly at night.

39
The Slime Pit / TooSpooky.com open!
« on: 08:50:17 PM 11/14/15 »
Hey, guys.

I opened http://TooSpooky.com as a Creepypasta/Horror only site.

YAY.

40
Creepy Media Picks / Undercooked Analysis: A Few Suggestions
« on: 07:21:09 PM 11/13/15 »

41
Slimy Stories / The $20 Game
« on: 02:08:28 AM 10/29/15 »
I never belonged to a Fraternity, but I still had the whole "frat boy" experience in college. Drink until you black out, wake up sick as a dog, drink until you don't feel it, repeat the next day with no idea who you hung out with, where you went, or who you screwed the night before. All I'll say is that while I look back on it with no semblance of pride, it was an experience I feel I'm a better man for living through.

I formed a strong bond with a bunch of guys back then, and while they'd be the first to say "no homo"... come on. Let's be real here, there's always at least a little "homo".

I don't think about the dudes I liked nearly as much as one I didn't connect with at all, however. His name, or rather, the thing everyone called him, was "Creepy Joe". I don't even know if "Joe" was his actual name.

Creepy Joe was the kind of guy who hung around at the edges of the party. He didn't talk to many people and was generally awkward. But hey, he didn't drink much of the booze and never got into shit-fights, so nobody really minded his presence. With Joe, "presence" is the perfect word because you could sort of feel him coming into a room. Long before you saw the wild, already graying hair and the unshaven muzzle, you'd just sort of know he was skulking around nearby. Even if you could barely make out his favorite powder blue hoodie through the crowd of grinding bodies, you knew it had to be him.

The last time I saw Joe was at one of those parties. The kind where you could have sex with someone and no one would really be able to tell because of how everyone was packed into the place. Creepy Joe was hovering around the liquor, as usual. This was always odd because, again, he didn't really drink.

I didn't pay him any mind at first beyond the customary "Creepy Joe be creepin'." comment that we had started repeating the moment one of us saw him. It was like our own competitive game of Where's Waldo.

As I mentioned, Joe never really spoke to many people... but when he did, it was always a girl. On that particular night it was a strawberry blonde I'd had my eye on as well. I don't remember much about her from that night other than her hair. I wanted to bury my face in it like fucking caveman. I'd never seen her at a party before, and apparently no one else had either since she managed to draw a lot of attention by doing next to nothing.

I was happy to see one of my friends pull Joe off his game, but not as thrilled when the same friend brought him right up to me. This friend of mine was known for drinking much faster and much harder than any of us, and this night was no different.

Apparently, he had a great idea for a game he wanted to try out with a few of us - especially with Creepy Joe.

"The $20 Game", he called it, claiming it was something everyone tried at least once. The idea was that a few of us would pack into a car, drive to the local 24-Hour Superstore, and spend up to $20 each while buying the most sinister and outlandish items possible. The intention was for the combined items to freak out the cashier and make them think we were up to something terrible. The winner, as he explained it, would get their $20 back, evenly split among the losers.

It made little sense to me, as you'd imagine, but I was always up for a prank. One harrowing, completely wasted car trip later, about five or six of us were rushing through the automatic doors and into our separate aisles.

I couldn't really think of anything particularly intelligent at the time, so I went for the most obvious choices. duct tape, a meat tenderizer, and trash bags. Pretty straightforward. I found out just how uninspired I had been when we all gathered back outside and laughed about how frightened our cashiers had looked.

One of the guys had purchased a bag of candy, Dora the Explorer band-aids, and an Exacto knife. Another picked up a tub of Vaseline, a zucchini, and a "For An Awesome Dad!" greeting card. There was also something with a candy bar and a rat tap, but I can't recall the other item. I was essentially the laughingstock of the moment for picking such basic stuff.

Creepy Joe was surprisingly tame, as well. Just some zip ties, a sleep aid, and a shovel. That was it.

Needless to say, neither of us won though I have no idea who did. Likely it was the guy who came up with the idea in the first place, since that would only make sense. I don't even recall how we judged the entries. Another curb-hopping car ride back to the party, and the whole thing was just a very stupid memory.

I would've forgotten the whole thing, just another escapade drowned to death in one too many drinks... but as I mentioned, that was the last time Creepy Joe came around, and there's a reason for that.

Come morning, the strawberry blonde he'd been chatting up was nowhere to be found. As weeks turned into months, and months into years, people stopped looking.

Also missing from the house... some zip ties, a bottle of sleep aid, and a brand new shovel.

42
Hell Rising / NPC Spawn Time Updates
« on: 06:29:36 PM 10/26/15 »
Mammon provided an update that allows changes to NPC spawn schedules, so...

  • The Faceless Stranger now spawns only during the midnight hour every night.
  • The Masked Psycho spawns all day on the 13th of every month, not just Friday the 13ths.
  • Holiday NPCs will automatically spawn in their respective times as opposed to being hand-added (late.)
  • Battle the Venomortis all day on Saturdays.
  • Catch the cowardly Serling Salmon sports mascot every Sunday for a dumb prize.

More as it develops.

43
Creepy Media Picks / Don't Hug Me, I'm Scared. #5
« on: 10:26:39 PM 10/15/15 »

44
Slimy Stories / The Cat That Wrote
« on: 11:50:24 PM 10/14/15 »
Just to set one thing straight from the beginning, I photograph events. Weddings, sweet 16s, stuff like that. I'm not in photography for art's sake, even though people have always said I had a great 'eye'. It's never interested me on that level, but rather than throw away what everyone insist was a "gift", I decided to meet them half way and turn it into a revenue stream.

Up until a while back, the strangest thing I'd taken pictures of was a three year old's twenty-first birthday. I shit you not. The kid had some kind of terminal disease, and her Mom wanted to give her every birthday party and Christmas she'd ever have within that one year she'd still be alive.

Sad as fuck.

But now, that's the second weirdest job I actually took. We're not going to get into the creepy jobs I rejected, mostly old men who wanted a "discreet photographer" for God knows what.

The weirdest customer, as of right now, was the crazy cat lady. Her name was Ruth or Rhonda or some stale old R-name like that. Rhoda? I don't know. It doesn't matter, because "Crazy Cat Lady" is more fitting. She called up one afternoon when I had little else to do. I couldn't really tell what she wanted, at first, because she tended to mutter and ramble - a deadly combination when it comes to conversation.

It took several tries for me to pull the reason for the call out of her. She had seen a local news story about a deformed house cat who was taking the internet by storm. She called it "Sad Cat" but I'm pretty sure she meant "Grumpy" since that's the only one I'd heard of.

As it turned out, one of her cats was "special", too. Once she explained that she had 18 cats ("currently", as she put it) I figured it was no big surprise to hear an inbred mutant had popped out somewhere along the line.

Regardless, she wanted me to photograph her cat and "stick it in the computer" so she'd be rich like Sad Cat's owners. I was entirely sure she had no idea how this sort of thing worked, but since she was willing to pay my fee and she seemed like a harmless fuddy-duddy, I agreed to take the pictures.

Have you ever smelled cats?

I mean, just an ungodly amount of cats. Litter boxes, dander, cat sick, and stale food...

That was the Crazy Cat Lady's house. I could smell it from the doorstep, where I stood on a cat-shaped welcome mat that read "Meow Do You Do?" An actual, peering feline face greeted me from between the porch slats. It stared up at me with moon eyes, then disappeared back into the dark.

I expected the doorbell to play the Meow Mix theme when I pressed it, but instead it simply didn't work. I rapped on the door a few times, then stood back from the odor.

The Crazy Cat Lady didn't stop talking once she let me into her hovel. She was a hoarder. Of course. Stacks of plastic bins and boxes were filled with random objects, creating tight spaces and a small, branching path of clean floor to traverse between them. Nothing was really garbage, per say. There were old dolls, heaps of clothing, and gift-wrapped presents she must've never been able to give away.

To be honest, other than the smell, I was most put off by the never-ending jumble of words that came out of her mouth. Her son was a fisherman with red hair and a huge beard. Oh, she had two sons. One was a fisherman, and the other is a State Trooper who use to give her yellow flowers every Mother's Day until five years ago. And her husband, a Navy man, died of a heart attack. (I wonder why.) Also, her sons married awful women and the county was harassing her... I could go on, but you probably see what I was dealing with already.

We stopped at the dining room, or what would have been a dining room if not for the junk. The table at the center of the area had various clothing items and boxes on it, and the chairs were tucked under and similarly used for storage.

Sitting on top of the heap was the cat.

A smokey gray cat with black ear tips.

The cat that wrote.

I'm sure the old woman was still talking, but I couldn't tell you what she said at that point. I was too busy staring at the stocky little creature in front of me. It's black, liquid eyes were locked with mine, and even though it had a particularly stoic attitude, I still felt a sudden and deep sense of dread.

It sat up, ears pricked, with perfectly formed, furry little human hands placed gingerly against its perch. The hands were grey, like the rest. Each finger and thumb bore the white glint of a retractable claw.

It was then that I realized I hadn't seen any of the woman's 18 cats, save for the random stranger outside, until that very moment. The others, all of them, were gathered in the dining room. They roughly encircled the strange cat, none of them sitting higher than it. Unlike the central figure, they only cared to glance at me before losing interest.

When I started retaining the Crazy Cat Lady's words once more, she explained that this was a very smart kitty who could do all sorts of interesting things with its amazing "paws". To clarify once again - these were NOT paws.

I asked what, exactly, the cat could do. Apparently, it could open doors, turn lights on or off, and would occasionally write "kitty words", as she put it. She was also hoping to some day teach it how to knit. Nothing too complex, of course.

I looked at the walls and spotted the hundreds of sticky notes and tattered papers taped to each surface. Among the debris of the insane woman's house, I hadn't even registered them. Each slip displayed random scribbles, crude stick people, and foreign letters that seemed familiar in some ancient part of the back of my mind. "Kitty words".

Quickly, I made sense of the situation. This was a cat born with deformed front paws that, through the miracle of random bullshit, looked enough like hands to be a bit disconcerting. I'd heard of smart cats who could open doors or jump at light switches before, so that was nothing special... and the "writing" was probably nothing more than the old woman herself holding the cat in one hand, and making it "write" with the other. She was clearly demented, so why wouldn't she think that made sense to do?

So, I took the photos. The lady hung a curtain as a backdrop so no one on the internet would see her living conditions. The cat didn't move from its spot, though its head and eyes followed my every movement like an owl would. I almost expected its head to rotate in a complete circle as I walked around it, but thankfully that didn't happen.

When I had taken the proper amount of pictures, I went to show the digital images to the Crazy Cat Lady for her approval. It was a simple matter of holding the camera out as we both looked over the small screen and agreed upon which photos were the best, etc.

She didn't see anything odd. All she did wish coo and titter at the images... she remarked on what a beautiful cat it was, and how clever its hands were. She praised my photographic skills to the point I wasn't sure if she was making fun of me or not.

I didn't like the photos at all, however.

Each picture was from the correct angle. I mean, the photos I had taken were from the same positions, with subject in the proper location. The problem is, that's all that didn't change. None of the photos depicted the backdrop, or even the old woman's house. Instead they showed a white, spotless room... a perfect cube of brightness devoid of any character.

Sitting in the cat's place, a worn wooden chair with peeling red paint and an old man sitting upon it. The man was gnarled. Nude. Yellowed and dirty like a stale corpse. In each picture, the man's head was turned away from the camera so I couldn't see his face.

I asked the Crazy Cat Lady if the photos were really "perfect". I asked that several times and even held the camera closer to her face to make sure she was seeing the same photo. Still, she just remarked that her "little" kitty was "adorable".

On the down side, I eventually told her I uploaded her pictures to the web even though I deleted them that day, in the car outside her house.  On the plus side, though, I never cashed her check. In a few days or weeks she would probably forget the whole idea, anyway.

I'm still not sure what happened to the camera... if anything DID happen to it, of course... and I have no idea why or how that cat existed at all. I didn't really want to know. I really DON'T want to know. It was the sort of thing that you want to put behind you and pretend never happened so you can continue living a life free of straight jackets and shock therapy.

Unfortunately, like most things you'd rather forget, it refuses to go away. Every time I wake up in the middle of the night, feeling as if my nose had been pinched shut by small, hairy fingers... every time I choke in the middle of the night and spit out the mangled, bloodied corpse of a bird... I'm reminded of fact I'll never be able to un-know the cat that wrote, and it will never un-see me.

When she said it could open doors, I didn't know she meant locks.

45

Pages: 1 2 [3] 4 5 ... 35